Chapter Text
Autumn leaves crunched beneath Hermione’s feet as she relaxed her grip on the rusty watering can and landed on the forest ground. Thick trees canopied overhead blocked the final streaks of daylight, shadowing the surroundings despite it being barely past six in the evening. After putting the Portkey into her beaded handbag, Hermione pulled out her wand to cast a Lumos. The illuminated tip guided her path until she located the carving of a dragon on a nearby tree marking the visitor entrance to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.
A transparent veil humming with magic surrounded the sanctuary in a protective dome. Instinctive curiosity burgeoned inside Hermione at what spells were strong enough to contain such powerful beasts when a streak of lilac split the crisp evening air and revealed Charlie standing a few feet away. An instant smile pushed up Charlie’s cheeks, his lower lip sporting a gash.
Sweet Circe, she wasn’t sure she had ever been so happy to see him.
Rustling leaves swept across the ground as Hermione closed the space between them, letting Charlie wrap his muscled arms around her with a tight squeeze.
“When I said come visit whenever you want, I didn’t think it would be so soon,” Charlie said as he pulled away from the hug. He carded his fingers through the ginger locks that had returned to their previous length after Molly had made him cut it for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. “Everything all right, Little Sis?”
Hermione canted her head. “You know you can’t call me that anymore. Especially now that Ron and Susan are engaged.”
“Of course I can,” Charlie said, knocking her arm with his elbow. “You’ll always be just as good as family.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. Arguing any further would have been futile. Despite having this conversation with Charlie at least a dozen times, nothing ever changed. And secretly, she loved him more for it.
She followed Charlie through the lilac split in the sanctuary’s containment wards that automatically resealed after they stepped through. At once, the outside world became a memory as Hermione immersed herself in the enveloping beauty that stretched as far as her eyes could see. Lush trees lined their path towards a clearing surrounded by large, jagged mountains that peaked thousands of feet into the sky. The distant roars of dragons echoed off the mountains, though none of the majestic beasts were in sight. Her lungs filled with the fresh, open air before catching the faint scent of dinner wafting from the nearby mess hall. Only a few minutes inside the dragon sanctuary, and already, Hermione was feeling more at peace with her surroundings than she had in months.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Charlie asked, catching the sense of awe that was undoubtedly apparent on her features.
Hermione’s eyes fixated on the steep slopes that marked the home for hundreds of dragons. “The sanctuary must be massive.”
“Over two hundred square miles. Much bigger than the one your division overlooks in Wales, yeah?”
Hermione snickered. “Much.”
Captivation kept her eyes and feet in constant motion as they roamed through the nearby grounds with Charlie explaining each place they passed. Every dragon keeper they saw greeted Charlie with pleasant hellos or polite nods. It came as no surprise that Charlie was on good terms with his colleagues. Charlie loved dragons, but he also loved anyone who shared his passion.
And maybe— hopefully— a weekend surrounded by that passion would reignite something inside of Hermione.
After showing her the expansive pasture of sheep raised for feeding, Charlie ended the tour at a circle of cabins nestled between tree trunks.
“And this is where you’ll be staying.”
Hermione ripped her attention away from one of the single-room cabins. “What? You know I booked a room at the Dennfyre Inn.”
Charlie swatted away her comment. “Already took care of it. Marjorie is a friend of the sanctuary, so she was happy to accept a last minute cancellation.”
“But I thought visitors aren’t allowed to stay on the grounds. Or at least, they aren’t at the Wales Sanctuary. It’s a massive liability to let untrained guests stay so close to dragons.”
“Yes, but you aren’t just anyone. Merlin, you’ve ridden a dragon. Hardly anyone here can say that!” Charlie snorted. “Besides, you work for the British Beast Division. Consider this a professional courtesy.”
A frown pulled at her lips. “I’m here so I don’t have to think about work.”
“Ah, so that’s why you came.”
Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but before any words formed, concern blanched Charlie’s freckled features. With a rushed panic, his hand reached into the pocket of his dirt-stained trousers and retrieved a glowing silver coin. He assessed the surface for only a moment before tightening his grip around it, eyes scrunching shut.
