Chapter Text
1.
It all started with his dear horse Chestnut.
Ser Arlan was not an hour into the ground when Chestnut began to wicker and quake under the rain, shaking out his coat and wuffling into Dunk’s side with a miserable hitch to his gate. He calmed the old boy with a soft murmur and a pat to the flicking ears, and hoped they’d find shelter soon. As far into the countryside they were, an inn seemed a far off dream. The best he’d like to find was a sturdy tree to tie them beneath to wait out the worst of the storm.
He spied a whorl of smoke rising past the next hill, and after cresting it, saw it to be part of a small but respectable camp. One lone pitched tent, a pit fire sputtering valiantly through the rain, and a figure hunched into a dark, wet cloak over a fallen log.
Dunk swallowed, steeled his nerves, and headed down the watery knoll in the direction of the camp. It could be a bandit, but he thought the chance unlikely— not alone like this, in the rain. In his meager experience, they tended to rove in groups and flock to paltry country inns, where the pickings were far more generous than the open road. Dunk decided to take his chance; perhaps he’d find a weary, kindred soul in this traveler, willing to share a warm fire for the evening in exchange for a tall lad with a sword to protect them. A tall knight with a sword to protect them, now. A knight of the realm.
He expected a hedgeknight not unlike himself, or if not, a courier willing to brave the dangerous countryside. These roads were winding and treacherous, no place for merchants or maids.
And yet, he found the figure huddled in the rain to indeed be a maid.
A maid of fine and delicate features, to his surprise. And deep concern.
This was no place for a lady to be traveling alone, he warned her, once he was of a distance to meet eyes with her. Even in the gloom and the mist, they sparkled an effervescent, lively green. Her smile was a wonder, showed to him in a slip of pink lips and a flash of a dimple, as she spoke and dismissed his concerns in hand.
She even invited him to share her fire, but he couldn’t force himself to cross the distance. He stood just outside the ring of warmth, conflicted and ill at ease.
“You can come closer, you know,” she laughed at his hesitation. “I won’t bite, so long as you don’t.”
“I wouldn’t dare, milady,” he said, brow pinched. “But your guards won’t take kindly to a stranger so close to your noble person.”
“Noble? Guards?” She laughed. “I’m no noble, and I can take care of myself. Least of all with a man who’s too scared of a little lady like me to approach an open fire in the rain.”
“It’s your honor I worry for, not my own,” Dunk insisted. “Your lord father or lord husband may not appreciate the impropriety, milady. But if you’d be so kind to share your fire, I’d be obliged to take it.”
She gazed up at him with clear amusement dancing in her eyes in time to the flames in the pit. “I have no lord father or lord husband to care about the impropriety. Now hurry over here before you and your poor horses freeze to death in the cold.”
Dunk swore he did it for Chestnut’s sake and not his own, but he couldn’t help but admit the weather was certainly less dismal once he took his seat near the fire. He made sure to stay as far on the misshapen log as possible from the woman, even if she insisted it was unnecessary. He simply could not see how a woman of her refinement could be a simple passing merchant or wanderer, and not a lord’s treasured daughter.
The tent behind her was a modest, but well-made structure. The material was proofed for water, and thick enough to keep out wind and chill. Dunk could not even hazard a guess to how much it must have cost, to say nothing of the cloak she wore to ward off the rain. And her gloves were of such a fine material, the likes of which he’d never seen before. They glittered in the firelight, but nothing like leather or even polished armor. They had the appearance of a scaled creature, a lizard or snake or the like.
“There, that’s better, isn't it?” She flashed that wondrous smile of hers again. Dunk didn’t mean to stare, but he must have looked dumbfounded anyway. Her teeth were pale and straight and neat, in a manner like he’d never seen before. And her hair, when it escaped the confines of her hood, was, by equal turns, vermillion and bronze in the flickering light, well kept and shiny. Certainly no simple country maid.
