Hey guys! I can't believe it's been two months since I posted the first chapter. Happy New Year to all!

Whilst researching Charlie, I came across some stuff from the Harry Potter app game. Apparently there's a character named Rowan there as well! Somewhat annoying since I really don't want to change my OC's name. So I won't. Just know that they have nothing to do with each other. Just ignore the other Rowan, alright?

Enjoy!

August 31st, 1993

The sound of her father cursing drew Rowan's attention. As the door to the workshop was firmly shut, it could only mean that Garrick had just stumbled into something particularly unpleasant.

Rowan straightened from her previously leaning position - her forearms against the counter as she peered out the window. It was the last day of Hogwarts' summer holiday, and Diagon Alley was filled with families running last minute errands. She saw kids wandering around with their new robes, dragging along their textbooks, some with new brooms and bags of candy. Rowan had been flooded with a horrible bout of nostalgia, and she almost wished she could go back to those thirty-firsts of August, when she couldn't decide whether she was excited to see her friends again, or sad to leave the wand business behind.

It had been a particularly busy day, filled with kids who thought to leave their wands to the last minute. Rowan had run around, hands and head tingling as she searched for the perfect wands. Hours later, she still couldn't shake the prickles running up and down her back.

She'd enjoyed every last minute of it. The feel of the buzzing wands beneath her fingertips, the wide-eyed expressions of those eleven-year-olds, even the grateful looks of the older witches and wizards who'd damaged their wands somehow. Her father had worked on those, sending them over to her only if the wands had been beyond saving.

Another curse from the workshop, and Rowan finally gave in. It was almost time to close the shop, and the number of customers had dwindled down to nothing. With one last look at the window, and the magical world outside, she headed towards the workshop door.

What Rowan saw stopped her in her tracks. The smell reached her first- pungent, foul and dead. The light slanted in weird angles all over the room, thanks to the strangely shaped work lamps her father used to keep. Her father stood by his work desk, hands on his hips as he looked at the bloody tangled mess before him.

And it really was quite bloody. Clumps of something littered his desk. The smell was almost as unpleasant as the sight.

"Da? What is that?"

"Dragon Hearts," Darrick said, and his voice, much like the hearts themselves, sounded very dead.

Rowan had worked with Dragon Heartstrings several times before, and she was quite sure they looked nothing like the mess on her father's table. Dragon hearts were bright red things, brimming with warm magic, and very much alive. Dragon essence never quite died. The energy lived on, and it was one of the reasons the Ollivanders had chosen Dragon Heartstrings as one of their three wand cores.

The mess on her father's desk looked like nothing more than dead hearts, shrivelled and old ones at that, and completely drained of magic. It was unnatural.

Darrick's face was scrunched up in disgust. "How dare they. They've entirely- "

Darrick cut off mid-sentence, barely managing to grab on to the chair as the floor shook beneath him. Rowan wasn't so lucky. She stumbled over her own two feet, landing on her knees as she held onto the floor beneath her.

The shop shivered, rocking back and forth as waves of warm magic pulsed through the room. Something clattered from the second floor and Rowan winced, knowing exactly which stack of wands had just been knocked over.

A warm heartbeat later, the waves of magic receded, and Rowan carefully made her way to her feet, her eyes tracing the tense lines of her father's face.

"It's getting stronger," she said.

Garrick nodded, a quick sharp jerk of his head that betrayed his worry. "Let's just hope it won't get any worse. I'll check in with our neighbours, see if it was just us. You go look over the second floor."

Rowan watched her father go, knowing full well that the source of magic had been the wands themselves, and it was unlikely anyone else had felt it. It wouldn't hurt to check, but Rowan – and Garrick, for that matter, - knew very well that it was a quirk solely reserved for Ollivander's. The magic was sensing change. And it was coming soon.

With a weary sigh, Rowan made her way to the second floor. It overlooked the first, and she watched her father stroll past the front window. She turned her attention back to the mess before her. Rowan could fix it with a flick of her wand, but she wanted to check the wands first and make sure they weren't harmed.

A few minutes of work later her father came in. "Nobody else felt it," he called up the stairs, confirming Rowan's suspicions.

