Chapter Five: The Shadow

Important Notice issued August 26, 1996

Re: Chinese Fireballs Enclosure

Due to the recent overly aggressive behaviour exhibited by the Chinese Fireball breed of dragons, it is ordered that all persons engaged in their care shall take the following additional precautions.

1. Only those assigned to the enclosure will be permitted access.

2. All persons will have their wands available in hand at all times.

3. No person is to be alone within the enclosure.

4. All medical potions and remedies will be doubled for equipment.

5. Fire-protection spells will be cast upon persons every 30 minutes while inside the enclosure.

The Reserve has taken precautions to protect our employees and other species by shielding the enclosure until the aggression has been explained and subsided.

Signed,

Herbert K. Wilde

Owner and Proprietor

Romania International Dragon Reserve

Charlie had read the memo several times before his Monday afternoon shift, despite the fact that the outlined duties had been to feed the Hungarian Horntails their livestock lunch followed by a descriptive inventory of the newly laid and highly prized Romanian Longhorn eggs. He had many chances to encounter it as the parchment notice had been posted all about the building, one hanging onto the wall at least every five meters, to assure no one could claim ignorance of the information. He was sure that by the next day, he could likely have it memorised.

"Hand me your ropes, Veasley, I vill hang them for you."

Without even needing to look the burly redheaded man let the thick coil of rope fall from his shoulder down his arm and into the waiting hand of his colleague, who effortlessly tossed them right onto the empty hook they belonged upon. A second flick of his arm sent his own set of ropes to hang on the wall all before anyone could see him breaking the rule about throwing equipment.

"It is good to not have to vork vith the Fireballs today," remarked Simeon as he gazed at the notice alongside his work companion, "not after vat happened to Krall last Thursday."

"Poor Marek," sighed Charlie, crossing his arms across his chest. "It's going to be a while before he can sit properly again."

"Ah, just the people I needed to see! Great timing! Could I get everyone's attention here, please?"

With a turn of their necks, Simeon and Charlie brought their focus onto the balding man in Bermuda shorts as he clapped his hands. Other dragon keepers slowly left their tasks and conversations to give their boss the attention he wanted, which wasn't difficult given his chosen shirt featuring a pink flamingo in oversized sunglasses enjoying a Hawaiian beach. While the workplace dress code officially stated that attire should be functionally casual, Herbert Wilde usually looked as though he walked in fresh from his summer holidays somewhere tropical.

"Just a brief announcement, and no it has nothing to do with our current Fireball situation," chortled Herb, his cheeks becoming rosy pink at his awkward reference. "I'm simply here to introduce you to your newest co-worker, Marcel."

Given the loud nature of their employer and his Hawaiian shirt, no one had taken notice to the skinny fellow standing behind Herb's left shoulder until he raised one hand slightly and waved to the crowd of dragon keepers. "Buna Ziua."

"Marcel will be joining your team," continued Herb as he placed his hands upon his belly, proudly patting it as though he'd just enjoyed some of his wife's delightful cooking. "I have instructed him to shadow your crew for the next week to get an idea of the work and ask questions, and then we'll be throwing him in so to speak."

As Herb spoke, everyone else took a moment to silently size up the fresh meat. He was a noticeably thin young man, enhanced by the skinny-styled suit that hugged the non-existent muscles on his arms and legs. A pair of glasses bordered a set of hazel eyes and neatly trimmed brown hair framed his square forehead. Had Herb not introduced him as a co-worker, it would have been assumed that he was visiting from a local school to write a report about dragons for a Care of Magical Creatures class.

"So, be nice and help out your brother in dragon keeping." Herb threw one arm around Marcel's shoulders, bringing the boy closer to the forefront despite the partially terrified look crossing his face. "Charlie, you'd be a good mentor!"

"What?" The word had popped out of the redhead's mouth before Herb's words could even sink in to his brain.

"Well, you've been around five years now," he reasoned, tapping the index finger of his free hand to his white stubbly chin in deep thought. "You've taken your turns as a leader successfully and you organized Project Tournament those years ago. Surely in that time you've picked up a trick or two that you can pass on to the next generation. Of course, everyone in this group will be responsible for helping our Marcel here, but you would be the primary mentor to our boy."