“Aye,” he mumbled, breaking away from her sparkling gaze.
“Have you eaten anything for dinner, yet? I’ve got plenty to share.” She gestured to a little tin box at her side, which she opens with little fanfare.
To share? He hid his startled laugh of amusement with a cough. Surely she couldn’t expect to feed a man of his size with something so small, let alone the both of them? Yet he was touched she would offer, despite that. It spoke well of her character, to assist a weary stranger in the twilight, seemingly without cause nor in search of repayment.
Perhaps it would be prudent of him to be more cautious, of accepting such generosity from a stranger in the cusp of night. But Dunk was a young man of good health and stature, and little else but a trio of horses and old steel to his name. If she intended to poison and rob him, she couldn’t have picked a worse mark.
“I couldn’t, milady,” he demurred. “I’ve eaten well enough already.”
That was a lie, but a kind one. He couldn’t dare to take her food.
“Are you certain?” She rummaged through the tin. The sound was rather curious and… far more hollow than he’d expect from a space so small.
His eyes grew to the size of dinner saucers as she unearthed a monstrous trencher of a size with her forearm, wrapped in a curious wax paper of some kind. It was already split evenly down the middle, and she waved one half towards him in a way that automatically had his stomach lurching and his mouth salivating. He could smell it from here, a covetous mix of meat and spices.
“I truly can’t finish it myself,” she insisted, and he caved like a trickster’s house of cards.
Even if it was poisoned for some nefarious scheme he could never hope to unravel, he’d die a happy man with a full belly.
But it soon became clear that Harry— as she introduced herself, and would not allow him to address her anything else— had no designs upon his purse (or what little of it he could claim) or his person, and if she had any upon his horses, it was simply out of concern. She asked many a question on him, and his journeys, and he found himself idling the time to nightfall with stories of him and Ser Arlan’s travels. It felt good to speak of him, to someone else, after so long with only the old man for company. There was so much he wanted to say, but he feared he was no wordsmith, so it all must have poured out a jumbled mess of half-told tales and feats of chivalry. Harry didn’t stop him though, merely listened to him prattle on with a smile.
“—there’s to be a tourney at Ashford. The little lady is turning three-and-ten, or so I hear. I mean to register myself to the lists. Earn a few coin, mayhap win a joust or two against some minor knight and make off handsomely with his ransom.” He boasted, as he finished up yet another half of the large meat and vegetable trencher that Harry called a sandwich. He had no idea where she could keep such a thing in her tiny tin, but as glad as he was for a hearty meal, didn’t spare it much thought.
“A joust!” Harry exclaimed, brows raised beneath her curls. She’d taken off her hood as the rain stopped, revealing a curly crown of gorgeous, orange-blonde hair, the color of a soft sunrise. “I’ve never seen one before! Are they dangerous?”
“Yes, but a true knight knows the tricks to it.” Not that Dunk could ever claim to be one of those. But a beautiful maiden was listening to his tales of valor, and he’d never felt more like a real knight until this moment.
“Well, I wish you all the luck in that, then,” said Harry, leaning back to peer up at the passing clouds overhead. Occasionally, a star would peek out from the gloom. “How far is this Ashford from here, would you say?”
Dunk never had much of a head for maths, but he’d lived his life on the road, so telling time was well within his skills. “A fortnight, at a good hard pace. Two, if you mean to walk it.”
Harry made a noncommittal noise.
Dunk sat up straighter, excited. “D’you mean to travel there as well, milady? I could lend you Chestnut, he’s an old but steady ride. It's the least I could do, for the kindness you showed me.”
“How many times must I tell you it’s Harry, Ser Dunk?” Harry smiled wryly. “And while I don’t feel I’ve done much to warrant such gratitude, perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer. I mean to see as much of these lands as I can, and a guide would be very helpful.”
The choice of her words had Dunk’s brow furrowing. She spoke like a learned lady, even if she’d rather him not call her such. Her meaning could be hard to understand, sometimes, but this he thought he understood correctly.
