Gilderoy Lockhart sat upon a stool in a dinghy bar, staring miserably at the amber liquid contained within the dirty and stained glass. The bartender washed a glass idly, rubbing at an already clean spot over and over while leaving the rest of the glass dirtied. It was a small pub with just a few tables and barely enough room to hold more than twenty. The overhead lamps were dim, casting an unnaturally yellow glow about them. There were but a few people in the pub, all within listening distance if they wished, but none approached the blonde man.

"Another!" Gilderoy slurred at the bartender. The bartender looked at him disapprovingly, but refilled his drink nonetheless.

"You think you've had enough, lad?" the bartender said with a slight Scottish tilt.

Gilderoy swirled the drink in his mug, drowning himself in its cool depths. The beer was foul, barely stronger than Butterbeer, but it was cheap and Gilderoy couldn't afford anything more.

Scoffing, Gilderoy looked up at the bartender with contempt, "They told me they had enough at the Auror academy when they didn't accept me. They told me they had enough at the Ministry when they couldn't find a suitable position for me. So, no, I don't think I've had enough."

Knocking the drink back in one hearty gulp, Gilderoy slammed the cup down on the table, splashing the last dregs.

"Another!"

The bartender winced and shook his head, no doubt seeing such gluttony several times, but he could not turn away any coin, not in these times, so he poured yet another for the drunken man.

As the bartender stalked off, Gilderoy looked at the mirror adjacent to the bar. His hair was a tangled mess, a far cry from its usual perfection, and the red rims around his eyes could either be from tears or drunkenness.

Perhaps they are the same thing, Gilderoy thought as examined his reflection. He was a handsome man, that much he knew, and didn't understand why the Aurors didn't accept him even if he had failed every test. He couldn't understand why the Ministry didn't even allow him a secretarial position. No doubt he could find some middle aged matron who was fed up with her oaf of an husband and woo her into his arms. No, Gilderoy Lockhart understood very little of why he was in a tavern, drowning himself in dank beer.

He was a Ravenclaw, though you may have never known it by his OWL's and NEWT's, and suspected he would easily find a job once he graduated from Hogwarts. Yet, that was three years past and all he had were several Knuts, a few Sickles, and too few Galleons. There was no rhyme nor reason for why he wasn't accepted for a job. Did they fear his temerity? Did they envy his handsomeness?

Those were the questions Gilderoy asked himself as the world spun a little faster and the lights shined a little brighter. It was not yet dusk, but Gilderoy reckoned he was as pissed as his father used to be.

Like father, like son.

The thought bitterly ran across his mind, but he couldn't help himself and had another glass, no doubt approaching the limit where the bartender would simply cast him out of the pub.

Let him! What is yet another rejection?

The door suddenly creaked open, the last vestiges of the setting sun casting an orange hue over the midsection of the bar. In stepped a tall man, taller than Gilderoy, of dark, tangled hair. His beard was cut close, a freckle of darkness spread along his neck and his jaw. It was his eyes that captured Gilderoy's attention, piercing silver orbs that were glowing even in the darkened tavern. If there were ladies around, they might have concerned him handsome in a roguish way, what with the scar that was barely hidden within the scruff of his beard.

The stranger looked around, a sly grin on his face as he absorbed the characters within the pub. His eyes landed on Gilderoy and the blonde only glared at the man's boldness to step within the bar while he was sulking. The dark haired man walked towards him, a jingling underneath his robes, and took the stool besides Gilderoy.

Up close, his silver eyes glowed even brightly, not unlike a wolf. He was a bit older than Gilderoy, in his early thirties if he had to guess, but still had a young, weathered face. A quick examination of his robes told Gilderoy that the man was a traveler, judging by the faded ends and the ornate linings. They were foreign to this country, no doubt somewhere from the East.

"They say a man only drinks when he is heavy or light of heart. Of which are you?" the man spoke, his low voice thrumming with amusement.

"Take a guess," Gilderoy bitterly spat, not caring for the man's coquettishness.

"You must be of light of heart with such a bright face," the man waggled his eyebrows at him.

Gilderoy shook his head, "If you want fairies, they're down the road. I suspect they'll be much more accepting to your kind there."

The man leaned back and roared with laughter, his Adam's apple bobbing gaily in the dim lighting. Gilderoy shuffled his stool a little farther away, displeased by the disturbance. Who did the man think he was? Why couldn't he just let Gilderoy wallow in peace?

