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Fic: The Liondragon
Title: The Liondragon
Fandom: Exo
Focus: Tao-centric
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Length: Oneshot, 1994 words
Summary: Cheating's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been, and while Zitao isn't surprised by the fact that his headmaster is intent on discovering what the First Task actually entails, he is surprised at what he finds. Harry Potter!AU set during Book 4, Chapter 19.
Original Post: Here.
Author's Note: First of all, this is not related to the other HP!AU I've already written for the HG competition lol. In this one, Tao is older than Harry and is a sixth or seventh year at Durmstrang. He was eligible for putting his name into the Goblet of Fire, but unfortunately (fortunately?) Krum was chosen instead. I'm still not sure how I thought of this, I can't remember exactly, but I did like the idea of Tao meeting Kris, who became one of the dragons in the first challenge, and both of them taking a liking to each other as travelers far from home. I had to ret-con a few things, hence the explanations of how Kris doesn't match the nesting mother criteria and about the dragons back in China. A few things about the Chinese dragons, I grabbed from Wikipedia like the flaming pearl, but for the most part I stuck with canon. JKR used such Westernized dragons though... lol. As for the bowing thing, I know that it's not common to bow in China anymore, but I did read that it was traditional when dealing with an emperor and dragons were said to be the Jade Emperor's descendents, so I thought it was proper? lol yeah. And Kris giving Tao the scale was his way of saying "Take care" because he's a big softy at heart lol
This was fun to write. I had to fix up a lot of errors before reposting, but it was definitely worth it. \o/
Fandom: Exo
Focus: Tao-centric
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Length: Oneshot, 1994 words
Summary: Cheating's a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been, and while Zitao isn't surprised by the fact that his headmaster is intent on discovering what the First Task actually entails, he is surprised at what he finds. Harry Potter!AU set during Book 4, Chapter 19.
"Huang."
Zitao looks up immediately from his assigned reading, surprised to see the headmaster standing at the entrance to his cabin. He immediately scrambles to stand at attention and can't help but feel relieved that he'd been too lazy to change into his sleeping robes early.
"Yes, Professor?"
The headmaster looks at him with an appraising eye, something he rarely does unless he happens to be visiting the school's dueling club while Zitao is up for a spar. Zitao's skin prickles under his dark gaze, but he stays as still as possible, as if he's been petrified.
"You're unusually good with lurking around dark corners and what-not, aren't you?" the headmaster asks, stroking at his goatee. "I'm always getting reports from the faculty about you."
Zitao flushes. To be considered shady at the same institution where one of the darkest wizards of the twentieth century was educated was nothing short of mortifying, but the headmaster simply shakes his head and reaches over for Zitao's shoulder. It's the first time he's ever touched Zitao. Probably the first time he's ever spoken to Zitao.
"Don't worry, son," and that's not really reassuring at all, "we all have our talents." Talent, Zitao thinks, is usually reserved for international golden boys and revered school idols who improve the standing of the school with their mere presence. Not for little Chinese purebloods like him whose parents just thought it was a good idea to ship him to the other side of the continent for schooling. "And such talents must be... utilized."
Not that the way his headmaster says it doesn't make his skin crawl, but it would be nice to be able to help out. Since the three -- no, four -- champions had been chosen, the rest of the student body that had been selected to come along to Hogwarts had simply been milling about looking for things to do in-between the assignments their professors back home had sent them off with. Zitao's been dying for some of the excitement the tournament had promised back in September when it had been announced during the opening feast.
"Would you mind doing a favor? In the name of Durmstrang."
It's not really a question, not when Zitao has years of schooling under his belt that have instilled a sense of duty and loyalty to his school. But still, he smiles, standing straighter than before.
"Yes, Professor Karkaroff," he repeats, all too eagerly.
And that's how Zitao ends up spending his evening lurking around the cabin of Hogwart's intimidatingly large groundskeeper. It's a blessing that Hogwarts isn't quite as cold as Durmstrang, because that just meant he could forgo his thick red school cloak in favor of standard black robes; but he can't help but miss the familiar weight on his shoulders.
He can't afford to get caught though.
He watches from the shadows as the groundskeeper strides over to the Beaubatons carriage, his grizzly hair as messy as ever even though Zitao can see that some effort had gone to sweetening his appearance. It's rather romantic to watch the groundskeeper get flustered around his equally tall lady-friend, the headmistress of Beauxbatons.
Zitao sighs wistfully. Maybe they're going for a romantic stroll around the lake under the moonlight. He should try that sometime.
