Chapter One
Why Pets Aren't Allowed At Social Functions (or, 'Arrgh, It's A Dragon!')
Late summer had melted into early autumn, London suddenly windy and chill, with the crisp scent of ripening apples and dying leaves hanging, tantalizingly, in the air.
Autumn was Hermione's favorite season, its syllables almost sweet on her tongue. It was wild and contented, blustery and calm, expectant and, yet, comfortable. It somehow reminded her of a pocketful of buttons, though, when asked why, she couldn't explain.
Ginny was already at the mansion the Quibbler had rented, immaculate as always in a sleek black dress, her crimson hair piled on top of her head and adorned with a smooth, black velvet ribbon when Hermione arrived, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her haste, her cricket-green gown rumpled slightly from the wind.
Ginny patiently waited in the foyer, as Hermione ranted, cursing heels, impromptitude, fancy events in general, Ginny herself for making Hermione come to said fancy events, and heels again. And again. Then she waited while Hermione apologized, helped the girl out of her coat, and finally dragged the brunette off to the ballroom while she was still trying to think of other ways to stall.
It was the twentieth anniversary of the Quibbler's first edition, and, as two of the three leading journalists on its staff, Hermione and Ginny had been practically ordered to come. This was necessary on Hermione's part, as she was a widely acknowledged hermit, known as the Brown Recluse to the wizarding population at large. She hated talking to people, let alone dancing with them, wanted to burn small talk at the stake, and thought people who enjoyed large, raucous parties ought to removed from the gene pool. It was necessary on Ginny's part, however, as at nineteen she was a budding socialite butterfly, and, lacking Hermione's organizational skills, or any, for that matter, often had, at the very least, two events booked for any given period of time.
They quickly located the final leading reporter of the Quibbler, hovering near a large window. She was a lovely, young blonde woman, around their own age, dressed in a sunflower-yellow dress that swirled around her ankles, with an actual blossom the size of her own face pinned to her updo. She had poured herself a plastic cup of something scandalously pink, and was wearing a familiarly dreamy expression on her heart-shaped face.
"Luna!" Ginny called, waving her over, as Hermione had taken up station behind a potted palm near the punch bowl and refused to budge.
"What's the matter with Hermione?" Luna wondered aloud, drifting over."Is she hiding? She's not very good, is she?"
"No, she isn't," Ginny agreed, dryly. She yanked on the brunette's arm, to no avail. "She's just being antisocial."
"Am not," said the palm.
"Good Godric, Hermione," Ginny groaned. "You're a journalist. Your bloody job is to bloody well annoy important people in public. How, in the name of Merlin, are you an introvert?"
"It's not being obnoxious to other people that bothers me," said the palm. "It's other people being obnoxious to me."
A late middle-aged woman, with desperately dyed blonde hair and rhinestone-studded glasses, appeared behind Luna's right shoulder, fiddling with her purple notepad. Her Quick-Quotes-Quill was clutched in one bony claw.
"Told you so," rustled the palm.
"Why is the palm talking, Miss Weasley?" Rita Skeeter, her artificial beauty fading fast, demanded.
"Cross-pollination caused by side effects resulting from improper brewing of the Veritaserum potion, as well as misuse of Muggle genetic modifications," said Ginny smoothly. "Can we help you with something, Miss Skeeter?"
"Mz., my dear, Mz.," Skeeter corrected, raising her Quick Quotes Quill. "I'd like to request and interview from one of you? No need to bother your friend Miss Granger," she added hastily. "But one of you lovely ladies? Tonight's stars? The epitomes of the next generation of journalists?"
"Yeah, just like you're the epitome of the generation-before-last's," muttered the palm tree. "Lay it on a little thicker, Rita?"
Ginny forced a smile, elbowing Hermione in the ribs. "We'd be delighted, Miss Skeeter. Perhaps later tonight? I'm sure Luna would be happy to oblige. Wouldn't you, dearest?" She turned, smiling like a banshee.
"I'd love to talk to you, Miss Skeeter," said Luna gravely.
"Mz., my dear, Mz.," Rita said absently, brandishing her Quill. "Absolutely, Ginevra, I'm sure you lovely ladies would like to mingle before your speeches. Ta-ta! I'll see you later, Miss Lovegood." She nodded at Luna, then marched away to interrogate some other unfortunate guest.
"What an odious woman," said Ginny, fuming when she had gone.
"She called you Ginevra," Luna noted. "You don't like that, do you?"
"Still, it wasn't very nice to sic Luna on her," the palm scolded, rustling.
