AN: It's been ages. I know. But I am determined to finish this story, however long that might take. I really do hope you'll enjoy this chapter, and, as always, thank you for your feedback!

The night of September 2nd, 1993.

Their little adventure that night was foiled by the rain, and that pesky tendency for small village shops and restaurants to close according to their owner's whims.

After careful deliberation as to whether they should trust the inn's food (hunger eventually won out), they had Mary send up some sandwiches from the kitchen. Rowan and Charlie had sat down – her on the bed, him on the sofa – to discuss the following days while they ate their food. Or in Charlie's case, devoured.

Their meeting with the poachers would be on Monday, four days from then, and apparently, those few days weren't meant for a bit of tourism. No, Charlie figured that if he managed to find out anything useful about the poachers, anything at all, maybe they could skip involving Rowan altogether.

He hadn't figured he'd stumble upon them that first night at the inn's very doorstep.

Charlie wasn't sure whether that simplified or complicated his cause. Not really. But at least it gave him a place to start.

In any case, conversation about the poachers eventually managed to die down and the tension in the room changed ever so slightly. It's not something Charlie tended to notice (indeed, he couldn't quite remember ever thinking something of that sort), and he found himself without having anything to say. He was troubled by this. He was not the kind of man to be bothered by silence, nor was he the kind to want to fill it with nonsensical chatter. He was not an overthinker. But something about the way Rowan sat on the bed, legs crossed beneath her as she worried her lower lip, clearly thinking about the next few days, the role she would need to play-

He had the abrupt revelation that he was nervous, and Charlie didn't do nervous. Nervous made mistakes. Nervous was for teenage boys when they saw pretty girls.

Pretty girls in frilly nightclothes.

Sometime during his inner monologue, she'd left the room and changed clothes. She'd left the bathroom with a furtive glance in his direction, and more or less sprinted towards the bed and under the covers. Charlie would have found it funny if his thoughts hadn't been so absolutely derailed by his brief glance in her direction.

She wore a navy matching set of shorts and a short-sleeved button-down. Not overly revealing but- Good Godric. He could just tell that they were that soft silky material that girls liked, and he had a sudden urge to confirm.

The image was burned into his mind now.

Bloody Merlin.

September 3rd, 1993

Rowan slept surprisingly well. So well, in fact, that she completely slept through her deliberate plans to wake up well before Charlie, and make sure she was dressed and ready to go before he stirred.

No such luck. She could hear the shower running as she opened her eyes. Resigned to having to wait, she snuggled deeper into the covers and waited for the tell-tale signs that he had dressed.

The bed was terribly comfortable. Cozy and warm and she almost felt bad about Charlie's sofa situation. Almost. Not nearly enough to do anything about it.

The shower turned off abruptly, and Rowan felt warm with embarrassment. She hadn't really anticipated these sleeping arrangements, or she would have brought sleeping clothes that were… well, a little less revealing for one. She loved this pair – they were ridiculously comfortable, and she preferred sleeping in shorts. But last night she'd had to tug them down as much as possible, and they still hadn't covered nearly enough.

The door opened a moment later, and Charlie stepped out, clad only in a white towel, his hair looking much longer now that it was wet. Rowan had that brief spurt of panic, where she knew she had to look away now, but she didn't want to be too obvious about it, but she couldn't just stare-

She looked away, staring up at the ceiling while she desperately tried not thinking anything weird.

Except-

"Ah, sorry," he said. From the corner of her eye, Rowan saw him bend over his bag, ruffling for clothes. "Completely forgot to bring these in with me. Thought you'd still be asleep."

"You have a lot of scars," Rowan blurted.

Embarrassed she'd been so blunt about it, she hastily sat up in bed and waited for his response, eyes flickering in his direction.

Indeed, his back looked a lot more tattered than his chest. Whereas she'd seen only a big gash coming down his left shoulder and down his front torso, his back was riddled with scars and burns. Smaller, but no less staggering.

He merely glanced over his shoulder, once. His lips twisted into an amused half-smile. "Perks of the job."

Rowan wondered whether that carefree attitude really was genuine or a front. She had a hard time believing the first but… Well, it was becoming more and more apparent that she barely knew the man.

"I'll dress out here if you'd like a go," he said, motioning towards the bathroom.

Rowan all but sprinted towards the bathroom with her bag, and if he was at all amused, she pretended not to see.

Charlie had sent Collin O'Faire an owl in the early morning.

He had figured their next step was a stop at the Welsh Sanctuary. He reckoned he'd ask about Paul Vaughn. If the base of operations of the poachers really was Llif Mêl, it would stand to reason that the Welsh Sanctuary would be the most heavily disturbed. If not that, then at the very least they should have noticed strange activity in the area.

