The saddle materials were spread across Harry's largest workbench like the components of some impossibly complex puzzle—pieces of dragonhide that gleamed with their own inner light, carved dragon bones that hummed with residual magic, and Valyrian Steel fittings that had been shaped according to designs that were older than most civilizations. But as Harry examined the traditional Valyrian patterns preserved in Altherion's crystal memories, he found himself frowning with the sort of concentrated disapproval that had once made his professors brace for pointed questions about the fundamental flaws in their carefully constructed lesson plans.
"This won't work at all," he said finally, pushing aside a schematic that showed the elegant but ultimately impractical harness system favored by his ancestors. His emerald eyes, bright with analytical interest and sparked with violet flecks that seemed to catch the workshop's golden light, traced the lines of the design with growing skepticism. The expression on his face—that particular combination of intellectual curiosity and barely restrained exasperation—would have been instantly recognizable to anyone who had ever watched him dissect a particularly stupid Ministry regulation. "Look at this monstrosity. It's designed for a creature with two legs and wings that function as forelegs, like an oversized bat having an identity crisis. The balance points are all wrong for someone with your magnificent physique."
"*Magnificent physique?*" Aegerax repeated, his mental voice carrying the sort of pleased preening that suggested Harry's flattery had hit its intended target with the precision of a Seeker catching the Golden Snitch. The dragon's tone held that particular blend of amusement and satisfaction that could have been perfectly delivered by someone with his rich baritone—sophisticated, confident, and just slightly smug. "*Well, I certainly can't argue with that assessment, though I do appreciate the diplomatic phrasing. 'Magnificent' is considerably more flattering than 'anatomically incompatible with centuries of questionable design choices.' Though I must say, your observation about the bat comparison is rather apt—the traditional Valyrian approach would be rather like trying to ride a horse using equipment designed for a particularly large chicken. Technically possible, perhaps, but deeply uncomfortable for all parties involved and likely to end in someone being thrown from a great height.*"
"Exactly," Harry said, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and beginning to sketch with the sort of focused intensity that had once made Hermione beam with academic pride while simultaneously worrying about his tendency to ignore meals when properly motivated. His hand moved with practiced precision, creating detailed drawings that showed Aegerax's true form—four powerful legs built for both terrestrial prowess and aerial grace, wings that were designed for flight rather than ground locomotion, a neck and head positioned for maximum visibility and tactical awareness. "You're built like a proper dragon, not some hybrid compromise between dragon and giant bird that someone cooked up after too much wine and not enough understanding of basic physics. The saddle needs to account for that—and for the fact that you're not just a flying horse with delusions of grandeur."
"*I take it you have opinions about the Valyrian approach to dragon breeding?*" Aegerax inquired with the sort of diplomatic interest that suggested he was looking forward to Harry's inevitable rant on the subject.
"Oh, I have opinions," Harry replied, his tone taking on the sort of cutting edge that had once made Dolores Umbridge flinch. "Mostly about the breathtaking arrogance of a civilization that decided to improve on millions of years of evolution by creating flying creatures that couldn't walk properly. It's like deciding that horses would be better if they only had two legs and then acting surprised when they keep falling over."
"*The wyvern-dragons served their purpose,*" Aegerax said with the sort of diplomatic generosity that suggested he had strong opinions about genetic modification but was trying to be polite about his ancestors' questionable choices. The mental equivalent of clearing one's throat diplomatically colored his words. "*They were faster than true dragons, more maneuverable in aerial combat, and their simplified anatomy made them easier to produce through blood magic and ritual binding. But yes, they lacked certain... essential qualities that define proper draconic majesty. Such as the ability to land without requiring a dedicated ground crew and the capacity to fight effectively when not airborne.*"
"Like the ability to fight effectively on the ground?" Harry asked, adding detailed annotations to his sketches that accounted for the mechanical stresses involved in aerial maneuvering and combat. His stylus moved with the sort of confident precision that came from years of taking detailed notes while dodging hexes. "I mean, no offense to the Valyrian approach, but designing flying mounts that can't walk properly seems like a significant tactical oversight. What did they do when they needed to land somewhere that wasn't a perfectly maintained dragonpit?"
