- NOT MY WORK ALL CREDITS TO @/niffizzle on AO3 -
All night, she waited. Looked out into the distant shadows, listened for the sound of approaching footsteps, braced herself for what felt inevitable.
Markus taught her how to differentiate between the dragon roars.
Aurel regaled every humorous story he could think of.
Charlie and Julia remained side-by-side.
No one else joined them.
The orange glow of the roaring bonfire illuminated the cloudless night, filled with an abundance of laughs and one too many butterbeers: the precise type of evening Hermione had imagined enjoying when planning this weekend escape. It would have been even more enjoyable if Charlie hadn't kept staring off into the same shadows, seeming to hope for an appearance from the exact wizard Hermione preferred to remain absent.
Charlie's stares persisted when Malfoy didn't show up at breakfast either.
"I'm going to check on Draco," Charlie said once he'd swallowed his last bite of scrambled eggs. He selected a green apple from the centre of their table and put it in his pouch. "Hermione, meet me back at the cabins in around fifteen?"
Hermione agreed before Charlie exited the mess hall. With Markus and Aurel already off to begin their morning responsibilities, that left Hermione alone with Julia.
Her sandy blonde hair seemed more vibrant this morning, illuminated under the morning sun's reflection through the overhead windows. It was pulled back in a slick ponytail—something Hermione could never achieve with her own hair's bushy nature. She was merely grateful that her hair tie hadn't snapped when fashioning her hair out of her face while wedged between two strangers in front of the communal bathroom's mirror.
"You know he's avoiding you."
That certainly pulled Hermione out of her observational trance.
Given the option, Hermione would have preferred that she and Julia spent this time getting to know each other better, discussing her perspective as a female dragon keeper or exchanging stories about Charlie. But in the limited time they had interacted so far, Hermione could already tell that Julia wasn't the type to skirt around issues. And it wasn't as if Julia's claim came as any surprise. Hermione preferred to avoid Malfoy, too.
Though that did nothing to lessen the sting.
So much for civility. Apparently, Malfoy was already done attempting.
Hermione set down her four-pronged fork, food no longer as appetising. Youthful memories gnawed at her insides, snapping and biting at the unforgotten torments, giving rise to a disappointing conclusion.
"I suppose Malfoy could learn to befriend a so-called 'blood traitor,' but enduring more than a meal with a Muggle-born is too much."
"You think that's his reason?"
The earnest surprise in Julia's voice made her stomach twist tighter, yet it failed to shift Hermione's perspective. Julia didn't know Malfoy. Not the way Hermione did.
She stared down at her plate. "You wouldn't remember him from your year at Hogwarts, but I'm sure I don't need to explain who the Death Eaters were."
"And I'm sure I need not remind you that my former Headmaster was also killed by the Death Eaters—though not for the same reason," came Julia's immediate response. "Pureblood Supremacy was— is— not limited to Britain."
"I never fooled myself to believe otherwise."
Silence stretched between them, stiff and stagnant like the muscles lining Hermione's back. This wasn't how she imagined her first solo conversation with Charlie's girlfriend. Or the start to the first full day of her holiday. The sole consolation was that Julia didn't seem upset—only contemplative. Intent.
Several moments passed before she wiped her hands on a napkin and set it on the table. "Did you know Markus and Aurel are both Muggle-borns?"
The information rippled through Hermione. Not that anyone's blood status was worthy of shock—unless it came with unspoken implications.
"It didn't come up last night," was all she managed in response.
Julia lifted a single shoulder. "I don't see why it would. It's not as if it should matter. I know that, you know that, and all of Markus and Aurel's friends know that."
They both knew who Julia was really referring to when she said "all" of Markus and Aurel's friends.
First Malfoy was friends with Charlie, now this?
Hermione wasn't sure what to believe anymore.
More silence hung in the air before Julia breathed in deep and looked plainly at Hermione.
"I saw the remnants of Draco's Dark Mark on his forearm, just like I saw the remnants on Karkaroff's. Karkaroff didn't let his dark past define him forever. He tried to escape it. Draco's doing the same."
Hermione frowned, still not entirely convinced. "Escaping isn't the same as changing."
"No, it's not," Julia amended after a few seconds' consideration. "And I'm not here to defend what Draco did during the war. I didn't know him then, and he's Charlie's friend first, not mine. But I will say this. If you're only looking for things that remind you of the wizard you knew him to be, then you're not providing any opportunity for him to show he's changed."
