Chapter Text
Property 5: Palingenesis
The final property of dragon semen is poorly-understood, and in part mere speculation based on circumstantial evidence. However, I have deemed that there exists sufficient support for the process’ existence to include it here.
It is a well-known fact that when a dragon reaches the end of its natural lifespan, it will travel to the nearest male dragon of breeding age and, before it dies of natural causes, the younger will spend a length of time caring for it, remaining in close proximity for up to a week before finally killing and devouring the elder. Various hypotheses have been proposed as to why this behaviour exists, but a persistent myth held that it was because by devouring the elder the younger took its spirit into itself, there to be reborn in the next generation. For a long time this myth was held to be just that, inspired only by the fact that the younger dragon often laid or sired a clutch soon after.
However, a recent case-study in a Romanian dragon reserve wherein one of the hatchlings of a dragon who had performed this devouring was shown to display distinct and unique behaviours of the devoured elder may have shed new light on the subject. This process, dubbed ‘palingenesis’ after the alchemical formula of regeneration, is not yet well-understood. I place it in this list due to the fact that only male dragons seem to be capable of beginning the process, suggesting that their semen functions as a form of spiritual medium or conduit in which the transferred spirit resides for a period. Mythological connections of dragons with rebirth suggest that ancient wizards knew this and the knowledge was lost in the meantime through unknown means.
I must stress once again that this process is not understood, and may not even exist. However, if it does it may open up new and fascinating avenues of study in both the realms of bioalchemy and of the study of the soul.
Harry felt barely a twinge of nervousness as he walked out into the dragons’ arena, wearing his red Gryffindor robes. The sounds of the crowd swelled like waves crashing on a shore as he strode into view, wand in hand, cloak billowing.
He couldn’t wait to see their reaction to what was coming next.
Beneath his robe, the chain which hung between his boy-tits twinged. He welcomed the sting, a reminder of who he belonged to. The pulse-and-throb of the constant lactation had long since faded into the background of sensation. The golden chastity-plug in his cunt swelled a little larger. He shivered at the sensation, and at the knowledge that that meant Gold was watching.
He’d have to put on a good show to be worthy of this, the greatest honor he could claim.
A rattle of chains brought his attention back to the here and now. The dragon was green and smaller than his master’s true form, narrower and less spiky. It curled atop a mound of silvery treasures, plates and forks and coins, its neck held fast in a great iron collar, which in turn was held by two long, loose chains. The clanking had been it turning its head to look at him.
Harry swallowed, tasting his master’s seed on his tongue, then stepped over the line that divided the ring proper from the outside. The roar of the crowd died away to nothing, only to be replaced by the rising, liquid growl of the dragon.
The black-haired omega raised his wand. “Diffindo.” The red light of the spell flew and struck one of the chains. A second severing spell broke the other. The dragon raised its head, shaking it from side to side. Even through the sound barrier, Harry could hear the murmur of what was surely a screaming crowd. He paid that no mind; the plug in his ass had expanded. He was doing well.
He remembered the size of his master’s true phallus, back on that first night. Would this be enough?
He flicked his wand twice at the ground. “Terrisortum!” Stone fountained up in two great columns. He twirled his focus clockwise and the rock followed, shattering into a cloud of revolving debris. “Alright...” murmured to himself. “Here goes nothing.”
“Gladiovolan!”
In an instant, orbiting rocks transformed into a storm of stony swords. They flew towards the dragon as if shot from a cannon. It screeched high and loud as blades pierced its wings and rang against its hide. Here and there one or another caught in a chink in its scales, but for the most part they shattered or glanced off.
Furious, the dragon drew in a deep breath. Knowing what was coming, Harry flicked up a wall of stone between him and the green beast, then immediately drove a tunnel into the earth beneath himself. Above him, he felt the air heat to sweltering in seconds; the barrier would have protected him from the fire, but he might have cooked regardless.