"Neither was blackmailing her for almost seven years," Ginny noted.
"Are you going to come out now?" Luna addressed the palm tree. "She's gone, and I'm experimenting with the punch."
"Oh dear," said Ginny, wrinkling her nose. "I was going to drink that."
"Oh, no," said Luna, horrified. "You can't do that. It's far too pink. It's probably a conspiracy," she reflected.
"Oh? Really?" said Ginny, weakly.
"Oh yes," Luna nodded wisely. "Not many people know this, but this pink juice has the ability to intoxicate the drinker with toxic influences, as well as cause mild hallucinations, poor judgement, vomiting, and an overwhelming feeling of euphoria followed by a blinding headache."
"That sounds bad," said Ginny, wrinkling her forehead.
"She means it's alcoholic," the palm tree clarified.
"I'll take two," Ginny exclaimed, snatching for the flimsy cups.
"Hullo, Percy," said Luna, who had spilled punch all down her dress and was dabbing at it with a scarf.
Ginny, who had just tossed back the cup in her right hand, spat it out all of the third-youngest Weasley's dress robes.
"Percy? What are you doing here?"
"Ask our mother," said Percy snidely, performing a quick Scourgify. "She thinks that, just because I saved Fred during that Battle of Hogwarts that everything's just peachy and I'm happy to perform in any familial activities that come along." Percy strolled off, looking sour.
"Familial activities?" Ginny demanded, her voice rising in pitch. "What did he mean familial activities? Hermione, what did he mean by familial activities?" The palm tree shrugged as best as palm trees can. Ginny blanched.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Oh no oh on oh Godric no. Tell me that's not them. Hermione," she said shrilly. "I demand you tell me that's not them."
A wave of red revealed a large gathering of Weasley extended family, including undetermined number of great-aunts and third-cousins once removed. They were milling around the stage at the far end of the ballroom, a mass of red hair and freckles. They were holding banner across the stage, which proclaimed: WE LOVE OUR GINNY. TWO HAPPY YEARS ON THE QUIBBLER STAFF. WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU.
"I need more punch," said Ginny wearily. "Wait? Are they coming over here? Merlin, they're coming this way. Budge over, Hermione." She dived behind the palm.
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," said Luna politely, a few moments later. "I expect you'll be looking for Ginny."
"Oh, yes," Mrs. Weasley gushed, brandishing her end of the banner. "We'd just like to wish our girl our best and be on our way. We're so proud of Ginny." The rest of the Weasley clan nodded in agreement.
"Kill me now," muttered the palm tree.
"Why is the palm tree talking?" Mrs Weasley asked, puzzled.
"Fezziwigs," said Luna easily. "They're very active this time of year, you know."
"Well, if you see Ginny, send her our way," said Mrs. Weasley hastily, shooting an odd look at the palm tree. "Move out!"
The Weasley clan shuffled away, tripping over one-another's feet and muttering curses under their breath.
"Are you coming out now, Ginny?" Luna addressed the palm.
'Not till they go home!" said the palm tree, shrilly.
"I think it's quite sweet of them," aid Luna, seriously. "It must me nice, having so many people love you."
An uncomfortable silence fell, which Luna seemed impervious to, as it always did when Luna said something true but depressing. A few minutes later, the silence was broken by the arrival of one raven-haired boy and two gingers, who had peeled away from the horde.
"Oh no," the palm tree moaned. "It's Harry. And Fred and George. If they find me hiding I'm doomed. WhatdoIdo?"
Hermione gave Ginny a shove, and she stumbled out from behind the palm, arms pinwheeling, fronds drifting to the ground around her.
"What were you doing back there, Gin?" George asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, Gin," Fred put in. "What were you doing back there?"
Ginny flushed scarlet. "I," she said. "Was pruning."
"Pruning?" said Harry.
"Pruning?" chortled Fred.
"Pruning?" snorted George.
"Pruning?" asked Luna.
"Yes," said Ginny firmly. "Pruning. You see," she said wildly, waving her arms and nearly chopping Luna in the windpipe. "If you leave the brown, dead fronds in, there, there, er . . . there won't be any room for the new ones to grow!" she finished, looking pleased.
"Regular Herbologist, our Gin," said Fred gaily, mock-proud.
"Where are your shears?" Harry asked, frowning.
"I was using my wand," Ginny sniffed. "I am, after all, a witch."
The palm tree was making strange noises at this point. Harry eyed it warily.
"I don't see your wand, Gin," said George brightly.
