Accio, Love!

The Black Forest stretched endlessly, its canopy blotting out the sun, leaving Draco and Hermione in a world of dappled shadows. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the occasional tang of something more magical. It was here, among the towering trees and tangled underbrush, that they searched for signs of the elusive Snallygaster.

Hermione bent low, examining a patch of moss that glowed faintly under her wand light. Tiny, her bowtruckle, perched on her shoulder, chirping softly. "This could be useful," she murmured, plucking the moss carefully and tucking it into a small jar. Her satchel was already brimming with other botanical finds—leaves, roots, and berries—all potentially useful for potions to treat injured magical creatures.

Draco, trailing a few steps behind, scowled as he swatted at an overzealous branch. "Granger, do you have to collect every plant we pass? We’re supposed to be tracking a Snallygaster, not starting an apothecary."

"Every plant could be important," she shot back, straightening. "Do you know how rare some of these are? And besides, what if we find the Snallygaster injured? Would you rather I patch it up or let it bite your head off?"

Draco opened his mouth to retort but stopped short when he saw the glint in her eye. "Fine," he muttered. "But if you’re expecting me to play herb collector, you’ll have to pay extra."

"You’re not being paid at all," Hermione said, smirking.

They trudged on, the sound of their boots crunching over twigs and leaves echoing faintly. It wasn’t long before they reached a murky swamp. The air here was thicker, heavier, and carried the unmistakable stench of decay. Hermione’s eyes lit up.

"This is perfect! Swamps are prime locations for magical herbs. Help me look."

Draco groaned but complied, stepping gingerly onto the damp ground. He poked at the foliage with his wand, muttering under his breath about how he’d rather be anywhere else.

Hermione was already crouched near the edge of the swamp, her hands deftly extracting a cluster of shimmering, blue-veined leaves. "These could be moonlace," she said excitedly. "Extremely rare and—"

With a loud squelch, Draco’s boot sank into the swamp. He froze. "Granger," he said, his voice low and wary, "what exactly did you say about this area being perfect?"

Hermione looked up just in time to see him attempt to lift his foot. The boot didn’t budge. Instead, the ground beneath him made a sickly, sucking sound.

"Oh no," she said, her eyes widening. "Don’t move!"

"Brilliant advice, really," Draco drawled. "Why didn’t I think of that?"

He shifted his weight, and with a sudden, lurching motion, his other foot sank too. He let out a strangled noise, arms flailing as he tried to maintain his balance. The swamp, as if amused by his plight, retaliated by producing a glob of sticky, honey-like substance that oozed up around his boots.

"What is this stuff?" Draco demanded, his voice rising in pitch. He tried to pull one foot free, but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. "Granger!"

Hermione hurried over, wand in hand. "Hold still! I think it’s Bogbinder’s Trap—a magical plant that secretes an adhesive to catch prey."

"Prey?" Draco’s eyes widened. "I’m not prey!"

"Obviously," Hermione said, suppressing a laugh. "But you’re stuck in it now, so…"

She reached out to grasp his arm, but as soon as her fingers touched his sleeve, the adhesive latched onto her too. "Oh no," she whispered.

Draco’s smirk was immediate. "Not so clever now, are you?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped, tugging uselessly. The sticky substance clung stubbornly, pulling her down until she was kneeling in the muck beside him.

Draco watched her struggle, his expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Granger, this is officially the worst day of my life."

Hermione, her hands now coated in the golden goop, gave him a flat look. "Really? Worse than Voldemort?"

Draco’s brows furrowed as he considered. "He didn’t glue me to a swamp," he said finally. "So yes, worse."

Despite herself, Hermione snorted. The sound quickly turned into a full-blown laugh as she took in the ridiculousness of their situation. Draco, his once-pristine robes splattered with mud and his hair hanging limply over his forehead, looked utterly defeated.

"Oh, laugh it up," he muttered. "I’m so glad my misery is amusing to you."

"It’s not just your misery," Hermione managed between giggles. "I’m stuck too!"

Tiny, who had wisely stayed on Hermione’s shoulder, chirped indignantly and hopped onto a nearby branch. The bowtruckle’s beady eyes seemed to convey an air of superiority.

"Even your twig thinks we’re hopeless," Draco said.

Hermione wiped at her face with her clean sleeve, still chuckling. "Alright, let’s think. We need to dissolve the adhesive. Bogbinder’s Trap responds to… saltwater, I think?"

