November 1986
The sky was ignited with streaks of orange and red when Charlie left the castle. He walked across the grounds and down the hill towards Hagrid's hut, carrying a lantern he had taken from the supply closet in the Gryffindor common room. It was cold and the wind had picked up. He should have borrowed Bill's coat.
The hut was dark. Charlie walked past the garden and took the path toward the Forbidden Forest. He saw Hagrid at the edge of the trees, holding a crossbow and a lantern. Aaron stood next to him with a weighed-down pack and a canvass roll over his shoulder.
Fang barked and ran up to Charlie, panting and drooling. He jumped on Charlie's shoulders and knocked him down, licking his face and neck. Charlie laughed and tried to stand up, but Fang was too heavy.
Hagrid whistled. Fang left Charlie on the ground and bounded back to Hagrid.
"Sorry 'bout that, Charlie," Hagrid said. "He's still got a lot to learn."
"He's fine, Hagrid," Charlie said. He stood up, wiped the drool off his face, adjusted his satchel, and picked up the lantern.
"It was fine when he was a hundred pounds lighter," Hagrid said. "Now, it's just bad manners."
Hagrid glared at Fang, who lowered his head and tucked his tail.
"Professor Kettleburn is already in the forest with the dragon," Hagrid said. "We should get going."
"What are we doing with the dragon, Hagrid?" Charlie asked.
"I thought you should see a dragon in real life," Hagrid said, "since you want to study them and all."
Hagrid hesitated. "But, you should know that tonight isn't just for seeing a live dragon. The dragon is dying. Have you read anything about what happens to a dragon when it dies? What we have to do?"
Charlie had read about dragon poachers, people who hunted dragons and killed them for their hides, horns, scales, and blood. Dragon blood was expensive and in high demand. But there were other ways, more humane ways, to get dragon blood. If an old dragon passed, especially one that allowed humans to care for it near the end, it was generally acceptable to collect its blood and other parts once the dragon was dead. Humane harvesting of dragons lowered the prices the poachers got and saved more dragon lives. It had to be done.
"We have to harvest it," Charlie said.
Hagrid nodded. "We are gonna stay with the dragon until it dies, then we'll collect its blood along with everything else. You are both old enough to know where dragon heartstrings come from. You aren't First Years anymore. I think you can handle what we have to do. But, it's gonna be messy. Dragons are amazing creatures. But watching one die is hard, and cutting it open afterwards is worse. If you don't want to do this, I understand. But we really could use the help."
"It's something that has to be done," Charlie said. "I'll do it."
"This is the right way to get dragon blood," Hagrid said. "Not like the way the poachers do it."
"I read about it," Charlie said. "I understand."
"Reading about it and doing it are two different things." Hagrid looked at Aaron. "I won't tell Dumbledore if you want to bail."
"No," Aaron said. "I'm still going."
"Alright," Hagrid said. "Stay close and follow me. You've probably heard bad things about the forest. Some of them are true, but nothing will hurt you if you're with me and Fang."
Charlie and Aaron followed Hagrid into the forest. It didn't take long to lose what was left of the light. The wind howled through the trees and shook the branches. Hagrid and Charlie's lanterns swung as they walked, casting the only light around the three of them and sending long shadows over the ground.
Charlie walked next to Aaron. "I can carry the roll or the bag."
Aaron didn't look at him. "Just hold the lantern."
Hagrid turned. "I told you two to stay close! Catch up!"
Charlie and Aaron walked faster.
"How old is the dragon?" Charlie asked.
"We don't know exactly," Hagrid said. "Kettleburn thinks it's around 1,250 years old based on its physical condition. The only other clue we got is that it is actually in the forest. When dragons die of old age, they usually return to where they were born. There's some notes about a Welsh Green that had a few chicks in the forest around 1,300 years ago. It's probably from that litter. The notes are old and smeared so we don't know for sure. They were written long before most dragons were moved to sanctuaries. There haven't been any dragons in the forest, or anywhere near Hogwarts, in centuries."
"I read it's rare for dragons to die of old age," Charlie said, walking fast to keep up with Hagrid's long strides. "They usually die fighting other dragons, or people kill them for sport, or to harvest them. Or they get sick."
"That's right," Hagrid said. "It makes tonight even more important."
