It's been over a year. Oops. But at least quarantine has been doing wonders for my writing.

Stay safe everyone! And I hope you enjoy this one :)

September 2nd, 1993

That morning, Garrick watched his daughter mope around the shop. She shuffled from stack to stack, and had he not known exactly what she was thinking about, the look on her face would have eventually unnerved him.

Instead, it amused him.

Rowan was ready. She was packed, she'd said her goodbyes to her mum, and as of five minutes ago, she was already late. She kept coming up with excuse after excuse, and Garrick was starting to grow weary.

"Rowan-"

"I don't think there's enough money in the till," she said.

Garrick let out a sigh. "You know there is. You're already late-"

"These cases need to be dusted, and I know you can't really reach the-"

"Rowan," Garrick took Rowan by the shoulders, and waited until she met his eyes. "You're going to be fine. This is an adventure, and you're going to enjoy yourself. Alright?"

Rowan gaped at him. "Da'. You're sending me off to meet dragon poachers, you do realize that?"

He did. But he also knew that Rowan was perfectly able to defend herself. And she wasn't alone.

He knew that the moment he gave Rowan his shop, that would be it for his daughter. He knew her well enough to know that she'd live out the rest of her life dedicating her every waking moment to Ollivander's. She'd be content – she loved the store well enough. But Garrick saw this as his last chance to teach his daughter something he should've long ago. She needed some adventure, some unknown, and maybe even a little bit of danger.

He knew exactly what was running through her head. Rowan reminded Garrick of himself back before he met his wife. Before Arlene, Garrick had never quite imagined a world outside the shop either. Perhaps all Rowan needed were some dragons to nudge her along.

And a handsome young man, Arlene had teased. But Garrick wasn't that worried on that front. After all, it was a Weasley. And Rowan was much too sensible.

Garrick smiled at his daughter. "Think of it as a final test. The shop's all yours when you get back."

That did it, much as he knew it would. Rowan's shoulders sagged underneath his hands. "Alright."

With a final hug, his daughter walked out the door, a bag slung across her body and hands deep in her pockets.

Garrick watcher her go. The floor underneath his shoes shuddered one last time, and with it, the wave of magic that had permeated the air inside the shop for the last few days finally dissipated.

A frown tugged at Garrick's lips. He hadn't quite realized just how strong the magic had pulsed inside Ollivander's until it was gone. Change was in motion, and it followed Rowan around like a well-trained mutt.

Rowan wasn't too sure what to make of the building before her. It was three storeys tall and fit together like mismatched pieces of three entirely different puzzles – which shouldn't have surprised her, as she was still in Diagon Alley, but it somehow still tickled. The ground floor, built out of light wood with large open windows, read Sal's Hair and Tail Salon. The wood gave in into a much grubbier version as it reached the first floor. Two grimy looking windows peeked out, and Remigio's Real Estate and Rabbits read in small cursive between them.

Rowan zeroed in on the second floor and her destination. The Drafty Dragon seemed smaller than the first two floors. A charm was cast over the name, written in long red letters, and a smoky red sleeping beast draped over the last word. It snorted in its sleep, a small cloud of smoke curling out of its nostrils.

Rowan fought down a shiver and hoped that, whatever the next few days would bring, she wouldn't actually have to face a proper dragon.

She made her way up the building, edging past a witch coming out of Sal's, her hair bouncing in neatly arranged curls, and her owl, the feathers trimmed and dipped in what appeared to be golden glitter. Rowan heard shouts coming out of the office behind the door of the next floor, which she chose to ignore, and finally reached the door of the last. A sign on the door read No flammables allowed past this point, and Rowan shot it a wary glance before edging past the already open doorway.

The room was smaller than expected, considering it took most of the entire floor. The main feature of the space was the cluttered desk placed squarely in the middle – long, made out of dark wood, with legs resembling dragon legs and curled claws. A fire crackled in the hearth of a surprisingly ornate fireplace, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books and file cabinets.

