A/N: Hello all! I know I said that this story will contain 27 chapters, but while writing this one, I found that things were too rushed if I kept to those 27 chapters. Therefore, there will now be 28 chapters in my story. I hope you are enjoying it and thanks for reading!

Chapter 25: The Jackal's Reprieve

Minister Shacklebolt was looking over at Hermione and Charlie with a penetrating stare; his fingers were clasped together at their tips under his chin, as if dissecting what they had just told him. Hermione stared back, not in defiance, but rather imploring for him to believe them.

The couple took advantage of their day off from work to visit London to inform the Minister of Magic what his Senior Undersecretary, Sprought, was up to – from Hermione's drawn conclusions of him orchestrating the murder of the captured dragon poacher to the meeting that was held the evening previous. The duo had bypassed Director Mulligan, not seeing him on the reserve before they set out, while Phillip remained behind due to his Monday responsibilities. As it was, the pair also spotted Terrance, who gave them an amiable, early-morning wave, which they returned (Hermione told Charlie that they had to keep up with their appearance of being close friends with him if they were to bring down the Nocturnal League from the inside).

"I must say to you Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley that this is a very serious claim to make," Kingsley insisted, chiming off the number of 'serious claims' Hermione has come across since accepting a position in working with dragons.

"I know," she returned, "but Charlie and I wouldn't lie about something like this; there would be no reason for us to. We both saw with our own eyes that Sprought was heading this, what he called, Nocturnal League."

"Which is a large poacher network, is that correct?"

"That's right," she replied back.

"And you say that this has something to do with the newly-discovered Victorian Shalers, yes?"

"That's correct, minister," Charlie answered. "By what Sprought was saying, it seemed as if the Victorian Shalers were manufactured by human hands."

"I assume you two have unearthed conclusions as to why these beasts are of a human touch?"

"Yes," Hermione responded, tucking a stray curl behind her ear absent-mindedly. "Before the Wales Dragon Reserve was opened, Charlie and I read over notes that were taken by Director Mulligan and sent to us about these particular dragons. From it, we gathered that their behavior was abnormal for their own kind. For example, Charlie told me that dragons are very territorial creatures yet the Victorian Shalers prefer the company of them, rather than humans. Also, when they beat their wings, the circular pattern on them spins around," Hermione then paused at this, wondering if what she said next will throw Kingsley off his guard. "Well, when that happens, some sort of hypnosis takes over whoever the Shaler is focused upon, being another dragon or a human; this renders them to fall asleep. It all makes sense when it's put together: this large poacher network breeds this special type of dragon that allows it to put other beasts to sleep. By the way Sprought was talking last night, it seemed as if multiple men of the Nocturnal League were part of this operation and stationed on every reserve. When a dragon was incapacitated by the Shaler, they could go in and harvest its scales."

Kingsley didn't outwardly react to these pieces of information though he seemed to be digesting it with a frown.

Ever since infiltrating the Nocturnal League's meeting the previous night at Shadowground, an unsettling and rather disturbing feeling had spread throughout her, staring from the base of her heart before swimming up to her head and cascading down to the tips of her toes. It was a forbidding feeling, one that masqueraded a vile act that was sure to come.

"These hypnosis powers," the minister began, testing every word before it left him, "they were not documented in the notes Director Mulligan gave you?"

"No," Charlie said, "nothing about them were there. Two of our own handlers, Reyville and Cope, experienced being incapacitated while Hermione and I observed it with our own two eyes, when one of the Brazilian Bastions, a species of dragons we keep on the reserve in Wales, fell victim. We don't know for sure if these sleep-inducing powers are what we think they are, but the pieces do add together."

A pause then interwove itself amongst the conversation being had in the minister's office, one in which thoughts spelled out into confusion and guesswork.

"There's also something else that goes against the Victorian Shaler being an actual dragon," Hermione inserted, "as of being one that was created by humans."

"And what would that be, Miss Granger?"

