Chapter Text
(Artwork by Antonello Venditti)
The Cursed One
5 Years After the War
Hermione shoved the pack of letters into her bag as she reached for Ron’s hand. It was still night just outside of London, just shy of four in the morning. The stars were barely visible from the light pollution from the town. His fingers gripped hers as he flashed her a smile, just a moment before his hand closed on the handle of a metal bucket that lay the grass before them, hidden against a rock wall.
A portkey.
The familiar landscape spun away as the air became a vacuum, pressing in around them as they were sucked away with the magic of the enchanted item.
The portkey took them to a remote location in the Defileul Jiului National Park, deep inside the Romanian mountain range and away from any civilization. Hermione looked up at the sky as she took a deep breath; here, the stars were twinkling above them, easily visible even with the low light.
Ron was the first to release the portkey and Hermione silently followed him, lugging her bag with her. They made their way down a worn path through the trees, his wand lighting the way.
It was early morning here, the forest quiet and dark around them as all the creatures still slumbered in the wee hours of the morning. The sun had barely crept over the horizon, and the faint layer of dew that clung to the trees and grass shimmered like diamonds.
Every so often, his light would flicker and throw them into momentary darkness. He had warned her that here, in this place, their magic would fluctuate.
All the ancient mountains are filled with their own magic, which lures magical beings to take up residence. Here they would remain mostly unbothered by the ever-expanding Muggle world.
The dragons, specifically, found sanctuary here. Shelter.
The dark fell away as they entered a clearing where a group of tents had been pitched. Hermione tried to ignore her disappointment at the sight of the camp; because that’s what it was. She had vainly hoped for better accommodations as her last experience of living in a tent had not pleasant, to say the least.
“Charlie!” Ron called quietly as they walked towards the largest tent, huddled in the middle of the group.
He swept the flap open and they stepped inside.
It was worse inside the tent than outside. To her dismay, Hermione realized they were literal Muggle tents. No magical interiors. No charmed lanterns or kitchens. Nothing but cheap folding furniture adorned the space. Was there even a bathroom?
And she was going to be living out here for the next few weeks, according to Charlie’s letters.
Ron ducked under a broken tent support to peek in one of the connected parts, “Oi, Charlie! Where are you? I brought Hermione. He reappeared and frowned as he looked at her from across the tent, “Dunno where he went off to. It’s like six in the morning.”
There was a commotion from outside, followed by a steady stream of cursing. Hermione and Ron exchanged curious glances as they hurried out of the tent.
Charlie was stumbling out of the woods, waving a broken and burnt broomstick in his hand as he smacked it into the bushes.
The branches rattled violently and a scaled green snout appeared, shortly followed by an armored neck and body as the dragon shook its way from the bush. The dragon was small, even at full height standing no taller than Charlie. He waved the broomstick in front of its face and it hissed at the redhead, trying to grab the broom away with its mouth.
Ron started to step forward but the creature turned towards them, its golden eyes narrowing to slits. It lowered its head to the ground as it shook its wings, creating a rattling sound as its scales snapped together.
“Blimey! When did you two get here?!” Charlie caught sight of them as he followed the new direction of attention from the dragon, stoughtly lopping it upside the head with the bristles of his broom, scolding the thing as if it were a child, “Knock of it, Sheila.”
The dragon tipped its face away from them to look at Charlie, the rattling stopping at his words. The wizard stepped forward and patted its —her?—as if he were merely patting the withers of a prized steer.
The creature ducked away and disappeared into the woods once more, the green of its scales immediately camouflaging it.
Hermione and Ron both still stood awkwardly near the entrance of the tent, stunned and speechless as Charlie put broom over his shoulder and his other hand on his hip, watching the dragon slip away.
Once the rustling ceased, he turned towards them and smiled broadly. He held his free arm out to the side as he strode across the grass.
”Brother! Hermione! I completely forgot today was the day you were arriving!” The wizard embraced them both, his freckled face split into a wide smile.
As he stepped back, Hermione noticed a new jagged scar that ran across his cheek. Bright blue eyes stood out against his deeply tanned face. Charlie’s hair was a few shades darker than Ron’s and the rest of his siblings. He was also taller than Ron, broader and more heavily muscled as well. His hands were calloused. Charlie always reminded Hermione of someone who would be considered a laborer in the Muggle world. Someone who had a very physically demanding job, who worked with their hands and had to use brute strength to succeed many times.