Blinded by the earth and darkness, the omega tunnelled in what he thought was the right direction: directly towards the dragon. As he went, his cunt began to feel more and more empty. He gritted his teeth against the loss. Yes, he wasn’t putting on the best show right now, but just give him a moment! It would all be worth it in the end.
“Point me green dragon,” he whispered. His wand stood almost upright. He moved the tunnel head a little further forwards, until it was perfectly vertical, then began to, ever-so-slowly, transmute his way upwards, raising the earth below him as he went. Finally, he saw a glimmer of light, and a few coins tumbled down. He grinned, drew on the borrowed fire of his master and pointed his wand upwards.
“Argenti mutare!”
Beyond the ring, the stands were in chaos. First the Boy-Who-Lived had broken the dragon’s chains, then had seemingly vanished in a wall of dragonfire, leaving only a half-molten pillar of stone to mark where he had been. Seconds dragged on, the only sounds the crackle of small fires and the dragon’s growls.
“Hey, look at the treasure!”
It was a child’s voice, impossibly loud in the hush. Then came the wave.
The silver at the dragon’s feet erupted like a volcano, rushing up and around its limbs before freezing in a spray of gleaming points. The dragon screamed, then its breath died with a long, painful gurgling. It fell still.
The silence lasted another long second before the crowd burst into thunderous applause, the stands shaking with stamping feet and the air filled with cheers. The cacophony only grew as the Boy-Who-Lived emerged from beneath the newly-made carcass and flicked his wand, melting a tall spire into a set of rungs with which he climbed onto his conquered foe’s back.
The judges talked amongst themselves. There was no arguing that Mr. Potter had beaten the challenge in the most spectacular fashion, even among a spectacular set of champions, but the task had been to retrieve an odd piece amongst the treasure, not to kill a valuable beast. Dumbledore in particular was concerned. Tom’s diary two years before had had an uncomfortable degree of self-will; was it possible some fraction of that will had lingered in Harry, pushing him towards such violent excess?
The deliberation halted, however, when the judges saw what the final Champion did when he reached the top of the dragon’s back. He raised his wand again, chanting a spell that ballooned from its tip into a whitish, transparent dome over the ring before fading to transparency. Placing his wand carefully in a ridge of the dragon’s scales, Harry sat down and worked off his shoes, then his socks, then his trousers were flung over the dragon’s side. Next, he worked his arms under his robe and pulled it up and over his head, revealing what he wore beneath: Nothing but a bejewelled chain between his nipples, five silver bands at neck, wrists and ankles and a strange, golden contraption around his crotch. The cheers died to murmurs of confusion and some gasps of fashionable scandal. Dumbledore settled back into his seat. Teens would do as they will, after all.
What did draw his attention was the boy’s spellwork. With deft flicks of his wand, left and right, the dark-haired Champion was constructing something of the silver, wicking it away from the spikes such that the corpse was lowered to the ground gently enough for him to keep his feet. Spar by spar it took shape: a skeleton, silver wing-bones stretching out before being webbed with delicate precision. A spine spun itself into being in the middle, joining the two and curving up into a long-jawed, draconic head while a metal trail extended in the opposite direction.
Legs formed, the forelimbs reaching up as if to welcome a greater form, the back legs bent upwards towards the head. The spine arched as the torso filled, creating a gleaming platform that the mostly-naked wizard lay back down upon, fitting his arms and legs into its, where the silver swiftly closed over them, holding him in place. Even as his wand fell out of his hand and away down the dead beast’s side, though, the silver continued to flow upwards, swallowing him up. By the time the last of the silver settled into place, all that was left of the wizard was a small opening to allow him to breathe, his bare stomach and his ass, situated snugly between the effigy-dragon’s legs, a lonely streak of gold in an ocean silver.
A part of Dumbledore that sounded very much like his old friend Newt whispered that that was the mating pose of a sub-male dragon, depicted in miniature. Ah, the antics of youth - perhaps Harry had found someone he wanted to show off to. He chuckled.