"Well, on both reserves, in Romania and Wales, there is a map of the individual pens that tells us where each beast is. One day, one of the Victorian Shaler newborns escaped into the campgrounds but we couldn't see it on the map anywhere. Terrance, one of our co-workers," Hermione continued on, seeing Charlie visibly tense out of the corner of her eye at the mention of his name, "and Director Mulligan said that the chart was designed by the Ministry of Magic as a magical contract of sorts. All true dragons, therefore, are displayed on the map but the Victorian Shaler never made an appearance."

Kingsley sighed, unclasping the tips of his fingers to instead rub them against his temples, giving them a much needed massage; his eyes closed under the comforting feeling.

"What a debacle this turned out to be," he sang out lowly, his vocal chords rumbling about. "Well, quickly assessing over everything you have told me thus far, I have to say that we cannot detain Senior Undersecretary Sprought without evidence."

"There is something though," Charlie piped in, quickly glancing over at Hermione before turning his gaze towards the Minister.

"And what would that be, Mr. Weasley?"

"At the meeting last night, Sprought said that their next one will be held in two weeks, the same time and place, in which the third Victorian Shaler egg will be given out to a worker named, Harris; he works on the Romanian Dragon Reserve. Sprought said that he planned to have one to two Shalers on every dragon reserve across the wizarding community. Attending the meeting would be supply more than enough evidence against him."

Kingsley seemed to think this tidbit over in the mind, his brown eyes wandering around his office, skirting over the surface of his rather disorderly desk.

"How do you two feel about assigning aurors up for this task - researching Sprought and his Nocturnal League?"

Hermione and Charlie traded looks before the latter said, "With all due respect to the Auror Department, this poacher network has to be shut down as soon as possible. I think opening a full investigation just on Sprought alone would take too long. I mean, he was the one who questioned Hermione, Terrance, and I about what happened back in Romania with the dragon poachers who attacked us, and if he really is in charge of those men, I don't think an inquiry was ever opened on that matter."

Kingsley issued out a long breath, his head shaking slowly from side to side.

"This is my fault," he mused, his gaze glued on his messy tabletop. "I was the one who appointed him to his current position when he clearly was unfit to lead within the Ministry itself."

Hermione could think of nothing to reply with, so she opted to remain silent, her mouth though had since morphed into a grim line.

"I guess the best thing I could do then," he went on, "is to rectify what needs to be done, find proof of his criminal deeds, and have him arrested. Two weeks time, you said, until the next meeting?"

"Two weeks," Charlie confirmed with a curt nod.

"And am I correct in saying that you two will remain on the Wales Dragon Reserve until that time?"

"We have a few places to stop by today, but other than that, yes," the second-oldest Weasley son said.

"Then we'll be in correspondence throughout the time until the next function," the Minister relayed. "Until then, take care to look after yourselves; by what you told me, Senior Undersecretary Sprought clearly is a dangerous human being, someone who distinctly flew under my radar."

"Um, Minister," Charlie started, making the slowly-aging wizard look over at him. "Hermione and I need to go back to Romania sometime this afternoon and we were wondering if it would be appropriate to ask you for a portkey."

Kingsley appraised his words with an unreadable expression, before he issued out, "Does this have anything to do with Sprought and the Nocturnal League?"

"Yes," Hermione and Charlie coupled together.

"On a regular basis, I would refer you two to check-in with Mr. McGill but seeing that time is rather of the essence," he paused, opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a Muggle spark plug. "Arthur, or excuse me, your father, gave this to me as a birthday present some time ago," he supplied as a way of explanation with a slight grin.

Charlie smiled as Kingsley went on, "He certainly has a rather peculiar obsession with these things. Anyway, this time, I'll make an exception." The minister then whipped out his wand, pointed it at the spark plug and said, "Portus." The object momentarily glowed a bright blue before the color disappeared completely. "Whenever you are ready to head over, tap this with your wand three times and clearly enunciate the name of your destination. When you are prepared to return home, you do the same thing."

"Thank you, Minister," Hermione said sincerely, as he handed Charlie the spark plug across his desk.

"Miss Granger, I believe I asked you some time ago to refer to me as 'Kingsley', isn't that right?"

A delicate pink sprouted over her cheeks as the Minister of Magic then turned to Charlie and said, "Same goes for you, Mr. Weasley. Your father and I go some ways back."