"*Crashed, mostly,*" Aegerax replied with dry amusement. "*Though they preferred the term 'aggressive landing maneuvers.' No offense taken, by the way—I suspect the Valyrians were more concerned with aerial supremacy than ground-based combat effectiveness. Their wyvern-dragons were essentially flying artillery platforms—devastating from above, but vulnerable once grounded and about as graceful on land as a drunk hippogriff attempting ballet. It was a reasonable approach for an empire built on aerial superiority, but it did create certain... limitations when facing enemies who were inconsiderate enough to fight back from ground level.*"
"Limitations," Harry repeated with the sort of tone that suggested he thought that was rather like calling the destruction of Pompeii a 'minor volcanic incident.' "Right. Well, we're going to do things properly this time. No compromises, no shortcuts, and definitely no designing equipment for creatures that don't actually exist in nature."
Harry nodded, already deep in the sort of problem-solving mode that had once convinced his professors that he might actually survive his tendency to seek out impossible challenges through sheer bloody-minded determination to make the impossible work anyway. The traditional Valyrian saddle had been essentially a sophisticated harness that strapped the rider to the dragon's neck, relying on magical bonds and physical restraints to keep them in place during flight. It was functional, certainly, but it was also static—the rider was essentially a passenger, able to cast spells or use weapons but fundamentally separate from their mount's movements and capabilities.
"We can do better," he said, his voice taking on the tone of absolute conviction that had once made his friends follow him into situations that any reasonable person would have avoided entirely. The expression on his face was the same one he'd worn when explaining exactly why they needed to break into the Ministry of Magic—determined, slightly reckless, and absolutely certain that his plan would work despite all evidence to the contrary. "Much better. Instead of just strapping me to your neck like a particularly awkward piece of luggage with delusions of usefulness, we can create a proper interface—something that enhances both our capabilities rather than just keeping me from falling off during sharp turns."
"*I'm listening,*" Aegerax said, his mental voice carrying the sort of interested attention that suggested Harry had successfully captured his imagination while simultaneously making him wonder if he should start composing his will. "*Though I do hope your improvements don't involve anything too exotic. I've grown rather fond of my current anatomy and would prefer not to discover that your innovations require surgical modification or the sort of magical experimentation that tends to end with explosions and awkward explanations to whatever passes for authorities in this realm.*"
"Nothing that drastic," Harry assured him with a grin that would have been perfectly at home on his face—charming, confident, and just slightly dangerous in the way that suggested he was about to attempt something that would either be brilliant or catastrophic. "Though I am planning some significant upgrades to the basic concept. The key insight comes from my experience with broomsticks—the best flyers aren't the ones who fight against their mount's natural movements, but the ones who learn to become part of the flight itself. It's the difference between riding and flying."
"*An intriguing philosophical distinction,*" Aegerax observed. "*Though I suspect the practical implications are rather more complex than the theory might suggest. I take it you're planning to revolutionize the entire concept of dragon riding based on your experience with what are essentially flying sticks?*"
"Flying sticks that respond to their rider's intentions and work in perfect harmony with them," Harry corrected with the sort of patience he'd once reserved for explaining complex magical theory to his less academically inclined friends. "The principle is sound—it's just a matter of scaling it up and accounting for the fact that you're considerably more intelligent than a broomstick."
"*Considerably more intelligent and significantly more likely to have opinions about your flying technique,*" Aegerax pointed out with amusement. "*Though I suppose that could be considered an advantage under the right circumstances.*"
Harry's first innovation was positioning. Instead of placing the rider high on the dragon's neck where they would be exposed to wind and weather while having minimal control over their mount's movements, he designed a saddle that would position him lower and more centrally, nestled between Aegerax's powerful shoulders where he could feel every shift in muscle and tension that preceded a maneuver.
"The traditional position puts the rider where they can see everything but feel nothing," he explained, sketching the new positioning with careful attention to anatomical details and stress distribution. His stylus moved with the sort of confident precision that came from years of taking notes while simultaneously planning impossible rescue missions. "They're essentially spectators to their dragon's flight, able to observe but not truly participate. This new position puts me right in the center of your movement patterns—I'll feel every wingbeat, every turn, every change in altitude through your body language before it actually happens. It's the difference between watching someone dance and dancing with them."
