"Send Bob up front, let him deal with it," McCain groused, his heavy gait crushing the yellowing leaves that carpeted the forest.
The man in question sputtered indignantly. "Oi! This is my life we're—"
Charlie fought the urge to roll his eyes. "And have his blood on our hands after she chars him to a crisp? No, thanks,"
Their grumbling and clumsy plodding halted immediately as they heard the strumming of what sounded like a harp. Sweet, gently ascending and receding, the notes plucked with a delicate precision.
The men shared a glance, and broke into a run.
What met them had to be one of the strangest sights Charlie had ever witnessed. And coming from someone who worked with dragons for a living, that was saying a lot.
The Gargantuan's huge eyes were tightly shut, its head resting on its front legs like a gigantic parody of some beloved household canine. Every heaving breath it took fluttered its whiskers like flags in the wind.
One could say it was snoring, even. The whole episode was something straight out of a scene from Greek Mythology.
Except, there was no heroic demigod here. In the place of Heracles stood a slip of a woman, her hands dancing upon a small harp, eyeing the sleeping dragon warily.
The men exchanged incredulous glances once more.
Their shifting and panting must've given them away, as she turned around sharply, a mixture of fear, annoyance and relief flashing across her features.
Bob stepped forward, boldly brandishing his wand now that the threat of being incarcerated was eliminated. "Obliv—"
"Oh, no, you fucking don't!" squealed the woman, ducking the spell with the lightening-fast precision of a Master Duellist.
"What in the name of Merlin's saggy y-fronts?!" McCain rumbled, and Charlie had to agree with the sentiment.
"I'd like my memories intact, thank you very much. That's what you were trying to do, right? Obliterate me?" the woman groused, hands on her hips as she eyed Bob as though he were a particularly nasty breed of insect.
"Obliviate, you mean," Charlie blurted out, shrinking back apologetically when he was hit with three identical glares.
"How did you know that music puts Gargantuans to sleep?" demanded McCain, whose face had turned an unbecoming shade of red.
"I— my sister was one of your lot. A...witch," she replied, posture stiffening ever so slightly.
Was?
"How did you get past the Muggle-Repelling wards, then?" McCain pressed on, and Charlie nudged him in the shin with his boot. It was clear that she knew nothing, from the way her brow furrowed, in an expression of complete bewilderment.
"Muggle-Repelling wards?" she questioned, but the sound was muffled by leaves crunching under Charlie's boots as he moved to the precincts of the clearing to survey the wards. He cast a Ward Revealing spell, distinctive colours shimmering in the air as the woman gasped.
The distinct blue of Repello Muggletum was noticeably absent.
"Did those Ministry nutters actually forget to cast Repello Muggletum?" McCain said, in incredulity.
Charlie hummed, moving to eye the wards more closely. A faint tinge of blue, like droplets of ink, glimmered in the sparkling whiteness of the other protective wards. "It was cast. But it's been broken since,"
McCain resumed his glaring of the woman. She put her hands up defensively, eyebrows raised. "I was trekking to Loch Ness, and I come face to face with this...thing. Just how is that my fault?"
"Loch Ness!" Charlie exclaimed. The other three eyed him like he was one card short of a deck.
"For fuck's sake," he muttered, raising his voice, "The largest Kelpie in the world? Ring any bells, McCain?"
McCain's eyes widened to comical proportions, while Bob and the woman remained perplexed.
"That darned thing is determined
to destroy the Statue of Secrecy, it seems," he gruffed. "Blessin' that we got notified that the wards had been breached,"
"And that the Muggle knew how to handle Flora," Charlie said, head tilting as a he surveyed the woman curiously.
"Flora," she muttered under her breath, snorting. "Right. Well, I'm off, then, if you lot are done with your Spanish Inquisition. Oh, and try not to wake the overgrown lizard. I had enough trouble putting it to sleep,"
"What's a Spanish Inquisition?" Bob asked, recoiling slightly when she subjected him to a glare. She seemed to do that a lot.
She attempted to sashay away, a grunt of pain escaping her as she flinched slightly.
"Merlin, she's injured!" Bob breathed, as Charlie and McCain rushed to her side.
"State the obvious, will you?" she got out through gritted teeth. "I don't need your help!"
"The hell you don't," McCain grunted, pulling away at the charred material of her cargo trousers at her calf.
"Dragon fire wounds are deadly if left uncared for," Charlie murmured gently, handing McCain the dittany.
The wound looked to be superficial, but one could never tell with Dragon Fire. The dittany and a quick Episkey would be enough to contain the damage for the moment. But she needed to be examined in better light, preferably away from a slumbering dragon.
And then came the matter of reporting to the Ministry, as they'd most definitely been alerted to the breach in wards, and they'd been the ones to set them up in the first place. The IBRCD— The International Board for the Regulation and Control of Dragons, that is, would not be pleased with the Ministry's oversight. Neither would the ICW. This would probably mean another fine to add to Magical Britain's repertoire. This was getting ridiculous, really. Something needed to be done about that attention whore of a Kelpie.
"St. Mungo's?" Charlie asked, watching the woman as she attempted to flex her leg around the bandages that McCain had wrapped around it, her face grimacing in pain.
"Certainly not! Do you want add another mountain of paperwork to this mess?" McCain replied, dusting off his robes as he, in turn eyed the Muggle's garb, lips pursed in a manner reminiscent of old Snape.
"I'll take her to The Burrow, then. If there's anyone who can substitute for a Healer, it's Mum," Charlie said.
"Right. I'll get started with the paperwork. Bring her along to the Ministry when you're done," McCain replied, snapping his fingers at Bob as though the man were a pet. Bob followed at McCain's heels sulkily, looking rather like a petulant dog. The pair made their way to the borders of the wards, and on exiting the clearing, Apparated to the Ministry of Magic.
