Accio, Love!

The air in the dimly lit alley seemed heavier than elsewhere, laced with the acrid smell of burning herbs and something more sinister. The black market—hidden deep within the twisting, ancient streets of Vieux Lyon—buzzed with muted activity. Merchants whispered in hushed tones, their eyes darting around nervously as they displayed forbidden items under tattered, makeshift awnings. The flickering light of enchanted lanterns painted the stone walls in eerie shadows, adding an unsettling ambiance to the scene.

Hermione adjusted her cloak, pulling the hood further over her face. Her transformation—a striking woman with jet-black, straight hair, piercing blue eyes, and porcelain-pale skin—was almost unnerving, even to herself. She caught sight of her reflection in a cracked window and shuddered. The person staring back looked nothing like Hermione Granger.

Beside her, Draco walked with the confident swagger of someone used to wealth and power. His Polyjuice-induced appearance had turned him into a shorter man with unruly ginger hair, a smattering of freckles, and green eyes that glinted with a mischievous light. His skin bore a healthy, sun-kissed glow, and he carried himself with an air of self-importance that suited his undercover persona.

Hermione couldn’t resist. “You know,” she said in a low voice, barely audible above the din, “you look a bit like a Weasley.”

Draco scowled, his lips curving downward as if he’d tasted something bitter. “Absolutely not,” he hissed, his voice sharp but quiet. “This is sophistication, Granger. Something those… Weasleys could never hope to achieve.”

Hermione smirked. “If you say so, Damon.” She added an exaggerated emphasis on his alias, eliciting a grunt from him.

Their aliases—Damon Moreau and Helly Grace—had been Draco’s idea. As much as Hermione despised the concept of pretending to be his meek assistant, she had to admit it was a clever way to blend in. Draco’s apparent wealth and Hermione’s supposed servitude created the perfect cover to infiltrate the market. Here, power and riches spoke louder than morality or reason.

“Keep your head down, Helly,” Draco muttered, his voice dripping with authority. “The less attention you draw, the better.”

Hermione suppressed an eye roll but nodded, slipping into character.

The heart of the black market was a sprawling underground cavern, accessible only through a concealed entrance hidden within an unassuming wine cellar. Inside, the atmosphere was oppressive, suffused with the hum of muffled voices and the occasional crackle of illicit magic. Stalls lined the space, constructed from mismatched planks and crates, their contents shielded by tattered curtains or shimmering concealment spells. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and something metallic that made Hermione’s nose twitch.

Vendors hawking their wares in a cacophony of French accents, their voices low but insistent. A wiry old wizard with a crooked nose waved a jar containing a twitching fairy, its iridescent wings drooping pathetically. Nearby, a hooded figure gestured towards a cage filled with shimmering golden snidgets, their terrified chirps barely audible over the din. Hermione’s stomach churned at the sight.

The cobblestone streets were filled with shadows as hooded figures haggled over enchanted jewelry, dark artifacts, and creatures of all kinds. The air was thick with the scent of rare potions and strange creatures—some alive, some merely pieces of a past era.

Stalls lined the market, but unlike the crowded, boisterous marketplaces Hermione was used to, this one had a deadly quiet edge. The vendors were few and far between, each of them watching with sharp, calculating eyes. Some of the creatures in cages were magical and strange—serpentine beasts coiled up in glass containers, their eyes flickering with intelligence, while others resembled nothing more than twisted, malformed creatures of the forest, their wings folded against their skeletal bodies.

A short distance ahead, a vendor stood by a stall cluttered with cages, each containing what appeared to be rare, magical creatures, their eyes wide with fear. A sleek, metallic creature with silver scales lay motionless in one cage, while another cage contained an agitated Occamy, its body coiling and uncoiling in sharp, nervous movements. Its iridescent blue feathers shone even in the dim light of the lanterns, making it look both beautiful and menacing.

"That's what we're after," Draco muttered, nodding in the direction of the Occamy. "Don't make it obvious. We don’t want anyone to think we’re interested just yet."

They approached the stall cautiously, Hermione trailing behind Draco, keeping her head low. As they neared, a tall, wiry man with a harsh face and unkempt hair looked up from his work. His eyes flicked from Damon to Helly, sizing them up. He wiped his hands on his dark robe, then spoke in rapid French, his accent thick and rough.

