Harry Potter Short Stories

Whatever would an honest hero do?

The Hungarian Horntail reeled back, mighty wings flapping once, and sent a jet of fire towards Harry. Cursing under his breath, he dodged, the heat grazing his shoulder. The thestral underneath him neighed loudly but did not hesitate when Harry urged it forward.

In one swift motion, Harry raised the sword of Gryffindor and attempted to stab the dragon's neck, but the blade only grazed the black scales with a scraping sound.

"Fuck." Harry hastily directed this thestral down, holding for dear life to its sleek back. With each failed attempt, the Horntail got angrier, and it was harder and harder to get close enough to chance a blow.

Of course, the running commentary did not help.

"Aren't you famous, among other things, for your encounters with dragons, Potter? Not once but twice?" An unimpressed Severus Snape tsked. "I suppose fame isn't everything."

Despite standing on a tiny ledge, chained to a rock, in a bold red ball gown with its train flowing down into the abyss, he managed to appear as if overseeing a particularly uneventful Potions class. Harry stared at him, still unable to believe his eyes after half an hour, and almost missed another rush of fire.

"I'd like to see you try it yourself," he grumbled.

"I prefer to leave recklessly charging into danger and slaying dragons to Gryffindors," Snape said. The dragon's tail swished dangerously close to him, but he did not react to it other than follow it with his eyes. "If I found myself in such a need, however, I would aim for an eye as it's the only relatively vulnerable spot in this species."

"Couldn't you have mentioned it somewhere before the fifth time I tried to stab it?"

Snape shrugged, the chains clanging. "You didn't ask."

"I'm trying to save you here, you know."

"My hero," he drawled mockingly. "You should have taken a white Abraxan to complete the look."

"Well, you aren't exactly a fair maiden yourself."

Snape flinched, lips disappearing into a thin line for a moment, and Harry suddenly felt guilty.

"Not that you don't look amazing in this dress," he added hastily. It hugged Snape's curveless shape perfectly, the red silk striking against milky-white skin and black shoulder-length hair. It should not have but worked, and Harry's mind was filled with the things he wanted to do to Snape in that delectable dress. Maybe even still chained to that suspiciously shaped piece of rock. "I never thought... Who knew Gryffindor colours suited you so well?"

Now Snape looked murderous. Without waiting to hear the words forming in his mouth, for they would surely be deadlier than the Horntail's fire, Harry turned his thestral sharply up. True, thestrals were not much to look at and bony enough for his arse to turn into one single bruise, but Harry would trust them to fly against a fifty-foot tall, fire-breathing dragon over tetchy and easily spooked Abraxans any day.

Manoeuvring between the jets of fire and smoke, Harry raised high into the beautiful sunset before directing the thestral almost vertically down, knuckles white in its mane. On the last second, he plunged the sword into the yellow eye. The creature let out a piercing shriek and fell into the dark abyss below.

Harry flew over to Snape just in time for the chains to fall and retreat like fearful snakes. This close, Harry could see the scars Nagini had left. He traced them with his eyes to the exposed collarbone, feeling his cheeks heat. When he snapped his gaze up, there was a rather predatory half-smile on Snape's lips. Lips painted with red, red lipstick. Harry shifted on his thestral. It seemed that even the world's most uncomfortable seating could not prevent his dick from getting excited.