"Yeah, Gin," said Fred happily. "I didn't think you brought your wand to fancy events like this one, Gin."
Ginny blanched. "I wouldn't expect you to know the protocol for the parties you and the rest of my enormous family crash," she sniffed, stalling. "But, the fact of the matter is," she said, slowly. "Is that . . . .is that Luna let me borrow hers!" she exclaimed.
"I did?"
"Really?" said George excitedly. "Oh, my, that's wonderful!"
"Yeah, Gin," said Fred. "Where is Luna's invisible wand?"
"It's what?"
"I dropped it in a vent," said Ginny. "Terribly sorry about that, Luna."
"You are?"
"What vent?" Harry asked, his frown deepening.
"I dropped it, and it rolled away and fell in a vent, okay?" Ginny snapped. "Why are you interrogating me?"
"To rile you up, sister mine," said George, grinning and liking arms with Fred. "Come along, Forge. We have other fields to caper."
The skipped off, arm and arm, with Harry following, rather confusedly, behind them.
"That's an image I'll never get out of my head," noted the palm, watching them skip away.
"And, oh sister mine," called Fred, over his twin's shoulder. "Next time you're hiding from mum, you can tell us, okay?"
"Yes, quite so, Gred. We understand."
"Scary lady, our mum. Isn't that right, Forge?"
"Yes indeed."
They vanished into the crowd. Ginny slid down the wall and slumped on the floor.
"Well done," said the palm, slow-clapping. "Well done indeed."
"Shut up," Ginny growled.
"I'm just saying, that was truly remarkable. Unlike anything I've ever seen before . . . ." the palm tree trailed off, chuckling.
"That's it!" Ginny snapped. She grabbed Hermione's arm and yanked her out from behind the palm, dragging her across the dance floor. People turned to stare.
"All right," said Ginny with a grimace, stopping a few yards away from the table piled high with food. "Small talk 101. If you're talking to a girl, compliment her clothes, Guy, giggle and flutter your eyelashes."
"That's flirting," Hermione protested.
"Well, I do it."
"That's because you're a flirt!"
Ginny stuck her tongue out at her. "Well, then, just talk about something you're interested in."
"But I don't think . . . "
"Go!" Ginny shoved her out onto the dance floor, and Hermione nearly collided with one of their coworkers, a tall man a few years older than them, with dark hair and a permanently bemused expression.
"What do you think of the goblin rebellion of 1918?" Hermione squeaked out. Ginny slapped her forehead.
"Hi, Ginny."
All of Ginny's brains promptly melted and dripped out of her ears.
"Hi-i Harry."
"Would you like to dance?" he asked.
"S-s-sure!"
He led her out onto the dance floor. After about fifteen minutes of stepping on each other's toes, he broke the silence.
"Are you okay Gin?" Harry asked, looking concerned.
"Me? I'm fine! Swell!" she squeaked out.
"It's just it's not like you to be so quiet."
Ginny frantically tried to think of something to say in the silence that followed.
"Gin?"
"What do you think of the goblin rebellion of 1918?" she blurted.
Harry blinked. "Er. I don't really think about it much, really."
"Ginny!" it was Hermione, clutching her arm. "Help!"
"What is it?" Ginny asked, as Hermione dragged her away, glancing longingly at her palm tree.
"What do I do?" Hermione whimpered. "He wants to dance with me!"
"What did you say?"
"That I needed to use the loo!"
"Why didn't you say yes?"
"Because I don't dance!" Hermione wrung her hands. "Goblin rebellion of 1918! What is wrong with me?"
Ginny decided not to answer. "Well, we could go hide again."
"Palm tree?" said Hermione hopefully.
"No way!" Ginny exclaimed. "Fred and George know that place now."
They considered the implications of this.
"No palm tree," Hermione agreed.
"Yes," said Ginny fervently. "So, where do we go?"
"We could go outside," said Hermione. "This mansion is well-known for its beautiful grounds and its hedge maze."
"Hedge maze!' Ginny squealed. "I take back everything negative I ever may or may not have said about you, Hermione! You're brilliant!"
"Wait, what?" Hermione wondered, as Ginny yanked her through the crowd.
"We need to find . . . Luna! Luna! Over here!" Ginny waved. "Help us escape!"
The blonde stopped pouring the punch from one plastic cup to another and turned to contemplate them. "Why are you running away, Ginny?" she asked solemnly. "It's not very characteristic of you, is it?"
"Because I asked my dance partner what he thought of the goblin revolution of 1819!" Ginny wailed.
