A/N: Thanks again to brownlark42 for beta'ing this story! I forgot to mention, but I really wrote this story for her, so I was happy when she said she would also beta it for me.

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Chapter 2

August 2006

Thorfinn Rowle was exceedingly tired of running. He had been on the run from his home country's Ministry for almost three years. It hadn't been long after he finished Hogwarts that he had been strong-armed into joining the Death Eaters and from there, well… it all went downhill.

This time, at least, he wasn't on the run from his time as a Death Eater. He'd served his three-year sentence, lighter because he had proof of being strong-armed. But nobody wanted to hire an ex-Death Eater or an ex-convict, and especially not someone who was both. Mostly jobless, except for the odds or ends he could pick up here or there, he found himself spending his days in the pubs. A bad combination when one considered just what he was. A berserker. Rare, but due to his Viking lineage, berserkers had cropped up in the Rowle line a time or two in the past millennia.

It wasn't that he couldn't control himself. He absolutely could. He had more self-control than most men twice his age. The problem happened when he lost control. When someone or something made him so angry he could no longer hold back. It wasn't often, but when it was, it could get deadly. Luckily, he hadn't killed anyone since his days as a Death Eater and had murdered poor Gibbon at Hogwarts. He still felt bad about it, even though Gibbon was one of the more depraved Death Eaters. Rowle hadn't been aiming at him.

Honestly, when he got into a berserker rage, he wasn't aiming at anyone or anything. It was more like a trance and once he was in it, it was very, very, difficult for him to get out of it. Almost impossible really, until it had run its course and by then... to say there was lots of damage was an understatement.

That's exactly what happened at the pub one night. He'd been minding his own business, but some wizard with something to prove chose the largest wizard in the bar, Thorfinn, and decided to pick a fight.

Thorfinn had held him off for a good hour and a half before his control snapped. He could have held it together if the other wizard hadn't actually tried to punch him. It was ridiculous. Thorfinn was almost a foot taller than the man. One punch and he'd been knocked out. The problem was that by then his berserker rage had taken over. Most of the other patrons got out of the way before Thorfinn could do them much damage. The bulk of the damage was done to the pub itself. He had completely destroyed everything before the rage receded.

Once he had come back to himself and stood amongst the wreckage, he knew he was going to be in trouble. Big trouble, with possibly a longer sentence than his Death Eater one had been. One stint in Azkaban was enough for him. So he ran.

That was three years ago and he was still running. He would get to a place, settle in for a few months, and then the Aurors would be on his tail again. He changed his appearance frequently - trying new hair colors, cropping or shaving his beard. He was exhausted, but now he was in too deep. Turning himself in now wouldn't do him any favors. He'd been on the run for too long.

Had there been anyone for Thorfinn to go home to, he might have sucked it up and taken the punishment the Ministry wanted to hand him. But the last of his family had died in the war. He was alone now. His only friends were the wizards that poured him beer at the pubs. And they were the ones that had gotten together and tossed him into the alley behind the place he destroyed. His life was shit.

At least running gave him something to do, something to focus on. He knew there was no life left for him back in Britain. In fact, running had become so routine, that he now looked for ways to spice it up. Not by drawing attention to himself, but by challenging himself.

Which is how he found himself climbing a mountain in the Romanian wilderness. There was a small Muggle settlement nearby that he had planned to settle in, but first, he wanted to climb this mountain. It was the closest peak to the village that looked at least somewhat scalable.

He was about halfway up when he discovered the cave. It had all the marks of being occupied by a dragon, and one that had no skill or interest in being discreet. There were some dried scales stuck on the wall of the mountain near the entrance of the cave, as well as what were clearly claw marks and dragon-sized footprints. The Romanian reserve wasn't too far away, fifty miles or so. It wouldn't be unheard of to have wild dragons living up here, but it seemed awfully close to the village for a dragon to want to settle.

Regardless, the dragon didn't seem to be home and Thorfinn was excited. A dragon hoard was a rare find. He was already spending the riches in his head as he crept into the cave. It was dark, and Thorfinn didn't want to risk using his wand and possibly alerting the dragon via the light or the magic. He stood, closing his eyes and waiting long moments for them to adjust to the dimness of the cave. When he opened them, he could just make out piles and piles of the hoard.

He was gleefully thinking about how much he would be able to carry down and how quickly he could gather it when he tripped over a smaller pile. It didn't clink and clatter as he expected it to. Instead, it thumped.

"What the…" he trailed off as he caught his balance then bent down to see what exactly he had tripped over.

He came up holding a book. He bent down again, feeling all around his feet, barely able to see the shapes in the dark. Books. They were all books.

"Lumos," he muttered as he whipped out his wand. He stood their slack-jawed for a moment, unable to take in what he was seeing.