A blonde witch somewhere around Rowan's age sat behind the formidable desk, leaning forward and smiling up at the room's second occupant – one Charlie Weasley. He said something, Rowan didn't catch just what, and the girl burst out in husky laughter.

The redheaded man in question sat on the edge of the desk, his back to the door and arms crossed across his chest. Rowan could just see his profile from where she stood, teeth flashing as he smiled. Smoke curled between the two of them, and Rowan followed it down to its source: a cigarette. Charlie clutched it loosely between his fingers, and he seemed to have temporarily forgotten it as he entertained the witch.

Rowan glanced quickly past the two, scanning the odd wall at the far back. It was filled with shiny doorknobs, dainty scribbles placed in little plaques beneath naming them. At the very top of the wall, in slightly larger letters, read: The Drafty Dragon – the hub of the dragon community. Dragonologists and enthusiasts welcome.

Rowan closed the door behind her, irreversibly attracting the attention of the two occupants inside.

"Welcome to the Drafty Dragon!" The witch said, a smile drew across her lips and Rowan couldn't help but feel it sincere. "You must be Charlie's friend."

Friend was stretching it out a bit. Rowan looked to Charlie, but he only brought his cigarette back to his lips and inhaled, eyes inscrutable as he turned to look at her. Rowan shuffled in place, suddenly feeling quite vexed. They'd never been close back in school, but she felt like she didn't know the man in front of her at all. She imagined he was waiting for an apology - she was, after all, half an hour late. When she opened her mouth, however, she found herself avoiding the pretense altogether.

"What is this place?" She asked instead.

The receptionist smiled. "I assume this is your first foray into dragonology?"

Rowan found herself smiling back. The receptionist seemed friendly enough. A nice, even buzz of magic trailed behind her, and Rowan couldn't help but think that Unicorn Hair would fit her best. "I suppose you could call it that."

"I see. Well the Drafty Dragon is but one of the many meeting places for dragonologists from all over the world. We house the necessary travel arrangements to move between sanctuaries and offices. And of course, we provide a wide arrange of information and tools for anyone interested in learning more or looking to contact anyone in the field."

Rowan hummed her interest – she hadn't known anything as such even existed. She wanted to enquiry further - she was studiously avoiding Charlie's fixed stare, and she figured the longer she dragged on the conversation, the longer she had to find her wits. Rowan found herself not knowing how to behave, and if there was one thing Rowan Ollivander hated above all else, it was feeling out of her depth.

She was, however, distracted by the sound of rather sudden rattling coming of the witch's desk.

"It seems Francis is awake," the receptionist shot Rowan a wry smile. "Anything flammable on your person?"

Rowan didn't quite know what to say. She figured her hair was definitely flammable, but she didn't think she had to point that out. Charlie finally moved, straightening up and leaving the desk altogether as he reached for his wand.

"Ignis integumentum," he said.

Rowan felt the warm rush of Charlie's magic settle over her like a warm blanket. The witch opened one of the drawers, and the smell of smoke and soot reached Rowan only a moment before the small beast exploded into the air.

It was so sudden Rowan took a step back. Wings much like a bat's flapped the air, a tail almost as long as its body flipping about and scattering sparks of flame across the room. Its long snout snapped open, and with sudden determination, it made its best effort at a roar. Thankfully Francis wasn't big enough, and although not cute in any manner, the ineffectual sound coming from its jaws relaxed Rowan just enough that she didn't run off straight away.

Without sparing any of the room's occupants a look, the beast flew to the room's corner, settling on a perch Rowan had failed to notice in her earlier perusal. Rowan couldn't take its eyes off the creature, or the sparks dripping from its tail.

"Is that a-"

"No," Charlie said slowly, shaking his head. "It's a firedrake. Often confused with dragon hatchlings, but it is its own species altogether. See how the sparks are coming from the tail?"

Francis the firedrake squawked from its corner. Rowan wasn't quite sure if she wanted a closer look or to leave the room altogether. She was, however, quite conscious of Charlie's eyes on her person, and knew running wasn't an option. She straightened up and met his stare.