"Of course, Kingsley," he responded with a friendly nod.

"Well, on your way, then! Remember, I'll be in direct correspondence over the next two weeks."

With that, Hermione and Charlie departed from his office, with Charlie clutching the spark plug in a closed fist.

The couple, deciding that they should have a spot of lunch before leaving for Romania, apparated to the Burrow, and was surprised to find Harry there, standing some yards away from the Weasley shed, as he apparently just sent, what looked like to Hermione, a white wall towards it with his wand.

"Harry," Hermione called out, making him spin so suddenly that she heard his back crack in several places.

"Hermione!" His bright green eyes grew wide while a confused look crossed over his features. "What're you doing here?"

She and Charlie walked over to him, unbeknownst that they were hand-in-hand, as Hermione remarked, "I could ask you the same thing."

"Ron and I usually stop by the Burrow on our lunch breaks," he answered while shrugging his shoulders, nodding over towards Charlie who returned it.

Hermione looked around and then said, "You and Ron? I don't see him around."

With that, Harry chuckled and pointed, "Ron's in the shed."

Hermione looked over at Charlie to see if he comprehended what exactly was going on though it seemed that he was just as confused as she felt. It was as if they had stepped onto a plain, fixated under an alternate reality.

"Um, is there a reason why he's in there," Hermione then questioned, felling her brows pull together.

"It's a defense spell I'm practicing," he returned. "Remember I wrote to you a week or so ago, telling you that we were going to start defense in Auror training?"

Hermione racked her brain, sifting through everything that had happened over the past several days, and nodded her head.

"Oh, now I remember."

"What spell were you practicing," Charlie inquired. "Was it that white wall?" When Harry nodded, Charlie commented, "I've never seen that before."

"It's called the Prism Theorem; it's fairly new," he clarified.

"How does it work," Hermione queried.

"Well, if we are trying to sneak attack rogue Death Eaters, for instance, we could use the Prism Theorem which keeps the Death Eaters in a confined building they were initially in," he told them, his eyes hooking down to their interlaced hands.

"It only works on a building," Hermione caught on, interested in this new security mechanism.

"Yes, that's one of its drawbacks: the spell only works on actual structures and not on general areas. So if there were Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest, the Prism Theorem wouldn't function properly."

Suddenly, several booms were heard from nearby, the thumping coming from the direction of the Weasley shed.

"Okay Harry, I think that's enough practice. Now let me out," bellowed Ron from inside, another ensemble of booms sounding off.

Harry flicked his wand before he yelled, "Okay, it's off now!"

Upon opening the door, Ron began, "Bilmey, Harry, you would think that-," he however, stopped short when his eyes fell on the couple.

"Hermione! Charlie! What're you doing here?!"

"We're actually here for a spot of lunch," Charlie responded, gently tugging Hermione towards the Burrow along with him. "We're also on a bit of a schedule though so we should get along now."

"Wait up," Ron called out, "we'll join you; I'm starving!"

The four then walked side-by-side under a clear, blue sky; the great ball of fire called the sun hanging over them, procuring a hotter-than-normal September heat. In a closer range, several birds sang to each other, before taking flight from a random tree and flying away while a wind, void of any coolness, rushed over them, temporarily ruffling their clothes over their bodies.

"Ron, shouldn't you be at the joke shop," Hermione suddenly asked, piercing the silence that had befallen the group.

He looked over at her as he responded, "I haven't told mum yet about quitting the training. To keep up with appearances, I have to have lunch when Harry does or else it would look suspicious."

"Well you are going to tell her, aren't you," Hermione nearly scolded back. "Harry and I told you last time that you can't keep this up for a long time."

"Keep your nose down, Hermione! I just got to come up with a plan and then I'll tell her."

"Has any sort of plan come to mind?"

"No."

"Are you trying to come up with a plan?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of," Hermione and Harry shouted in unison, making Charlie smirk.

"Shhh! Are you two mental?! What if mum heard you," Ron hushed over, his face growing a dark red as his eyes darted towards his upcoming home.

"Ron," Harry started in an annoyed tone, "you told me that things were coming together for you!"