“Do you mean to say you’ve never been to Westeros, Harry?”
Harry looked a bit abashed. “Ah… what gave it away? I thought I was doing a good job of blending in.”
Dunk looked her up and down, critically. “Well, you don’t have an accent, if that’s what you mean to say. But you don’t wear a sigil of your house, and I’ve never known a lady, highborn or no, to travel alone like this.”
“Huh,” Harry marveled. Her smile was very wide. “See? This is why I need you around, Dunk! I am indeed a traveler new to Westeros, but I’d rather not make that apparent, if I can help it.”
Dunk nodded eagerly. “Aye. Since the Blackfyre Rebellions, Westeros hasn’t been a kind place to those from Essos. More trouble than it’s worth, I’d say, though I know you’re no Blackfyre spy.”
Her smile turned a bit complicated. “Yes, exactly. I wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a Blackfyre. But, erm, Essos is so different from here. There’s still much I don’t know.”
He turned over the idea of it.
He’d expected a long, lonely journey to Ashford, to stew in his own thoughts and doubts. A companion would be nice, something to fill the void Ser Arlan left in him. Harry made for very pleasant company, and besides, he’d be no knight of the realm if he allowed her to travel without a guard. A knight vowed to protect the weak and the innocent.
“Then we should make south for Ashford on the morrow.” He decided. “On Chestnut and Sweetfoot, the ride should be swift and pleasant. I can tell you all of what I know of the passing lands as we travel.”
“I would love that, Ser Dunk.” Harry accepted graciously. “Thank you for agreeing to be my companion for the journey.”
//
Though he and Ser Arlan had guarded many a maiden on many a journey, this was the first time Dunk had done it without him, as a knight of his own. This was also the first time he’d ever done so without a wheelhouse, a retinue of household guards, and other hired hedge knights to accompany them.
The journey was, indeed, swift and pleasant.
Harry made for as apt a traveling companion as she did a dinner one.
Though she had offered a space in her tent to him each night, he felt compelled to decline her. She was a lovely woman, of that there could be no doubt, but he did not believe her when she would insist she was not a nobleman’s daughter. He could not besmirch her honor so, no matter how kind and open she was. Or perhaps, it was because of how kind and open she was. She was the picture of honor and goodness, and deserved better than a hedge knight to warm her bed. On the third time she offered he’d had to, awkwardly but resolutely, reject her offer on behalf of her own virtue, and it was then that she laughed and meant only for them to share a roof, not a bed itself. Still, he could not accept. If anyone were to happen upon them, the distinction would be moot. Better to lay under the stars with the horses, and guard her from a respectable distance.
Every morning Harry would send him off to fetch them fresh water for the journey and scavenge what edible plants he could from the surrounding forests and hills, while she settled camp and put away her tent. He’d offered to do the labor himself, but she’d assured him she was quite capable on her own. He’d yet to see her struggle with the chore, even though her tent was rather large and cumbersome. He also wasn’t entirely sure where she kept it, for the pack she wore felt awfully small to house such a structure. But she said she had it well in hand, and so far it seemed she did, so he saw no reason to look further than that.
They passed each day discussing what he knew of the passing scenery, the occasional plant or animal, and the small hamlets they spied in the distance. The heart of the Reach unfurled before them, the breadbasket of Westeros lush and ripe in the throes of spring.
And each night they’d switch campfire recipes, neither of them proving to be anything more than a moderately adequate cook. What Harry lacked in cooking skills she made up for tenfold with supplies, however. They ate well and heartily, with stews seasoned generously with her many spices, and the various vegetables she took out of her tin.
In hindsight, there were many queer and unusual signs throughout their journey, that Dunk was either too slow or too complacent to notice.
But this was not a secret that could last for long under such intimate circumstances, nor was it, he suspected, one Harry ever intended to keep from him for long.
