Accio, Love!

Hermione Granger's flat in London was exactly as one might expect it to be: neat, functional, and overflowing with books. Every available surface—and some that seemed improvised—bore the weight of tomes ranging from ancient magical texts to contemporary studies on magical creatures. The air smelled faintly of ink, parchment, and something earthy, likely from the terrarium housing her Bowtruckle, Tiny. Tiny had a penchant for rearranging his little habitat of leaves and twigs, his tiny green hands always busy, and Hermione found his industriousness oddly calming.

The flat’s simplicity was a reflection of Hermione herself. Cream-colored walls bore minimal decoration apart from a few framed photographs. One showed a younger Hermione, Harry, and Ron grinning in front of the Burrow. Another displayed a more recent memory: Hermione with Luna Lovegood, both laughing as Luna held up an oversized Snargaluff pod she insisted resembled a famous Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Luna had become an unexpected but cherished friend in recent years, her unique perspective balancing Hermione’s relentless logic.

A cozy armchair sat by the window, its fabric worn from years of use. Beside it was a low table stacked with books on magizoology, a subject Hermione had grown increasingly passionate about. This interest had begun as a small curiosity during her Hogwarts years, sparked by Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures lessons and nurtured by her time with Buckbeak and the house-elves’ tales of magical fauna. After the war, she’d found herself drawn to the idea of understanding and preserving magical creatures, a field often overshadowed by flashier careers like Auror work or experimental charms research.

It was not for lack of offers that she chose this path. Harry and Ron, still working as Aurors for the Ministry, had tried repeatedly to recruit her into their department. “Come on, Hermione,” Ron would say over tea at her flat, his Auror robes slightly singed from some recent skirmish. “You’d be brilliant at it. We could use someone who actually reads the rulebook.” Harry would nod in agreement, adding, “You’d be unstoppable. The three of us, like old times.”

But the idea of returning to battle, even in a structured capacity, made Hermione uneasy. The war had left scars, some visible, others less so, and she craved a quieter existence—one where her intellect could thrive without the constant weight of danger. Instead, she’d pursued a career in magizoology, earning her certification through rigorous study and fieldwork. She now works as a consultant for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, specializing in the care and preservation of rare species.

Her home reflected her vocation. Alongside Tiny, her Bowtruckle, a brightly colored Fwooper named Melody perched in a gilded cage by the window. Melody’s trills, though maddeningly dissonant to others, were oddly soothing to Hermione, who had invested in a silencing charm to contain the bird’s natural effects. The flat’s tranquil ambiance was marred only by the absence of one beloved companion: Crookshanks, her half-Kneazle cat, who had passed away a year prior. His favorite spot by the hearth remained untouched, a small cushion bearing faint indentations from his weight.

In Crookshanks’ absence, Hermione had redirected her affections toward her other companions. Tiny often rode in her pocket during outings, and Melody’s peculiar songs filled the flat with a strange liveliness. Yet, Hermione dreamed of caring for a Demiguise, their gentle demeanor and preternatural wisdom fascinating her. Unfortunately, the Ministry’s strict regulations barred her from keeping one as a private citizen, citing the species’ rarity and potential for exploitation.

Luna Lovegood, ever the optimist, had assured Hermione she’d find a way to interact with Demiguises in her work. “They’ll come to you when the time is right,” Luna had said during one of her visits, her silvery gaze unfocused yet serene. “They have an uncanny sense for kindness.”

It was during one such visit that Hermione had first confided in Luna about the pressure Harry and Ron continued to apply. “They mean well,” Hermione had admitted, pouring Luna a cup of chamomile tea. “But they can’t seem to understand why I’d prefer this.” She gestured around the flat, the walls lined with books and shelves bearing jars of powdered moonstone and bezoars. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I’ve had enough of it to last a lifetime.”

Luna had nodded, her radish-shaped earrings swaying. “You’ve chosen a path of care rather than conflict. That’s a brave thing, Hermione. Most people don’t understand how much courage it takes to heal rather than hurt.”

Hermione often thought of Luna’s words when doubt crept in. It wasn’t that she lacked ambition; her work required constant learning and adaptation. Just last month, she’d traveled to Romania to assist Charlie Weasley with a stubbornly elusive breed of Fire Crab. The experience had been exhilarating and exhausting, leaving her with burns on her arms and a renewed sense of purpose.