Hermione only barely withheld a huff. He certainly hadn't given her any reason last night to believe in that so-called change, not to mention that it would be impossible to give Malfoy any sort of chance if he couldn't be bothered to face her again. Avoiding , as Julia had put it. Nothing Julia said justified him opting to flat out evade her existence . It just proved to show that when something arose that required actual acceptance or, Merlin forbid, remorse , Malfoy really was nothing more than an escaper.
Yet despite that insistence, and long after Julia excused herself to tend to the Short Snouts, Hermione couldn't quiet the whispering thought that lingered in the back of her mind: Malfoy being friends with Muggle-borns was something.
~*~*~
"Hey, Little Sis!" Charlie called out to her, standing in the middle of the circle of cabins. "You ready for an adventure?"
A collection of protective gear gathered at his feet.
"I am not going near the Horntails," she immediately snapped.
Charlie's full-hearted chuckle rang in the surrounding trees. "Oh Merlin, no you most certainly are not." He bent down and picked up a dragonhide chest covering. "The only dragons you're going near are the Common Welsh Greens."
Hermione's apprehension lessened. Common Welsh Greens were the least ferocious of the European dragons. She'd heard plenty about them considering they were, naturally, the most common dragon in Wales. Unless one counted the Ilfracombe Incident of 1932, Welsh Greens hardly ever attacked humans.
Taking the chest covering out of Charlie's grasp, Hermione slipped it over her head and fastened the conjoining straps that tied the front and back pieces together.
Charlie's grin broadened as he handed her a pair of gloves that were long enough to extend over her elbows. "Looking like a proper dragon keeper trainee."
She yanked the worn gloves up her arms while Charlie dug into his pouch and pulled out the same folded piece of parchment from the night before. Outlined mountains spread across its surface with sprawling lines representing the rivers that flowed in between. Scattered throughout were countless moving dots, all with tiny names written above.
Hermione could hardly believe what she was seeing. It looked just like—
"Familiar, huh?"
Hermione ripped her eyes away from the map. "But how? You never had the Marauder's Map."
Charlie let out another laugh. "You forget that I was Head Boy when Fred and George were in their second year. You think I didn't know what those two were up to?" He returned the parchment to the pouch. "In a sanctuary this big, we need an effective way to know where the dragons are at all times. Especially the ones that we've identified as sick or hurt." Charlie lifted his bent arm in invitation. "So, you ready to finally meet one of the dragons?"
Hermione gripped her glove-covered hand around Charlie's freckled arm. Within moments, she felt the familiar tug behind her belly button, and they soon landed in a part of the sanctuary she hadn't yet visited. The air felt thinner where they now stood, and the trees were less dense. About thirty feet ahead of them was a clearing, in which Hermione could make out the smooth green scales of a resting dragon.
"Stay behind me," Charlie directed. He stretched out an arm for Hermione not to pass. "Doru and I gave him a strong dose of Sleeping Draught last night, so Viscer should still be asleep, but you never know."
Spirals of leaves swirled around Viscer's snout, never falling completely to the ground due to his steady exhales. Brittle crunches padded Charlie and Hermione's footsteps as they approached the dragon, Hermione always making sure to keep at least five feet of distance between her and the trained keeper.
The moment they broke through the trees and reached the clearing, Hermione's footing faltered. She was no stranger to dragons. Starting from her earliest years at Hogwarts, she'd experience more than her fair share of encounters with the magnificent beasts. But something about the dragon in front of her—even though it was hardly one of the rarest breeds—stole her breath. Viscer was beautiful. Majestic. Standing in his presence felt otherworldly, even after being acquainted with the magical world for over half her life.
Resting on his belly, Viscer was at least twice her height. His tail alone had to be the length of her office, which, admittedly, wasn't large. When fully stretched out, Hermione wouldn't be surprised if Viscer's wingspan could cover the entire mess hall. Powerful, and yet, in danger.
Charlie approached the dragon and stood just behind one of Viscer's still shut eyes. He pet him gently.
"Poor thing," Charlie said in a soothing tone. "We're going to figure out who did this to you. I promise."
Hermione watched in awe as Charlie pulled out his wand and cast a spell she hadn't heard before. A thin mist expelled from the tip and surrounded Viscer in a sheer blue haze. Once every section of Viscer appeared covered, the small particles sank below the hide's surface. She was just about to ask what the spell did when various charts and numbers appeared over Viscer's head.