Hermione surveyed him with concern. “Is everything all right?”
But Charlie was no longer focused on her. When his eyes reopened, distant worry sheened his gaze before the crack of someone Apparating sliced the air.
Charlie’s burly build blocked her vision of the keeper who had just arrived.
“What happened?”
“It’s Viscer. He was fine this morning, now his vital diagnostics are low.”
“Same as when—”
“Yes.”
Growing confused and infinitely more curious, Hermione watched as Charlie pulled a piece of parchment out from the dragonhide pouch strapped to a belt loop. From the small section Hermione could see, it appeared to be a map of the grounds. Charlie tucked it away before she could make out anything else.
“I’ll need you to show Hermione where Roland’s old cabin is,” Charlie directed, voice urgent. “I should be back by dinner.”
In a swirl of blended colours, Charlie disappeared, leaving nothing between Hermione and the other dragon keeper.
For the first several seconds, she stared at the wizard in dumbstruck silence, convinced it was a look-alike. Wearing soot-covered slacks and a plain black, long-sleeved t-shirt, he resembled little of the boy she’d only known to wear neatly pressed robes. His stature was broader than she remembered, and his hair was longer, tied back in a small bun. But the sharp jaw and grey eyes were the same—as was the pointed stare.
His features twitched. “Granger.”
Hermione blinked, dazed in disbelief. Four years had passed since she last saw him, and to her knowledge, no one else in Britain had either. Rumours had sprouted like plants under a Herbivicus Charm after he failed to return for the second half of their final year at Hogwarts. Even Hermione hadn’t been able to resist the question in nearly every student’s mind: Where had Draco Malfoy gone?
Apparently, she now had the answer.
“Romania?” was all she managed to ask.
Malfoy scowled. “Better than Britain,” he said, tone clipped with resentment. Something darkened in his gaze, but as quickly as the steel grey had hardened, it vanished. He proceeded towards the cabins. “Keep up, Granger. I have other responsibilities.”
Hermione’s feet felt rooted, the shock yet to wear off, but when Malfoy continued to pace further away, she forced herself into motion.
“And just what are you doing here?” Hermione asked once she had caught up.
“Dragon keeping,” he bluntly stated, attention set forward. “Same as everyone else.”
She shot him a dour glare. “That’s not what I meant.” Malfoy increased the rate of his strides. So did Hermione. “What are you doing here, in Romania, when—”
He halted.
“I promised Charlie I’d be civil with you, but that’s as far as this goes. There will be no discussion of personal matters, the past, or—”
“The war?”
“Precisely.”
They stood in silence for several strained seconds, only broken by an echoing roar in the far off distance.
Malfoy pointed to a nearby cabin. “That one’s yours. Don’t expect much. Bathroom is the one at the far end of the circle with the green door. Dinner is at 7:30. Get there early or you’ll be stuck with one of the forks missing a prong.”
With a sharp turn, he began to stride away.
Uneasiness bubbled in her stomach, mingled with the unyielding shock that he was here. She was unsure what to make of it, but if Malfoy had supposedly promised to be civil—whatever his definition of that word may be—she could attempt some version of the same.
“Thanks, Malfoy.”
He stiffened, steps halted.
Another distant roar.
“Call me Draco. No one calls me Malfoy anymore.”
~*~*~
Malfoy was right. The cabin was truly unremarkable.
While Hermione appreciated Charlie obtaining permission for her to stay within the sanctuary, she couldn’t help but think she would have been more comfortable at the Dennfyre. A twin-sized bed was pushed off into the corner, and the only other furnishings were a nightstand, a wardrobe, a mirror, a table, and two chairs. It was modest at best. Then again, Hermione didn’t require anything more. The majority of her time would be spent outdoors anyway.
Settling in took no longer than five minutes. With her belongings for the weekend stored in her beaded bag, all it took was a series of Locomotion Charms to move her Muggle jeans and jumpers into the wardrobe and set the framed photo of her and her parents onto the nightstand. Since the recovery of their memories, Hermione had gotten into the habit of carrying a photo of them wherever she went. It made even the smallest of spaces feel more like home.