"Bien sûr, monsieur, qu'est-ce que je peux vous offrir ce soir?" (Of course, sir, what can I offer you tonight?)

Draco stepped forward confidently, a cool, aristocratic air about him. He raised an eyebrow as he answered in fluent French, his voice carrying the charm of an old-money family. "Je suis Damon Moreau. J’ai entendu parler de vos créatures rares. Je suis ici pour voir ce que vous avez de plus précieux." (I am Damon Moreau. I’ve heard about your rare creatures. I’m here to see what you have that’s most valuable.)

The vendor’s eyes flickered over Draco, a glint of interest flashing in them before he looked at Hermione with distaste. He nodded slowly. "Ah, vous êtes un homme de goût, monsieur Moreau. Et celle-ci, elle est votre... assistante?" (Ah, you’re a man of taste, Monsieur Moreau. And this one, is she your... assistant?)

Hermione held her breath, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as Draco waved a dismissive hand. "Oui. Elle est juste là pour... organiser les affaires." (Yes. She’s just here to... handle the business.) He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod towards her, signaling to the vendor that she was of no real consequence.

The vendor grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the lantern light. "Bien sûr. Vous cherchez des créatures dangereuses, non?" (Of course. You’re looking for dangerous creatures, yes?)

Draco leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Exactement. Nous avons entendu parler d'un occamy que vous avez capturé récemment. Il paraît qu'il est... très spécial." (Exactly. We’ve heard about an occamy you’ve recently captured. It seems to be... very special.)

The vendor’s smile widened, and he glanced over his shoulder at the occamy in its cage. "Il est spécial, en effet. Mais avant de parler prix, vous devez savoir que ces créatures ne se vendent pas à n'importe qui. Elles demandent un certain... respect." (It is special, indeed. But before we talk price, you must know that these creatures do not sell to just anyone. They demand a certain... respect.)

Draco gave a slow, deliberate nod, playing his part well. "Je comprends. J'ai l'argent, et je suis prêt à payer pour ce que je veux." (I understand. I have the money, and I’m willing to pay for what I want.)

The vendor sized him up once more, his eyes calculating. "Alors, vous êtes prêt à faire ce qu’il faut." (Then, you’re willing to do what’s necessary.)

Hermione’s grip tightened on her cloak, feeling a chill crawl down her spine. She had expected to simply purchase the creature, not to be drawn into something more dangerous. But this was the black market, and nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.

Draco’s gaze never wavered as he responded smoothly. "Je suis prêt." (I am ready.)

The vendor gave a satisfied nod and gestured for them to follow him deeper into the stall, where shadows were thicker, and the air colder. "Très bien. Suivez-moi." (Very well. Follow me.)

Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Draco. Whatever this transaction turned into, they were committed now.

The vendor led them deeper into the labyrinthine alley, past stalls filled with glittering forbidden trinkets, rare dark artifacts, and creatures that looked too disturbing to be real. The narrow passageway seemed to close in on them, the cobblestones underfoot slick with moisture, and the dim light from flickering lanterns barely illuminated the area ahead.

Hermione kept close to Draco, doing her best to follow his lead. Despite the weight of the situation pressing on her, she was acutely aware of how odd this was, how dangerous it felt. She was used to adventuring, but never quite like this, never in a place where everything was meant to be hidden away from the authorities, from the eyes of the world.

"Watch your step," Draco muttered, glancing around at the shadows that seemed to shift at the edge of his vision.

The vendor led them into a cramped, dimly lit room at the back of the stall. It was a storage area, but far from organized. Crates were stacked high with all manner of goods—dark potions with glowing liquids inside, bundles of cursed trinkets, and stacks of wands that hummed with strange power. Some of the wands appeared cracked, others appeared to have been hastily repaired, while a few were wrapped in what looked like protective charms.

"C'est ici que je garde les objets... les plus délicats,” (This is where I keep the... more delicate items,) the vendor said, his tone low and careful. He gestured to the items around them. "Nous ne voulons pas que quiconque sache exactement ce que nous avons ici.” (We don’t want anyone knowing exactly what we have here.) 

