Story Title/Link: Daring at Dragonmouth
School: Durmstrang
Theme: Spare Theme: Hidden in Plain Sight
Mandatory Prompt: [Setting] Ireland
Additional Prompt: [Word] Ink
Year: Exchange Student 1 standing in for Year 1
Word count: 1770
Additional Information: AU: Epilogue: What Epilogue?
The pub door flew open, bringing with it the howling wind and a wheezing old man.
'Dragon!' he said, pointing to the window where the mountains were barely visible through the rain.
Hermione's hand tightened on the wand hidden beneath her sleeve. The hum of conversation ceased as the pub's occupants stared at the man… before instantly resuming.
Grumbling to himself, the man took a seat at the bar. 'I swear, it really was a dragon this time, Liam,' he said to a bartender with a shaggy black beard.
'Yeah, yeah, Dougal, save it for the tourists,' Liam said as he poured a pint of Guinness.
From her corner booth, Hermione surveyed the room. No one was paying Dougal any attention. Charlie was right, the locals really didn't believe there were actual dragons in the Dragonmouth Mountain Range.
It was the tourists you had to worry about. As part of the Statute of Secrecy Task Force, Hermione had been called in many times over the summer months to the dragon reserve on the West coast of Ireland. Too many tourists ignored the danger signs and the perpetual mist, lulled in, no doubt, by the stories told in the local pub and the dragon mechanise sold in the shops.
Dougal was drinking away at his Guinness, and Hermione grimaced. Despite Charlie's many attempts, she'd never taken a liking to the black liquid. In the throes of some story, Dougal almost knocked over a large whisky bottle that was filled with euros.
The bottle was a work of art, with doves drawn on in white ink, interspersed with red-inked hearts. In shimmering gold ink across the front, was an unfamiliar Irish term; Anachain cigire.
The bottle was a new addition to The Dragon Fang pub, and Hermione made a mental note to brush up on her Irish before remembering that she no longer needed to. Her stomach tightened at the thought. The people here had really made her feel like home, and she'd felt a loosening inside herself with their more relaxed attitude to life.
She'd tried to embrace having the craic, letting go of always having to feel like she had to be the responsible one. On more than one occasion, she'd let her hair down, as she joined in spontaneous dancing to the local Irish band with their fiddles and banjos. Always spurred on of course by the man who was the very reason this had to be her last visit.
As if she'd summoned him by her thoughts, the door opened once more, revealing a broad-shouldered man with flaming red hair.
There were cries of, 'Charlie!' throughout the pub, and he stopped to talk to people, placing a hand on shoulders and asking about farms and babies.
Hermione shook her head with a smile and then cursed her stupid heart as it fluttered at the sight of him.
Noticing her, his eyes lit up and he strode towards her, going to give his usual bear hug which she sidestepped and hugged his waist instead. She'd decided to try and be cool and professional, to make saying goodbye that little bit easier. For her anyway, it wasn't as if Charlie's stomach was doing somersaults right now.
'Aren't you a sight for sore eyes,' Charlie said, with an admiring look.
Hermione tugged at her cable knit jumper. Only Charlie could make you feel attractive in an oversized jumper, but then that was part of his charm, with babies, grumpy old men, and witches in their 20s who should know better.
Charlie was just a really nice guy who was great at making people feel good about themselves. It didn't mean he was attracted to her… those kinds of thoughts were dangerous and only led to her making a fool out of herself.
Placing a hand on the small of her back, he directed her towards the bar. She let herself be led before stiffening before remembering her plan.
'I'm working,' she said, giving him a reproachful look.
'Who said it had to be alcoholic?' he said. 'Come on, let me show you some more of that Irish hospitality.' Motioning to the bartender, he ordered her usual ginger ale and lime, just without the whisky.
Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks. On her first visit to the dragon reserve, Charlie had insisted on showing her some traditional Irish hospitality, despite her protests that he wasn't Irish. With a wink, he had pointed to his hair, saying there must be some Irish in there somewhere. He'd introduced her to The Dragon's Fang, where he hadn't let her buy a drink all night.
It was her second visit when she realised she might be in trouble when it came to Charlie Weasley. He'd taken her to the awe-inspiring Cliffs of Moher where he'd packed a picnic full of Irish goodies and she found she'd stared at him more than the view.
'Sláinte,' Charlie said now, clinking his glass to hers.
Focusing on the inked hearts on the whisky bottle, Hermione steeled herself for what she had to say. Turning to face Charlie, the words faltered at the sight of his puppy dog eyes.
