She sat on the steps outside the lab, taking a deep toke from one of the eucalyptuse cigarillos she pinched off Bill earlier. The smoke curled around her flushed face as Hermione allowed herself to cool off from the stifling heat of the boiling cauldron and heated lab.

It was a cool, crisp October day in the Romanian mountains and she should be wearing a coat under normal circumstances, but she really needed some fresh air to clear her head and give her overheated body a break. A wry smile twisted her lips at the thought of fresh air when the cancerous smoke escaped her lips. Really, she needed to be careful or she would slip back into her uni habits, and smoking was not a good habit to pick up by any means.

Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her hair was an absolute mess due to the heat and steam, the curls trying to escape the tight bun she forced them into earlier to keep it out of her face. Her cheeks were as rosy as the skin of her hands, rubbed near raw with the disinfectant, and she was ready for a nap. It has been a whirlwind of a day and it was not ending anytime soon.

She saw Bill passing by and pause when he noticed her, walking over to join her on the step. She offered him the cigarillo just as he did to her the night in Paris and he accepted readily, their fingers grazing gently in the passing. "Sneaky, I didn't notice you taking one," he commented, knowing he did not leave one behind.

"Sorry, not sorry," she grinned and rolled her head around in a circle, hearing her neck pop in a few places tiredly.

"How's it going with the cure?" he asked, passing the cigarillo back to her.

"Good, the base is simmering so I can go find Charlie and help with the investigation and treatment. I just needed a timeout," she admitted.

"You and me both," Bill pulled out something from his pocket and showed her a miniature stack of about 40 different staff records folders that he needed to go through today.

Hermione took a last toke before charming the bud away to not cause any littering. "You know, not that I'm complaining about us working together, but I can't wait for this investigation to be over so I can get some proper sleep," she chucked.

Bill merely smiled. "I think working together has been the best part of this mission," he admitted, watching to see what she thought of that.

Hermione hid a smile in her water bottle as she took a long drink from it before finally responding. "That, and saving dragon lives," she mused as they got up and with a last look parted ways again.


Hermione made sure her gloves were tightly sealed around her wrists so the puss wouldn't get anywhere near her skin and submerged a cloth in the pot of salve before wringing out a bit and placing it over the rotten scales like a large linen dressing to keep it soaking the area. There wasn't an adequate way to describe the smell of rotting dragon scales and flesh, something between rotten eggs, vinegar, gone off grilled burger and crispy friend frog legs. Even that didn't do it justice.

Charlie looked more hopeful now that the cure was on the way. It has been brewing for just over 12 hours now, the skies outside black around them in the dead of the night as they tended to the dragons around the clock. Five of the infected ones looked like they will make a good recovery, the disease not progressing too far. This beautiful Chinese Fireball lady was however in quite a bit of pain, the pockets of rot around her body giving her no rest. Everyone else was asleep while Charlie and herself continued to care for her, agreeing to take the night shift.

"So tell me more about this…disease. What is it?" he asked, realising he didn't even have time to read the parchment she brought with her.

"It has no name recorded. The man who wrote about it did not name it either. The first and only time that we know it appeared was in late 14th century, in 1387 in Rouen. The man who invented it so-to-speak was an alchemist, and a scientist ahead of his era. He did research into the diseases that were killing both muggles and wizards. He was once researching a case of what we now call 'necrotising fasciitis', when an infection makes the tissue and skin rot due to a type of bacteria entering an open wound," she explained.

"That's what we call it now? Is it still around?" Charlie asked curiously.

"Yes, it's something muggles still suffer these days but can be prevented with cleanliness and kept at bay with antibiotics, like muggle anti-inflammation drugs. It was not uncommon in medieval Europe due to lack of hygiene, sanitation and care for wounds. As you can imagine, there was a lot of deaths related to it. This alchemist, Hugolin Lestrange, was studying one such case."

"Lestrange? Any relation to the current Lestranges?"

Hermione shrugged as she disinfected her hands and reached for another clean cloth to submerge into salve. "Possibly, though I am not familiar with their family tree enough. Either way, from the description of the disease he sounds like a grey wizard, someone who neither followed a particular path, nor submitted to corruption. He had a curious mind more than any malicious intent," she spoke, thinking he would make a good Ravenclaw with his sharp mind.

"And he invented this? How?" he asked, aghast. What kind of man did this?

"By accident, actually. He was attempting to formulate a cure using magical herbs and what they then called alchemy, or chemistry rather if you will. In his study of the muggle disease he managed to magically enhance the bacteria somehow and his familiar, a ladder snake, contracted the disease. He nearly died but the man managed to create a cure and make record of it, saving his familiar," she finished the story of the Alchemist.

"That part I understand. What I don't understand is how it is here and now, killing my dragons, and how it's spreading," Charlie washed his hands and rubbed his tired eyes before picking up the shovel to clean up the lady's dung. He may be a manager, but he was first and foremost a dragon handler and carer, no job was above him.

Hermione admired his dedication despite how frustrating this must be to the man. She dipped another cloth into the salve before realising something. She sniffed the salve and recoiled slightly. "Charlie, tell me about this salve," she suddenly got an idea, looking at the nondescript metal bucket it was within.

Charlie wiped the sweat from his forehead as he took a break. "It's a soothing salve, to keep the wounds and surrounding tissue from hurting too much. We usually make eight to ten buckets at once and then make new ones once we run out."