Things came to a head when poor Chestnut began to slow more and more, lethargic in the mornings and wroth to be roused in the afternoon.
“I think he’s unwell,” Harry finally concluded, after he refused to budge from their noon break.
Dunk’s stomach plummeted, though he could not deny her words. In truth, he’d had the suspicion since Ser Arlan’s death. It hit the horses as hard as it did him, he knew. They were quite intelligent creatures, and they’d known Ser Arlan their whole lives. The rain didn’t help matters.
But he had nothing to give to poor Chestnut, save for an apple and some pats. Even if he had the coin, or a stable, he didn’t know enough about horses to know what ailed the old horse, let alone how to fix it.
“Aye, it might be his time,” Dunk replied, with a heavy heart. “The rain spell from earlier did the old boy no favors.”
The thought of having to say goodbye to Chestnut, so soon after Ser Arlan, settled like curdled milk in his gut. He wasn’t ready.
“Would you mind if I tried something?” Harry asked gently, coming up to his side and giving Chestnut an affectionate pat to the nose.
“Not much to be done for it, I don’t think. But you can try what you like, if you think it would help.”
Harry rumaged through her bag. She stuck her hand in, and then, to the alarming clattering of something within, stuck the rest of her forearm, and then finally, her whole arm. Dunk watched with a shocked open mouth as she finally pulled out a bottle of glass so fine it was clear through, with a bright red liquid within.
She pulled off the cork, then had him help her tilt Chestnut’s head back. The stot whinnied in protest, but Dunk was too dazed to even think to calm him. The poor old boy tried to spit out whatever she’d poured down his throat, but Dunk clamped down his mouth before he could. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than a minute or so, and then Chestnut was suddenly as alert as Dunk had ever seen him. He was also, alarmingly, emitting steam from his ears.
“That’s just a harmless side effect of the potion, promise.” Harry gestured to the horse’s ears with a laugh. “Should go away in an hour or so, but in the meanwhile, he should be back to his old self! I learned this trick from my old magical creatures professor— sometimes animals just need a bit of a pepper up to get over a chill.”
Dunk gaped at her. “Magical— creatures!— And begging your pardon, just what is a professor?”
“That’s what threw you off?” Harry laughed. “Well, I suppose you did already mention dragons and unicorns to me, but never a professor. I’m not certain, but I think it’s similar to what you call a Maester? Except in addition to being knowledgeable, they are mostly teachers and not researchers.”
Dunk’s mouth opened, then shut. He blinked a few times. “And the— the magic?”
“Oh, yes, I’m a witch,” Harry said, simply. She looked a bit sheepish. “A great deal more than that, in truth, if certain parties are to be believed… but for now, let’s just call me a witch.”
“I’ve never met a witch before,” Dunk confessed, eyes very wide. “Ser Arlan told me a tale, once, of a woodswitch he’d met years ago. But I thought they were all old hags.”
Harry laughed again. “That does seem to be the trend, I’ve noticed!” She tilted her head, tapping her lip. “Say, do you think if I disguised myself as a mean old lady, more people would take me seriously as a witch?”
Dunk wasn’t very sure what to say. “I reckon they’d be more scared of you, at the least.”
He imagined even bandits and the like would think twice before robbing a woodswitch. One never knew what kind of curse they could lay upon you. He eyed Harry in a new, wary light, then dismissed the thought in hand. Harry wasn’t the sort to curse someone, or at least, not someone who didn’t deserve it.
“Never cross a mean old lady, that’s true,” Harry agreed, seriously.
Dunk still wasn’t sure how to approach all this, feeling wrong-footed and a bit ill at ease. “I’ve never met a witch before,” he confessed. “I haven’t done anything to offend you, have I?”
“Offend? Why, not at all!” Harry blinked. “In fact, you’ve been nothing but kind and chivalrous! Exactly as I always imagined a knight to be.”
“Imagined?” He repeated, befuddled. “Do you not have knights, where you come from?”
