Roaring Flames

Charlie Weasley opened his eyes to the dark wooden ceiling of his hut, rubbed his palm over his sleepy face and came to the conclusion that something about this day was seriously off.

He could not pinpoint the exact reason, but there was this itchy feeling of impending disaster - a crawling chill underneath his skin, quiet, yet sharp enough to make the hair an the nape of his neck stand up. Usually, his instincts were to be trusted.

However, when he stepped out into the sanctuary that had been his home for the past years, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He greeted Jim with a short wave and a mumbled “Good morning”, when they bumbed into each other, but all he got in return was a quiet grunt and an annoyed: “I need a vacation.”

The younger man took another step forward and grimaced. “And burn salve. Do you still have some left from last week’s batch?”

Apparently, Omega - their female Antipodeon Opaleye, his favorite monster - had confused his fellow dragon keeper with her food the previous night. Nobody was dead, Omega was happy, and the burn would heal in time, so technically nothing scandalous. In terms of the occupational hazard that came with being a dragon keeper (bruises, cuts, broken bones, the well-loved burns of different degrees…) - but he was getting distracted here.

After a short round of questioning it seemed that nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the early morning hours. It made him restless. Nervous, almost. If Charlie Weasley’s gut said something was wrong, something was ususally wrong.

It couldn't be hunger. That had been his first theory, which he’d abandoned about ten minutes ago, after two plates of lush breakfast, which was not as bad as one might expect from a dragon santuary that consisted mostly of young bachelors. Acceptable even, considering he hadn’t chosen to care for dragons because of the food. The beasts tended to get meat of higher quality than their keepers, but he felt no real envy about that. He preferred a badly seasoned stew over being critically endangered and highly popular on the magical black market. He also didn’t like his beef raw.

Taking the possibility of hunger out of the equation, his head concocted more theories. Broody, tired and unusually tense, the red-haired Weasley offspring poked at his eggs before he reached for his tea and concluded that he had no chance but to face this positively dreadful day he was sure to experience.

The tea helped.

It almost always did.

Dear Gwendolyn dismissed his content sip with a scoffed “Brits”, which was skillfully ignored and rewarded with an outstretched tongue towards the Frenchwoman. She responded with a pretty finger. Gwen had the immensely annoying talent to figure out if the men were in a bad mood and drive them to insanity from there on.

Charlie liked being British. He always had. He was into tea and though his rougher appearance might make you believe differently, he greatly appreciated a casual cuppa in the morning and the afternoon. Tea might not be his answer to everything (he wasn’t that bad), but he really liked the cup with the Beauxbaton’s coat of arms (a trinket he’d stolen from Gwen a while ago and considered it his property now). He also looked British (to hell with all gods, who gave him, a grown man, freckles), but at least he was able to get a proper tan. As far as he knew he was the only one of six brothers able to do so. He had once tried to hex his freckles away and it had ended with green hair for a week and thus the endeavor had been entirely abandoned.

Picking at another part of his breakfast with his fork, he kept theorizing. Did he hit his head during the mock duel, slash eventual half-hearted fist fight with Jim? Probably not or he would have felt that sooner.

Ignoring this inkling would be bad though.

He had ignored his instincts once and Omega had nearly ripped off Jim's arm - the potion had been too weak to knock her out long enough. Jim had survived, the cuts and burns not to mention, but he still avoided Omega and Charlie felt a tad bit responsible for that. Not that anybody really cared. It was common knowledge for dragon keepers that sometimes you simply didn’t get along with a dragon. As it was not intelligent to provoke further incidents, the most reasonable reaction was switching shifts. Often.

Didn’t kill them – on the contrary, it had already spared many of them the fate of ending up as a human torch. Some dragons did have a weird sense of humor.

“Guys?” It echoed over the breakfast table. Heads were lifted, some were not. “Did you hear about the new guy?” Alec Calmes, proud to be the only blonde in the santuary, peered over the edge of his Daily Prophet and yawned pointedly.

“New guy? Really?” This eager voice belonged to the already mentioned James “Jim” Aldrin, the current newbie, who really didn’t like carrying the title and had apparently gotten over his bad mood for the day. Charlie resisted the urge to smirk and instead tried to read the front page of Alec’s prophet.

Triwizard Tournament. It exclaimed in bold letters on the front page.

Alright. That sounded fancy. An agreeing hum came from the opposite end of the table. Charlie concentrated back on his pancakes instead of witnessing Marcus Dolby nod. “Boss said it’s a troublemaker this time. Experienced though, was in Brazil and Sweden but tends to be have a mad streak. Jo something…Mike, Micha…”

“Michelson.” Tanner Rutherford supplied absentmindedly, peering into Alec’s prophet and Marcus nodded eagerly.

“That’s the name.”

Charlie sighed inwardly.

They always needed new keepers. Their numbers were dangerously low as it was, but it was questionable whether a ‘troublemakler’ would be a useful addition to the crew. While he would never say he was of the cautious sort (an unhealthy love for adrenaline and danger somewhat came with the job), he wasn’t very into madness of any kind, so he didn’t join the upcoming discussion around the table. His breakfast demanded his full attention.

