The next morning.
Two professors and the gamekeeper stood in the hotel courtyard.
In front of them, three Thestrals snorted, their breath tinged with the faint scent of brandy. Their long, equine faces showed a hint of cheer, hooves pawing restlessly, ready to take off. The carriage they were hitched to stood waiting.
Today's trip was short—just a half-hour ride to the dragon sanctuary—so Professor Kettleburn hadn't stopped the Thestrals from indulging in their brandy.
"Sorry, Melvin, we've got to head to Romania first," Kettleburn said. "Over breakfast, Aber told me the number of wizards visiting the sanctuary this summer has spiked. They're starting to limit tourists, so we need to get there early to sort out entry."
"No need to apologize, Professor," Melvin replied. "It's close enough—we can Apparate back anytime."
"…"
Hagrid, grinning broadly, leaned in to fuss over the Thestrals, miraculously avoiding a kick this time.
Melvin glanced around, occasionally looking up at the hotel's guest rooms, gauging how far any noise might carry.
Slow footsteps approached from behind. The hotel owner, Aber, walked up, handing them a parcel with a kind but teasing smile. "Lunch and some Dittany, Silvanus."
"What's the Dittany for?" Hagrid asked, turning.
"In case he gets his limbs bitten off by a dragon again—it'll stop the bleeding fast."
"…"
Hagrid opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. Talking to wizards was exhausting. He turned back to fussing over the Thestrals.
Melvin listened to the two older wizards banter. From their tone and behavior, Aber didn't seem to be under the Imperius Curse.
"Waste my time here, and I'll drown you in brandy till you're a blubbering fool," Kettleburn shot back.
"Hope you've still got hands to hold a glass when you return," Aber retorted, turning to Melvin with a grin. "Professor Levent, keep an eye on him at the sanctuary. Don't let him crawl into a dragon's mouth."
"I'll try," Melvin said, chuckling and nodding. Aber hadn't mentioned last night's events or caused any trouble.
"Just you wait!" Kettleburn grumbled, climbing into the carriage, still muttering threats. Melvin and Hagrid followed.
The three climbed aboard, and the Thestrals trotted forward, wings flapping. The carriage wobbled and took flight.
Under the sunlight, the clouds looked like rolling waves, shimmering with silver-white brilliance. The Thestrals dove into the cloudbank, their massive wings slicing through as they charged toward the sun, then banked sharply, bursting out and trailing a long white streak.
Hagrid sat at the carriage door, peering into the distance. He could just make out a green mountain range, but from this height, even squinting hard only made the colors sharper.
"That's the dragon sanctuary, yeah?" he asked, his half-giant heart brimming with excitement, having rarely left Britain.
They flew southeast for about half an hour. The Thestrals reached the green expanse below, a sprawling mountain range that seemed endless. Clouds clung to the peaks and valleys, giving the scene a dreamlike haze.
The Carpathian Mountains stretched from the Danube Gorge on the Austria-Slovakia border, through Poland and Ukraine, to Romania's southwest river valleys. Vast and remote, their forests, valleys, and meadows provided ample space and seclusion for dragon colonies.
As they crossed the sanctuary's boundary, Melvin felt the hairs on his arm prickle, like passing through an invisible curtain laced with faint static. Muggle-Repelling Charms, Revealing Charms, and Locking Spells hummed in the air.
A faint dragon roar echoed ahead.
A black shadow shot out of the cottony cloud-sea. A dragon burst through, its deep green scales glinting, two golden horns gleaming, and its eyes covered by a thin membrane that shimmered in the sunlight. Its breath steamed, exuding raw majesty.
"Roar…"
The sound was low, resonant, almost vibrating the air.
A broom-riding Auror beside it looked like a fly next to a giant.
---
As a world-famous dragon sanctuary, the summer influx of wizarding families to Romania had drawn unsavory types, prompting authorities to tighten border controls. Seven entry checkpoints had been set up, but wizards from across the globe still queued in droves.
Melvin, Kettleburn, and Hagrid landed, guided by the dragon and Auror.
The checkpoint was a camp of low wooden buildings, the tallest just two stories. Alchemical runes glowed faintly on the wood, and dozens of scrying mirrors hung from eaves and corners, hinting at protective enchantments.
The camp had to withstand dragon attacks and monitor for dark wizards sneaking in.
During the summer peak, it doubled as a security checkpoint.
The three Thestrals and the Romanian Longhorn were settled in an open area, drawing curious stares. The Auror scratched his head, gesturing with a thick accent. "Queue. Security check."
Kettleburn, a regular, nodded and gestured that he understood.
The Auror, relieved, zoomed off on his broom. The dragon sprawled on the ground, eyelids drooping lazily, with no intention of following.
Hagrid stared at the hill-sized creature, itching to go pet it.
"Dragons are nearly impossible to tame," Kettleburn said, eyes glued to the beast. "Dragon riders? Forget it. Gringotts only gets them to obey through pain and torment, conditioning them to attack at specific sounds."
He continued, "Here, they use food to lure them, tapping into their hunting instincts for patrols. Whether they cooperate depends on the dragon's mood."
Melvin studied the dragon, mostly its curved horns. They weren't as elegant as a horned serpent's or unicorn's, he thought.
"Roar…"
The dragon's eyelids flicked, as if sensing the slight.
A crowd of wizards from around the world waited for security checks. Melvin spotted a familiar golden Gordian knot—an Ilvermorny uniform accessory.