“Yep, today is the day,” Hermione said, her voice somewhere between excitement and dismay.
While she adored her job at the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she usually had a comfortable desk job. Paperwork, organization, follow up consultations, court cases, research.
Hermione rarely had to go in the field.
But Charlie’s letters describing his new research had piqued her interest.
The discovery of a new subspecies of dragon, unknown and unprotected by the current laws in place intrigued her. It was ripe to be hunted by poachers and sold on the black market and it needed protection put into place immediately.
And of course, that was exactly what Hermione aimed to prevent from happening.
That was her job, after all.
But she would be lying if she said the idea of aiding Charlie in researching the unknown hadn’t caught her attention.
More than she cared to admit.
She was content in the office. At her desk job. It was quiet and comfortable. But some days she found herself daydreaming of adventure, her quill hovering over her parchment and making large splotches beneath the tip until she returned to her work at hand.
Charlie drew her out of her reverie as he took her bag from her hand, hoisting it with ease.
“We set up a tent for you over here in the middle. Generally the outer tents are the ones fucked with, so you should be fine here next to mine,” he said casually and Hermione frowned at him.
”Um, what do you mean by that?” She asked him, remembering how the tent they had just been inside had broken supports.
He shrugged, “The young and adolescent dragons tend to come out and like to investigate the camp. I think the adults drive them down from the mountains into the forest, and when we set up camp its piques their interest.”
Hermione let out an anxious laugh; the idea of dragons just roaming through their camp like docile deer did not sit well with her, “You mean to tell me..?”
”There will be dragons? Yes, Hermione. I thought that was obvious by my letter,” Charlie replied lightly, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
”A dragon, Charlie. You said a dragon,” Hermione replied as she looked around the trees, “I didn’t realize you actually meant we would just be living with them for the next few weeks.”
Charlie shrugged a shoulder as he smiled, “They are mostly harmless. The younger ones, I mean. Like Sheila.”
Ron, who has been quiet the whole time, finally chimed in, “So you’re naming them now? I thought last time I was here, Adel said you shouldn’t form attachments.”
Hermione slanted a look at her husband; of course he would have been aware of the damned dragons, and of course he would have neglected to divulge that important fact with her.
“Yeah well, Adel is dead. So…” Charlie replied casually.
”Dead by a dragon?” Hermione asked quietly, shifting closer to Ron as she cast a glance towards the trees.
While most things did not necessarily scare her, dragons were one of the most dangerous creatures and highly unpredictable. Or so current research said; Charlie was here to debunk many of the myths and superstition surrounding them.
“Horntail,” He stated with another shrug, “Thought he would be fine approaching one without bringing a gift.”
Hermione logged away the concept of bringing gifts to dragons for her to question him later. She was tired from the portkey and felt physically unwell from the travel.
Portkey, she thought, was one of the worst ways to travel long distance. It was draining and always made her nauseous. She would rather take a two day flight by plane than do that trip again.
Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple, “You need me to stay to help you get settled?”
She shook her head as she snaked her arm around his waist, leaning into him with a sigh, “No, I know you have a busy day at the shop with the new product unveiling. I’ll be fine.”
”Okay, well I’ll get out of your hair and let you do your thing. I’ll make sure to owl you daily. The portkey won’t let me return for a week so if you need me…”
He gave her a tight squeeze, stooping down to give her a light kiss.
Hermione was keenly aware of the fact the portkey worked in a seven day rotation. That meant she had a minimum of seven days here, surrounded by feral creatures and at least one that had more than likely had eaten one of the dragonologist named Adel.
How…reassuring.
Maybe signing up for this was a mistake.
”Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe,” Charlie said brightly.
“You better,” Ron replied, “I don’t want my wife coming home all mangled and ugly like your ass.”
”The ladies find the scars charming,” Charlie said defensively, “Besides, she already has battle wounds of her own. Any new additions will only make her more bad ass at this point.”
Hermione laughed a little despite herself, “Thankfully I’m not trying to impress the ladies, and I would rather just return home in one piece.”