Her fieldwork often brought her into contact with other magizoologists, some of whom she’d befriended, others she respected from a distance. It was a small, tight-knit community, one where expertise was valued above fame. Hermione’s reputation as a quick learner and meticulous researcher had earned her a place among them, though she often felt like an outsider in their world of rugged adventurers and eccentric collectors.

On quiet evenings in her flat, Hermione found herself reflecting on how much her life had diverged from her Hogwarts years. Back then, she’d imagined a future defined by academic accolades and positions of influence within the Ministry. Instead, she’d chosen a path less trodden, one that brought her closer to the natural world and its often-overlooked wonders. It was a choice that brought her both joy and occasional loneliness.

Her friendship with Luna had helped alleviate the latter. They’d grown closer after the war, their shared experiences forging a bond that transcended their differences. Luna’s whimsical nature was a balm to Hermione’s overactive mind, her ability to find beauty in the mundane a reminder to slow down and appreciate life’s small pleasures. Together, they’d explored magical habitats, from the shimmering waters of the Black Lake to the dense forests of Scotland, where Thestrals roamed.

Hermione’s flat bore evidence of these adventures: a jar of luminescent moss from the lake, a cluster of preserved Snargaluff pods, and a sketch of a Hippogriff Luna had drawn during one of their outings. Each artifact told a story, a reminder of the life she was building—one filled with curiosity and care.

Still, her work was not without challenges. The Ministry’s bureaucracy often hindered her efforts, their regulations sometimes feeling more like obstacles than safeguards. Hermione had spent countless hours in meetings, advocating for stricter protections for endangered species and battling against those who saw magical creatures as mere resources to be exploited. It was frustrating work, but it was also deeply rewarding.

One evening, as Hermione sat by the window reading a treatise on Demiguise behavior, she heard the faint pop of apparition outside her door. Moments later, a familiar knock echoed through the flat. She opened the door to find Harry and Ron, both looking slightly sheepish.

“Don’t tell me,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Another attempt to recruit me?”

Ron grinned, holding up a bag of takeout. “Nope. Just dinner. Thought you might need a break.”

Harry nodded, his expression warm. “And maybe a bit of company.”

Hermione stepped aside, letting them in. As they settled around her small dining table, Tiny peeked out from his terrarium, eyeing the newcomers warily. Melody let out a series of high-pitched trills, prompting Ron to clap his hands over his ears.

“Merlin’s beard, what is that thing?” he exclaimed.

“A Fwooper,” Hermione replied with a hint of amusement. “Her singing can drive people mad, but I’ve got a charm on her cage.”

Harry chuckled, his gaze sweeping over the flat. “This place really suits you, Hermione.”

She smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude for her friends. Though their lives had taken different paths, their bond remained steadfast, a reminder that some things were worth holding onto.

As the evening wore on, they shared stories, laughter, and the comfort of familiarity. And for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt at peace with the choices she’d made, her life a tapestry woven from threads of the past and the promise of the future.

—

Hermione sighed, her breath misting in the cool morning air as she stood beside Draco Malfoy in the courtyard of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She adjusted the strap of her bag, a sturdy satchel charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm, now holding an impressive inventory of supplies. From field guides on magical creatures to an assortment of potions, Hermione had packed meticulously, as she always did.

Malfoy, in stark contrast, looked as though he’d wandered out of a high-end tailor’s catalog, his pristine travel cloak draped over an ensemble that screamed wealth and indifference. He examined his manicured nails with a bored expression, his platinum blond hair catching the weak sunlight. The faint sneer playing on his lips suggested he found the whole situation beneath him.

Hermione stole a glance at him, her patience already fraying. Of all the people to be paired with for this mission, why him? She had protested, of course, citing every valid reason she could muster, but Jenkins, their no-nonsense superior, had brushed her off with a wave of her hand. “Malfoy’s on probation,” Jenkins had said curtly. “And he’s under your supervision, Granger. You’ll manage.”

“You look thrilled,” Malfoy drawled, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “Don’t worry, Granger, I’ll try not to tarnish your impeccable reputation.”

