PROLOGUE
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Hermione Granger had seen many peculiar sights during her tenure as a magizoologist—nifflers raining chaos in Gringotts, a lethifold trying to squeeze into a teapot, and once, a boggart convinced it was a thunderbird. But nothing in her years of research and fieldwork had prepared her for this moment: sitting across from Draco Malfoy in the Ministry’s gleaming Magical Creatures Division, her assignment parchment trembling slightly in her hands.
“You’re joking,” she said flatly, though the witch behind the desk didn’t seem to be joking. Ms. Arabella Jenkins, Head of Interdepartmental Missions, was notorious for her no-nonsense approach to diplomacy, and her mouth was pressed into a line so thin it could have been mistaken for a quill stroke.
“I assure you, Ms. Granger, I am not. This pairing has been reviewed and approved by the Wizengamot itself. It’s a high-priority mission.” Jenkins sighed. “Besides, this mission should be given to Luna Lovegood, if not only she’s… heavily pregnant.”
Across the table, Draco Malfoy leaned back in his chair, the picture of composure. His platinum hair, as impeccably styled as ever, gleamed under the soft glow of the enchanted lights. He wore tailored robes in dark green, accented with silver embroidery—a subtle nod to his Slytherin roots. His aristocratic features, though softened slightly by the years since the war, still bore that haughty air Hermione had come to loathe in her youth. His sharp cheekbones and pointed chin seemed crafted specifically for smirking, which he was doing now, entirely too pleased with himself.
“High priority, Granger,” he drawled, his voice as smooth and infuriating as ever. “That means they picked the best. Naturally, they picked me.”
Hermione bit back the urge to retort immediately. She had grown over the years, she reminded herself, cultivating patience and diplomacy—or at least trying to. Still, she couldn’t stop her eyes from narrowing. At twenty-six, Hermione had shed the bushy-haired, over-eager schoolgirl persona, replacing it with a more refined version of herself. Her chestnut curls were tamed (most days), sometimes tied back in a practical ponytail, though a few rebellious strands still framed her face. Her brown eyes, sharp and intelligent, had a habit of scanning a room as though cataloging every detail. She wore simple, practical robes in earthy tones—chocolate brown today—accented with a green scarf embroidered with tiny Bowtruckles.
“You’re only here because you’re under probation, Malfoy,” Hermione snapped, her voice clipped.
“And you’re only here because you’re incapable of saying no to the Ministry,” he shot back lazily. “Something about a savior complex?”
“Enough,” Jenkins barked, her tone brooking no argument. She glared at both of them as though daring them to interrupt again. “You two will be representing Britain’s Magical Creatures Division. I expect professionalism and, dare I say, cooperation.”
Hermione forced herself to focus on the parchment Jenkins had handed her, the details of the assignment blurring slightly as her mind raced. Jenkins waved her wand at a large map pinned to the wall, and it shimmered, lighting up with several glowing dots across the globe.
“The mission is to locate and document sightings of magical beasts thought to be extinct or long lost. Most importantly, the Qilin.”
Hermione’s breath caught. The Qilin, a legendary creature that could judge the purity of one’s soul, was thought to have vanished from existence decades ago. It had played a critical role during Grindelwald’s rise and fall, and its mere mention still stirred the wizarding world.
“Why now?” she asked. “Why search for the Qilin after all this time?”
Jenkins frowned. “Several sightings have been reported in the past year. A Qilin calf was glimpsed in Northern Tibet, and a local tribe in the Andes claims they’ve seen one grazing near their ceremonial grounds. If the creature is still alive, its magical properties could bring significant advancements in conservation efforts—and peacekeeping.”
Hermione’s logical brain was intrigued, but another part of her—one that valued her sanity—was appalled at the idea of spending months traveling with Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy, however, seemed to find the idea thrilling. “So,” he said, his grey eyes gleaming with mischief, “Granger and I are going to trot around the globe chasing a mythical deer that can sniff out purity? Fantastic. I can’t wait to see how you fare under its scrutiny.”
Hermione’s nostrils flared. “And I can’t wait to see what it thinks of you.”
Jenkins waved her wand, sending a stack of parchments flying into Hermione’s and Draco’s hands. “You leave tomorrow. Your first stop is Peru. Reports of a thunderbird in the Amazon have surfaced, and a local magizoologist has requested assistance. It’s a good warm-up for the larger task.”
“A thunderbird? How delightful.” Malfoy was already flipping through the parchment, his tone laced with mock enthusiasm. “I hope it doesn’t electrocute us before breakfast.”
“It might, if you don’t follow instructions,” Hermione muttered, her mind already racing through packing lists and potential challenges. “Thunderbirds are highly sensitive to magical auras.”
“Then I suppose it’ll find me irresistible,” Malfoy quipped. “No wonder Jenkins paired us up, Granger. I bring the charm; you bring the nagging.”
“Enough, both of you,” Jenkins said sharply. “Remember, this isn’t just about finding the Qilin. It’s about proving the Ministry can work across boundaries—political, cultural, and personal. If you fail, it won’t just be your reputation at stake. It’ll be ours.”
Hermione set her jaw. She would not fail. If she had to endure Malfoy’s endless quips and unbearable arrogance, so be it. Magical creatures were her passion, and the opportunity to uncover the truth about the Qilin was worth the aggravation. Probably.
As they left the office, Hermione glanced sideways at Malfoy. He was twirling his wand idly, a faint smirk still lingering on his lips. “Why are you so pleased about this?” she demanded.
“Oh, Granger,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’m not pleased. I’m ecstatic. Months of traveling with you? Watching you get flustered every time something doesn’t go according to plan? It’ll be a delight.”
Hermione groaned. This was going to be a long mission.