She asks him something playfully as she latches onto his beefy arm, and it's like one of the magical operas his parents take him to back at home. He almost regrets missing the beginning of their giant romance, even if he has enough trouble deciphering what they're saying even without all of their accents coming into play.
Their steps are so large, Zitao has to dart after them to catch up, all while remaining in the shadows. But from a distance, their silhouettes look very pleasant and almost normal sized if he pretends they're further away than they really are.
But Professor Karkaroff's instructions ring in his ears: Do not let the groundskeeper out of your sight. The First Task almost always involves a magical beast. And so Zitao follows them diligently.
He's grateful they never venture into the forest, which is forbidden for reasons that had not been properly explained to him and his schoolmates, but only stick to walking along the perimeter. It's easier to hide amongst the trees and the couple's voices are so loud that they mask any stray noises Zitao makes.
But eventually, something else drowns out his noises and their voices -- a roar.
Zitao sticks to the forest, but pushes ahead past where the groundskeeper and the headmistress have stopped so he can take a closer look. It sounds like-- But it couldn't be--
He feels the heat before he actually sees them. The dragons.
The dragons are appear to be of the Western sort -- firebreathers with large wings rather than the benevolent rain-bringing, wingless species that decorate his trunk back on the Durmstrang ship. He recognizes half of them, the green one and the black one unknown to him. But one is native to Durmstrang's region, and a species often brought by to showcase to the upper-years as a special treat: the Swedish Short-Snout.
It's the last he's most interested in -- a Liondragon. One of the types that had been transplanted in China and flourished alongside its wingless cousins well enough to earn the name Chinese Fireball.
It's beautiful, with its red scales and its golden spikes and even those bat-like wings. Gorgeous.
Zitao wishes that he could get a little closer, maybe even close enough to catch a glimpse of the flaming pearl that is surely at the underside of it's chin. He's never seen one in person like this, outside of tapestries and moving murals in his family home. But unfortunately there are far too many wizards -- probably the dragon keepers, he thinks enviously -- out and about, shooting stunning spells at the dragons and pulling on their restraints. It's a shame really.
He watches as a lanky red-headed wizard walks over to the groundskeeper and they start conversing, gesturing now and then to the dragons who have already been stunned. Zitao's too far away to hear much, and anyway he's far too focused on observing their dragons.
As the other dragon keepers set down dragon eggs -- real dragon eggs, all of varying shapes and colors -- he has to hold back a moan of longing, only to hear the groundskeeper make a noise in his place.
The headmistress is walking closer to the dragons now, at a distance Zitao can't help but envy. But it's just his luck that the Liondragon, whose fire-breathing range is probably the shortest after centuries of cohabitation alongside water-bringers, is closest to the forest's edge due to being the least likely to start a fire.
Zitao watches as the dragon keepers move further from their posts, probably to heal any wounds inflicted by their monstrous charges, until there's only two keepers left at the enclosure around the Liondragon. As soon as they walk around to the other side, Zitao charges forwarding, knowing perfectly well that he'll be hidden behind the dragon's impressive bulk.
The distance of approximately thirty meters feels like nothing, passing by as quickly as if Zitao had been on his broom. His steps are quick and sure and he easily hides himself in the shadow cast by the Liondragon in the moonlight.
He breathes a quick sigh of relief. He can't believe it. He's actually next to a dragon.
If only he had his magical camera.
Zitao turns to face the dragon, taking in its dazed form. The scales are less red and more of a shiny scarlet up close and the golden spikes around its face gleam like the newest of Galleons. Underneath its regal chin is the flaming pearl he's only heard about in legends, and he's so close it feels like he could grasp it in both of his hands. The dragon is just so beautiful.
"Which one's this, yeh say?" he makes out the groundskeeper asking from the other side of the Liondragon, and he freezes in the safety of its shadow.
"Chinese Fireball," the red-headed keeper says, "this bloke's from the Canadian reservation actually. We couldn't get a nesting mother even though the Ministry asked, but apparently the fellow's as bloody protective of the young as any of the actual mothers. A real papa wolf."
"Doesn' the bloke have a name?"
Zitao hears the keeper chuckle. "Oh, he's got more than just a name. We can never keep it straight, really. Got four different papers from three different embassies with a whole mix of names and birthdays provided. Anyway, one of our guys insists on calling him Yifan, but the rest of us would probably mangle it and offend him. So we just stick with good old Kris."
