"Since humans and dragons first met upon this land, every attempt to establish a settlement within three miles of a dragon's territory has ended in failure. Therefore, residing within a dragon reserve is, by definition, a life lived on the edge of a very large, very toothy knife.
"In light of this, this manual aims to prepare you, the Trainee Researcher, or at least provide a cursory familiarity with the magnificent and terrifying beasts you'll be working with—hell, that's your job!"
Anthony flipped back a few pages. In the following preface, the editor listed several past follies of reserve staff: collecting dragon dung directly in front of the dragon; casting an Aguamenti at a fire-breathing dragon; using a Summoning Charm on a dragon egg; Apparating into a dragon's nest—right in front of three juvenile, hunt-happy Hungarian Horntails—and splinching themselves during the frantic escape, ultimately becoming afternoon snacks for two different Horntail broods.
He skipped the editor's indignant ranting ("Do not attempt to ride a dragon any more than you would attempt to barbecue with Fiendfyre") and went straight to the table of contents.
Chapter One: "Components of the Reserve and Map Guidance." Chapter Two: "Emergency Measures: Where to Find Fireproofing Materials." Chapter Three: "Avoiding the Angry Dragon" was followed immediately by Chapter Four: "Engaging Correctly." Each chapter was written by a different author. Their photos were lined up beside the contents. A few were smiling and waving. Most were glaring at whoever had opened the book.
Anthony turned a few more pages. First was a fold-out map. A simple sketch of the reserve's forests, meadows, and rivers. Red ink marked areas favored by the Horntails ("Sheep-Grabbing Zone," "Water Source," "Isabella's Nest," "Monica's Nest," "Hera's Nest"). Fine print below specified the minimum personnel and worst-case broomstick specs required to visit these zones.
Elsewhere, the map was marked with green ink: relatively safer routes. Some due to other magical creatures residing there, others because the dragons disliked the scent of certain herbs. Within the larger green zone denoting the dormitory area, a single spot was emphasized with a green asterisk. Anthony poked his head back through the wall, trying to match it to the terrain. No luck.
His question was answered a few sections later, past some topographical descriptions. The passage was written entirely in uppercase, like a silent Howler.
"THE ASTERISK MARKS THE LOCATION OF THE MOST IMPORTANT SAFETY MEASURE IN THE ENTIRE RESERVE. HERE YOU WILL FIND THE RESIGNATION FORM. QUILL AND INK PROVIDED! FEEL FREE TO VISIT THIS LOCATION AT ANY TIME TO TENDER YOUR RESIGNATION!"
After this, the text returned to normal font, as if the writer had calmed down slightly.
"Resigning alive is better than being involuntarily removed dead. We are not currently prepared to offer severance gifts to ghosts.
"Upon resignation, you will receive a model Hungarian Horntail. If you fought here, keep it as a medal. If you genuinely enjoyed your time, keep it as a memento. If you hated every second, treat it like a Muggle rubber duck. Hold it under the bathwater."
A previous trainee had underlined "rubber duck" and drawn a question mark in the margin.
Beneath the question mark, someone else in purple ink had scrawled: "For Durmstrang graduates who don't know what a rubber duck is, ask a Beauxbatons colleague. For Hogwarts graduates who don't know what a rubber duck is, yes, your Muggle Studies curriculum is outdated. In short: the opposite of dragon dung. Cheap. Man-made. Useless. Makes you happy."
Anthony dug out a pen from his pack. In black ink, below the note, he drew a very small rubber duck, squeezed into the blank space between the text and the page number.
…
The next morning, Anthony woke to a painfully bright light. The white walls of the entire hut were glowing, as if a fierce midday summer sun was penetrating the eggshell walls directly onto the cot.
A pale grey, irregular shadow shifted slowly on the floor. The cat sat in the very center of it, head tilted, studying the section of wall that had glowed green at night. That part was now the darkest, though it still held a faint green tint.
Anthony sat up and checked the time. 4:50 AM.
