Chapter Text
I sat down, bored out of my mind. The Boy is away. The Boy of the Golden Egg, my golden egg, controls my fate. As of right now, he has ordered me to guard his desk. I will serve him well, despite my size. It would not reflect well on me, or my breed, should I fail. Three inches long I may be, with another two inches of tail, but I can still breathe a stream of hot fire half the length of my body. My wings are tiny, but strong enough to lift not only me, but the letters the Boy trusts me to deliver around the Ministry. Other wizards use magically folding letters or small owls, but I am more faster than any letter and less messy than any owl. My tail spikes are honed daily on the nail file the Boy keeps for the purpose, and razor-sharp enough to open any letter quickly and easily. The Boy, though that title no longer fits him, trusts me to do my job quickly and efficiently.
My siblings are proud of me. My clutch mates are as small as I am, and know the hardships I face. All four of us were born from the same mother, magically changed by the Ministry to our small size. We will never grow, unlike our larger cousins, and will have the flame power of a very young dragon for the rest of our lives. They know how I can fight, as I fought against that tiny version of the Boy’s competition. My spikes sent him scurrying away quite quickly, and he never touched the Boy’s homework again.
My breed mocks my size. They are tens of meters long, with a flame that burns like the sun and impenetrable scales to match. To them, my barely hot flame and easily squishable size are the butt of jokes. To them, the sharpness of teeth or spikes doesn’t matter, only the size and force behind a bite or tail swing. They are overgrown brutes, too large for their small brains.
Oh dear. I’m quite sorry. In my ranting, I rather forgot to introduce myself. I am Rowir, son of Naginata and Kerot. I am the assistant to the Boy Who Lived, winner of the Triwizard tournament. I am also a Miniature Hungarian Horntail.