'What does the writing say?' she said, as she pointed to the gold ink.
The bartender chuckled. 'Well, Charlie? Are you going to answer the lady?'
Charlie cracked his knuckles, glaring at Liam. With his muscles and burn scars, the effect should have been menacing if it hadn't been for the blush spreading across his face, all the way to his ears.
'Just a daft local custom.' Charlie said. 'Let's go sit down.'
Casting a curious glance at the ink, she followed him back to her booth. The bottle played on her mind but it would have to be a mystery for another time. Now she needed to focus on telling Charlie she was leaving.
'So… how long do I have you for this time?' He leaned forward, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
'Just today.'
His face fell before brightening. 'I'll just have to persuade the birds to have a party, so your boss sends you back again.'
As far as the Muggles knew, Charlie worked on the local wildlife sanctuary, and Hermione was a Calamity Inspector periodically sent over from London to check in when there were disturbances. It wasn't far from the truth, only, as the disturbances involved dragons, they were on a much larger scale.
'Charlie… I'm not coming back.'
'Huh?'
'My boss has decided, that is I think it's best… if I hand over Ireland to one of my colleagues.'
Charlie's brows furrowed, and she resisted the urge to smooth them out. 'But why? I thought you loved it here?'
Because I love you, you big dope and know you don't feel the same way.
Taking a gulp of her drink, she gave him a rambling answer about juggling too many plates. He listened intently before shrugging his shoulders.
'If that's how you feel. The dragons will miss you,' he said with a smile. 'Speaking of, I better go and check on them, maybe see you before you go.'
The dragons will miss her… Well, at least that answered any lingering doubts she had about whether he might return her feelings.
Telling him should have felt like a weight being lifted off her shoulders, so then why did she feel so hollow?
Focusing on why she was here, Hermione tuned into the conversations around her, listening in for talk of dragons. Dougal was regaling an American tourist at the bar with the story of the dragon he had spotted this morning. From his descriptions of a purple beast with feathers, Hermione knew he had seen no such thing and breathed a sigh of relief.
The American went to put money in the whisky bottle, but Dougal swiped his hand away. 'That's not the tip jar boy, that's for Charlie.'
'Whose Charlie?'
'You just missed him.' Dougal huffed out a laugh. 'The poor boy's absolutely smitten for some girl, and he has to put a euro in the bottle every time he talks about her.'
Hermione froze. Who was the girl? She squinted again at the words written in ink. Anachain cigire… Taking out her phone she typed the words into Google.
Translation: Calamity Inspector.
Looking again at the bottle, her eyes widened as she saw how full it was. It had only been a few weeks since her last visit; the one where she'd tried to kiss him after one too many whiskeys, and he'd turned his head away.
She rushed out of the pub, heedless of the rain, and kept running until she reached the wildlife sanctuary.
Darragh, one of the dragonologists, was sitting miserably in the keeper's hut. 'What's the craic, Hermione? Come on in out of that rain.'
'Charlie,' she gasped out. 'Where's Charlie?'
'Oh that's the way of it, is it?' said Darragh with a grin. 'He's up at the top of Benbaun. Why don't you come on in and wait?'
Hermione gulped. That was the highest peak and current home to a pregnant Chinese Fireball dragon. There were a couple of brooms sitting in the corner of the hut, and before she could think better of it, Hermione grabbed one.
As she ascended the mountain on a broomstick being buffeted by the wind, Hermione thought to herself that she hadn't done anything this Gryffindoresk in a while. Harry and Ron would be proud, that is if Ron ever got over the shock that it was his brother who had inspired such daring deeds.
At the top stood Charlie, and she called his name. He continued staring out at the non-existent view until she flew into him, almost knocking him down.
Shakily, she dismounted, but before she could say a word, he strode over to her, gripping her by her shoulders.
'Are you mad, woman?' he shouted. Charlie, who never raised his voice except in singing an Irish folk song. 'First, you tell me you're never coming back and now you risk your neck? What do you think you're playing at?'
Hermione put her hands on her hips. 'If you're quite finished, I'd like to try kissing you again.'
He took a step back. 'You remember that?'
'It wasn't that many whiskeys,' she said dryly.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his hair, causing it to stick up on end. 'I was being a gentleman. I wanted to make sure you remembered our first kiss.'
'Well I think right now would be pretty memorable.'
Stepping forward, he cupped her head in his hand, pressing his lips to hers.