"It was 1918, and that was me," said Hermione, despondent. "And why am I more brilliant than normal?"
"Yes, you said it but I was slapping my head and Harry asked me to dance and we stepped on our toes and he asked me why I was so quiet and I said nothing and the he said my name, like, 'Gin?' and I said it! It was like my brains melted out of my ears!" Ginny babbled. "And hedge maze because it's a maze, and if we get lost they won't be able to find us! Luna, hide me!"
"All right, then," said Luna calmly, seemingly unaffected by Ginny's rant.
"The gardens are out those double doors," Hermione called, waving her arms wildly.
"GO NOW!" Ginny wailed. "We are social failures!"
"All right," said Luna, imperturbed.
They rushed (at least, two rushed, one ambled) to the French doors at the end of the ballroom, yanking them open, Several important Quibbler staff gave them odd looks.
The garden was very, very, cold. It was already dark out, and some premature snow was still melting around the bases of bushes and shrubs. There were several fountains with blurry, scantily dressed mermaids, several blurry topiaries trimmed into the shape of hippogriffs and phoenixes, and many blurry ceramic pots filled with blurry tropical plants. The blurry part was probably because Hermione and Ginny had fallen into fight-or-flight mode and, icking off their heeels, had chosen the latter, and Luna was following suit, just to seem willing.
This continued for several minutes, before three different things happened to them, consecutively.
Hermione ran out of breath and skidded to a halt, breathing deeply and clutching a stitch in her side.
Ginny tripped over her and went flying into the fountain.
Luna attempted to stop, but overshot it and, instead of going into the fountain, went flying into someone else instead.
Luna and the someone she had crashed into went crashing to the ground in a heap of sunflower-colored fabric and a large, brown-leather briefcase. Ginny emerged from the fountain, spluttering angrily, her now drenched black dress not leaving much to the imagination.. She looked absolutely livid. Hermione winced.
"Oops?" she volunteered. Ginny took her down with a flying tackle.
The someone Luna had bowled over picked himself off the ground, looking extremely apologetic and worried. He was in his early twenties, maybe a year or two older than the women themselves, and had curly, ash-blond hair that stuck in the air rather comically. He picked up his briefcase, muttering apologies.
"You should really look where you're stopping, Hermione," Luna said absently.
Ginny attempted to chew Hermione's ear off. Hermione kneed her in the gut and they both scrambled away from each other, looking wary, though not quite as wary as the stranger did.
"Er," he said, eyeing them apprehensively. "This may sound . . . . odd, but have you seen a . . . small dragon?"
"Small?" said Hermione suspiciously. "How small? And do you have a licence to be traveling with dangerous magical creatures? How did the dragon escape? Do you have any idea how much damage—"
"Shut up, Hermione," Ginny hissed. "Look at Luna!"
The blonde girl was gazing at the stranger with a very odd expression on her face. It could have been called curiosity by other people, but Ginny and Hermione had known Luna long enough to know that Luna was absolutely fascinated with this young man. He gave the blonde girl an uncertain look, probably taking in her rumpled, muddy sunflower-yellow dress and her fishing-lure earrings. Luna only wore them on special occasions. "We'll help you find your dragon," said Luna happily. "Won't we, Ginny? Hermione?"
"OW! I mean, yes, of course," said Hermione sullenly. He hadn't answered about the licence, or anything else, for that matter. Ginny stepped off of her foot. "What should we look out for?" she asked brightly, when Ginny gave her a pointed look.
"A juvenile dragon, about three months old," said the stranger, in rapid-fire, muttered English. "About the size of a," he hesitated. "Small grizzly, but total sweetheart. A female, an Antipodean Opaleye," he said, with no little pride. "Iridescent white scales and sharp frills on the head and back, flexible tail and golden eyes. She's a real beauty," he continued. "Very rare, New Zealand dragon. Answers to the name of Isabel."
Hermione was reminded distinctly of Hagrid.
"And who are you?" Ginny asked. She had wrung out one corner of her dress, then, remembering she was a witch, albeit an absent-minded one, she had dried herself with her wand. "Tergeo," she muttered.
"I'm Rolf Scamander," said the stranger, shifting from foot to foot. "Can we hurry and find Isabel? She's probably frantic, poor mite."
"Rolf Scamander?" said Hermione incredulously. "In any way related to Newt Scamander, Magizoologist and author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? He's one of the greatest magical beast's researchers of all time! He completely revolutionized our society in relation to magical animals! We wouldn't be where we are in our knowledge of magical beings today if it weren't for him!"
