25

You know, when I remembered a moment in the life of a blond shard progenitor, I always laughed at the time he molted.

I want to make amends. I really want to make amends and feel sorry for him. For I am moulting. Like a newborn dragon cub.

And we lay together, exhausted, on the floor of the cave, chewing lazily on the last of the goats I had bought from the centaurs. The boy was still gnawing on the nearest stones and some metal bars, having given them a good burst of flame earlier.

After a while I got up and looked around at the place where we had skinned. The little one looked more or less fine, with only scaly skin. My moulting spot, on the other hand, was a bloody mess, as if a bunch of animals and reptiles had been slaughtered and butchered there. A patch of flesh, claws, scales and skin.

And all because I had reached the age of my animagic form and become a full-grown dragon, whose maturation was accompanied by a nightmarish moulting. The pain, the itching, and the layers of skin and flesh that I shed still terrify me to this day. Go through that again? Absolutely not.

Looking at my wings, I saw a still ghostly silhouette, partially covered in bone, meat and flesh. However, it would take at least twenty-four hours and plenty of nourishment to fully complete my "adult" form. With a hiss of profanity, I glanced over to the Fire Elf and a couple of hobgoblins, kneeling in awe beside me. Surely they were convinced now that I was the Dragon. They'd always obeyed my commands and requests before, but now... I suspect they'd erect a temple in my honor and pray for me. It's a lot of trouble with those fanatics, that's for sure.

- Elf, bring me ten cow carcasses and four lamb carcasses. Half a ton of chalk and lots of assorted fruits and vegetables. I need to eat to get back in shape. And not to look like the Undead Ghost Dragon.

- Right away, Lord," the elf disappeared in a fiery flash. Look at you, so excited, not even to extinguish the flare from the firestring. Must have been in a hurry.

- Lord..." one of the two hobgoblins jabbed his forehead against the stone floor of the cave. - All your previous orders have been executed, technologies are gradually being integrated, people are being trained and marketing moves are yielding tremendous profits. What else can you order?

- That's who called for you, eh? - I sighed, wincing. - I am far from being busy at the moment. I feel like I've been chewed by someone, but they didn't like the taste, so they spit me out. I'm going to think about what I'm going to do next. You've got a decade's worth of work to do as it is.

- Aye, aye, Great One," they muttered, and, twisting the rings of the artifact in their fingers, disappeared with a clap of apparatus.

And in another couple of moments the Fire Elf appeared in the cave, covered in sweat, and beside him the ordered animal carcasses, a pile of chalk and a huge quantity of all sorts of fruit and vegetables in baskets fell to the floor of the cave.

- You may go now. I'll call you when I need you.

- Yes, Lord...

Sighing and looking at the little one, who'd fallen asleep with a goat in his mouth, I took up the meat myself, crunching the bones. I was hungry, so I had to gulp down meat without even chewing. Looking at my new paws, however, I noted with satisfaction the spasmodic growth of bone and muscle.

Finished with a couple of carcasses from the cows, started to eat chalk. And let me tell you... the taste is disgusting, astringent, drying, and yet my body reacts as if it's the most delicious food in the world. Cognitive dissonance in action... as they say.

After eating fifty kilos of chalk, I started to smell the baskets and with the help of my flexible and easy-controlled tail and tongue I got and ate what my body was screaming at the smell of: I want!

Time did not matter much to me, the main thing was to eat what my changing body demanded.

At some point I was slightly released, only to be salivating in a couple of moments at the presented lump of cast iron, silver, gold and a couple of dozen other metals of all sorts. I could see where the armour had gone from those knights who'd come to fight dragons. Gobbled to hell. It's like a pie filling for a dragon. Yeah, well...

How does a dragon eat metal? It's simple enough. When we take it in our mouths, it gets sucked into our saliva, which is the strongest magical acid of all, and when we want it, it turns into a fiery mixture that we spit out. Exactly spitting, exhaling flame, we basically use magic. But spitting a lump of flaming napalm isn't a problem for us, even when we run out of mana. Though a dragon running out of mana... how much mana would you have to use?

After a few minutes of wanting to eat metal, there was a pile of scrap metal that Elf had gotten for me. And also a waking dragon cub, who was happily nibbling on copper wire.

I sighed, making the little fellow wobble and hiss unhappily, flicked the little fellow with the tip of my tail to stop him getting cocky, and set to work on the ingots of iron. The body seems to be beginning to convert the substances for armor. That was good.

And while chewing, I enjoyed remembering the memory of the clone that had backed me up by dealing with Hagrid and Ron, who would surely have spilled unnecessary information to the bearded schemer.

And it's quite simple, the clone sprinkled them with a special powder that made both the giant and Ron lie down to rest on the floor of the giant's house, and then used mentalism and such a mother to wipe their memories and make it seem like everything was fine, and the dragon was taken by the Dragonologists from Ron's brother.

Work was also done with Ron's brother himself, who was given a newborn dragon, though of a different breed. The newborn dragon was found in Ukraine, where poachers managed to kill the baby's mother. The newborn dragon would have died, but the poachers had designs on it, and so were dragged along in a cage when they were swooped down by goblin mercenaries.

They removed the cub from its cage, fed it, held it in a magical flame for twenty-four hours, and handed it over to Ron's brother through the drugged dragonlords.

Profit. And Ron and Hagrid were sure of the astronomical tower venture.

Yeah, it could have been a lot simpler if I hadn't been blown away by the sight of the egg...

And it's a good thing they didn't let Weasley Jr. and the forester take over. He was making such plans that probably half the University would have been ruined in the end. By the way, he never gave the staff back to anyone, carrying it around with him. And the Weasley twins learned their own jokes on themselves. The Head Master had a very good memory and a vengeful nature. And those who were now caught by the Headmaster after lights out were only strangely cackling and pale and silent when asked to tell him how they had been punished. I think I suspect what Filch is doing to them. I'll have to wag my finger in his face when I see him. Turning students into chickens and roosters and scaring them with soup seems a bit excessive to me... or is it?

Man, I think the dragon's nature's starting to affect my mind a little too much.

О! I think the process is over! I'm not hungry! The new, silver scales tinkle pleasantly on my now fully fledged front legs.

I opened the wing and was pleased to hear the sound of a flap unfolding.

A moment later, I was already stretching out my human body, having reincarnated into the form of an eleven-year-old boy. I missed you so much, my new, old face!