The sun hadn't yet made it above the mountaintops by the time Hermione awoke the next morning. Lingering grey clouds hung low in the sky on a backdrop of blended oranges and yellows against the fading night. Hermione welcomed the peaceful silence that spread through the sanctuary as she carried her toiletry bag to the shared bathrooms at the end of the circle of cabins. After her hasty wake-up the day before, it was pacifying to return to her routine of rising early—even if she wasn't heading to the Ministry this morning as originally intended.
The green door swung shut behind her, and Hermione couldn't help but feel relieved. Besides the pattering of a single shower, Hermione was alone. Throughout the rest of the weekend, she had been forced to manoeuvre around four or five other dragon keepers—most of whom she didn't know—while trying to brush her teeth at one of the two sinks. It had been tolerable for a weekend, but now that she was staying for the rest of the week, Hermione didn't need to feel like she was back in the Gryffindor Tower girls' bathroom, fighting for a second in front of the mirror while Lavender examined her pores and Parvati debated the best placement for her butterfly clip.
Hermione relished in the practical solitude while trying to figure out what to do with her hair. She attempted a few charms to make it cooperate more like Julia's did in a ponytail before yanking out the hair tie, rummaging her fingers through her curls, trying out a plait instead, and then starting over. None of it looked good. She was on the brink of giving up when a low chuckle broke her concentration.
She instinctively whipped around to see who was there, only to discover a grinning Draco.
Correction: a grinning, shirtless Draco, with nothing covering his body except a towel hanging low around his hips.
All the blood seemed to rush to Hermione's face as she flung her focus back towards the sink, hair tie falling forgotten on the ground. His shirtless form still taunted her in the mirror's reflection.
"What's the matter, Granger?" his amused voice chimed. "I find it highly improbable this is your first time seeing a man without his shirt."
"Of course not," she defended, fixating intently on her own reflection. It was a rare, tortuous sight to have to witness her own cheeks turn so unmistakably rosy. "Just usually not so... unexpectedly."
His laughter echoed louder in the bathroom. "And I'm usually the only one up this early and not accustomed to intruding eyes, yet you don't see me cowering. Not very Gryffindor of you, now is it?"
Hermione peered over her shoulder just long enough to give him a pointed glare.
That proved to be a mistake.
Even in those few milliseconds, she caught too much of a glimpse, breaking the floodgates of curiosity. When her attention turned back to the mirror, it was no longer possible not to look. Years of working at the sanctuary had strengthened his lithe Quidditch muscles into a more brawny build—a fact she could have deduced with his shirt on. Yet now that Hermione had taken more than a couple stolen glances, she could see him properly, including the large dragon tattoo that curled up his bicep. Its dark green wings reached his shoulder while its black ridged tail spiralled down to his elbow: the clear depiction of a Norwegian Ridgeback. She didn't let her eyes fall far enough to see what she would find on his left forearm.
The slow pad of his footsteps against the tile approached closer. "So, Granger." His taunting faded, replaced by the casual demeanour she'd grown accustomed to the past couple of days. "No shower for you?"
Hermione sighed, resigning herself to face him properly. "I prefer to shower at night, especially out here. My hair doesn't cooperate with Drying Charms and requires the old fashioned method of natural air, so nighttime is better." She watched as his gaze tracked to her unsettled curls and pushed out a question before he could comment on it. "And just what exactly are you doing up this early, anyway? The mess hall doesn't open for another hour and a half."
"I used to get up early at Hogwarts to study before everyone else was awake," he stated after a shrug. "Couldn't let my housemates know how hard I was trying to beat you, could I? Now it's just a habit to start off the day with some reading."
Passing pride sprouted inside her, not sure she would ever grow tired of Draco Malfoy freely admitting to her besting him in something, but insatiable curiosity quickly won over.
"Does that mean there's a library on the sanctuary's grounds?"
Draco's snort filled the small space. "I know this may come as a bit of a shock to you, but not every place on earth has a library. After working here long enough, I've compiled my own collection of books." He lifted an eyebrow, arms folding against his bare, scar covered chest. "Would you like to see?"
"Very much," she answered far too quickly, though she doubted her answer was truly necessary.
"Then I expect to see you in my cabin shortly."
She assumed Draco would walk away after that, but instead he kept one hand around the tuck of his towel while he bent down to retrieve her hair tie from the ground.