"Kris the Chinese Fireball," the groundskeeper says happily, the sound of his hands clapping together in happiness echoing around the enclosure, "beau'iful name for a beau'iful boy."
Zitao turns to the Liondragon, whose golden eye is now half open and staring at him.
"Yifan, huh?" he whispers in Mandarin, the familiar tones slipping from his mouth easily in spite of the months he's gone without speaking a word of it. He rests his chin on his palm and his elbow on his knee, but maintains respectful eye-contact. "I think that's prettier."
The dragon grumbles at him, a deep gravelly noise that isn't very pleasant to the ears and sounds more like a drunken bear than anything. Or maybe a diseased toad? But he sounds pleased enough, although Zitao doesn't know whether that's due to hearing the language of his homeland or the use of his preferred name.
"Good luck though, and don't fry anyone," Zitao admonishes playfully, to which the dragon snorts. A mushroom cloud of smoke erupts from his nose and Zitao has to hold back his chuckle.
"I mean it," he says, "you'll have all of Durmstrang and Bulgaria on your scaly behind if you roast one of Krum's arms off for an afternoon snack."
He knows the Liondragon is still too stunned to do more than roll his golden eyes at him, but he still likes to think that Yifan understands.
"I should probably go now," Zitao whispers regretfully, finally noticing the increasing shadows coming towards the enclosement. "It was nice meeting you, Yifan." He bows, deep and low and formal as befitting for a regal creature like a dragon, and when he looks up he sees a single golden claw sluggishly pushing something over to him. The stunning spell must be wearing off.
After a few moments of struggling, Yifan finally seems finished with his task. In front of Zitao is a single scarlet scale the size of his head, that glimmers even in the shadow of the dragon's body. It must have been shed during the struggle against his keepers earlier, while Yifan was thrashing about.
"I can keep this?" he asks incrediously, reaching out to stroke it with tentative hands. It's so smooth. Dragon scales are rare, at least in their pure forms, and are rumored to be imbued with protective qualities. The red-headed keeper must have been right about Yifan's protectiveness, and Zitao feels a comforting warmth bubbling in his chest at the thought of being under such protection.
Yifan makes a tiny grunt before closing his eyes. Zitao doesn't have to be a dragon to understand him.
"Thank you, Dragon ge," he says respectfully. He picks up the scale and holds it close to his chest. "You take care too."
As he escapes the enclosure, making his way back to the lake and Durmstrang's ship with his present tucked underneath his robes, all Zitao can hear is the sound of Yifan's loud snoring echoing in his ears. Even when he bumps into Karkaroff halfway back, all he can breathe out when his headmaster asks what took him so long is a single word.
"Dragons."
Zitao looks up immediately from his assigned reading, surprised to see the headmaster standing at the entrance to his cabin. He immediately scrambles to stand at attention and can't help but feel relieved that he'd been too lazy to change into his sleeping robes early.
"Yes, Professor?"
The headmaster looks at him with an appraising eye, something he rarely does unless he happens to be visiting the school's dueling club while Zitao is up for a spar. Zitao's skin prickles under his dark gaze, but he stays as still as possible, as if he's been petrified.
"You're unusually good with lurking around dark corners and what-not, aren't you?" the headmaster asks, stroking at his goatee. "I'm always getting reports from the faculty about you."
Zitao flushes. To be considered shady at the same institution where one of the darkest wizards of the twentieth century was educated was nothing short of mortifying, but the headmaster simply shakes his head and reaches over for Zitao's shoulder. It's the first time he's ever touched Zitao. Probably the first time he's ever spoken to Zitao.
"Don't worry, son," and that's not really reassuring at all, "we all have our talents." Talent, Zitao thinks, is usually reserved for international golden boys and revered school idols who improve the standing of the school with their mere presence. Not for little Chinese purebloods like him whose parents just thought it was a good idea to ship him to the other side of the continent for schooling. "And such talents must be... utilized."
Not that the way his headmaster says it doesn't make his skin crawl, but it would be nice to be able to help out. Since the three -- no, four -- champions had been chosen, the rest of the student body that had been selected to come along to Hogwarts had simply been milling about looking for things to do in-between the assignments their professors back home had sent them off with. Zitao's been dying for some of the excitement the tournament had promised back in September when it had been announced during the opening feast.
"Would you mind doing a favor? In the name of Durmstrang."
It's not really a question, not when Zitao has years of schooling under his belt that have instilled a sense of duty and loyalty to his school. But still, he smiles, standing straighter than before.
"Yes, Professor Karkaroff," he repeats, all too eagerly.
