Chapter Text
"Who knows, great King of the Beasts, if you would let me go, it might even happen some day that I could be helpful to you!" –The Lion and the Mouse, adapted from Aesop
Finally.
She was here, at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, about to begin the newest chapter of The Life of Hermione Granger.
She just wished it had skipped right past the gauntlet that was her training period.
"Your mentor will be senior Dragonologist, Charlie Weasley, who you will shadow for the next three months …"
I haven't seen Charlie in forever, Hermione thought to herself.
"… the same shifts and duties, sharing living quarters. Your belongings have already been delivered to your cabin, and you'll have the rest of the day to settle in before you officially start tomorrow. Do you have any questions?"
Hermione paused, uncertain if she'd heard correctly. "I'm sorry, shared living quarters?"
The other woman—Lidia?—nodded. "Yes. You and your mentor will share accommodations for the full duration of your training, after which, if successful, your own cabin will be made available."
"I can't just live in that cabin now?" Hermione asked.
"No. Too many fail to complete their training and end up leaving. The number of cabins is also limited to a strict area within the reserve." As if Lidia could hear Hermione's next question, she went on. "The schedule can be … difficult for the uninitiated. Shifts are assigned around the clock, so you may work normal hours one day and the night shift another. Living with your mentor will help you to adjust more quickly to the demands of being a Keeper."
Hermione was tempted to point out that she wasn't actually staying on as a Keeper; she was here to round out her field experience as a Magizoologist. Plus, there was that little promise Charlie had made years ago to teach her everything that he knew if she ever decided to pursue dragons. She doubted he remembered.
While Hermione had gotten her credentials years ago, she had spent the past decade working for the British Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She'd been excited to enter into what she thought would be the start of a blazing trail of reform, but year after year proved what she should have expected from the start: true change required sacrifice.
Hustling beneath the increasingly heavy weight of government work meant bowing to someone else's priorities—someone else's funding—admittedly far more than she currently had on her own. And, most painfully, a government job meant that the bulk of what she wanted to accomplish would never, ever, happen.
"Sounds great!" Hermione gave Lidia her most convincing smile. From the scepticism in the witch's glance, it hadn't worked.
"Great!" Lidia parroted.
The twist of Lidia's lips was another cause of concern—what did she know that Hermione didn't?
Once Hermione was all sorted, she was sent on her way with verbal instructions on where she could find her new home. The path took her directly through the main hub of activity. Starting at the receiving office where she'd arrived, Hermione walked past the mess hall and main staging ground for events, a quaint log cabin called "The Supply" which she assumed was the reserve's general store, a gigantic series of inter-connected buildings that made up the Hospital that served human and dragon alike, a much smaller building made all of stone with an ornate cross, and the start of residential cabins of varying sizes.
The first homes were small, suitable for the younger keepers without families. As she continued walking, the stretch between cabins grew, as did the square footage of the homes themselves. Hermione couldn't even begin to imagine being a child in this kind of environment. What must life be like, to have grown up here, amidst dragon-obsessed adults and far from any immediate civilization? A dream come true, or a nightmare? The closest city was more of a village made up entirely of those who were a part of the wizarding world.
A bend in the path appeared ahead of her, next to which grew a large hornbeam. She was almost there.
Remembering Lidia's instructions, she followed the curve in the path past the tree, past an unmarked trail, and up to another break in the treeline where she spotted a wooden post.
Home, sweet home.
The post proved to be artisan-crafted, the entire length of it carved with all manner of dragons and other magical creatures. Preoccupied as she was with studying it, Hermione completely missed that her arrival had not gone unnoticed.
When a throat cleared that was not her own, she startled and turned, coming face to face with—
"Charlie?" she squeaked, then instantly wanted to kick herself, because the wizard standing before her couldn't be anyone else: that signature ginger hair, the thick layer of freckles, and piercing blue eyes that scanned her from head to foot.
"You expect someone else?" he grumbled, distractingly thick arms crossed over his chest.
The tone took her aback. Was he upset with her? Why? Was she late?
A glance down at her watch showed that she was early.
"No?"
He frowned, and Hermione had to stop herself from frowning right back at him.
"Come on, then." Without further preamble, Charlie turned and began walking.
