Harry Potter and the Dragon

II

The Calvary of the Boy

"Bugger, how I hate this town!" said Harry Potter frowning as he directed his steps to Hogsmeade's marketplace one fine summer morning. He was on his way to the bookshop, to return the Quidditch book he had borrowed the day before.

From the distance he could glimpse the village, the only one in the country entirely inhabited by magical people. Although beautiful, the town was not a very interesting place anymore. Harry had come to live here when he was eleven, after being rescued from the hell of life he used to lead in the company of his only relatives alive. At that time, the handsome houses and smiling faces seemed to him like a fairy-tale setting decorated by the kindest of people, the supporting characters of the unbelievable story his life was turning into. But it had been nearly six years since then and he was starting to get bored. "The same stupid people doing the same stupid things, from dawn to dusk, till the day they die," he sighed as he stuffed his hands and book inside his robe pockets and, deepening his frown, crossed the bridge and began to walk down the main street.

"Good morning!" he said through a fake smile to everyone he happened to meet. "Good morning!" he bowed to Mr. Dervish and Mr. Banges, who were in the process of opening their store. "How are you!" he grinned to old Mr. Scrivenshaft, who was neatly arranging a display of quills behind the glass-window. The boy didn't notice the puzzled look Madame Puddifoot gave him once he continued his way after greeting her. Instead, he set his eyes on a much more attractive specimen who was carrying a tray full of butterbeers.

"May I help you, Madame Rosmerta?" he asked politely, gaining a sweet smile in return. This woman's such a hottie, pity she's married, though... he thought while taking some of the bottles and trying to have his eyes unstuck from her bosom. "I'm going to Granger's, to return this Quidditch book. Did you know that in 1387, a team in Vladivostok that was captained by a famous player named -?" Harry begun, through a sudden outburst of energy that ceased abruptly when the lady interrupted him.

"Well, we've arrived. Thank you so much, Harry," Madame Rosmerta said, and distracted by the thought that the lad was very cute indeed though certainly different from the others, she and her butterbeers disappeared inside a not yet crowded Three Broomsticks.

"That's it. I gotta move along I s'pose," Harry said, climbing to a passing wagon to get a free ride to the bookshop. In the meantime, he observed the villagers in the marketplace and, sneering, decided that there was surely more to life than that.

Once in Granger's he darted to the bookshelves.

"Good morning, Harry," a brisk voice was heard from behind.

"Oh, hi Hermione. I'm done with the book, so I think I'll take something else -"

"I've just received a veeery interesting book!" she cut off enthusiastically. "Look, it's been recently updated and I'm sure you'll love it. It's called Hogwarts, a History -"

"Er, I was thinking about the usual Quidditch Through The Ages I always..." Harry began apologetically.

"Oh, I see... But you've read that book a thousand times! This one's really good; I'm almost finished, and I only started it last night..."

"Yeah, but this one's my favorite!" retorted Harry, taking from the shelf a very familiar hard-cover. "The best teams in the world, their most amazing tactics -"

"Very well, since you've been surely drooling all over its pages, it's yours," the girl said in bored tones.

"Are you serious?" he blurted.

"Yes. And go away before I regret it and seriously consider getting rid of all this Quidditch rubbish..."

"Thanks, Hermione!" the boy said and rapidly left the store, failing to notice that everyone he passed by looked at him with a mixture of puzzlement and kindness.

Harry had no idea, but he was very well known among the Hogsmeade villagers. In six years, they had seen him grown into a good-looking but antisocial young man that could be usually found wandering over the streets, displaying an awed expression that suggested his mind was somewhere else, presumably flying at breakneck speed on an illusory broomstick. Harry lusted for Quidditch.

Unable to spend a single moment without opening the book, Harry walked towards the town fountain and started to read. "Man, the Chudley Cannons have been kicking rears since ever!" the remark escaped his lips.

A sheep that stood nearby walked away from the flock and came closer to Harry.

"Are you interested in Quidditch?" Harry asked mockingly the sheep. "Yeah, I bet you've got more brains than most people here. Anyway, shoo! Go back to your beloved master, he might get jealous if he catches you ogling at me that much."

He looked up to see if the shepherd had heard him, and checking that the boy was far enough, he dwelled into what was certainly a very unpleasant but recurrent thought. Can there it be something more heinous than committing unnatural carnal acts with animals? I simply don't get it. I'd rather die than tumbling a four-legged creature. Ew...

In an attempt of holding back memories of the terrible life he had led with Uncle Vicious, Aunt Perverted and cousin Depraved, Harry closed the book and decided it was time to go home.

