Worn leather kept the ledger pages bound together, an exact replica of the Apothecary's copy. Neat loop script swept across the pages. It was divided into two sections: the front half devoted to sales, the second to inventory. Hermione tapped her wand on the ledger's cover and created another duplicate.
"We'll start with inventory, then move to sales. We can use this one to denote anything significant."
The process proved more arduous than expected. They examined each line with astute eyes. Leeches, rose oil, bat spleens, sage. All standard ingredients that one expected to find in any Apothecary or Potions classroom. There had been a brief moment of excitement when Hermione found a line recording the acquisition of eighty-seven dragon blood vials early last week, but it quickly deflated when Draco pointed to the accompanying initials S.D .
"That's short for sanctuarul dragonilor, dragon sanctuary in Romanian. A Longhorn died a few weeks ago. Doru and Llewellyn must have finished extracting the remaining blood and sold it."
This shouldn't have been surprising. Apothecaries needed a legal way to obtain dragon blood. Otherwise, there would never be any for wizards to use. And while Hermione almost reminded Draco that written letters did nothing to prove that the blood really had been acquired through ethical means, pointing that out wasn't beneficial. It would just be another blank road sign on an already convoluted path with no endpoint in sight.
Five painstakingly over-analysed pages later, the words blurred together behind the cloud of Hermione's lingering disappointment. For all the hype Mundungus had given the ledger, it was proving to be more work than useful. She was tired of dead ends. With the baby dragons already hatched and her days at the sanctuary running out, they couldn't afford to waste any more time.
The thought pricked the most vulnerable pieces of Hermione's psyche. She refused to fail. Not at this. And not because she had something to prove to herself.
When drifting to sleep last night, curled within the affirmation of Draco's embrace, Hermione had finally come to peace with something. Draco was right. She had made an impact with the policies and programs she had pushed into law, even if the Ministry didn't properly recognise, appreciate, or fund them. Whatever she did next would continue to bring good to magical creatures, the same way she'd been determined to do since her fourth year. But right here, right now, she had a sanctuary full of dragons who were still in danger as long as the culprit remained at large. First blood, then eggs. Who knew what they would dare take next?
But that was the problem: Without knowing the culprit's motives, or even that of the Seven Brothers, it was near impossible to predict what else they might try to steal. It seemed unlikely that they would resort back to blood when the Apothecary had recently stocked their inventory. Black market dealings were far less profitable (and not worth the risk) when supply matched demand.
Unless the Seven Brothers weren't interested in the blood for money.
Sparks ignited Hermione's thoughts.
Of course!
"Accio Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century."
The book soared across the room and landed atop the ledger.
"Of all the books you bought at Prints and Parchment, that's the one you think will be helpful?"
Hermione ignored the mock, much too focused on her neurons flaring like torched kindling as she scanned the book's contents for Dumbledore's name.
Even so, she felt Draco peer at the pages from over her shoulder, and her attention crumbled as easily as a charred tree branch. Tingled warmth spread through her, but when Hermione flipped to the proper page, Draco didn't linger.
A temporary reprieve.
When he settled into the adjacent seat, her focus involuntarily flickered again, part out of inability not to look at him, but mostly out of interest. Magical Drafts and Potions now laid next to Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, and both Hermione and Draco fell silent as they conducted their respective research. He didn't do it to oppose her methods or seek to prove her wrong. They were far past such childish, petty acts—a notion that stirred yet another flutter.
Draco was just as invested—if not more so—in finding out who was selling the blood to the Seven Brothers. She admired that about him, that much was certain. Confirmation that Draco truly had matured from the selfish boy from years past. Back then, she couldn't imagine him doing anything for someone other than himself or his family, least of all a magical creature. But that wasn't what currently stalled Hermione's thinking.
It was all the small things about Draco that added up to the growing feelings she didn't quite have the words to describe. A teasing quip about her book choice, an inherent trust that her reason was sound. A drive of his own, an ability to think for himself. A passion, a commitment, a resolve.
As she skimmed Dumbledore's biography for the section she knew was in there, her gaze couldn't help but dart to the wizard whose arm gently brushed against hers each time he turned a page. His long finger trailed down the index of ingredients starting with B until he landed on "Blood, Dragon. Below it listed potions that included dragon blood: their guide to other ingredients someone might have purchased if they had recently acquired the valuable substance. For not the first time this week, a blushing smile spread across her lips. Draco Malfoy really was impressively clever.