"You mistake me," the man finally said after his laughter settled, "I'm not trying to buy you a drink. I'm simply asking why a man of such obvious talent is keeping company with an old, cranky bartender? Speaking of which…old man! Fetch me a drink."

The bartender narrowed his eyes at the silver-eyed stranger and answered, "Of what kind would please you?" The sarcasm rolled off the bartender's tongue.

Not put off, the stranger replied, "Give me your finest ale and a pint for my friend here."

Gilderoy bristled, both at the contention that he was talented and that he was this man's friend. "I am no friend of yours."

The light caught the man's eyes and the deviousness within them was all too evident.

"Not yet."

There was something curious to this man and Gilderoy was suddenly conscious of his wand pressed against his hip. He didn't move to retrieve it but took certain note of where it was and how quickly he could grab it. The dark haired man was mercifully silent for a moment as he waited for the old bartender to retrieve a drink. The old man came back, sliding two pints of considerably better looking ale down the bar towards them. The stranger flicked a Galleon, a price too much, to the bartender and told him to keep it.

Passing the spare glass to Gilderoy, the man spoke, "Drink this. I wager its of finer quality than the drink you have in your hand."

Gilderoy was not about to turn down free drinks, so he took the drink with a grumbled thanks and immediately sipped its contents. The stranger was right. This drink was much smoother and less harsh on his throat.

"Normally a man would give much greater thanks for such an offering," the man pointed out.

Gilderoy was tired of this strange person and swiveled in his seat to face him front. The other man mirrored his movement, happy that he was finally acknowledged.

"Thank you for the drink, stranger, but as I said, I'm for women, not men," Gilderoy pleaded with the man to leave him alone.

"As am I!" the man was not put off, "I only buy you a drink to offer you condolences for your loss. Who was it? A fallen parent? A lost sibling? Or worse yet, a woman whisked away by another?"

"My future," Gilderoy sullenly answered.

"The worst of all," the man nodded solemnly, "There is no greater pain than looking forward and seeing nothing but darkness."

"And what would you know?" Gilderoy had noticed he overpaid the bartender, most likely on purpose.

"I would know more than you think," the man offered slyly, "Would you like to know, Mister…"

Gilderoy looked at him sideways. Honestly, he wanted to be left alone, but he was already talking to the man and if he could somehow squeeze out another drink, perhaps the minor annoyance would be worth it. Merlin knows he didn't have the coin to drink all night.

"…Lockhart. Gilderoy Lockhart. And you?"

"Sir Dunstan Wilkinson."

Gilderoy scoffed, "You are no Sir. Sirs are for Muggles. There are only Wizards, Masters, and Mages."

"Yet here I am," Dunstan swept his arm dramatically, "A Sir and a Wizard."

"And how'd you come about that?" Gilderoy scoffed disbelievingly.

"During The Troubles," Dunstan started.

"Hold on! You were involved in The Troubles?" Gilderoy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

The Troubles, a civil unrest that spilled into the Wizarding World, was just a few years ago. If Dunstan was indeed knighted during that time, it would have made him a very young knight. Gilderoy continued to listen with a healthy dose of skepticism.

"Aye, I was! They had trouble catching some of the more nasty bastards, most prominently, the Bastard of Shankill. I approached the Muggles, claiming to be a loyalist defector, and offered them an opportunity to kill a high ranking agent. They enlisted me in their service, but they didn't know how I was going to find their hideout and slip it to the Bastard. I told them to leave it to me. A month, and a carefully brewed Polyjuice Potion, later, the Bastard of Shankill was dead. Her Royal Majesty knighted me herself."

"You killed him?"

Dunstan Wilkinson leaned forward, the light gleaming off his cold, silver eyes. Up close, Gilderoy could see the scar that ran down the inseam of his beard on the left side of his face. It was about two inches long and only slightly faded. Dunstan may have been attractive, but the scar gave him a dangerous look. Gilderoy leaned away and took a sip of the fine beer.

"I did. I've killed lots of men."

As possibly implausible his story may be, Gilderoy didn't really see any reason to doubt him. Sure, he was boasting, but he was in the company of Wizards and probably didn't care if they knew he fooled the Muggles.