Charlie had quite the sudden revelation as Rowan's pale eyes met his.

He wasn't sure what had come over him back at Ollivander's. One second, he was wondering what it would take to convince Garrick, the next, he was asking Rowan to join instead. Which wouldn't be at all bad, he supposed, except it was particularly obvious she did not want to have anything to do with dragons.

Charlie supposed that was perfectly normal for most witches and wizards. He'd always had difficulty grasping the concept, however. He tended to act first, think later. And nothing could quite stop him from sniffing out adventure.

From the way Rowan had stared wide-eyed at Francis, Charlie wasn't quite sure what she'd make of a proper, adult dragon. She hadn't run yet, which he found encouraging. And she was curious enough. Maybe all she needed was a proper instructor. Somebody to show her exactly why his heart pounded and his fingers prickled at the very thought of adventure.

And that someone could very well be him, he thought wryly.

His mother had always said Charlie and Bill were to blame for Fred and George's wayward attitudes. And he supposed some of it could very well be true. They had encouraged them in their youth, after all. But the twins had long surpassed their older siblings and left them way back in the dust. Charlie didn't have quite as high expectations for Rowan, but if his mother's theory about him encouraging trouble was true, maybe he could convince her to loosen up a little, maybe even enjoy herself.

Charlie only wished he could show her proper adventure. After all, a quick, sketchy meeting with a poacher wasn't exactly what he'd call enjoyable. Especially not for a first-time incursion into dragonology. He wished he could take her flying – few things would ever compare to sharing the sky with a dragon whilst riding a broom.

Then again, maybe not. He knew very few people who'd enjoy dodging giant bursts of flame as much as he did.

He took one last pull of the cig, savouring the sweet smoke before exhaling and getting rid of the stub. He'd picked up the habit in Romania. Caleb, one of his colleagues, had come up with an inhalable and recreational version of the draught of peace. Which meant it had enough crushed moonstone and hellebore to settle the nerves for a moment. It was more of a habit than anything else – he supposed he'd drop it when he finished them. As it was at the moment, he still had quite a few of them.

Rowan's eyes had drifted back to the firedrake. Charlie turned back to Victoria, who was fussing around her desk and looking for treats for the sparking creature, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth.

He didn't get to see Victoria nearly enough. The few times he'd managed to come back to London, he'd spent most of the time with his family. When he did manage to find enough time to see his mates, she was caught up with work and her own relationships. Charlie promised himself he would stop by before he headed off to Romania once again.

"Right," he said, "Thanks for the company Tori, but we should probably head out. Point me to the door?"

Having found a strip of dried meat, Victoria flung it in Francis's direction. The firedrake caught it mid-air, and promptly swallowed It in one smooth gulp.

"We've been practising that," she said, smiling. "Number twelve, somewhere in the middle of the second row."

Charlie made his way to the back of the office and the wall of portkeys. He scanned the cards, looking for- there it was.

Twelve - Y Mynydd Gwyrdd, Welsh Dragon Sanctuary

He looked back at Rowan and offered his hand. "No turning back now. You ready?"

She was looking at his hand almost as warily as she'd first observed Francis, Charlie noted. She furrowed her brow, and her pale eyes drilled into Charlie so intensely that for a breathless moment he saw his plan crumble before his eyes.

Then she let out a breath, and with it, Charlie watched her face melt into tired resignation.

"Oh, very well," she finally said, placing her hand in his. "Let's get this over with."

Charlie grinned. "That's the spirit."

Then he gripped the portkey.

The journey through the portkey went as any experienced witch or wizard should expect.

That is to say, absolutely ghastly.

Nausea and dizziness ensued, and Rowan found herself gripping Charlie's shoulder as she tried to find her bearings. She detested portkeys. She thought she would throw up.

What a fitting way to start the trip, she thought as her stomach convulsed. She stared straight down, barely making out her shoes through the darkness. Wherever she was, it was dark, and it was hampered.

