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The Misadventures of the Ministry's Most Unlikely Dragon-Catching Team

Chapter 3: Going outside to touch grass

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Content warning: swearing and vomiting, oh boy!

Hermione blearily opened her eyes as soon as dawn rose, exhausted after a night of rather fitful sleep. Despite Theo’s tent being significantly cleaner and more comfortable than their previous lodgings, sleep evaded her. She chalked this up to nerves over what would undoubtedly become a complicated, long, international case, however her gut feeling was that it had more to do with the platinum-haired wizard sleeping mere feet away from her, separated only by a thin divider panel. He made her nervous for reasons that could not be explained by Muggle science or magical theory.

She softly lifted her blankets to the side and lowered her feet to the floor, careful to not wake her coworker. The tent, though luxurious in taste, was small in size, about the size of a studio apartment, and clearly meant for travel for only one person. She was sorely missing her Muggle coffee pot and wished desperately for a fresh cup of coffee. Conjured coffee using magic didn’t taste quite the same to her.

Muffliato,” she murmured in the direction of her sleeping companion. She began rifling through her overstuffed bag for the files pertaining to the missing dragon. In addition to her coffeepot, she was sorely missing her beaded bag, laced with an Undetectable Extension Charm. Unfortunately, in the years following the downfall of Voldemort, international wizarding security had gotten tighter, and such items as Extended luggage became even more highly regulated than before, particularly for international travel. Although one could still receive approval for such items with the proper paperwork and approvals, the timeline exceeded what was feasible, given their last-minute decision to embark on this journey, thus—the beaded handbag had to be left at home.

Pulling a face, she poured hot coffee from the tip of her wand into a gloriously shiny mug and sat down in a spot of early morning sunlight to read. It seemed as though the Welsh Green had somehow slipped out of the Enchantment-protected range within the dragon sanctuary, which was certainly peculiar—the region had played host to dragons for many years and had very rare “escapes”—usually, such events were wizard-mediated, such as smuggling out eggs to sell for profit.  The implication that the Dragon suddenly vaporized the wards and flew off into the night seemed suspicious to her. At this point, she was suspecting foul play or tampering. Though it was hard to imagine why someone in particular would seek out a Welsh Green when several more valuable, useful dragons were contained within the same sanctuary. Perhaps it was a mistake? An attempt to capture a neighboring dragon that went wrong, releasing the Welsh Green instead?  Somehow, this also seemed unlikely, as none of the other containment wards appeared to have been breached or damaged.

“Merlin’s beard, Granger—you read far too much. You need to go outside and touch grass.” Malfoy, yawning, strolled around the corner.

“I’ve touched grass before. I prefer reading.” She said absently, scanning the articles intently. She chose to ignore his blatant attempt at instigation in favor of cooperating to solve the case.

“That’s apparent. I hardly know what your face looks like, on account of it constantly being shoved in some dusty tome.” She ignored him again, though it was becoming more difficult.

“Perhaps if you spent more time reading and less time fantasizing about the landscape of my face, we would have solved this case by now.” She reminded him testily.

“Nonsense, Granger. You know as well as I that we must visit the sanctuary in person to run investigative testing.” Unfortunately, this was true—checking where the wards had been breached and by what manner was key to gathering leads. “Speaking of, they’ll be here within the hour. We should be prepared to Apparate Side-Along with them when they arrive.”

“No breakfast for me, then,” She mused, “I have a tendency to vomit with Side-Along.”

“Eat peanut butter, then. It tastes the same coming back up.” He quipped, biting into a green apple and dipping a spoon into the jar of aforementioned PB. Hermione blinked as she processed this information.

“… do I want to know why you know that?”

“No.” Draco slid the jar over to her with another green apple. “Try it for yourself.”

She paused, looking at the jar of creamy goodness as though it could be poisoned.

“Oh, Salazar’s sake, Granger—I’ve not poisoned it! You just observed me eating out of it!”  He huffed in annoyance at her continued reluctance. “I occasionally vomit in Side-Along. It’s very common,” He sniffed, looking a bit pink in the cheeks.

She grinned at this bit of information. She had noticed him looking rather green in the gills during a few previous instances of Side-Along, so it wasn’t surprising, but it was certainly enjoyable for him to admit this flaw aloud.  She accepted the tub and the apple.


About an hour later found the co-directors of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures bent in half over neighboring bushes, discovering that peanut butter did, in fact, taste the same going down as it did coming back up.