Just as Dumbledore was about to rise and call an end to the task - clearly, Harry was finished - there came a roar, unmistakably draconic, this time from the stands.
Now, cries rose in earnest. Turning, the headmaster saw that, rising from behind the , was a great, black dragon, a Hungarian Horntail - the fourth dragon, which had vanished from its cage before Christmas, causing the Task to be delayed. With thunderous wingbeats it rose above the stands. Dumbledore prepared for battle - but instead of taking its pick of the panicking prey beneath it it swooped down, passing through the barrier and settling on top of the silver effigy.
Blind and nearly deaf within his creation, Harry could only hope his performance had been enough to impress his master. He would never have been able to do it without the gracious filling of cum that morning he’d been given. As it was, transfiguring all that noble metal had strained him, and he’d barely had enough energy to complete his last work. He prayed that he would be found worthy. His limbs were frozen in place, his body likewise, the metal pressing so close around that he couldn’t move a millimetre. It needed to be that tight; if he was judged to be deserving, any movement would dash him around within.
The omega felt his self-made prison rock. What was happening? Had the organizers decided to remove him? The plug in his cunt swelled a last time, then vanished. His ass clenched on empty air. Panic welled up in his throat. Had he not been good enough?
Then he felt the pointed tip of something searing-hot at his rear entrance and smiled beatifically. He had done it!
The great mass of his master’s true cock sank slowly into him, inch by inch. First the bulbous head popped in, then the first ridge, then the first set of three soft spines. They scraped deliciously at his insides, lighting trails of fire within his cunt. So far , so good , he thought to himself. Warmth trickled into him; the same burning precum that had first set him on his path to his master’s service. Harry braced himself for the next push, relaxing as much as he could.
It didn’t come.
The old feelings of inadequacy that Dursleys had driven into him flared up again. Had he failed at this eleventh hour? Had he somehow disappointed?
He couldn’t hear anything through the imprisoning silver, could see no sign that Gold might wish to send him of what he should do. He’d only left enough room around his mouth to breathe, not to speak. The best he could manage was a half-strangled moan. Even hearing it through his bones rather than his ears it sounded pathetic. Mercy of mercies, though, it seemed to work! He felt the almighty pillar sink a little further in, the second ridge teasing the rim of his ass before pulling out a little, then in again.
Harry moaned again and was rewarded with the ridge proper, his pucker sealing greedily around the other side. Getting the idea of this little game, the omega continued his ululating plea, moving from a croon to a wail as more and more of the tremendous dragonhood was sheathed within him. Ridge after ridge found its way inside, settling for a moment before being moved a little further, then a little more again.
Before long, though, Harry began to feel real resistance to the shaft’s continued progress. He had long since progressed past the point that merely human manhoods would stretch him out, but this wasn’t human. It was the godly phallus of a bull dragon in the prime of his life, and as it inched further and further in the immobilized wizard began to feel his breath shortening. If it weren’t for the magic worked into his very bones by his transformation into an omega, his pelvis would have long-since shattered. As it was, he was grateful that he had left space for his stomach to bulge outwards. He couldn’t see it, but the feeling was unmistakable, the distendig of the flesh.
The omega panted as another set of spikes barged their way into his inner chambers. The third set - he was almost to the beginning of the knot! He panted, fighting to get breath into his lungs. He felt like he was more cock than boy, even as his own dick strained against its twofold confinement; first by his cage and secondly by the silver effigy. He could feel liquid running from it, but there was no way to tell if it was the thin, clear omega-cum or if his master’s divine member had simply so constricted his bladder that all the piss being squeezed out of it.
Pure pleasure began to slowly transition into a mingling with a terrible, straining pain. Moans transformed to groans, then to muffled screams as the omega’s limits were reached and passed. He would endure it, though. It was the most important thing in the world. Finally, half-delirious, the Boy-Who-Lived felt the final thickening that signified the knot’s beginning. Through his mouth-hole he keened in delight. He’d done it! He’d taken his master’s cock almost all the way in, really and truly! He was worth something, a fully-functional cocksleeve!