It took more effort than Hermione cared to admit to remain focused on her text, but she somehow managed. When she reached the paragraph detailing Dumbledore's discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood, she picked up a quill and let her notes fly across the page. Some of the uses were, in her opinion, inconsequential and not worth the brain space (was oven cleaner really a good use of such a valuable substance?), but others made her mind whirl with possibilities of why the Seven Brothers wanted the blood. There was no reason to believe the Seven Brothers weren't keeping the blood for themselves: a thought that coiled her insides when Hermione considered the potential implications.
Most of the uses were harmless. Perfumes, inks, dyes. Dragon blood was a more permanent, more vibrant option to common alternatives but oftentimes not worth the cost. Other uses were practical. Coagulates for excessive bleeding, fever reducers, ridding of stomach ulcers. Those, Hermione understood the desirability, especially with how rapidly dragon blood helped one heal. But then there was the use Hermione was most concerned about.
Use #12: Fortification of metal materials
Hermione was no stranger to strong metals. Without the Sword of Gryffindor, the war could have ended very differently. But Goblin-wrought silver was not cheap and often relied on the exploitation of magical creatures who wanted their magic and creations respected. It made sense that Dumbledore would have explored other methods to transform metals beyond the alchemy he had studied with Nicholas Flamel. While dragon blood was expensive, the cost was fractionary compared to that of Goblin-wrought silver. If someone wanted to make indestructible armour and weapons, a large supply of dragon blood could be the key.
The dread in her gut plummeted to her feet. No, Hermione most definitely didn't want to think about that—especially with Romanian Aurors still supposedly tracking a resurgence of Dark Wizards in Bucharest.
But before she could share that budding theory with Draco, he directed her thoughts to his own research.
"Do you see something suspicious here?"
He passed the open ledger to Hermione and pointed to a page of recent sales. She read each line three times, considering all possibilities, before moving on to the next. Clearly there was something Draco wanted her to spot without his own conclusion biasing her interpretation. The first few lines included mostly ordinary ingredients: one vial of Murtlap essence, four bezoars, a bag of beetle eyes, one scoop of powdered bicorn horn. Some ingredients were more atypical like boomslang skin and fairy wings, but neither of those raised mental alarms. Between the two of them, Hermione wasn't the Potions expert, but she knew enough about Potion properties to know that neither of those ingredients mixed with dragon blood.
And then she spotted it.
Eight lines down, all bought by the same customer: lavender, flobberworm mucus, Valerian Sprigs, sopophorous bean, powdered asphodel petals, and essence of nettle.
Hermione gasped. She'd had that ingredient list memorised since second year.
"These are the ingredients for Sleeping Draught!"
Sleeping Draught wasn't uncommon. A significant number of wizards used it to aid them with slumber, so most Apothecaries sold pre-made vials. There was hardly any reason to brew one's own.
Unless someone wanted to increase the number of sopophorous beans and magnify the potency.
Hermione refused to jump to conclusions or bask in premature celebration. This didn't necessarily mean anything or could result in yet another dead end. Just because it was written in this ledger didn't mean they'd be able to track the buyer. Dozens of people bought from the Apothecary on a daily basis. How could they expect the owner to remember who purchased such exact, mundane ingredients?
"Look at this."
It was astonishing how easily Draco could read her thoughts sometimes. Not by Legilimency or other magical aid. Just by understanding Hermione and how her brain worked.
She followed to where his finger pointed at a set of initials at the edge of the page.
J.Y.
Two letters that could stand for hundreds of names, but it was a start. It was something. It was—
"Julia's last name is Yankova."
A coincidence. It had to be a coincidence.
But even as Draco's hollow words filtered through her synapses, an uncomfortable niggle pestered the back of Hermione's mind, telling her that this couldn't be dismissed so easily. Countless names started with J. But the combination with a Y last name was certainly more unique.
Still, Hermione didn't want to believe it. There had to be another explanation. She was Charlie's girlfriend. Draco, Markus, and Aurel's friend. Someone Hermione could see herself also calling "friend" if this trip wasn't temporary. But then she remembered what Charlie had told her the other day, and it was as if someone had doused her with ice cold water.
"Has Julia ever mentioned anything to you about the Ridgebacks?"
"We work at a dragon sanctuary. Of course she's mentioned the Ridgebacks."
She knew Draco was trying to break the tension with a lighthearted quip, but not even that could squash Hermione's looming nausea.
"Not just them in general. About her… About her wanting to work with them?"
"But she loves the Short Snouts." His response was quick. Confused. "If anything, I'd expect her to want to work with the Horntails so she could work closer with Charlie."
Merlin, Hermione wish that was the case. All of this would be so much easier to dismiss if there was no reason to suspect her. But motives came in many forms, and years of resentment could fester into an ugly beast.