Dunstan continued, "After that, I set afoot East. I killed a vampire in Bulgaria by tricking him and luring him out of his cave while it was daylight. I got this thing for that task," Dunstan pulled open his heavy outer cloak to reveal a thick dagger of incredibly sharp steel, "Then I traveled farther East to Egypt where I killed a scorpion the size of a horse. The Prince of Egypt was so grateful that he granted me this family heirloom," he pointed to the cloak, "It is said that it is impervious to destruction."

Gilderoy eyed the thick cloak with the ornate drawings. It seemed authentic enough, even if the story of a scorpion the size of a horse was utterly ridiculous. Dunstan was drinking from his mug, draining its contents with a few large gulps and Gilderoy was struck by how big he was. He certainly fit the bill as an adventurer extraordinaire.

"You're from around here though, aren't you?" Gilderoy dared to ask.

"Went to Hogwarts, probably a few years before you did," Dunstan squinted as he sized Gilderoy up, "House of Slytherin."

His eyebrows shot up at that statement, immediately wary of someone from Slytherin. There were few Slytherins that escaped You-Know-Who's recruitment if what Dunstan said was true. Gilderoy carefully slipped his cloak back and laid a hand on his wand. While the movement was meant to be discreet, Dunstan immediately caught it but smiled instead of reaching for his own wand.

"You think I'm some Death Eater?" Dunstan asked.

"There were lots of Slytherins that went that way," Gilderoy felt his hand shaking from fear, "How do I know you're not just winding me up with these stories."

Dunstan slammed his mug down, making Gilderoy jump in his seat. Gilderoy flushed, embarrassed that he was scared so easily. Dunstan could only laugh, even more amused by the other man's behavior.

"If I was a Death Eater, I would've killed you all and set the Dark Mark over this place as soon as I set foot in here. No, I've fought my fair share of Death Eaters and killed my fair share as well. I'm no friend of You-Know-Who," Dunstan casually informed him.

Once again, he seemed genuine enough. Dunstan seemed to have a gift for presenting a truthful front and nothing about him made his story false. Still, anyone from Slytherin during the heavy recruitment classes couldn't be trusted so easily. Gilderoy was about to create some excuse so the man would leave him alone, but it seemed that the only person who liked the sound of their own voice more than Gilderoy was Dunstan.

"And what about you, blondie? What House were you in?" Dunstan asked.

"Ravenclaw," Gilderoy begrudgingly answered.

"Ahh…one of the smart ones."

"You'd think so."

"Life after Hogwarts not everything you hoped for?" Once again, Dunstan seemed genuinely concerned, frowning as he leaned over the bar to get a better look at Gilderoy's face.

Gilderoy shrugged, not wanting to reveal too much to the older man, but he couldn't help himself. His mother always told him he was a bit vain. His father…the less said about his father, the better.

"No one seems to know my talent! My genius! They just pass me over for some Hufflepuff that won an award here or washed someone's table there. Here I am, full of imagination and ideas for the Ministry, and they keep passing me over and over again. The Aurors, those incompetent fools, wouldn't know talent if someone cursed them with it. I just feel so…so…"

"Underappreciated?"

Gilderoy didn't realize the frustration that had built up within him and here he was, confessing it to some stranger that was supposedly a knight. Yet, he felt he could trust Dunstan. He was kind, but dangerous. Adventurous, yet contained. Helpful, yet boastful. In short, he was everything Gilderoy wanted to be.

Dunstan was looking upon him curiously, leaning back and examining him as if he were some House-Elf. He was contemplating something, stroking his beard thoughtfully as he continued to stare at him with those cold, silver eyes.

"What?" Gilderoy was growing mildly irritated by the extensive examination.

Dunstan nodded to himself as if he received the answer he was looking for. He made a show of looking around but was apparently satisfied. He leaned forward, an interested gleam in his eyes as he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"I think it's time you start being appreciated," Dunstan said.

"It's been past that time already," Gilderoy agreed.

"So let's do something about that," Dunstan grinned, "What if I told you, in the dark of night, there are unconceivable amounts of treasure not four days journey from here. So much treasure that no one dare under appreciate you again."

Maybe it was the possibility of adventure. Maybe it was his forlorn future. Maybe it was revenge for being passed up of all those jobs. Maybe it was simply the alcohol. But Gilderoy Lockhart leaned in forward and replied with a grin on his face.