"You mean Grandpops Newton?" said Rolf, shrugging. "I guess. He's a bit barmy, though. He keeps nifflers in the shed. Drives Granny Tina nuts."
"Your grandfather?" Hermione's eyes nearly burst from her skull. "Do you think . . " she hesitated. "You could, um, get us an interview?"
"No problem," said Rolf easily. "He's a bit barmy, like I side. He messes with journalists, telling them he defeated Grindelwald single handedly and whatnot, thinks it's funny. Totally barmy, like I said. And he has three juvenile Demiguises in the chicken coop. Drives Granny Tina nuts. She says he's 'a danger to himself and others,'" he added, chuckling ruefully.
Hermione's eyes looked like they were about to burst. "Msslkrrxzz," she intoned.
"We'll help you find your dragon now," said Luna pointedly, giving Hermione a green look. "Where did you see Isabel last?"
"By the fountain, not the one your Weasley friend fell into, but the one with the naked Pygmy Puff King," said Rolf, pointing.
They looked, Ginny rolling her eyes at the fact that she had been identified as a Weasley, and saw a large, marble fountain with lumpy, fuzzy-looking shapes adorning the pedestal. They would have been adorable, if someone had not tried to make them look fierce. The resulting effect was that of extreme constipation.
"Now who would go and do a thing like that?" Ginny asked, miffed. "Arnold would be terribly insulted. He's my pygmy puff. He's very high-strung," she added, sighing at the difficulties that were raising a teenage pygmy puff.
"Pygmy puffs generally are," said Rolf absently. "Isabel was right there, by the pygmy puff with the exaggerated muscles. I was letting her out for a breath of air and she—" he waved his arms vaguely, as if representing takeoff. "Poof!"
"She flew away?" Luna asked.
"No, she vanished," said Rolf. "She's a member of the chameleonoid dragon family. She's like her own, built-in Disillusionment charm."
"Wonderful," said Hermione faintly.
"Anyway," said Luna brightly. "I'm Luna Lovegood, this is Hermione Granger, and that, over there by the fountain, is Ginny Weasley."
"This is where we impress you with our war veteran's knowledge of organization and grid-searching techniques," said Ginny cheerfully. "Sadly, we don't have these things, and winning the war was mainly an accident."
"And mainly Harry's accident," Hermione put in.
"Oh," said Rolf vaguely, not making the usual comment of "Oh? Harry? As in Harry Potter, the Chosen One? Oh my!"
He began to make clicking noises in the back of his throat, then cooed.
"The call for a female juvenile Antipodean Opaleye is actually subtly higher," said Luna. "All you'd get now is pigeons relieving themselves on your jacket."
"Oh," said Rolf, embarrassed. "I never got the hand of this one. Er," he cleared his throat. "Would you demonstrate?"
"Gladly," said Luna, smiling at him. As she cooed, Ginny signaled Hermione and both retreated to a safe distance.
"She's rather obvious, isn't she?" Ginny whispered.
"I don't believe that man has a permit at all!" Hermione hissed. "I think he's illegally transporting dangerous magical creatures in that suitcase of his!" she glowered. "It is practically screaming 'hi, I'm an Undetectable Extension Charm!'"
"But aren't undetectable extension charms undetectable?" Ginny asked, blankly.
"Actually, that's mainly marketing," said Hermione dismissively. "They add a slightly artificial tinge to the article they are applied to and have a habit of seeming slightly heavier in demeanor than their normally proportioned counterparts. However," she continued, still irritated. "That isn't the point. The point is that he is illegally transporting highly dangerous magical creatures!"
"The point actually is that Luna is infatuated with him and I'm not doing anything to mess that up, and neither are you," said Ginny firmly. "Now, what we're going to do is this. We're going to—"
Hermione, nor anyone or anything else ever got to hear what Ginny had planned, as something swooped over their heads and snatched the back of Hermione's dress and clutched Ginny around the waist with the other set of long, silver talons.
"Isabella Mathilda Alabaster!" came Rolf's irritated voice from behind them. "You put them down this instant."
Isabel did not obey, swooping over the ballroom's glass dome. It cast a torch of light into the sky, lighting up the night, and Hermione and Ginny could hear the sound of violins below them, over the sound of Ginny's swearing. (Having six older brothers can be a pain, but is very useful in some respects, like the quality and quantity of one's supply of inappropriate words.)
