Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Warner Bros, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Heyday/1498 films, JK Rowling and Raincoat books. I don't lay any claim to it. The characters Simeon Slovensky, Mirabella Ribisi, Seth Johansson, and any family members or friends attached to these characters are the property of Narya (Rachel). The characters Abigail Ridges, Herbert Wilde, Nisha Wilde, any other extra minor and supporting characters, and the storyline belong to me, Aurora Moon. Please do not use any of these characters or storyline unless we are both consulted and give permission first. This disclaimer will be updated as needed.

Dedication: To Rachel for the use of her original characters born from her creative head and for everything else she's done for the benefit of the story.

Prologue

"Anything else for you, Andreas? We'll be closing shortly."

A small hand movement waved the young barmaid away, the eyes and mind of the patron not even bothering to meet her hazel gaze as she made her final round for the evening. Gathering the empty plate and goblet from the table she swiftly placed the soiled dishes onto a levitating tray and proceeded to the next set of customers, a group of men playing cards by the hearth. They loudly ordered a final round of drinks, a necessity before they would be forced to disperse from their lively game and return home to their witchy wives.

On a less tiresome evening, Andreas Kaminski would have smiled and given a verbal answer to the kind waitress who attentively served him whenever he dined at the local watering hole. She knew him on a first name basis, after all, and never failed at her duty to feed him well. Over the months he'd frequented The Crossed Fangs he'd become a familiar face, and he and Livvia had ongoing conversations about their work and current events that resumed every time he came to dine; but with his head swimming in the latest news and his body weary from a long day, talking to the server wasn't at the top of his list of priorities.

Through his thick glasses, the man's eyes wandered about the room drinking in the surroundings of the pub instead of a last pint of ale. The warlocks by the hearth had gotten their last round and were taking large gulps from their cups while placing bets on their final hands. To the side of the group Livvia was flicking her wand towards nearby chairs, causing them to flip themselves onto the tops of their accompanying tables as a broom swept up lonely crumbs of long digested meals. A dark corner booth revealed an older gentleman chatting the night away with a glamorous-looking lady, who seemed rather bored of the conversation despite the occasional smile from her red lips. The bartender was busy at work with his sleeves at his elbows, wiping down the countertops in full view of the giggling blonde he had been attending to all evening with free drinks, his eyes glimmering with hope for poor judgement in his favour.

So many stories could be told by the clientele of The Crossed Fangs; that was what he always felt whenever he indulged in people-watching at the bar. Thrilling tales of political deception gushed from the floorboards, mystery hung in every rafter, and the walls gossiped of the scandalous seductions that had taken place in the upstairs rooms. The pub was a plethora of human experience and secrets, unleashed with the lowering of inhibitions. If the building could talk, he could only imagine what it might have to say.

The stroke of two o'clock in the morning from the nearby grandfather clock awoke him from his reflection. Andreas turned his head to the front window beside him, observing the moonless night waiting to envelop him in darkness. He rose from his seat and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. His evening was far from over with the long journey home.

"Your bill, Mr Kaminski."

Livvia was at his side again, the check for the chef's specialty in her outstretched hand as she watched him slip into the sleeves of his coat. His hand reached deep into his pants pocket, pulling out a few Galleons and placing them gently into the waitress' hand. He felt her shudder as their skin touched, her hazel eyes growing to the size of saucers at the sensation. He quickly drew his hands back, shoving them into his pockets in a mirror of what Livvia was doing.

"So, has the food and drink fed your writer's block?" she hastily asked, her eyes darting to the newly swept floors. The bob of her head caused her a strand of escaped brown curl to cascade over her blushing cheeks and hide them from plain view.

"Unfortunately no," he sighed, though a soft chortle escaped his lips with the thought of his next witty remark. "But the starving writer needed the meal anyway."

The barmaid laughed heartily, the embarrassment vanishing from her cheeks with the arrival of joy. Over her shoulder Andreas could see the warlocks rising from their card game, the victor scooping up the pile of Galleons as his prize while the others bemoaned to their fellow gamblers of the rotten hands they'd been receiving all night and swore to regain their losses at the next game.

"You're very funny," Livvia piped at last, bringing the writer's attention back to her dancing eyes. "I do hope you find your muse to continue your art."

He nodded with a small thin smile spreading across face while his feet quietly crept towards the door. "I do too. Though, you never really know where the characters will take you or what they have to say."

"Very true," agreed Livvia as she took a few backward steps towards the kitchen, giving Andreas a view of the giggling blonde from the bar as the bartender helped her to uneven staggering feet. "Good night, Andreas."

With a wave of his hand in farewell, he was out the door and in the fresh summer night air. He stopped a moment beneath the sign of The Crossed Fangs, fastening the buttons on his coat as he scanned the desolate street, noting that not a soul was with him on the cobblestone. Regardless of the fact, his wand was at the ready in his sleeve. In the heart of Transylvania, where vampires and hags were known to roam freely, one couldn't be accused of practicing too much caution.

A minute's walk west brought him to the end of the cobblestone road and the start of a dense forest that shrouded the village from prying Muggle eyes. From there it was another few metres due north when he came to the shade of an oak, where the night breeze gently rustled the leaves causing some with unsteady bearings to fall. Beneath the sturdy branches, Andreas pawed around in the open air with a single hand until it felt what it was looking for. Grasping at what appeared like nothing he flipped the unseen handle and entered the driver's side of a Disillusionment-charmed car.

