Chapter Text
He was going to die.
The thought rang through Harry’s head as Quirrell forced past his own pain and closed his hands around Harry’s throat. The man screamed his pain and anger into Harry’s face—breath hot and face flushed red, but determined to obey his Master. It was sharp and familiar in a way that twisted Harry’s stomach. Vernon had tried to strangle Harry before, but never like this, never with the true intent to kill.
His hands clawed at Quirrell’s wrists, trying to pry them loose but his strength was nothing compared to a grown man. He couldn’t breathe. Something in his chest felt like it was cracking apart, his vision blurring at the edges. He was going to die!
Desperation and instinct had him clawing at the man’s eyes, his most vulnerable point. Quirrell screeched, his grip loosening just enough for Harry to drag in a thin, ragged breath—then tightened again, hauling him up and slamming him into the wall. Harry’s skull cracked against stone. Pain shot through his head, sharp and blinding, while the pain in his chest stole what little air he had managed. He kicked desperately at the man’s stomach and groin but couldn’t muster the force to do any damage.
Inside, the pain and panic sharpened like knives, spearing through Harry’s mind as he desperately tried to search for a way out. Suddenly, he recalled the blisters on Quirrell’s hands, the man’s sobs of pain when he had first touched Harry.
Determined, the boy reached back for the man’s face with intention. Instead of going for the eyes again, he spread his fingers wide and made as much contact with Quirrell’s skin as he could.
The man’s screams immediately rose in pitch and he instinctively jerked back to escape the hands. Harry couldn't let that happen! He forced his body to follow the man and pressed harder against his face. Skin sizzled beneath his palms. Harry curled his fingers, forcing them to hold on as the flesh beneath them gave way. Harry’s entire body screamed in pain but his mind felt crystal clear, absolutely certain about what he had to do to survive.
Quirrell tried to grab Harry’s wrists in a sick reversal of their previous position, but removing his hands from the boy's throat had caused the blisters to burst and the skin there was beginning to slough off, revealing raw tissue. The man’s hands jerked away involuntarily when the sensitive nerves made contact with Harry’s skin and the boy knew—suddenly, fiercely—that he could win.
He drove forward with a broken, wordless cry, dragging Quirrell down beneath him. They struck the ground hard, but Harry didn’t release him. Couldn’t release him. With an animalistic growl, Harry dug his fingers deeper into the disintegrating skin until they hit bone. His chest still felt like it was cracking open and he was seeing black spots but Harry was going. to. survive.
The man beneath him stopped screaming but Harry didn’t let go as the body continued to twitch. It wasn’t until he felt the skin of his back tearing open and something heavy settling on top of him, stealing his breath once more, that the black finally took over. Harry fell unconscious, toppling off the body of his former Defense teacher.
Pain.
His whole body hurt. His skin felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper, his bones ached, even his teeth sent throbs of agony through his head. Harry lay still for a moment, breathing through the pain before he opened his eyes. The stone ceiling above him gave Harry a moment’s pause before it all came flooding back—the stone, Quirrell, Ron and Hermione! He forced his body up quickly only to be dragged off balance by the heavy wings extending from his back. What…?
With a tentative hand, Harry reached out to touch one of the large wings only to jerk back at the sensation. He felt that! His mind scrambled trying to make sense of suddenly having two new appendages. It should have been impossible, and yet it felt natural. Like they were always meant to be a part of him.
As Harry reached out to touch the scaled wing again, he suddenly realized that his hands were different too. Where there had once been blunt, bitten fingernails he now had sharp claws, and the pale skin on the back of his hands had a texture he’d never seen before. Harry brought his hand closer. Tiny, overlapping scales caught the light and Harry couldn’t help but marvel at them for a moment. The realization that he wasn’t wearing his glasses struck him and Harry blinked at the clarity of his vision, quickly looking up and around to test if he could really see.
The wonder came to a screeching halt.
Harry had thought the stone ceiling and rough floor meant that he was still in the mirror chamber. Instead, Harry found himself on the floor of a small room with no windows. The door was on the opposite side of the room and made completely inaccessible by the bars that cut the space in half.
And standing on the other side of the bars, watching him calmly with blue eyes colder than Harry had ever seen them, was Albus Dumbledore.
Without a window, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since the Headmaster had left him here. Harry’s stomach had moved past growling and settled into the empty ache that was so common in his childhood. No food, no visitors, not even a blanket to protect against the chilly dungeon air. The only thing provided was a small jar of water that popped into existence near the bars, and a bucket in the corner for him to use as a toilet. Thankfully, it was charmed to vanish its contents which was a step up from the Dursley’s.