Stagnant air caught inside Hermione's chest before she breathed out, "Not now. Before. When you joined the Ridgeback team instead of her."
His head jerked, shock rippling over his expression. "Julia wanted to… But that doesn't necessarily mean…"
Neither he nor Hermione vocalised the end of that thought. It wasn't necessary. Yet that didn't stop the theories from percolating inside Hermione's brain like a noxious potion. What if she had been planning this for years? A ploy to undermine the capabilities of Doru's leadership? Revenge for him giving the position to Draco instead of her? Then target a dragon Draco was primarily responsible for to make him look incompetent too? All while making herself look innocent by posing as their friend?
Hermione was going to be sick.
Scratching echoed from beneath chairs legs and Draco pushed himself off his seat.
"It can't be Julia." His head shook at a constant rate, eyes not meeting Hermione's as he paced across the room. "There has to be another explanation."
"I don't want to believe it either but—"
"She's dating my best mate!"
"And what better way not to look suspicious than to be dating the wizard slated to become assistant senior dragon keeper."
"Don't."
The single word bounced off the walls in firm resolve, red now streaked across Draco's cheeks. He didn't want to see Charlie hurt. Neither did Hermione. Charlie was the one who had helped Hermione through the gruelling days of wondering if her parents' memories would be recovered, the one who had helped Draco start to build his new life here at the sanctuary. They both owed him more thanks than they'd ever be able to express. Yet when Hermione's eyes flickered to the timeline of events she had created the other night, another surge of scepticism spread through her.
"When exactly did Charlie and Julia start dating?"
Draco steadied himself on the back of his chair, twin grips clamped around the top rail.
"Beginning of June. Shortly after my birthday."
"Which is also shortly after Mundungus said he was trading the blood."
His knuckles blanched white.
"Fuck."
Disbelief, desperation, defeat.
The four chair legs slammed against hardwood, meeting the floorboards in a single thrust downward. Draco released the chair and paced away from Hermione again.
"I'm not saying it's her," Hermione tried to assure him as much as she was trying to assure herself. "It's just speculation right now. But we can't ignore a lead."
It was a cruel twist that after days of wanting progress, their first real clue was one they rather not have.
Draco stared at the enlarged map of the grounds, at the clock, then back at the map.
"We still have a half hour until dinner?"
Hermione nodded.
The map curled off the wall and folded its shrunken form into Draco's open pouch.
"Good. Then I have an idea."
...
A slivered sun peeked out from behind the mountain as Hermione followed Draco through the trees. Approaching closer, he checked the map one last time.
"She's still in his cabin."
They hadn't had much time to develop the plan. But Hermione agreed with Draco: they couldn't go to dinner without trying to get more information.
Hermione scampered to the side of Charlie's cabin and cast a spell around its perimeter. If either Charlie or Julia left the cabin, they'd suddenly remember something they'd left inside. Or at least, that was the intention of the charm. The spell was intricate and Hermione hadn't used it in years. With any luck, she and Draco would have fifteen minutes before its effectiveness started to fade.
They'd have to work fast.
Disillusionment Charm disguising her presence, Hermione ran across to the circle of cabins to where Draco had charmed Julia's door open. She slipped inside and heard his whispered directive.
"You check around her bed. I'll check the wardrobe."
It helped that her cabin was so sparsely decorated. That left relatively little for them to search.
Hermione started with under the bed while the wardrobe appeared to open by itself. Had a Muggle walked in, they'd surely have thought the place haunted with the way Draco and Hermione scoured through Julia's belongings. They searched for any sort of clue, be it damning or absolving. Syringes, vials, needles. A diary, a planner, a stack of letters. Something. Anything.
A mess of bedsheets spread across the floor. Nothing under the bed or hidden under the sheets. Knocks pounded from off the wall alongside stomps against floorboards, and Hermione suspected that Draco had moved on to checking for concealed hiding spots. Enlarged on the wall was the sanctuary map, still showing Julia in Charlie's cabin. They were safe. For now. But safe wasn't good enough.
Hermione cast an X-Ray Charm on the mattress. Still, nothing.
And then she reached the nightstand.
Three vials rolled to the front of the top drawer, all filled with a dark purple substance.
"Draco!"
Hermione was too stunned to retrieve the potion herself. Part of her didn't want to believe it was real. But the trademark colour was a dead giveaway.
When one vial of Sleeping Draught lifted into the air around Draco's Disillusioned grip, her heart clenched.
"Keep searching for whatever else you can find in here. I need to analyse this."