"When do we leave?"

I regret this. I immediately regret this.

They had retrieved supplies from the inn where Dunstan was staying as well as from the apothecary and other stores in the small village. Most of it was food, provisions they needed since there were supposedly few villages between here and the supposed treasure. Dunstan stored it in his Bottomless Bag, an item he procured for saving a desert merchant in Tunisia from a pit of vipers.

"Honestly? A pit of vipers?" Gilderoy had asked when he heard the story.

"Thousands of them," Dunstan excitedly repeated, "The merchant was a Squib, but I charmed the vipers with a spell."

Gilderoy could only roll his eyes, yet he had nothing to disprove Dunstan's story. He had several items he wanted to take with him and a back story for each one. He won a special telescope that could see through the night from a pirate in Somalia. He stole boots from the Taj Mahal that allowed him to walk on water. Gilderoy knew there was some notion of exaggeration to these stories, but until Dunstan stepped into a lake and fell through, he had no way of disproving him.

"Now listen closely Gilderoy. The path I learned takes us straight through the mountains. There's nary a village from here to there so be prepared to fight off any stragglers," Dunstan said as they gathered the last of their belongings.

"Stragglers?" Gilderoy asked.

"Yes. I'm not the only one in search for loot and glory," Dunstan shook his head and double checked the dagger he kept on his hip, "There'll be several wanderers looking for more than just food if you catch my drift."

Gilderoy gulped. He was never the best at Defence Against the Dark Arts. Still, if half of what Dunstan said was true, he'd have ample enough back-up to face any unsavory characters. For good measure, Gilderoy made sure to bring along his wrist holster he bought when he was training for the Aurors.

"If there's all this treasure just four days from here, how come no one else has tried to take it?" Gilderoy wondered as Dunstan threw in a loaf of bread in his Bottomless Bag.

"People have tried to take it," Dunstan pointed out, "The treasure only appears in the dark and many people have to tried to take it…not realizing there's a dragon waiting in the shadows. Luckily, if the trader has any truth to him, and he better or else I'll cut out his tongue, the key is to take the treasure by day. The dragon has to sleep some time."

"I bet that's what the last person thought before he got burnt to crisp," Gilderoy grumbled.

Dunstan could only smile wryly, "There's no adventure if there's no danger."

"Family motto?"

"You could say that."

Dunstan didn't continue the conversation after that, opting to tuck in for the night even though it was barely ten. He explained there was a long journey ahead and wanted to catch up on as much sleep as he could before the arduous path. Gilderoy tried to sleep as well, but he was too wound up and excited. People had chosen what he perceived to be lesser qualified individuals for mundane jobs, yet here he was, about to retrieve treasure from a dragon. Thinking about the Aurors that made his life hell during training, Gilderoy snorted, hoping he could flaunt the money in their faces when he returned. Eventually, he fell asleep, dreaming of drowning himself in Galleons while a dragon lay beheaded before him.

Dunstan kicked him awake before the sun was breaking. He said it would be cooler and spied storm clouds on the horizon the day before. Suspecting they would be in for a case of afternoon storms, Dunstan wanted to set out and cover as much ground as possible before they were besieged by weather.

"Why don't we just Apparate?" Gilderoy complained, his feet already straining from the walk.

"You can only Apparate if you know where you're going, you fool!" Dunstan heartily laughed as he walked ahead of him, "When's the last time you were in a dragon's lair?"

"We could Apparate somewhere close."

Dunstan only shook his head, giving Gilderoy a condescending smile, "I saw a man try to Apparate into the mountains once. Didn't catch the right spot and Apparated straight onto a cliff side. They couldn't decide whether it was the fall or the Splinching that did his limbs apart."

Gilderoy shut up after that.

He carried with him a sleeping bag and the duffel that contained the magically enlarging tent. It fit into the duffel slung across his back but supposedly expanded into a ten by ten living space.

"Don't tell me…you won it from a goblin in a card game," Gilderoy proposed an outlandish story when Dunstan told him what he would be carrying.

"No," Dunstan looked at him in confusion, "I bought it at a store."

Dunstan carried his Bottomless Bag, his impervious cloak, his wand, and the dagger at his hip. When Gilderoy asked what use a dagger would be in a duel, Dunstan could only reply that waving his wand and screaming Avada Kedavra usually raised a bit of attention. He said that a dagger was much stealthier. Gilderoy took care to walk a bit farther away from him after that.

