Harry has decided he picked it up from living with the Dursley's, but other than that he tries not to think about it. He identifies people off of everything but sight first. Memorizing the sound of people's footsteps was his norm, and smelling Aunt Petunia before she fully arrived at the garden was expected.

It helped him prepare for what was to come. Uncle Vernon's pounding walk or overpowering scent of AXE bodyspray meant he was to get up for chores; Aunt Petunia's clicking heels or strong perfume meant he was about to be berated for some made up fuck up; Dudley's thumping stomps or greasy aroma meant, quite simply, run.

Hogwarts put a wrench in this. Too many people always walking to be able to safely pick out who's footsteps belong to who and who smells like bubblegum compared to lavender. It is exceedingly difficult, but that's doesn't mean he doesn't try.

A boy in his grade and house sits next to him in the common room during supper (Harry has been avoiding public settings as much as possible, Ron and Hermione have been such lovely friends and bring him shit to eat). Harry hears his foot steps, trying to categorize him, but he hasn't heard him walking on his own enough to say anything for certain. He's able to smell him perfectly clear, though, and the scent of herbs, citric, and dirt make themselves obvious.

It's Neville Longbottom, then.

Harry opens his eyes and turns to see the boy in the armchair beside his (relishing in the fact his deduction was correct) and gives the boy a small smile. He takes note of the other's apperance, because sound and smell are not always reliable and he doesn't want to make himself stand out than he already does. Neville is pudgy, with dark brown hair that is somewhat greasy, badly cut bangs, and fair skin. Harry thinks that if he took care of his hair, he could be quite cute.

"Ello, H...Harry," he gives a weak smile, trying to smooth over his stuttering and hoping Harry won't comment on it (he won't, he never does). "I came to, erm–"

Harry resists the urgue to rush him, only giving a small encouraging nod of the head. Neville swallows.

"Malfoy's been asking for you," he finally spits out, and Harry raises an eyebrow. Unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome.

Harry thinks that this is the perfect opportunity to ask Malfoy about the rune. "Where's he at?" he asks.

"Um, the l.. library," he says, seeming a bit disappointed Harry wants to meet up with Malfoy, who has been tourmenting him since day one, but Harry pays him no mind.

"Thanks, Nev." With that he pushed himself out of the chair, grabbed his rune notes from his trunk, and left Gryffindor tower swiftly.

He is halfway to the library when he hears the Prefects.

They are running down the hallways, yelling that students need to go their respected House areas. There is a sense of urgency all around. Harry is somewhat bewildered by it, and decides that sticking around for just a bit to see what's happening can't hurt.

He casts a disillusionment charm on himself and a Prefect soon runs past him, unaware he's passing the Golden Boy by. Harry stands perfectly still, closing his eyes, listening intently to his surroundings. It is only a minute or so more before the Prefects quiet entirely, as it is likely they have retreated to their House dorms now. He can hear something distantly rythematically thumping againist the ground; a roar; an animalistic huff. He can smell sweat and fear; the dust of crushed stone; and...

Burning.

Harry's eyes snap open, realization washing over him like a wave. Though the past dragon he faced did not use flame againist him (was the dragon disabled or stupid? Harry doesn't know), he is overly aware that most dragons do shoot flame.

Harry, Gryffindor sense overwhelming him, starts running toward the source of the noise and ignores his instincts which are yelling at him to do the opposite. He's at the library before he knows it and stands aside for a moment, catching his breath and taking in the scene.

The library is in runes, flames licking at the pages of countless books. There is a small dragon rummaging throughout the library, occasionally shooting out large bursts of flame. It has smooth copper scales, and large fangs. It has the same rune as the previous dragon etched into it's skin.

(It will later be identified as a Peruvian Vipertooth dragon.)