“No, or at least, not the way you think of them. Not anymore.” Harry sighed, shaking out her hair underneath the midday sun. “And I hope I haven’t scared you too terribly. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret for long, but some people can be a bit testy when it comes to magic.”
“Aye,” Dunk dipped his head in a solemn nod. “You’d be right to keep it to yourself. They say the last of magic died out with the dragons, so most folk don’t encounter it often these days. I wouldn’t want to see someone think poorly of you, just because you’re a witch, so it’s a good idea to keep it hidden. At least when we get to Ashford.”
Harry studied him thoughtfully. “But you don’t mind, Ser Dunk?”
“I reckon it’s made our journey a mighty sight easier, even if I didn’t know it.” He shook his head with a rueful laugh. Ser Arlan did always tell him he was as thick as a castle wall, and here he was traveling with a witch for days, none the wiser.
“Oh good, I’m glad.” Harry walked to Chestnut’s side, giving the stot a fond pat. “It’ll be even easier from here on out, then! I will say, for all its many faults and fortunes, magic does make things quite convenient.”
Dunk hopped back onto Sweetfoot, already intrigued by the thought. “Do you mind telling me more about it? Magic, I mean. I’ve only heard the stories, you know, about woodwitches and curses and Valyrian warlocks of old.”
“Actually I don’t know,” said Harry, amused, as they steered the horses back onto the trail. “How about this— I’ll tell you some stories about my homeland, and you tell me all about Valyrian warlocks and woodwitches.”
It felt far fairer a deal than he’s owed, if he’s honest. “Can’t say I know much, but I’ll do my best.”
//
Although Dunk enjoyed laying out beneath the stars on a grassy knoll as much as any other hedgeknight, he had to admit sharing Harry’s enormous, house-sized tent was far easier on his back.
The tent was, in fact, the nicest and largest accommodations he’s ever stayed in, for all its modest outward appearance as a simple rope and pole tarp. There were several rooms, all equipped with handsome furniture and generously sized beds, as well as a full kitchen and living area. As he would expect from a home owned by a mysteriously magical being, the odds and ends within were deeply curious and slightly concerning. Harry warned him not to touch anything without permission, a caution he took to heart.
There were, however, a few appliances she was determined to see him master, and Dunk did not think he would ever see a marvel as impressive again in his life as the porcelain bowl contraption she referred to as a toilet. Except perhaps for the contraption she referred to as a shower. Suffice it to say, he spent a generous amount of time in the room she called the ‘bathroom’.
Dunk understood now why she always exited her tent each morning looking fresh as a daisy, while he attempted to scrub the worst of the journey off his person during brief stops to the river.
He was, at first, hesitant to encroach upon her generosity for fear of tarnishing her honor, but Harry had made clear she found nothing about their situation dishonorable. And perhaps such things were different when it came to witches. Or at least, witches from Harry’s homeland. She mentioned it to be a very faraway land with strange customs that at times felt very similar to Westeros, and other times not similar at all. They seemed a free-spirited people, in a way that he still couldn’t wrap his head around, but they also had a sense of honor and loyalty that he could. What it meant to be good and just, in either realm, seemed to be shared.
He found himself dragging his feet as they near Ashford, loathe to part with his new companion.
He knew it would be untoward for them to arrive together, though he did not wish to trudge in their alone. But people were likely to get the wrong idea, if they did. They wouldn’t understand that they were a hedgeknight and a foreign witch, simply enjoying a journey together as friends. And though Harry would be unbothered by the assumptions, Dunk didn’t much like the idea of letting strangers peer into his private business. What camaraderie he shared with Harry didn’t deserve to be sullied by their unsavory opinions, just as the woman herself did not deserve their judgments.
He knew what Harry would say; that she’d heard far worse over the course of her life than being called a camp follower or a loose woman.