She stood for a moment and simply watched the broad expanse of his back as it moved away from her. Hermione wasn't certain what she'd been expecting from the wizard, but she at least thought she would receive somewhat of a warmer reception, especially given his promise, as off-handed as it might have been. They might not be friends, but it wasn't like they were complete strangers. Granted, she hadn't seen him after her split with Ron, but it wasn't like she had any lingering resentment with his family. Ron was still one of her best friends even if interactions had been rough for a few months.
Maybe Charlie's attitude had nothing at all to do with her. She did have a bad habit of over-analysing everything and everyone. Maybe he was short on sleep or had skipped breakfast.
With those possibilities in mind, Hermione started after him. It was only then that she looked towards her new home.
Like the more recent cabins that she'd passed, Charlie's was large enough to accommodate a small family. Odd, since she had always heard him described as "unlikely to settle down," regardless of Molly's frequent inquiries into his dating life.
The two-story building boasted a covered porch, which included a hanging bench large enough for two and a rocking chair. They looked well-loved with their cushions and blankets. The front-facing windows winked at her with colourful curtains. Tall planter boxes flanked the stairs leading up the porch; she spotted mint, dittany, and curly garlic tops.
"What's the matter?" Charlie's brusque voice brought her eyes back to where he stood watching her, frown still firmly in place.
"Oh, nothing! I was admiring your home."
He grunted and proceeded up the steps. No thank you, no follow-up explanation of why he'd picked the cabin that he had. Just a grunt of acknowledgement and the assumption that Hermione would follow.
But, there was a reason that she'd left her office desk and stuffy robes in the past. Hermione refused to blindly follow and lose herself in the process.
"What encouraged you to pick this one?" she asked.
"I built it," he corrected.
She blinked in surprise. Built, as in designed it? Raised it with his own two hands? Magic must have helped a significant amount, though she knew use of magic was limited within the reserve.
The door opened.
There was a not-insignificant part of her that had expected Charlie's home to more closely resemble the organised chaos of the Burrow. She had become accustomed to colourful piles everywhere she looked: Arthur's Muggle curiosities, an overflowing basket of yarn, a magicked broom moving through the rooms, countless jumpers hanging from hooks and over chairs, walls and walls of framed wizarding photos.
She wouldn't have even been surprised if Charlie had gone in the complete opposite direction and chosen the bachelor's idea of minimalism. A single chair at the kitchen counter, a sofa, a mattress on a metal frame or maybe even on the floor. She had plenty of first-hand experience to pull from with Harry, who hadn't even considered getting a coffee table until Draco walked into his life.
Instead, the room she stood in looked more like the home of an artist, and a tidy one at that. The entrance was both utilitarian and welcoming with a well-worn wooden bench up against a woven tapestry in a lively pattern of red and black. Beneath the bench sat a line of dragonhide boots, clogs, and other shoes.
"Close the door behind you."
She hurried to do as instructed. The front door was a solid piece of wood with wrought iron hinges and a lockset that warmed at her touch. Despite its heavy weight, the door swung shut with hardly any effort on her part.
Her bags were nowhere to be seen, and she assumed they'd been deposited in whatever room she'd been assigned. Pointing at the hooks along the wall on which several cloaks were hanging, Hermione asked, "May I?"
"That's what they're there for." Charlie was already seated and in the process of removing his boots.
By the time she sat down to take off her shoes, he'd disappeared.
Was this how it was going to be for the entirety of the next six months? Charlie, issuing orders and expecting them to be executed in his absence without further instruction?
Unfortunately for him, Hermione wasn't the sort of witch to blindly go along without fully understanding the purpose behind every task. She studied. Determined what made sense and what required clarification. Asked questions. Corrected, if necessary.
Charlie was going to be in for a rude awakening if he expected otherwise.
She followed the sounds coming from deeper in the house, past the entrance and along well-worn floorboards, through a cosy room with stuffed chairs and more carved furniture, and into what turned out to be the kitchen.
Just like the rest of Charlie's home, every surface gleamed. Unlike much of the natural wood in the cabin, he'd seen fit to add some colour to the cabinets. They were painted cherry red and fixed with wrought iron hardware. The overall effect was stunning.
"Tea's almost ready. Have yourself a seat." Charlie's back was to her from where he stood at the hob.
"Where are the cups? I can grab them for you."
"No need. Sit."
She paused mid-reach towards the nearest cabinet, then did as he told her.
"Are my bags—"
"In your room."