Close enough for her to smell the spearmint of his toothpaste, he placed it in her palm and folded her fingers around the black elastic. "For what it's worth, I quite liked the plait."
~*~*~
A blue, translucent otter floated mid-air, nodding every few seconds as Hermione concluded her message.
"I apologise for the late notice. I will be back next Monday."
Hermione swirled her wand, causing the otter to do a flip before she cast her Patronus to deliver the message to the Beast Division head. The otter had strict instructions to stay on Rickson's desk until he arrived and heard the full message. While a parchment aeroplane was effective at informing Charlie about her decision to stay, a last minute message all the way to England required more clever spellwork.
With the Ministry informed of her absence, Hermione strode to the opposite side of the circle of cabins and knocked on Draco's door. It opened near immediately, and Hermione stepped inside to where Draco was seated at a table identical to the one in both Hermione and Julia's cabins. He was now properly dressed for the day, back in his typical attire of a black long-sleeved t-shirt and olive trousers. A book sat open on the table's surface, but he closed it the moment she crossed the threshold.
Hermione's mind was too distracted to formulate a response to his greeting. While she had accepted the sparse accommodations for herself, it was different to see Draco Malfoy living in such a simple cabin. The rugged surroundings and humble living quarters blended well with the perception Hermione had always had about Charlie, even before they had become close. Charlie had grown up in the Burrow. He had shared a bedroom with Bill. He knew what it was like to live modestly.
But Draco...
Even Malfoy Manor's garden shed had to be more luxurious than this.
Draco revealed no sign of discomfort. Whereas Julia's cabin had been sparingly decorated, Draco had made his more homely. A painting of a rolling landscape with a dragon soaring across the sky hung beside the table, and, as promised, a collection of books spanned across two different bookshelves that reached the ceiling.
Brushing fingertips stretched out to sweep over the spines. Some of the volumes looked—and undoubtedly were—centuries old. They ranged in topic from magical theory to history to leisurely novels, in addition to the multiple shelves dedicated to dragonology and related dragon keeping needs.
Her browsing stopped short when she reached the framed photograph at the end of one of the shelves. The frame was ornate, the only sign of opulence in the entire cabin. Large embossed flowers filled the thick frame, and Hermione had little doubt that it was Goblin-made. Inside the opening was a photo of Draco with only one other person: his mother. While Hermione would have expected any photo between the Malfoy matriarch and heir to be formal, this one was casual. Narcissa's long blonde hair was fashioned so the front strands of her hair were gathered in a twist, while Draco had the same small bun that he sported at the sanctuary. They were simply dressed as they strolled through what Hermione assumed to be the Malfoy Manor gardens, the semblance of any happy mother-son pair.
There were no other photographs in the room.
"Do you get to see your mother often?" Hermione asked, watching the photograph as Narcissa swept away a few strands of long locks that had fallen into her son's eyes.
She could feel Draco standing directly behind her, watching the photograph along with Hermione. "I didn't see her the first couple years I was out here," he said, close enough that Hermione could practically feel his words against her ear. He reached over her shoulder and took the frame into his hands. "Things were complicated between us for a while. But nowadays, I see her two or three times a year when I visit our French estate. She won't visit here."
His voice was strained at the edges, and Hermione looked over at him. "I'm trying to imagine how your mother would react if she ever had to eat with one of the broken forks."
The distant look in his eyes faded, replaced by reignited levity. "I think she'd sooner dine with Dementors."
When Draco placed the photograph back in its spot, the bookshelves once more called Hermione's attention. She scanned the titles for one that may prove useful with the dragon attacks when she noticed a trend about the books on the bottom shelves.
Her plait fell over her shoulder as she crouched down to examine them better. "Half of these books are about Antipodean Opaleyes."
"Yes, well, seeing as I'm Ivayr's primary dragon keeper, it does seem pertinent for me to have ample knowledge on her species."
Hermione was instantly back to upright. "You didn't mention that!"
He gently chuckled. "Never came up."
"Seemed relevant when we were discussing her," Hermione returned, remembering the pearl white dragon that had captured her attention two short days ago.
But when she thought back to that conversation, she recalled the terms that she and Draco had been on leading up to that moment. They had still been terse with each other. Back then, the fact that they had spoken civilly had been enough of an accomplishment. To imagine them sharing anything more than absolutely necessary about themselves would have been near-unfathomable.