"*Interesting,*" Aegerax mused, his mental voice carrying the tone of someone working through complex mechanical implications while trying to decide if the person explaining them was brilliant or completely mad. "*The position would certainly provide better communication between us, though I imagine it might take some adjustment. I'm not accustomed to carrying passengers in a location where they can feel my every movement quite so... intimately. It's rather like the difference between giving someone directions to a destination and holding their hand while walking there together.*"
"That's rather the point," Harry said, his grin suggesting he was looking forward to the challenge with the sort of anticipation usually reserved for facing down Dark Lords or attempting to catch the Golden Snitch in a hurricane. "Plus, the lower position will provide better protection from wind and weather, and it'll be much harder for enemies to target me with ranged attacks when I'm nestled between your shoulders rather than perched on top of them like a particularly obvious bullseye with a death wish."
"*A valid tactical consideration,*" Aegerax agreed. "*Though I should probably mention that my shoulders tend to generate rather more heat than the average horse. I'd hate for our partnership to end because I accidentally cooked my rider through prolonged contact.*"
"Already accounted for," Harry replied cheerfully, tapping a section of his notes that dealt with thermal regulation and comfort charms. "One of the advantages of working with materials that don't technically exist in most people's reality—they tend to be remarkably good at solving problems that would stump conventional equipment. The saddle will regulate temperature automatically, ensuring that I stay comfortable regardless of whether you're breathing fire or flying through arctic conditions."
But positioning was only the beginning. Harry's real innovation lay in the interface systems he was designing—magical connections that would allow dragon and rider to share more than just physical space. Drawing on principles he'd learned from the Marauder's Map and the two-way mirrors, he began crafting runic arrays that would link their senses and reflexes in ways that the original Valyrian Dragonlords had never imagined.
"Shared sensation networks," he said, pointing to intricate runic patterns that would be woven into both the saddle and matching harness elements that Aegerax would wear. The designs were so complex they seemed to shift and flow even on the static parchment, creating optical illusions that suggested depth and movement. "Nothing invasive or controlling—I'm not trying to override your instincts or take control of your flight patterns. But imagine if you could feel what I feel, see what I see, know instantly when I'm preparing to cast a spell or change tactics. And imagine if I could sense your intentions the same way, feel the buildup to a dive or a sharp turn through your muscle tension rather than having to guess from visual cues and hope I don't embarrass myself by falling off at the crucial moment."
"*That... could be extraordinary,*" Aegerax said slowly, his mental voice carrying growing excitement as he worked through the implications. The tone was the sort that someone might use when describing a particularly elegant solution to a complex problem—impressed, intrigued, and just slightly awed by the audacity of it. "*Perfect coordination between dragon and rider, each able to anticipate the other's movements and respond accordingly. It would be like flying with a second self rather than carrying a passenger who may or may not remember which way is up during combat maneuvers. Though I do hope you've considered the potential complications of sharing sensation with a creature whose natural body temperature could melt steel and whose idea of a gentle breeze involves hurricane-force winds.*"
"Already accounted for," Harry replied with the sort of confidence that came from having spent years solving impossible problems through careful application of magical theory and judicious amounts of luck. "The interface will adjust for physiological differences—you won't have to worry about accidentally overwhelming me with dragon-scale sensory input, and I won't have to worry about you being distracted by human-scale perceptions. Think of it as a universal translator, but for physical sensations instead of languages. All the benefits of perfect coordination, none of the drawbacks of accidentally sharing experiences that could leave one or both of us permanently traumatized."
"*A universal translator for sensation,*" Aegerax repeated thoughtfully. "*That's either brilliantly innovative or completely insane. Possibly both. I find myself curious about which way the odds are leaning.*"
"In my experience," Harry said with a grin that suggested he found the uncertainty more exciting than concerning, "the best solutions usually involve at least a little bit of both. Purely sane approaches tend to produce purely conventional results, and purely insane approaches tend to produce explosions and awkward questions from people in authority. The trick is finding the right balance between innovation and not dying horribly."
The saddle itself would be a masterwork of both engineering and artistry, crafted from materials that existed nowhere else in the world. The base would be carved from a single piece of ancient dragon bone, shaped to follow the natural curves of Aegerax's anatomy while providing optimal support and shock absorption. The surface would be covered in dragonhide that had been cured in magical salts and enhanced with flexibility charms that would allow it to adapt to changing conditions while maintaining perfect grip and comfort.
