Credence of a Dragon

Prologue

"Duty is heavy as a mountain, death is light as a feather."

-Robert Jordan

The clinking of chains...the incessant rubbing and biting, gnawing and clicking of chains. The inveighing of cutting rust. Sweat dripping down her face, her back; her entire body was aflame with pain. The agony of a burden...

She glanced at her wrists in frustration, the scratches and welts from the chains throbbing on her skin and in her head. But she had dealt with pain before, and would continue to. And how to get out of this one... she thought, giving the chains a wry glance.

Looking around, her heart sank. She had lived like this for eleven years. With the pain, with the other poor souls of her kind who had been chosen. At this time in history, they were chose for death. A death which was inescapable to them. She had watched these people, watched their spirits break, watched their bodies crumble until the sweet sleep came. It always came. Voldemort was the master of death, the destroyer of humanity. And how she loathed him.

These chains, however, were new. "New" in her brain meant properly "untested". If some poor, pathetic sap of a wizard had placed the anti-magic charm on these chains (as she suspected), and the spell was weak enough, then maybe...

Looking around again, she said a silent prayer. She had to try this, had to stop feeling so helpless in this world, this world that was at war an enemy she was enslaved to. She needed to aid them, even if it meant leaving them. It was just a question of whether she could actually leave them or not. In a way, she felt that they were her responsibility. I do not wish to leave! she thought desperately, but I fear that now I must. My options are limited... and I have my chance now...

Lord Voldemort downed a shot of whiskey and slammed the glass back down on his desk, which promptly disappeared as it hit the wood. He studied Pettigrew, an almost unnoticeable smirk gracing his snake-like features. "Now, with Dumbledore-" Voldemort was cut off by the loud bang of his chamber door flying open. A look of terror crossed Wormtail's face. His Master despised being interrupted. To put it mildly.

"M'lord..." Avery and Goyle were standing at the door, both ashen faced. "She... She is g-gone. T-the dragon, Master..."

A flash of green light erupted with Voldemort's rage. He stormed from the room, Wormtail hiding in rat form under a nearby armchair before the bodies of the two Death Eaters hit the floor.

Unfortunately, Pettifrew was the poor, pathetic sap of a wizard who had placed the anti-magic charms on the chains. He would be punished. So, to avoid this (as he thought) he simply had to be his pathetic self, and hide under the musty, coffee-hued curtains in rat form. He would not escape punishment. Master had not been this angered, ever. Yes, Wormtail thought, this is the thing I had most feared..!!

And the dragon had escaped.

"I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope."

-Aeschylus