"With all due respect, sir," piped in Valerie Walters, taking a step forward in a militaristic manner, "this is not our usual protocol. All new recruits are normally oriented and trained together prior to joining a team. Once on the team we would naturally mentor him in his early days, but..."

"Not enough recruits to run full orientation this year, Val," her boss explained quickly. "Nope, this is the best way for Marcel to get his feet wet and ready. And with Charlie helping him, I'm sure we'll see good things from this lad."

A firm pat on the back nearly sent the boy to the ground, his polished shoe stopping the rest of his body from toppling over to the cement floor. He was quick to regain composure so that his new boss didn't notice his infraction. Instead Herb turned on his sandaled heels and bid the boy to follow along for the remainder of their tour and many more introductions, to which the two quickly disappeared out the doors and down the corridor.

"He seems nice." Constantine Baptiste broke the silence of the room with a casual shrug of his shoulder. "I like the suit. Kid's got style."

"Kid is right," grunted Valerie. "I'll take bets on how long he lasts; ten Galleons on less than two weeks for that scrawny boy."

"Hey, he could surprise you," laughed Sebastian Linden heartily. "I recall many a man took bets on how long you, the first girl to enter our ranks, would last and it seems that they have all left while you still stand."

"Because they vanted to enjoy their remaining teeth after she vas done vith them," whispered Simeon with a chuckle, causing his best friend to smile at the memory of Valerie's winning left uppercut.

"I was fit to do this work despite some people's sexist thoughts on what a woman could do," she argued back, her clenched hand getting close to Sebastian's lower jaw, "and I'll give the kid his fair shot. All I can say, he doesn't look physically up to the challenge that dragons demand. We'll be rescuing him from certain death just like..."

She stopped cold before she could complete the thought and caused everyone to become very interested in their work boots and shoelaces as their eyes darted downward. While the thought was left unfinished on her tongue, it wasn't difficult to know where her sentence was headed.

"Ve should get going, Charlie," said Simeon, breaking the icy quiet that had blanketed the equipment room. "Ve have that thing tonight."

"Right," agreed Charlie absently, following his best friend from the room.

Whatever was said after they left was unknown to them, but Charlie was only sure of the fact that whatever it was he didn't want to know.

"So, it's just you and Minister Cvetkov tonight?"

"Yes," answered Simeon. "He vants to meet for drinks. No doubt he is looking for a loan. The man has a gambling addiction and a lavish lifestyle that he cannot support on his salary."

The reserved meeting room for the Order of the Phoenix was empty with the exception of the two young men. Early evening light shone in from the familiar rolling mountain landscape and bounced off the gleaming wood of the long conference table, bathing the room in natural luminance. Circling around the table until they were in the farthest corner of the room, Simeon flicked his wand at the yellow wall to reveal an ornately carved door with a pewter knocker in the shape of horned goblin.

"Names?" the stone knocker hissed, the circlet in its mouth jangling between its sharp pointed teeth.

"Stanislav Tomov and Andreas Kaminski," Simeon enunciated with precision.

The goblin knocker hissed again begrudgingly, snapping its jaw at the Bulgarian, as the lock clicked open and allowed the men access into the adjoining room.

A large wooden wardrobe dominated the wall opposite the entrance, drawers and doors covering every available square centimetre of the space and not allowing any of the usual green and white wallpaper to show through. A standing mirror and vanity were off to the right side of the massive closet, the wall that held them covered from ceiling to floor in photographs and portraits. Simeon immediately seated himself at the vanity mirror as Charlie stood back with his left side leaning against the wardrobe doors.

"Do you have a response for not loaning him the money already?" the redhead asked as Simeon's eyes scanned the wall of pictures for the one he needed.

"I vould have thought it obvious," his friend replied as he found the photos he needed and turned his attention to the mirror. "I do not loan money to friends. Mr Tomov has not earned the living he has by lending."

With one hand Simeon swept up his shaggy bangs and held them to the top of his head exposing his rarely-seen forehead and dark eyes. The other hand held the glowing yellow tip of his wand to his hairline and dragged it slowly over his fine hairs. At the touch his hairline leapt back on his head, rendering the hand holding back the tresses useless. Repeating the wand movements over again he soon only had a wisp of his black mane at level with his ears.