She glanced back at the photo of Draco and his mother. Surveyed the wizard who had not once, but twice alluded to her being more adept at magic than him. Who had told her last night that he no longer subscribed to those twisted beliefs. Had wanted her to stay.
Apparently, a lot could change in just a couple of days.
Draco returned to his seat around the table, and Hermione left the bookshelves to join him. He conjured a tea set and filled the teapot with a boiling Aguamenti Charm before levitating over a selection of teas from a nearby drawer. Hermione selected a classic breakfast blend, at which point Draco poured the water for her.
"Lots of keepers wanted to work with Ivayr, Charlie included," Draco explained as he made his own cup of tea. "I just happened to be the one she bonded with best."
"Must be the similar colouring."
Draco scoffed, but the small tug on his lips revealed that he really didn't mind the taunt.
Curls of the steam arose from the tea's hot surface, and Hermione waited for it to cool as the oddity of everything started to catch up.
"You must admit it's quite unbelievable that the same person who sneered his way through Care of Magical Creatures has turned into a dragon keeper extraordinaire." She wrapped her hands around the teacup's warmth. "Out of all the dragon keepers at the sanctuary, Ivayr chose you, yet you hardly made it three minutes before Buckbeak rightfully attacked you, and you spent the rest of the school year whinging about a scratch."
"It most certainly was not a scratch," Draco instantly defended. He pulled up the sleeve of his right forearm, revealing a large scar from where one of Buckbeak's talons must have struck him. "I wasn't completely faking it."
"'Completely ' being the operative word," Hermione said with a faint huff, though with no trace of malice. "I do recall someone recently admitting to deserving that subsequent slap after what a prat you were about it."
"A prat during the weeks that followed and about the legal proceedings, not the initial injury itself."
"So you take no responsibility for being a prat for not following Hagrid's directions to begin with?"
"Have you met a thirteen year old boy? You can't honestly expect them to listen to everything a professor says."
"I can when dangerous magical creatures are involved!"
Chuckles rang through the cabin, amusement plain and clear across his features. "You always were such a teacher's pet."
"And you were always such an overdramatic boy."
"Never claimed otherwise."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "And yet, somehow, in all our years of strained history, that was the maddest I ever was at you."
"Then perhaps I have you to thank. Maybe you slapped some sense into me."
An almost boastful grin split his lips, and Hermione couldn't hold back the snicker behind her raised teacup. "That's a terrible pun."
"Oh? Then why are you laughing?"
She leaned in as a teasing smile inched up her cheeks. "Just remembering the look on your face as you scrambled away in fear."
"Mhm. Sure."
She didn't know at what point over the weekend it had started to feel so natural to have Draco Malfoy smile around her, but she found she didn't mind. It was nice to have someone else at the sanctuary to spend so much time with. There was no denying Draco had matured over the past several years, and she was grateful for it. And she had to admit, it didn't hurt that Draco was rather handsome when he smiled.
~*~*~
Hermione and Draco arrived at breakfast together, still making sure to get there on the earlier side despite there not being as much of a fight for forks like there was at dinner. Breakfast and lunch were more casual meals, with a variety of food options appearing in the middle of the individual tables so keepers could come and go as their schedules permitted.
Without a second thought, Hermione settled into the seat next to Draco, and their conversation continued to flow. She had no concept of how much time passed before Charlie arrived at the table, the first from their crew to join.
"Well, well, well," Charlie greeted them with a cheery disposition. "Look who could be convinced to stay after all."
Hermione sliced through her tomato. "Good morning to you, too, Charlie."
Draco greeted Charlie as well and then dove right back into his and Hermione's discussion. He was telling her about one of his recent readings which detailed the Warlocks' Convention of 1709 that had outlawed dragon breeding in the European Confederation of Wizardry. Hermione knew a fair bit about the convention, both from her own readings and from its relevance at work, but she had never considered how the law didn't apply as strictly in Romania since the country wasn't a sovereign nation until over a century and a half later.
"So that's why Harvey Ridgebit chose Romania to establish this sanctuary?" Hermione asked, recalling the founder's name from the dragon keeping handbook Draco had leant her the other night.
Draco nodded. "Some regulations are laxer here than other European countries such as Britain and France. Merlin, we don't even have a branch of Ministry dedicated to magical creatures."