And that's how Zitao ends up spending his evening lurking around the cabin of Hogwart's intimidatingly large groundskeeper. It's a blessing that Hogwarts isn't quite as cold as Durmstrang, because that just meant he could forgo his thick red school cloak in favor of standard black robes; but he can't help but miss the familiar weight on his shoulders.
He can't afford to get caught though.
He watches from the shadows as the groundskeeper strides over to the Beaubatons carriage, his grizzly hair as messy as ever even though Zitao can see that some effort had gone to sweetening his appearance. It's rather romantic to watch the groundskeeper get flustered around his equally tall lady-friend, the headmistress of Beauxbatons.
Zitao sighs wistfully. Maybe they're going for a romantic stroll around the lake under the moonlight. He should try that sometime.
She asks him something playfully as she latches onto his beefy arm, and it's like one of the magical operas his parents take him to back at home. He almost regrets missing the beginning of their giant romance, even if he has enough trouble deciphering what they're saying even without all of their accents coming into play.
Their steps are so large, Zitao has to dart after them to catch up, all while remaining in the shadows. But from a distance, their silhouettes look very pleasant and almost normal sized if he pretends they're further away than they really are.
But Professor Karkaroff's instructions ring in his ears: Do not let the groundskeeper out of your sight. The First Task almost always involves a magical beast. And so Zitao follows them diligently.
He's grateful they never venture into the forest, which is forbidden for reasons that had not been properly explained to him and his schoolmates, but only stick to walking along the perimeter. It's easier to hide amongst the trees and the couple's voices are so loud that they mask any stray noises Zitao makes.
But eventually, something else drowns out his noises and their voices -- a roar.
Zitao sticks to the forest, but pushes ahead past where the groundskeeper and the headmistress have stopped so he can take a closer look. It sounds like-- But it couldn't be--
He feels the heat before he actually sees them. The dragons.
The dragons are appear to be of the Western sort -- firebreathers with large wings rather than the benevolent rain-bringing, wingless species that decorate his trunk back on the Durmstrang ship. He recognizes half of them, the green one and the black one unknown to him. But one is native to Durmstrang's region, and a species often brought by to showcase to the upper-years as a special treat: the Swedish Short-Snout.
It's the last he's most interested in -- a Liondragon. One of the types that had been transplanted in China and flourished alongside its wingless cousins well enough to earn the name Chinese Fireball.
It's beautiful, with its red scales and its golden spikes and even those bat-like wings. Gorgeous.
Zitao wishes that he could get a little closer, maybe even close enough to catch a glimpse of the flaming pearl that is surely at the underside of it's chin. He's never seen one in person like this, outside of tapestries and moving murals in his family home. But unfortunately there are far too many wizards -- probably the dragon keepers, he thinks enviously -- out and about, shooting stunning spells at the dragons and pulling on their restraints. It's a shame really.
He watches as a lanky red-headed wizard walks over to the groundskeeper and they start conversing, gesturing now and then to the dragons who have already been stunned. Zitao's too far away to hear much, and anyway he's far too focused on observing their dragons.
As the other dragon keepers set down dragon eggs -- real dragon eggs, all of varying shapes and colors -- he has to hold back a moan of longing, only to hear the groundskeeper make a noise in his place.
The headmistress is walking closer to the dragons now, at a distance Zitao can't help but envy. But it's just his luck that the Liondragon, whose fire-breathing range is probably the shortest after centuries of cohabitation alongside water-bringers, is closest to the forest's edge due to being the least likely to start a fire.
Zitao watches as the dragon keepers move further from their posts, probably to heal any wounds inflicted by their monstrous charges, until there's only two keepers left at the enclosure around the Liondragon. As soon as they walk around to the other side, Zitao charges forwarding, knowing perfectly well that he'll be hidden behind the dragon's impressive bulk.
The distance of approximately thirty meters feels like nothing, passing by as quickly as if Zitao had been on his broom. His steps are quick and sure and he easily hides himself in the shadow cast by the Liondragon in the moonlight.
He breathes a quick sigh of relief. He can't believe it. He's actually next to a dragon.
If only he had his magical camera.
Zitao turns to face the dragon, taking in its dazed form. The scales are less red and more of a shiny scarlet up close and the golden spikes around its face gleam like the newest of Galleons. Underneath its regal chin is the flaming pearl he's only heard about in legends, and he's so close it feels like he could grasp it in both of his hands. The dragon is just so beautiful.