Charlie and Aaron followed Hagrid off the trail. Hagrid pushed back vegetation and the terrain changed. The ground was covered in tree roots and rocks. They climbed over it, headed uphill. Charlie kept the lantern in front of him and Aaron to keep them from tripping. Every so often, Fang's head shot up at noises that came from somewhere around them, but they kept moving. If something was following them, they never saw it.
It took almost an hour for them to get through the forest. Charlie saw a clearing ahead and light from a fire. When they stepped out of the trees, Charlie saw the dragon. It was a Welsh Green, like Hagrid had said, though its coloring was faded and its features were pallid. The dragon laid on its stomach with its legs pulled close. Its wings were folded against its body. Its head laid on the ground, cradled by a bed of straw.
Professor Silvanus Kettleburn sat by the fire, stirring a pot. He had lost an arm to some creature years prior and his prosthetic limb rested on a bedroll by the fire.
The dragon turned its head toward them. Its breathing was slow and labored. The dragon's eyes were clear and they watched Charlie as he approached. Scars and wrinkled hide covered its face. More scars covered its neck, back, and wings; long gashes and irregular-shaped gouges where the hide was thin.
How many times has it fought other dragons? Or escaped from hunters?
Charlie realized the dragon had about half the scales it should have, based on what he had seen in his textbooks. He had never seen pictures of a dragon this old though.
Do they loose their scales as they age?
Aaron waved a hand in front of Charlie's face. He held two bowls of what smelled like beef stew.
"What?"
"I asked if you wanted dinner."
"Yeah, thanks," Charlie said and took one of the bowls. He downed the stew and set the empty bowl on the ground.
The dragon exhaled hard and smoke came out of its nostrils. Aaron jumped back.
Kettleburn walked up to them, his prosthetic leg thumping on the ground. "Don't worry! She can't breathe fire anymore. She's far too old for that. Based on the research I've studied, the Welsh Green loses its ability to breathe fire around the age of 1,100 or so, though I imagine she was still a fierce fighter until the last few years when time got the best of her."
Kettleburn took a bowl of water and brought it to the dragon, but she turned away from him.
"She stopped eating three days ago," Kettleburn said.
"What can we do?" Charlie asked.
"Keep her comfortable," Kettleburn said. "I'd give her Draught of Peace, but, based on her size, she needs a lot more than what we have available. Here, Charlie, come see this."
Charlie walked up to the dragon, slow and careful. Kettleburn gently removed one of her scales and handed it to Charlie.
"She's shedding her scales," Charlie said. The scale was bigger than his hand, hard, and made of transparent green layers, like muscovite or gypsum.
Kettleburn nodded. "Many species of dragons molt and grow new scales beneath the old ones as the seasons change. But look."
"There aren't any new scales coming in," Charlie said.
"Correct," Kettleburn said. "It looks like she has been losing them for years, based on the wear patterns of her hide. But, in the last few days, she has lost a high percentage of the remaining scales. It is her significant age, and her proximity to death."
The dragon turned back to look at them. She looked exhausted.
"I'm not sure how much time she has left," Kettleburn said. "This will likely take most of the night and possibly into the morning. I've told Hagrid we can sleep in shifts when we get tired. Whoever is awake can alert the others when the dragon passes."
Hagrid waved Aaron over to the fire. He handed Aaron the crossbow, showed him how to load it, and how to hold it, with his shoulder back and his arm level. Charlie watched Aaron fire a few arrows into the woods and turned back to the dragon. He reached out and rubbed the dragon's head. She closed her eyes and pushed her snout against his chest. She smelled like sulfur.
I'm not sleeping tonight.
"Will she be in pain?"
"She should go peacefully," Kettleburn said. "I expect her to drift into sleep, stop breathing, and never wake up. We will have to work quickly once she passes. Her blood will start to solidify within thirty minutes, and that is the thing we need the most. The scales, claws, hide, teeth, and horns can be removed much later, but we will have to drain her blood and get to her heartstrings right away."
Charlie tried not to think about what they would have to do to drain her blood that fast, or how they would get to the heartstrings. He had seen the handles of the knives poking out from the canvass roll Aaron had carried through the forest.
If I want to study dragons, I have to do this. If I can't, then I need to find something else I'm good at.