The only light in the space was cast from a torch mounted on the wall beside the door. It created long shadows from the bars that stretched across Harry’s cell and he amused himself by playing with them. It was strange, but Harry’s magic seemed to be drawn to the shadows and he found that he could feed small bits of magic into them from his fingers to make them stretch and dance.
The pain had mostly faded over the—days?—since he’d been here. He had done his best to use the refilling water jar to clean some of the blood and gunk off his wings, instinct guiding his actions, but it had been difficult given the small amount of water available at a time.
Harry also spent some time practicing pulling his claws in and out of his fingers. His wings had disappeared after a moment of wishing, and Harry had been too nervous to try pulling them out again. His claws felt like a safer bet for experimenting.
He knew he probably shouldn’t, not after what the Headmaster had told him about the dangers of being a Dragel, but Harry couldn’t help it! He was still an eleven year old boy after all, even if he was now an evil blood-drinking creature. It was a good distraction.
Because Harry was scared.
He thought nothing could be worse than the terror he felt while fighting Quirrell in that chamber, but somehow this waiting—without anything to confront or fight—was worse. As time ticked forward (hours? minutes?), Harry kept hearing the Headmaster’s words echo in his head.
“You became something else in that chamber Harry. It’s a creature called a Dragel and they are not allowed to exist.”
“All Dragels are to be killed on sight.”
“Dragels are a threat to all magic-kind. They are an unstable, dangerous race known for their use of dark magic.”
“You won’t be able to help it, my boy. It’s your instincts. The thing inside of you will thirst for blood.”
“I saw what you did to Professor Quirrell, Harry. It was monstrous. The poor man may have been misguided but he was still a person.”
“You are a monster now.”
“I will be back. We must determine if you will be allowed to live.”
Each repetition of that voice in his head brought a new wave of fear and despair. Harry didn’t feel evil. He had new dragon traits and he knew he could cause damage, but Quirrell had been trying to kill him! He wouldn’t have hurt the man if he was innocent. No matter what the people on Privet Drive thought, Harry had always been a good kid. Dudley was the one who took joy in hurting others. But Harry had never heard the word “dragel” before, and it was hard to disagree with Albus Dumbledore.
As if summoned by Harry’s thoughts of him, the door swung open to reveal the Headmaster. His bright, sunshine yellow robes contrasted with his serious expression and dank surroundings to create such an image of absurdity that Harry could only stare at him for a moment. Then he gathered himself and moved quickly to stand at the bars, careful not to touch them lest the ward give him another shock.
Behind Dumbledore, another man thumped into the room. He was short and stocky, with a grizzled face that housed a large fake eye rolling around unsettlingly. He was missing a chunk of his nose, and more alarmingly, an entire leg. The man also had his wand out and pointed directly at Harry.
The boy couldn’t stop himself from taking a half step back in fear, even as he realized there was nowhere to go. Was this man here to execute him, like Dumbledore had said?
“Harry, my boy. I am glad to see you are well. I’m sorry it took me so long to come back, but no one could have expected a Dragel to be among us. It was very difficult to determine exactly what should be done with you.”
“Am I going to die?” Harry’s voice was thick with fear and he couldn’t quite keep it from trembling as he spoke.
The Headmaster shook his head kindly.
“No, my boy. You are very very fortunate. After a great deal of debate, I was able to convince the Control of Magical Creatures Department not to execute you. But only if you agree to train and use your life to better the Wizarding World.”
The relief rushed through Harry with such force it left him dizzy.
“Of course! Thank you, sir! I promise I don’t want to hurt anyone, I only want to help. I want to be good, sir.” That was all he had ever wanted. To be good enough, to help people, to not be a freak.
“I’m very glad to hear that, my boy. But the Ministry won’t just take your word for it you understand. There is always a chance that your creature instincts could overwhelm the part of you that wants to be good.”
Harry rushed to reassure the old man. “I promise I won’t let them! I won’t! Please, sir.”
Dumbledore gave him a placating smile.
“Thankfully, I was able to come up with a solution. There is a ritual that can be done to bind you to me. It will help to control your dark nature, and force you to obey me. That way I will be able to stop you if you lose control. It’s a way to guarantee that you will use your dangerous powers for the greater good.”
“An unbreakable vow?” Harry asked, apprehension and relief at a possible solution battling in his chest.
“No, my boy. This is different. It is a threefold seal, and will bind to your magic. That way if there ever comes a time when the creature takes over and you act against the greater good, your magic will punish you.”
