outfit

If there was one class that Dracon enjoyed above all others, it was Care of Magical Creatures. It was a place where he felt like he was belonged, that he was always certain of what to do and how to act. While his professor rarely ever put his students in any peril, the times that he had or there was some “accident” was times in particular that Dracon shined the brightest. He enjoyed the pressure of having to make the best decisions, and life or death situations were the greatest challenge with the best reward he could ask for. He was no fool, Dracon knew how strange it would sound to hear him talk about being, one day, this powerful wizard who was respected and had a proper pureblood lifestyle, and also have his dream career be a dragonologist. It sounded a bit backwards. While dragonologist make very good coin, mainly due to the hazards of their job, it wasn’t exactly a normal pureblood position. Most respectable pureblood men found themselves a comfortable desk position as one of the heads of a department at the Ministry of Magic. They only did this for the appearance of accomplishing something, and that was the difference between him and them as far as their ambition. Dracon didn’t want a corner office overlooking London, he didn’t want minions to do his bidding, and he wasn’t into playing the politics game. Dracon wanted adventure, he craved excitement. Even if a dragonologist wasn’t a traditional position, it was recognized as being extremely dangerous and respected, at least by most. Dracon couldn’t fake ambition, like the others were so well at doing, it was as much a part of who he was inside as his lung or kidney. It had been his dream since he was a child, but as he got older, Dracon had considered giving up his dream for a traditional role. Luckily, that phase passed when he remembered why he was doing what he was doing. It was because he should be respected and admired for who he was, not who he could pretend to be.

Dracon had it easy this midterm. It was, of course, his easiest subject but also the subject matter was as simple as doodling his name over and over: dragons. He had wanted to get an early start on it before he left school but they had a farewell duel and it had taken up more time than he anticipated when Hadley Jones got sent to the hospital wing after Edwin Gregory set fire to her robes. Dueling was a dangerous sport. Between that incident and a long and hard quidditch practice so they “didn’t go soft over winter break”, Dracon had his plate full and put off (something he rarely ever did in his seventeen years of life) the essay until later on. Later on happened to be today it turned out. While his parents were kept occupied with the end of the season rush (mainly after Christmas exchanges), Dracon made an excuse to go back to the flat and do his essay. They would’ve rather him be at the shop, he knew that, but they also knew how important staying on task to him was and he had put it off all break to help them and enjoy a bit of the festival before he returned to Wales. They let him go, and he found himself now sitting at his desk in his bedroom.

He knew it wouldn’t take him long but he was putting a lot of information than what was required into it. Dracon knew what he was talking about and knew the material as well as a dragon knows it’s scales. He had his roll of parchment out and several single sheets of notes and drawings he had taken over the years. There was two open textbooks on dragon substances and the uses for their teeth marrow. Dracon looked over at his window and a simple iron barred cage that sat nearby on top of his dresser. The door was open and a sleepy barn own sat inside, Chester’s head tucked into his feathers. He’d be awake soon since the sun was already beginning to sink into the hills and Chester was a serious distraction. He was more like a person than a bird, and needed constant attention and simulation. Chester would be out for the night but about the time that Dracon would be going to sleep, a barn owl with come swooping in through the propped open window and take out half his display of trophies. Dracon wondered if he did it on purpose just to annoy the piss out of him. He loved that stupid owl though and they were as thick as thieves.

Duke let out a muffled bark between his flaps of jowls. “Oi! Quiet down!” Dracon shouted into the hallway. Duke on the other hand did not need entertainment. He was as lazy as a house cat with twice the weight. They had bought Duke as a family pet, a dog breed small enough and lazy enough to be able to live in their little flat. His mother had wanted a cocker spaniel, Dracon and his father had wanted a bulldog. Duke started as a family dog and slowly became his third arm when he was home. Even as Dracon worked on his essay, Duke had lain on his side snoring, right in between his door and the hallway. Now Duke’s head was up and staring curiously at the front door. The boy could hear Duke’s heavy form of stout muscles raise itself up and pad down the hallway towards the front door. There was another bark, and another. Dracon looked outside and judged the time. It was too early for his parents to be home already.

Another bark.

“All right, Ah’m coming!”

Another bark.

“… goddamn dog,” Dracon muttered as he rose out of his desk chair and stomped quickly through the house. He reached the front door and moved Duke with his foot to the side, keeping him from running out the door, although it would be worth it to see Duke run period. Dracon opened the door and looked out, and his first reaction came blurting out before he could stop it.

“Liviana? What the hell are you doing here?”