Hermione bristled, biting back a retort as Jenkins approached. The older witch was brisk as ever, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun and her expression one of exasperated efficiency. In her hands, she carried a small bundle wrapped in cloth, which she handed to Hermione.

“Here’s what you’ll need,” Jenkins said. She unwrapped the bundle to reveal a magical map, several vials of shimmering potions, and a handful of enchanted trinkets. “The map will guide you to the general area, but you’ll need to rely on your wits once you’re there. The vials are for emergencies—basic healing, anti-venom, and an energy booster. Don’t waste them.”

Hermione nodded, slipping the items into her bag with practiced ease. “Understood. Anything else?”

Jenkins’ sharp gaze shifted to Malfoy, her lips thinning. She produced a wand from her pocket and held it out to him, her eyes narrowing. “Behave yourself, Malfoy. Granger’s in charge, and if I hear even a whisper of trouble, you’ll wish you were back scrubbing cauldrons in the Ministry basement.”

Malfoy’s lips curled into a smirk as he took the wand. “Don’t worry, Jenkins. If anything goes awry, it’ll likely be because Granger hexed me first.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, unwilling to rise to the bait. She had long ago decided that Malfoy’s snark was not worth the energy it took to counter.

Jenkins’ expression didn’t soften. “As for your things, Granger already put your things inside her bag. You don't need one of your own. Part of the probation.” She then tapped his shoulder. “Just make sure you’re both back in one piece. The Ministry doesn’t need another scandal.”

With that, Jenkins turned on her heel and strode off, leaving the two of them standing awkwardly in the courtyard. Hermione tightened her grip on her bag and glanced at Malfoy, whose smirk had faded into a more neutral expression.

“Shall we get this over with?” she said, her tone clipped.

Malfoy gave a mock bow, gesturing for her to lead the way. “After you, Granger. Let’s see where Merlin-knows-where takes us.”

🔍

The vibrant greens of Peru’s forest stretched endlessly before them, a kaleidoscope of life and color that seemed to hum with magic. Dappled sunlight pierced through the canopy, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor as Hermione and Draco stood at the edge of the dense foliage. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the earthy scent of moss and the faint sweetness of blooming flowers.

Hermione adjusted the straps of her satchel and unfolded the magical map Jenkins had given her. As she opened it, the parchment shimmered, its blank surface swirling with ink until it resolved into a detailed map of their immediate surroundings. Tiny runes marked key locations, and a faint, glowing line began to trace itself along the path they were to take.

“Convenient,” Draco muttered, peering over her shoulder. He wrinkled his nose as a drop of water fell from an overhanging leaf onto his cloak. “Though I could do without the rainforest aesthetic.”

Hermione ignored him, tapping her wand against the map to enlarge a portion. “The path leads us northeast for now,” she said, her tone brisk. “We should be prepared for uneven terrain and—”

“Mud, bugs, and Merlin-knows-what else?” Draco interrupted with a faint smirk. “Do go on. You make it sound so appealing.”

“If you’re going to complain the entire way, Malfoy, I’d suggest you keep it to yourself. I’ve dealt with worse distractions,” she replied, folding the map and tucking it securely into her bag. Without waiting for a response, she stepped forward, her boots crunching softly on the leaf-littered ground.

Draco followed, his expression a mix of resignation and mild curiosity. As they moved deeper into the forest, the sounds of civilization faded, replaced by the symphony of the wild: the distant calls of unseen birds, the rustling of leaves in the breeze, and the occasional snap of twigs beneath their feet. The dense underbrush brushed against their robes, and Draco’s initial disdain shifted into wary alertness as the forest seemed to close in around them.

“Granger, remind me again why we’re not using a Portkey to wherever this creature is?” he asked, brushing a stray vine off his sleeve.

“Because,” Hermione said, pausing to consult the map once more, “this isn’t just about locating the creature. It’s about understanding its habitat and ensuring we don’t disrupt the local ecosystem. Apparating or using a Portkey would be too unpredictable.”

Draco let out a long-suffering sigh but said nothing further. The silence between them was broken only by the natural sounds of the forest and the occasional rustle of Hermione rummaging through her bag to check her compass or reference a guidebook. The tension from earlier seemed to dissipate as they fell into a rhythm, their focus shifting to the journey ahead.