He didn’t know much about it, but he did know she’d lived a hard one, full of its own adventures and tragedies, and the weighty helm of a responsibility and burden he could only make out the shape of, for she never spoke of it in detail. But he’d rather her not have to hear people speak ill of it at all, if he could help it. She’d tell him he was being the chivalrous knight again, and he would remind her that his vows intended him to be so.
But perhaps he worried too soon. The matter may just be out of his hands.
Just before they reached Ashford proper, Harry took out a very odd device from her pocket as it made curious little jingles, and frowned down at it with a worrying expression.
“Oh dear,” she sighed, then tucked it back into her cloak. “Looks like I need to make a slight detour.”
“Is something the matter?” Dunk had never quite understood what that little metal square of hers did, beyond allegedly relaying information, and more excitingly, making portraits more lifelike than any mirror he’d ever seen from all the landscapes around them. Harry had even turned it’s eyes on them and used it to take many things she called ‘selfies’ to document their journey, which incidentally, is how he got a clear enough look at himself for the first time in his life to realize his eyebrows were a bit crooked.
“No— or, well, maybe,” Harry said, leaning back in her saddle. “Do you remember what I said about the reason I was here?”
Dunk gave a tentative nod. “You wished to learn more about the magic of these lands. You said you had a friend in a bad way, who might find Westeros better for his poor health.”
“Yes, that.” Harry looked a bit sheepish. “Well, you see, what I might’ve neglected to mention is that the, erm, friend of mine is… a dragon.”
Dunk did a spit take. “P— Pardon?!”
“I do consider the dragon my friend, to be clear,” Harry was quick to say. “My friends and I were stuck in a bit of a bind, and this dragon saved us. But he’s lived a hard life, and was injured by the flight and… well… we’re sort of responsible for him now, so to speak.”
“What exactly have you been up to that required a dragon saving you?” Dunk asked, perplexed.
“Breaking into a bank,” said Harry, stone-faced. Then she added; “It was for a good cause! I swear! We weren’t really stealing, we were saving the world!”
Dunk wasn’t entirely sure he understood it, but to be fair, he hasn’t really understood much of any of Harry’s stories. He took to them as he did tales of myth and grandeur— intriguing and entertaining, but not the sort of stories he tried to sort out the details for. Now he was reconsidering everything she’d told him in a new light.
“Anyway, you see, I’ve been trying to find a new home for my dragon friend, but it’s been a bit slow going. All the dragon reserves around my—uh— homeland are dangerously full. It’s a bit of a conservation crisis, in fact. So I’ve been looking for a good spot for him, and truthfully, I’ve searched far and wide and Westeros is the best I’ve come so far. You said the ruling family used to have dragons themselves, right?”
“Yes but—” Dunk worked his mouth, but no sound came out. “They don’t ride dragons anymore! Haven’t for generations!”
“Right, sure. But that does mean that Westeros has had dragons before, and had them for a long time,” Harry countered. “That must mean there’s enough magic in these lands to support them. It stands to reason it could support them again— or at least, just one! You must understand Ser Dunk, I really am at my wits end here.”
Dunk was still rather too flummoxed to completely make sense of what Harry was saying. “But… but the dragons are gone now. And no one knows why they died out.”
“Yes, precisely, that’s what I intend to find out,” Harry announced, holding out that strange magical device she called a phone again. “I’ve been collecting samples of the local soil and fauna, and have been sending it back to a friend of mine to examine. He said he has some results to show me, so I really ought to head back now.”
“Oh.” Most of that went over Dunk’s head, but he got the jist of it. “... So, you’re leaving?”
“Only for a bit,” Harry assured him with a quick smile. “I should be back in time for the tourney proper— I can’t miss your first joust! I have to be in the stands cheering you on!”
Dunk ducked his head, bashful and pleased all at once. He had to admit, the thought of having at least one person in the stands, rooting for him and him alone, made his heart feel full. Harry believed in him, and who knows, perhaps he might just win the tourney, and be able to crown her his Queen of Love and Beauty. She certainly was lovely and beautiful enough for the title.