Charlie swished his wand again and the data floated through the air, following Charlie's direction as he moved towards Hermione. It only took a brief glance for Hermione to deduce what it was.
"His diagnostic levels." She looked intently at the line graphs tracking Viscer's vitals over the past several weeks. The drastic dip from the previous day was alarming, but it appeared his blood levels were recuperating.
"We're lucky we caught it when we did," Charlie said, eyes roaming over the information. "Until Nevarth got attacked just under a month ago, we didn't test diagnostics as often. It was three days before we recognised anything wrong with Nevarth. We hadn't known to give him any Blood Replenishing Potion, so his vitals were dangerously low by the time we started to intervene."
"That's terrible!"
Charlie vanished the vitals, and his features grew stern. "It was. We've been more vigilant since then, tracking vitals daily, but we're still on the defense. We need to determine the cause if we have any hope to stop it."
"And with the evidence of two dragons with suspicious, matching marks and the presence of the Sleeping Draught in Viscer's blood, you suspect there's someone targeting the dragons and not a natural sickness?"
"Precisely."
Hermione continued to watch as Charlie tended to Viscer, casting a series of other healing charms over his massive form. After a while, the unsettling feeling she too often felt at work started to bubble. One thing Hermione hated more than almost anything was feeling insignificant. Useless. Incapable. Someone was harming the sanctuary's dragons, and she was just standing there.
But the dragon sanctuary didn't have to be like home.
Hermione conjured a notebook and self-inking quill. The leaves served as a cushion as she settled onto the ground and started recording everything they knew so far. Harry and Ron may not be able to do an unofficial investigation, but nothing was stopping her.
By the time Charlie approached again, Hermione had already filled three pages with notes. He crouched down beside her and peered at the pages.
Writing paused, Hermione canted her head. "Urso and Nevarth. Are they also both male dragons?"
"Yes."
"And Common Welsh Greens?"
"Also yes."
Her quill's tip scratched across the notebook, recording a few final thoughts before Hermione blew the ink dry and set her notes aside. In an instant, she was back on her feet.
"All three known attacks were done to male Welsh Greens," she said, ideas whirling as she paced towards Viscer. "That can't be a coincidence. Females are typically more vicious than male dragons, and Welsh Greens are one of the tamest breeds." She reached the still slumbering dragon and graced her hand on the three inch tear still evident on Viscer's hide. "Whoever is doing this is knowledgeable enough about dragons to know the least dangerous ones to target."
Her hair flung behind her as she whipped around to face Charlie. "Has Viscer moved since you found him?"
"Not significantly," Charlie answered, standing on the sidelines like Hermione had been only minutes earlier. "This was the clearing we found him in, if that's the real question."
"Good." Hermione retrieved her wand. "Then start searching the area for anything out of the ordinary. I need evidence."
They left no inch of ground unexamined. Step by step, Hermione roved through the clearing, using her wand to swish away the leaves that could be blocking any items of interest. Her eyes fixated on the ground, considering every blade of grass for something of potential significance. She wasn't even sure what evidence there could be. But when she caught a glimpse of a slim shard of glass, her heart leapt.
"Charlie!" she called, though still cautious of the nearby dragon. "I think I found something."
Charlie abandoned his search and ran towards Hermione where she levitated the shard out of the grass. His eyes widened with anticipation but dimmed when he noticed the floating object.
"That can't be larger than an inch," he said, hope deflated. "How in Merlin's name is that going to help us?"
Hermione snatched the glass out of the air and held it in a glove-covered hand. "Like this. Appare Vestigium."
She lifted the end of her wand to her lips. With a firm blow, a cloud of gold dust swept over the clearing and settled on the ground, revealing golden footstep imprints. With the spell's limited circumference, she couldn't identify the path's origin, but there was no missing the several footsteps located close to where Viscer's head and neck were still positioned.
Hermione darted to the spot and stuck her wand in the ground. A new puff of dust expelled from her wand's end, and Hermione stepped back to see what it revealed.
"What is—"
She hushed Charlie. Questions could wait.
The form was indistinct, but without a doubt, it represented a human. The figure was cloaked and hunched over, making it difficult to discern anything more, though it confirmed their suspicion. Someone was attacking the dragons.