Ron looked around, avoiding the penetrating stares he was receiving as he said in quiet tone, "Things kind of got tossed around."

"What does that mean," Hermione questioned in a voice that eerily resembled Mrs. Weasley.

Ron sighed, and said, avoiding Hermione's inquiry, "I'll think of something…don't worry."

Dropping the subject matter for the time being, Hermione silently huffed as she unknowingly squeezed Charlie's hand. He repeated her action, making her look up at him. He traded over a comforting smile, one that rustled about the butterflies in her stomach, before she realized their hands were still clasped together. After a moment of shock, she disentangled their fingers, shooting him a 'How could we forget?' look while the tips of ears glowed red.

The party then entered the kitchen, as incredible whiffs of food scents entered into their nostrils, making their stomachs rumble with impatience.

Mrs. Weasley turned from the stove. When she spotted Charlie and Hermione, surprise fitted her features nicely before they relaxed and exclaimed, "Charlie…Hermione! I wasn't expecting you at all! What are you doing back?"

"It's our day off," Charlie answered, as he was wrapped in a massive hug from his mum; Hermione was attended to next.

"Why didn't you write? A small note would've been fine, too!"

"It's just a quick lunch, mum," he said, as he sat next to Hermione, while Harry and Ron took seats across from them. "We actually have to head out soon."

"Where," Ron spoke up.

"Just work-related activities," shrugged Charlie.

It was if by some unspoken token that she and Charlie decided to keep what was going on with Sprought, the Victorian Shalers, and the Nocturnal League under wraps. Explaining everything to just his mum would cause massive hysteria, as Hermione wouldn't put it past her to lock the two of them in his room to shield them from any harm that was due to come by becoming ensnared by dangerous affairs. She took his covert response as a cue to not let anything slip up.

Not even a minute later however, all sorts of food floated in front of them as their lunch began. Conversation flowed easily enough, as Mrs. Weasley was quite invested in the Prism Theorem, though Hermione noticed that she restlessly drilled Ron over it; he, having not much knowledge over the method, resounded to heaving vast amounts of meat into his mouth to avoid having to answer, choking several times along the way.

Hermione tried to calm herself throughout the meal (after all, she was surrounded by her best friends and her boyfriend in a home she considered second nature to her) yet tingles of nerves kept darting through her system, striking a chord in her stomach, bouncing off of her heart, before jolting a fresh round of goose bumps than ran down her arm. Calming breaths didn't help nor was the fact that she (and Charlie) had to keep masks of perfection plastered over their faces to shield any probing questions that might lead to an open wound of lies and foreboding consequences.

After lunch was finished, Harry and Ron bade their farewells while Mrs. Weasley noted that she meant to run into Diagon Alley for a new cookbook: Weldra Wanderstaff and her Magic of Baked Goods and Pastries.

"Take care, my dear," Mrs. Weasley said, fussing over Charlie, inspecting him for new burns that she may have missed upon his unexpected entrance before.

"Mum, please," he breathed out, as she squeezed him in a hug again, making him roll his eyes over her at Hermione, who in turn had to twist away from breaking out into bouts of laughter.

"And you, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley then focused upon, "please be safe! I always used to worry just over Charlie, but now I have you as well!"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione stalled, "we'll both be safe, Charlie and I."

The Weasley matriarch took a step back and looked over her son and Hermione once more, her eyes glossing over.

"I know you two take good care of each other but a mother always worries. Somebody I'm sure you'll understand." And with that, she smiled and apparated away with a quiet pop.

Hermione turned towards Charlie who in turn quirked up one brow at her.

"Did she just say what I think she said," Hermione sounded off, her dealings with everything-related Sprought momentarily forgotten.

In exchange, Charlie folded Hermione into his arms and kissed the top of her head, taking a lungful of air as if he longed to partake in that respective act for a long time.

"My mum sometimes speaks cryptically; it drives me up the wall when she does."

Hermione giggled, her cheek splattered against his chest.

The two then stood there, in the middle of the kitchen, huddled against one another. Hermione closed her eyes and thought that his chest was a rather comfortable sleeping position; she might have to try it one day soon.

