Harry Potter: Dragon Whisperer

The Mark of the Dragon

9:10am

Sunday, 30 July 1995

Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, Romania

.

Unlike at most other times, Harry jolted awake. One second he was asleep, the next his eyes were wide and he was looking around from where he was unexpectedly now sitting on his bed.

His bed? He didn't remember coming to bed. Come to that, he didn't even remember returning to camp. A glance out of his window told him that it was daytime, what was puzzling though was the position of the sun on the trees.

Morning? How can it be morning? he wondered.

He distinctly remembered being down in the canyon with the dragons in the afternoon.

But then more of his memory returned. Yes, he'd been in the canyon, in with the fledglings until ... Grouleth interrupted. And then he was taken to a secret dragon council. All the dragons had been there including a dragon that he'd never seen or met before – Memzath, the Weyr Leader.

Absently, Harry flicked a finger and, from across the room a piece of wood dislodged itself from the pile that he'd stacked beside the door and flew to him. Unerringly, he caught it before frowning down at it. Black locust wood, native here in Romania, thus why he'd picked it up. It certainly didn't live up to its name; it wasn't black or even a dark-coloured wood. Still, it intrigued him, having a type of wood that he hadn't worked with before.

Memzath, his brain returned to its original thoughts even as he grabbed up his carving tools from the shelf above his bed. Memzath had been concerned with something, with ... with him. The great dragon had kept saying that there was a darkness.

The memory of the slashing pain in his forehead had Harry dropping the knife and slapping a hand over his scar. But the familiar feel that he'd had longer than he could remember had changed. Lightly, he traced the scar. There, his fingers found the familiar lightning bolt, only now, it felt like there was an extra scar, a slash that went straight through it, from top to bottom.

It was definitely a strange feeling to know but not know something that was a part of you. And the extra ridges that the frown that he was wearing wasn't helping either. A glance around his room only deepened his frown: there was no mirror in here. The best that he had was ...

Snatching up his knife again, he held it so that he could look into the blade and see his reflection. It wasn't easy or the best of mediums, but it at least allowed him to see ... a weird bluish-purple line on his head, slashed straight through his lightning bolt.

"What the ...!" he began just as the door opened.

"Harry! You're awake!" Sirius exclaimed loudly.

And then his godfather was across the room and Harry had to quickly put the knife down for fear of stabbing the man as he raced to hug him.

The feeling of his hair being ruffled alerted Harry to the fact that Sirius hadn't been the only one entering his bedroom.

"Finally awake, Cub," Remus smiled down at him. "We thought you might miss your birthday with the way that you were going."

"Miss my birthday?" Harry echoed. "Exactly how long was I asleep?"

"A day and a half," Charlie replied from just inside the door where he stood beside Alexander. "Today's the thirtieth. And, in case you were wondering, it's just after nine in the morning."

"I slept for a day and a half?" Harry's exclaimed. "What? Why? What happened?"

"We were hoping that you could tell us that," Alexander said and Harry noted that the weathered face had a distinctly interested look on it.