The cave was filled to the brim with books. They were books of all shapes and sizes, themes and colors. Scrolls, tomes, notebooks. Some were stacked neatly along the wall of the cave, while others were in messy piles, as if someone had started to organize them, but got frustrated and gave up. And they were everywhere, tucked into every nook and cranny, covering most of the cave floor. Now that he had seen them, he could smell them. It felt nostalgic, standing amongst all these books. He inhaled deeply and the Hogwarts library flashed before his eyes. He hadn't spent much time there, but the scent was distinct.

What kind of dragon hoarded books? It didn't make any sense. He'd heard that certain dragons preferred certain types of hoards, gold versus jewels, and the like. But books?

He was standing there dumbfounded when he heard shuffling from behind him.

"Shite," he muttered under his breath and quickly put the light of his wand out, trying to find a place to hide, but the books were packed in so closely together, that even attempting to hide amongst them would likely create the wordiest avalanche the world had ever seen.

He was still looking for a place to hide when the dragon's head appeared at the entrance of the cave. It was a gorgeous red Chinese Fireball. He hadn't taken Care of Magical Creatures, but he did like dragons, always had. He could only stare as it looked at him for a long moment, its yellow eyes gazing at him, unblinking. Then it shuffled forward a little further, just to get its body completely inside the cave opening. Thorfinn was pretty sure this was going to be the end of him. At any moment the dragon was going to open its mouth and either grill him alive or scoop him up and swallow him whole. He resisted the urge to flinch or flee as it shuffled even closer.

Curiously, the dragon hadn't roared, hadn't shown any defensive maneuvers. It almost seemed like it was as curious about Thorfinn as he had been about its hoard. It stretched toward him, its wings shifting along its huge back. Then it shoved its face as close to Thorfinn as it could get without touching him and it inhaled. The dragon's eyelids fluttered as it breathed in and Thorfinn got the distinct impression that not only did the dragon like how he smelled, that the dragon was in fact a girl.

She pulled back and then let loose a small fireball, up and over the hoard of books. Thorfinn whipped around to see that there was a large shelf covered in wood that was now burning merrily. It was a clever trick, and one he wouldn't have expected of a dragon.

"Aren't you a clever girl." He smiled at the dragon and held his hand out to her. She lowered her spiked-head once more and gave it a sniff, then nuzzled against it like a cat or dog would.

"Like that, do you, pretty girl?" His hand was now giving her cheeks a good scratch and her back leg thumped in time to the scratches.

"Mind if I stay for a while?" The cave was warm and dry and the dragon would definitely ask fewer questions than any of the locals. She looked at him, her yellow eyes regarding him for a moment before she seemed to nod. Thorfinn narrowed his eyes at her. Dragons were intelligent, but knowing a human gesture? That was eerie.

"Well, what should we call you? I'm Thorfinn, so I'm partial to Norse names. You're a Chinese Fireball, but likely haven't ever been to your homeland before, have you?" The dragon shook her head. It was disorienting to know that the dragon could understand him on some level.

"How about Freya? She's the goddess of gold, you know. Not that you have gold, but the Norse gods weren't really around by the time we had libraries." He chuckled to himself and Freya cocked her head to the side. She seemed alternately so human-like one moment and then like a big puppy or kitten the next. It was strange, but he found he kind of liked her.

"It's getting late. I really do hope it's okay that I stay and that you don't eat me in the middle of the night." His joke fell flat when Freya just cocked her head again. She moved further into the cave and curled up on a low pile of books. The fire above dimmed slightly. Another strange thing. Thorfinn couldn't recall dragons having magic. Not magic that could dim lights anyway.

With the sun dipping low in the sky outside, Thorfinn decided it was time to set up camp. He had some leftovers in his knapsack and began setting up near the opening of the cave. He didn't think that Freya would be all that appreciative if he got any of her books dirty.

After he'd eaten and cleaned himself up, he meant to bed down near the cave opening, but Freya's tail whipped out and curled around him, slowly drawing him closer to her.

He could have stopped it, but he was curious to see where this was going. When she bent her head down to nose some of the books near her belly out of the way, clearing a spot on the cave floor, her intentions became clear.

"You want me to bed down here?" He pointed to the spot she had created and she nodded. He watched her for a long moment. It was possible she was playing the long game and just wanted to toy with him or have an easy meal. But she didn't seem like she was playing games, and dragons didn't really eat humans. Not unless they had no other choice or were defending their nest. But she had the chance to defend against him and she hadn't taken it.

Thorfinn didn't consider himself a brave man, but it felt like the height of bravery when he carried his pack to the space she had made for him. He closed his eyes for a long moment before preparing his bed and laying down. Her tail curled around him and he tensed, but when she didn't move again, he relaxed. There was no need to worry about the chill from the night coming into the cave, Freya's natural body heat kept him warm through the long night. He had a bit of trouble actually getting to sleep, terrified at any moment that the dragon would come to her senses, but finally, he dropped off.

When he woke up the following morning, he felt refreshed for the first time in a long time.