Thankfully the nausea abated before she could make a mess of herself, and she eventually managed to straighten up. She let go of Charlie, somewhat awkwardly -his shoulders were surprisingly broad, - and squinted to get a good look at her surroundings.

"Is this a-" she paused, searching for the word as her eyes skipped over the equipment crowding them in. "A shed?"

Charlie still sounded out of breath. "I think so."

With a push of Charlie's hand, the wooden door creaked open and the soft, muted light of what could only promise to be a cloudy day cut through the dark. Rowan stumbled out of the shed after Charlie, and she breathed in the fresh air as she took in her surroundings.

She was faced with the back of another building. The barely standing structure they'd just exited must have been placed on the edge of the settlement, almost like an afterthought. A well-trodden path let from the shed and gripped the side of the building, leading to who-knew-where. The air was mountain crisp, and for a brief moment Rowan let herself feel the buzzing unfamiliarity that came from being in an entirely new place.

Then she heard the roar.

No dramatic scenes followed. Birds didn't take into flight in sudden terror. The ground didn't tremble. Charlie, who'd just walked around her and was now ambling down the path, didn't falter. It simply echoed into oblivion.

It occurred to Rowan, almost as a string of afterthoughts, that there probably weren't any birds anywhere near the reservation – it was safe to assume that any remotely clever creature would stay well away from an encampment surely filled with fire-breathing, carnivorous beasts. She realised she wasn't sure just how big a creature should be – or how close – for the ground to actually tremble beneath her feet. And finally, she supposed that a dragon's roar could very well be Charlie's version of the sound of a new customer walking into the shop.

But the roar was still a dragon's roar, and Rowan found her feet rooted in place as she watched her companion stride in its very direction. She would follow, she knew. Rowan just needed a moment to convince her feet to do so.

"Come along, 'Dea." Charlie said over his shoulder, "We've got places to be."

'Dea? Rowan thought, horrified. Merlin's knickers, it's evolving.

But it worked just as Rowan imagined Charlie had intended it to. The ground let go of her feet. She caught up to him.

Rowan watched the scenery develop beneath them as they rounded the building. Green hills and mountains softly moulded the Welsh backdrop, surrounding a sparkling, still lake. Grey clouds hung low in the sky, teasing the mountain tops and hinting at rain. Rowan couldn't help a second gulp of air, just realizing this was her first time out of the city in… well, she couldn't even remember how long.

Other than the building behind them, the landscape offered no peek into the magical settlement she knew awaited. But magic teased the corner of her eye, and Rowan figured whatever lay before them was expertly hidden from muggles and unsuspecting wizards alike.

Someone cleared his throat and both Rowan and Charlie spun in place, facing once again the old building they'd just rounded. A pale man sat on its front steps. He was fiddling with his wand, eyes flickering between the two of them.

"Charles Weasley?" he inquired, climbing to his feet.

Charlie nodded as he moved to shake the man's hand. "You must be Collin O'Faire. This is Rowan Ollivander."

Collin's eyes flickered in her direction, either oblivious to Charlie's offer or disregarding it completely. "You're late," he said.

Charlie's eyebrows twitched as he slowly dropped his hand. He shot Rowan a look. "Apologies. We had a bit of a delay back in London."

Well, Rowan wasn't about to apologise now. Especially as Collin's frown deepened.

"Schaffer said you would Apparate us to Llif Mêl," Charlie continued.

Collin nodded.

Another roar echoed through the valley, this time much further away. Whatever dragon awaited below them was quickly moving away, to Rowan's relief. She watched Collin's eyes stray to the valley and remain. Rowan figured he could see whatever it was that the magical blanket hid from her own eyes.

"Don't be startled," the Welsh warned, squinting at the sky.

Neither Rowan nor Charlie had time to ask. Brooms appeared out of nowhere, low enough that Rowan's hair ruffled in place. She figured they were probably just standing right at the edge of the concealing spell. She watched two witches and one wizard fly past them, head low and leaning forward for speed. They were in a hurry.