It was also still early, somewhat between seven and eight in the morning and Charlie was no morning person. Never had, never would, thank you very much.

None of them was (aside from Marcus) with dear Phil Troupes being the best example as he currently snored face down on the table, hand almost buried in his uneaten porridge. Since it was better to fall asleep here than in a compound later, no one bothered to wake him.

Though Gwen had to be stopped from dying his eyebrows yellow.

There was no curfew in the sanctuary – there were all grown men, and well, Gwen – and the next city that properly earned that definition was about one hundred miles away (the size of the compounds dragons sometimes required was nothing to be sneezed off), but it would probably be better if there was.

Shifts started early. Each and every day, not counting one day a week they were allowed to take time off individually. If that wasn’t the case, breakfast started at seven, rounds at eight thirty. If you were too late for breakfast, your food was either cold or eaten by somebody else, so the caterwauling charm Gwen had installed back on her first night had been modified until everybody woke from the charming sound of screaming cats.

As some still tended to overhear even the most terrible wailing (Charlie wasn’t proud of that), those unlucky fellows had additional charms in their own cottages.

He himself possessed an additional alarm clock, adorned with an ugly set of cat ears and whiskers that had been enchanted to jump on his forehead if he ignored it for too long. He had tried to get rid of the unwanted gift, curtesy of his dear colleagues, but that damn thing could grow legs and always hobbled back towards its spot on his bedside table, no matter how far he chugged it into the woods behind his cabin.

The sanctuary provided quite nice cabins, to many people’s surprise. Cozy, comfortable and much steadier than the Burrow used to look.

Each day about half past seven, they assembled in the middle of the camp in one straight line, hands crossed behind their back.

Eight forty sharp, Bane Curtey, a massive man with a grim expression and short trimmed hair, would step out of his hut, bulky shoulders just a little intimidating, distributing the task for the day. Same today. There was a rumor that everybody who got on his bad side ended up with the worst task of the day and Charlie was fairly certain he got on Bane's bad side on lots of occasions. Nothing he did voluntarily. He respected Bane. He actually liked him most of the time. The feeling wasn’t essentially mutual.

“I do like your enthusiasm, and I don’t like your enthusiasm.” Was all Bane had said when Charlie (still a greenhorn back than) had found the guts to voice his feelings. He had been more confused than before but by now he was fairly sure that Bane held him in somewhat high regard. From Bane Curtey that could as well have been the highest compliment.

This morning Charlie stood in line between Jim and Gwen, when Bane stepped through the rows.

The tickle charm hit him the second his boss stepped in front of him. Even though Gwen's wand was skillfully hidden in her sleeve, Charly knew exactly what was going on and resisted the urge to kick her in the knee, while he tried to hold back the stupid giggle that built up in his throat. Luckily for him, Bane was too occupied with staring them down to notice that he fished for his own wand to throw an itching-charm to his left.

"Weasley, Beel, Aldrin!" Bane bellowed in his usual tone.

The giggle that was still stuck in Charlie's throat came out as a pained groan. He couldn't do better, but at least he didn't laugh his superior straight out it the face. Bane simply raised an eyebrow at him.

If rumors were true - and Charlie was certain they were - Bane had served in the Muggle Military when he was young, which might have caused his unhealthy fixation on discipline in the mornings. Fortunately, he became more relaxed after his morning cigarette, which he would smoke immediately after the assembly.

"You take the three big ones this morning."

Charlie could not hold back the actual groan, hiccupped, and then stared at Gwen angrily, all while ignoring the relieved smirks from the colleagues. The three big ones were the impersonation of any wizard's nightmare. Bad tempered, mean and not to mention freaking huge.

"Aldrin, ya still don't like Omega?" Bane asked with his deep voice, the sharp edges of the words pointing out his Scottish ancestry.

"No." Jim only huffed.

"Fine. Weasley, she's all yours after the big ones."

Charlie only nodded happily. He liked the Antipodean Opaleye. She was a bit tense nowadays and skittish, but she was a hatching female dragon, so he could not really fault her for that. One might think they were dangerous enough without the additional mental pressure of protecting their offspring, so no need to explain why they became fire-breathing death machines as soon as their young were involved.

"Aldrin, ya get Yiga." Bane continued and added with a scoff "The Peruvian Vipertooth, ya blockhead." when Jim's face disclosed that he had no idea which dragon he was talking about. Suppressed snickers were heard beside them.

"Beel, it's the Rumanian Longhorns for ya today." A less enthusiastic nod on Gwen's side but she took it with grace. "And take care of Nivitri and Louri. Saw them spitting at each other yesterday. Ya might have to separate them for now." Another silent nod from Gwen and they were released after that.

Routine began. Falling in line with Jim and Gwen, Charlie squeezed himself through the others towards the huge building on the other head of the clearing where they kept their supplies. The first stop would be the three big ones.

Charlie loved dragons and he didn’t really care what breed they were, how they looked or how nasty they were. He did, however, care for his skin and feeding the three big ones wasn’t easy on normal days. Today, the air was loaded with humidity, promising a big storm in the evening hours. After having lived most of his live in cool, rainy Britain, his body always needed time to adjust to the brutal late summer heat in Rumania.