"*I notice you've included what appear to be storage compartments,*" Aegerax observed as Harry refined the saddle's design with increasingly elaborate detail. His mental voice carried the sort of patient resignation that suggested he was beginning to suspect his rider had plans that would either be brilliant or give him a permanent headache. "*Planning to carry luggage on our adventures? I'm not entirely certain how I feel about being turned into a flying pack animal, no matter how magnificent the saddle might be or how diplomatically you phrase the request.*"
"Not luggage," Harry corrected with the sort of grin that suggested he had plans that would either impress the dragon or make him seriously reconsider their partnership. The expression was pure mischief tempered by genuine thoughtfulness—the look of someone who had learned to think three steps ahead while maintaining an air of cheerful optimism. "Equipment storage. Places to secure Dragonbane when I need my hands free, compartments for magical supplies and emergency equipment, even a small library space for books and scroll cases. If we're going to be traveling together, we might as well be prepared for anything we might encounter. It's the difference between being adventurous and being stupid—preparation."
"*A flying library,*" Aegerax said with the sort of amusement that suggested he was torn between admiration and exasperation. "*I suppose there are worse fates than becoming a scholarly transport, though I do hope you don't expect me to hover patiently while you catch up on your reading. My wings weren't designed for extended periods of stationary flight, and my patience for literary appreciation has certain practical limitations.*"
"Only during the boring parts of travel," Harry assured him with the sort of diplomatic tone that suggested he was already planning to test those limitations. "Plus, having reference materials readily available could be invaluable if we encounter unknown magical phenomena or need to research solutions to unexpected problems. Better to have books and not need them than to need books and be stuck trying to solve complex magical theory through trial and error at thirty thousand feet while something large and unfriendly is trying to kill us."
"*A fair point,*" Aegerax conceded. "*Though I should probably warn you that my definition of 'boring parts of travel' may differ somewhat from yours. I find most forms of ground-based transportation mind-numbingly tedious, while you apparently consider flying through active combat zones to be routine entertainment.*"
"We'll work out the details as we go," Harry said with the sort of cheerful optimism that had once convinced his friends to follow him into the Forbidden Forest in search of Acromantulas. "The important thing is being prepared for whatever we might encounter."
But perhaps the most innovative aspect of the design was the integration of broomstick flight principles adapted for dragon-scale maneuvering. Harry had spent years learning to fly on broomsticks, developing an intuitive understanding of aerial physics and the sort of split-second timing that made the difference between victory and catastrophic failure in Quidditch matches. Now he was applying those lessons to create a saddle system that would allow for the kind of precision flying that would make even professional Quidditch players weep with envy.
"The key insight," he explained, sketching control surfaces and stabilization systems with the enthusiasm of someone who had found the perfect fusion of theory and practice, "is that the best flyers don't fight against the forces acting on them—they learn to work with them, to use momentum and gravity and wind resistance as tools rather than obstacles. A broomstick responds to subtle shifts in the rider's weight and position, allowing for incredibly precise control without the need for complex mechanical systems. It's like learning to dance with physics instead of wrestling with it."
"*And you believe the same principles can be applied to dragon riding?*" Aegerax asked, his mental voice carrying intrigued skepticism mixed with the sort of professional interest that suggested he was already running calculations in his head. "*I should point out that I am considerably larger and more powerful than even the finest racing broom. The scale of forces involved might be somewhat different—rather like the difference between steering a small boat and commanding a battleship.*"
"The scale is different, but the principles are the same," Harry replied with the sort of confidence that came from having successfully applied theoretical knowledge to practical problems under extremely challenging circumstances. His emerald eyes, bright with intellectual excitement and sparked with those distinctive violet flecks, seemed to catch and hold the workshop's golden light. "Plus, you have something that broomsticks don't—intelligence and the ability to anticipate and respond to changing conditions. The saddle system I'm designing will let me communicate my intentions through body language and weight shifts, but you'll be free to modify or override those inputs based on your superior understanding of aerial dynamics. Think of it as collaborative flying rather than simple control—a conversation conducted through movement instead of words."