"How is that possible?"
"Trust me, it leads to plenty of problems," Draco said before groaning. "The Romanian Ministry is so occupied with other matters, they bank on us being self-sufficient. Hence why it's so difficult to get them to do anything around here."
Hermione had plenty of grievances about the way things were run in her department, but to consider that some Ministries cared even less about their magical creatures was an outrage.
Draco continued to describe ways in which the Romanian dragon regulations differed from the laws Hermione had wrongly assumed were universal, when a sudden kick to her leg snapped her attention to the other side of the table. She startled, only now remembering that Charlie was also there.
The older dragon keeper quickly raised and lowered both eyebrows, glanced at Draco, then tilted his head.
Hermione scrunched her forehead and mouthed, "What?"
Charlie jerked his head towards Draco less subtly this time, but Hermione still couldn't comprehend what Charlie was trying to get at.
Draco remained oblivious to the whole ordeal, too focused on his breakfast and his grievances with the Romanian Ministry to have noticed Hermione's distraction. He only stopped when Aurel and Markus arrived, shortly followed by Julia, who were all surprised but excited by Hermione's presence.
The mess hall started to fill with dragon keepers, while others were already wrapping up their breakfast and leaving to start with their duties for the day. When Doru and Llewellyn had both arrived at their typical table, Charlie tried to excuse himself to see if they had heard anything from the Romanian Auror office, when Julia tugged him back into his chair.
"The Auror's Office will have hardly opened," Julia said, one hand clenched around Charlie's shirt so he couldn't get away. "Hermione stayed to spend more time with you, and you're not about to leave before the end of breakfast."
Charlie relaxed, and Julia released her grip. "I guess it can wait," he said, though he didn't sound pleased.
Hermione couldn't blame him. He was concerned about the dragons. She understood their safety would always come first. Honestly, it wasn't a massive deal. Yes, she obviously wanted to spend more time with Charlie, but he wasn't the only reason she stayed.
"Hey, I have an idea," Markus said. "It's been a while since we played a pick-up match of Quidditch. What do you say to a game this afternoon to get our minds off all this?" He looked between Charlie and Draco. "You two good to play Seekers?"
Draco agreed, as did Charlie.
A puckish glint shone in Charlie's eyes that was uncomfortably reminiscent of Fred and George during their early scheming days.
"And who will you be rooting for, Hermione? Me or Draco?"
Hermione's lips were open, ready to retort that she'd cheered against Draco her entire life and saw no reason to stop now, when the loud crack of a dragon keeper Apparating directly into the mess hall interrupted all surrounding conversations.
The keeper ran directly to Doru and Llewellyn, and resulting whispers rippled through the room. Whatever the keeper said was short, but it was enough to drain the colour from Doru's already pale, elderly complexion.
"Do you think another dragon's been attacked?" was all Aurel got out before Llewellyn gave Charlie a panicked look from across the tables and Disapparated a second later.
Doru and the dragon keeper also disappeared, right as Charlie tore his hand into his pocket to reveal his silver coin. It glowed in alert.
Julia looked at Charlie with concern. "Is it another Welsh Green?"
But Charlie was distant. He merely stared at the coin's message. "Fucking hell."
He Disapparated without an answer.
The whole mess hall buzzed with commotion, guesses for the cause of the disturbance already echoing off the wood-panelled walls. Until it suddenly stopped.
All at once, every keeper in the mess hall dug into their pockets, dragonhide pouches, or wherever else they kept their silver coins, leaving Hermione to witness the shock that bloomed on everyone else's faces.
Countless eyes were now staring at the message sent to every keeper. Markus and Aurel Disapparated almost immediately. Julia paused only to glance at Draco before she, too, disappeared. Draco was stone.
Hermione watched him intently, eyes blown with worry.
One by one, more and more keepers Disapparated.
Draco stared gravely at his coin.
"Draco," she tried, fear bubbling inside her alongside her escalating heartbeat. She clamped her hand around his. He was shaking. "Draco, what happened?"
It was only then that Draco snapped out of his trance. Whether he intended to or not, it was also then that Draco Apparated—bringing Hermione along with him. The mess hall swirled from focus, and they soon landed in the centre of the turmoil, surrounded by charred tree trunks and the heat of Norberta's angry blaze.