Visiting the only female of the big three – a Greek Saberback, a water dragon who lived in the fifty square mile artificial lake of the sanctuary – would be a blessing today, but there was also a Black Lavabelly that needed to be fed, and that promised a hell of a hike through the sun. They rotated when given the big ones. The last time, about two weeks ago, Charlie had visited the Greek Saberback, but he hadn't seen the dragon itself, as it tended to stay hidden in the depths of the lake until the keeper was gone.

And of course, it was Charlie's turn today to visit the Black Lava Belly given Gwen's mischievous grin. Brilliant. Just what he needed to worsen his upcoming headache.

Their Lavabelly was a mean, devious beast. It lived inside the artificial volcano the founders of the sanctary had created and it loved to make the mountain erupt boiling hot stone to scare some nearing keepers. Raining burning stones were no fun, truly.

Maybe the ominous feeling could be related to the Lavabelly? Possible. He would be more careful. Even more so than normally. At least Diablo – such a creative name – would announce himself before he tried to kill him. Not a trait every dragon possessed.

With their wands drawn and three simultaneously spoken wingardium leviosa, the three keepers turned towards the beaten paths just outside the camp area, the fodder silently floating after them. Behind them, the other keepers did the same and spread in the directions of the appointed compounds.

Another reason why feeding the big three (the Lavabelly, the Saberback and a Russian Windtail) was hardly popular: In addition to the fact that they were huge, fucking dangerous and a pure source of adrenalin, their compounds (the volcano, the lake, and a deserted, wide area for the Windtail) were located the furthest away from the camp. No one was motivated to regularly take the two-hour walk. Two hours after apparating half of the way.

"I'm telling you, Weasley, he really doesn't like you." Jim groaned after they passed the invisible apparition border surrounding the camp. With a flick of his wand the two big cows, which still levitated above their heads, shrunk to watermelon-size so he could put them into the linen-bag he summoned from thin air.

"Who says it's me? You offend the hatching females all the time." Charlie answered with an eyeroll and mimicked the wand motion.

"Shut up, boys. He hates both of you." Gwen chuckled.

"How consoling."

"Always so optimistic, Gwen."

"That's no false optimism, but realism. Jim fails with the females, so he must take care of the females until he finally gets the hand of it. And you…" She turned to Charlie but seemed to have honest problems to name Bane's reason. While Charlie made his cow shrink too, hers still floated behind her, while she put a hand on her chin and frowned.

"Actually, I'm not sure. He's mean to you, but I'm certain he likes you on a professional basis."

"Meaning what?"

"What am I, your therapist?" She certainly tended to act like it often enough. "Ask him yourself."

Yeah. That was never going to happen again. Once had been embarrassing enough.

Throwing the now filled leather bag over his shoulder, Charlie snorted at the mere thought. Carrying around dead cows the size of a cat had been rather disturbing at first, but once he got over the smell it wasn’t so bad.

He observed Gwen while she casually flicked her wrist.

“But you always have so much wisdom to declare, Gwinny.” Charlie’s tone might have been loaded with sarcasm. His answer was a frown and a half-heartedly tickle charm.

Gwen was tiny in comparison to him. Her short pixy cut would make her look like a boy from afar, but thanks to certain well-proportioned areas Alec loved to point out, no one would mistake Gwendolyn Beel for a boy. Especially because she was the only woman in the whole sanctuary. Her features were pretty, with a pointed nose and small lips that would form into a smirk every time Gwen got into a verbal – or magical – fight with the men. Which happened…well, daily. Gwen was a feisty one, hot-headed and brutally honest. She was a genius with dragons – if it was no Romanian Longhorn – as well as with a wand. Dueling with her was nasty. She'd jinx you to Scotland within a heartbeat if you let your guard down and she had a seemingly never-ending reservoir of tricky little hexes. Her dueling skills, combined with a sharp tongue and attractive features, made her the wet dream of most of the men in camp, and she was perfectly aware of that.

She loved rebuffing them and they all knew that they had no chance. Even Alec knew, but the guy was too much of a stubborn prick to get it into his skull that Gwen was probably the only woman he'd never shag. Luckily, she had declared herself Charlie’s big sister the day he’d stepped foot in camp (and she’d also been dating a muggle woman from France back then, as she’d confided in him not shortly after) and so he’d never suffering the bad luck of holding a torch for her. Some days he wasn't sure if having her as a sort of best female buddy was better, though.

"Gwen, are you taking Eurybia?"

The witch agreed with a short hum. About twelve meters long and ten meters wide if she flew, their Greek Saberback Eurybia was a beast. Admittedly, a pretty one, with light blue shimmering scales and dark sapphire eyes, but a beast, nonetheless. She also had the bad habit of drowning wildlife and people.

"Avoid bein' grilled, boys." Tipping her forehead with two fingers, Gwen disappareted.

"You gonna be alright?" Charlie asked the remaining dragon keeper with raised eyebrows. The younger one only rolled his eyes and mirrored Gwen's gesture, though a tad too enthusiastic for it to be serious.