"It's quite impressive that a dragon of her age can lift two full-grown women to such an elevation," said Hermione, over the sound of Ginny's vocabulary. "Though, Antipodean Opaleye are well-known for their unusual strength for their delicate stature, and are often remarked upon as the strongest magical creature on the planet in relation to their size. Their wings are also abnormally wide and ample for their body weight, and are shaped almost like shallow bowls, allowing them to carry large loads, so I suppose it doesn't seem so absurd after all—"
Ginny, pausing in her rant, managed to collect enough of her marbles to bellow "JUST SHUT UP, HERMIONE. YOU ARE NOT HELPING."
"Well, sorr-y," said Hermione grumpily. "It's a reflex."
Isabel swooped over the dome, carrying the two young women with her. Ginny let out a small scream. "Just, help me figure out how to get down from here. Lunatic dragon," she muttered. Isabel rolled in reply.
"I thought you liked flying," said Hermione primly, when Ginny had emptied the contents of her stomach.
"Yes, but usually I was the one in charge, not a three-month-old dragon baby!" Ginny whimpered. "How did you keep your dinner, anyway?"
"Isabel isn't going to drop us," said Hermione calmly. "She wants us to feed to her siblings."
"Bloody effing hell!" said Ginny, with a lot more eloquence than she had previously mustered. "What did you say?"
"Antipodean Opaleyes don't leave their nest until around four years of age," said Hermione calmly, as Isabel shifted her grip around Hermione's waist. "But their parents leave when the first set of hatchlings are about Isabel's age. That leaves the first set of hatchlings to take care of the new arrivals, which involves," she gestured at herself and Ginny. "Food."
"That makes no sense," Ginny griped. "And is also scary. Did Rolf-of-the-unconcerned-ownership-of-terrifying-magical-creatures mention anything about siblings?"
"No, but if her instincts are cutting in, she'll try to feed us to anything that even vaguely resembles a baby dragon," said Hermione gloomily.
There was a crack of Apparition, and, below them, Rolf Scamander and Luna appeared, striding across the dome. Luna waved cheerily.
"Put them down now, young lady," said Rolf sternly. "Or mummy won't be happy with you."
The iridescent dragon gave a cry of joy at the sight of her 'mummy', her body shooting upwards then twisting around into a steep dive. Both girls screamed, but, while Hermione's was wordless, what was intelligible of Ginny's was censored from this story.
Rolf let out a yelp and, grabbing Luna by the wrist, dived out of the way as the excitable Isabel's tongue of blue flame melted the glass of the dome where she had been standing.
"It's not charmed against dragonfire," Hermione bellowed, over the rushing in her ears. Ginny didn't seem to hear.
Luna and Rolf, crawling across the fragments and puddles of broken and molten glass, watched in horror as Isabel, overshooting her target, plummeted onwards and through the hole in the glass her flame had made. There was the sound of screams and breaking glass below them.
"Isabel, you naughty girl," said Rolf hopelessly.
Luna listened for a moment. "There are children down there," she noted. Rolf turned a shade of pale green, with gray spots.
"You know," Luna continued, "I really don't think that you have a licence to be transporting dragons." At the look on his face, Luna's softened. "That's all right, she said, taking his arm and patting it. "I'll help you keep your babies. But, in turn," she said, as sternly as she could manage. "You have to make sure your dragon baby doesn't eat my friends. She can eat Rita Skeeter, though," she reflected. "Isabel, I mean. Rita Skeeter isn't very nice, and her hair is a yucky kind of shiny."
Luna gripped Rolf's arm tighter, and Disapparated.
Down below, in the ballroom, things were in chaos. Roger Davies, whose wife was the girls' boss, was standing on the piano, squealing whenever Isabel nipped at his toes.
"Oh shut up, Roger," Lisa Turpin-Davies snapped, reaching for her wand. "You sound like Trelawney with mice in her bloomers."
"Stop!" Hermione snapped at her superior. "Isabel's just defending her babies' resources."
"Excuse me?" Lisa demanded. Isabel thrashed her glistening tail, upsetting the piano and sending Roger Davies, squeals and all, through the French doors. Another swing sent the tail through a platter of souffles, spattering the walls with pastries. The rest of the guests cowered behind their makeshift barricade of delicate chairs, tables, and painting of some pureblood ancestor of the family who used to reside in the manor. Isabel chirped, sniffing the air.
"I like this dragon," Lisa decided. "Roger and I are getting a divorce, tomorrow, you know. He's a prat."
"Congratulations," said Ginny vaguely. Isabel had the two of them pinned underneath her glistening claws, restricting their movement. Hermione was muttering spells under her breath, but, as neither of them had their wands, and Hermione didn't do wandless magic well under pressure, they were struck for the time being.