"*Collaborative flying,*" Aegerax repeated thoughtfully. "*I must admit, that's a considerably more appealing concept than the traditional approach of 'human gives commands, dragon obeys without question.' Though I suppose it does raise questions about what happens when we disagree about tactics in the middle of a combat situation.*"
"Then we have a very quick conversation about which one of us has better survival instincts," Harry replied with a grin that suggested he found the prospect more exciting than alarming. "Though I suspect that most disagreements could be resolved through the simple expedient of you having better information about aerial combat while I have better information about ground-based magical theory. We play to our respective strengths."
"*A reasonable approach,*" Aegerax agreed. "*Though I reserve the right to exercise executive authority in situations involving immediate threats to our continued existence. I've grown rather fond of not being dead, and I imagine you share that preference.*"
"Absolutely," Harry assured him. "Self-preservation is definitely one of my top priorities these days. Right up there with not accidentally destroying things through magical experimentation and maintaining a reasonable level of personal hygiene."
The magical components were perhaps the most complex part of the entire project, requiring integration of Valyrian binding techniques with modern runic theory and innovations that Harry was essentially making up as he went along. The sensation-sharing networks alone required three different types of magical crystals, carefully attuned to frequencies that would harmonize with both human and dragon magical signatures without creating interference or feedback loops.
"*You realize,*" Aegerax said as Harry worked through increasingly esoteric theoretical calculations, his mental voice carrying the sort of careful diplomatic concern that suggested he was trying to express serious reservations without dampening his partner's enthusiasm, "*that what you're attempting has never been done before. The magical resonance patterns you're trying to establish... they could interact in ways that neither of us can predict. We could end up with anything from permanent magical bonding to catastrophic feedback that leaves both of us permanently damaged or transformed into something that bears no resemblance to our current forms.*"
"Which is why I'm being extra careful with the magical isolation systems," Harry replied, though his tone suggested he found the risk more exhilarating than terrifying. The expression on his face was the same one he'd worn when explaining his plan to break into Gringotts—determined, slightly reckless, and absolutely convinced that everything would work out fine despite the obvious potential for disaster. "Multiple failsafes, automatic disconnection protocols, and redundant shielding that should prevent any catastrophic interactions. Plus, if something does go wrong, we'll be working together to fix it rather than dealing with it separately. Two minds are better than one, especially when one of those minds has centuries of magical experience and the other has a proven track record of surviving impossible situations through sheer bloody-minded determination."
"*Your approach to magical safety continues to be both impressive and deeply concerning,*" Aegerax observed with the sort of fond exasperation that suggested he was growing accustomed to his partner's unique relationship with risk assessment. The mental equivalent of a long-suffering sigh colored his words. "*Though I admit, your track record for surviving impossible magical experiments is rather encouraging. How many people have successfully integrated multiple Deathly Hallows into a single weapon without accidentally destroying themselves in the process? Or managed to create a functioning portal between dimensions using nothing but theoretical knowledge and apparently unlimited confidence in their ability to make things work through willpower alone?*"
"When you put it like that, I sound almost competent," Harry said with a grin that suggested he was enjoying the dragon's commentary as much as the technical challenge. The self-deprecating humor was pure British understatement—the sort of response that acknowledged extraordinary achievements while simultaneously dismissing them as perfectly ordinary. "Though I should probably mention that most of my magical successes have involved rather more luck than skill. I'm hoping that careful planning and obsessive attention to detail will compensate for any deficiencies in my natural talent for not dying horribly while attempting impossible things."
"*A reasonable strategy,*" Aegerax agreed with the sort of diplomatic generosity that suggested he had his own opinions about the relative contributions of luck versus skill in Harry's previous achievements. "*Though perhaps we should include a few additional safety measures, just to be certain. I'm quite fond of our partnership and would prefer not to see it end in mutual magical incineration or transformation into something that would be difficult to explain to future historians.*"
"Additional safety measures are always a good idea," Harry agreed cheerfully. "Especially when dealing with experimental magic that could theoretically rewrite the fundamental nature of reality if something goes wrong. I've learned to be rather cautious about that sort of thing."