Two Aurors, a man and a woman, handled security. A wooden sign listed the process in multiple languages: register wands, spatial items, and dangerous objects.
It took only half an hour from Budapest, but the queue stretched to forty minutes.
Their turn approached. Melvin glanced at the front, where the Aurors worked in tandem. The witch verified identities and logged wands; the wizard inspected luggage.
The witch took their papers, noting they were Hogwarts staff—one a Care of Magical Creatures professor. Her expression softened, but her brow furrowed when she saw Kettleburn's missing arm and leg.
"Back to see the dragons, Professor Kettleburn?" the male Auror teased, then turned to Melvin and Hagrid. "I'm a Hogwarts grad myself. Took his class. Be careful out there."
Melvin handed over his suitcase, his gaze lingering on the young witch. Her face shape reminded him of the older witch from last night, with similar dark hair and green eyes.
"…"
Sensing his stare, the witch avoided his eyes, keeping her face stern as she logged his wand.
The suitcase held everyday items—clothes, bedding, food supplies, odds and ends. The only notable contents were magical equipment and some dark artifacts. The male Auror's expression shifted slightly when he saw them.
"I'm a professor. Teaching materials," Melvin explained.
"I know. Hogwarts is short on Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, so the Muggle Studies professor's filling in, right?" the Auror said dryly.
"Exactly."
For anyone else, those items might've been confiscated, but the Hogwarts name carried weight. The Aurors let it slide with a wink.
Since they weren't under the British Ministry's jurisdiction, Hagrid could register his wand. He relished showing off his pink umbrella.
Tucking it away, he followed Kettleburn inside, glancing at Melvin's suitcase and pocket, scratching his head.
---
Inside the wooden lodge, an Extension Charm made the space vast, resembling the Ministry of Magic's atrium. Marble fireplaces lined the corridors, their tops carved with Romanian inscriptions—likely denoting dragon species, judging by the symbols.
Green flames roared in the hearths, warm and inviting.
The air carried an odd scent, like scorched rock mixed with molten sulfur.
Melvin and Hagrid trailed Kettleburn deeper inside.
Hagrid studied the fireplaces, even reaching out to feel the flames. "This hooked up to the Floo Network too?" he asked.
"Sort of," Melvin said. "It's a local network, cut off from the outside. Covers different zones in the sanctuary for keepers and visitors."
"Where's Norbert?" Hagrid asked.
Melvin paused, nodding toward an office near Kettleburn. "You'll have to ask Charlie Weasley."
---
Inside the office.
Charlie sat on a rough wooden chair, using a dagger to lance a red blister on his fingertip. His calloused skin was thick, but he pressed too hard, and blood and pus spurted out, gruesome and alarming.
A colleague winced. "Dragonhide gloves didn't help? You fed that Swiss Short-Snout this morning, didn't you?"
"Heard it didn't eat last night, so I dragged a sheep over."
"And got scorched by dragonfire?"
"Yeah…"
Charlie's face was blank as he sprinkled Dittany on the wound. The dragonflame and potion's magic reacted, hissing like ice on a red-hot iron, a puff of white mist rising.
"Starve it for two days—it won't die," his colleague said, handing him a bandage. "It's in its incubation phase, cranky as hell. It'll blast anyone who gets close. You should've waited till it was weaker. You're a veteran keeper—how'd you mess this up?"
"A mother dragon in incubation gets weak, her flame's uneven, and the hatchlings come out frail," Charlie replied.
"Let them be frail and nurse them back. Dragons are tougher than you. How many blasts can you take?" his colleague said, then changed the subject. "Heard your friend who hatched Norbert's visiting today. When's he getting here?"
"Probably this morning," Charlie said, unsure. He remembered Hagrid as kind-hearted and animal-loving but not exactly reliable.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor, followed by a knock. A deep, booming voice carried through the wooden walls. "Charlie? You in there, Charlie?"
---
Hagrid was about to knock harder when the door swung open.
"Hagrid!"
"Charlie!"
Hagrid beamed, not stepping inside but blocking the doorway to chat.
Kettleburn grinned and greeted Charlie, who'd been a Hogwarts standout—Gryffindor Quidditch captain, leading the team to multiple victories. His grades were average, but he aced Care of Magical Creatures every time.
Now a dragon keeper for nearly a decade, all limbs intact, he'd left a strong impression on Kettleburn.
"This must be Professor Levent, Muggle Studies!" Charlie said, greeting Melvin warmly despite being older. "Mum and Ron mentioned you in their letters. You've looked out for my brothers at school and helped Ron get a new wand."
"He earned that film money himself," Melvin said with a smile, liking the Weasley.
With the family's signature red hair, Charlie's weathered, freckled face was tanned near-black from years in the sun. Shorter and stockier than Percy, his arms and hands bore scars—claw marks, bites, burns.
After friendly chatter, they skipped the office and headed straight for the Norwegian Ridgeback habitat.
"You didn't know, did you? Norbert's actually a girl. We renamed her Norberta," Charlie said.
"She's in this valley."
Knowing Melvin was a first-time visitor to Romania and the sanctuary, Charlie explained as they walked.
Dragons were dangerous, with different species and habits. Some were social, others solitary. Territories had to be managed to avoid clashes between young and adult dragons, with special care for incubating mothers. The sanctuary was divided into zones accordingly.
Norbert—now Norberta—was in the Norwegian Ridgeback territory, in the juvenile dragon care area.