"Slytherin," Pansy repeated, as Charlie failed to respond. And proud of it? She thought of adding, we're here –we're potentially evil- get used to it?
Silence ensued.
Charlie nodded. The straight lines of his face made indecipherable hieroglyphs that Pansy could not fathom. His face was usually so open, every expression free for all to read and enjoy. Upon the mountain top, with the wind stealing colour from his face and coursing around them like an avenging power, his stony features made him look like a strict Seraphim ready to pass judgement and justice.
"So are my family, my friends," Pansy's voice could not help but say, digging her abyss further. "They're not- not all of them are… Some of them are just misunderstood." She finished lamely, wiping the tedious tears from her face.
"Okay," replied Charlie colourlessly. He turned and continued up the mountain path. She had no choice but to follow in silence.
A high wrought iron gate came into view. It's cruel iron bars created a courtyard before a high cave that was protected on all sides by craggy cliffs of stone. The gate was at least twenty feet high, and was topped in vicious spikes. Below the barbs was a tangle of spidery writing that spelled out a warning, "Steal a Sleeping Drakeling, Wake Death."
A chill that was neither the wind nor the coldness emanating from Charlie struck her spine. They stopped a few meters from the gate where a line of stones marked an invisible boundary. Charlie's face, a pale ghost of skin between his flame of red hair and olive green jumper, failed to turn to her as he spoke.
"This is the Romanian Longhorn Drakeling pen. We look after a variety of dragons here, but the main aim of the sanctuary is to try and raise the number of Longhorns in the wild. It's why we're the most famous sanctuary in Europe- we're the ones who've had the most success with returning young dragons to the wild and protecting their numbers," Charlie's voice continued to reel off a clinical list of facts, his voice uncommonly unsoftened by laughter or jests. "Longhorns have always been prized for their parts as potion ingredients- and their increasing rarity is driving up prices. Hence the gate, the Druid Stones and the countless other protective charms that you can't even see. We keep the drakelings aged between six and eighteen months here-"
"-Because why hunt down a dangerous grown dragon when you can go for the smaller version?" completed Pansy, her eyes watchful and wary. She didn't know how to deal with this not joking, distant Charlie. She wanted to learn the rules to this new relationship quickly so she wouldn't… bother him.
She knew about Longhorns- they were basically the pandas of the wizarding world. If Pansy hadn't shattered things, Charlie and she would probably be joking about their suicidal tendencies and terminally low sex life… Well, she would be joking, he would be blushing and probably defending the honour of the ridiculous reptile.
They parked the brooms against a boulder and emptied their bags of the additional protective gear; Flame Resistant Gloves, a burn kit, the world's most unattractive goggles, and a black dragon tooth adorned with silver runes. The tooth was attached to a chain that Pansy placed around her neck. The secondary canine was part of a matching set, all from the same dragon skeleton, that allowed the wearer into the restricted areas of the Sanctuary. Across the Sanctuary lands were dozens of charms to bewitch and beware Muggles to stay away. All were rather innocent hexes, mental prods to turn around or cues to initiate the world's most unappealing storm to hike in. The dragon magic was much darker stuff, and Pansy did not really want to find out what would happen if she crossed certain marked boundaries without The Black Tooth. All she knew was that beneath the ring of stones more dragon bones lay, as if in wait, biding their time until a trespasser made an unfortunate mistake.
"You'll want to put that under your shirt," Charlie advised, nodding to the tooth. "Little blighters will grab onto anything loose."
"Thanks," she replied politely.
They crossed the boundary together and as they approached the gate, individual bars slithered from their holding spot and reached for Pansy. First one would slip behind her, coaxing her in before another distended to do the same. Briefly, she was in a cage of iron bars built for her shape. She looked for Charlie behind the jungle of ebony; he too was held in the ephemeral prison. His gaze was fixed ahead, impatient. A fist clenched in Pansy's stomach- she had been expecting him to watch her, to check she was all right and to give her some easy reassurance with his gaze. Instead he leant forward, eager to be out of the tangle of iron. Pansy shifted, doing the same, feeling cold.
The last few bars raised with a groan before her, curling back like insect legs to replace themselves at her back in their original rigid position.
That was when Pansy heard the growls. They were higher than the Iron belly's, more of a buzz. A pitch-black cave stood across a courtyard of grass and stone. From it, glowing eyes flickered.
A small snickering noise stemmed from the shadow, and a bony, ravenous head revealed itself. The Longhorn was about the size of a large canine with a grinning wolfish muzzle. However, unlike hounds, it lacked the softness that distracted one from it's predacious ancestors. This beast was an inimitable killer. Sickle-shaped teeth interlocked along it's long grin, and it's emerald head was adorned with a pair cruel looking, twisted horns. In the sunlight, they glittered gold.