Kettleburn walked back to the fire for more stew. Charlie grabbed his satchel, took out a sheet of parchment, his quill, and his ink pot, and started to sketch the dragon. He started with her head, her eyes, and her snout. He made sure to duplicate the way her hide wrinkled around her eyes. He added the horns and started on her neck. He wanted to capture every detail so he could study his drawing in the future. This way, he would always know what an ancient dragon looked like. He drew the curve of her back, the folds of her wings, and carefully replicated the pattern of her remaining scales, noticing she had lost the most where her wings folded and rubbed against her side. More scales detached as he worked and fell on the ground around her. They sounded like pieces of glass when they hit each other.
His hands were cold and cramping when Aaron sat down next to him, holding Hagrid's crossbow. Charlie realized he was hungry again.
"Does Kettleburn have more stew?"
"Kettleburn put the stew away two hours ago," Aaron said. "He's asleep. So is Hagrid."
"What?" Charlie looked up at the fire. The pot was gone and the flames were low. Kettleburn was asleep on his bedroll. Hagrid leaned against a tree with Fang in his lap, snoring with his mouth open.
"I didn't realize how late it was," Charlie said.
"I figured," Aaron said. He looked at Charlie's drawing. "You're really into the dragon."
"I can't believe we got to come out here and see her," Charlie said. "She's amazing."
"I'm glad you're happy," Aaron said. "I started to wonder if you would be again."
"So did I," Charlie said.
"I'm sorry about what happened on the train," Aaron said. "I know I wasn't there and I'll never understand what it was like. I didn't handle it well, either. I kept sending letters when maybe I should have just left you alone so you could forget about it."
"No, I needed the letters. I should have responded more," Charlie said. "Maddison was right. I don't know how to get past what happened in any kind of healthy way. I thought it would be easier once I was back here, but it made it worse. Taking the train back was hard, especially without Jonathan. I should have let Dad drive me back like he wanted to and I shouldn't have isolated myself from all of you."
"You really think what happened was your fault?"
"I should have kept digging, Aaron. I forgot Peter was there."
"You were trying to survive," Aaron said. "All of you almost died."
Charlie didn't hear him. "I forgot him."
Aaron grabbed his shoulder. "You have to stop blaming yourself, Charlie. It's making everything worse."
"I can't," Charlie said. "I can't forgive myself."
"You have to," Aaron said. "Besides, there's nothing to forgive. The train attack wasn't your fault, but you took all the trauma and grief and made it your fault, like there was more you could have done. There wasn't, alright? Bad things just happen."
Charlie kept his eyes on the dragon.
"I wasn't on the train. I didn't dig Peter's body out like you did," Aaron said. "But I've blamed myself for things before."
Charlie looked at Aaron.
"I've never talked about it. I've never wanted to talk about it," Aaron said. "I don't like what my life was like before your dad came and got me."
"What happened?"
"It was more what didn't happen," Aaron said. "They moved me around a lot, Charlie. I never knew where they were going to take me next or when I would have to leave somewhere I liked. People kept telling me they wanted me, or that the next people would want me, but no one did. I'd get excited and hopeful. When I was moved again and I had to start over, I blamed myself. Why didn't anyone want me? What the fuck was I doing wrong? It wasn't healthy. But I couldn't stop doing it."
Aaron exhaled and continued. "I don't know, it's not like the train. I'm not trying to make it seem like I understand. I guess I'm just trying to say I've blamed myself for things outside of my control before and it doesn't help. It took me to this dark corner of my mind and I hated it."
"That's what it feels like," Charlie said. "This isn't who I am. It's like I lost myself on the train with Peter."
"You have to fight for yourself, alright?"
Charlie watched the dragon take its long, slow breaths. "I will."
It was really cold. Charlie had worn a few layers, and the sweater was warm, but it was late now and the air had a deep chill. He couldn't feel his fingers. He rubbed his hands together. Aaron stood, grabbed two blankets from the unused bedrolls, and walked back over to Charlie.
"Here," Charlie said. He took out his wand and waved it over the blankets. "Focillo."
The blankets began to radiate heat. Charlie wrapped his around his shoulders.
"Thanks," Aaron said. "That's a good charm."
"I'm sorry about what I said at the Three Broomsticks," Charlie said. "It wasn't right. I don't know why I acted that way. I didn't want to hurt you."
"I'm over it," Aaron said. "You should apologize to the others, though, or at least start talking to them again."
"I'll try," Charlie said. "I just feel so . . . detached. I always thought I was well held together, you know? Life seemed easy. I had magic. But everything changed on the train. I actually had to do something without magic and I realized I couldn't."