Draco nodded, taking in the scene with a practiced eye. His face remained cold, but his gaze flickered toward a particularly strange trinket—a small, skull-shaped pendant that seemed to pulse with dark energy. He resisted the urge to reach for it.

Hermione's eyes darted from one item to another. There was a vial of potion bubbling away on a shelf, its liquid swirling unnaturally in a way that made her uneasy. A wand on the far table seemed to hum with an unsettling energy, while a glinting ring, nestled under a pile of scrap metal, drew her attention with its faint, dark aura.

"It's illegal," she whispered under her breath to Draco, her gaze lingering on the ring. "All of it."

"That's the point, Granger," Draco replied, his tone low. "It’s all illegal. That’s why we're here."

Hermione frowned but said nothing more. Their purpose was clear, but she couldn’t ignore the unease stirring in her chest. This market—this world—was one she didn’t want to be a part of, but she knew they had no choice. They needed to find the Occamy and get out before things got any worse.

The vendor turned back to them, his smile widening as he reached into one of the crates. "Et maintenant, la pièce de résistance," he said with an air of pride, as though presenting a rare work of art. He pulled out a cage with a covered lid and set it gently on a nearby table. "Voilà l'occamy." (Here’s the Occamy.)

Draco took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. "L'occamy?" (The Occamy?)

The vendor gave a slow nod, lifting the lid just slightly, enough to reveal the creature inside. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the Occamy.

It was curled up tightly, its iridescent blue feathers dimming in the low light. Its large, bright eyes were wide with fear, and it looked nothing like the majestic creature she had read about in Newt Scamander’s book. This Occamy was clearly terrified, trying to shrink as far as possible into the corner of its cage, its wings tucked tightly against its body. It seemed to shrink even further at the poacher’s approach, as though it wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Draco narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to mask the discomfort he felt at seeing the creature in such a state. "Vous l'avez bien capturé, je vois." (You have it well-captured, I see.) He spoke coldly, not giving away his emotions.

The vendor smiled smugly. "Bien sûr. C’est une créature difficile à attraper, mais l'argent n'est pas un problème, n'est-ce pas?" (Of course. It’s a difficult creature to catch, but money isn’t a problem, is it?)

Draco barely looked at him as he assessed the Occamy. "J'ai entendu dire que ces créatures peuvent être délicates, voire dangereuses. Mais elles valent une fortune si vous savez comment les manipuler." (I’ve heard these creatures can be tricky, even dangerous. But they’re worth a fortune if you know how to handle them.) His tone was cool and calculating, as though this was just another transaction. "Quel est le prix ?" (What’s the price?)

The vendor smiled wider, his voice low and sneering. "Elle a un prix élevé, mon ami. Les créatures comme ça ne viennent pas bon marché, même dans ce marché. Mais je suppose que vous avez les fonds nécessaires." (She has a high price, my friend. Creatures like that don’t come cheap, even in this market. But I suppose you have the necessary funds.)

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of pebbles—transfigured to resemble galleons and other valuable coins. He tossed them on the table with a clink, the noise deliberate. The vendor’s eyes flickered to the pile, his expression unreadable. "Ça devrait suffire," Draco said coolly, his voice carrying a hint of arrogance. "C’est tout ce dont j'ai besoin pour une créature rare." (That should suffice. It’s all I need for a rare creature.)

The vendor didn’t seem convinced. "Vous êtes sûr que vous voulez faire une telle transaction avec seulement ça? J’ai l’impression que vous ne savez pas vraiment ce que vous achetez." (Are you sure you want to make such a transaction with just this? I get the feeling you don’t really know what you’re buying.)

Draco’s gaze hardened. "Vous me sous-estimez, mon ami. C’est suffisant, croyez-moi." (You underestimate me, my friend. It’s enough, believe me.)

Hermione watched their exchange with barely-contained anxiety. As Draco and the vendor argued about the price, she couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sympathy for the Occamy. She leaned closer, speaking softly to Draco in a tone that barely rose above a whisper.

“She’s terrified. Look how she’s hiding... She doesn’t want to be here.”

