Dawn Rivera

The Final Hiding Place

There is no means of steering; the dragon can not see where it is going, and I know that if it turns sharply or rolls in mid-air we will find it impossible to cling onto its broad back. Nevertheless, as we climb higher and higher, London unfurling below us like a grey and green map, my overwhelming feeling is of gratitude for an escape that seems impossible. Crouching low over the beast's neck, I cling to the tight metallic scales and the cold breeze is soothing on my burned and blistered skin, the dragon's wings beating the air like the sails of a windmill. In front of me, whether from delight of fear I cannot tell, Ron keeps swearing at the top of his voice, and Hermione and I are sobbing.

After five minutes or so, I lose some of my immediate dread that the dragon is going to throw us off, for it seems intent on nothing but getting as far away from its underground prison as possible, but the question of how and when we are going to dismount remains rather frightening. I have no idea how long a dragon can fly without landing, nor how the particular dragon, which can barely see, will locate a good place to put down. I glance around constantly.

How long will it be before Voldemort knows that we have broken into the Lestranges' vault? How soon will the goblins of Gringotts notify Bellatrix? How quickly will they realise what has been taken? And then, when they discover that the golden cup is missing? Voldemort will know, at last, that we are hunting Horcruxes...

The dragon seems to crave cooler and fresher air as it climbs steadily until we are flying through wisps of chilly cloud and I can no longer make out the little coloured dots which are cars pouring in and out of the capital. On and on we fly, over countryside parcelled out in patches of green and brown, over roads and rivers winding through the landscapes like strips of matt and glossy ribbon.

"What do you reckon it's looking for?" Ron yells, as we fly further and further north.

"No idea," Harry bellows back. My hands are numb with cold but I do not dare attempt to shift my grip. I have been wondering for some time what we will do if we see the coast sail beneath us, if the dragon heads for the open sea: I am cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, I wonder, has the beast itself last eaten? Surely it will need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, he realises it has five highly edible humans sitting on its back?

The sun slips slower in the sky, which is turning indigo; and still the dragon flies, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath us, its enormous shadow sliding over the earth like a great, dark cloud. Every part of me aches with the effort of holding on to the dragon's back.

"Is it my imagination," shouts Ron, after a considerable stretch of silence, "or are we losing height?"

I look down and see deep-green mountains and lakes, coppery in the sunset. The landscape seems to grow larger and more detailed as I squint over the side of the dragon and I wonder whether it has divined the presence of fresh water by the flashes of reflected sunlight.

Lower and lower the dragon flies, in great, spiralling circles, honing in, it seems, upon one of the smaller lakes.

"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" Danny calls back to the rest of us. "Straight into the water before it realises we're here!"

We agree, Hermione and I a little faintly: and now I can see the dragon's wide, yellow underbelly rippling in the surface of the water.

"NOW!" Harry says.

I slither over the side of the dragon and plummet, feet first, towards the surface of the lake; the drop is greater than I anticipated and I hit the water hard, plunging like a stone into a freezing, green, reed-filled world. I kick towards the surface and emerge with Ron and Hermione, so,uttering and gasping from the depths of the lake, and as we do so, the dragon flies on, its wings beating hard, and lands at last on the distant bank.