"So what happens now," she voiced, hating to perturb the hush that had swept over them in a delicate deafness.

"We go to Romania," he said simply.

"Do you think Wormey will answer our question?"

"I dunno; he didn't seem exactly thrilled about speaking of his past family when we first met up, did he?"

"No, he didn't at all. But this is the final piece, I'm sure of it." Hermione pulled away from Charlie and stared into his bright blue eyes.

Slowly, the couple then drew together and folded their lips over one another's; it was a sweet indication of what they meant to each other and what they felt for each other. Passion simmered in Hermione's heart, she wanting nothing more than to spend the day with Charlie, worrying about nothing…just enjoying his company. She felt that their time as a couple had been marred in a spin of lies, deceit, and betrayal, warping past individual commitments into a realm of uncovering a truth she had not ever known was as big as it apparently is.

They then pulled apart, Charlie recapturing her lips with a quick peck.

Smiling, he said, "Let's go."

Before she could nod her head though, a dawning resolution suddenly consumed her. Her hold on Charlie's hand instantly strengthened though she wasn't aware of it. The Prism Theorem…she had seen it before…the wall of white light. It was a recent occurrence though she couldn't pinpoint the exact time or location of when she had first seen it.

"Hermione, are you okay," came the sound of Charlie's voice, though it sounded miles away, liking a sinking ship was to a lighthouse.

Taking over a quiet beat, she uttered as if in a dream-like state, "The Prism Theorem…it's familiar."

"You've seen it before?"

"Yes but…-," she stopped before gasping aloud, making Charlie grab her shoulders as he looked deep into her brown eyes.

"What is it?" His voice was one of anxiety and trepidation.

"Terrance…he used it back in Romania!"

"What? When?"

Hermione swallowed, making herself take a deep breath before she plunged on, "The night the poachers came onto the reserve. We were chasing them on broomsticks over to Woan and I saw him send a white wall over to the flats where the rest of the workers were."

Charlie dropped his hands away as he turned sideways, peering over at nothing specific while his mind worked at what she had just told him.

"You sure it was the same thing," he finally managed to ask.

"I've never seen a spell that issues out a white wall," she nodded, confirming her theory. "I forgot about it until just now; seeing Harry practice the Prism Theorem reminded me of it."

Charlie let out a heavy sigh, it being weighed down from several boulders, as he sat back in his seat he occupied during lunch. His put his head in his hands, rubbing it over as if he was trying to remove war paint from its surface. Hermione sat down beside him and put both of her hands on his arm in a comforting gesture, as he looked stressed beyond a maximum.

"You know, ever since last night, I tried to convince myself that we made a mistake in pinpointing Terrance as the inside man. He's my best mate and I just didn't want to believe it. Hate it as I may, the strikes are adding up against his supposed innocence. I just feel…I dunno…betrayed I guess. I knew him for such a long time; we were at Hogwarts together, we started work together, but now, he's like a stranger to me. It kinda hurts; it's like our friendship was built on a pile of lies and nothing more."

"There's something else too," she commented with a heavy heart, making Charlie whip his head over to her.

"What is it?"

"Back before Director Mulligan, you, and I went back to Romania to bring back the Romanian Longhorn, I saw a slip of parchment fall from Terrance's hospital bed in St. Mungo's. If it's true, that he is Sprought's inside man, then he would also know about the house in the woods. Do you remember that we found the piece of parchment in there with its corner missing?"

Charlie suddenly slammed his first upon the kitchen table hard, startling Hermione.

"Damn it! How could I have not seen it before?!"

"Charlie, what are you talking about?"

He turned towards her, his eyes nearly a blue fire, as he said, "The parchment that we found in the house in the woods…it was a quill order, remember?" As she nodded her head, he continued, "Terrance's father owns his own quill factory! I think I told you this back in Woan."

Hermione stared over at Charlie, feeling her jaw hanging open.

"But what would a quill order be doing there? That doesn't make any sense."

Charlie shook his head from side to side, replying with, "I have no idea but that slip of parchment you saw fall from Terrance's bed is most likely the missing corner of that order. He is definitely the one; he and I dunno even know how many others. This is…-," he scoffed, "this is crazy, absolutely mental." After a slight pause, he stated, "You know, at this point I wouldn't be surprised if the Wriley's were the former owners of Wormey."

