Learning To Fly

Chapter 1: Summoning

It might have taken the best part of a year, but Charlie Weasley was finally starting to feel like he belonged at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. He had become used to the ever-changing shift pattern, grown physically stronger, made friends among his colleagues, picked up enough Romanian to hold a very basic conversation with the locals at the closest pub, and actually felt like he knew what he was doing when it came to the dragons themselves.

Of course, there was one dragon with whom Charlie had always known what he was doing, but this one didn't have wings or breathe fire. In fact, it wasn't truly a dragon at all, but a Crup that Charlie had adopted at the age of thirteen, and named after the creatures he'd always dreamed of working with. Bringing Dragon with him to Romania hadn't always been the plan, but every day when he returned to his lodge and saw Dragon's two tails wagging so quickly they cause his entire back end to wiggle, he had no regrets.

That evening, however, he almost wished he had let Dragon stay behind in the UK. When he reached his front door, he could already hear Dragon barking inside the lodge, and when he opened the door and stepped inside, he found the Crup chasing a terrified looking owl around the living room, yapping delightedly as the owl flew in circles, leaving a trail of feathers and droppings in its wake. Charlie paused to take in the sight, took a deep breath, and swore under his breath before whistling loudly to get Dragon's attention.

"That's enough, Dragon," he said firmly, and the Crup fell silent, crouched low to the ground, and thumped his two tails on the floor, looking incredibly sheepish. Its tormenter having desisted, the owl landed on top of the bookcase and started to soothe itself by grooming its feathers. Charlie approached it slowly, talking to it in a soft voice.

"Hello, mate. Have you got a letter for me? Can I have it?"

Having calmed down, the owl ruffled its feathers, and held out its leg to Charlie, who thanked it before untying the parchment, opening it, and reading its contents.

Dear Charlie,
I was just writing to see if you could help me out with a problem at school. You see, the thing is, me and my friends Harry and Hermione have been helping Hagrid to look after a baby Norwegian Ridgeback he bought off some bloke down at the pub, and it's getting pretty big, and now we think this boy Malfoy might have seen it in Hagrid's hut. Obviously, if he goes telling anyone Hagrid has a dragon — and he probably will, he's a right git — then Hagrid is going to get in so much trouble. We thought that maybe you could take the dragon and release it into the wild once it's big enough. Probably won't take too long - it was only born at Easter and it's already the size of a very big dog. Anyway, let me know what you think.
Hope you're having fun in Romania.
Love from Ron.

Charlie frowned, re-read the letter, and blinked. He could scarcely believe what he'd just read. He knew that Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had always had a half-baked fantasy of keeping a dragon as a pet, but he would never have thought that he would actually go so far as to act on it. There was a good reason that dragon breeding was illegal: it was dangerous, and downright unethical to keep a dragon in captivity like that. And Hagrid lived in a wooden house, for Merlin's sake. What on earth was he thinking?

Sighing deeply and shaking his head, Charlie folded his youngest brother's letter back up, and placed it in his pocket. From one of the shelves of the bookcase he took a quill, inkpot, and burgundy coloured notebook, carried them over to a small dining table on the opposite side of the room, and started to write on the first blank page of the notebook.

Are you lot still coming to visit next weekend? Have you booked a Portkey yet?

Having written the two questions down, he placed the quill on top of the open notebook, keeping it open on that page, and turned to Dragon, who was still lying low on the ground, his head tilted to one side.

"Don't look at me like that," he told the Crup, who got up, padded over to him, and sat at his feet, one forepaw lifted as he leant against Charlie's shin. A smile spread across Charlie's freckled face as he bent down to scratch Dragon's tawny brown ears. "Alright. Come on, boy. Let's give that poor owl something to drink and clear up this mess you've made."

As he did so, Charlie periodically glanced at the open notebook. Nothing happened for some time, but while he was offering some food to the owl, he noticed a trail of blue ink etching itself onto the page, as if an invisible person were writing in the notebook. Putting down the small plate and giving Dragon a warning look, he returned to the notebook, smiling to himself as the words appeared in a familiar messy handwriting.

Yeah, we are. Not booked the Portkey, probably should do that actually...

Charlie picked up his quill and dipped it into the inkwell. He made to touch the nib to the page, but before he could write anything, more words started to appear.

Have you got me a birthday present yet?

He laughed and shook his head, and wrote back: no, I wasn't planning on getting you anything.

The reply came: what have you got me?

Another laugh, another shake of the head. Charlie looked over at Dragon, and raised his eyebrows.

"Well, here goes," he said, and Dragon yapped in response. Taking that as encouragement, Charlie dipped his quill into the ink once more, and started to write.

So, about next weekend - I have a favour to ask you. There's something I need bringing here, and I was wondering if you'd mind doing it for me. Means you'd have to fly here rather than get a Portkey, I'm afraid. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important, and I'd do it myself, only it's pretty pressing time-wise and too big for me to transport all by myself. Also, it's kind of illegal. Like, really really illegal.

He'd barely finished writing before the words appeared: What is it?

Charlie grimaced as he wrote his reply: a baby dragon.

There was no response in the notebook. Charlie stared at the page, his eyebrows furrowing, front teeth starting to graze his lower lip as he anxiously waited for an answer. Almost a whole minute passed before more words appeared, but eventually, four blue letters appeared on the page.

Fine.

Sighing with relief, Charlie picked up his quill to write again, but his correspondent hadn't finished.

You'd better have got me a really good birthday present.