Kneeling on the floor, Rowan was running her hands over the fallen wands, making sure they hadn't been damaged. They were sturdy things, but she worried about the stiff wands. They tended to break a lot more easily than their counterparts. Her father busied himself on the first floor, picking up the odd fallen box.

Rowan heard the door open but didn't bother looking up.

"Shop's closed," she heard her father call out. "Come back tomorrow."

"Mr. Ollivander?" Said the new voice. Indistinguishable male. English. Filled the space quite nicely, which Rowan was surprised to notice. She couldn't quite shake the feeling of sudden familiarity.

Her father didn't respond, and Rowan wondered if he had ducked back into the workshop.

It didn't seem to deter the newcomer. "I hear you have a bit of a dragon problem."

Rowan sat up, frowning.

"And who are you?" Her father asked. "Although I suppose I could gather a guess. Weasley?"

Rowan peered through the slats of the bannister, zeroing in on the telling mess of red hair. It was a Weasley, alright. One she was familiar with, though she surprised herself thinking that this version was thoroughly improved.

At first glance, the man reminded Rowan of Charlie Weasley, were if not for the few, if very notable, differences. He'd shot up a few inches, and though he'd always been fit (he had been Gryffindor's seeker and captain, after all), he'd lost all the soft boyness about him. Rowan struggled with the word, and only after quickly running her eyes over the broad shoulders and solid figure, she settled on hard. No longer the 17-year-old boy she'd last seen. He was all grown up.

A shock of red hair, just barely brushed back by a flick of his hand, tumbled and curled by the nape of his neck. Matching ginger stubble made his jaw appear a tad sharper. A splatter of freckles coloured his face, his skin tanned a shade darker than the rest of the Weasley brood. Probably all that time spent outside with the dragons.

"Charlie Weasley," he said, coming forward and offering her father his hand. "Dragon Keeper."

Rowan couldn't quite believe it. She thought back to her first real interaction with the Weasley boy. She'd been on her third year, and her father had finally convinced Dumbledore to let her work at the Hogsmeade shop on weekends. She'd been minding the till while Rodrick, the young man her father had employed as Hogsmeade's wandkeeper, dusted the back.

The door to the shop had pushed open, bringing in a blast of cold air quickly neutralized by the shop's heating charm. Her brother had strutted in, complaining about Snape's latest homework assignment, as Bill Weasley, his potions partner, nodded empathically beside him.

"Don't mind me, lil' sis," Geralt had said. "Just picking up some stuff."

Rowan had rolled her eyes, watching her brother brush past towards the workshop but saying nothing. The siblings didn't see each other much during school, mostly due to their different houses, but every once in a while, they went down to the shop to spend some time and do their homework. Rowan was fond of the afternoons she got to spend with her brother. He just tended to leave his stuff behind more often than not. He did just well enough to keep his place on the team, but if he kept leaving his homework behind...

Bill had shuffled in place, greeting Rowan with a slight smile while he waited.

The door had swept open again, and though the cold never reached her, Rowan burrowed further into her blue and silver scarf. Another redhead filled the doorway, shorter and younger than Bill, but not less known. Even as young as he was, Charlie's stints as a seeker had already made waves, and Geralt liked to boast time and time again of the winning streak they were on.

"Lewis got us a table at the Three 'Sticks," he'd told Bill.

"Just waiting on Geralt," Bill had replied.

Charlie's eyes had wandered around the shop, and Rowan had waited with apprehension until they finally settled on her. She'd watched his lips twitch, his blue eyes crinkling in amusement as they met hers.

"You're the girl who chased Fang around earlier this year," he'd said.

Rowan had wanted to groan at loud and melt until she was hidden behind the till. She was still quite embarrassed about her performance that first week. She'd gone off to ask Hagrid something, she couldn't even remember what, when she'd felt Fang brush her boot. She'd look down to find the young boarhound's slobbery mouth wrapped around her wand, before he'd dashed off with a toothy grin.

She'd run around after the mutt, cursing and stumbling as she tried to recover her wand, which Fang had treated as any twig. By the time she'd caught up with him, she'd been red in the face, both from the exertion and from the thought of how'd she looked like. Half the school had seen her, and she swore she wouldn't leave her wand in her boot ever again.