"I'm fine. Beast better be prepared."

Charlie expected at least one burn and several bruises and felt the urge to beat his forehead against the next trunk for this much stupidity. He liked Jim, he truly did, but that man had an affinity for idiotism. He had been tasked to take care of Jim when the younger wizard started working as a keeper and he was pretty sure the guy didn't remember a single thing Charlie tried to teach him over the months.

"Don't let Yiga bite you." Again. "We don't have enough antidote to waste for that."

Another plop and Charly stood alone, before he shifted his weight and forced his mind to calm for a second. The feeling of apparation was sickening as always, and he was happy when he appeared one hundred miles further south, feat steady and inner organs still in place. He felt a bit like vomiting, though, so he concentrated on the path in front of him.

Now the funny part began: Walking.

A short flick of his wand – dragon heartstring and birchwood with a white tip, a good and loyal wand – and the air about two meters ahead turned purple immediately. He tapped on it in a specific pattern, like visitors did in Diagon Alley, and the invisible border opened to a man-sized hole. Quickly slipping through, Charlie kept his wand raised and the minute he lifted the pressure with a flick, the border snapped back in place, becoming invisible once more. It was no rarity that newbies ran directly into it (he managed at least twice), but after all this time, he felt the tingle of magic in the air from several steps away.

He began to hike, once again marveling at the logistical genius the sanctuary had been developed by.

Every compound was equipped with an incredible amount of protection charms and shields. Depending on the resident dragon's natural habitat, it magically stretched up to two hundred and fifty square miles. Though only Hebridean Blacks required such large territory and they had none to take care of at the moment. Other breeds usually were content with half of it.

The shields stretched like a dome over the compound, allowing the dragons to fly and live almost like they would in the wild. It wasn't endless of course and stopped about quarter a mile above the clouds. At the beginning, Charlie had wondered if a dragon wouldn't be fooled by the seeming freedom and crash into it full force. Later he learned about the automatic detection charms that warned an approaching dragon by coloring the dome purple. Usually, the smart creatures got it and turned around, but some seemed to like the challenge. To make sure they didn't rip apart the charms – dragon skin wasn't just for show and the creatures itself were infused with ancient magic – no less than ten stunning charms of different levels had been woven into the dome. Though it had always worked so far, Charlie was sure it just tickled.

He'd experienced it, when all of the keepers had been needed to calm the raging Russian Windtail Jim was tending to right now. He'd stopped counting after the twentieth spell had hit the dragon, and there had been many more. And at the moment, they were twelve men plus Gwen. An immense amount of combined magical power.

Luckily, most of the dragons aside from Erebus – the Windtail – preferred to stay away from the barriers, sensing the magic it radiated.

Adjusting the bag on his back, Charlie made his way through the scrub, magicking some rubble out of the way when necessary.

On the one hand he was happy that the founders managed to make the compounds as huge as they were, thanks to countless extension charms. It certainly improved the living conditions for the dragons and he couldn't stand the image of these majestic creatures being forced into tiny cages. The area should be as big as Scotland by now if he was correct, though most of it was never entered by the keepers.

The problem that came with it were the distances. They couldn't apparate the whole way. Anti-apparition spells had been placed on every single compound – Charlie was fairly sure Albus Dumbledore helped with some of them – to avoid a misguided tourist or another pour soul accidentally landing right in front of one of their fosterlings and end up as a snack. That would mean loads of stress for the sanctuary as well as a bad reputation.

Though the sanctuary had been founded by British wizards, they were lucky enough that the Ministry of Magic preferred to stay out of their business most of the time. They had an agreement with Romania’s own head of government for letting them use the wilderness of the country. And they didn’t have enough people that were too keen on visiting a 'barbaric camp of rowdy dragon cuddlers’, to quote the last wizard from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures who’d visited and who’d pretty much fled the country after.

(Charlie was sure the man wet his pants after getting face to face with Erebus. Maybe they had scared him on purpose, but he’d never admit that.)

One of the political idiots still came once a year, but for one day their stuck-up behavior was bearable.

Sweat ran down Charlie's back and forehead. The volcano was still nowhere to be seen. Once again, he cursed the fact that they could only apparate to the areas between the individual compounds. It was still a hell of a walk, but at least it made it easier to come directly to a barrier, should a dragon freak out.

Lucky (or maybe not so lucky) for them, Erebus was the only dragon who did so regularly. He was old, even for a dragon, but something told Charlie that his behavior wasn't the result of age. The Russian Windtail wanted to leave his compound. Nobody was concerned, since Russian Windtails were told to be the most aggressive ones beside Hungarian Horntails. And they were gigantic, with sand-colored scales, red slits as eyes and enormous power in their leathery wings. Erebus occasionally tended to uproot most of the trees is his compound if he was annoyed and he would go on his rampage until there wasn't an ounce of energy left in his body.