He could already hear sounds of washing from the neighboring dorms. People were talking loudly in Hungarian, their voices muffled as if they were talking around toothbrushes and toothpaste. Then the slap of slippers, the shriek of an hourglass, mumbled complaints, more talking and shouting.
He thought he heard his name and Hagrid's, then realized it was Charlie.
"Henry? Hagrid? You awake?" Charlie asked, not too loudly.
"Yes, awake," Anthony said. He spotted the Wraith Mouse asleep in the gap between the bed and his slippers. The Wraith Chicken had commandeered the bedside table, perched directly on top of For the Trainee Researcher.
"Charlie and Henry, is it?" Hagrid's voice boomed, followed by a loud crash. "Ouch, what in the—you're all awake?"
"Awake!" another voice chimed in.
Hagrid sounded confused. "Who's that talking?"
"Go away, Gábor," Charlie said. "Whatever you broke, Hagrid, don't worry about it. Katalin will have it fixed."
"Oh, that's good," Hagrid rumbled. "I was worried this bathroom door was a bit small too—"
Charlie said, "I promise the dormitories at the Romanian Reserve don't have these problems. Our huts are bigger. Big doors, big windows."
Gábor chimed in, voice sour. "Yeah, because you don't have to worry about a dragon sticking its head through your window in the middle of the night."
"True," Charlie admitted. "Too many wizards hunting Longhorns. No survivor would come near the dormitories."
"Really?" Hagrid sounded deeply disappointed. "Not at all?"
…
The hut's glowing white walls gave Anthony the illusion of a clear day. He leaned out through the wall and saw the reserve's sky was still thick with clouds. People kept emerging from the egg-shaped huts, bundled in heavy fur coats, gloves on, sleeves and trouser legs tightly cinched.
A bitter wind howled. The sky was only half-lit. Beyond the dormitory area, the grass was edged with a white, frosty fuzz that glinted faintly with a cold light. Further out, the meadows and forests lay in the same semi-darkness. Plumes of black smoke coiled up from distant hills. The ground seemed to tremble faintly with the roars of dragons.
"Morning, Henry," Charlie greeted him. He wore a heavy black-green leather jacket. The chest pocket bore the emblem [RSR] above a pair of dragon wings. A wand holster hung at his hip.
"Morning," Anthony said, seeing Gábor approach while fastening the buttons on his own fur coat.
"When are you lot leaving?" Gábor asked Charlie.
"After breakfast," Charlie said, then glanced toward Hagrid's hut with concern. "Hagrid hasn't fallen back asleep, has he?"
"Just packin' me things!" Hagrid's voice rumbled out.
"No rush," Charlie said. "We've got time."
Anthony met Gábor's gaze and nodded with a smile. He noticed the hem of Gábor's coat was dyed with a pair of yellow dragon wings, next to the letters [HDR].
Gábor followed his look downward. "Oh, that's our reserve's badge." He pointed at the three letters. "Hungarian Dragon Reserve."
Anthony nodded, quickly comparing the wing patterns on the leather jacket and the coat. Still couldn't spot a difference.
Charlie asked, "What's—oh, morning, Hagrid!"
The moment Hagrid's large, shaggy head emerged from the hut wall, Gábor breathed, "Cool."
"Got everything packed?" Anthony asked.
"Near enough," Hagrid said cheerfully, his eyes lighting up as another roar echoed. "Ohh… Hungarian Horntail… Isn't it brilliant, Henry?"
"I suppose seeing new things is always interesting," Anthony said.
Hagrid hauled himself out of the hut with surprising ease, his donkey-skin bag in hand.
"You said we're leavin' after breakfast?" he asked Charlie eagerly, stepping fully out. "How long to get to the Romanian Reserve from here?"
"One second or one hour, depending on if you use the Floo or a high-altitude broom," Gábor answered, looking Hagrid over. "I'm Gábor. Gábor Nagy. Pleasure."