The dragon does not notice him, thank Merlin Harry had cast that charm, and Harry is very grateful. He wonders absently where the teachers are. Why aren't they fighting this thing? Are they really just cowering and waiting for Aurors to show up? Shaking the odd notion aside, Harry hears rasped breathing that does not belong to the savage dragon.

The breathing is unmistakeably human and much more obviously in pain.

Harry quickly zones in on the sound, spotting a familiar blonde boy trapped under a burning library shelf. Something clenches his heart, and is reminded of a boy running down the hallways of an elementary school, yelling at teachers passing by to come help him, only to be ignored. He will not make Malfoy a clone of that boy. He is determined to help. He quickly, but silently, moves toward him, stepping over destroyed books and being hyperaware of the dragon who is not so far away.

Draco sees the bookshelf lift with wide eyes, and Harry is suddenly reminded that he is invisible. "It's Harry," he whispers as he drags the injured boy toward the library exit, noting Draco is too injured to walk. "We have got to stop meeting like this," he jokes, but there is little humor compared to urgency. Draco was dangerously injured, he needed a medic, and Harry did not know any high level healing spells. His main priority was to get Draco away from the dragon and wait for help to arrive.

Draco clutched a broken wand to his chest (he will later get it replaced) and gives a breathy laugh.

Harry sudden regrets even attempting a joke, because the sound alerted the dragon, who was previously occupied with chaos, to their exit. The dragon raised it's head, giving a hearty hiss and shooting a blast of flame their way. It begans quickly crawling along the ground, closing the distance between them with scary speed.

Harry thinks fast, casting a levitate charm on Draco and pushing him out of the library. He closes the door, his new mission being to buy enough time for help to arrive and to keep the dragon away from an already injured Draco. He removes the disillusionment charm on himself and his seemingly sudden apperance angers the dragon more.

He darts, running quickly from the door and the dragon, disappearing into the few shelves left standing. If he takes the time to turn around, or shows the slightest hesitance, he is dead. He needs a diversion, something else for the dragon to yell or shoot flames at.

Think, Potter, think! Harry yells at himself. Fuck! Think!

An idea, something coming from what he had read only twenty or so minutes ago, hits him, and he raised his wand, the words coming out of his mouth before he can think it through fully.

"Accio Boggart!"

He dives to the ground, covering his eyes as a window breaks and a creature that Harry allows himself to hear but not see flies in. The dragon screeches, and Harry knows it is facing it's fear as the Boggart transforms into it's new form. Harry moves quickly, taking the opportunity to get up from his safe position on the floor. He casts a bond bind charm on the dragon. He wonders what to do with the Boggart (he hadn't read that far into the book he was into- damn the Neville Longbottom) and decides that it is not his problem.

He runs out of the library, taking care to avoid the Boggart completely, and slams the door behind him.

Draco is slumped againist a nearby wall, looking a little less worse for wear as he breathes deeply. Draco eyes him tiredly. "A weird animal ghost like thing came," he says quietly.  His voice is tired, horse and scratchy. "It said Aurors were almost here."

Harry only nods, plopping next to Draco. He is overcome with crashing exhaustion as the events that occured replayed themselves to him. He lies his head on Draco's shoulder, barely noting that the other boy does not seem to mind.

"Thank you," Draco mutters. It is as emotion filled as he can currently muster, and Harry wished he could respond with equal force. Instead, he just nods.

He finds himself drifting off to a fatigued caused sleep and can only distantly hear approaching Aurors closing in.

In the morning, Harry will soon hear that Draco is transfered to St. Mungo's and is classified under urgent care. In the morning, Harry will have to recount his story to countless Aurors, newspapers, and classmates. In the morning, the world will praise him for winning a fight against his second dragon at only eleven. In the morning, Aurors will offer him early training because he simply radiates potential, but Harry will decline, because he was not born to fight and likes Potions more than Defense and likes researching more than spending hours healing battle wounds, but this is something that they will not understand then, and perhaps will never.

But that is in the morning. For now, Harry sleeps.