Bane always told them that dragons, no matter their intelligent reputation, didn't feel loneliness or loss as humans did, but Charlie wasn't convinced. Erebus was the second last of his kind, except one male in the Brazilian sanctuary. No chance for breeding there. The Russian Windtails would die out with Erebus and while he could not possibly know that, Charlie was convinced that loneliness wasn’t a concept only applied to humans. At least Erebus was free. As free as a creature at the risk of extinction could be.

Charlie ducked under a low hanging branch and the ground under his feet began to change. The trees disappeared and were replaced by grey, sandy siliceous rocks, which marked the beginning of the volcano area. Right there, he came to a halt and lowered the quaffle-sized bag to the ground.

"Engorgio." A flick of his wand and a murmured spell later, the cows floated in front of him in their original size. He placed the first right beside him and let the other one fly to a rock formation about twenty meters ahead, the remains of the latest outburst of lava.

Every sane keeper would turn around and leave. Now. But sometime after his last year at Hogwarts – probably during it as well – the Weasley had realized that sanity during dangerous situations wasn't his forte. Maybe Gwen was right in her theory that Bane exposed them willingly to the cases that were most likely to get them hurt or lose a limb, like Jeff Cartney (with his forty-seven years even Bane’s senior) had.

No matter how much Charlie treasured every encounter with a dragon, he had to accept that there was no chance for closer contact. Unfortunately, a part of his brain seemed to forget this important bit of information regularly.

Black smoke wafted at the top of the volcano. A clear sign that Diablo was awake and had smelled his fodder, and that, therefore, Charlie should leave. But he took the risk. Again.

Because these creatures were magnificent, fascinating, and incredible, no matter how often he saw them. It was so frustrating to know that he'd never be able to touch one without losing his hand.

And at last, when a short shower of glowing stones rained down a few feet beside him, Charly knew it was time to go if he didn't want to end as Diablo’s dessert. Even though he had the slightest hope that the dragon recognized him, bit by bit, every time he came. That didn't change the fact that Diablo was hungry though, and Charlie would need to use another day to check out if his insane theory of human-dragon coexistence might be true. He turned on his heel and dashed back into the woods. After about half a kilometer he looked over his shoulder while climbing over a fallen tree. Diablo’s thunder-like roar proved that he had found the first cow.

Charlie walked faster. He saw the characteristic glowing shine of dragon skin through the trees, which meant that he was still far too close.

The appearance of a Black Lavabelly was rather easy to describe, as the name summed it up. Its back and the back of its neck were covered in matt black scales, slick as a snake's, while its belly and the inside of its wings appeared as if the lava this breed lived in had burned itself inside their skin. Contrary to most other breeds, this one neither had spikes nor other visible weapons on its body beside its claws. Not that the yellow-eyed beast needed it. One touch and even another dragon could hardly withstand the pure heat the Lavabelly radiated. They weren't the most persistent flyers but their thick and extraordinary skin – which was indeed as sturdy and rock-like as it looked, as he'd been able to test during an examination – was all defense necessary. No need to mention the breath.

There was a reason Jeff would never set a foot in this compound again for as long as he lived. Mostly because he already had only one left, the other one either rotting inside the woods somewhere or having long been digested by Diablo. It was probably luck or some good fortune that Jeff was the only keeper missing a leg. It certainly didn’t make the job easier.

Another dark roar let the earth rumble underneath his feet and when he felt the silent tickle of the barrier's magic, Charlie felt relief and disappointment at the same time. What would he give to be able to turn and encounter the beast?

He couldn't risk being eaten – Bane would force Diablo to spit him back out just to kill Charlie himself. Not to mention Molly Weasley. Charlie wasn't sure who would be to pity more, the dragon or his boss.

But…he really wanted to turn.

After a short check, Charlie opened the barrier and closed it as soon as he was outside, securing the charms once again. This was one of the first things new keepers were taught: securing the compounds and treating burns, and anybody who was unable to produce a proper Aguamenti wasn't even allowed to enter the camp in the first place.

Charlie had been a dragon keeper for three years now. Directly after his graduation from Hogwarts he'd applied to the biggest sanctuary in Europe and no matter the exhaustion, the pain, and the sometimes life-threatening situations…he wouldn't give it up for anything. There was of course a difference in being knocked out by a bludger and being knocked out by a furious dragon, but the work filled him with contentment and excitement both.

The guys in the camp were annoying but great buddies, too, and Gwen was the older sister he never wanted (but wouldn’t return either). Regarding Jim, he truly had enough younger brothers, but they were still friends.

Alec and Tanner were still arseholes, that hadn't changed from the time Charlie knew the older men at Hogwarts, but they were trustworthy when it came to saving his buttocks. It was hard to stay on bad terms with anyone to be honest, because they all shared their love for magical beasts.

Grinning at the thought, Charlie let the linen bag shrink until it fit into his back pocket and rotated his shoulders once, inwardly preparing to apparate. No matter how often he did it, the feeling never vanished. Quite like the nagging tickle in his head. This annoying pull in his consciousness that still told him that something was very, very off.

And then, just like that, there it was: A pulse of magic. His wand vibrated with the amount of magic he unconsciously sent towards it, prepared to act immediately. His muscles tense, he turned slowly.