"Oh!" Hagrid shook his hand with delight. "Rubeus Hagrid. Friends call me Hagrid." He spotted the dragon wings on Gábor's coat too. "That's a Welsh Green, innit? The least troublesome?"
"Yes, yes," Gábor said, his smile widening. "You know, all the reserves use the Welsh Green. Symbol of harmony between man and dragon." He glanced at the sky. "I'm starving. Shall we head to the mess hall?"
"Can't argue with that. Honestly, I'm famished too," Charlie said. "Hagrid—you can leave your bag. We'll come back after eating. Henry?"
"Lead on," Anthony agreed.
Following Gábor and Charlie, they headed toward the center of the dormitory area. People hurried past them in both directions. Some rushed by with cheeks bulging, struggling to chew.
A few riders on black broomsticks Anthony didn't recognize swept overhead, their coat hems brushing Hagrid's hair. Hagrid looked up in surprise. Gábor shouted something in Hungarian. The people around them laughed. The broom riders looked back and raised a hand in apology.
"Broomsticks are technically forbidden in the dorm zone," Gábor explained to Hagrid and Anthony. "But there's always someone who needs to get somewhere fast…"
Another group rushed past. They wore odd shoes and moved in a half-walk, half-hop.
"They're off to track Monica," Gábor explained. "Monica's been thinking about moving her nest lately. We need to keep records, predict her target. Hope she doesn't aim for outside the reserve, or we'll spend ages trying to dissuade her—"
Charlie groaned. "Not again?" He told the newcomers from Hogwarts, "Monica's a Hungarian Horntail. A very… combative female. Last year she nearly left the reserve. The Hungarian lot borrowed personnel from us. Took five months to barely convince her to stay."
Anthony said sympathetically, "Merlin, that sounds rough."
Hagrid said, "Well, why not just make the reserve bigger, then?"
"Because all reserve boundaries need approval from the International Confederation of Wizards. Magical concealment," Gábor said. "But speaking of, Charlie, maybe Monica will fancy moving to Romania this time."
"No," Charlie refused flatly. "Romanian Longhorns are lovely. Hungarian Horntails? No, thank you. Hungary can keep them."
Gábor said, "Be fair. The dragons don't know we're two separate reserves."
Charlie sighed. "Honestly, plenty of people get us mixed up. Sometimes I wonder why all reserves use the Welsh Green, but only Romania and Hungary use a pair of wings. Rumor was they wanted to merge us when I first arrived—"
"That's because over a decade ago, there was only one reserve," a voice said beside them.
Anthony turned. Katalin was swinging off her broomstick, looking bright-eyed.
"Sleep well last night?" Katalin asked. Anthony and Hagrid both nodded. "Good."
"What do you mean, Katalin?" Gábor asked. "One reserve?"
"Exactly that. We were one large reserve. Held Romanian Longhorns, Hungarian Horntails, and a few others," Katalin said, falling into step with them toward the mess. "Then the Romanian and Hungarian Ministries had a brainstorm and split it. Now they're having second thoughts. You know how Ministries are…" She abruptly turned to Anthony and Hagrid. "Is the British Ministry any better?"
"Eh?" said Hagrid.
"I'm afraid not," Anthony said, then added with complete sincerity, "Probably worse."
"Oh, really?" Katalin sounded surprised.
"Let me be specific. The higher-ups are likely no better," Anthony said. "There are still plenty of good people among the staff and the Aurors—for example, I have a lovely friend who works there. Arthur Weasley."
Charlie laughed. "Thanks, Henry."
"Is he one of your Weasley brothers?" Gábor asked curiously. "I know you have a brother in Egypt. Is Arthur your younger brother?"
"No…" Charlie began, then choked on a sudden gust of cold wind, coughing violently.
"Arthur is Charlie's father," Anthony explained.
Katalin said, "I thought you gave up guessing people's family ties after you mistook Monica for Isabella's daughter and Hera for Isabella's sister, Gábor."
Gábor said, "Mess hall's here."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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