The clock read ten past seven, and Hermione was about to heed Malfoy’s recommendation to arrive at the mess hall early, when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Hermione knew she was exhausted—she hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in over a fortnight—yet she hadn’t expected to look like that. The youthful glow of her early twenties was noticeably lacking with dark circles affirming her fatigue. She didn’t just feel weary; weariness lined every inch of her features.
Ink stained fingertips ran the length of her face, willing Hermione to perk up. The indent from where her quill had rested for countless hours the week before still dipped her index finger, but Hermione didn’t have the mental energy to fixate on that as well.
This is a holiday, she thought to her reflection.
And she really, really needed it.
The bed called to her, but Hermione knew if she stole even two minutes of shut-eye, she’d sleep straight through dinner. Resolving to leave in fifteen minutes, Hermione selected one of the novels she had brought with her and settled atop the covers. If that meant she had to deal with broken silverware for a single meal, she could manage. The firm mattress was too rigid for her preferences, but that was easily fixed with the casting of a Cushioning Charm. She had barely cracked open the spine and reached the bottom of the second page when a knock on the door interrupted her reading.
“Come in,” Hermione called, returning her bookmark to its spot. Charlie stepped through the door, and she rested her book on the nightstand. “Is everything resolved from earlier?”
Charlie wiped his dirty hands on the hem of his shirt. “Rather not get into it right now,” he said, resignation weighing heavy in his tone. “I’m sure it will be discussed plenty over dinner.” He glanced around the room, clearly keen to change topics. “Glad to see you’re already unpacked.”
“Quite easy when I’m only here for two nights,” she remarked before lifting an eyebrow. “Though I can’t say everything about my arrival has been easy.”
There was no need to specify what—or rather who—she was referring to.
Charlie slumped into a chair and blew out a breath. “I was planning on telling you after the tour. I could tell from your letter that something was bothering you, and I didn’t want to give you an excuse not to come.”
“But Draco Malfoy?” She could hardly believe she had just uttered his name, let alone that she’d had to deal with him face-to-face. “How long has he been here? And how have you never mentioned him?”
“I figured it best not to talk about anyone related to the war whenever I’m home,” he started to explain. “The family spent months mourning Fred, and I wasn’t going to risk that healing when he showed up shortly after that. The bloke wanted a fresh start. Can you blame him?”
Flashes of the three and a half months Malfoy had spent at Hogwarts after the war cut through her mind, recalling the way he had primarily avoided his classmates, but Hermione drove the memories away.
“Besides,” Charlie added with a shrug, “he’s a good guy when you get to know him.”
A sharp snort shot through Hermione. “With the way you’re speaking about him, I’d almost venture to guess you two are friends.”
Flushed nervousness marked Charlie’s features, and Hermione gaped.
“Merlin, Charlie!” She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “You two are friends?”
Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s actually my closest mate here.”
Hermione’s jaw slackened even further, certain her eyes stared at him in widened disbelief. “How is that possible?”
“Trust me, I initially didn’t think it possible either,” he began. “I’d heard plenty of stories about him from you, Ron, and Harry, and enough about his family from Dad to be wary, but he really just wanted to get away from society—not too different from a lot of other people here.” The words had barely passed his lips before he clapped his hands on his thighs and stood. “But that’s a story for another time. Right now, we need to head to dinner.”
They didn’t speak on their way to the mess hall, Charlie knowing Hermione well enough that she needed that time to process. If they were friends, that began to explain why Malfoy had been the one to approach Charlie about whatever had happened to that dragon. And why he was willing to accept Charlie’s request for him to be civil with Hermione. But that didn’t make her any less apprehensive. He was still Draco Malfoy, the wizard who had made it his mission to belittle Hermione every chance he could get.
Around a hundred people gathered inside the mess hall, all seated and mingling around a series of rectangular tables. Chatter bounced off the panelled walls, so loud that Hermione could no longer think about Malfoy. The atmosphere consumed her, eyes darting from keeper to keeper. They had a wide range of appearances and seemed to come from various backgrounds. While she spotted a few older individuals, most looked younger than their mid-thirties—and predominantly male.