There was a resounding crack, and a scream from behind the makeshift barrier. Rita Skeeter, hidden behind a buffet table, looked up eagerly, Quick-Quotes-Quill in hand. Rolf Scamander was dragged out of the air by a very determined Luna Lovegood, who was pulling him through a congealment of Weasleys on the other side of the buffet-table-wall.
"Isabel, you are a very bad girl," she declared, shaking a finger at the baby dragon. "Kidnapping people is not okay."
Rolf looked slightly lost, as if he wasn't quite sure what was happening around him.
Isabel cowered for a moment, inching backwards, then brightened, and, snatching Ginny and Hermione up in her mouth, bounded across the room, towards the barrier, and a cluster of Weasleys near the far corner. Luna watched her shoot past them, Hermione kicking and screaming and Ginny spewing the less reputable categories of her vocabulary at large, scaly reptiles in general.
"She's not listening, is she?" Luna asked herself.
"No," said Rolf, glad to be sure of something for a change. "Definitely not. Say, she's found another Weasel, sorry, Weasley."
Luna and Rolf followed the dragon at a sprint, as she tossed a flaming tablecloth across the room, tramped through shards of broken crystal, and parted the screaming, yelping crowd as Isabel made a beeline for the Weasley clump. The other Weasleys, huddled across the room, including Molly, Arthur, Fred, and Ron gaped at the baby dragon in frozen horror.
Isabel skidded to a stop in front of the extended Weasleys. George pretended to faint into Fred's arms, and Charlie sarted forward, but Isabel wasn't attacking. She had focused her attentions on a particular Weasley in the back of the crowd, and the rest of the clan shrugged and parted. No one really liked Percy very much.
"Isabel, you put them down this instant," Rolf called. "Or, or, or, or only three stories tonight!"
Isabel made a grumble in the back of her throat, and George miraculously gained consciousness in order to witness the baby dragon fry Percy Ignatius Weasley to a crisp.
"Everyone stay calm," Rolf called, panting. "Everything is under control!"
Everyone ignored him and proceeded to panic as loudly and wildly as possible.
"What would everything not being under control look like?" Fred muttered, as the rest of the room burst into chaos, screaming and stampeding away. The remainder of the Weasleys were swept away into the crowd.
Isabel, instead of ridding the world of Percy Ignatius Weasley, settled back on her haunches, dropping Hermione and Ginny in the process. They dropped to the hard marble, rolling to absorb the force of their fall, and scrambled to their feet.
"My dress is ripped," said Ginny coldly. "The dragon will pay. I don't care if Luna's going to marry bloody dragon mommy and have bloody dragon-loving babies, but Rolfie is going to pay, and so is darling Isabel. This dress," she said, raising her voice, "Cost eight Galleons and nine Sickles. Isabella," she continued, "Is going to pay."
"It was already ruined when you fell in the fountain," said Hermione coldly, watching Isabel's strange behavior.
"And whose fault was that?" Ginny grumbled, but froze. "Is she purring?"
Isabel was, indeed, purring, and had curled up around Percy, who looked both ill and eyes-rolling-back-in-his-head-terrified at the same time. The baby dragon chirped and settled her beautiful, white-scaled head in Percy's lap.
"He fainted," said George with glee. "He actually fainted!"
"So did you," Fred pointed out, as Bill held Charlie upright as he shook with laughter as the rest of the Weasleys gaped.
As the twins began bickering, Rolf and Luna caught up with Isabel's loping strides. As soon as they saw Isabel and Percy, they joined Charlie in fits of giggles.
"What's so funny?" Ginny demanded, as Hermione seemed to come to a conclusion and began to chortle. "Oh, not you too!"
"Isabel—" Luna gasped between giggles. "Isabel—thinks—that—Percy's—a—baby—dragon!"
"Her own sibling, it seems," Charlie chuckled.
Ginny began to giggle too, and soon the rest of the Weasley clan had joined in.
"Always though he was a scaly nuisance," Fred remarked to howls from his twin.
"I don't know," George mused. "He never is very fond of 'winging it.'"
"You two are an abomination," said Ginny, in exasperation. "After inhabiting this world for twenty-two years, you'd think that your sense of humor might mature slightly."
"Do not speak of that!" said Fred, horrified. "You speak nothing but the nonsense of an unstable mind, oh sister of mine!"
"Take it away!" George bellowed. "Take it out of my sight! Let it not unleash such horrors upon the innocent!"