Rowan had fought back her blush and glared at the younger Weasley instead. "And you're the guy who fell into the lake."

That had happened only the week before. She'd stopped on her early walk to Hogsmeade and the shop, just having noticed the idiot flying over the lake on his broom. The idiot - Charlie Weasley - had been trying to stand up mid-air. He'd failed to notice the tree branches hanging over the lake, and as he'd been looking down at his feet...

At his splash, Rowan had hidden behind the closest tree, but she hadn't been able to muffle her bark of laughter. She'd had to wait for him to drag his drenched body back to the castle, muffling more of her laughter behind her hand.

Charlie's eyes widened even as a faint blush covered his cheeks. "So that was you." Surprisingly enough, a grin followed. "Alright, you win this one. What's your name?"

"Gadea Rowan Ollivander," her brother interrupted, "You're the best sister in the world!"

Rowan's eyes had zeroed in on the new broom he was carrying, a neat red bow hanging from the handle, and she'd groaned out loud before wrenching it from his hold. "Geralt! That's supposed to be your Christmas gift."

Geralt had grinned, pulling her into a half hug. "And it's amazing. Thank you."

Rowan shook her head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just forget you saw it, alright?"

"I'll try my best," he'd promised, heading towards the door. "Come on lads! Gonna need a few drinks if I'm to forget."

Geralt and Bill disappeared out the door. Charlie, only a few steps behind, had turned around, a smile still playing on his lips.

"See ya around, Gadea," he'd said.

"It's Rowan," she'd said, but he was already out the door, trudging through the snow.

Caught in her thoughts back in the shop, and trying to lean forward to catch a better glimpse of Charlie, Rowan accidentally elbowed the stack of wands she'd just looked over. They tumbled to the floor, making enough noise to alert the two men below.

Charlie's eyes snapped up, and Rowan's heart skipped a beat as their stares clashed. Much like that first time they'd met, a grin unfurled on his mouth, his eyes crinkling with sudden unrestrained humour.

"Gadea," he said. "Long time no see."

Charlie watched in delight as the flush spread across her cheeks.

He couldn't quite believe his eyes. It had been almost three years since he'd last seen Rowan, and she looked exactly the same. Sure, she was older. And she'd gained a few curves he tried not to appreciate too much, her father standing only a few feet away from him. But her eyes, which he'd always liked best, were still the same.

He'd never tell her, but Rowan was fairly easy to read from her eyes alone. Windows to the soul, and all that, and for some reason that fit Rowan better than most. Charlie found he rather enjoyed that; he thought it rather refreshing.

"Charles," she harrumphed. "It's Rowan. Not Gadea."

Charlie's smile widened. "Sure thing."

He didn't mean it, and by the look in her face she knew it as well as he did.

Charlie thought back to the last time he'd seen her.

It had been his last day at Hogwarts, sometime halfway through his sixth year. He'd just been offered the opportunity of a lifetime: a dragon keeper apprenticeship. He was to leave school and start working with dragons immediately.

He'd been terribly excited, up to that last day of Hogwarts. He'd suddenly realized how much he'd miss his mates. His family. The school itself - even his professors.

And of course, Quidditch.

Lewis, his best mate right after his brother Bill, had spent the last few weeks chipping away at his resolve. He was happy for Charlie, he wanted the best for him, there was no doubt about it. Lewis had just wondered whether the best was a full education and Quidditch, rather than Dragons. Charlie couldn't quite blame him, after all, they were talking about dragonkeeping.

Nothing could quite deter Charlie from his chosen path, however. Adventure was calling, and it was in Romania. Charlie's heart pumped faster just by the thought of it.

He'd made a list of sorts. Of things he had to do before he left. And by the time that last day of school had come around, he'd accomplished all but one.

Win one last Quidditch game. Check. Slytherin hadn't even seen them coming.

Sneak into the Forbidden Forest with Torvus. Check. The centaur had never been one for emotions, but the farewell had been downright sentimental.

Get drunk one last time on top of the astronomical tower with Lewis. Check. He'd remember those escapades fondly.