Draco’s gaze flickered to her for just a moment before he responded in a low, controlled voice, his eyes not leaving the vendor. "I know. But we need her, Granger. We can’t afford to look weak in front of this scumbag." He pushed the pouch of transfigured pebbles closer to the vendor, his tone even colder. "J’ai ce qu’il faut. Prenez-le ou laissez-le." (I have what’s necessary. Take it or leave it.)

The vendor hesitated for a moment, eyeing the pebbles that faintly glistened. He finally smiled, pockets full of transfigured coins. "Très bien. Vous avez l'air de savoir ce que vous voulez." (Very well. You seem to know what you want.)

He handed Draco the key to the cage. "Elle est à vous. Mais rappelez-vous, les créatures comme ça ne se laissent pas apprivoiser si facilement." (She’s yours. But remember, creatures like this don’t tame easily.)

Draco nodded, taking the key from the vendor and unlocking the cage. He carefully lifted the Occamy out, its eyes still wide with fear. It shrank into itself even more as it was freed from its prison, its shimmering wings twitching uneasily.

Hermione’s heart broke at the sight. The Occamy’s wings flickered with fear, and its entire body shimmered with distress. She stepped forward, but Draco stopped her with a firm gesture. He had already begun to take control of the situation.

"Let’s get her out of here," Draco said firmly. He gave the vendor a final nod and turned to Hermione. "We’ve done our part. Let’s not waste time."

Hermione nodded silently, her eyes still on the Occamy, who was doing its best to shrink even further into Draco’s arms, as if it could melt away and disappear.

As they turned to leave, the vendor’s voice echoed behind them. "Bonne chance, Monsieur Moreau. Elle a un pouvoir que vous ne comprendrez peut-être pas immédiatement." (Good luck, Monsieur Moreau. She has a power you may not understand immediately.)

Hermione barely registered his words. All she could think about was the occamy—the creature that had been captured, caged, and now owned by them.

But the moment they stepped out of the vendor’s sight, a loud curse echoed behind them.

"Attendez!" (Wait!)

Draco and Hermione froze for a split second before they heard the vendor shout again, this time louder and angrier. "Ces pièces ne sont pas vraies! Vous m'avez arnaqué, espèce de sale voleur!" (These coins aren’t real! You’ve cheated me, you filthy thief!)

"Run!" Draco hissed, his grip tightening on the Occamy as he bolted toward the nearest alleyway, Hermione close behind. They could hear the vendor’s footsteps pounding after them, his curses growing louder.

"Attrapez-les! Ils m'ont volé!" (Catch them! They’ve stolen from me!) the vendor shouted to others in the market.

Hermione’s heart raced as they rounded a corner, her wand already in her hand. "Draco, we have to Disapparate!"

"Not here!" Draco snapped, glancing around for a quieter, less crowded space. Finally, they reached a narrow alleyway, where the shadows were thick and the noise of the market faded into the background.

"Now!" Draco barked.

With a sharp crack, the pair Disapparated, vanishing into the night just as the vendor skidded into the alley, his furious shout echoing in the empty space.

Hermione and Draco apparated into their rented room at the inn, the worn wooden floor creaking beneath their feet. The room was modest, to say the least: a single bed with a faded quilt, a small table by the window, and a tiny fireplace in the corner. Dust motes danced in the slivers of moonlight streaming through the curtains.

Draco exhaled sharply, shrugging off his cloak. “Finally. I was beginning to think we’d never get out of there.”

“It was your idea to use Polyjuice, remember?” Hermione shot back, her fingers already moving to untie her cloak. “A brilliant suggestion, of course, but I’m not sure it was worth smelling like you had garlic for blood.”

“At least I didn’t look like a banshee who got lost on the way to a muggle rave,” Draco retorted, smirking.

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing as she stepped closer to the cage. The Occamy inside stirred, its silvery-blue feathers catching the firelight. It tilted its head, its glittering eyes scanning the unfamiliar room with wary curiosity.

“Poor thing,” Hermione murmured, crouching down to examine it more closely. “It must be terrified. I can’t imagine what it’s been through.”