Draco's wand appeared from what looked like thin air but Hermione knew was only his pocket. Softly spoken words she didn't recognise caused the vial to illuminate with tiny runes. Hermione was fascinated to learn more about what the spell did, but now was not the time for questions. She followed Draco's lead and continued his mission to check the walls and floorboards. If Julia really was responsible for stealing the dragon blood, then she would need a place to hide it. But that could be anywhere. Her cabin would, obviously, be the first place someone looked if they suspected her. She could just as easily have them stashed somewhere else in the two hundred plus acres that the sanctuary spanned.
Hermione checked the time, then the map. They could only risk a few more minutes before she and Draco had to leave.
Another X-Ray Charm revealed nothing beneath the wooden planks, but the creak of a loose panel caught her attention. Hermione fell to her knees and tapped the panel.
Hollow.
Her tongue turned to sandpaper. Her veins ice.
Finger trembling, Hermione wiggled the panel free. Relief trickled through her when nothing but black seemed to appear. Empty. But when she moved to put the panel back, the light caught the outline of a black velvet bag on top of a similar coloured notebook. Dread spiked her heartbeat as she pulled open the roped clasp to reveal a small pile of Romanian wizarding coins.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
This money could be from anything. Julia needed somewhere to keep the money she made at the sanctuary. But why not at a bank? And what was the meaning of this notebook filled with pages full of currency symbols, numbers, pluses, and minuses?
"Time to go."
"Wait."
"Now, Granger."
She still couldn't see him, but the urgency in his tone said enough. Julia's dot had started to move.
Hermione had just enough time to make a copy of the notebook before Draco found her invisible hand and they Disapparated. The vacuum-like suck was more jarring than usual when Hermione didn't have the visual cue to prime her brain for such a sensation. It settled quickly when they landed within the familiar walls of Draco's cabin.
With two taps to her head, Hermione broke the Disillusionment Charm.
"And?"
Draco's face was a thin line, his hands empty. "The Sleeping Draught appeared to have no abnormalities."
Hermione wished she could have sighed relief at that news, but the notebook clenched in her hand provided no solace.
"What's that?"
"Not sure yet."
She offered Draco the notebook and his thumb flew over the edge. Numbers flashed across the pages, their relevance still unknown. The knotted feeling in her stomach didn't bode well, though.
"We'll keep it here for now," Draco concluded when nothing else could be. "We shouldn't have anything on us during dinner."
"Agreed."
He hid the notebook under his mattress then walked back with a resigned expression.
"Innocent until proven guilty, right?"
Hermione inhaled deep, yet her insides remained deflated. "Yes, but this does all but confirm our suspicion that Julia was the one who bought those ingredients."
Draco didn't have a response to that. Hermione wasn't sure what was left to be said.
This night was more complicated than expected now that things with Julia were so grey. But that couldn't distract them from the purpose of tonight's dinner. Regardless of their thoughts about Julia, she and Draco needed to remain focused on their mission to uncover what Tavian may or may not know about the Seven Brothers.
They just had to make it through dinner pretending as if nothing was wrong. Just a casual, friendly dinner between her, Draco, Charlie, and Julia.
A double date.
The idea flared blushing excitement back onto Hermione's cheeks. While nothing could possibly surpass the invigorating rush of witnessing this morning's births, a date with Draco was a worthy contender. The dinner might have started as a vessel for new information, but that didn't have to remain its only purpose. Life was a series of balances. Of pushes and pulls, gives and takes. For every bad, there had to be some good to counter it. A dinner. A date. An evening where she and Draco could, at least on the surface, enjoy the night as two young people exploring the thrill of something too temporary to define with the company of their friends. And if said evening ended with her and Draco finishing some unresolved business that had started inside this very cabin a few hours earlier, then who was Hermione to complain?
"Shall we?"
Draco held out his hand and Hermione easily found the gaps between his fingers, their grips blending together like the swirling oranges of the setting sun. She hardly made it one step before Draco's grip tightened and pulled her back.
"Wait."
"Did we forget something?"
"No. I just wanted to take a moment to admire the way my date looks before we go out." The return of his easy, carefree smile made Hermione's insides turn weak. "Also"—he cast an Orchideous and a bouquet of flowers conjured from the tip of his wand—"my mother taught me to always bring a girl flowers on a first date."
Her heart bloomed as bright and wide as the pink and white lilies.
"They're beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you."
She rolled her eyes, yet that didn't stop her cheeks from matching the colour of the flowers.
"Now you're just laying it on thick!"
His grin stretched. "I'll need to if I want to get Outstanding marks from Hermione Granger by the end of the night."
Sincerity outshone his teasing nature and Hermione popped up to kiss his cheek.
"In that case, you're off to a good start."