The list went on, and Charlie had had a grand time with it in those last few weeks. That is, up until that last item, the one thing that he'd been thinking about for a year but had gotten quite good at ignoring those last few weeks.

Charlie Weasley, who's been sorted into Gryffindor, who performed fearless stunts as a Seeker, who'd made it his life's goal to work with fire-breathing dragons, found that he couldn't quite gather enough courage to confront Rowan Gadea Ollivander, and kiss her like he wanted to.

The urge had come about a year before. He'd been patrolling the hallway, one of his prefect duties, when he'd come about a couple snogging behind a pillar. Nothing he hadn't seen before. He actually quite enjoyed teasing the red-faced kids mercilessly when he caught them. Unlike most of the other prefects he found it amusing, and went about breaking up snogging sessions good naturedly.

This time, however, the couple has taken him by surprise. Henry McGrath, a Gryffindor a year below his, and Rowan.

"Well, well, well," Charlie has said, dragging out the words. "If it isn't little Henry and my favourite Ollivander."

The boy was flushed. He had been clearly enjoying what he'd been doing, and he'd avoided Charlie's eyes while the rest of his face slowly coloured completely red.

Unlike Henry, Rowan might as well have been studying. Her breath was even, her skin pale as always, and for the life of him, Charlie wouldn't have been able to tell if she'd been annoyed by the interruption, relieved, or hadn't particularly cared either way.

Charlie concluded that the boy clearly had had no idea what he'd been doing. Because if Charlie had had Rowan pressed against him like that behind a pillar, a flush on her cheeks would've been the least of it.

Charlie's imagination had taken off from there, which took him by surprise. He'd always found Rowan attractive. Few didn't. She had a way about her, a confidence that only came from knowing exactly what she wanted to do and being good at it. It was appealing and intimidating all at once. Especially when those lovely pale eyes of hers zeroed in on his.

But whatever pull she had had always been on the back of his mind, and Charlie hadn't given it much thought. Until then.

"Go on then," Charlie had said. "Off to your rooms."

Henry had scurried off immediately, tail between his legs, and didn't look back once. Rowan had watched him leave with a quiet scoff.

Charlie figured she hadn't been much impressed either. He'd watched her as she made her way down the hallway towards the Ravenclaw tower, and Charlie couldn't help but let his eyes linger.

"'Night Gadea." He'd said, and her head had snapped back to look at him. "Sweet dreams."

And there it was. Red spread across her cheeks. Her scowl met his grin, and with a flick of her hair she'd turned back around before storming right off.

On his last day almost one year after that particular revelation, he still hadn't done anything about it. He'd barely known her. She'd never given any indication of wanting to get to know him any better either. She'd dated a Hufflepuff for a few months, and Charlie had watched that curiously from afar. It hadn't lasted long. When he did bump into her, he'd liked to tease. Sometimes it only took her name, and he'd watched delighted as the flush had spread over her cheeks.

He'd been leaving, so it's not as if he could have offered anything but a good snog. And he'd teased her too much for her to go for it. It seemed like that last item on the list would remain there indefinitely, or at least, until he forgot about it.

So, when he'd bumped into her, an hour before he had to leave, he hadn't quite known what to say.

She'd slowed down in the middle of the hallway, on her way to her next class. She'd frowned just a little, and Charlie could tell she hesitated. Rowan finally stopped before him.

My brother told me you're leaving. She'd said.

I am. He'd replied.

She'd nodded. Good luck then.

And that was that.

He hadn't thought about her since then. Not really. A stray thought here and there, once when Geralt had popped up on the news, something about him getting called up by the Falmouth Falcons. He'd been too busy these last few years. He'd been enjoying himself too much. Charlie has forgotten about that last item on his list.

It all came hurtling back now. The timing, however, was terrible.

It wasn't a social call, after all. He was here because someone was hurting his dragons, and that wouldn't do at all.

And the Ollivanders might just be what they needed.

He wasn't quite sure when it had all started. The dragon keepers had only just begun to notice about three months ago, and it had taken them a while to put the pieces together. First it had just been a few owls, other dragon keepers all over Europe saying their dragons had gone off the grid, that they couldn't track them, to please let them know if they saw them. Charlie remembered getting that third owl and joking that maybe they should upgrade their gear. The dragons were getting smarter.