It was a good thing he was turned away and couldn't see her annoyed scowl. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a few deep breaths until her pulse returned to normal.
"Your home is beautiful. When did you build it?"
Rather than reply, Charlie reached out and flipped open a cabinet door to reveal the cups, mugs, and what looked to be commonly-used spices and sauces. She memorised its location. She would do a full search of the kitchen later. It wasn't until he'd poured their tea and joined her at the island that he finally answered her question.
"A couple of years ago."
A couple of years? Hermione would have guessed at least five. Even if he used magic in crafting, designing and building so much within two years had to have taken up nearly all of his free time outside of dragon keeping.
"Did you also craft your furniture? What about the post outside the cabin—is that your handiwork, too? I had no idea you were so gift—"
"Hermione."
The questions and compliments died on her tongue as she took in Charlie's unamused expression.
"Yes?"
"The purpose of your time here isn't to catch up or to interview me. What I do in my private time is exactly that: private." He spoke firmly, calmly, like a stranger. "You will live here and train under me, but do not mistake our relationship for anything other than professional. I value my alone time. It's my one source of peace outside of work."
Her jaw threatened to drop open at Charlie's blunt declaration. It was one thing for someone to set clear boundaries and another thing entirely for someone she'd known since childhood, albeit casually, to outright rebuff any sort of friendliness. The Charlie Weasley she remembered had been more than excited to gush on about his work with dragons—about most magical creatures, actually—and he'd even inquired about her own career plans and encouraged her aspirations for reform. Charlie had always treated her curiosity as a pleasure rather than the nuisance that so many others afforded her. So to have him do so now, when she was alone and further from home than she had ever been, hurt. A lot.
"I understand," was all that she said. She sipped at her tea. It was infuriatingly delicious.
His eyes flickered in some unknown emotion, and she wondered what it was that he saw on her face.
Did she look as bothered as she felt? She certainly hoped not.
"Good."
They sat in what had to be one of the most awkward teas Hermione had experienced—that included the time when she'd been strong armed into afternoon tea with Narcissa Malfoy by Draco and Harry when they'd officially announced their relationship.
The second her cup was empty, Charlie drained what remained of his and lumbered to his feet.
She quickly followed his example.
Cups and kettle went flying over to the sink with a wave of his hand and set to washing themselves.
"You'll clean up after yourself. Don't leave anything for 'later' or expect anyone else to wash your things. Basic goods like tea, flour, butter, eggs, and soap are shared but must be added to the supply list when they reach the halfway mark." He pointed to a sheet of parchment stuck to the side of the icebox. "Most meals are provided at the canteen, and you'll spend much of your time outside, so I expect supplies to last."
Meaning Hermione shouldn't go burning through his stash of tea and biscuits. Molly would wring her hands at her son's lack of hospitality.
"Keep tidy and make sure stocks don't run out," she repeated, then phrased her next question carefully. "Where will I be sleeping?"
"Bedrooms are upstairs." Jerking his head at her, he led the way.
For all of the hand-carved woodwork and framed art of local flora and fauna, there were hardly any pictures of actual people. The wall along the staircase was no exception. The expanse would have been the perfect spot to hang photographs of his family or some friends, but it was blank. Hermione had nothing to look at but Charlie's firm arse in front of her.
Coming to a stop at the first door on the landing, he waved it open. "This is you."
She tarried at the threshold, peering past where he stood. There were a few other doors, all closed, further down the hall.
"The next door's the washroom and the one after that the linen closet."
She waited for him to go on, and when he didn't, she prompted, "And the one at the very end?"
"My bedroom, which is strictly off limits."
Hermione tamped down on the urge to roll her eyes. He was entitled to his privacy, same as her. It wasn't as if she had any reason or desire to sneak into his bedroom, firm arse or not.
"Got it. Your room is off limits."
He squinted his eyes at her, but she ignored him and stepped into the space she would call hers for the next few months.
Her bags sat atop a large wooden chest. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was tastefully decorated with warm wood and light earth tones. She recognised Molly's handiwork in the deep purple knit throw draped over the end of the full-sized bed. On one side of the room up against the wall stood a large wardrobe that would easily fit all of her clothing. On the other was a large window framed by thick cream curtains. Hermione couldn't resist walking right up to the light to peer out into the surrounding forest.
"Take the next hour to put your things away and situate yourself. We'll meet downstairs afterwards and head to the mess hall for supper." Without another word, he left.