"Saltwater?" Draco repeated. "And where, pray tell, are we supposed to get saltwater in the middle of a forest?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I… might have something in my bag. Hold on."

She twisted awkwardly, managing to pull her satchel free with some effort. Rifling through it with sticky fingers was a challenge, but after a few moments, she produced a small vial. "Here! This is a concentrated saline solution. It should work."

"Should?" Draco echoed.

"Do you want to stay here all night?"

Without waiting for a reply, Hermione uncorked the vial and carefully dripped the liquid onto the adhesive around Draco’s boots. The honey-like substance hissed and bubbled before melting away. With a triumphant grin, she moved to her own hands and repeated the process.

Draco extricated himself with exaggerated care, glaring at the swamp as if it had personally insulted him. "I’m burning these boots," he declared.

Hermione stood, brushing herself off as best she could. "You’ll survive, Malfoy."

He pointed at his mud-covered face. "Do I look like I’m surviving?"

Hermione bit back another laugh. "Come on. There’s a stream nearby. You can clean up."

As they trudged away from the swamp, Draco shot her a sidelong glance. "You know, Granger, you’re not half bad in a crisis."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Was that… a compliment?"

Draco smirked. "Don’t let it go to your head."

Tiny chirped in what sounded suspiciously like laughter, and the three of them continued deeper into the forest, the Snallygaster hunt temporarily forgotten in the wake of their sticky adventure.

Hermione and Draco had barely cleaned off the last traces of swamp goo when they stumbled into a clearing. The air here was charged with tension, and the first thing Hermione noticed was the Lion-Bison Moa—a magnificent creature with the body of a lion, the elongated neck of a moa, and golden fur that shimmered in the sunlight. It was bound tightly with enchanted ropes, its eyes wide with fear as it let out a low, mournful bellow.

Surrounding it were five hunters. Their rough, patchwork clothing suggested lives spent in the wilderness, and their appearances were as varied as their weapons. The leader was a wiry man with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw, his wand drawn and pointed at the captive creature. Beside him stood a burly woman wielding a gleaming axe, her arms rippling with muscle. Another man, thin and twitchy, carried a crossbow slung across his back, while the remaining two—a short, stocky wizard and a tall, bald witch—had both wands and an array of sharp tools at their belts.

"Oh no," Hermione whispered, grabbing Draco’s arm. "They’ve captured it."

Draco frowned, his grey eyes narrowing as he took in the scene. "What are they planning to do with it?"

"Nothing good," Hermione replied, her voice tight. "Look at those ropes. They’re enchanted to suppress magical creatures."

The wiry leader barked an order, and the hunters began tightening the ropes. The Lion-Bison Moa thrashed, its golden mane bristling as it let out another cry.

"We have to stop them," Hermione said, her jaw set.

Draco groaned. "Why do I feel like this is going to involve me getting hexed?"

"Because it probably will," Hermione shot back, already stepping forward. "Stay close."

The wiry leader spotted them first. His scarred face twisted into a scowl as he raised his wand. "Who’s there? Show yourselves!"

Hermione stepped into the clearing, her wand held loosely at her side. Draco followed, his own wand drawn but his expression a mixture of irritation and reluctance.

"What do you want?" the leader demanded, his voice rough and gravelly.

"To stop you from harming that creature," Hermione said firmly. "It’s endangered and belongs in the wild, not in chains."

The burly woman laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "Listen to this one. Thinks she’s a hero, does she?"

"Maybe we should teach them not to meddle," said the thin, twitchy man, his hand hovering near his crossbow.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, fantastic. They’re the clichéd villains from every bedtime story."

The bald witch narrowed her eyes at him. "Watch your mouth, boy, or I’ll shut it for you."

Hermione raised her wand. "Release the Lion-Bison Moa. Now."

The leader smirked, his scarred face twisting even further. "Or what?"

Hermione didn’t answer. Instead, she flicked her wand in a sharp motion. "Expelliarmus!"

The leader’s wand flew from his hand, landing several feet away. He snarled, but before he could react further, Draco stepped forward, pointing his own wand at the burly woman.

"I wouldn’t try anything," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "Unless you want a face full of Bat-Bogeys."

The woman growled, hefting her axe. "You’ve made a mistake coming here."