In the meantime, not far from there, a stunningly handsome young man was having fun by shooting torturing and killing curses to some stray chickens. His awesome looks were indeed a very popular topic of conversation in town; everybody had, at least once, praised his carefully disheveled, beautiful golden locks, his Apollonian and therefore alluring body, the perturbing brightness of the sapphires he had for eyes and the pristine perfection of his pearlescent teeth. However, there was nothing more remarkable than his outstanding charisma. The man was a natural charmer. And charmed for life were all his mates, who fluttered around him like butterflies around an especially fragrant bed of flowers.

A hen had been hit and was convulsively passing away whereas an insignificant man, who seemed to be proud of being the Adonis incarnate's favorite, was shaking with mirth. "Ha ha ha! What a great sport is this you have just invented, Gilderoy!" the little man cackled happily. "But I think we could use ducks instead of hens, though. They're funnier to kill, if we -"

"I know this pastime's great for I've invented it, but better stay shut for a moment, you little fool, and pay attention to this excellent idea I have. Why don't we better go fishing, so I could grab your slippery tail, you silly worm, and stick my hook in it?"

"He he he!" the little man sniggered nervously after a moment, once he had partly realized what his worshipped idol had meant.

"Don't be stupid, Peter you wormwhole, you know I'm the best looking man in the world! I'd never mar my reputation by wooing something as low as you, or a woman for that matter. The one I really want to make the luckiest being alive is -"

He stopped in mid-sentence for he was paralyzed. At the very same time, Harry Potter, spectacles the only thing between his dearest book and his glass-green eyes, was just passing by, walking like an undead.

"Oh, boy!" Gilderoy exclaimed lustfully, and like someone who has been all of a sudden deprived of any rational thought, he darted forwards in order to block Harry's path, ignoring the hungry looks of three very much wrinkled ladies who were lurking out of the brothel doors. "Well, well, well, isn't it a pity that such a perfect face would be so insolently flawed by such a vulgar mark?" Gilderoy sang flirtatiously, running his forefinger through Harry's forehead.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you disgusting sodomite?! Don't even try to touch me again or I'll Crucio you till you are back in the right track, something a dirty bastard like you will of course be very sorry about!" Harry spilled as threateningly as he could.

Gilderoy stood speechless for a second or two; shocked, and pleasantly aroused. "You are fond of torturing, aren't you, Harry dear? I never knew that... Oh my goodness! I'm afraid you've just won a permanent stay as the leading part in my most intimate thoughts... Feel fine about it lad, you have no idea of what my mind is made of..."

"You pathetic poof, get out of the way bef -!"

With a swift movement, Gilderoy snatched Harry's book. "Oh, what is this? Quidditch? And you're calling ME a poof? Aw, come on, everybody knows Quidditch's a fixation for those who love having a stick pressing their -" Gilderoy smirked, unable to end his sentence for Harry interrupted him extremely enraged.

"How dare you call me a pervert, you degenerated, conceited faggot! You! Among all people!!!" he snorted, not daring to believe what he had just heard.

"Ha ha, like living with a half-giant's not dodgy enough, little Harry also likes flying around! Come on, admit you swing -"

"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT HAGRID, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!" Harry exploded.

"Okay, I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. You are right. I shouldn't have touched such a sensitive spot... I take back what I have said," answered Gilderoy smoothly, and trying to mend the situation he handed the book back to Harry.

"It's not what your aberrant mind may have led you to believe, you sick bastard..." the boy replied, grabbing violently his Quidditch Through The Ages.

"I know, I know..." said Gilderoy softly, setting off any charming technique he could think of. "It's just that Hagrid's a bit strange, don't you think? You have to be nuts to be obsessed with monsters ..."

"Shut up, you moron. Hagrid's the best creature-tamer ever. He's not nuts or dodgy. He's just -"

"Haaaarry! Haaaaaarry!" a hoarse voice was heard from the edge of town.

The men turned around to see the distant shape of an extremely large man, being dragged by something that looked like a frenzied dog, at least ten times the size of a Great Dane. And as if that wasn't peculiar enough, with three heads instead of one.

"Damn it! Hold on, Hagrid! I'm coming!" Harry shouted with a pang of fear.

"Yes, go boy; I reckon you'll surely be able to control that beast! And the dog, too!" said the little man called Peter, who had just come to watch the show, before bursting into a fit of nasty laughter. Gilderoy joined him but stopped dead the moment Harry faced both of them.

"Shut up, you ratty mongrel, and better control yours before he gets even more sluttish!" he snapped before going hastily to meet Hagrid.

"Bloody prat!" said Peter, the Wormtail.

"Yeah... so... wild... Oh my goodness!" muttered Gilderoy, as if having problems to breath steadily, eyes glued to the shrinking silhouette that Harry was. "Mark my words, Wormtail my friend. The boy will be mine. I can spot a fellow sod as fast as I can tumble him. The boy will be mine to insult me at leisure, and I'll have him to enjoy his attributes at my pleasure. Bear no doubt of that."