Harry Potter and the Dragon

I

The Cursing of the Beast

Once upon a time, in a far away land, in the days when the dark hue of Middle Ages was slowly fading out and what would later be called the Renaissance timidly made its way through the civilized world, there lived a young prince who dwelled, along with his faithful servants, in a manor that loomed over a thick forest no villagers ever approached.

This young prince, who was also a wizard, had been raised by his late parents to believe he was superior in every sense and aspect. Because of that, and unable to change his views due to his isolation from the rest of the world, he grew cold, bitter, and evil. He spent most of his time locked in his manor, convinced that anyone he could meet was worthless. Many villages in the area were mostly inhabited by Muggles, who, according to the prince, were nothing but vicious barbarians obsessed with burning wizards. "Just peasants: plain, stupid and poor," he said to himself every time he pondered about the subject. And as many of the human bonfires were nothing but the corrupt byproduct of the unnatural liaisons between magical and non-magical folk, he inwardly thanked Muggles for getting rid of such obnoxious hybrids. The only half-bloods who sparkle are those who burn... he used to muse every time he caught sight of the distinctive outline of a smoke column ascending in the distance, usually while soaring over his grounds mounted on a broomstick.

The prince despised commoners, hated those of half-blood with all his might, and thought poverty a karmic form of punishment. But although his heart overflowed with ill feelings, there was still room in it for more. So huge was this particular abhorrence that made his deep loathing of Muggles and half-bloods look like mild indifference. The prince would have given all his money away, or invited his distant, blood-traitors relatives to live with him, before having to cope with such a horrible abomination. And that horrible abomination was nothing but sodomy.

There was nothing that could repulse the young prince more than the simple idea of two men having intercourse. Of course, he had never been engaged in something as nauseating as that, and although his innocent eyes had never witnessed an act of such a vulgar nature, an uninvited, mischievous incubus had, very much against his will, projected in his mind that obscenity in the form of a recurrent dream. He had suffered from uncountable nightmares about the issue during his short life, and had always woken up shivering from a mixture of anguish and rage. However, he had never breathed a word about the dreams, ashamed at the simple thought that the household could find out about them.

But if fate can easily find its way through a mundane tangle of circumstances, with greater ease it will be able to move through a thick, forsaken forest.

One night, when the manor and its grounds were being furiously lashed by a rather violent storm, a lonely traveler came to its gates seeking shelter. He was admitted and taken to the young landlord's presence immediately. This man looked as deplorable as a beggar except for the fact that he had the most horrible face the prince had ever seen. For eyes he had two narrow slits that gleamed as red as blood; for a nose, two shapeless, barely visible openings, and a vibrating bifid tongue flicked from his nasty, perturbing mouth.

The prince was deeply appalled and ordered the traveller's expulsion on the spot. The vision, apart from the natural horror it conveyed, had also stirred the boy's mind in another way: he could not refrain from thinking that that tongue, along with the way the beggar was staring, was meant to be alluring to some extent.

Striving to forget what he had just witnessed, the prince came across something he judged to be an excellent idea. Why not bring the beggar back and torture him slowly and painfully? That seemed like a great opportunity to practice spells he hadn't had the chance to perform since he had killed the last trespassing mudblood.

However, when the man was brought back, brutally dragged by the prince's loyal attendants, he spectacularly revealed his true nature in a great display of magical pyrotechnics. In the place of the vile, serpentine creature stood a dark-haired young man whose demeanor had nothing in common with his original appearance. The prince was shocked and scared: he had never seen magic of that sort before, and realizing the stranger was a powerful and presumable straight wizard, he apologized for his erroneous behavior and immediately proceeded to offer him hospitality.

But the dark-haired wizard was not one to be fooled, for he could see through people. As he was very much offended for having stood on the verge of torture (by a foolish boy and with spells he probably knew better than anybody else) and as his sweet attempts of befriending the young wizard had been ignored, he extracted his wand and cursed the prince with his latest invention: the Multiple Fairytale Hex. This involved a combination of human transfiguration, psychological torment and, to cap it all, the pressure of time.

The prince was transformed into a monstrous, terrifying dragon. His servants mutated into different household objects, and everyone was doomed to remain so forever if the prince was unable to learn to love a boy and gain his affection in return by the time he turned seventeen years of age.

As a departing treat, the enchanter threw a red rose at the dragon's feet, and with a deep, velvety voice, he mockingly chanted this warning:

Behold my gold-sprinkled rose,

Whose thorns you cannot escape;

Its powerful magic will show

That time must not pass in vain

This flower's got petals to spare

So year after year they will fall

But then damned for life you'll be all

'Cause once you're a man, it'll be bare

So get you a gay overdose

Recover your nice, but lost, shape

Be naughty, bold, but not slow

Or bitter a beast you'll remain

And, as a last proof of sadism, the mysterious sorcerer left behind a mirror for the prince to see anything he wished to see, along with his newly acquired pathetic looks. Finally, the dark-haired wizard Disapparated in a graceful swirl of robes.

The young prince went berserk. After singeing two thirds of his manor he found himself destroying his private chamber in frustration, since he was unable to take his own life: his scales were far too hard for any blade, or even his new fangs, to penetrate, and it was useless to jump off the balcony due to the impressive pair of wings he now sported.

The household, though facing the prospect of passing the rest of their lives as objects, ignored their own tribulations to help the boy carry his terrible load. They tried really hard to find a way to break the curse, but not having a human form anymore, wands, and therefore magic, were out of reach. One scheme followed another but with no luck whatsoever. The manor became a dark, creepy cloister; one massive tomb for a hundred of miserable souls.

Thus, the prince spent many years waiting for something to happen. However, he was lately beginning to fall into despair. He knew the curse would never be broken and lost all hope. Because who could ever love a fire-spitting, winged, heinous, bitter, rotten spoiled, cruel, bigoted, and scary dragon?