Looking around the room once more—the afternoon sun shining through the glass warm against her back—Hermione took a deep breath.
"Thanks … I think."
Less than an hour later, Hermione was downstairs and waiting, book in hand. She'd actually put away her things in half the time given but had forced herself to recount her day up until then in her journal before leaving the room.
The cabin was quiet, and the owner nowhere to be seen.
She chose the squishiest side of the sofa to curl into, hugging a cushion to her chest as she propped open her book. A clock ticked softly in the background. She quickly fell into another world, complete with a cosy town, a popular bakery, and the resident lumberjack.
She snorted to herself as the lumberjack unwittingly chose the heroine's cake as his favourite when only a few pages earlier he'd snubbed her attempts at friendship. Men could be such arseholes!
"Should I come back later?"
She jolted upright.
Charlie stood with both arms crossed, staring at her. A glance at the clock showed that the hour was up.
"No! I'm ready." Dropping the book on top of the coffee table, she scrambled to join him.
"Don't make it a habit to leave your things lying around," he warned her.
Sighing, Hermione turned back, snatched up the book, and tucked it into her satchel.
The majority of the other dragon keepers turned out to be far less uptight than Charlie Weasley. They greeted her cheerfully and with questions about her background and interests, surrounding her and Charlie at the table he'd chosen near the entrance.
"Let us eat in peace. You can always question her later," he grumbled.
"Budge over, Weasley!"
"Don't go hogging the recruit all to yourself—"
"Name's Liz. If things don't work out, I've got an extra room in my cabin—"
Hermione watched with amusement as her mentor was roundly ignored and shoved further down the table as his fellow keepers crowded around her.
"I'm sure we'll be fine," she assured them. Hopefully, that wouldn't turn out to be a lie. She quite liked Charlie's cabin, even if Charlie himself wasn't quite so welcoming.
The wizard who had elbowed Charlie earlier grinned at Hermione, and she couldn't help but grin right back at him. He was cute and fit and, most importantly of all, friendly.
"Mihai Munteanu, at your service," he said, reaching out to shake her hand. "Not quite as senior as Weasley over there, but that just means I'm faster on my feet and on a broom."
"You wish," Charlie muttered.
She almost felt bad for giggling.
Almost.
"It's nice to meet you, Mihai, Liz …" She bit her lip as she eyed the rest. "… Barnaby, Dimitri, Esther, and Stefan, right?"
Liz grinned. "Right in one. You'll fit in just fine."
The other keepers chimed in agreement and continued to hit her with questions. By the time Hermione's plate was empty and most of the others gone their separate ways, Charlie had already gone.
She hadn't exactly expected him to wait for him, especially given his earlier reception, but she still felt abandoned. This was her first day! Would it really have been such a chore to walk back to the cabin with her?
"Don't mind Weasley."
She looked up from the table to find Mihai still there and looking at her with a sympathetic smile. The question spilled out of her before she could think twice. "What happened to him? He didn't used to be so … so …" Her voice trailed off. Hermione wasn't usually one to speak ill of others behind their backs, and she especially didn't want to make it look like she wasn't grateful for the opportunity to be here.
"That's his story to tell. But I will tell you this." The handsome wizard leaned forward conspiratorially. Hermione followed suit. "He cares more than he lets on. If he really didn't want you around, he wouldn't have let you in the front door, much less agree to train you for the next few months. He's a good man, Weasley is. You won't find anyone better … other than myself."
Mihai winked, and she laughed.
"Thanks. That does make me feel better."
"Fancy some company heading back? I'm headed that way anyways."
"I'd appreciate that."
Mihai walked with her all the way to the wood post that marked Charlie's home, despite passing his own cabin much earlier, and waved her on when she paused partway up the path to look back at him.
The cabin was dark when she entered. With no prior instructions and no knowledge of her mentor's whereabouts, Hermione decided that calling it a night to be in her best interest. Mornings started very early on the reserve. Though her training wasn't listed to begin until seven, the schedule she'd been handed earlier noted breakfast as early as four.
Maybe if she was up and ready to go long before her shift Charlie might open up to her again. In fact, Hermione was determined to get to the root of the cause for his surliness. Given the affection and support of the other dragon tamers, there must still be hope for unearthing the Charlie who loved a good party and never hesitated to help others, friends or otherwise.
Either way, this was going to be a long three months.