The Confectionary Chronicles || HP/SPN

Lollies and Loki- Ch47

A/N: Warning: graphic description of animal (dragon) abuse ahead. If that makes you uncomfortable or you'd prefer not to read it, please skip the second paragraph. Otherwise, enjoy!

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN:

Fifty-one dragons.

From the seven Gringotts Banks across the world, Gabriel had rescued a total of fifty-one severely underweight, horribly scarred, ravenously starving dragons. All of them had stunted growth, decaying teeth, bones that had set badly after being broken and healed wrong, they all suffering hypothermia, all deprived of sunlight, all blinded; some missing horns, or chunks of their tails, claws, toes, some even had a hacked off foot, and all had scarring from stab wounds, lashes from whippings, scales torn from their hides, open, weeping sores and abscesses, and skin infections.

Gabriel had a special loathing for animal abusers, and after spending a hundred years chained underground himself, denied sunlight, a tortured prisoner, he couldn't help but take the condition the dragons were being kept in personally. And he was furious. Deep, deep underground, even deeper then the hundreds of miles underground where the dragons were chained, tectonic plates shifted in the face of an archangel's rage, making the Earth's surface shudder, and Gabriel had to take deep breaths, had to focus on the bright, enthusiastic glow of Hermione's bubbling joy to contain the urge to destroy and instead focus on rescuing and healing.

Vengeance, justice, would come later.

Getting the dragons out of the underground tunnels and caverns of Gringotts with no one the wiser until it was much later, far too late for any additional defences that might make things any trickier, had had been no easy task, even for an archangel. As magical beings, the natural defences the dragons' minds had meant it had taken an age to convince each dragon Gabriel was there to help them, not hurt them. Thankfully, his immunity to fire had at least made them curious enough after their initial attempts to roast him on sight that they tended to hear him out after he emerged from their flames unscathed. Less thankfully, healing had never been something Gabriel had excelled at– it really was one of those times he wished he was still on speaking terms with Raphael and could ask for their help.

Raphael had always been Heaven's best Healer, their skill in the art far outclassing every other angel in the Host. Even after the first War had forced his sibling to assume the mantle of General, at their core Raphael had remained a Healer, the quicksilver touch of their grace able to heal even the gravest of wounds, of the body, the mind and the soul. Gabriel could manage to heal the body just fine, but in anything else he knew only the basics that Raphael had taught him, so long ago.

He hadn't been the best student, but Raphael had been determined that he learn, determined that every angel should know at least the basics of healing, and with admirable patience had sat with him and gone over and over the skills until Gabriel would have been able to perform them in his sleep if angels needed sleep. At the time he'd thought it a waste of time, impatiently flying away once Raphael had finally declared the lesson over. Now he wished he'd stayed longer, that he'd asked more questions, been more curious, that he'd had a greater appreciation for the knowledge Raphael had been so eager to teach him, the skills that they had wanted to pass on.

(He wished he'd appreciated more the time that his sibling had wanted to spend bonding with him.)

Gabriel's lack of skill in mind and soul healing meant that even once the dragons were physically healed, they still remained half-feral; there was a deep, burning hatred in them for goblins and humans both, the only two scents they recognised outside of their own kind, and would forever associate with the pain of their existence up until that point. He knew without doubt that rehabilitation was a fool's dream– they'd tear any human that got within reach of them to pieces in seconds, or more likely burn them to ashes before they could get close. He didn't blame them either; they'd experienceed unspeakable horrors and torment, they deserved their peace, and he swore that the goblins would pay for how the dragons had suffered so grievously.