Then one of his dragons had gone missing. A Romanian Longhorn he'd started calling Daisy. Daisy was a young dragon, one who'd gotten into a fight with a much larger Longhorn and had injured her wing. Charlie had kept close tabs on her, making sure the wing healed like it supposed to.

It hadn't been the gear. Charlie hadn't been outwitted by the injured dragon, she'd just barely been able to stretch her wing, much less fly. Something was wrong.

And that was only the beginning. The black market had exploded with dragon wares. Everything from scaled armour to dragon hearts. Rumours of caged dragon fights and illegal rings reached the reservation's ears.

Somebody out there was rounding up dragons and making quite a profit.

The Ministry of Magic had been no help at all. They had 'needed more proof,' they 'couldn't just send their Aurors off on a brim', and 'Dragons could surely handle themselves."

To say Charlie was frustrated was an understatement. Couldn't the Ministry spare one Auror? Were they all hunting down Sirius Black?

Charlie wished Tonks had completed her training already. He knew she'd help. But for now, the dragon keepers were on their own, with no idea where to even begin.

That is, until his mother's owl had arrived.

The Ollivanders has become their one lead, and Charlie was tasked to follow it, to see where it lead. He just needed to gather enough evidence to take it to the Ministry once more. No more, no less. He was great at dealing with dragons, but he wasn't dumb enough to deal with a group of poachers on his own.

The Ollivanders were the perfect cover. They were well known for their wands, and everyone knew they worked with dragon heartstrings. For anyone pretending to be proper dragon tradesman, they were the perfect customers.

Garrick Ollivander cleared his throat, and Charlie dragged his gaze back to the old man. If he squinted, maybe from an angle, he would remind Charlie of Geralt. He looked nothing like Rowan, however, and Charlie imagined she probably took after her mother.

He'd never met the man before. Unlike his older brother, the only Weasley boy to get a proper new wand on his eleventh birthday, Charlie had been passed on a wand. He'd never bothered on finding out exactly whose it had been, and it had never particularly bothered him enough to find out. A wand was a wand, and as long as it served his purpose, Charlie wouldn't mind if it was unicorn, phoenix, kelpie or snallygaster.

"I think we might be able to help each other," Charlie said. "If you could just walk me through what you told my mother?"

Garrick's stare took on a different weight, and Charlie had the sudden impression the man was considering his worth. Charlie had stared down many a dragon those last few years, and he'd found that not much intimidated him anymore. But Garrick Ollivander's stare almost rivalled his mother's. And as any Weasley kid could attest to, few things were as absolutely terrifying as one Molly Weasley.

Though Garrick seemed far from impressed, whatever he saw in Charlie seemed enough. He motioned Charlie to follow him, and they made their way to the shop's workshop. After a moment, Rowan's light footsteps followed, and Charlie fought the urge for a glance.

The smell reached him first, but Charlie didn't let his steps falter. Garrick stopped in front of what was probably his working desk. With a wordless glance over his shoulder, the wandmaker stepped to a side and let Charlie through. Charlie's heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the sight.

"Bloody hell."

The smell had gotten worse, and Rowan fought the urge to cover her nose with a hand. Instead, she focused on breathing as quietly as she could through her mouth.

Her father told Charlie about the last few months. Of how their supplier, an old man who worked up in Scotland, had more or less disappeared. Shipments stopped arriving. The owls came back, empty clawed. Just as Garrick had started to worry about their stock, especially with the new school year coming up, a new owl had arrived, and with it, an offer for a new partnership.

"A lot cheaper as well," Garrick added. "That should've tipped me off. Didn't have much of a choice, however."

And he really hadn't. Garrick had his network of people, one he was very particular about. Rowan couldn't blame him – when it came to magical creatures, complicated was too easy a word. Unicorn hair had to be plucked from live, wild unicorns. Phoenix feathers had to offered by the very creatures. And while dragon hearts had to come from dead beasts, the magic had to be pure – that meant healthy, untainted dragons, who'd died from as natural cause as a dragon's could get. The older, the better.