In the dark, Harry felt tears of joy trace down his cheeks.
He was worthy .
The omega felt a couple more questing thrusts, gentle, to see if the cock would go any deeper like that, then the slow, intoxicating scrape of the ridges and spines as the member was steadily withdrawn. The topography of the great organ played him like a fiddle, stimulating parts of his cunt he’d never imagined existed. Against the fading of the pain from before, the scratch of the points and ribbing barely registered. In its wake, though, was left a terrible, awful emptiness alleviated only by the steady stream of precum filling him up. Wildly, Harry imagined a river of it flowing into his insides, making him more ready for what would come-
As the head reached his entrance, still supple enough to at least try to cling to it, it abruptly reversed direction, driving back into his cunt like a hammerblow, filling him from cunt to stomach in an instant and driving every iota of breath from his body. Harry screamed at the suddenness of it, simultaneously cumming as he never had before. The draconic shaft stilled in him just long enough for him to register that he’d gotten just a little wider than the last time, a little further up the uninflated knot before it fell away again, then rammed back in.
Harry’s world became a whirl of pressure-and-release, of stretch-and-contraction. Each pounding thrust was accompanied by a scream and another orgasm. With time, each withdrawal was paired with a whining plea, even as the screams faded into wordless cries of exultation. His belly filled and fell away, bulging and contracting again over and over.
An eternity later, the omega felt the glorious happening: he crested the peak and came down on the other side, his abused hole weakly clenching on the thinning of his master’s knot, pulling him in even deeper. A roar vibrated even through the solid silver as the knot swelled, drawing a final scream, louder than all the rest, from the omega.
Then the flood began.
The cum came in an unstoppable gush, hot as coals injected straight into Harry’s stomach. It began immense and swelled moment by moment until the wizard was afraid that even with his adaptations he’d simply burst with the force of it. His stomach, already distended with his master’s cock, swelled even further until it was brushing the dragon’s belly-scales.
Finally, eventually, the flood slowed and came to a halt. For a time, Harry cared not how long, everything was still, the divine pillar within him, where it should be. Then, the world began to shift.
If the omega were aware enough to think of such things, he might have guessed that his master had picked him up, effigy and all, and begin to carry him off, but he cared nothing for such things.
All was right with the world.
When Harry awoke again, it was to the sound of a wrenching of metal. He went to get up and open his eyes, but found himself blinded and bound hand and foot. Before panic could truly set in, however, the barrier before his eyes was torn away, leaving him blinking against the warm light.
Slowly, the blur of shape and colour resolved into the a great black claw, methodically tearing away the silver that held him within his creation. Content that he was safe, the tension drained from Harry’s body. In its place, sensation washed in - the ache that filled the whole of his lower torso juxtaposed with the comfortable, sleepy warmth of his distended stomach. Craning his head upwards, the omega found that he couldn’t see his legs. He looked like he was pregnant.
Deciding to lie back and wait to be freed, the omega rested his head back on the now-warm metal. Above his head, the ceiling looked like bare rock, yellow-orange light glancing in at an angle and throwing great shadows against the walls where Five-Gold-Caverns cast them.
Before long, Harry found himself completely free. He tried to get up, but found that the weight of his overfull belly held him down. He whined, and in reply was picked up in one huge claw, so gently that the black talons never even scratched his tender skin.
Harry was deposited in what seemed to be a kind of smooth, glassy depression in the rock, deep enough that the whole of his body was within it, though his head was propped up a little higher. He felt weak still, almost floppy. There was a liquid growl and the omega felt something shift in his lower bowels. Then he saw his gut begin to deflate and felt the warm flow of the cum pouring out of him. He could muster only a feeble moan of protest as he was emptied out, the flood of semen that had stretched him to near-bursting filling the hollow where he lay, inching up his sides until he was half-covered in the thick, creamy liquid.