Hermione held her breath, not wanting even the smallest exhale to disturb the gold dust. The figure continued to move. Gloved hands reached into the cloak pocket and revealed a filled syringe that was injected into where the dragon's neck must have been at the time. Then, with a separate syringe, the figure pierced the thick needle into the dragon once more, allowing deep crimson to seep into the barrel. The process repeated several times, filling five or six syringes, until the figure suddenly stopped. Something must have alarmed the person, for the figure startled and dropped the most recently filled syringe. They hastily picked up the pieces and tucked them into the cloak's pocket before the gold dust disappeared into the early morning sky.
Charlie stared open-mouthed at where the figure had been, long after Hermione had retrieved her notebook and started recording everything they had witnessed.
"What— what was that?" he finally managed.
"It's an old spell," Hermione shortly explained, only lifting her head for a moment before returning to the notebook. After dotting the final period, she closed the notebook and addressed Charlie fully. "In preparation for joining the Beast Division, I did a lot of reading about previous big cases with Magical Creatures, including everything related to Newt Scamander. But the spell only works if you know the exact person you're looking for or have the physical item whose location history you're trying to trace."
"So what we saw..."
"Was what must have happened to Viscer."
Charlie pulled back his hair with both hands. "Fucking Merlin," he croaked. "They're stealing dragon blood."
His blue eyes were wide, hands still entrenched in his hair. Leaves rustled around him as he started to pace, head in constant shaking movement.
"I have to tell Doru and Llewellyn," he concluded after only a handful of moments. "We need extra watch on the Welsh Greens. To check the perimeter of the sanctuary for tampering with the charms. Somehow, someone got in here."
Charlie seemed poised to Apparate, but Hermione caught onto him first. "But what if it's one of the keepers?"
He tore his arm out of her grip. "Not a chance. These dragons are our lives."
A blink later, it was just her and Viscer in the clearing.
~*~*~
With Charlie preoccupied with assisting Doru and Llewellyn to increase security for the male Welsh Greens, Hermione had the majority of the day to herself. Early fall leaves had already started to turn, making it seem like the trees themselves had been touched by the dragons' fire. Compared to the daily dreary grey of London, this was bliss. If she closed her eyes and let her lungs fill with the fresh air, she could almost believe she was back in the sprawling mountains of the Scottish Highlands.
Taking full advantage of her surroundings, Hermione left her cabin and took her book to read outside. She found a spot with a view of the valley, the ideal place to conjure a hammock to string between two trees, while the distant roars of dragons played soundtrack in the background. Having brought some snacks with her from home, Hermione didn't need to leave when lunch approached. She was content for the whole day.
Except for those moments that her mind wandered back to the dragon attacks.
She trusted Charlie and the lead dragon keepers to do their job and protect the dragons, but the truth was, Hermione had forgotten how much of a thrill she got from being in the middle of the action—even if just temporarily. As much as she loved the discipline of research and compiling of information, this was a freeing change from the disappointment of work lately.
Just like that, Hermione was once again flooded with the feeling that had spurred her to visit Romania in the first place.
Blended colours painted the early evening sky as the sun started to fade behind the tallest peaks. Hermione closed her eyes and let the verdant vista wash away her thoughts. This was her weekend not to think about work. That could wait until Monday.
Tilting her head in the hammock, Hermione cracked her vision to peer out at the valley. The view was breathtaking. Idyllic and serene: precisely what she needed to set her mind at ease before the undercurrent of discontent threatened to overtake her. Yet she didn't have long to admire the terrain before abrupt, sudden gusts rocked her out of her mental oasis.
A long shadow passed directly overhead, casting a sea of muted darkness over the hammock and wild grass. Hermione planted her feet within the long blades before the not-so-gentle breeze could dislodge her from the hammock involuntarily. No longer was her mind on the valley. Nor her book. Even the inescapability of returning to work faded far from consciousness.
A single dragon pushed itself higher into the air, its pearly white scales glittering from the final remnants of sunshine as it streaked across the vibrant sky. With just one flap of its wings, the dragon propelled forward a dozen feet, releasing a melodic cry into the forest.
Captivation transfixed her attention. In all her readings on European dragons, Hermione had never seen one quite like this. Common Welsh Greens, Norwegian Ridgebacks, Romanian Longhorns, Sweedish Short Snouts, Chinese Fireballs, Ukrainian Ironbellies, Hungarian Horntails. Hermione could recite an endless stream of facts about all of them. Had studied their histories and could detail their magical properties. Yet this dragon fit none of those profiles.