"Funny," Draco said, smirking. "I was just thinking the same about you."

The clearing erupted into chaos. The hunters attacked as one, wands flashing and weapons swinging. Hermione dodged a hex from the bald witch, countering with a quick Protego before firing off a Stupefy that narrowly missed its mark. Draco ducked under the burly woman’s axe, retaliating with a spell that sent a jet of sparks at her feet, forcing her to stumble back.

"Keep them off me!" Hermione shouted, darting toward the Lion-Bison Moa.

"Easier said than done!" Draco yelled back, fending off the stocky wizard who had conjured a swarm of stinging insects. He waved his wand furiously, shouting, "Evanesco!" The insects vanished, but not before a few left welts on his face. "I’m adding this to the list of things I’ll never forgive you for, Granger!"

Hermione ignored him, her focus on the ropes binding the creature. She muttered an incantation, her wand glowing as she worked to unravel the enchantments.

The wiry leader lunged for her, grabbing a knife from his belt. Draco saw the movement and reacted instinctively. "Expulso!" The spell hit the ground near the leader’s feet, sending up a cloud of dirt and debris that knocked him off balance.

"You’re welcome!" Draco called, ducking another swing of the burly woman’s axe.

"Watch out!" Hermione shouted as the bald witch sent a jet of fire toward Draco. He dove to the ground, rolling out of the way just in time. The flames scorched the edge of his robes, and he scrambled to his feet, looking furious.

"That was a fine raiment!" he snapped, firing a Rictusempra that hit the witch square in the chest. She doubled over, laughing uncontrollably.

Hermione finally broke through the enchantments on the ropes. The Lion-Bison Moa let out a triumphant roar, shaking itself free. Its golden mane flared like a halo as it turned to face its captors, growling low and menacing.

"Uh, Granger?" Draco said, eyeing the creature warily. "What exactly is the plan now?"

"Get out of its way," Hermione replied, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.

The hunters hesitated, clearly unsure whether to fight the creature or retreat. The Lion-Bison Moa made the decision for them. It charged, its powerful legs churning the ground as it barreled toward the wiry leader. He dove aside with a curse, narrowly avoiding being trampled.

"Fall back!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet. "Fall back now!"

The hunters didn’t need to be told twice. They fled into the forest, leaving their weapons and wands scattered in the clearing. The Lion-Bison Moa roared again, shaking its mane before turning to look at Hermione and Draco. For a moment, it seemed to study them, its golden eyes filled with an intelligence that was almost human.

Hermione stepped forward cautiously, her wand lowered. "You’re safe now," she said softly. "Go find your herd."

The creature tilted its head, then let out a low, rumbling sound that almost sounded like gratitude. It turned and disappeared into the forest, its golden fur blending into the dappled sunlight.

Draco let out a long breath, collapsing onto a fallen log. "Well, that was fun."

Hermione gave him a look. "You call that fun?"

He smirked. "It’s the most exciting thing I’ve had all week."

Hermione shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Come on, Malfoy. Let’s get out of here before they come back."

Draco groaned but stood, brushing dirt from his robes. "Next time, Granger, can we just let someone else be the hero?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" she replied, already heading back into the forest.

Draco sighed and followed, muttering under his breath about meddling Magizoologists and their reckless sense of justice.

The forest grew darker as Hermione and Draco pressed on, the only sounds their crunching footsteps and the occasional distant rustle of nocturnal creatures. Hermione’s bag, now significantly heavier, jingled faintly with the charmed sharp tools she had carefully wrapped in protective spells. Draco had raised an eyebrow when she’d tucked them away, but he’d said nothing, seemingly resigned to her relentless practicality.

"You know," Draco muttered as he sidestepped a particularly gnarled root, "this endless trekking is doing wonders for my appreciation of civilization."

"Good," Hermione replied curtly. "Maybe you’ll stop complaining about my collecting habits when these tools save us."

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. They continued in silence until the forest opened up abruptly. A rocky cliff stretched out before them, and as they approached its edge, the sight below stole their breath. Dotted across the valley were lights, flickering faintly like fireflies. A small village nestled against the base of the hill, its buildings crooked and close together, giving the impression of a haphazard puzzle.

"Looks... welcoming," Draco said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It’s our best option," Hermione replied, already leading the way down the narrow path toward the village.