They had breakfast at a small cafe across the street from the inn. At this hour, the town was just beginning to bustle with activity. The streets shone with the aftermath of the night rain, and people went about their daily routine in an amicable manner, neighbours greeting each other left and right.

Charlie figured tourists merited a second look, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling of being scrutinized. From the overly curious barista to the too-long glances from the other customers, something felt distinctively off. He wasn't sure if it was his own paranoia, but Rowan's darting glances and hushed conversation made him think his reaction wasn't exaggerated at all.

"Charlie," Rowan said quietly. She had just finished her tea, her hair tied up in a high ponytail that showcased the slope of her neck. "I think it's best you don't turn around. But behind you – across the street, - Mary's husband is watching us I think."

Charlie really wanted to turn around. Instead, he forced himself to relax in his seat, and keep his eyes on hers.

"What's he doing?"

Rowan's eyes darted over his shoulder. "He's by the inn's door, smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper. But he hasn't turned the page in ages."

Charlie now felt a prickling on his neck. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the urge to turn around and hunt the man down.

"Eyes on me, 'Dea." He said instead. "We don't want him catching on."

She turned her eyes back on him and sod it if the prickling didn't intensify.

"So, what do we do?" she asked.

"We figure out if he's really watching us," he said. "Or if he's just a bloody slow reader."

Rowan looked at him funny. "You're really making this up as you go along, aren't you?"

He grinned. "Is there any other way?"

"Yes." She said, and quite adamantly at that.

Charlie liked the way she looked at him, entirely exasperated and as if she couldn't quite believe what he was saying. Her eyes sparked in a way he found a tad too attractive.

They left the cafe with the intention of playing the curious tourists. They window shopped at the next store over, Charlie pointing out wares to Rowan even as he looked for Paul on the window's reflection instead.

Paul looked engrossed on today's paper's contents. Not one glance their way. Under normal circumstances, and if Charlie didn't know any better, he would not have paid him a second glance.

"Oh. Can we go in?" Charlie looked for Rowan, who had walked a few steps over to the next shop. She was leaning over so close to the glass that Charlie was sure her nose was about to smudge it. She looked up as he stepped close. "Please?"

Charlie had the sudden realization that he might very well never be able to say no to those eyes. Deciding not to dwell on that thought too much, he swallowed and nodded, holding the door open for her as his eyes swept the other side of the street. Paul was still there, finally turning over a page.

The smell of leather assaulted Charlie's nose, and he turned to look at the shop's insides. A man behind the counter at the far end of the store looked up for a moment before returning to his book. Bags, belts, and jackets made for most of the shop's contents, but what held Rowan's attention were the wand sheaths.

Of course, Charlie almost smiled.

"I keep telling my dad that we should start offering sheaths," she told him as he looked over her shoulder at the arm sheath she was holding. "These generic ones, they're mostly rubbish. Every wand is so different that they should always be custom made."

Charlie picked up a leg sheath. "How different could each wand possibly be?"

He knew the theory behind wandmaking. And sure, there were legendary wands out there known for their power, like the Elder wand. But Charlie figured most ordinary wands were, well, merely sticks of wood with some sort of creature stuff within.

Rowan shot him a look that said don't be an idiot you idiot so clearly that he had to smile.

"Each wand is the perfect shape, size, and make for their chosen witch or wizard. They're an extension of you and what you wish to achieve. A conduit. The wrong sheathe might mean a broken or damaged wand."

She said the latter shuddering as if it was the worst fate possible. Charlie knew she could very well have an aneurism if she ever saw the current state of the Weasley clan wands.

Spotting a particularly leathery sheath, Charlie hesitated for a moment before bringing it closer for inspection, his stomach twisting up with dread. The light glinted over the moss green scales, the leather supple but tough. Running his hands over the overly familiar texture, he snapped up his gaze to Rowan's.

"Is that…"

Charlie nodded; jaw clenched as he felt his blood slowly start to boil. "Dragon."

"Can I help you with something?"

Rowan and Charlie whirled around. The shopkeeper had left his book at the counter and had approached them. He was smiling, but Charlie noticed more than one tense glance in the sheath's direction.

"I see you're interested in the faux dragon leather sheathe. Fantastic choice. Unfortunately, this piece has already been purchased."

"Faux, huh?" Charlie said, knowing full well that the man was lying.

A well of suspicion was brewing. First Paul, the innkeeper's husband, a man who had recently been sniffing around the Romanian dragon sanctuary. Now a lying shopkeeper?

The shopkeeper was nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, yes. Very realistic, no?"

Charlie unclenched his jaw. Tried to smile. Rowan's side look made him think it probably didn't seem very sincere.

"Very."

Tense, phoney smiles were once again exchanged.

Charlie gingerly placed the sheath back down and turned to Rowan. "Ready to go?"

She hesitated, shooting a wary look at the shopkeeper. "Yes."