“So not a goodbye, then, simply a— see you later,” Dunk decided, with a smile of his own.
Harry's grin turned wider, dimples on full display. “That’s the spirit! I’ll find you in Ashford, it’s a promise.”
EX_REPORT_01_POTTERH
[Harry Potter and The Master of Expense Reports: The Path of the Righteous Man]
“Well he can’t just stay here,” Hermione said, exasperated, as she waved vaguely at Parthanux, or Perry for short— named by singular and unanimous vote by one Ron Weasley, who hasn’t looked up from Skyrim once since Harry regretfully introduced him— who has begun to terrorize the remnant gnome colonies scattered about Molly Weasley’s garden.
Hermione’s dreadful look promised retribution of the highest order if Harry didn’t figure something out and Ron ended up begging her to keep the blasted dragon. As if this entire situation was all Harry’s fault. Which it was, for the record, but they all escaped from Gringotts on this dragon, so at least some of the blame should be shared here. Ignorant to the arguing over his predicament, Perry stomped cheerfully all over Molly’s meticulously tended flowerbeds, causing both Hermione and Harry to wince.
“Why don’t we wait to see what Charlie says,” Harry suggested, panicking quietly as she watched the great pale beast stick its curious snout into Arthur’s garage, a racket of muggle gadgetry collapsing loud enough to make her grimace.
Charlie better come quickly. Otherwise, Harry will have the entire Weasley clan out for her head at this rate.
Their resident dragon handler arrived a full five hours later, to the scene of Hermione and Harry frantically attempting to magic the yard into some semblance of order after Perry has tired himself out and is basking in the wheat fields beyond. Why he couldn’t have just frolicked out there the entire time, Harry will never know. She wondered if he’s the sort to cause problems just to be ornery. Knowing her luck, he probably was.
The pale, sickly dragon looked glorious in the fading light, the white of his skin pearlescent in the sun’s dying rays. The breathtaking sight of such a magnificent creature finally free of its chains, bathing in its freedom, made Harry almost feel as if all the trouble the dragon had caused was worth it. Almost.
And all her charitable thoughts flew out the window when Charlie laid the gauntlet of judgment down.
“I’m sorry, but there’s just no room,” he revealed, to Hermione and Harry’s united dismay.
“No room? No room at all?” Harry stressed, with growing dread.
Charlie sighed. “It’s an ongoing issue, to tell you the truth. We’ve had a record year for births, but all the reserves were already at full capacity. We have surveyors scouting new land daily, but there’s just not enough of it to go around.”
Ron, roused from his latest Skyrim binge and joining them by the fireplace, looked very confused by the prospect of a world with a growing population demand and mirroring agriculture footprint, which wasn’t entirely surprising given the historically lagging birthrates in the magical world. Harry and Hermione— better versed in the ongoing issues that plague the muggle world— just traded worried, foreboding looks.
Charlie ran a wary hand through his lanky copper locks, leaning back until he’s nearly out of the floo entirely. “To be entirely honest, Harry, I was meaning to talk to you about the dragon situation.”
“Talk to me?” Harry repeated, befuddled. “About dragons?” Aside from her largely traumatic experience in fourth year, and a similarly traumatic experience recently escaping a homicidal bank vault, Harry didn’t have much experience with dragons.
“Yes. Ron mentioned you regularly travel to other realms for work. I was hoping perhaps there was a realm that might suit for an extended dragon reserve.”
Harry turned sharply. “Ron,” she rebuked, scowling. Her occupation was meant to be kept to a ‘need to know basis’!
“Sorry!” Ron held both hands up in the air. “It came up at Christmas! Mum was asking about you, and you know how she gets. I kept telling her you work in consulting but no one knew what that meant and then dad chimed in about some unsavory muggle stuff and it all went pear-shaped.”
Hermione palmed her face.
Harry rubbed her temples. “You should have just let them believe I was a stripper.”