"Her name is Ivayr."
The voice broke her trance.
Malfoy's voice.
She spun to confront him, instinctively preparing for a verbal quarrel. Yet no irritation lined his features. No crossed arms or narrowed eyes. Not even a sneer.
She didn't trust it.
Malfoy paced forward, removing his well-worn dragonhide gloves with practised ease. With each step closer, Hermione steeled herself for impact. Readied her brain and buttressed her defences so she was primed for whatever quip Malfoy deemed best to once again undermine her presence.
It never came.
Instead, Malfoy stopped three strides away: far enough that, should the need arise, she would have ample time to cast a Protego , yet close enough that the calluses lining his fingers stole a second of her focus. The idea of pompous, snide Malfoy entertaining more than a day's worth of physical labour was absolutely surreal. But then again, so was the fact that he was here.
Hermione reverted her vision to the dragon, centring her attention on anything other than him.
"She's beautiful."
"She's an Antipodean Opaleye," he said. "The only one we've got here."
"An Antipodean Opaleye?" She tore her gaze from Ivayr, fascination winning over. "But those only reside in New Zealand and Australia."
Glistening sweat from the day's work reflected on his raised eyebrow. "Become an expert in dragonology in your free time?"
Said any other way, Hermione would have interpreted the remark as a derisive mock. But for once in their life, there was no underlying resentment or cruelty in his tone.
Could it be that Malfoy was actually trying to be civil?
Perhaps ferrets had also learned how to fly.
She waited. Observed. Searched for the crack in his impassive facade. An indication that his animosity towards her still coursed underneath.
Nothing.
Maybe some things weren't as impossible as Hermione thought.
She cautioned into the unknown, potentially perilous waters.
"I work for the Beast Division for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," she said, about all the information she was willing to give him. "Though, not with dragons."
Malfoy hummed his understanding. "And that's how you're acquainted with Daphne? Both working at the Ministry?"
"Actually, we became friends after her Potions partner abandoned her halfway through the school year and she needed a new one."
The retort slipped past her lips before she could catch herself, prompting an instant flash of darkness to taint Malfoy's gaze. His cold composure sent a frigid chill down her spine. How could she have been so naive to think they could sustain more than three lines of cordial conversation?
He glared at her as if Hermione standing in front of him was some sort of attack on his very being, until he ripped his stare elsewhere, landing in the distance.
"I owe you an apology."
He must have hit her with a Daydreaming Hex when she wasn't looking. Or perhaps she was still so weighed down by exhaustion from work that delusions had started kicking in. Because there was no universe in which those words had sincerely left Draco Malfoy's mouth.
And yet, somehow, remarkably, it had really happened.
"My behaviour last night was... more antagonistic than necessary," he stated, returning his gaze to her as he pushed back a few strands of long blond hair that had fallen from his bun. "Charlie, he— I'm not accustomed to seeing and discussing people from the past, and it brought out a— an outdated side of me. I don't want to make things difficult. It's just that you being here reopens wounds that I haven't addressed in several years."
It wasn't much of an apology. In fact, calling it an apology was generous. At no point did he actually utter the word "sorry." Nor did it come anywhere near attempting to reconcile anything that had happened before last night. But Hermione supposed she shouldn't expect anything more from someone merely escaping his past.
She released a deep exhale. "We don't have to be friends, Malfoy," she resolved, accepting that this was likely the best she would ever get from him. "I'm only here for one more day. If you can be civil, I can as well."
"Draco," he corrected, just as he had the night before. "Call me whatever you want in your head, but when speaking to me, it's Draco." Anguish clouded his expression. "I haven't been Malfoy in years."
Their eyes locked for no longer than three silent seconds before Hermione forced a swallow.
"All right, Draco," she tested. The name felt wrong on her tongue, but she'd attempt it for the sake of civility. "Think we can make it through the rest of this weekend for Charlie?"
He peered up at the sky where Ivayr still soared overhead, then down at Hermione. "For Charlie."
Assuming the conversation over, Hermione started to walk away, but she hardly made it twenty feet before his voice drew her back.
"How is Daphne?"
Her movement paused. When she turned around, his face was unreadable.
"She's... she's good."
He stiffened.
"And her sister?"
"Astoria? We don't talk about her much." She scrunched her brow. "Should I tell Daphne you say hello?"
Draco shook his head. "The fewer people who know I'm here, the better."