Runaway dragons? Never, he'd know that. But who dared to enter the Romanian wilderness just like that, especially in a highly secured area such as the sanctuary? The stunner was on his lips, ready to be cast in between the trees.

Too bad the attacker didn't come from the woods.

"Fuck Circe!"

Something crashed onto his head.

The next moment he was on the ground, face buried in the dirt, a terrible pain in his skull and back.

Pretty much blind, he fired a stunner, which apparently missed the target, since it exclaimed an angry "Ej, careful!"

He needed a moment to get a grip on what was happening, but even after a few seconds he had no solution: He was on the ground with dirt in his mouth and there was an unidentified attacker on his back, whose weight pressed onto his rips uncomfortably.

Breathe.

Forcing his body to relax into a seeming state of surrender, he assembled all insults he knew. He could imagine that there was a bunch of wannabe deatheaters – self-proclaimed supporters of some crazy dark wizard – still running around freely, but he had nothing to do with them. Okay, correction, him being a Weasley probably already placed a big target on his back.

Oops.

That might turn out nasty if he wasn’t careful.

"Hey, are you still alive?" His attacker asked.

Kind of. He growled inwardly and wondered if the painful throbbing in his head might result in a mild concussion. Terrible timing and-

Okay, now he was sure about two things.

First: His attacker was certainly no deatheather. Deatheaters didn't poke their prey in the cheek with the tip of their wand.

Second: He still didn't like them, because they made no attempt to leave his back.

"Hello? Please tell me you're not dead. That wouldn't look good for me."

Charlie was by no means unintelligent, but he did tend to have a temper. And his day had been exhausting already so instead of calmly considering the best way to handle the situation, he did what an angry, annoyed young man did best.

He needed exactly one second to grip his wand stronger, push his hands against the muddy ground, and use all his strength to shoot his body upwards, effectively throwing off his attacker off. Within a breath, he was on his feet, wand at the ready.

"Expelliarmus!"

What he had not considered was the lack of direction after that stunt.

His spell missed terribly and crashed uselessly against a trunk, the unknown invader now a few steps further, crouched on the ground.

"Bastard, what the hell?!"

He had no time to answer but jackknifed away to avoid the yelled "Stupefy!" and nearly broke his ankles while stumbling over a root. Barely managing to hold onto a tree, while ducking under the next spell and pressing his back flat against the wood, Charlie cursed.

Calling for backup would have been the smartest move right now, but his mind was focused on the figure hiding behind trees and bushes and by Merlin, he could get rid of one wannabee death-eater by himself, thank you very much.

Molly Weasley would yell at him, but luckily, she was about two thousand kilometers away.

The next moment, Charlie shot forward, ducked underneath a pulsing spell and slithered over the dry leaves on the forest floor. A red beam sprung from his wand and missed his opponent again, who jumped over the next root and answered with a yelled curse on their own. Spells flew through the woods, ravaged the ground and shredded trees and Charlie had to admit that he was breaking a sweat. His opponent was quick and incredibly agile and always managed to dodge his attacks and fire another one within the same breath. He was far less elegant in dodging. His last serious duel had been weeks ago, and he was out of breath from the heat, stumbling embarrassingly often. Professor Nertus would scold him to the Black Lake and back for that miserable performance.

But he wouldn't let himself be limited by such liabilities.

Whoever they were had entered the sanctuary without permission and, on top of that, had attacked him. As a dragon keeper and proud Weasley, he couldn't allow them to harm his colleagues or one of the dragons. He truly hoped that this was no deatheater, but he searched for green spell light just in case. Every single bird had already left the area in one go and a moment later, Charlie knew why.

"Expulso!"

The incantation resonated and the tree next to him exploded in a chaos of wood and splinters. His mouth suddenly went dry when a huge oak crashed onto the ground, taking two other trees with it. He answered with the same explosion charm, but he was more or less firing blindly, hoping that the dust that now filled the air would hide him from his attacker's eyes too.

That plan was quickly abandoned, since his boots scrunched loudly with every step, so he threw all caution overboard and dashed into the woods. Branches hit his face and arms, but he ignored them and slithered around a bunch of trees until found himself in the middle of a clearing.

Open, visible and absolutely screwed.

His first impulse was to curse, then to flee, but there was no chance that he hadn't been already spotted, so he forced his breath to a calmer rhythm and waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for, but he always trusted his instincts.

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the clearing. He saw nothing. A branch cracked, and he spun around. Nothing. No spell, no other sound. No attack. When he heard another crack, he ducked intuitively, waiting for a curse to come. But again, nothing. Suppressing a frustrated growl, he slowly stood up again.

Either he was paranoid, or somebody enjoyed playing with him. Sweat ran down the back of his neck and he heard the blood rush in his ears. Gwen would be so disappointed in his duelling skills today.

And then, Charlie listened, listened to the forest and the rustle of leaves. His instincts never failed him.

"Deprimo!"

The spell came from the front and he jumped left. Countering the next one with a protection spell, he used the moment the shield had given him to go into full offense and tackle through the bushes. Bodies collided, and he grunted in pain when he lost the ground under his feet and his opponent pulled him with them down the hill. A curse scratched his cheek, branches and roots stuck into his back. He tried to make out his opponent’s features, but the world was upside down.