It wasn’t long before the forest canopy darkened slightly, the light filtering through becoming tinged with gold as the sun began its descent. Hermione stopped suddenly, her sharp intake of breath drawing Draco’s attention.

“What now?” he asked, his wand already in hand.

Hermione didn’t answer immediately, instead tilting her head upward. Following her gaze, Draco’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the creatures gliding above them. Swooping Evil, their iridescent wings shimmering like stained glass, soared gracefully between the treetops. Their elongated, serpentine bodies coiled and uncoiled as they moved, their presence both mesmerizing and menacing.

“Stay still,” Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible. She reached into her bag, pulling out a small vial of powdered moonstone. “They’re not aggressive unless provoked, but we need to tread carefully. Their venom can—”

“—cause memory loss. I’m aware,” Draco finished, his grip tightening on his wand. “Just tell me you have a plan if they decide we’re worth attacking.”

Hermione nodded, her focus unwavering. “I do. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

They remained rooted to the spot, watching as the Swooping Evil circled above them. Hermione’s mind raced, cataloging everything she’d read about the creatures. She knew they were highly intelligent and often curious, but also that they could be territorial. If they were lucky, the creatures would lose interest and move on. If not, they’d need to act quickly.

“We’re going to move slowly,” Hermione said, her tone firm. “No sudden movements. Follow my lead.”

Draco gave a curt nod, his usual snark replaced by a rare seriousness. Together, they began to inch forward, each step deliberate and measured. The forest seemed to hold its breath around them, the only sounds the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional flap of wings above.

As they moved, Hermione couldn’t help but steal a glance at Draco. Despite his usual arrogance, he seemed composed, his focus unwavering. Perhaps, she thought, this mission would prove more tolerable than she’d expected—if they survived their first encounter, that is.

🔍

The forest’s vibrant greenery deepened as Hermione and Draco trudged onward, the magical map’s glowing line guiding them further into the untamed wilderness. Birds chattered and sang in the canopy above, while the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen creatures scurrying away from their path. The thick foliage seemed alive, every leaf and vine imbued with a kind of enchantment that made the air hum with energy.

“Remind me again why we’re walking through this jungle instead of using a Summoning Charm for the creature?” Draco grumbled, swatting at an invisible insect hovering near his ear. His once-pristine cloak now had a noticeable streak of mud on the hem, much to his dismay.

“Because,” Hermione replied, not bothering to look back, “this isn’t about simply capturing or observing the creature. It’s about understanding its environment and ensuring we don’t disturb it. Magical creatures aren’t objects to be summoned at our convenience.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course, the ever-righteous Granger. Must you always be so…pedantic?”

Hermione came to an abrupt halt, causing Draco to nearly stumble into her. She pointed ahead to a small clearing where a group of round, fluffy birds was pecking at the ground.

“Diricawls!” she whispered excitedly, her face lighting up. The flightless birds were covered in soft, downy feathers that shimmered faintly in the sunlight, their stubby legs moving in a comically awkward shuffle. Hermione’s eyes sparkled as she watched them, crouching slightly to get a better view.

“Oh, they’re adorable,” she murmured, reaching into her bag to pull out a small notebook. “I’ve read about them, but seeing them in person is something else entirely.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “They’re… birds. Slightly chubby birds. Hardly worth the reverence.”

Hermione shot him a withering look but didn’t dignify his comment with a response. One of the Diricawls, seemingly bolder than the rest, waddled toward them. It paused near Draco’s foot, tilting its head as if inspecting his polished boot.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Draco said, recoiling slightly. “Shoo!” He nudged his foot lightly to dislodge the bird, but before he could make contact, the Diricawl disappeared with a soft pop and reappeared a few feet away, staring at him with what could only be described as avian smugness.

Hermione burst into laughter, clutching her notebook to her chest. “Oh, I forgot to mention—Diricawls can Apparate when they feel threatened. That one seems to have taken offense to your fashion sense.”

Draco scowled, brushing nonexistent dirt off his cloak. “Hilarious. I’m glad my misery provides you with endless amusement.”

Hermione wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her grin unrelenting. “You have to admit, it’s a little funny.”

“I don’t. Now can we please keep moving before more of these puffballs decide my shoes are a threat?"