"I think they were," Hermione agreed. "Phillip told us that Wormey knew Sprought, so if Terrance is his inside man, everything fits. All we need is a confirmation on it."

"Hermione, I'm sorry this has been so messed up, with everything. It isn't fair to you."

"Charlie, you don't have to apologize for anything. It's not your fault that dragon poachers exist or that this Nocturnal League is what it is! You don't have to blame yourself." When he didn't look convinced, she took a different approach of placing her hands on both of his cheeks and making him look at her. "I'm not sorry that I took up a position in working with dragons. If I never did, you and I probably wouldn't be sitting here trying to figure out this mystery together. I know it's dangerous, especially with what Sprought said last night about us, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else than right beside you."

Charlie's face broke out into a warm smile, in what resembled relief, as he responded, "You're amazing, you know that? I'm glad you took part in deciding to work with dragons and that we're here together right now. If it wasn't for everything else going on, I would wager that this would be a perfect afternoon."

He then wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her against his hard body, burying his face in her wild hair. She snuggled against him and sighed in contentment. They stayed in this position for several moments, locked in the other's grasp. To Hermione, she wouldn't mind if they were set in this position for the rest of the day and well into the night, for in Charlie's arms, she felt secure and safe and wanted. Being in a relationship with him had brightened her aspirations for what she perceived for it to entail.

Before, she would've been completely satisfied with a man she could talk to and have intelligent conversations with, the matter of passion and desire tucked away under a dome of a hidden fantasy. Now though, after being with Charlie, she felt the lust and longing he quartered for her, while also awakening feelings that she had never approached before he came along. It rendered to her that relationships consisted of companionship but also of raw intimacy. Charlie expressed what she meant to him when they made love, marking a turning point in her life in which sexual rendezvous blazed.

"We should get going, Charlie."

He sighed loudly as he kissed her forehead. As she started to pull away, his hold on her tightened.

"No, not yet," he said with a hint of pleading laced within.

"Charlie, we have things to do," she nearly laughed.

"I know, I know, but I have this feeling that when we let go of each other, something bad is going to happen. So don't let go, not yet," he repeated.

The couple continued to sit there for several beats before Charlie loosened his grip on her, reaching into his pocket and digging out the spark plug Kingsley had given him earlier.

As he set it on the table before him, Hermione took out her wand, turned to Charlie and questioned, "Are you ready now?"

"No," he returned honestly, chuckling humorlessly in spite of himself, "but we have to get this done, right?"

She nodded her head silently before she tapped the object with her wand three times and stated clearly, "Woan, Romania!"

Several minutes later, she and Charlie were walking across the smooth pavement of Woan, the pair noticing that it had been fixed to perfection since the last time they did battle with the poachers in it.

The small magical area was bustling with activity on this early afternoon, where the air was several degrees cooler than back in Devon; the most likely reason was that thick clouds obscured the burning overhead sun. Hand-in-hand, they continued to make their way to Garden Aplenty, the fancy restaurant where Wormey worked, as Hermione noticed several women appraise Charlie as he passed by them. While she didn't like the fact that more than a few pairs of eyes were vying to get his attention, she could hardly blame them for staring; Charlie was donned in a navy t-shirt paired with blue jeans, while the front of his short, bright red hair was casually waved off to the side. He looked as if he would fit the frame of Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelors Under 30. Hermione, though, was happy to note that Charlie ignored all of the attention he was receiving for his face was set hard in determination.

The couple really only had one question to ask Wormey, which had to do with his past family. While they were sure it was that of Terrance's, they still wanted to uncover the truth from the house-elf himself. It was most likely going to be a rather uncomfortable meeting, yet one that had to take place.

Ducking out from under the grey clouds, Charlie and Hermione entered into the high-end eatery, noticing that it was void of any customers. The large, white piano that was centered in the middle of the restaurant was silent, looking like it was part of a lost memory of a generational story that got passed down, leaving the mouth of a parent and entering into the hearing canal of a child, yet facts were skewed until several details paraded their escape, never to be called upon again.