“It probably would have made more sense than the actual explanation,” Ron agreed readily.
Harry looked back towards Charlie, his hopeful face still peering out from the burning floo. “I can’t make any promises, Charlie. Other realms are… difficult. The majority of them are uninhabitable, and finding a habitable one that not only has the space but enough magic to support creatures as large as dragons is going to be a tall order.”
“I understand,” Charlie nodded. “But the situation is dire enough I figured I’d at least ask.”
If that’s the case, then there’s absolutely no way there’s a reserve on this planet they could squeeze Perry into, no matter how much Harry attempted to bribe them.
They cut the connection soon after that, and Charlie returned to whatever it was he did on the dragon reserve in Romania, Ron back to his Skyrim binge, and Hermione and Harry to mull despondently at the kitchen table. Outside, Perry gave a loud harrumph in his sleep, letting out a small belch of a fireball that charred a sizeable amount of the yard Harry had just fixed. She sighed loudly. Molly was going to have their heads if they asked to keep a gigantic dragon at the Burrow, but there was nothing to be done for it.
“Does Charlie have a point, Harry?” Hermione asked, after she fixed them both a cuppa. If she snuck in a few shots of Ogden’s for both of them, Harry wasn’t going to call her out on it. “Are there any realms that could house dragons?”
“Probably, but it’s not just a matter of finding an open world with breathable air,” Harry returned, maudlin. “Dragons are the most difficult of all magical creatures to sustain. Hagrid said they need an awful lot of ambient magic to draw from, and quickly become locusts for it themselves. I can’t say I know much about magical ecologies, but I do know they’re really quite delicate, and throwing a fully ground dragon into one is an excellent way to destabilize a whole world, let alone an entire extended reserve like Charlie wants.”
Hermione made a pained noise in her throat. “I’d argue for the necessity of it, but then I remember those blasted Australian cane toads, and concede your point.”
Both Harry and Hermione withhold a disgusted shudder. Harry had never minded toads, until they’d had to pick up Hermione’s obliviated parents after the war and had taken a trip down under, only to find themselves besieged in a completely different kind of war, entirely revolving around their rental Forerunner windshield and a poisonous invasive species.
Harry drummed her fingers across the tabletop. “My best bet would be to find a world that already has, or better yet, used to have dragons, and hope it’s still in good enough shape to house more of them. Even better if there’s people there already, who could perhaps act as stewards.”
Hermione sighed. “When you put it like that, it does seem to be a bit of a rather tall order.”
“And there’s no telling how long the search will take, even if I start right away,” Harry scowled, reaching for her spiked tea. “Which means, unfortunately, I’m going to have to ask my favorite one-eyed SHIELD pirate to find somewhere inconspicuous to look after Perry in the meanwhile, until we can find a home for him.”
Hermione perked up. “Maybe SHIELD has some areas we could borrow for dragons?”
Harry shuddered to think of Nick Fury’s face if she even dared to waltz into his office and ask for land for dragons. “He’d laugh in my face, I think.” Then kick her out for the disrespect of thinking he just casually happened to have parcels of land the size of national parks for her perusal.
She looked out the window, where Perry had flopped onto his back to let the setting sun warm his belly. More than simply wanting a convenient place to dump a traumatized dragon, she actually wanted to do right by the poor creature. She wanted to find a world that would suit him well, where he would never have to worry about being chained and forced to submit again. A majestic beast like Perry deserved a world of mountains and freedom.
“I’ll find somewhere for him,” Harry vowed, polishing off her tea. “A place full of mountains and clear skies, and maybe even friends to fly with him.”
Hermione looked up at her, amused. “Do you plan on riding another dragon, Harry?”
“Oh, not me— I think once was bad enough,” Harry laughed. “But it’s a big universe out there. Surely, there’s someone worthy of it.”
//
(Across the eons of time and space, Baelor Targaryen sneezed into his wine.)