Dirt greeted him. The air was pressed from his lungs when a weight landed on his back. Again.

A bunch of leaves rained down on his head. Silence reigned aside from two heavy sets of breaths. This was the second time today that he lay face down in the dirt with a stranger sitting on his back. A stranger who apparently found the situation incredibly amusing, judging from the laughter that reached his ears.

This time he had no nerve to play dead and turned around abruptly, reaching for his attacker, but they were gone before he got a grip. Determinedly jumping to his feet, Charlie spun around.

The fist missed his nose by a hairs breath.

Oh, so they were doing it the Muggle way now?

He stumbled backwards, narrowly avoided the foot going for his head, and tried to trip them up or reach for the leg still standing. With a triumphant scream he got a hold of some trousers, pulled the small calf towards him and enjoyed the angry hiss of his opponent when they landed in the dirt.

He had no time to celebrate though, because a split-second later, he found himself back on the ground, arm painfully twisted on his lower back and the tip of a wand pressed to his neck. His own wand lay a few feet away, silently laughing at him.

"Okay, sunshine." A spiteful voice hissed beside his ear. Did that voice sound familiar? He didn't socialize with criminals so it was probably his throbbing head playing tricks on him. "You will stand up now. Then I will give you your wand and if you dare to attack me once again in such a pitiful manner, I will jinx you on the moon, got it?"

His answer was a low growl, but against the ground it sounded much less intimidating than he had hoped. The wand buried itself deeper into his flesh and he gnawed his teeth, trying to peek backwards. His opponent still waited for a reply, but Charlie used the short moment to calm his breath and sum up the situation. He was still alive, which was great, but pinned down, which was rather bad. His head hurt, there were certainly leaves in his hair and in some spots underneath his clothing were leaves should not be.

They had made no attempt to kill him yet, so it was highly possible that they wouldn't try at all.

But there was dirt in his mouth again.

Another painful stab into his flesh made him nod. Slowly, the weight vanished from his back. The hand on his arm, however, stayed and pulled him roughly onto his feet, his shoulder throbbing painfully. He saw his wand float through the air out of the corner of his eye and would have made an attempt to grab it if it wasn't for the sharp voice.

"You better not try that." Regardless, the hand disappeared from his arm so that he could hold it in a more natural position. His heart beating rapidly in his chest, Charlie forced himself to turn around.

And blinked. And blinked some more.

"You're a woman." He stated, somehow overwhelmed by the simple realization.

"And you are clumsy and obviously blind." His female attacker shot back.

She was tall, not much shorter than him with skin that shimmered olive in the shade. Dark, sharp eyes stared him down, the lift of her brows paired with a frown a testament to her bad mood.

Then, suddenly, the women blinked.

And blinked some more.

"You must be kidding." She breathed then. The arms which had been placed on her hips fell in a weak movement. "By Morgana, come on, why you.”

Now they both stood there, eyes big and mouths open, be it due to different reasons.

Charlie was wondering how he had managed to get beaten up by a girl. Gwen would never let him hear the end of it. There was earth all over his hair and face and his clothes were a mess. And silently thanked whatever little luck this day provided that her fist hadn’t properly connected with his nose because it seemed to ache even from the half-hearted scratch.

He still had no idea what to say.

Then she exploded into laughter. She laughed so loudly that the birds, which had just returned, fled once again in a squawking and screeching cloud.

It took him a few moments to realize that she was entirely unamused and the laugh was rather mean and ugly, as if she had been presented with an especially ill-timed joke which she could not help but be disgusted by.

Hands pressed on her probably aching belly she kept going, until he cleared his throat loudly and pointedly. She didn't stop right away (which annoyed him even more) but the sound gradually ceased and soon she stood there, wiping some imaginary tears away, eyes cold, indicating calculation and filled with discontempt.

"This has to be a bad jok."

"I am dying of laugter." he muttered sarcastically and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'd like my wand back. And I would love to know what's so funny."

As he hadn't expected her to casually yield his weapon, he had problems catching it when she abruptly tossed it into his direction. Only his seeker reflexes saved his beloved wand from colliding with the ground. Blinking rapidly, he tried, once again, to understand what was going on.

Her amusement was gone completely now, replaced by a mask made of apathy. He instinctively gripped his wand tighter. He wouldn't lose it again.

Whatever he had expected, the next words weren’t it.

"You haven't changed at all, Weasley. It's sad, really."

His arm slackened in disbelief.

“I beg your pardon?”

Immediately, he combed his memory for a tall, exotic looking woman with chocolate eyes and promptly failed. He couldn't tell if the hit on the head was the cause of this, but he hoped so. Because while there were of course several faces in more than two decades of life that one could encounter, he usually remembered at least something about the people he met regularly.

"Do we know each other?" He asked. Mollie would be aghast by his lack of manners, but she was not here to complain.

Emotion flickered in her face, but it was gone in an instant.

"I'm deeply hurt." She said mockingly, placed on hand on her chest and twirled the other one holding the wand around the air. "The great Charlie Weasley doesn't remember me."