The eatery itself was brightly lit, unlike the last time Charlie and Hermione had stopped by for a nice, candlelit dinner. The wooden floors gleamed as if they had just been freshly polished while the surrounding tables were decorated, waiting for the first customers to arrive.

"Garden Aplenty does not open until five-thirty, mister and missues," a squeaky voice suddenly said from nearby.

Charlie and Hermione looked to their left and saw who they came all the way to Romania for: Wormey.

"Wormey," they both called out in unison, making the house-elf, who was wearing a flat, red and black checkered wool tweed hat across his chest that was tied with a across its back by a piece of string and men's boxer shorts, look up in surprise.

"Master Charlie and Master Hermione," he gasped aloud, his great, round eyes inching bigger by the second.

"You remember our names," Hermione asked incredulously.

"Oh yes, Wormey has a very good memory!"

Charlie smiled at this before he began, "Um Wormey, you don't have to call us 'master,' just Charlie and Hermione will do."

Suddenly, the house-elf started shaking as small tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes and streamed down his face while his mouth trembled with an inescapable sob.

"Wormey, are you alright," Hermione questioned apprehensively, getting down on her knees to bring herself to his eye-level; Charlie did the same beside her.

Wormey clutched at the outline of his heart (resting under his checkered tweed hat) and stated, "Wormey has never, never been asked to call any witch or wizard by their first name!"

"Well how about 'mister' and missus' then," Charlie replied, "we don't have any problem with that."

The house-elf looked over at Charlie before they darted over to Hermione, who gave him a warm smile and a nod of her head.

"Wormey shall then say 'master' and 'missus' then," he croaked out, wiping away his tear-stained cheeks and giving them a low bow.

"And you don't have to bow either," Charlie added as Hermione had a thought he was discomforted by the fact that he was being treated like a king.

"Why has mister and misses come to see Wormey?"

The couple traded worrisome looks before Hermione said, "There's something we would like to ask you, but it's more of a private matter. Is there somewhere we could go? We won't take too much of your time."

The house-elf gave them a curious look with his head cocked to one side before he said, "Follow Wormey please."

The pair then stood to their feet and followed him to the back of the eatery where a thin staircase neither one had noticed upon their first visit (most likely due to the dim lighting) stood. The party of three made their way up it, as a loud CREAK! was issued from the step located second from the top. They turned right on the landing where a number of doors were situated on their left while a wooden banister was rooted on their right, it overlooking the dining hall.

"Wormey," Hermione called out softly, gesturing towards each passing closed entrance, "are these your living quarters?"

The house-elf turned to look over his shoulder without pausing a beat and replied cheerfully, "Oh, yes! Garden Aplenty provides Wormey a free room to sleep in! Wormey is also allowed to decorate it how he pleases!"

"Sounds like fair treatment to me," Charlie whispered over to Hermione. She turned and made a point for him to see her roll her eyes at his statement, making him grin handsomely.

The house-elf walked a few more paces before he stopped and pushed open the door to his room, allowing Charlie and Hermione to proceed in before him. As they walked inside, Hermione noticed that the room was slightly low-bearing, so much so that the duo had to bend over to keep from hitting their heads upon the ceiling. Arranged along the four light purple and green painted walls of the squared room were a series of hooks, in which each had a tweed hat and corresponding boxer shorts (though Hermione noticed that none of the pairs seemed to match). The space was finished off with a small bed which resided under a round window, it looking out at the vast number of green trees that surrounded Woan.

"This is a nice room," Charlie whistled out and he looked around it, making Wormey nearly giddy with his praise.

"Wormey likes to think so too!" He then paused as his smile waned a bit, before he matched, "What would mister and missues like to talk to Wormey about?"

Without waiting for a reply, the house-elf snapped his fingers to make three fluffy, pink pillows with gold, wool-silk yarn adorning it appear, Wormey plopping down on of them, while Charlie and Hermione copied his actions by occupying the other two.