Behind her, Draco’s hand went to his hair as he felt it growing longer and finer. He sighed dramatically. “The Polyjuice is wearing off,” he muttered.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder just as her own transformation began to reverse. The straight black hair receded, replaced by her familiar bushy curls, and her pale skin warmed to its usual tone. Draco, meanwhile, stretched his limbs as if trying to reacquaint himself with his taller frame and unfreckled complexion.

“I need to change,” Hermione said briskly, grabbing her bag and heading toward the bathroom. “Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco drawled, peeling off his jacket. The door clicked shut behind her, and he quickly shed his disguise, tossing the now-oversized clothes onto the bed.

When Hermione emerged, she was wearing a comfortable jumper and jeans, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She frowned at the pile of clothes on the bed and gestured toward the cage, where the Occamy now rested on its coiled body, watching them both intently.

“We can’t leave those lying around,” she said, moving to gather up Draco’s discarded attire along with her own. “They’re covered in magic from the Polyjuice. If someone finds them, they could track us.”

Draco watched as she bundled the garments into her arms and carried them to the fireplace. She crouched down, placed the clothes in the grate, and flicked her wand. A small, controlled flame erupted, the fabric curling and blackening under its heat.

“Burning our identities. How poetic,” Draco quipped as he pulled on a fresh shirt.

Hermione ignored him, her attention on the fire. As the last remnants of the fabric disintegrated into ash, she leaned back on her heels and let out a small sigh of relief.

“Right,” she said, turning her attention back to the Occamy. She sat cross-legged on the floor, placing the cage in front of her. The Occamy’s head lifted slightly, its glittering eyes locking onto her.

“It’s hungry,” she said softly. “It must be. Poor thing hasn’t had proper food in Merlin knows how long.”

Draco, who was fastening his cuffs, raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you propose we feed it? A five-course meal from the inn’s nonexistent kitchen?”

Hermione’s lips twitched. “Don’t be daft. Occamies eat insects. Roaches, beetles, things like that.”

Draco made a face. “Well, I don’t know about you, Granger, but I didn’t pack an emergency supply of creepy crawlies in my luggage.”

“Then we’ll have to improvise,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. She glanced around the room. “A place like this is bound to have a few lurking about. Help me look.”

Draco stared at her, horrified. “You cannot be serious.”

“Deadly,” Hermione said, already scanning the corners of the room. “The Occamy’s well being depends on it.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, then closed it with a resigned groan. “This is what my life has come to,” he muttered. “Crawling on the floor of a dingy inn, searching for roaches.”

Hermione’s grin was audible in her reply. “Welcome to the glamorous world of magizoology, Malfoy.”

Moments later, Draco was on his hands and knees, peering under the bed with a wand-lit scowl. “This is disgusting,” he grumbled, flicking aside a cobweb. “There’s enough dust under here to start a museum exhibit.”

“Found anything?” Hermione called from across the room, where she was inspecting the cracks between the floorboards.

“Besides a newfound appreciation for cleanliness? No,” Draco snapped.

Hermione snorted, shifting her search to the baseboards. “Keep looking. They’re nocturnal, so there’s a good chance they’ll come out if we disturb their hiding spots.”

Draco’s reply was an unintelligible grumble as he crawled further under the bed. Suddenly, he yelped and jerked back, banging his head on the bedframe. “Something moved!”

Hermione straightened, trying not to laugh. “Was it a roach?”

Draco glared at her, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t know, Granger. It had legs and it scuttled. Does that meet your criteria?”

“Perfectly,” Hermione said, smirking. “Go on, catch it!”

“Catch it?” Draco repeated, his voice climbing an octave. “With what? My bare hands?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed him a small glass jar from the table. “Use this. And hurry up, the poor Occamy is starving.”

Draco muttered something that sounded distinctly uncharitable but grabbed the jar and returned to his task. After a moment of fumbling, there was a triumphant exclamation.

“Got it!” he declared, holding up the jar. Inside, a sizable cockroach skittered against the glass, its antennae waving furiously. Draco’s expression was a mix of triumph and revulsion.

“Well done,” Hermione said, taking the jar from him. She unscrewed the lid and carefully tipped the roach into the cage. The Occamy’s head darted forward with lightning speed, and the insect disappeared with a faint crunch.