“Punish me how?”
Dumbledore gave Harry a serious, chiding look over the top of his glasses. “You are not human, Harry.” The words were mild but firm.
“So the rules that protect them do not apply to you. Punishment will be necessary to control your inner Dragel. It will likely start small, just enough to shock you into regaining control. However, at its most extreme, should you lose control and try to harm innocents, then the seal will allow me to drain your magic. Dragels are an unstable species, you see, and without magic you will cease to exist.”
“S-so I would die?” Harry didn’t know what to think. This seal sounded horrible and every piece of him rebelled at the thought of losing his magic. His new instincts were screaming threat, and he felt his claws cutting into his palms.
“My boy, you will die if you do not. I had to work very hard to get these terms approved in order to save your life Harry. You are not a wizard. You do not have the right to live in Wizarding Britain. Allowing you to exist is a threat to every good Wizarding family on the isle, so putting these measures in place is the very least we can do. You wouldn’t want to create more danger for your friends would you?”
“No sir.” Harry forced down the instinct to fight his way free. This was Albus Dumbledore, from the minute Harry learned about magic he had been told how good and wise the man was. If the Headmaster said that this was the best path forward then Harry had to trust him.
“Then you will consent to the seal.” The old man nodded in satisfaction before turning his attention to his frightening companion. “This is Alastor Moody. He is an auror and will be joining us to complete the ritual, as will one other.”
Harry turned wide eyes to the man who hadn’t stopped pointing his wand at him since entering the room.
“We need to get moving, Albus.” The man growled, one beady eyes glaring at Harry while the fake one whirled around in its socket. It made Harry nauseous.
“Ah, quite right Alastor,” the Headmaster agreed. “Harry, my boy. I am going to open the bars in a moment and pass you a cloak. You will fully cover yourself and follow me to the ritual room. Alastor will be behind you and will not hesitate to stun you should you appear to be losing control or trying to act out in any way. If we happen to come across anyone you will keep your head down and allow me to handle the situation. Do you understand?”
Harry’s chest felt tight as he agreed.
They didn’t see anyone as they moved through the castle. It was eerily silent in the stone corridors, only the echoing of their footsteps bouncing off the walls as the group wound through dungeon corridors that Harry had never seen before. It wasn’t long before they entered a large, circular room with a domed ceiling. The floor had been worn smooth, or perhaps designed that way, and had a large runic circle drawn out on it. Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of it, but he guessed that the runes had been designed and drawn for their specific ritual. He wondered if he would ever get to learn that type of magic. Probably not anymore.
The other presence in the room made Harry’s stomach clench with dread. Severus Snape, draped in his usual dark robes and scowl, stood to the left of the door holding a flask of dark liquid that shifted from black to red in the torchlight.
“Ah, Severus. Prompt as always.” Dumbledore greeted genially, as if they were all simply gathered for tea.
“Headmaster,” Snape drawled before moving his glare to the man at Harry’s back. “Moody.”
“That’s Auror Moody to you, Death Eater.” The gruff man snapped back, making Snape’s scowl deepen.
“Now, now gentlemen. We are all here for the same purpose, surely we can remain civil?”
Neither man responded but Snape did redirect his glare towards Harry, who had finally pushed back the hood of his cloak.
“And Potter,” the man sneered. “I should have known. Your father always was more creature than man, I should have guessed given his known affinity for other beasts.”
Harry felt the rage spark in his chest, the way it always did when Snape insulted his father. He wanted to snap back at the man, but was hyper-aware of Moody’s wand still fixed on him with deadly accuracy. He clenched his teeth and felt his new fangs knick the side of his tongue. The sharp pain and taste of blood helped him remain in control. He stayed stubbornly silent.
Dumbledore ignored the dour man’s words and ushered Harry further into the room. Before Harry had time to think, his cloak had been stripped away, followed by his torn and bloody shirt. He shivered as he was left exposed to the cold air and colder eyes, but Harry didn’t have time to feel self-conscious.
The bowl appeared first, then the knife. Dumbledore didn’t pause or give Harry time to react. He grabbed the boy’s arm and made a swift slash across Harry’s wrist. Harry gasped, more in shock than pain, as bright red blood welled and spilled into the bowl. The wound healed quickly, and the Headmaster cut him twice more before he seemed satisfied with the blood gathered. Harry shook faintly, mind completely void of words.
The Headmaster dipped his fingers into the gathered blood and began tracing runes directly onto Harry’s young skin. Each stroke burned with magic.
“Hold still,” came the sharp rebuke.