A scattering of claws announced it's charge, followed by three smaller counterparts. Each beast leaped toward Charlie, their translucent wings flapping to give them height.
At least he had prepared her for this welcome, Pansy thought sardonically. Yet her fingers still twitched to use her wand. The four terrors dragged Charlie to the floor giving strange barking screeches and purrs. The ginger maniac laughed, giving the largest a scratch behind the ear before wrestling it in return.
"Yeah, I missed you too, Aramis. Athos, what have I told you about chewing on kneecaps?" Charlie crooned at the beasts, as the slightly mottled drakeling with the enthusiastically wagging tail made amorous advances toward his mid-leg.
Pansy tried not to be too put out that he spoke to the dragons more warmly than he did towards her. It would have happened anyway, she reassured herself before a prodding thought reminded her that she should not mind.
The littlest Longhorn, who was about the size of Pansy's cat, approached her and gazed up with yellow, accusing eyes.
"You going to give me trouble, punk?" she asked the dragon.
Fearlessly, it sneezed at her.
Charlie and his "friends" continued to play, utterly ignoring Pansy and the midget dragon. He was supposed to be showing her how to handle the animals… but Pansy loathed to tear him away from this reunion, just as she loathed to speak to him before he spoke to her. Instead she gave the little Longhorn an appraising look, recalled what it had instructed her in "Dragons: Do's and Don't's", then reached down to pluck it up by the tail… before stopping. The Longhorn's eyes narrowed in a very familiar, warning way. Even while reading the section on Drakeling Handling, Pansy had been quite surprised that more people hadn't lost multiple eyes and limbs by treating dragons in this manner. Dragons had incredibly flexible backs, monstrous teeth and hardly polite personalities, and despite this people thought it was best to pick them up by the tail?
She shifted her shoulders, and reminded herself on what Slytherins were renowned for: Self Preservation. (Also, Amazing Hair- but that was hardly going to help her now).
Instead of following the handbook, she shifted around in her pack for a sizeable chunk of raw lamb and set herself down on the cleanest looking rock to begin cooking it with her wand. The drakeling toddled after her, nose snuffling at the meat.
Interesting fact: Dragons only breath fire because raw meat gives them acute indigestion. In the wild, it tended to be the parent's duty to roast the food for their young (who are flameless until about twenty-four months old)- but Longhorns were about as maternal as Pansy's own mother and oft served their babes misguided meals of burnt hedgerows and battered telephone boxes.
The drakeling waited patiently for the meat to be properly burnt (Pansy was thankful for the Fire-Proof Gloves as her Cooking charms still weren't quite up to scratch- unlike her Fireballs, which were top notch), before setting on it with relish as soon as Pansy threw it down. While distracted, Pansy flipped out her measuring tape and notebook to begin measuring it's wingspan and length, doing her best to avoid touching the ravenous teacup-sized monster.
Charlie currently had his knee trapping the largest drakeling's head to the ground as he checked it's teeth, tail and scales.
"So… that story you told about the guy called Draco. The one where he got turned into a ferret. That was Draco Malfoy?"
"Yes. He's my best friend." Can't lose anything by being honest now, Pansy thought, then recalled that she was alone on a mountain top with some on with a potential motive and deadly, fire-breathing weapons.
"Ah," Charlie frowned, throwing Porthos to the ground slightly too hard as he began to clip the dragon's claws. "I thought this Daphne was your best friend. Or was it Millicent?"
"I have a lot of love to give. I've always preferred to think of Slytherin as the house of free love and fickleness. Oh, and ridiculously good-looking people. Though I am biased… and ridiculously good-looking."
Pansy thought she could see the beginning of a smile at Charlie's mouth, but wasn't quite sure if it was just hopeful thinking.
A dark cloud covered them briefly. Above them a flock of three Thestrals floated like silent death across the sky, their membranous wings casting a grey light. Charlie caught Pansy's black gaze. A reminder. Separately, they both wondered whether there was anyone left in their generation who could not see those remembrances of death.
A shrill growl echoed by Pansy's elbow and the littlest Longhorn, D'Artagnan, poked at her with it's stubby horns. Obediently, she moved her arm and the drakeling jumped up on her lap, padding around in a small circle to get comfortable before settling it's head on her bony knee. D'Artagnan felt like liquid warmth and released loud purrs like a particularly content cat.
"Told you," Charlie said. Pansy jumped- she had drifted off, distracted by the emerald gleam that rose and fell with each of D'Artagnan's smoky draconic snores, missing his silent approach. She looked up at his face- it still wasn't right, as if his face was wearing an expression a size too tight. This masked Charlie unnerved her, and she felt nothing but guilt for making him this way. Lies weren't difficult, they were part of life. She should have remembered that.
"Told you that you were good with dragons. We best be getting back."