She followed Charlie as they weaved through the tables, Hermione’s focus fixated on a wizard elaborately re-enacting a tale from that day’s keeping, until Charlie stopped at a table in the back centre. Four keepers were already seated at the table for six. It shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did when one of them was Malfoy.
Charlie took the seat at the end next to a woman dragon keeper while Hermione sank into the last available option. It was on the same side as Malfoy, but to her infinitesimal relief, a different keeper sat between them.
“I’m impressed,” Charlie said to no one in particular. “How’d you manage to get us forks?”
Hermione glanced down to see that a plate, cup, and all the proper dining utensils were already located at her spot. The fork had all four prongs.
“When you two still hadn’t shown up by 7:20, I did what I could.”
Hermione whipped her head to the opposite end of the table, surprised to see that the response had come from Malfoy.
“You know how Walker is about only giving out one setting per person, but I have my ways.” Malfoy tilted his head to face Hermione. “Though, I did expect someone to be better at following directions. Isn’t that supposed to be your expertise?”
Heat pricked her cheeks. Any goodwill he had garnered from this one kind action was immediately tainted by his need to sully it with an unwarranted remark. Desire to quip out a sharp retort teased her tongue, but Hermione was saved when the only other witch at the table spoke first.
“I’m Julia,” she said, extending a hand for Hermione to shake. “We never officially met, but I was at Hogwarts the year of the Triwizard Tournament.”
From her accent, Hermione could easily deduce that she was one of the two witches that had represented Durmstrang.
Hermione was in the midst of shaking Julia’s hand—relieved to have her attention pulled to someone, anyone other than Malfoy—when Charlie cut in. “Merlin, where are my manners? Hermione, this is Julia, my girlfriend, and these are Markus and Aurel. They work with me on the Hungarian Horntails. And of course, you know Draco.”
Reactions towards Malfoy or the fact that Charlie referred to him as ‘Draco’ hardly registered. Her eyes flicked to Charlie, then Julia, then back to Charlie.
Charlie had a girlfriend?
The casual confession stung more than Hermione cared to admit. In the first few months following the war, Charlie had taken a leave of absence from the sanctuary while the Weasleys mourned the loss of Fred and Hermione spent the summer at the Burrow, unsure if the Obliviation Team at St. Mungo’s would be able to recover her parents’ memories. It was over those emotionally taxing and scorching hot months that Charlie had become like an older brother to her. When Hermione and Ron had gone their separate ways, she had confided more in Charlie than she had in Harry. And when Ron had proposed to Susan, Charlie had needlessly owled just to check in on her. She had always assumed he would come to her if anything romantic ever developed in his life other than his undying love for dragons. Yet he had never mentioned anything about dating someone.
Seven-thirty must have struck for a selection of food appeared on their plates. It couldn’t compare to the selection they often had at Hogwarts, but Hermione heard no complaints about the minced meat rolls, wild rice, bread, and medley of vegetables. All the keepers promptly dug in, and Hermione soon followed.
The dinner conversation was light, and Hermione slowly learned pieces about the different keepers. Markus, the one next to her, had been at the sanctuary for six years, only one year longer than Aurel. While they and Charlie spent the majority of their time with the Hungarian Horntails, Julia specialised in the Swedish Short Snouts.
Malfoy didn’t speak.
“You should have seen it,” Aurel said, arms spread as wide as possible. “The gash in Yula’s hide was at least six feet long.”
“And that’s why we’re not supposed to let two female Hungarian Horntails anywhere near each other,” Markus said with a snort. “You’re lucky Kymis didn’t do more damage. The spikes on her tail are the longest I’ve ever seen.”
Charlie nudged Hermione. “I’m sure you remember Kymis. She’s the one Harry had to retrieve the egg from during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.”
“How could I forget? I spent that entire afternoon in fear for Harry!”
A scoff sounded from somewhere at the table, and Hermione didn’t have to look to know its origin.
“What a splendid trip down memory lane,” Malfoy bit out. “But if we’re done with the meaningless small talk, I think we’ve waited long enough. Stop stalling, Charlie. What did you learn about Viscer?”
The table turned silent as all eyes fell on Charlie. His chest rose with a deep inhale, and Hermione inched forward in her seat—admittedly curious to know the answer to Malfoy’s question.