Hermione Scourgifed her mouth twice, and, wiping the perspiration from her brow, commented, “It’s comforting to know you didn’t lie to me about that.”

Draco, still looking quite green, fixed her with a dull glare. “Must you always think the worst of me, witch?”

“Yes.” She said brightly, pushing back her unruly hair.

“Ah—Ms. Granger, Mr. Malfoy—if you’re done, please follow me.” The Romanian representative of the sanctuary nervously said. Draco straightened and adjusted his tie, appearing to be re-establishing his rumpled dignity.

The Sanctuary employee, Andrei, struck Hermione as particularly skittish, jumping slightly whenever a distant Dragon would roar. She wondered how someone so timid could wind up working in a place like this. Charlie Weasley, who spent some time here when they were still at Hogwarts—was about as unflappable as can be, and in the times she’d observed him in battle and in daily life, it seemed not much could rattle him. The choice to work with dragons must have made perfect sense to him, his Gryffindor bravery being used to its’ maximum potential.

Poor Andrei jumped again at the popping sound nearby of workers firing spells rapidly, seeming to be working to fortify the wards. They paused and openly stared at the tri as they walked by, only resuming when they were quite a distance away.

“Are you alright, Andrei?” Hermione asked, mildly concerned for his mental state.

“Ah—this job is not my normal role. I’m standing in for someone else who is on a leave of absence. Normally, I work behind a desk, far, far away from here…” He seemed to long for the safety of his desk, looking wistfully into the distance.

They continued through the wooded area. All of the trees had their lower branches burned off or scratched off, leaving a small tuft of leafy cover only on the highest branches. Wards shimmered and distorted the air around them, much like heat waves coming off hot pavement. Even without the visual indicators that extensive enchantments were present, Hermione could feel it pricking her skin like goosebumps or static. It was clear that this place had been dutifully fortified and for a long time at that, wards layering on top of and overlapping each other.

“You must forgive me—I’m not able to stay and accompany you today. But this was the area we had contained the Welsh Green.” Andrei gestured to a vast, partially cleared area of sorts that included a gradual hill and several babbling brooks. Hermione was pleased to note the attempt to recreate the mountains in which this kind of dragon felt most comfortable.

“That’s fine, thank you, Andrei.” Hermione said graciously. He waved his wand and the shimmering wards seemed to part up the middle, allowing them entry.

“Please send a Patronus or an Owl when you’re done, so I can secure the area when you leave.” They nodded, and with that, he Apparated away.

“Huh. Must be that employees can Apparate in and out, but nobody else.” Draco mused, eying the spot where their fearful host once stood.

“Dumbledore could do something similar within Hogwarts. There must be a trace linked to their unique magical signatures,” Hermione mused.

“They certainly have strengthened security since the dragon got loose.”

They began picking their way around the terrain, casting various diagnostic and ward-detecting charms as they went. Hermione was searching for any number of things: disturbances in the consistency or continuity of the wards, aging or thinning places, physical indicators of damage both to the wards and the environment—anything that could possibly explain the very large, missing guest. Draco was mirroring her several meters away, and without too much preamble, they began to cover the area in a snake-like fashion, to be sure to examine every inch of the enclosure.

“Granger.” Draco’s voice pulled her attention away from her spellwork. She looked up to see what appeared to have once been a containment ward, but lit up bright red with his detection spell, had the distinct mottled appearance of being scrambled, as though someone took a gigantic hand-mixer and swirled away the wards until a gaping hole and a few straggling tendrils remained. It was enormous—nearly 5 meters wide and about that tall. To cast such a powerful spell that would blast through layers of dense protective spells like it was yogurt—the wielder must have been exceptionally powerful, or motivated, or both.

Draco’s wand arm hung limply at his side, seeming to be just as shocked by this discovery as she was. With a pale face and wide eyes, he said mildly, “Think that’d fit a Welsh Green?”


The Romanian government was less than pleased upon news of their discovery—eager to sweep the incident under the rug as a fluke rather than a serious security issue, they had neglected to send Aurors to investigate when the dragon initially went missing and left the RDS team to do their own internal investigation.  Now, after being caught with their pants down, the scene was swarming with nearly fifteen disgruntled Romanian Aurors. After giving detailed descriptions of their discovery, thorough Wand Signature Analysis, and even a small memory, glowing faintly in a tiny glass vial, Draco and Hermione were permitted to continue their investigation, which was now a joint effort with the Aurors. The Romanian government, despite being host to the largest dragon sanctuary on the European continent, had a horrifically sparse Magical Creatures department, who were more than happy to allow the British Government to step in and assist with the case. Hermione would have fought to stay on the case either way, she decided, already having invested her time and energy into it and determined to see it through. Draco seemed to possess a similar fortitude.