Rowan trailed Charlie as he walked, or rather, rigidly strode around the corner. They had barely gone out of sight from the shop when he whirled around, stopping Rowan in her tracks.

"I'm mad." He said.

Rowan bit her lip, looking up at him. It wasn't easy to tell, but she knew to look for it. His brow was furrowed slightly, and his short beard likely covered what was surely a tensed jaw. A few strands of hair had been blown forward, falling over a scowling eye.

She thought about brushing it away but quelled that thought immediately.

"I know."

Charlie huffed, finally running a hand through his hair, and pushing back the stubborn strand. "Everything feels off," he said, roughly; he shot a glance over her shoulder before nodding towards the street. "Paul seems to be gone. Let's get out of here."

Rowan rolled her shoulders as they took off, not fully convinced they were no longer being watched. "Are we going back to the Sanctuary?"

Charlie, who'd already found himself a few steps ahead thanks to his longer legs, paused and waited for her to catch up. "Yes. Everything is so clearly wrong here. They must know something."

Rowan frowned. They were heading away from the main street and into a more residential area. "Do you think it's possible that they are hiding something at the dragon sanctuary?"

He ran a hand through his hair once more. Rowan was starting to realize that that was the number one sign for Unsettled Charlie, and probably why his hair was usually all over the place.

"Wouldn't it be strange if they weren't? We've been here barely a day and there are so many signs of dealings with poachers. They would have to be blind, being so close to the town itself."

That seemed reasonable. Which meant-

"The sanctuary might not be safe either then," she said. "They might very well be in on it as well."

Which could very well mean everybody knew the real reason why Rowan Ollivander was here, with a Dragon Keeper no less. It meant they might be walking into a trap, or that these poachers were running circles around them.

"Merlin," Charlie shook his head, offering Rowan his arm. "This is too open."

Rowan gripped his arm, bracing herself. A moment later, they had apparated within their room at the inn. A letter awaited them at the table. Charlie quickly charmed the room with a quiet Mufliato before opening it.

"Colin says to meet him close to the portkey's shed," he said, frowning down at the letter. "He doesn't want us going directly to the sanctuary."

"Does he say why?"

The dragon keeper shook his head, showing Rowan the letter. Colin had barely scratched out two sentences in barely recognizable script. Rowan's stomach clenched with nervousness. Yet another thing that felt off.

She looked up to find Charlie's eyes already on her. "You're staying here," he said.

He couldn't be serious. "Here? Alone? Surrounded by potential poachers?"

Charlie hesitated. "Right. Not here. Back to London then."

"Are you coming with me?"

Charlie crumpled up the letter. "No, I need to see this through."

Of course, he did. "Then I am staying here."

Charlie started pacing. By now, his hair was all over the place. "You didn't even want to be here in the first place!"

"Do you have anyone else you can call for help?"

He stopped by the door, leaning back against it. He looked thoroughly troubled and older than he was. "We barely have enough people to keep the dragons in check. Now everyone is running around trying to keep them safe. There's no one else who can be here right now. And the Ministry is no help."

Rowan sat on the edge of the bed and took a breath. Would she rather be back at the shop?

Maybe, but she also knew she wasn't leaving him alone.

"I'm staying," she said, meeting his eyes. "We both know you need me anyways. You were shite at dueling."

That broke the tension lining Charlie's shoulders. He spluttered. "Why would you possibly think that?"

Rowan allowed a small smirk. "I saw you once. At the courtyard. Dueling that Slytherin, Scaboir. If it hadn't been for Bill…"

With a groan, Charlie turned in place, hitting his head repeatedly against the door. Rowan muffled an amused snort.

"Gadea Rowan Ollivander, for Merlin's sake," he said, his voice muffled. "Please don't tell me you honestly think Scaboir had absolutely anything on me."

Rowan honestly could barely remember the incident. But she couldn't help but tease him, liking this side much better than when he was distraught.

"I don't know Charles. From where I was standing-"

He whirled around. "I could take you on in an instant, princess."

Rowan flushed. Him and his bloody nicknames. She stood up, crossing her arms across her chest. "I really don't think you could, Weasley."

The silence stretched for a moment too long. There was something building in the air between them as their eyes clashed. Rowan felt like they were on the cusp of something, but she couldn't quite grasp just what.

And it was making her nervous. She looked away, breaking away from the strange tension. "You're not getting rid of me that easily. Let me watch your back."

He sighed, walking past her and towards the sofa. Rowan watched him go, feeling unsettled as she tracked his movements closely.

Charlie stared down at his hands for a moment, clasped between his knees, before letting out a sigh. "Alright," he said. "We'll watch each other's backs and hope that's enough. Are you ready?"

Rowan nodded, reaching for her jacket. "Let's go get some answers."