Draco’s face turned green. “I’m going to be sick.”

Hermione ignored him, watching the Occamy with a small smile. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“Speak for yourself,” Draco muttered, dusting off his trousers as he stood. “Next time, you can be the one crawling around in the dirt.”

“Deal,” Hermione said cheerfully. She reached out to stroke the bars of the cage, her expression softening. “At least it’s safe now. And fed. That’s what matters.”

Draco glanced at her, his annoyance fading slightly. “Yeah, well, don’t expect me to volunteer for pest control again anytime soon.”

Hermione grinned. “Noted.”

Draco grunted as he stood, brushing dust off his trousers with a look of utmost disdain. “This is intolerable,” he declared, glaring at his sleeves as though the grime had personally offended him. “I’m taking a bath. My skin can’t endure another second of this filth.”

Hermione smirked, crossing her arms as she watched him stride toward the small, adjoining bathroom. “You’re such a delicate flower, Malfoy. Should I summon house-elves to assist you?”

Draco paused at the door, throwing her a withering glance. “Don’t be absurd, Granger. I can manage.” With that, he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the faucet echoing a moment later.

Still chuckling, Hermione shook her head and turned back to the Occamy’s cage. The creature had coiled itself into a tight spiral, its iridescent feathers catching the dim light and casting faint rainbows on the walls. Hermione gently lifted the cage and set it on the nightstand. “There we go,” she murmured.

Her wand appeared in her hand, and she began muttering cleansing spells, her movements precise and deliberate. The bars of the cage glowed faintly as the spells took effect, dispelling any lingering traces of magic. “Just in case,” she said softly, more to herself than the Occamy. “We can’t risk anyone tracking you.”

The Occamy’s sharp eyes followed her every move, its head tilting slightly as though it understood. Hermione smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the bars. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

From her perch on the windowsill, Tiny scuttled forward, her twig-like fingers curling in curiosity. The bowtruckle hesitated for a moment, then climbed onto the nightstand to inspect the new arrival. The Occamy’s gaze shifted to Tiny, and the two creatures regarded each other in silence.

“Be nice, Tiny,” Hermione said with a chuckle. The bowtruckle tapped a cautious rhythm on the cage, then chittered softly, her tone almost welcoming. The Occamy made a faint trilling noise in response, and Hermione’s smile widened. “See? You’re already making friends.”

She leaned back on her heels, letting out a small sigh. Watching the Occamy brought a wave of nostalgia, and her thoughts drifted to London. She pictured Melody, her vibrant Fwooper, perched on her swing and singing her lilting, mesmerizing tunes. Hermione’s smile turned wistful. Luna had volunteered to look after Melody while she was away, and Hermione couldn’t think of a better caretaker. Still, she missed her little Fwooper’s cheerful chaos.

“You’d like Melody,” Hermione said softly to the Occamy. “She’s a bit… spirited, but she has a good heart. Luna’s probably spoiling her rotten by now.”

Tiny chittered again, as though in agreement, and Hermione chuckled. She reached out to stroke the bowtruckle’s head with her finger, earning a pleased trill in response.

The sound of running water stopped, and a moment later, Draco emerged from the bathroom. His hair was damp and slightly tousled, and he wore a clean shirt and trousers. He glanced at Hermione and the creatures clustered around her, his expression somewhere between bemusement and exasperation.

“I see the menagerie’s growing,” he said dryly, adjusting his cuffs.

“Don’t pretend you’re not impressed,” Hermione replied, grinning up at him. “Tiny’s already welcomed the Occamy. You could learn a thing or two about being hospitable.”

Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t respond, instead moving to the window and peering out into the night. “I don’t see how you do it, Granger,” he said after a moment. “All these creatures, all this… chaos. Doesn’t it ever get exhausting?”

Hermione’s smile softened. “Maybe. But it’s worth it. They need someone to care for them, to understand them. And honestly? They’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught them.”

Draco snorted softly but didn’t argue, his gaze lingering on the moonlit streets below.

Hermione turned her attention back to the Occamy, who had begun to relax, its feathers ruffling slightly as it settled into its new surroundings. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The night had been chaotic, but they’d succeeded in saving this creature. And for now, that was enough.