"So, what do you think of this 'Kid' as Val calls him?" questioned Charlie just as his friend began work on aging his skin thirty years with the addition of spots and wrinkles around the edges of his eyes.

"I do not have enough to make a judgement," Simeon replied without looking up from the mirror as sags in his darkening skin began to appear beneath the wrinkles. "Ven I know him more then I may answer that question."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Who knows if he'll make it through training; the dropout rate is rather high in our line of work."

"True," was all Simeon had to say in response as dark scraggly stubble began to appear around his mouth and grow downwards into a beard. "Could you get a robe from the vardrobe? I think maybe something simple...vould help Mr Tomov's case for not lending money if it is plain."

Charlie nodded and turned towards the door marked with a nameplate for Stanislav Tomov. Opening the cabinet he was met with dozens of different dress robes for the middle-aged high-class wizard each of them stitched finely with not a single thread out of place and a far cry from the threadbare things he would find in the closet marked for Andreas. With both hands he began rifling through the selections, dismissing anything that came that appeared too formal for the occasion. Picking out the simplest robes he could find he pulled out one in navy blue and a second in black for Mr Tomov's approval. Were it Simeon that he was choosing for there would be no question as to which robe to give him, but Mr Tomov was a different character from Mr Slovensky.

"I found two that could work, you make the final choice," Charlie announced as he crossed the room towards a folding screen and hung his two selections there.

Turning around, his roommate rose from the vanity table and faced his friend. In the time it had taken Charlie to find his outfit Simeon had finished his transformation into the prestigious pudgy wizard, complete with a protruding hairy belly stretching out his black shirt and requiring the man to undo his belt.

"You're going to wreck your clothes that way," the redhead pointed out. "Face, clothes and then bodily transfigurations, remember?"

"I recall, this is an older shirt," explained the now Mr Tomov as he crossed the carpeted floor towards the partition. "I think the black vould be best."

"Of course you do."

Mr Tomov shot a menacing scowl at his friend before vanishing behind the cover with his selected robe as Charlie crossed back to the vanity and the wall of photographs depicting the cover of every spy within their ranks.

Abby had been insistent on keeping meticulous notes of every persona with the logic that they could risk discovery based upon a misplaced mole or a misshapen nose. With disappearances happening more rapidly now, no one questioned the Healer's overly cautious record-keeping. Each person who had agreed to do this dangerous work for the Order had spent hours constructing a new face and identity that had been documented upon the wall and consistently reviewed to know the character they played.

Difficult to ignore was the picture to the immediate right of the vanity lit with one of its bright electric bulbs. An elegantly dressed wide-eyed woman with a thin face looked out from the borders of the photo, craning her long neck to see over the red line that had been crossed over her with the small words beneath it written: deactivated. Her dark eyes said it all as tears leaked out and dripped down her cheeks, vanishing into the red ink.

Many had suggested removing the photograph but her portrayer had insisted it remain upon the wall, a cautionary tale with no words on how her single misstep had led to the loss of a great information avenue.

Beside the lonely woman was another lady in professional-looking dress robes who was Irina Markova, the newest columnist for the local newspaper. Below her was the statuesque model Svetlana Olsson and to her right was Anya Romanova, the one who Mr Tomov was silently working into conversations.

"Charlie," a stern voice interrupted the young man's quiet thought. "Are you going to get ready or may I slip in here?"

Behind him, having silently entered the dressing room without notice from the two men, was a blonde woman with a long plait down her back. Thick-rimmed glasses bordered her serious glance, making Charlie feel like he had momentarily swallowed his tongue.

"Go on ahead, Tamara." He moved aside allowing the Head of Research to pass to the vanity's mirror. "I'm just here with Simeon."

"Andreas isn't headed out tonight?" she asked as she seated herself in the chair and began to undo her long braid of hair.

"No," he answered. "It's been a slow week for news, meaning gossip isn't going to be strong. And as an artist, Andreas can't afford to eat out too often."

"Fair enough," Tamara commented. "One doesn't want to arouse suspicion."

A click at the lavish door alerted Charlie to the entrance of more members of the Order. As the entryway opened and the flustered goblin knocker snarled at having to admit more people into his protected room Abby came running in with clipboard and quill in hand as well as Bella sauntering in behind her.