Rowan peeked at Charlie, who was frowning up at the sky, squinting in the direction of the brooms.

"Is there a problem?" He asked.

The man hesitated, shooting Rowan a quick glance. But whatever misgivings he had with sharing his problems with a stranger were quickly disregarded as another broom sped by.

"One of our younger dragons was just reported missing," Collin said. "But his mate is still active. We're following her tracker, see if she can lead us to him. Maybe, well, if we're lucky, we'll even get the bastards who're taking them."

The man turned to look at them once again. The twist of his mouth and his eyes said it all – he thought they could take of it on their own. Why Charlie and Rowan needed to be involved was beyond him, which Rowan found herself tentatively agreeing with.

Collin tapped his wand repeatedly against his other hand. He clearly wanted to get the welcoming committee charade over and done with.

But Charlie wasn't ready to go yet. "You don't sound too confident."

Collin shrugged. "She's a Welsh, but still young and frantically searching for her mate. She'll be too fast for us."

Charlie snorted. "Tell me about it."

Aware she was missing some dragon-keeping joke about the poor state of the brooms of the dragon keeping community, Rowan watched the joke go right over Collin's head as well. Either the stress was getting too much for him, or humour was not this man's forte.

"You're to send us an owl in case you need anything," Collin said. "And we were told that in that particular case to expect it from one Mr. Harrington, will that be the last name you'll be using?"

Charlie nodded.

Collin nodded holding out his arms once more. "Ready to depart?"

Rowan figured there really was no turning back now. With one last glance at the lovely scenery before her, she and Charlie each grabbed one arm.

The air around them cracked, and they landed on a cobbled street. The rain had just started to fall, and Rowan felt the cold wetness upon the crown of her head. Collin ushered them to the sidewalk, and they ducked beneath the overhang roof of a bakery.

"Miss Ollivander, Mr. Harrington," he said with a meaningful glance in Charlie's direction. "Welcome to Llif Mêl, you'll find the inn just down the road. Enjoy your stay."

With another crack, Charlie and Rowan were left alone once again.

Charlie glanced at her, the edges of his mouth twitching into a grin. "Charming man."

Rowan snorted in agreement.

They made their way towards the inn, hopping over the rapidly forming puddles and ducking beneath what cover they could find. The street was mostly empty, but Rowan figured that had to do more with the rain than anything else. She found the place to be oddly charming, even with the dreary weather. The houses and shops were made of stone, colourful signs advertising their wares and flowers adorning their windows. The streets were lit by lovely old-fashioned lamplights that lit their way. Her father had informed Rowan the night before that the vast majority of Llif Mêl's population was of the magical variety, with the few unsuspecting muggles and tourists sprinkled about.

Rowan could just see a small plaza at the end of the street. The sound of the rain dissolved into the fountain's gurgle. Just behind it, a stone tower rose above the plaza, a clock's face proclaiming it to be almost dinner time.

The Erlking Inn's windows offered a cosy view into their new lodgings. They stumbled inside, and Rowan noticed a slow working drying and heating spell immediately get to work on their hair and clothes. She figured the muggles would blame it on a fantastic heater.

The woman behind the counter looked up, dark eyes peering behind rounded spectacles. Her eyes swept their forms from head to toe in a quick perusal, before crinkling into a warm smile.

"Ah Merlin, you just caught the rain," she said, leaning forward over the welcoming desk. "Give it a minute. You'll be warm in no time."

Charlie's smile was blinding. "Cheers, Ms.- ah-"

"Mrs. Vaughn. But call me Mary. You must be Mr. Harrington, we have your reservation. And you," she swivelled in Rowan's direction. "You must be Ms. Ollivander!"

Rowan coughed awkwardly as they approached the counter, "I am."

Mary's hands grasped hers, and Rowan found herself surprised at their roughness. Life as an innkeeper must be tougher than it seemed.