Harry froze. He hadn’t even realized that he had been flinching away. The Headmaster nodded in satisfaction when he held himself rigid and continued to trace bloody runes onto Harry’s chest.
“Now Harry, I don’t want you to think that blood magic is okay. It is not. However Dragels are powerful and dangerous. The only way to contain and bind one is to use their own dark magic. I want you to remember that I am doing this for you, my boy. This is necessary.”
Harry nodded mutely in response to Dumbledore’s words. He could feel a buzz in the air that was growing stronger as the man continued to cover him in runes. His breath was coming quicker, short sharp pants, but Harry forced himself to remain in place.
By the time the bowl ran dry, Harry was shaking with the effort it took not to flinch away. Moody's rough hands positioned him in the center of the circle as Dumbledore cleaned up. Harry was pushed to kneel and surrounded by the three men.
He felt very small.
Snape loomed to his left, Moody on his right, and Dumbledore directly in front of him. All three had their wands out and trained on Harry.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then Dumbledore spoke in a steady, solemn voice. “By Earth, Air, Water, Fire, and Blood, we call upon Magic to witness this Seal.”
The runes in the circle around him lit up from the outside in, one by one, picking up speed as they closed in on Harry like the jaws of a trap. The whole room glowed with power and Harry choked on the pressure.
Dumbledore continued with unrelenting precision, “Let the Master be named. Let all will be set beneath mine.”
Moody moved next, a fiery line of red-gold magic snapped from the tip of his wand to connect with the runes on Harry’s skin.
“Bound in Flesh. Bound in Power. What the Master commands shall be done. No command of his shall be refused.”
Harry felt the blood on his arms and wrists begin to burn with the magic and he gasped, body jerking like a fish on a hook, but there was nowhere to go.
Snape spoke. “Bound in Blood. Bound in Will. Power is wielded in service to the Master. It shall not be turned against him or his.”
His magic was colder, sharper as it lashed across Harry’s back and ignited the runes there. Harry swallowed a sob as he tried to keep breathing. He was so scared.
“Power yields. Will submits.” Dumbledore’s voice still maintained the steady calm he had started the ritual with, despite the gleam in his blue eyes. There was no rush and no hesitation. “The bound shall stand as blade, shield, and servant to the Master.”
As the final strand of magic connected with the runes on Harry’s chest, he couldn’t contain the pained cry that ripped from his throat. His breathing had turned sharp and erratic, his body shaking.
He was ignored.
“As spoken, so witnessed, so bound.” The three men incanted in unison, voices echoing in the ritual chamber.
The circle flared with power and Harry’s back arched in pain, wings ripping free as the magic drove into him. Sinking beneath his skin and winding deep—like roots forcing their way through the earth.
“So mote it be!”
He barely heard Dumbledore’s final shout over the sound of rushing magic, of the blood pounding in his head, of the scream trapped deep in his chest. The magic tightened impossibly further as everything turned white—and then blackness.
When the torches relit, Harry was sprawled in the center of the empty room, the runes on the floor and on his body having been burned away. His entire body was trembling in pain and shock, but before he could do more than suck in a ragged breath, Snape was in front of him.
The man hauled Harry up with a hand in his hair before forcing the mouth of the flask Harry had seen earlier past his lips. The hand in his hair forced Harry’s head back further, prompting him to swallow the potion or choke.
Once the potion was gone, the hand released him and Harry collapsed back onto the floor, shaking, wings sprawled, staring at nothing.
“It is done,” Dumbledore said.
Moody grunted. “You sure it’ll hold this time?”
“Yes,” the headmaster affirmed calmly. “This was a threefold seal: spell, ritual, and potion. It is much more powerful than a regular seal. And more flexible given it is designed to control, not suppress.”
Snape’s gaze assessed Harry, cold and calculating.
“The structure is stable,” he said clinically. “So long as the defining conditions remain intact.”
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
“They will.”
Harry didn’t understand their words. He felt very small and very young as he lay on the cold ground, the three older wizards speaking above him as though he weren’t there.
One scaled hand rose to rub at the center of his sternum where the lingering pain was the worst, only to jerk away when his hand found something that hadn’t been there before.
He looked down in confusion, unable to summon any strong emotions after the events of the last week. There, on the center of his chest was a raised mark in the exact shape of one of the runes. It shone the white of healed scar tissue, but Harry could feel the magic in it. Dumbledore’s magic.
It was a mark of ownership. Harry told himself he should have expected it, even as tears dripped from emerald eyes.
After all, monsters require a leash.
And now he had one.