TWENTY-SEVEN: PART ONE HARRY'S STORY Candlelight and Dragons Every villain is a hero in their own mind, darling.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
*to clear certain things up; Sam isn't dead, but only brain dead. That means his memories are taken from him, but he is still alive as a character.
—
MANY YEARS AGO...
Dragons can only crawl before they fly.
Their wings are far too thin once they are hatched from their eggs. They'd spend their young days under the grand shades of sycamore trees and fairy hives, rolling in the muddy banks that their chosen river would occasionally splash at.
Their mouths were unable to breathe out even a spark or a flicker of fire, only small breaths of dewy air from the sticky atmosphere that they reside in.
Harry peaks with a grin at the small whelp that hid behind the tall stalks of grass, it's webbed feet sunken in dried soil; whimpering and stuck.
"Hello," Harry speaks out, startling both the dragon as it cried out a squeaky shout; too small to even roar.
Harry ducked his head, scaring himself as well. He bit down on his lip and edged closer to the dragon, crawling a little so his steps don't cause any unnecessary commotion that will disturb the creature.
"Um, my name is Harry," The young Alpha murmurs, as though the dragon could understand him and respond. "You seem to be stuck."
The dragon immediately spreads the bones of his under-grown wings, trying to intimidate the child with his families known defense mechanisms ...but failing when Harry only shook his head slightly.
"I know you can't fly. Not yet."
The dragon halts his movements, the holographic lids of his eyes shutting; pretending like a child that if he does this then he disappears.
"You're still here. I just want to help, will you allow me?" Harry politely asked, reaching his hand out to the dragons feet only to get hissed at with a snake-like, pink tongue.
Harry raises his eyebrows with his hands up in surrender. "Okay. Help yourself."
The child pretends to act disinterested at once, turning around and sitting down on the small plot of sod; whistling to himself.
