Romancing the Sorcerer's Stone

Chapter 15: Golden Snitches

February 2002 — Carpathian Mountains, Hungary

"Potter?"

"Hmm?"

"You have a plan, right? Potter?"

The only answer is the faint scrape of scales sliding over rock, and a muttered shield charm that deflects the sudden stream of fire that washes over them.

Draco gasps. "Potter!"

"Quiet!" he hisses. "You'll only draw its attention."

"But—"

Potter glares at him, and Draco shuts his mouth with a click, fuming silently. This day is not working out like he'd planned.

Sure, Potter had said dragons, but... Draco didn't actually expect there to be dragons. Not like this one — irritable and very, very large. Potter and Charlie had made it sound a lot more fun and a lot less like dying a brutal death.

Of course, in hindsight, he really should have known, once they brought Hagrid into the picture.

He shudders, recalling that particular conversation.

No, he really ought to have known. The cavern is silent, waiting. Draco closes his eyes. Right.

He knows where it is — they'd got that far, anyway, before the dragon appeared. He glances at Potter, absorbed in the task of weaving a complicated web of magic around them, and sighs.

----

December 2001 — Hogsmeade, Scotland

"'Arry! Good to see ye! And Mister Malfoy o'course. Charlie here's told me you two work together some now — are friends even. It's right strange, I have ter say, but if 'arry here says yer alright then I suppose ye must be."

Hagrid shakes his head. "And then to find out yer wantin' ter know about Dragons. 'E must have changed, I thought to myself, mustn't 'e. Don' recall ye being' very interested in 'em before. Besides tryin' ta get 'arry here in trouble, that is.

"But, then, well, I realized ye must take at least a passin' interest, what with yer name an' all."

He claps Malfoy heartily on the back and he pitches forward a bit, wincing.

"Now, 'ow's about a pint 'o Tom's finest, an' I'll tell ye what I know."

He wanders off toward the bar. Charlie grins at Malfoy, wincing sympathetically.

"He's great, isn't he? It's good to be back here, Harry. And good to know you're still getting in trouble." He props his elbows on the table and leans forward.

"How's George holding up these days? Joke shop keeping him busy enough?"

"He's all right," Harry says, "but he seems a bit lonely. Could do with a visit, maybe."

Hagrid returns then, bearing two mugs of something frothy and alarmingly blue. He plunks them down on the table, sliding the slightly smaller mug in front of Charlie.

"What about you two, then?" he asks, half-turning back toward the bar.

"Er, no, thank you," Malfoy says hurriedly.

Harry nods agreement. "We're fine, thanks, Hagrid."

"Well, suit yerselves," he says amiably, settling his bulk comfortably onto the chair, which creaks alarmingly. He takes a swig of his drink and sighs appreciatively.

"Now that's nice, that is. The thing yer have ta remember about dragons," he continues loudly, startling them, "is that they remember everything. Take Norbert — er, Norberta. She's not seen any of us in years — with the exception o' Charlie here — but I'd bet she'd recognize us in a heartbeat. You too, Malfoy, if she ever got a good look at ye."

Harry glances at Malfoy and he knows they're both thinking of that night when he'd spied on them at Hagrid's.

"We'll, er, try to stay away from her, then," he says diplomatically, grateful that their quest won't take them into Romania.

----

February 2002 — Carpathian Mountains, Hungary

Draco almost wishes they'd had to face Norberta. Another spurt of fire washes over him, and he ducks down under the shield charm. It's weakening; he's getting uncomfortably warm. Sweat is beading on his brow, rolling down his cheeks and stinging his eyes.

Trust Potter's luck to bring them face to face with the dragon he'd faced during the Triwizard Tournament back in fourth year. He clearly remembers them and is clearly unimpressed.

Charlie's credentials had got them this far, deep into the dragon reserve in the remote wilds of Hungary, but he hadn't been able to accompany them into the cavern. Clearly his friends aren't quite as reliable as he'd thought. The dragon wasn't even supposed to be here. Charlie's friends at the reserve had assured him that this particular dragon has a schedule that goes pretty much like clockwork. He ought to be out hunting for the next hour at least. Potter had tried to reason with it in parseltongue, when it had caught them in the act, but had succeeded only in annoying it further. It obviously remembered him.

Draco lunges to the side, scrambling behind a boulder. The fire is getting closer and hotter with every second they spend in this cave. He has to get the cup and get them out of there.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and attempting to settle his frantic mind, and then leaps from behind his boulder, running as fast as he can past the startled dragon and toward the pile of gold behind him.

Potter gets between him and the dragon then, and he narrows his focus to the golden cup. Ten steps. Seven. Five. He stretches his arm as far as he can, snatching the cup by one elegantly curved handle. He shouts, exhilarated, and fumbles the Portkey from his pocket.

"Potter!"

And he's there, fingers grasping for Draco's, and fire is washing over them, and then the Portkey snatches them away.

They fall in a heap at the edge of the reserve, tumbling over one another's lightly-singed bodies.

"Did you get it?" Charlie asks anxiously, looking around to see that they're not spotted. It's not technically illegal to take things from the dragons' hoards, but it's certainly frowned upon. The dragon will be unsettled and irritable until it finds a suitable replacement, but Draco can't find it in himself to care. He's completely exhausted.

Charlie grabs ahold of each of them and activates his own Portkey.