"Which one's this, yeh say?" he makes out the groundskeeper asking from the other side of the Liondragon, and he freezes in the safety of its shadow.
"Chinese Fireball," the red-headed keeper says, "this bloke's from the Canadian reservation actually. We couldn't get a nesting mother even though the Ministry asked, but apparently the fellow's as bloody protective of the young as any of the actual mothers. A real papa wolf."
"Doesn' the bloke have a name?"
Zitao hears the keeper chuckle. "Oh, he's got more than just a name. We can never keep it straight, really. Got four different papers from three different embassies with a whole mix of names and birthdays provided. Anyway, one of our guys insists on calling him Yifan, but the rest of us would probably mangle it and offend him. So we just stick with good old Kris."
"Kris the Chinese Fireball," the groundskeeper says happily, the sound of his hands clapping together in happiness echoing around the enclosure, "beau'iful name for a beau'iful boy."
Zitao turns to the Liondragon, whose golden eye is now half open and staring at him.
"Yifan, huh?" he whispers in Mandarin, the familiar tones slipping from his mouth easily in spite of the months he's gone without speaking a word of it. He rests his chin on his palm and his elbow on his knee, but maintains respectful eye-contact. "I think that's prettier."
The dragon grumbles at him, a deep gravelly noise that isn't very pleasant to the ears and sounds more like a drunken bear than anything. Or maybe a diseased toad? But he sounds pleased enough, although Zitao doesn't know whether that's due to hearing the language of his homeland or the use of his preferred name.
"Good luck though, and don't fry anyone," Zitao admonishes playfully, to which the dragon snorts. A mushroom cloud of smoke erupts from his nose and Zitao has to hold back his chuckle.
"I mean it," he says, "you'll have all of Durmstrang and Bulgaria on your scaly behind if you roast one of Krum's arms off for an afternoon snack."
He knows the Liondragon is still too stunned to do more than roll his golden eyes at him, but he still likes to think that Yifan understands.
"I should probably go now," Zitao whispers regretfully, finally noticing the increasing shadows coming towards the enclosement. "It was nice meeting you, Yifan." He bows, deep and low and formal as befitting for a regal creature like a dragon, and when he looks up he sees a single golden claw sluggishly pushing something over to him. The stunning spell must be wearing off.
After a few moments of struggling, Yifan finally seems finished with his task. In front of Zitao is a single scarlet scale the size of his head, that glimmers even in the shadow of the dragon's body. It must have been shed during the struggle against his keepers earlier, while Yifan was thrashing about.
"I can keep this?" he asks incrediously, reaching out to stroke it with tentative hands. It's so smooth. Dragon scales are rare, at least in their pure forms, and are rumored to be imbued with protective qualities. The red-headed keeper must have been right about Yifan's protectiveness, and Zitao feels a comforting warmth bubbling in his chest at the thought of being under such protection.
Yifan makes a tiny grunt before closing his eyes. Zitao doesn't have to be a dragon to understand him.
"Thank you, Dragon ge," he says respectfully. He picks up the scale and holds it close to his chest. "You take care too."
As he escapes the enclosure, making his way back to the lake and Durmstrang's ship with his present tucked underneath his robes, all Zitao can hear is the sound of Yifan's loud snoring echoing in his ears. Even when he bumps into Karkaroff halfway back, all he can breathe out when his headmaster asks what took him so long is a single word.
"Dragons."
Original Post: Here.
Author's Note: First of all, this is not related to the other HP!AU I've already written for the HG competition lol. In this one, Tao is older than Harry and is a sixth or seventh year at Durmstrang. He was eligible for putting his name into the Goblet of Fire, but unfortunately (fortunately?) Krum was chosen instead. I'm still not sure how I thought of this, I can't remember exactly, but I did like the idea of Tao meeting Kris, who became one of the dragons in the first challenge, and both of them taking a liking to each other as travelers far from home. I had to ret-con a few things, hence the explanations of how Kris doesn't match the nesting mother criteria and about the dragons back in China. A few things about the Chinese dragons, I grabbed from Wikipedia like the flaming pearl, but for the most part I stuck with canon. JKR used such Westernized dragons though... lol. As for the bowing thing, I know that it's not common to bow in China anymore, but I did read that it was traditional when dealing with an emperor and dragons were said to be the Jade Emperor's descendents, so I thought it was proper? lol yeah. And Kris giving Tao the scale was his way of saying "Take care" because he's a big softy at heart lol
This was fun to write. I had to fix up a lot of errors before reposting, but it was definitely worth it. \o/