Clearly the mess before them didn't fit the bill. The poachers undoubtedly did not know the difference, or they would have never offered the product to the Ollivanders.

"Do you know where they're sending their owls from?" Charlie asked.

Garrick shook his head.

Rowan wondered what they would do if they didn't manage to fix this mess. That is, if the dragon keepers couldn't fix it. Her father would never replace the wand core with another creatures'. She wouldn't either. The magical properties from their three chosen wand cores were unmatchable. Their competition liked to preach otherwise, but they didn't have what the Ollivanders had – the touch. It would just have to be unicorn and phoenix; at least, until they found a way to fix all of this.

Charlie was frowning down at the mess before him. He finally cleared his throat. "Would you mind if we continued this conversation back in the shop?"

Garrick and Rowan trailed after the red-headed man, leaving the foul smell behind. Rowan ran her eyes over Charlie, trying to read his energy much as she would if she were searching for a wand that would fit him. She couldn't decide if he was disgusted, excited, or tense. Could be all three.

Rowan admitted she had a hard time reading him anyway. She couldn't even decide if he was a unicorn hair or a dragon heartstring man, something she could usually do from a glance. She frowned, unsettled.

The light outside the shop was all but gone now. Charlie turned back around to face them, the warm color of the lamps reflecting off his hair, making it look closer to fire than not.

"I'm going to need your help, Sir," he said, looking at her father. "I need you to send them another owl, and I need you to tell them that you're interested in making this partnership more permanent."

Beside her, Garrick crossed his arms, shifting his weight so he rested on his better leg. Rowan could tell right away that this wouldn't go Charlie's way.

But Charlie didn't know that. "But I need you to ask them to meet with you. Once I figure out who they are, where they're based, we can bring in the aurors. I just need enough information so they'll take this on."

"Just a meeting?" Garrick asked.

Rowan shot her father a look.

Charlie nodded, describe his face. "That's all I need."

Garrick uncrossed his arms. "I'd have to come with you?"

Charlie nodded.

Rowan gaped. "You can't!" she said. "Mum said she was going to have your hip checked."

Garrick frowned. "Rowan- "

"You scheduled a trip to the McKenna's tree farm yesterday, and you know how they get when we cancel,"

"I'm sure under the circumstances they'd- "

"It's your wedding anniversary with mum this weekend."

A pause. Rowan watched her father, knowing if that didn't stop him, nothing else would.

It's not that Rowan didn't trust her father to deal with dragon poachers. Few knew their wands as well as Garrick knew his, and Rowan knew that made him an accomplished wizard. However… well, her father just wasn't as young as he used to be, and she just didn't want him near any poachers, of any kind.

Her father finally shook his head. "If we don't do this- "

"Gadea could come instead, if you'd find it easier."

Abrupt silence settled between the three of them at Charlie's words. Rowan's own words got stuck somewhere around her throat as she stared at the dragon keeper. He looked back, his eyes steady and crinkled just slightly at the edges.

Like a damn breaking open, Rowan's thoughts burst open and flooded her mind. Leave the shop? Track poachers? Look for dragons? Leave the shop?

"No way," Rowan said, though it came out more of a croak.

"Why not?" Garrick asked.

Rowan swiveled around. "What do you mean why not?"

Garrick's eyebrows rose. "Why not?"

"You're well known as Garrick's daughter," Charlie said. "You know what you need to know in case we need to bluff our way through. You won't be in any harm's way – it'll just be a quick meeting if they even agree to it. And," Charlie's lips curved up. "You'll have me looking out for you."

Rowan's eyes snapped from Charlie to her father, and back again. Once again, words seemed to fail her.

She finally settled back on her father. She knew that glint in his eyes.

Bloody Merlin, she thought. The poachers better say no.

September 1st, 1993

The owl came back the next day.

The poacher, one Arlo Barnes, wanted to meet on the sixth of the very month. The address was scribbled down right after that. A town Rowan had never heard of before, somewhere in Wales.

About an hour after that, the Weasley's owl brought them their second message of the day.

We leave tomorrow. Pack light.

-C

Bloody Merlin.