As they entered the settlement, the atmosphere shifted. The air smelled of damp wood and faintly of smoke, and the streets were uneven, cobblestones slick with recent rain. The buildings were peculiar: some leaned at odd angles, their shutters hanging precariously, while others appeared sturdier but had roofs that sloped unpredictably. Faint chatter and occasional bursts of laughter drifted from the dimly lit windows, but the villagers themselves were scarce.

The few they did see were clad in worn, patched clothing that spoke of hard labor and harder times. They moved with purpose, their eyes darting suspiciously toward Hermione and Draco before quickly looking away. Draco’s grip on his wand tightened.

"They’re staring," he murmured.

"We’re strangers," Hermione replied, though even she felt the weight of their gazes. "Let’s find somewhere to stay."

They came upon a small inn tucked between two leaning houses. Its sign, swinging in the faint breeze, read "The Resting Kettle," though the paint was peeling, and the letters were barely legible. A dim lantern hung by the door, casting a weak glow over the warped wooden steps.

Inside, the inn was even smaller than it appeared. The main room was cramped, with low wooden beams that Draco nearly bumped his head against. A narrow staircase wound up to the second floor, and the air was thick with the scent of stew and something faintly metallic. An old woman stood behind a counter, her hunched frame draped in a shawl that looked as though it might unravel at any moment.

Her face was a map of deep lines, her eyes sunken but sharp, glinting with an intelligence that belied her frail appearance. Straggly white hair escaped from a loose bun, and her gnarled hands rested on the counter, their knuckles swollen with age. Despite her small stature, there was something imposing about her, as if she saw far more than she let on.

Hermione approached, her polite smile firmly in place. "Good evening. Do you have any rooms available?"

The old woman tilted her head, studying them with a gaze that made Hermione feel like an insect under a magnifying glass. Finally, she nodded. "Yes. One room. Separate beds."

Hermione exhaled in relief. "Perfect. We’ll take it."

The woman didn’t respond but shuffled out from behind the counter, leading them up the narrow staircase. The steps creaked ominously under their weight, and Draco muttered something about structural integrity. At the top, the old woman gestured toward a small door at the end of the hallway.

"There," she said simply, her voice raspy but firm.

Hermione thanked her, but as she pushed open the door, her stomach dropped. The room was tiny, barely large enough for the single bed that dominated the space. The walls were covered in faded floral wallpaper, peeling at the edges, and a single, crooked window let in a sliver of moonlight. A rickety chair sat in one corner, and a narrow wardrobe leaned precariously against the wall, its door slightly ajar.

"Where’s the other bed?" Hermione asked, turning back to the old woman.

The woman blinked at her. "Yes," she said, then shuffled away before Hermione could protest further.

Draco stepped into the room, taking in the cramped quarters with an amused expression. "Well, this is... cozy."

"Cozy?" Hermione said, exasperated. "There’s only one bed! She said there were separate beds."

Draco smirked. "Technically, she didn’t lie. She just didn’t clarify."

Hermione groaned, running a hand through her hair. "This is ridiculous."

Draco flopped onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the creaky mattress. "It’s fine, Granger. I’ll take the bed. You can have the chair."

Hermione glared at him. "Absolutely not."

"Then what do you propose?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "We could split it, but I’m warning you now, I’m a blanket hog."

Hermione’s cheeks flushed, and she whirled around, stepping back into the hallway. "I’ll talk to her again."

She hurried down the stairs, but the old woman was nowhere to be found. The counter was empty, and the main room of the inn was silent, save for the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples.

When she returned to the room, Draco was lying on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head, looking far too comfortable. "Any luck?"

"She’s gone," Hermione said tersely, closing the door behind her. She leaned against it, her frustration mounting. "I don’t understand why she would say there were two beds when there clearly aren’t."

Draco shrugged. "Maybe she thought we wouldn’t notice. Or maybe she’s just a lunatic."

Hermione crossed her arms. "I’ll sleep on the floor."

Draco sat up, his smirk fading. "Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll catch something down there. This place doesn’t exactly scream sanitary."

"And sharing a bed with you doesn’t scream awkward?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I’m a very charming company."

Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Let’s just get through the night without killing each other."

Draco’s smirk returned. "Deal. But if you snore, I’m hexing you."

Hermione rolled her eyes, dropping her bag onto the chair. As she began unpacking her things, she tried to ignore the sound of Draco chuckling behind her. It was going to be a long night.