"Wormey," Hermione started albeit a bit hesitantly, not knowing how he was going to take the question she had ready for him, "there's been a bit of a problem with the dragon reserves in both Romania and Wales." She then stopped as a grave look passed over the house-elf's face, darkening his eyes and making his ears droop downward. "Things have been uncovered but others remain a mystery." She chanced a look over at Charlie, who returned it plus gave her a firm nod of his head. "Well, Wormey, we would like to know who your past family was."

The room then fell silent as Charlie and Hermione started over at the house-elf, who in turn took a tremendous gulp.

"Wormey…Wormey cannot say," the little elf repeated in a whisper, seeming to grow smaller and smaller with each passing second of time, horror spilling over his features. "Wormey…he served a bad family."

"I know this is hard for you," Hermione began in a voice she hoped was consoling, "but we need your help. Charlie and I believe that dragons are being harvested for their scales by a big poacher network-," Hermione stopped here, however, as Wormey began to wail loudly.

She gasped from the unexpected howl, which sounded like a high-pitched siren more than a cry, as the house-elf covered both of his eyes with his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, while he started to vigorously shake his head from side to side, so much so that Hermione was sure his head would spin all the way around atop his shoulders.

"Wormey," Charlie began, as he reached over and grabbed his skinny arms to pull them gently away from his face, which had renewed a fresh round of tears, "please calm down. We don't mean to cause a scene."

The house-elf instantly quieted though his body language told them that he was far from being calm.

"Like Hermione said, we can't imagine how difficult this is to you, but these dragons that are being targeted by these poachers, they're important to us. We want to stop them…we want to do what's right, not just for the dragons but for all magical creatures that are mistreated by witches and wizards alike."

At this, Hermione peered over at him, his words catching her off guard.

He continued, "Our kind, meaning witches and wizards, we always underestimate magical creatures, mainly because we are too ignorant to take the time to understand them and their different habits. We are always pushed by greed or some sort gain, it being monetary or a sick sense of self-righteousness. But we're asking you for help, Wormey, because we really need it."

The house-elf's large eyes were fixated on Charlie the entire time he spoke, seemingly unable to look away from him.

Wormey was quiet for a moment, silent hiccups rocking his body to and fro, before he nodded his head at a snail's pace and began with a low murmur, "The house of Wormey's former masters began their interest in dragons long ago; Wormey knows for he served them for four generations. They created a network and called it the Nocturnal League. Its purpose was to create a dragon that was a mixture of the blood from other species for it to be able to conquer the dragons it resided with on individual reserves. The plan was for members of the league to take the scales off of the sleeping dragon, kill it, and set up a scene that made it look as if the dragon had a rare disease, one that was able to spread quickly.

It was only a short time ago that the league was able to successfully create this beast, and they called it the Victorian Shaler. Members of the poacher network took it to a remote area in Canada, where they were going to study it before the other eggs were to be shipped to the Wales encampment."

"Why Wales though," Charlie intervened. "There are so many other reserves all over the world, even some in America."

"Because the Victorian Shalers are bred underneath Shadowground," Wormey answered.

This rocked Hermione, as her heart began to beat wildly in her chest.

"Wormey," she then cut in, thinking over how exactly she was going to phrase her question that was picking away at her mind, "do you mean that the only reason Shadowground exists is because of the Nocturnal League and the Victorian Shalesr?"

The house-elf looked devastated, like he was betraying a close friend of a secret he kept locked away for decades.

"Yes," he finally managed to squeak out, while Hermione vaguely heard the staircase emit a loud CREAK! from outside his room.

"Wormey," Charlie started, "can you tell us who the former family you served was?"

The house-elf looked down upon the floor and issued, "Wormey served the house of the Wriley's. However I was released-,"

Suddenly, something whizzed by Hermione, so close that it made her hair ruffle in return. In the next instant, a knife punctured Wormey's right eye, ripping through the retina and severing the optic nerve.

Charlie and Hermione both whipped around to see Terrance framed in the doorway, he wand brandished in his hand.

As Wormey cried out in tremendous pain, Hermione having no doubt that he was blind in at least is right eye, Terrance said with a false sense of amusement, "It seems as if the skeleton is out of the closet, doesn't it?"

He then waved his wand viciously, causing Hermione to black out.