Though he was invisible within the confines of metal, he still looked out the window for any wandering passersby before taking his wand from his coat sleeve. Uttering the spell, a small white light illuminated the space of the car and caused the front window to act like a dark mirror. In it he could watch as his face darkened instantly to a freckly tan. The stubble of a black goatee receded into his skin leaving a smooth shave behind. His dark hair shrank back several inches into his scalp and lightened to a familiar ginger red. In a matter of seconds it was no longer Andreas Kaminski, the struggling novelist, sitting in the car but rather Charlie Weasley, member of the Order of the Phoenix.

The light from the Finite spell faded away just as a dark figure approached the car, a gloved hand feeling around in the air on the passenger's side. Charlie's heart leapt at the blurred sight of the shadow, pointing his wand at the oncoming shape as he took off Andreas' thick glasses for a good look at what was looking for the invisible car. Once the spectacles were removed from his line of vision, the back passenger door opened and the redhead relaxed at the sight of a portly older man dressed in unseasonably thick robes who dusted off his dragon-hide boots before shutting the door behind him.

"How was your game, Mr Tomov?" he asked with a relieved sigh, happy to hear his own English again with the relinquishing of his Romanian language charm.

The man scratched at his heavy greying beard, feeling the wrinkles and age spots as he ran his hands up his face to take off the hat that hid his sweaty balding head. "It has not been a favourable evening."

He stopped there to fish his wand from one of his many layers of robes, his stomach being cumbersome in the confined space. The familiar white light bounced through the car, until the man in the backseat was no longer middle-aged, overweight, or bald. In his place sat the youthful, svelte, and dark-haired Simeon Slovensky. "No information vorth reporting on and I lost forty Galleons to the Minister of Magical Catastrophes."

Simeon began to remove the outer layers of his costume, tossing the richly embroidered robes onto the adjoining seat until he was down to his normal outfit of a black shirt and pants. On the pile of thick robes he lay his head down, preparing for the long drive that he did not have to be awake for.

"She's late," Charlie pointed out before his friend could fall asleep.

"He vas all over her vhen I left," countered the Bulgarian dragon keeper, barely moving a muscle as his eyes fell. "Give her a few minutes and she vill find her vay. She knows how to defend herself."

It didn't stop Charlie from looking out to the nearby cobblestone road where he expected her to emerge any moment. They had done this exact routine over and over again and every time she could get herself back alone. She'd even told him herself not to fret for her sake, that she could handle whatever came her way, but it never stopped him from worrying over her as he waited.

As sure as Simeon had said it, she came staggering drunkenly down the street alone. Glancing behind her with the wind blowing her long blonde locks around her shoulders, she tripped a few more steps south before turning on her heels and heading towards the car. With every step north she got steadier on her feet, the drunken act dropping without the appropriate audience. She swiftly found the driver's side door and opened it so the car's light bathed her white skin in a glow.

"I'll drive," she declared looking at Charlie with large grey eyes, gripping the frame of the door. She cocked her head to usher him to move over and vacate her spot.

"I can do it," Charlie replied with a yawn. "Besides, that bartender looked like he spent his whole month's paycheque keeping you drowning in shots and martinis."

Not a move was made, both parties keeping still with the expectation the other would back down. "You know I don't drink while on duty and you look exhausted. I'll drive."

"Fine." Charlie begrudging shuffled his body over to the passenger seat, knowing it was pointless to argue considering his tired condition. He watched as she climbed into the car, adjusting the mirrors and seat to her height and vision.

She was a classic beauty; there was no question about it. High cheekbones, a perfect straight nose, and full lips made her look like the aspiring model she was. Accompanied with her long blonde hair, striking light grey eyes, and statuesque figure, it was the undoubted equation for gorgeous. While Charlie had to admit that she was honestly very attractive, he could help himself from what he said next.

"You can lose the disguise."

Her grey eyes darted to him, wide in surprise, as a tiny laugh came from her lips as a cough. From her sleeve she took out a long oak wand, getting a good grip on it before she could perform the spell. "Funny, I always thought gentlemen preferred blondes."

The white light blinded Charlie's eyes for a moment, and even when it had diminished, colourful dots danced all around his field of vision. Blinking rapidly and shaking his head about, he willed them to go away until he could finally see the familiar face he longed for looking back at him with bright green eyes.

"I prefer you," he whispered lightly to himself, leaning back into the headrest as the newly brunette lady turned the key to the ignition and started them on the journey home.

A/N: It has been literal years, but I made a promise to myself that one day I would actually write and finish this trilogy. It's a slow slog, but I often think of this story and I think the only way to remove it from my brain is to actually put it onto paper.

To my defense, I have reworked the entire story from its original conception. I found some things were not working so it literally started from scratch. During this rework, my life around me changed. I moved from the only home I ever knew to a place far from anyone I could possibly know in order to pursue the passion of teaching, I started my career…and perhaps most life-changing of all was that I lost a parent. While writing is normally cathartic, it was rather unfortunate that something in the story reminded me strongly of the loss I'd experienced, so I had to stop for my own benefit and take the time I needed to grieve.

So this is the new start to the second part of my Dragon Hearts trilogy, now renamed The Opaleyes. It takes place during Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.