2
Draco stood once again in the small, gloomy apothecary. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and potions, and the faint light filtering through the dusty windows only heightened the sense of suffocation that had clung to him for days. In front of him stood the young apothecary, Julia, gazing at him with sad, empathetic eyes. Her features were soft, but her eyes revealed a deep exhaustion, as if she, too, had not yet recovered from the war and its many losses.
“She’s dead, I assume?” she murmured, her voice almost lost in the dimly lit room. Draco only nodded, unable to speak. His throat felt tight, as if choked by the weight of everything left unsaid. What could he possibly say? Words seemed meaningless, hollow. Nothing he could express would be able to match the abyss he felt within—a hollowness carved into his soul, deeper than he could comprehend.
He lowered his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Your offer… does it still stand?” His words echoed in the silence, sounding empty and distant, as if they came from someone else. He didn’t know why he asked. Maybe he was clinging to the faint hope that something—anything—could pull him out of the pit he had been sinking into for so long.
Julia studied him for a long moment, as if trying to read the truth in his face, to understand the weight behind his question. “The offer… yes,” she replied cautiously. “If you want the job, I’ll speak with my friend. He knows who you are, but… he said it would be fine.” She hesitated, as if unsure how to continue. “The people there… they weren’t as affected by the war. Many of them didn’t lose family. They… might be willing to give you a chance.”
Draco closed his eyes for a brief moment. A chance. How long had it been since anyone had offered him something resembling a second chance? Even though he knew deep down that there would still be people who despised him there—who had every right to hate him for what he had been a part of—perhaps the hatred wouldn’t be as overwhelming as it was here, where everyone knew his name, knew his past.
“When… when could I start?” he asked finally, his voice trembling slightly. Hope and fear mixed uneasily within him, creating a painful knot in his chest. Could he even allow himself to hope for something better? Or had he already condemned himself to live forever in the shadow of what he had done?
Julia offered him a small, encouraging smile, though her eyes remained cautious. “If you decide to go, you could start within the next few days. Of course, you’d have to travel there, but… I have a Portkey. I can go with you if you want.”
Draco took a deep breath, the words hitting a wall inside him—a wall he had been building for years, brick by brick, to shield himself from the world. But now… perhaps it was time to tear that wall down. But was he truly ready? Had he ever been ready for anything in his life?
“I’m ready,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure if he truly believed the words. What did he have left here, after all? A crumbling house and the ashes of a once-proud legacy? There was nothing for him here anymore.
Julia nodded, taking his hand gently. Her touch was warm, almost comforting. She pulled a small, intricately forged key from a drawer. A dragon was engraved on its surface, an irony that didn’t escape Draco. A dragon as the key to a dragon reserve. He might have found it amusing if the weight on his chest weren’t so crushing.
“Are you ready?” she asked again, and Draco could only nod. Ready… the word seemed to have lost all meaning to him.
With a sudden jerk, they were both pulled into the swirling vortex of the Portkey. Draco felt the familiar, stomach-turning sensation as colors blurred around them, and then, just as quickly, his feet hit solid ground again. He stumbled slightly as they arrived, steadying himself as he looked around. Endless greenery stretched out before him, the air fresh and crisp, carrying the scent of wild grass. The sky above was a brilliant, almost painful blue.
“Romania,” he thought. Julia had already told him, but seeing it with his own eyes was something different entirely. The landscape was breathtaking, untouched, and wild. A land that had no care for the scars of war or the burdens of humanity. But all of this beauty was lost on Draco, as though a thick fog had settled over his mind, dulling everything.
“The Portkey doesn’t take us directly into the reserve,” Julia explained, walking ahead. “It would be too dangerous. The reserve is heavily protected.” Draco followed her silently. He didn’t have a real plan for what awaited him, but somehow, it didn’t matter. Whatever was coming, it couldn’t be worse than what he had already lived through.
They walked for a while, the grass rustling beneath their feet, the wind tugging gently at their robes. In the distance, Draco could make out the first signs of the dragon reserve—large, sturdy buildings, no doubt constructed to withstand the power of the creatures they housed.
Finally, they stopped in front of an old, gnarled tree. Julia turned to him, her expression serious. “This is the entrance,” she said, pointing at the tree. “Remember this place. If you ever get lost, this is your way back.” She smiled again, but Draco couldn’t return it. His gaze remained fixed on the tree, as though hoping it might offer him some sort of answer, something to ground him in the reality he was about to face.
Julia pulled out her wand and began tracing runes into the bark of the tree. Draco flinched slightly at the sight of her wand. It was a reflex—one he had never managed to shake off. Even after all these years, he couldn’t help but expect danger at every turn. But if she had wanted to harm him, she could have done so long ago. The runes glowed softly, and after a moment, a hidden doorway appeared in the tree trunk.
“Come on,” Julia said warmly. “Let’s go see the dragons.”
Draco stepped through the doorway, following Julia into the heart of the reserve. The path led them deeper into the sprawling grounds, and as they walked, more structures and enclosures came into view. Massive pens that must have housed the dragons and large buildings that looked like hatcheries.
“That’s the infirmary,” Julia pointed out, indicating a large building ahead. “The people there are really nice. They take care of the injured and sick dragons.”
Draco nodded, but he barely processed her words. “Nice,” he thought bitterly. How could anyone be nice to him? How could anyone look at him and see anything other than a reminder of a dark past, of mistakes that could never be undone? He remembered the Healers at St. Mungo’s, the way they had refused to treat his mother. The hate in their eyes, the burning desire to see her suffer. How could he ever forget the way they had turned her away?
“This is where we’ll be staying,” Julia called, pointing to a smaller house ahead. “My friend lives here.”
Draco stared at the house. It was unremarkable, almost quaint, but a strange tension knotted in his stomach. The person who lived here held his fate in their hands. Julia was smiling again, pacing in front of the door. “He should be up by now,” she said teasingly. “He’s not much of an early riser.”
Suddenly, there was a loud thud from inside the house, as though someone had clumsily gotten out of bed, knocking something over in the process. Draco’s heart pounded in his chest.
The door creaked open, and Draco held his breath. The man who stepped outside was someone Draco knew all too well—and this man knew him just as well. Charlie Weasley stood before him, his expression unreadable, eyes briefly flicking between Draco and Julia.
“He accepted the offer?” Charlie asked, his voice calm, but with an edge that Draco couldn’t quite decipher.
Draco stood frozen, unable to respond. Why would Charlie help him? Wasn’t he a Weasley? Didn’t all the Weasleys hate him?
“Hi, Charlie,” Julia chirped, stepping forward. “I told him you wouldn’t hold anything against him for what happened.”
“Of course not,” Charlie murmured, but his voice was heavy, as if the words carried a weight he couldn’t ignore. “It wasn’t his fault.”
Draco didn’t know if he could believe him. Was that really the truth? Or was it just something Charlie said out of politeness? Draco couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what, he would always carry the burden of the war on his shoulders.
For now, though, he stood there, staring at Charlie, uncertain of what would come next. This man before him—this man who had lost a brother in the war—would be the one to decide his future. And Draco could only hope that he could survive it.