She turned on him immediately, scowling. "How do I know I can trust you?"
Charlie's eyes widened. "I'd never raise my wand on a defenceless Muggle, I promise you. And besides, I don't believe in any of that 'superiority' shite. It's all a load of tosh. The Weasleys are all Blood Traitors, and we're damn well proud of it."
She mused upon his words for a long moment, surveying him through dark eyelashes. She gave a barely perceptible nod, and he continued to help her hobble along to the border until she broke the silence. "Is he always like that, your friend?"
"McCain? He's a bear, certainly, but the bloke has a heart of gold buried somewhere in all that gruffness," Charlie said, smiling when the woman laughed softly.
"I'm Charlie Weasley, by the way. I'm a dragon tamer," he said, in way of explanation, holding his hand out to her.
She placed her own, much tinier, much softer hand in his after a moment's hesitation. "Arya Selvan. I'm an accountant," she deadpanned, "Or I was, anyway,"
He guffawed, and she cracked a grin.
The woman—Arya— surveyed the sitting-room of The Burrow, looking as though she was overwhelmed. "Charles?"
"Hm?" he said, poking his head out of the kitchen, interrupted in his perusal of the cabinets in search of biscuits.
She was looking at the clock in fascination. "Oh, nothing. I was just..." She gestured to the clock.
"Handy little thing, isn't it?"
She nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "How many siblings do you have?"
"Six. Ginny's the youngest. Her, Ron, Fred and George—they're twins—are still in school. Percy's a few years younger than I am, and Bill's a year older." he replied.
"Oh. You...must've had an eventful childhood. I have—had—a sister. She was five years older," she said, haltingly.
He nodded softly, sensing it was a sensitive topic and not wanting to prod.
"Alright then, dear. Let's get you checked up," Molly's cheerful voice called, as she headed into the kitchen with an ancient First-Aid kit tucked under her arm, the sight of which didn't give Arya any reassurance.
Half an hour, and a couple of healing spells later, Arya was pronounced fit. The skin on the back of her calf had regrown, though it was rosy, sensitive and baby-soft. Arya herself was in a bit of a shock at seeing her skin knit itself back together like that. She'd never really believed her sister when she'd boasted about the efficiency of Magical healing.
"Thanks, Mrs Weasley," she said, smiling at the bubbly woman, while cupping her hands around the tea Charlie had poured for her, alongside plate heaped with a veritable mountain of biscuits.
"Think nothing of it, dear. Oh, hello, Arthur!" She moved to greet a tall man who had just then walked through the door, his spectacles sitting crookedly on his nose in a manner that was rather endearing.
She quirked an eyebrow at Charlie. "My father," he mouthed.
He rose off his perch on the kitchen counter. "Charlie, m'boy!"
"Hi, Dad. This is Arya Selvan. She's a Muggle. Oh, and she lulled our Grecian Gargantuan to sleep with a harp today," said Charlie, grinning at the way his father's eyes brightened up at the prospects of actually interacting with a Muggle in the flesh.
"Did you really?" Molly interjected, as Arya murmured an embarrassed "Pleased to meet you, Mr Weasley", all the while glancing at Charlie in exasperation.
She should be glad she hadn't been cursed with the unfortunate reddening of the ears most Weasleys exhibited when agitated.
Mr Weasley proceeded to question her within an inch of her life on what he called "Motorbicycles", producing a ratty, outdated maintenance manual, which Arya, perhaps surprisingly, could explain very well.
Mrs Weasley, on the other hand, was more interested in finding out how a Muggle had managed to breach Ministry-enforced wards, and put a behemoth lizard to sleep with nigh but a travel-sized harp.
"My sister mentioned something about dragons falling asleep when you played music before them. I thought it was a joke at the time," she said.
"Your sister is a witch? She must've gone to Hogwarts, yes?" Mrs Weasley asked, and Charlie grimaced. He hadn't had the time to warn her.
"She did." Arya said, clearly not wanting to elaborate any further.
"Perhaps Bill remembers her," Mrs Weasley pondered, clutching a chipped cup of her own as she sat down for a well-deserved break.
"I'm afraid not, Mrs Weasley. My sister is dead." she said in an oddly detached voice, folding her hands in her lap, lips pursed, going stiff as a board.
"Oh, you poor thing! I had no idea—I'm so sorry," Molly said, distress colouring her voice, while she wrung her hands.
"It's all right." replied Arya, soft almost to the point of being indecipherable.
An uncomfortable silence stretched out, broken only by the occasional sound of the teacups' staccato clinking.
A sudden whoosh from the fireplace had the woman turning her head towards it at breakneck speed, her knuckles clenching alabaster-pale on her cup.
A curly head poked through the flames, and she stifled a gasp. "Oi, Weasley! Are you and that Muggle hauling your arses over to the Ministry anytime today?"
"Shut up, you spotty git. We're coming," groused Charlie, as Molly sniffed and muttered about how she'd never liked that "good-for-nothing McCain boy" and that Charlie had better make some "worthwhile friends" who wouldn't "scare off all the ladies". Charlie merely rolled his eyes while his dad stifled a grin.
"C'mon, Arya," he said, holding his hand out to her as she got to her feet. They bid their goodbyes, and Diapparated to the Ministry.
There were questions that needed answering.
Yes, Kelpies actually cancel out Muggle-Repelling charms. A plot bunny bit me as I was reading that little tidbit in Fantastic Beasts.
And no, I don't own Harry Potter or Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Both belong to J.K. Rowling and her associates.