"I've heard so much about your family. Never been to your shop, me, but my nephew! Got his wand a couple o' years ago, he did. He spent about a month talking nonstop about wands and your father and whatnot. Found your little place absolutely divine."

A bubble of warmth spread across Rowan's chest. "He did? I'm glad. I must have missed him; I was probably still in school."

"Probably, yes. He would have been smitten with you, no doubt about it. Such lovely eyes."

Rowan looked away, embarrassed, and caught Charlie's eyes. He was watching the exchange, eyes crinkling with humour. She looked away.

The door to the inn creaked open, and a new figure filled in the doorway. Rowan craned her head up, surprised at his size. He was astonishingly tall. A rough beard lined his jaw, and a low hat dripping with water sat low on his head.

"Oh Paul, you should've used the back entrance," Mary tsked. "You're going to get everything wet."

"Sorry," he said gruffly.

Paul took off his hat, his blue eyes finding Rowan's immediately. She shuffled in place, uncomfortable with the cold intensity of his stare.

"This is my husband," Mary was saying. "If you need anything around here, just ask. He'll be glad to help out."

"Pleasure," Charlie said.

The other man barely paid him a glance. "I'll be at the back," he mumbled, ducking his large frame into an open doorway behind the inn's counter.

Mary watched him go before turning to look back at the two of them. "Come along darlings, I believe you reserved two rooms on the first floor."

Charlie stopped them before they could move. "Actually, Mrs. Vaughn- Mary. There might have been a mistake when we booked with you. We'll just need the one room please." Charlie turned to look at Rowan. "Right, Rowan, love?"

Rowan? He'd never called her by her first name. Love?

And most importantly, one room?

"Actually-"

Her hand was suddenly in Charlie's. Years of working outside with dragons had made it rough. But it was warm, and so much bigger than Rowan's. It all surprised her enough that she simply drifted off, haven't really said a thing.

If Charlie noticed Rowan's dumbfounded expression, he didn't let on. He sent Mary one of those smiles, one Rowan suddenly wasn't entirely sure whether he learned it from the twins, or if maybe they got it from him.

Nevertheless, Mary didn't stand a chance. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" she switched the keys she had for a different set. "Here we go then. And up we go!"

Charlie's head was spinning.

His limbs felt overly sluggish. Thoughts flitted through his head much too fast for him to even begin to comprehend. His palms started to sweat. What had he been thinking? He'd been so cavalier about this. That the reservation had pushed this plan along said a lot about how desperate they were. And now he found himself putting his mate's little sister at risk.

He took a breath.

Paul Vaughn. The innkeeper's husband. Charlie had seen him before.

The man was incredibly tall. Which, now that Charlie thought about it, really was a terrible attribute for a spy. It was, after all, the first thing Charlie had noticed about the scowling man back in Romania. It was also the first thing he'd noticed now.

They got visitors back at the Romanian Dragon Reservation every once in a while. Family members coming to visit, excursions done by interested witches and wizards, big deliveries, the occasional philanthropist. Charlie wasn't usually surprised when he bumped into strangers in his workplace, but he did notice them. Especially tall men asking questions. Charlie had merely dismissed this particular man as a reporter.

Clearly, he wasn't. And Charlie didn't think it was a coincidence to find him here, of all places.

Did that mean Mary was in on it as well?

Charlie followed Rowan and Mary up the stairs, knowing if he wasn't careful enough, he could blow it. He just needed a moment to think. To explain to Rowan what was going on. That even though all he wanted that very second was to send her back to the warmth of her cosy wand shop, he needed her here. That the lives of countless dragons depended on her.

So, he followed in silence. Mary turned to them with a smile, saying something about how there was only one key, to please make sure to drop them off at the counter every time they left the inn. To please reach out if they needed anything, anything at all. Rowan had yet to say a thing – he wondered why she hadn't. Then she handed Charlie the key. He forced a smile, one of those charming ones that older ladies always seemed to like. Thanked her. And into the room he went.