“It’s exactly what we saw with Urso and Nevarth. For whatever reason, their diagnostics were normal one check-in, and by the next, their blood levels tested alarmingly low.”
A gasp cut through the table, and it took Hermione two blinks to realize it had been her own.
“That’s extremely dangerous!” she couldn’t help but interject. “Much of a dragon’s restorative healing properties originate in their blood platelets, so if they get attacked by another dragon at the sanctuary, they may not be able to heal.”
Her cheeks warmed. But of course, they already knew that. While she had done considerable amounts of reading on magical creatures for her job, Hermione's knowledge of dragons wasn’t nearly as robust as her present company.
Charlie began a more detailed explanation and everyone’s attention fell back on him—all except for one. Malfoy’s gaze lingered on her from the opposite end of the table, and Hermione leaned back, out of his line of sight. She’d rather not give him the opportunity to assess her with his judgmental glare.
“Did they find any marks on his hide like they did with Urso?” she heard Malfoy ask a handful of heartbeats later.
Charlie nodded. “Near the same spot, too. On his neck, around a quarter of the way up. But we also discovered something new.” He glanced around, checking to see if anyone from the surrounding tables was listening, and then leaned in. “I withdrew a sample of Viscer’s blood and tested it for any abnormalities. And there were. His blood had traces of Sleeping Draught.”
“You fucking—”
Charlie hushed Markus. A couple keepers from the adjacent table looked over at the temporary commotion but quickly returned to their meals.
“You fucking can’t be serious,” Markus finished more softly, though anger still strained his tone. “No one can deny now that something’s going on here.”
“I agree,” Charlie returned. “As does Doru. He told me he’s going to send another letter to the Romanian Ministry asking for Auror investigation. But chances are slim we’ll get a response before Monday since they’re always pushing us aside as a low priority.”
A wave of commiseration washed over Hermione. She was far too familiar with a country’s Ministry disregarding problems they deemed trivial in favour of those considered “more essential.” She lived that every single day. And dear Merlin was she tired of it.
“We could ask Harry and Ron to do an unofficial investigation,” she suggested, determined to be helpful in some capacity. “At least enough to give you some leads?”
“No,” came the prompt response in Malfoy’s stern drawl. “Auror divisions aren’t allowed to investigate in another country’s jurisdiction— unofficial or not.”
His instant dismissal scorched her skin like a blazing torch. Did he have to reject her idea so quickly?
Hermione tried not to let her irritation show. “Then we can contact the British Department of International Magical Cooperation,” she proposed instead. “Use their branch to put additional pressure on the Romanian Aurors to do something. Whatever is going on here could be of concern for the Wales Sanctuary as well. I could send an owl to Daphne Greengrass and—”
“Absolutely not.”
Two little words and cold grey eyes were all it took for Hermione to break.
“And what’s wrong with that idea?” she spat, arms folded against her chest. “I don’t hear any suggestions coming from you.”
Disapproval at their bickering was evident in Charlie’s uncharacteristic scowl, but it was Julia who prompted them to stop.
“We don’t need to jump into anything,” she attempted to placate, though it did nothing to loosen Hermione’s shoulder muscles that had grown Petrificus Totalus taut. Julia turned back to Charlie. “What else did Doru say?”
“Ah, talking about me?”
Startled out of her bind, Hermione twisted backwards to discover a man gripping the top of both her and Markus’ chairs. With his grey-streaked white hair and deeply set wrinkles, he was by far the oldest keeper Hermione had seen on the grounds.
“Yes, we were,” Julia said, devoid of the welcoming tone Hermione had experienced at the start of the meal. “I assume you want to speak with Charlie?”
“Just for a few minutes,” the man Hermione presumed to be Doru replied.
Charlie excused himself and followed Doru to one of the corners of the mess hall where the two wizards started to chat. Hermione craned her neck to see if she could glean anything, but they were too far for her to gather even a snippet of significance.
“Doru is the senior dragon keeper.”
Hermione snapped back to her present company to face Aurel who was now addressing her.