"*'Rather cautious' he says,*" Aegerax muttered with amusement. "*The man who decided to create a portal between dimensions as his first major magical project in a new realm claims to be cautious about experimental magic. I suppose this is what passes for conservative thinking in your approach to problem-solving.*"
The construction process would take weeks, Harry realized as he worked through the manufacturing requirements and technical specifications. Each component would need to be crafted individually, tested extensively, and integrated with painstaking care to ensure that the final product would be worthy of the partnership it was meant to facilitate. The dragon bone would need to be shaped and carved using techniques that hadn't been practiced for centuries, the dragonhide would require treatment with magical processes that existed only in ancient texts, and the runic arrays would need precision that approached the limits of what was possible with purely manual craftsmanship.
"It's going to be magnificent," he said finally, setting down his stylus and examining the completed designs with satisfaction that bordered on smugness. The expression on his face was the same one he'd worn after successfully explaining exactly why Snape's potion-making technique was fundamentally flawed—pleased, slightly superior, and absolutely convinced that his approach was better than anything that had come before. "Comfortable, functional, beautiful, and innovative enough to make the old Dragonlords weep with envy. Plus, it should actually work, which is more than I can say for some of their more ambitious projects. No offense to your ancestors, but their approach to engineering seems to have been 'make it impressive-looking and hope magic compensates for any design flaws.'"
"*None taken,*" Aegerax replied with dry amusement. "*The Valyrians were many things—powerful, innovative, occasionally brilliant—but they were also remarkably prone to the sort of overconfidence that leads to spectacular failures. They had a tendency to assume that sufficient magical power could overcome any practical limitations, which worked wonderfully right up until it didn't. I look forward to seeing the finished product, though I suspect the real test will come when we take to the skies together. All the theoretical planning in the world means nothing if the practical application proves... inadequate for actual use.*"
"Then we'd better make sure it's not inadequate," Harry replied with the sort of determined confidence that had once convinced his friends to follow him into situations that any reasonable person would have avoided entirely. The grin on his face was pure Harry—charming, confident, and just dangerous enough to suggest that anyone who tried to interfere with his plans would quickly discover that they had seriously underestimated their opposition. "After all, we've got a world to explore, mysteries to solve, and probably a few dramatic rescues to perform. It would be rather embarrassing if our grand adventures were cut short by poor saddle design or inadequate attention to the details that separate success from catastrophic failure."
"*Embarrassing and potentially fatal,*" Aegerax pointed out with the sort of dry humor that suggested he had considerable experience with the relationship between embarrassment and mortality in high-stakes situations. "*Though I suppose those two outcomes often go hand in hand where you're concerned. Your adventures do seem to have a tendency toward the sort of dramatic conclusions that make for excellent stories but rather uncomfortable personal experiences.*"
"That's why we're taking the time to do this properly," Harry said, beginning to sort through his materials with the sort of methodical care that had once made his professors revise their opinions about his organizational skills. "No shortcuts, no compromises, and definitely no assuming that everything will work out fine just because we want it to. We're going to build something that will function perfectly under any conditions we're likely to encounter—and a few conditions we probably aren't."
As Harry began the careful process of preparing his materials for construction, he found himself filled with the same sense of anticipation that had once made him eager for the start of each new term at Hogwarts. The saddle represented more than just a piece of equipment—it was the key to true partnership with the most magnificent creature he'd ever encountered, the tool that would allow them to explore this strange new world as equals rather than rider and mount.
In the golden light of the workshop, surrounded by the tools of creation and the promise of adventures yet to come, Haerion Peverell began the delicate work of crafting something that had never existed before—a bridge between two different forms of consciousness, a fusion of human innovation and draconic majesty that would redefine what it meant to be a Dragonlord.
And in the depths below, something that had once shared his name stirred with interest, drawn by the resonance of creation and innovation that sang through the ancient stones. The game was becoming more interesting by the day, and the stakes were rising to levels that would have implications far beyond these ruined halls.
But that was a problem for later. For now, there was work to be done, and Harry had never been one to shy away from the challenges that came with building something impossible from nothing more than hope, determination, and an apparently limitless supply of magical materials that most people could only dream of possessing.
The age of Dragonlords was indeed about to begin again, and it would be built on partnerships that exceeded anything the world had seen before.
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