If Mary was in on it – could he really trust the privacy of the room? He didn't think so. Would they be listening in?

Charlie reached for his wand.

Rowan followed Charlie in. The room was nice, with a large double bed and a door that Rowan figured led to an en-suite bathroom. There was a sofa against one of the walls, facing a small table filled with generic magazines. Lovely gauzy curtains partially covered windows facing the cobbled street.

The door closed behind them with a quiet click.

Rowan couldn't hold it in any longer. She didn't care he wasn't even looking at her. "What in the-"

Charlie turned in place, eyes wide as he shushed her with a wave of his hand. "Really, love, you should get some sleep. You look absolutely knackered."

Rowan was pretty sure she was beginning to turn red. "I'm not-"

"We've had an entire day of travel. And what with the rain-"

Really, with the way Rowan was glaring at him, Charlie should have been shaking in his dragon keeping boots. "Charles-"

He stepped closer. "Always so stubborn," he said. He was staring down at her, in what she could only call a particularly meaningful way. She just didn't get why.

Rowan found herself thinking he smelled nice, a particular earthy scent that she couldn't quite place, and she decided he really was standing way too close for her liking. She put a hand on his shoulder, intent on pushing him away and demanding an answer once and for all, when he did the most particular thing. He placed a hand on her jaw, cradling it, a callused thumb resting on her lips and rendering her, well, speechless.

She blinked, finding herself perfectly derailed by the closeness of the blue in his eyes.

"A moment, love." He murmured. His other hand waved his wand, the curtains flicking closed. "Muffliato," he said. Magic coated the room, leaving them in a small cocoon of sound.

He was looking down at her, his hand still cradling her face, a slight smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Go on then, 'Dea. You can yell at me now."

Energy flooded her system as she was reminded exactly where she was and what she'd been about to do. She shoved Charlie's shoulder, and he stumbled back a step, his hands sliding from her face.

"What in the bloody hell, Weasley?"

A smile still teased his lips as he looked at her, and hell if it didn't irk her even more.

"The man, from downstairs," he said, smile faltering. "Paul. I remember him. He was sniffing around the Romanian Sanctuary. I think he may be involved with the poachers. There's no way this is a coincidence. And I can't be sure Mary isn't in on it as well."

Rowan gaped at him.

Charlie ran a hand over his face, then through his hair. With a tired sigh he sat on the edge of the bed and peered up a Rowan, his hair now askew. She wasn't sure if the stress and exhaustion had finally caught up to him, or if she was just noticing for the first time.

"I'm sorry," he said. "About the room. It made sense, at the moment. Thought it'd be easier to watch each other's backs if we're together. But I didn't think it through."

Rowan shook her head, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. What exactly had she stumbled into? Her father had been so calm about sending her, she figured maybe she'd been exaggerating as to the danger. Looking at Charlie now, however, she thought maybe her dad was going senile.

But she was already here, and she figured she just had to get through these next couple of days and then she'd never leave the shop ever again. Never, ever again.

She let out a long sigh, knowing that for better or for worse she had to commit now. The faster they figured everything out, the faster she'd be back.

So, picking up a pillow and the top covers of the bed, she said, "Right. You're taking the sofa."

Charlie's lips twitched as he took the stuff out of Rowan's arms. "Right. Of course."

Rowan nodded, trying to dispel the sudden awkwardness she felt. It was ridiculous. They were two adults sharing the room. And he was sleeping on the couch, for Rowena's sake. Scandalous this was not.

They needed to talk this through. For her peace of mind, if anything else. She needed more information, and she needed it now; but not in the room. Maybe it wasn't that bad an idea – them staying together. She didn't feel quite as ease on her own anymore.

"Alright then, Weasley," she said. "I'm not going to sleep without some food first. Feel like going on a tiny adventure?"

A dangerous smile split Charlie's face, and Rowan found herself watching, half-fascinated, as his eyes lit up.

"Oh, Dea. That's the one thing you never have to ask."