"Sorry I'm late," Abby breathed, holding one hand to her chest so as to feel the filling of her lungs as she took in large gulps of air. "Things ran a little long in the lab. Herb has me testing the blood of some of the Fireballs to look for possible infection."

"Find anything?" Tamara and Charlie asked simultaneously.

"No," the Healer sighed, standing up straight with her ponytail of light brown hair whipping her back. "Whatever the Fireballs are acting up for it isn't in their blood though now Nisha gets some oven cleaner out of it."

With her breathes caught up, Abby had a long look at her clipboard and started to run through the evening's events: Mr. Tomov having a drink with his poker friend, likely looking for loan, and Irina attending a birthday dinner with her co-workers from The Romanian Horn. Both of these meetings were at The Crossed Fangs, seeing as it was the only magical tavern away from Muggle eyes in the wizard town of Micastel, so it made no sense for anyone else to go along and shadow for added protection in numbers.

"Is that what you're wearing, Simeon?" Bella interjected just as Abby had finished.

Everyone's eyes turned to Mr Tomov, who had finally emerged from the partition in his plain black robes. Waddling forward as he adjusted the collar and flow of his chosen garments he looked down, searching for a problem that may not have been obvious to him. "Vat is wrong?"

"This is not how a man of stature dresses," she stated with a roll of her hazel eyes as she walked over to his wardrobe and began sifting through the hangers. "You don't know for sure what Minister Cvetkov is calling on you for, so you should be dressed as pristinely as possible. My grandfather, God rest his soul, never left the house looking less than professional."

Bella was quick to select a more ornate robe in a deep burgundy red with hints of gold bordering the collar. She tossed it at Mr Tomov and crossed her arms sternly as though she were a parent commanding a spoiled toddler to clean his toys or suffer the consequences of a time-out. Without words the portly man disappeared once again to change outfits.

"I will leave you to your preparations," Abby announced hastily to Tamara, who was no longer a blonde, "and go check on the transportation. Mikhail was headed to the garage to bring a car around..."

"I'll go with you," added Charlie without a pause as he began towards the door, taking Abby's shoulder for a fast exit.

With a duck of their heads to avoid the goblin knocker they were out of the adjoining room, through the empty conference room and into the corridor with a mission in mind to find Mikhail.

"So what will you be up to tonight, what with not having to go anywhere?" Charlie asked as he took Abby's free hand.

"Well, this instance with the Fireballs is going to be keeping me busy," she replied maintaining a speed walking pace. "The blood test was negative for infection, but I believe the group that cared for them today collected some scale samples that I should look at for parasites or abnormalities. Then there's the matter of making a new batch of burn-cooling potion, we seem to be using a lot of that lately."

"Not exactly what I had in mind, but I'd be happy to be of assistance."

"Its fine, Charlie," she replied quickly, stopping in her tracks to face him in the eye. "It's going to be a late night for me. You're up to working four consecutive days and I heard from Herb about you training the new recruit effective tomorrow. You should probably take some time and rest."

"Same could be said for you," he said in a hushed tone, looking about to assure they were alone before he continued. "You're working too hard: taking care of your patients, the dragons, the Order...take care of yourself too."

He stroked her cheek and rested his forehead against hers. He watched as her eyes instantly shut, as though she had fallen asleep in his embrace for just a moment. With the gentlest touch he laid a single kiss on her nose as his arms wrapped around her, keeping her safe from the world as she had done for him for several months.

"I'm fine, Charlie," she stated plainly as her green eyes fluttered, lifting her head to their noses touched. "Don't worry about me. It's nothing that I haven't already done these past few months. And now I really need to go and check on Mikhail."

She tore herself away from his arms and continued alone down the hallway, her brunette ponytail swaying with her steps. With a turn down a staircase she was gone from sight, but not from mind.

A/N: Originally I had written a few new recruits into the first telling of this story, along with a descriptor of how all the dragon keepers joined in under a mentorship program by shadowing and learning beneath a tenured worker. That changed a bit, but I thought about how J.K. Rowling said there were no wizard universities and careers are more like apprenticeships and that was what spawned how to be a dragon keeper.

Working on Chapter Thirteen now…slow process.