Luna managed to recover herself and straightened calmly. "Well, then," she said brightly. "Rolf, will you pack Isabella up? I think it must be way past her bedtime," she added, giving the young man a stern look. He blushed.
"I'm not very good at keeping the little ones to a schedule," he admitted. "I think she missed her nap, too."
"Little ones?" said Hermione, her voice rising hysterically. "Little onesss, as in, ones, plural?" Ginny gripped her firmly by the wrist and hauled her backwards, into the crowd of Weasleys. They must have left, as no one saw them for the remainder of the evening. However, two days after the fact, Rolf received a bill for one lady's black gown and dress robes, courtesy of Madam Malkin's Mugglewear For All Occasions.
"Well, that's it," said Luna brightly. "Nothing to see here, move along!"
"Except the bloody dragon!" someone shouted. It was a eleven out of ten chance it was a Weasley.
"She's bleeding?" said Rolf, looking horror-struck. "Where? How heavy is the flow? Does she need medical attention?"
"Rolf," said Luna, calmly, placing a hand on his arm. "Isabel is fine. It's just a figure of speech." She studied the baby dragon sternly. "Now, Isabel, you listen to me. It's time for bed, and your siblings are going to be missing you by now." Isabel extended her neck, nuzzling Luna. Percy's eyelid twitched, but he gave no other signs of life. "Now, be a good girl and hop in the suitcase, now." The dragon reluctantly clambered away from Percy, who toppled over. None of the Weasleys made an attempt to catch him. Isabel gave him one last look, sighed, and stalked sulkily over to Rolf and Luna.
"How did you? Er, uh, how, what, er, how did you know that they—she lives in my suitcase?" Rolf managed.
"Oh, it's got Undetectable Extension Charm written all over it," said Luna happily. She extended a hand, and Rolf placed the suitcase in it as if in a daze. He watched as the blonde girl set it on the floor, lifted the lid, and, stepping back daintily, gave Isabel a pointed look. The she-dragon slunk into the suitcase, disappearing as if it had become a trapdoor in the floor.
"It was my grandfather's you know," he offered, as Luna shut the lid and handed it back to him. The Weasleys, denied of a floor show, or at least the destruction of Percy, began to disperse.
Luna smiled at him. He felt slightly dizzy. "That's lovely," she said, and, instead of sounding bored and detached, she sounded sincere. Fascinated. "I always though the tradition of passing family heirlooms along is a wonderful idea." She bent down, and Rolf caught a swish of sunny yellow fabric and she was standing, holding something out to him.
"It's my grandmother's," she explained. He It was a small, perfectly round pendant in the shape of a moon, a half-moon, the other half of the jewel a starry sky. The detail of each crater, and the stars twinkling at the sky-half of the ornament took Rolf's breath away.
"It's lovely, he said, borrowing her word from earlier. Luna smiled, slightly eerily.
"Yes, it is, isn't it," she said. "I keep it in my sock for safekeeping. But that's not its main purpose." She turned, so that Rolf could see her silhouette against the cracked window, and cupped the pendant in her hands. She blew on the ornament, and, as a wind swirled around her skirts, the air became speckled with glittering fragments of light, like moondust, or the stars on the locket. Rolf watched in awe as the light-pieces spun around her in a silver tornado, before, with a final whirl, they broke from the funnel and darted across the room in a cloud, settling on the overturned piano. A moment later, they seemed to glow brighter, and then the piano was gone, vanished, disintegrated, the lights winking out as if nothing had occurred.
"Eek," he said.
"It's beautiful, isn't it," Luna said dreamily, bending to return the pendant to its hiding-place.
"And terrifying," said Rolf. He was going to add 'like you,' but he couldn't quite get up the nerve. The Scamanders were renowned Magizoologists, not well-known ladykillers.
Luna bid him goodnight, after giving him what she called a 'Foone Number.' Whatever the hell that was.
Rolf sighed. He was alone in the trashed ballroom now, and he wondered whether whoever owned the place would sure him for wrecking their mini-palace. He hoped not. Heaven knows he couldn't afford the dragonfeed as is.
He sighed again, increasingly adamant that his hair was graying by the second, and picked up the suitcase. Tomorrow, he'd ask his roommate what a Foone Number was. Dean was knowledgeable about such things. He fingered the little scrap of paper in his pocket as he called the Knight Bus, all the way along the rough ride home, and as he crept into his flat, so as not to wake Dean.
He set his briefcase by the door and straightened.
Tomorrow was a new day, and, however sappy it might sound to the passing Legilimens, he sincerely hoped it contained Luna Lovegood.