The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

32. Petals for Armor

"If my child needed protection from a fucker like that, I'd sooner gut him, 'cause nothing cuts like a mother. Give in control, there's so many ways to give in. Eyes closed, another way to make it to ten. How to draw the line between wrath and mercy?"
  - Simmer, Hayley Williams

There is no means of steering; the dragon can't see where it's going, and I know if it turns sharply or rolls in mid-air, it will be impossible for us to hold on. 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 seemed impossible. Crouching low over the beast's neck, I cling tightly to the metallic scales, and the cool breeze is soothing on my burned and blistered skin, the dragon's wing's beating like the sails of a windmill. Behind me, whether from delight or fear I cannot tell, Ron keeps swearing at the top of his lungs, and Hermione seems to be sobbing, while Riley is yelling encouragement at her. 

After five or so minutes, 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. Still, the question of how we're going to dismount remains rather frightening. I have no idea how long dragons can fly without landing, nor how this particular dragon, which can barely see, will locate a good place to put us down. I glance around constantly, imagining that I can feel my scar prickling...

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

The dragon seems to crave cooler and fresher air: it climbs steadily upwards; we're 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 landscape like strops of matte and glossy ribbon. 

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

"No clue," I bellow back. My hands are numb with the cold, but I don't dare shift my grip. I've been wondering for some time what we should do if we see the coast sail beneath us, if the dragon is headed for open sea: I'm cold and numb, not to mention desperately hungry and thirsty. When, I wonder, would the dragon have lasted eaten? Surely it will need sustenance before long? And what if, at that point, it realises it has five highly edible humans sitting on it's back?

The sun slips lower in the sky, which is turning indigo; and still the dragon flies, cities and towns gliding out of sight beneath us, it's 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 Riley, 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 freshwater by the flashes of reflected sunlight. 

"I say we jump when it gets low enough!" Harry calls out. "Straight into the water before it realises we're here!"

We all agree, Hermione a little faintly; and now I can see the dragon's broad, yellow underbelly rippling in the surface of the water. I wait anxiously for Harry's queue. 

"NOW!"

I slither over the side of the dragon and begin plummeting, 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, panting, to see enormous ripples emanating in circles from the places where the others have fallen. The dragon does not seem to have noticed anything: it is already fifty feet away, swooping low over the lake to scoop up water in it's scarred snout. As the others emerge, spluttering and gasping, the dragon flies on, wings beating hard, and lands at last on a distant bank.