He truly didn't. Even though his head was throbbing now, and his instincts practically screamed at him that it would be much better for his health to indeed remember the woman.

"Who are you and what are you doing here? This is the Romanian dragon sanctuary. No entrance for unauthorized personnel." Maybe a name would help his mind to find a clue.

But the woman only snorted derogatorily and gave him a withering glare that would have put the most devious Slytherin to shame. Huh, maybe Hogwarts times?

"You should know who I am, so I won't tell you. It's ridiculous you are still playing that game. I know where we are, and I don't care about the last part."

Her face was rather pretty, he mused, but the grim expression ruined it.

"This is so low, even for you, Weasley."

Suddenly, she turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait!" After three long strides he stood in front of her, blocking her way. Taking a deep breath, as if praying for patience, she looked up to him, face dark.

"What do you want, ginger?" It had been a while since he’d heard a voice sound this venomous.

"Why did you attack me?”

"Attack you?" She huffed and stared him as if he'd lost it "Who shot the first spell, huh?"

(He could have yielded on that at least, but he was, if nothing, a stubborn idiot sometimes.)

"You jumped on me first!"

(His face had been pressed into the dirt one too many times today as well.)

"I fell, Weasley. There's a difference."

"Come on, why should…"

"This!" She interrupted him with a hiss and suddenly there was an old, knitted cap in her hand that looked like it would fall apart any second. And which looked a little like the one he was sure to find somewhere under his bed. "This is a portkey, you blockhead. I hate to apparate, and portkeys don't like me, Morgana knows why, and they always mess things up when I use them. Not the first time I ended up somewhere completely different."

She barked and looked at him expectantly. His missing reaction – whatever she expected – made her mood even worse and she continued her tirade as if she'd never paused.

"I landed in a tree. Not my best achievement, I admit, but by Merlin's beard, I did not attack you. You didn't let me explain myself and forgive me that I like my body in one piece and don't approve of being ripped in half!"

Another headache. The moment she took a step forward to harshly shove the now useless portkey at him, Charlie stumbled an unconscious step back. She rushed past him without a word, her steps secure and determined on the mossy ground as if she’d walked those treacherous woods a thousand times.

"Wait!" Charlie yelled again. Absentmindedly clutching the cap, he hurried to follow her. "You can't walk around here on your own! There are dragon compounds everywhere!"

She only snorted loudly.

"I'm very aware what the term 'dragon sanctuary' implies, thank you very much."

Although he was usually rather sharp with his words, Charlie had no idea what to say. His headache was terrible now. The throbbing spread from the area behind his temples to the lower part of his neck, and his shoulders felt like stone. They had walked into an especially dark area of the forest. The trees here were huge, most of them century-old oaks whose crowns lazily swayed in the wind. Charlie had to blink when he crossed beneath the shadow of the woods and suddenly there was a shot of additional pain.

It lessened soon and left one important piece of knowledge that he'd tried to deny before: He was now positive that knew this woman.

The long black hair, the dark skin, the self-confident walk. Okay, yes, he knew her, but he had not the slightest idea where he'd encountered her in his life.

And the further she went, the stronger the certainty (and the curiosity) became. His limbs moved before his mind made the conclusion and after he'd roughly stuffed the cap into his pocket, he leaped over the next trunk to follow her. This was his territory. She might be skilled in navigating in rural areas, but he knew these woods.

Finally more composed, he caught up to her in no time and gripped her shoulder before he could overthink his action.

Thick hair swayed over his fingers, covered with some leftover burns, and the moment skin touched skin, he flinched and pulled back. The aftermath of a small shockwave (defensive magic possibly?) tickled in his fingertips, and she'd retreated a step as well, eyes narrowed, wand lifted.

Rubbing his fingers against each other to dispel the feeling, he stared at her unashamedly. His shoulder muscles tensed in connection with a strange, nauseating feeling in his belly, and he knew that stupid feeling, he just didn't know how.

Sprinkles of light dotted her face and skin, and dark eyes gleamed with unknown emotion. Charlie caught himself memorizing her features with a slight hope it might help connecting them with a name. He'd known a bunch of people back at Hogwarts and there wasn't really another possibility.

But he'd remember such an exotic woman. And she was attractive, no doubt, though her eyes were set slightly too far apart, and her chin too strong to fit into the concept of what was commonly labeled beautiful. She reminded him of Southern hot lands, wide planes, and wild forests.

"Stop staring at me, Weasley. I still don't like it." Her voice was as sharp as a knife.

Since he still had no idea how to handle that particular implication, he focused on what he could be sure about: "You are not allowed to be here. You have to speak to my super-"

With fury and inexorable pride in her dark brown eyes, she turned on her heel, made a very rude gesture with her hand and simply disappeared on the spot.

“…Rude.”

He had experienced a lot of rudeness in his life, but never before had someone disappareted on him mid-sentence.

Charlie felt the dirt slowly fall from his figure, stared at the vacant spot, and rubbed his temples in utter frustration. Headache potion. His mood was always better after a good headache potion.