“The state of bureaucratic affairs in Romania is simply atrocious—how is it they manage to accomplish anything at all?” He grumbled, sounding particularly aristocratic (even more so than usual). Hermione blanched, noting that they were within earshot of several of the Romanian Aurors.

“Malfoy, please—they’re standing right there!” She hissed, kicking his shin.

Fucking—don’t bloody kick me!” He winced, hopping about on one foot while rubbing the abused appendage.

“Drink some water. Rub some dirt on it. You’ll be fine.” She said dismissively, quoting what her father used to tell her and her fellow teammates when he coached her junior football league.

“What kind of crackpot advice is that? You’re a madwoman, Granger.” He spat angrily. She chose to ignore him.

A Romanian official approached them, looking quite surly and displeased.

“We have conducted our analysis on the magical traces. Unfortunately, the caster of the spell essentially scrambled their magical fingerprint and we are unable to reconstruct it.”

“… so, you’re saying there is no easy way to identify who blasted through the wards?”

“Correct. We will call in a specialist Magical Reconstruction Team, but their workload is backed up by a period of several months, and crimes against wizards and Muggles take priority over this dragon.”

“Okay, so what else shall you be doing in the meantime?” Hermione grabbed her pocket notebook to begin writing down information for her preliminary report.

“Nothing.” He said plainly.

“What?” She scrunched her nose in confusion. Perhaps she was misunderstanding something.

“We will not be pursuing further investigation at this time.” He told her, sounding equally bored and tired of their conversation.

“But—that’s preposterous! The magical traces left behind will vanish in a few days! We don’t have months to wait!” Hermione was indignant.

“The Romanian Ministry of Magic is willing to turn this case over to your department, if you think you have the resources to solve this case in a timely manner.” He said unhelpfully. Hermione did not think he sounded nearly as concerned as he should be.

“You can’t be serious--! That dragon could be horrifically hurt! It could be out scaring the daylights out of the local Muggles! Or even worse—it could be part of a bigger scheme—" She could feel her blood pressure rising. To her, this should take a high priority, not only because of how dire the issue was, but how bad it had the potential to become.

“All such imaginative possibilities, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, here in Romania, we don’t deal in fantasies, and must focus on the crimes that have already been committed. We lost a dragon. It will either die in the wilderness or turn up eventually.”

“Granger, wait—"  Malfoy, ever the diplomat, was attempting to rein in her anger, but unfortunately for everyone she’d unleashed it already.

“We came here to offer assistance, and you’re just giving up—?”

“Then by all means, Miss Granger, assist us.” He glared at her before storming off, leaving her gaping like a grouper fish in his wake.

With a huff, she turned on her heel and began furiously stomping in the opposite direction.

Unbelievable!” She whisper-screamed, attempting to control the volume of her voice and failing miserably.

“Granger—Merlin, slow down, will you?—wait!” Draco was running after her and caught her elbow, spinning her around. She was momentarily dazed by the silver fire that blazed in his eyes. Although he remained mostly silent during the interaction with the Auror, something had clearly caught his attention. He looked nearly as angry as she felt.

“What?” She realized they had been standing, staring intensely into each other’s eyes for a moment too long, and quickly yanked her arm out of his hand.

He seemed to have the same realization and took a half step back. “I don’t like this either, Granger, but there is clearly something going on here. We shouldn’t make things harder on ourselves by making everyone here our enemy.”

To her immense irritation, the Slytherin Git was right about this. Her temper had blinded her to the reality they needed to face:

“I think that dragon was taken deliberately, and I think someone within their government is trying to cover it up.”

Notes:

Fun fact: The quote from Hermione’s dad “Drink some water, rub some dirt on it, you’ll be fine.” is something my own Dad actually still says to me (I am 28). He coached my rec league softball team and did not have much tolerance for whining. Whenever anyone got hurt, no matter how bad it was or the nature of the injury, he would advise them to drink some water and rub some dirt on it. This usually got a giggle or two because it’s such piss poor advice and he would give it with a straight face, then pat you roughly on the back.

Let me know what you think of that little ~cliffhanger~ hehe