After securing the brooms, Charlie refused Hagrid's eager pleas to take them straight to Norbert.
"She's in a foul mood," Charlie said. "Best not to disturb her now."
As he spoke, he grabbed a spray bottle from a shelf behind the warehouse door. He spritzed himself a few times, then handed it to Anthony and Hagrid, miming for them to do the same.
Anthony followed suit, spraying the mist over himself and his shoes. "What's this for?"
"Dragon-scent cologne." Charlie took the bottle back. "Supposed to make us smell less human to Longhorns (Hagrid, you really don't need that much) but who knows. I've never heard of an attacked researcher forgetting the spray."
"What usually gets them attacked?" Anthony asked, following Charlie outside. The winter air was sharp. In the warehouse yard, a few sets of researcher robes hung from a line, snapping like flags in the wind.
"Getting too close." Charlie shrugged. "We're just moving sausages in a dragon's eyes… Morning, Barbara."
A short, grim-faced woman with cropped hair approached. Her right arm was a prosthetic, eerily similar to Professor Kettleburn's. Behind her, something huge and wooden groaned and creaked, lumbering along like a makeshift dragon.
"Romanian Longhorn!" Hagrid breathed, delighted.
"Morning." Barbara's voice was flat. Her grey eyes drifted over Anthony and Hagrid for a moment. "…Yes?"
"Professor Henry Anthony and Rubeus Hagrid," Charlie introduced. "Visiting scholars from Hogwarts. This is Barbara Beck, our dragon expert. She's researching non-intrusive methods for entering dragon nests… You know, alternatives to heavy Stunning and fire-suppression."
"Pleased to meet you," Anthony said.
Hagrid gaped. "You wrote the book! From Egg to Ashes: A Dragon-Keeping Guide!"
"Oh. Did I? Could be." Barbara's tone remained utterly disinterested. "So you're… Charlie's."
"Friends." Barbara finished the sentence with zero inflection. "Excellent. Have fun."
She drifted away. The four-story-tall dragon model behind her creaked back to life, moving stiffly as it squeezed between the small houses of the residential area.
Hagrid watched her leave with a mix of confusion and awe.
"What a character," he whispered, mesmerized.
"C'mon, let's get your things to your rooms. Then I can show you around the non-classified sections." Charlie led them on. "Barbara's like that. Never remembers names. Sometimes even her own."
"Really?" Hagrid said. "She forgets her own name?"
"Really. Forgets directions, too. We joke she's got a few dragons in her head, burning up all the useless information." Charlie grinned. "But she's one of our best. Once, she wandered outside the work zone. Got lost. Ended up walking right into a Longhorn's nest. That's the story of her arm. When the rescue team found her, the whole clearing was covered in knocked-down trees. And there she was, hopping from trunk to trunk through the flames."
…
Compared to Hungary, Romania's reserve felt more familiar. Especially the way the dormitory doors worked.
"Hagrid, that's your room. Yours is here, Henry," Charlie said, pointing. "Main entrance passphrase is 'Healthy dragon scales are slate-black.' Changes every fortnight, but that one'll last you."
"Healthy dragon scales are slate-black," Anthony repeated. "Right."
"That's for the main building. You can set your own room passphrase. Default is 'Horns at five.' Change it by saying, 'Change horns at seventeen, new passphrase is…' once you're inside."
"Got it." Anthony nodded. "Anything else? Like no hard liquor in the open?"
"No, we're not as strict as Hungary. But same rule about the alarm bells. Drop everything and get out. Oh, and about passphrases, no length limit. But I strongly advise against making them too long."
"Of course not." Hagrid boomed. "Who wants to memorize a whole speech?"
Charlie laughed. "You'd be surprised. Some set theirs as revision notes before exams (not recommended). And one bloke set his as an entire epic poem. Had to recite it every night after late patrol."
…
After stowing their luggage, Charlie made good on his promise. He gave them a quick tour of the non-classified work areas.
The place had the world's most comprehensive dragonology library, much bigger on the inside. Three training rooms, two dedicated to flight, full of horizontal bars and water jets firing from unexpected angles. A few trainees on brooms weaved frantically through the barrage.
An empty, underground common room for cards and chess on breaks. And an impossibly vast "Semi-Contact Zone."
"Here's where we gather basic biometrics. Lets us know who needs extra care." Charlie gestured. "The new dragon quarantine pen is here too. This is where we released Norbert."
Anthony looked around. Beneath the snow, he could make out the tilting fence lines from Charlie's photos. Every surrounding branch was scorched and battered, burned down countless times.
"What's that over there?" He pointed to a distant enclosure. Something huge and tarp-covered was heaped in the center. Figures ran in and out.
Charlie's brow furrowed. "That's the medical field. What happened? Who's hurt?"
"Who?" Hagrid asked.
"Can we go see?" Anthony said.
"Of course. This way." They made the trek from the quarantine pen to the medical field. As they neared, the shape under the tarp became clear.
A dragon.
An adult Longhorn. Healthy slate-black scales. A slender neck that curved gracefully, its head buried under the yellow tarp, one wing-tip poking out. A cluster of researchers surrounded it, talking in low voices. A few hovered on brooms, shooting diagnostic spells. Floating quills scribbled furiously on parchment.
"Charlie, you're back?" a researcher called, arms full of scrolls. "Delmar's still short-handed…"
"Andea went. I saw her." Charlie stepped closer. "What's going on here?" He peered at the tarp-covered dragon. "Isn't that Patrick?"
"Patrick ran into poachers. Gored two. Took a few Dark curses to his hind leg. Rescue couldn't get close. You know his temper…" The researcher sounded harried. "Still wouldn't take the sedative-laced food. Took at least a dozen Stunners to drop him. Sometimes I can't tell if Longhorns see us as threats or snacks…"
"Dark curses?" Charlie's voice hardened. "Same group as last year?"
"Could be. We kept the two gored ones. Still unconscious. One's not waking up. His chest's caved in. But the other might only lose his legs. Patrick must have been distracted."
A long, deafening ROAR split the air behind them. Like a thousand horns blasting at once.
The air temperature soared. Anthony's robes ballooned with a gust of searing wind. Hagrid's profile lit up orange-red, his black hair and beard rippling.
"STUNNERS! NOW!" a researcher yelled.
Anthony turned. A dozen red Stunning Spells shot from wands, sinking into the dragon's massive body. The Longhorn—now awake, head lifted—swayed. A small tongue of flame flickered from its jaws. Then its head crashed back to the ground. Out cold.
The tarp it had thrown off smoldered quietly, flames slowly dying. The snow beneath was completely gone. Naked earth steamed in plumes of white vapor.
"Anyone hurt?" a voice shouted.
"Clear!" came the reply from the far side. "Wasn't fully awake! It was attacking the tarp!"
A few figures flew over, hurriedly draping a new tarp over the dragon's head.
"Norbert's temper is worse than Patrick's," Charlie said quietly. "I'll take you to see her tomorrow. If we find her, you stand well back. Understand?"
Hagrid wasn't listening. He stared, transfixed, at the dragon's perfect scales and the steaming chaos it had left behind.
"Merlin, she's beautiful," he whispered, as if the colossal beast before him might vanish with a breath. His beard still curled slightly from the heat.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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