They walked well into the day, stopping only for water and lunch. True to his forecast, the storm clouds appeared during mid-day, the dark clouds racing over the landscape and covering the land in shadows and rain. Dunstan climbed onto a large rock and squinted into the distance.

This was supposedly the easy leg of their journey. It was mostly rolling hills and flatlands. Up ahead were grassy mountains and uneven land. They were probably a half a day from reaching the base of the mountain range and Gilderoy was already dreading the climb.

"We'll go as far as we can and then make camp for the night," Dunstan informed him, "With any luck, we'll beat out the rain and make camp at the base."

"And if we don't have any luck?" Gilderoy couldn't help but ask.

"We'll have to continue walking in the rain."

Gilderoy sped up after that, ignoring the pains along his feet and shin. They were making good progress, but the storm refused to let them escape. They were still a good distance away from the base of the mountains when the deluge started. The rain pounded heavily on them, and Gilderoy did not have the luxury of an impervious cloak like Dunstan. He was as wet as a rat, dragging along the duffel that seemed heavier by the minute.

"Dunstan! How much longer?" Gilderoy cried through the downpour.

Dunstan didn't answer, but raced to a small cliff buff and looked over the edge. Gilderoy hurriedly followed him to see what captured the older man's interest. He spotted it in an instance, a bright hope in the dark storm.

It was a small house with a fence of crops beside it. The smoking chimney and the bright lights in the windows indicated there was definitely someone inside. Looking around, Gilderoy could see nothing but grass and hills to either side of the house.

"You think they'll let us in during the storm?" Gilderoy asked.

"Unlikely," Dunstan replied, "They get lots of strangers around these areas and they're not going to be letting in a pair of them even with those pearly whites of yours."

"Oh come off it!" Gilderoy was annoyed by the jab at his teeth, "They have to let us in! I bet they have a warm fire in there!"

"And a man that's not afraid to blow us away," Dunstan wearily answered, "We'll make camp up here for the night and then go down there if the rain lets up during the day. They'll be more receptive to us without the storm making us look like a couple Death Eaters."

Gilderoy wanted to protest but it was no use. He wasn't going down to the house with Dunstan and if there was a man that was used to fending off drifters, he didn't want to take him on without Dunstan behind him. Finding a small overhang to set up camp underneath, Gilderoy unfolded the magically expanding tent and found out that Dunstan was telling the truth. He stepped inside the tent and found two beds and enough room to easily accommodate him both.

Dunstan stepped inside after him and smiled at the surroundings, "It's no hearthside fire, but good enough for the night."

They ate dinner, splitting a few beef strips and potatoes. Gilderoy started a fire at the center to warm them up, but sound found the heat suffocating within the tent. He doused the fire and was content with the slightly warm and burnt air.

Dunstan hopped in bed but didn't turn over like he did the other night. He looked at Gilderoy, his silver eyes piercing through the darkness and spoke.

"So why'd you come with me, Gilderoy? You'd have to be a little mad to be chasing after a dragon even if there is treasure involved."

"Don't tell if there's treasure involved. If there's no treasure involved, I don't care how many merchants you've saved, I'm having your head as well," Gilderoy was only half-joking. He wasn't sure if he could do anything if there was no treasure.

"Don't worry, there's plenty," Dunstan chuckled, "But honestly, why'd you come with me? I'm sure you could've found some sort of job."

Gilderoy lay silent for a moment, wondering why he had come himself. True, in all likelihood, he would find some menial job at the Ministry and work his way up, but he felt as if he deserved more. He was a good looking bloke, member of the Quidditch team, and while he didn't have nearly as high marks as his fellow Ravenclaws, he had a different sort of guile about him. Yet, all his first offers were refused, none stinging more than the Auror rejection.

"I wanted to make a name for myself. I wanted to be more than just another Hogwarts graduate. I want my names plastered all over the papers for everyone to see," Gilderoy smiled in the dark, imagining Gilderoy Lockhart as the Daily Prophet headline.

"So its fame," Dunstan nodded in the dark, "Fame's an finicky thing. You chase it long enough and you forget to pick up the things along the way."

Gilderoy shrugged, "It's better than being normal."