The map’s glowing line led them deeper into the forest, the path growing narrower and more overgrown. Hermione’s excitement was palpable as she consulted the map every few minutes, her steps quickening with anticipation. Draco, on the other hand, seemed less thrilled, muttering under his breath about bugs and humidity.

Their journey took an unexpected turn when Hermione’s foot caught on a hidden root, sending her sprawling forward with a yelp. Her bag flew open as she hit the ground, scattering its contents—books, vials, and various magical trinkets—across the forest floor.

“Brilliant,” Draco drawled, folding his arms as he watched her scramble to gather her things. “The great Hermione Granger, defeated by a tree root. Truly inspiring.”

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione snapped, brushing dirt off her hands. She reached for a small vial of powdered moonstone that had rolled toward Draco’s feet.

As she stretched for it, a sudden buzzing sound filled the air. Both of them froze, their eyes darting toward the source of the noise. A swarm of glittering insects emerged from a nearby bush, their wings shimmering like liquid silver.

“Billywigs,” Hermione whispered, her voice tinged with both awe and alarm. “Don’t swat at them! Their stings cause levitation, and…”

“And hallucinations, yes, I’m aware,” Draco said, his tone sharp. He backed away slowly, his wand at the ready.

One particularly curious Billywig hovered near Draco’s face, its tiny body pulsing with light. He swatted at it instinctively, despite Hermione’s warning.

“Malfoy, no!”

Too late. The Billywig darted forward, its sting making contact with his neck. Draco’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he stood perfectly still. Then, with a sudden, uncontrollable jerk, his feet left the ground.

“Oh, fantastic,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he began to float upward. “This is exactly how I wanted to spend my day.”

Hermione bit her lip, trying to suppress a laugh as she reached for her wand. “Hold still, Malfoy. I’ll get you down.”

“Hold still? What exactly do you think I’m doing, tap dancing?” he snapped, his arms flailing as he rose higher. The Billywig swarm buzzed around him, seemingly delighted by their handiwork.

Hermione cast a careful grounding charm, pulling Draco back toward the forest floor. He landed with a thud, glaring at her as he dusted himself off.

“This is your fault, you know,” he said, pointing accusingly at her.

“My fault? You’re the one who swatted at it,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “If you’d just listened to me…”

“Oh, yes, because your endless lectures are so captivating,” Draco retorted. “Forgive me for not hanging on to your every word.”

Their bickering was interrupted by a soft rustling sound. Both of them fell silent, their wands at the ready as they scanned the forest. The noise grew louder, and Hermione’s grip on her wand tightened.

From the underbrush emerged a Glumbumble, its fuzzy gray body hovering lazily in the air. It emitted a faint, melancholy hum that seemed to reverberate through the forest. The creature’s slow, deliberate movements gave it an almost dreamlike quality as it drifted closer.

“A Glumbumble,” Hermione breathed, her earlier irritation forgotten. “They’re so rare outside Europe.”

Draco looked unimpressed. “It’s a flying fuzzball. Hardly awe-inspiring.”

Hermione ignored him, pulling a small jar from her bag. “Their treacle can be used as a potion ingredient, but only if you collect it without disturbing them. Otherwise, their secretions can induce a deep melancholy.”

“Well, that sounds delightful,” Draco quipped, taking a cautious step back as the Glumbumble drifted closer. “Let me guess—you plan to bottle some?”

“If I can,” Hermione replied, her eyes fixed on the creature. “This could be incredibly useful for research.”

As Hermione carefully approached the Glumbumble, Draco crossed his arms and muttered, “I’ll just be here, ensuring I don’t succumb to magical depression.”

Hermione shot him a look but focused on the task at hand. She extended the jar slowly, murmuring soothing words as the Glumbumble hovered just above it. The creature hesitated, its hum deepening, before finally drifting down and settling inside the jar. Hermione quickly sealed the lid, her expression triumphant.

“Got it,” she said, holding up the jar to inspect the creature within. “This will be invaluable for…”

A sudden vibration in her bag interrupted her, and she pulled out the map. The glowing line had shifted, now pointing them toward a darker, denser part of the forest.

“Looks like we’re heading into the heart of the jungle,” Hermione said, her excitement returning. She tucked the jar safely into her bag and gestured for Draco to follow.

“Marvelous,” Draco said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Lead the way, Granger. Let’s see what other cheerful creatures this place has to offer.”