He knocked his head to the side and motioned towards a table a few rows away where a single wizard sat. “That one’s Llewellyn, assistant senior dragon keeper. He’s transferring to the Wales Sanctuary at the end of the month to help manage their growing dragon population. Doru’s grooming Charlie to be Llewellyn’s replacement.”
Hermione lit up. “Really?” She flicked her gaze back to where the two men were speaking. “That’s wonderful for Charlie. I’m sure he’s excited.”
“He is,” Julia cut in. A small smile graced her lips. “You know Charlie. Nothing is more important than the dragons.”
A few more minutes passed during which they all returned to their meals and Hermione ignored the silent Malfoy in peace until Charlie sat back down in his seat and Doru joined Llewellyn at the otherwise empty table.
“What did he say?” Julia asked once Charlie had settled.
“We’re implementing a night patrol,” Charlie said, slicing his minced meat roll with the edge of his fork. “At least until we hear back from the Aurors. The last thing we need is any more dragons getting harmed.”
Hums of agreement chorused around the table but were soon interrupted by a derisive scoff.
“Seems like the bare minimum,” Malfoy shortly retorted. “I don’t care if it’s after five on a Friday. Doru should go to the Auror department and demand action.” He grimaced. “Mark my words. The Ministry is going to deny our request again, and we’ll be no closer to figuring out who is harming our dragons.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, unable to stop herself. “Then perhaps you ought to reconsider your flippant dismissal of my suggestion to ask Daphne to owl the Romanian Ministry.”
Malfoy’s expression hardened. “No. We’ll think of something else.”
He paused for a moment, seeming to have more to say, but instead, merely scooted back his chair. Without so much as a goodbye, Malfoy marched out of the mess hall, meal left half-untouched.
Fine by Hermione. The less she had to deal with him, the less she had to worry about their tenuous “civility” combusting like a dragon’s fiery exhale.
Dinner was uneventful after that. Hermione heard more stories about their experiences as dragon keepers, including the time Charlie almost had his hand bitten off by one of the Norwegian Ridgebacks when he hadn’t charmed his gloves clean after handling raw goat meat. They shared plenty of laughs, and any concerns about her job and even Malfoy seemed far away. Yet one thing still bothered her.
As they walked back to the cabins, Hermione pulled Charlie aside.
“When were you going to tell me about Julia?” she asked, eyes directed towards the witch walking with Markus and Aurel. “And is there anything else you’ve been hiding from me about your life at the sanctuary?”
Charlie looked down at the leaf-covered path. “So I’ve been keeping Julia a secret from the family,” he confessed. He scratched the skin behind his ear. “We discussed her coming to Ron and Susan’s engagement party, but she ended up having to stay with the Short Snouts. Probably for the best, though.” One side of his lips tugged downward, forming a faint frown. “You know how Mum is. She expects us to marry women who will do the cleaning and cooking and be a ‘proper wife,’ and Julia’s not that. I don’t want that. We’re happy as is.”
“And I’m happy you’re happy,” Hermione insisted. Her voice grew softer. “But you still could have told me. If anyone understands not fitting Molly’s outdated notion for a Weasley wife, it’s me.”
His expression relaxed, bringing back Charlie’s familiar warmth. “Right you are.” A crooked smile pushed up his cheeks. “All right then, Little Sis. No more secrets between us. Agreed?”
She laughed. “Agreed.”
“Good,” he said, smile beaming. “Because I want you and Julia to get along. As you’ve surely noticed, there aren’t a lot of women around the sanctuary, and I think it gets to her sometimes.”
They reached the circle of cabins and stopped near Hermione’s. Charlie began to push back some of his hair, but at first touch, he immediately withdrew.
“I ought to wash up,” he said, wiping his palm against his dirty trousers. “Long day of dragon keeping. But we’re doing a bonfire in around an hour. I assume you’ll join us?”
“Sounds fun.”
“Great. Then I’ll see you later.”
Charlie left for his cabin, and Hermione headed into hers. While the weekend was shaping out far from the way she imagined, Hermione was still grateful for the time away from England, even with the unexpected bumps. And until the bonfire began, she could nap and revitalise. It was the only way she’d make it through the evening—and, if the universe was so unkind, more of Draco Malfoy.