Aaron smiled. "It's kind of shite, right?"
Charlie finished the drawing. He tucked it back into his satchel along with the scale Kettleburn had given him. The dragon's breathing had slowed again. Its eyes were closed and it hadn't stirred for the past three hours. It wouldn't be long now.
The sky turned a lighter shade of black. Aaron was wrapped under his blanket, asleep against the dragon. Charlie nudged him.
Aaron pushed the blanket back. "Is it time?"
"Yes," Charlie said. "It will be soon."
"I'll wake up Kettleburn and Hagrid."
Charlie pet the dragon's head, not sure that she could even feel anything anymore. He counted the rise and fall of her body. She barely moved. After a few minutes, the dragon's mouth opened and it pushed out its last breath. Everything went still. Kettleburn leaned down and checked the dragon. He nodded at Charlie. She was dead.
Hagrid had a knife in his hand. He leaned over the dragon, picked up its head, and opened its throat. Kettleburn had a wide-mouth bottle ready beneath Hagrid. The dragon's blood poured into the bottle. It should have filled it quickly, but the vessel was enchanted with some type of space manipulation. Kettleburn handed the bottle to Aaron. Hagrid held the dragon's head while thick, dark green blood poured into the bottle. Some of it overran and trickled down Aaron's arm, but he didn't move. Kettleburn moved the dragon's wing away from its abdomen and handed Charlie a knife.
"This is where I really need your help," Kettleburn said. "We're going to cut through the dragon's hide and into its chest. The hide is thick and tough, but I've enchanted the knives to make it easy. Cut parallel to my incision and you'll be fine. You might want to take off your sweater."
Charlie pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it on top of his blanket, and took the knife. Kettleburn stabbed the dragon's side and pulled the knife down. Charlie took a deep breath and did the same. Even with the enchantment, they had to pull hard to get through the hide. They cut parallel incisions. Kettleburn cut perpendicular to their lines and Charlie helped him pull back the hide, his fingers and arms covered in dragon blood.
Charlie saw muscles and tendons. He cut through them, mirroring Kettleburn's movements. Blood ran down the dragon's side and covered the ground. It soaked Charlie's trainers. He kept going, moving the sharp knife through the muscle fibers. For a second, it felt like he was digging again and he saw Peter's body, but he made himself stop. This wasn't the train. The dragon had died peacefully. It wasn't some horrific thing. And even if it was, he didn't have control of life or death, no one did, and that was alright.
They cut through the muscle and Kettleburn started to pull apart the dragon's rib cage. Charlie winced, but made himself grab the bones and break them. Once they were past the ribs and another layer of tissue, Charlie saw the lungs and the heart. The heart was a lot bigger than he thought it would be. It was wet, dark green, and looked alive.
"We'll have to cut it out and to get to the chordae tendineae, or the heartstrings. They are tendons linking the muscles of the heart to the valves in the ventricles," Kettleburn said.
Kettleburn and Charlie cut out the heart. Kettleburn used a levitation charm to raise it in the air between them. He guided Charlie's hand to the first heartstring and showed him where to cut. It was like cutting through rope. Charlie separated the first heartstring. Kettleburn handed him a piece of canvass and he wrapped it inside.
"You did well, Charlie," Kettleburn said.
They cut out the rest of the heartstrings and wrapped them carefully.
"So many of the potions and things we use come from these animals," Kettleburn said. "Few witches and wizards ever realize what it meant for the animal to die and what it took to cut out the heartstrings and drain its blood. It's gruesome. It is hard to do. They all buy vials of dragon blood off the shelves and get their heartstring-cored wands from Ollivanders and never think about it. It means so much that you were here."
When it was over, after they bottled all of the dragon blood and cast charms to clean up the mess, Hagrid put his massive hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I'm really proud of you, Charlie. That wasn't easy. You're going to do great work with dragons."
Hagrid cut off a piece of the dragon and tossed it to Fang.
"Kettleburn and I can finish up," Hagrid said. "You can both head back to the castle. I imagine you'll want a shower and breakfast. Take Fang with you, too, in case you run into any trouble. Stick to the path and leave everything at my hut."
Charlie and Aaron walked back through the Forbidden Forest with Fang, carrying the canvas roll filled with knives and dragon heartstrings, and the bottle of dragon blood.