Hermione sniffed it. "There's something about it…." She took off her gloves, picked up the bucket and walked away from the dragon and the stench of rot. Once her nose cleared a bit she took another sniff of the cloudy grey salve and wrinkled her nose. "Does it have antibacterial properties?" she asked as she picked up Charlie's bucket and smelled it too. The scent was the same.

Charlie shook his head. "I'm not sure. Dagmar, our healer, makes these. Why?" he asked.

"Because if these buckets are used on dragons that are outside of quarantine, it could explain how the disease is spreading. Someone didn't wash their hands and cross-contaminated this batch," she explained, knowing a soothing salve was not supposed to smell like this. "But these buckets were untouched before we picked them up and we disinfected our hands after every time we touched the dragon. So the other option is that the batch itself was contaminated when it was brewed..." she frowned, knowing that was the more likely cause.

"This batch was made two days before the dragons got sick. I requested it as we were running out," he nearly dropped his shovel when the realisation hit him. "You cannot mean…Dagmar? I can't believe she would even consider it. And how would she get access to the disease?" he asked, stunned.

"I think we should speak to Bill. Well, once we clean up," she looked down at her ruined jeans and turtleneck.

Charlie didn't look much better himself. "How long until you have to add the next batch of ingredients to the cure?" he asked.

Hermione checked her muggle watch. "I yet have an hour and a half. Enough for a shower, get some food, and for us to check in with Bill. And we should take this salve, I want to check its contents to get proof it has been cross-contaminated," she explained.

Charlie picked up the bucket and they headed back to his cottage, tired and weary. It was now nearing four in the morning and they haven't slept yet. The moment they entered the cottage, Bill sat up on the sofa, looking about as rested as they were, and Apollo lifted his head, acknowledging them with a soft, sleepy meow.

Charlie set down the bucket and took off his shirt where he stood, the disease all over it. "We shouldn't go any further into the house in these. Let's set them down here and I'll neutralise them with potions," he suggested, summoning a plastic tub where he did some of his washing.

"That's a good idea. Please keep Apollo from coming over," Hermione asked of Bill before she began undressing on the spot.

There was no shame, they've all seen each other in swimsuits at the Burrow at one time or another, and really they just needed to get the muck off their bodies. She dropped her jumper, jeans and socks into the tub, and released her hair from the bun, the wild curls frizzy after the long day. "Am I okay to grab a quick shower first?" she asked.

"Sure, there's clean towels under the sink," Charlie nodded, shucking his own jeans without concern for modesty.

Hermione grabbed her bag and a change of clothes before heading to the shower, noticing how steadfastly Bill was looking into the fire instead of anywhere at her. Forever a gentleman. It was probably for the best. She was sweaty, frizzy and her underwear a functional sports bra and a pair of black cotton shorts, nothing glamorous to look at anyway.

She tried to be as quick as possible and managed to scrub herself clean in 15 minutes and came out in a clean long-sleeve dress that reached her knees, her feet encased in tights silent as a panther on the wooden floor. Her towel was wrapped tightly around her soaking hair like a large crown atop her head as she joined them again. Charlie, still in his boxers only got up from the sofa and headed straight into the shower after her. Hermione checked the time, glad she had about an hour left before she needed to head for the lab.

Once she was seated on the sofa next to Bill, he passed her a cup of tea and watched as Apollo jumped up into her lap to curl up with his human.

"Praawr?" he asked, butting his head into her chin.

"Yes, I'm fine. How is my handsome boy? Are you hungry?" she asked.

He purred and blinked at Bill. Hermione looked at the man beside her also. "You fed him?" she smiled gratefully.

"Of course. The little man was hungry when I got back so I made sure he was fed and had some company," he reached out and scratched the tomcat's chest which only made the part-kneazle purr louder.

"Thank you for taking care of him," she sipped her tea, relaxing her mind for two minutes before looking at the files spread out on the table. "Any progress?" she asked.

Bill sighed and picked up the two files he left on the side. "Two primary suspects. The director, for political motives, and the healer, Dagmar, she was the one who had access to everything that was to do with the health of the dragons."

Hermione nodded. "I think she messed with the salve they've been putting on the dragons. If one of them had a small wound and the generic soothing slave they put on was contaminated with the disease, it would easily take hold and begin spreading," she explained, pointing at the bucket they've left by the door. "Why though? What motive does she have?" she asked, more rhetorically rather than expecting an answer.

Bill summoned his satchel and pulled out a small vial that looked as if it were filled with nothing but clear water, but Hermione knew better. Veritaserum. "We'll have to find out. I have permission to utilise this during my investigation and I intend to," he set the small vial on the table.

"The sun rises in a few hours, you may want to get her into an interrogation room before she realises we are onto her and tries to flee," she suggested.

"I was going to take a nap for half an hour. Do you have time to do the same? I bet you could use it," he suggested.

"Sure. Do you want me to curl up in the armchair so you can stretch out?" she asked, knowing the cottage didn't have a spare room and Charlie will need a nap of his own. Plus, she was shorter and would fit better into the soft flush armchair.

Bill however shook his head and summoned a blanket, patting the seat beside him. Hermione took down her towel and quickly plaited her hair out of the way before sitting beside him and letting herself be pulled into his warm side. She fell asleep in moments, her head resting on Bill's shoulder as he held her securely into his side under the warm blanket. When Charlie came out of the shower five minutes later, he found the two snoozing comfortably huddled together.