There came another purr-growl. Harry’s breasts began to itch, then to throb, then to swell. White milk began to drip from his teats without being taken up by his chain. The dripping swelled to a trickle, then to a flow intense enough that the liquid fountained up a little way before falling back down to run over his body and mingle with his cum-bath.
Time passed, and after a while, the omega found himself drawn up again from where he lay, positioned on the stone and fucked once more, filled and then replaced. This repeated, sometimes with him on his knees sucking his master’s cock as he had on that November night, other times taking him in his ass. Always he was replaced in the bath, thoroughly soaked in cum and milk.
How long it was, the wizard never knew. When he was hungry or thirst he simply drank the cum and found himself sated. He existed in a lustful daze, never far from a fucking or a cock-sucking, always saturated with the scent and feel of his master’s seed or his own lactations.
Finally, he was left alone in the bath without a fucking. Hours stretched. Slowly, he grew hotter and hotter, more and more desperate. He whined and begged and pleaded, even crawled fitfully out more than once to present his gaping hole, but each time he was simply pulled back in by the bands around his limbs.
His skin tingled and began to burn. In desperation to cool it he gulped down the contents of the great basin until he was left licking its glass-smooth bottom, wordlessly whining for more. His tits had run dry, weeping only sad little drips. Then and only then did Gold rouse himself, fixing Harry with his volcanic eyes.
Standing on shaky legs, the omega extracted the chains from his nipples. The bands expanded and fell from his hands and feet, and he removed his collar. Finally, the cage wriggled from his skin, withdrawing its arms from his hips.
He wouldn’t need these treasures where he was going.
Five-Gold-Caverns stood tall and lowered his head, mouth open to reveal row upon row of dagger-fangs. Naked, the Boy-Who-Lived walked into the dragon’s maw, climbing gingerly over teeth the size of steak-knives, and lay down on the great, wet tongue. The world fell away as the head rose, then vanished entirely as the jaw closed, trapping Harry in darkness once again.
He wasn’t left there for long, though. Within moments the tongue began to shunt him backwards, moving him towards the pulsating tube that Harry could feel even now grabbing at his feet. Part of him wondered if this was all some kind of trick, if his master just wanted a properly-marinaded meal. More of him pushed that thought aside. For freeing him, Gold had promised him the greatest honor possible: to leave the feeble human race and join the ranks of wyrmkind. Of course he wouldn’t be told outright how it would be done - he was still human.
The muscles shunted Harry down and back into pulsating, clinging wetness, squeezing him tight as he went. The air stank of meat. The wizard had had plenty of practice at holding his breath, though, so he was only a little dizzy by the time the winding tube came to a halt.
He could see nothing, but tentatively feeling out the boundaries of his newfound home, he discovered that it was a kind of sac, barely any larger than he. Even as he explored it, though, he felt the steel-cord muscles of its walls begin to press inwards, confining him once more. His skin felt soft and warm, only a little cooler than the searing heat of the flesh that surrounded him. As it closed close around him, compressing him down until he was just as trapped as he had been in his false dragon of silver, he imagined that he could feel himself melting into the greater self of his master.
As he closed his human eyes for the last time, he smiled.
Then he dreamed.
Time passed. Upon his return to his homeland, Five-Gold-Caverns found that his former haord had been ransacked, though by humans or others of his kind he knew not. It was the work of a year to plunder it back, and by that time the mating season had passed. He took the time to subjugate a claw’s worth of younger wyrms to be his servants, and took over a village of humans besides - his sojourn in the land of the northern ape-creatures had taught him some uses for the pathetic little beings, and before long his hoard was not merely that but practically a palace. All the while, he felt the spirit of his first human bitch within him, waiting dormant in his seed to re-emerge.
Sure enough, when the mating season came again, his wealth and servants attracted a number of comely females, and before long he discharged the spirit into one of them, staying only long enough to make sure it had taken proper root before leaving to pursue more other prospects.
Come spring, an eggshell cracked and a new dragon came forth, crying for the first meal of his second life.