Dunstan sat up and flicked a light on with his wand to stare at the other man, "Aye, that is. You're a smart one. It shouldn't surprise me. You are a Ravenclaw."

Gilderoy could only shrug but was pleased with the compliment. "My father always told me I'd be normal. Guess I want to prove him wrong."

"Fathers can be right bastards like that."

"You have no idea."

"I don't?" Dunstan scoffed, "Try me."

He hesitated. He didn't know whether or not he could tell Dunstan about his family life. Yet, here he was chasing a dragon with the other man. If Gilderoy could do that, what was the harm in telling him about his father?

"My father didn't use to be a bastard. He was actually quite normal when we were growing up. By we, I mean my sister and I. Before I went to Hogwarts, my Mum suddenly died. She just dropped dead, no rhyme or reason. She was beautiful, from what I can remember, and it tore my father's heart apart when she died. He became different…less kind…more vicious. He drank day and night and rarely slept. He took to sleeping on the couch in the living room because he couldn't stand being in bed without Mum."

Gilderoy realized he was blinking away tears and hoped that it was still dark enough in the tent so that Dunstan didn't realize he was crying. Willing his voice to stay calm, Gilderoy continued.

"One summer after we came back from Hogwarts, my sister and I found that he was drunk off his arse. He was yelling a storm at us, blaming us for not taking care of the house and getting poor marks in Hogwarts. My sister cried and left for her friend's house, but I wasn't as lucky. I didn't have many friends in Hogwarts. All the Ravenclaws thought I was an idiot for not being a genius like the rest of them. So I stayed and got the brunt of the abuse. 'You're nothing!' he said. 'You killed your mother!' he said. 'Go fuck off and live your miserable life!' he said. Worst thing was that I just took it. Never said a word."

He stopped, unable to continue because he didn't want Dunstan to hear his throat was chocked up. It would be no use in Dunstan thinking he was weak while a dragon was breathing down their necks. Yet, Dunstan didn't tease him as Gilderoy thought he would. The dark haired man was contemplatively silent, letting Gilderoy's story linger in the air after he finished.

"I had a father a lot like yours too," Dunstan offered, "Beat me and my sister because I didn't join the Death Eaters. Our Mum was a Muggle, you see, and my father always resented that we were Half-Bloods. Of course, no Slytherin wanted to recruit some Half-Bloods at the time and Dad was furious at that. I told myself I'd be able to take it until we left. Until we graduated from Hogwarts. Except one day, I found him at home trying to rape my sister."

Gilderoy paled. He couldn't imagine what he would do if his father tried to do the same. Dunstan didn't cry like Gilderoy though. He was staring into the fire, his silver eyes fierce and his jaw clenched.

"What'd you do?" Gilderoy couldn't help but ask, wondering how the story ended.

"I killed him," Dunstan answered simply, "I left and never went back."

Gilderoy could see why Dunstan was a traveler now. He could see why Dunstan was an adventurer that didn't like staying in one place for a long period of time. He thought he had an abusive father, but his paled in comparison to Dunstan's. There was something remarkable about Dunstan's strength and perseverance to carry on after killing his own father. Gilderoy felt a kinship towards him, as if he understood exactly what the other man was going through.

As if Dunstan was reading his mind, the other man nodded at him, "So you see Gilderoy Lockhart, we're not that different you and I. That's what's going to get us that treasure."

Dunstan laid back down after that, not speaking and after a minutes, Gilderoy could hear the heavy breathing of sleep. Once again, Gilderoy stayed awake well into the night, reflecting on Dunstan's words. He didn't have a lot of friends at Hogwarts. Most of the people in his year shunned him for being stupid and chasing frivolities. Others just seemed to dislike his personality. He didn't know why and always resented the ingrates for not accepting him.

Yet, here he was with someone that was equally rejected by his peers and underwent the same abuse. For the first time in ages, Gilderoy had hope. Gilderoy Lockhart had a friend and in the dark of night, they were going to make each other rich and famous beyond measure.

A/N: Another short story as I try to shake writer's block from Headmaster Tom Riddle. I had this idea about Gilderoy's back story and origins for a while and wanted to see what I could do with it. It is a bit of a departure from my other stories (one without Harry as the lead), but hopefully I can see what other talents I have.

What do you think? Interesting or completely boring? Is the premise too thin? Honestly, dragons?