A few hours later, Ron had used the portkey to return home and Hermione found herself trailing behind Charlie as he showed her around the camp.
The sun had finally cleared the top of the mountains, the warm rays breaking through the perpetual clouds overhead to illuminate the camp. A camp which was mostly comprised of tents in various conditions, from completely torn apart to leaning haphazardly against its neighboring tent. She looked skeptically at one tent, which was dubiously held upright by a large branch in the middle.
"Sooo what happened to the rest of your team?" She asked as she turned away from the questionable shelters. Perhaps she could manage to repair them while she was here for the next few weeks. Even with spotty magic, she could at bare minimum do some patch work.
Charlie stopped his tour to look at her, "Borge, Horis, Gantry and Pulton are transporting a young Ironbelly and her eggs to the sanctuary. They left two days ago and its about a five day round trip. I imagine they'll be back in three to four days."
Hermione tipped as she memorized their names; she would put their faces to them later. They had been a team of six, down to five.
"And you're fine being out here alone for days at a time?" She asked as he studied him.
While she had met Charlie several times over the years, their interactions had always remained brief. Cordial. Family holidays and the like. She had danced briefly with him at Fleur and Bills wedding, but that night had been a shitstorm and most of it gladly logged away in the back of her mind. But even those short interactions had indicated that he was a man who preferred to be out in nature, roughing it. Exploring. Discovering the answers to questions that no one else had been able to.
Forever a wanderer.
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, "Doesn't bother me one bit."
She had meant being alone with the dragons as well as the other dangerous creatures that lurked in the dark.
The forests of Romania were known haunts of many a magical beasts, including Dementors, ghouls, werewolves and vampires. All creatures she had no interest in bumping into any time soon. She now wondered how Charlie had fortified the camp from threats— or if he had even bothered to do that. Clearly dragons like to wander through camp, so what were the chances of one of the other, less desirable, beings?
"Anyway," Charlie continued as he waited for her to draw near him, "I have some ground rules you must follow if you want to survive out here."
Oh, that's reassuring.
"First rule of thumb is fairly obvious and that is do not go into the woods at night."
Obviously.
"Second is always carry something long with you, like a stick or broom," at her confused expression he explain, "most of the creatures here have a natural fear of humans, but sometimes they grow curious. A quick jab with the end of a pole is enough to deter them."
Perhaps a pointy stick, Hermione thought drolly.
"Third rule—did you want to take notes? I may have thought of a few more while standing here that might be of importance," Charlie said as he looked skyward, his brows furrowing in thought.
"There's really that many? Can't I just...stay in camp? You report back to me and—"
"Hell no, Hermione. You need to get out in the field with me to understand what we are dealing with!" Charlie said, apparently aghast at the idea of remaining in camp.
Hermione groaned internally.
He continued, unaware of her internal discomfort, “There is so much for you to learn out here. You have no idea how excited I am to show my work to someone who might actually be able to share it others.”
He looked so bloody excited and hopeful.
“Fine. What’s the next rule?”
“It’s not so much a rule as an observation. Dragon’s tend to be much more approachable when you are alone.”
Hermione stared at him. He didn’t mean…?
“So once we locate this new dragon, we will take turns trying to get close to it. Alone.”
Hermione clapped her hands together as she turned away from Charlie, “Right, well I’m going to send an owl to Ron and see if he can schedule my plane ride home.”
Charlie was eager to show her his collection of notes and sketches, the parchment spread about his tent in a haphazard fashion that made Hermione cringe. She wondered if he would be offended if she organized everything for him.
“So I found out that the Horntail is extremely misunderstood. Everyone assumes they are big, stupid aggressive beasts but they are actually quite cunning,” he shuffled through his notes while Hermione perched on a log that was turned over to be a stool. “They also enjoy gifts. Most dragons do, in fact. The Horntails prefer things made of gold. The females will actually ingest the gold and that’s what coats their eggs. We found the females in the caverns, mucking about in the crags and discovered its because they are rooting out channels of precious metal.”
“That’s actually quite interesting, Charlie,” Hermione replied honestly as she picked up his sketch of a Hungarian Horntail. She traced her fingers along pencil marks. His depiction was quite accurate, she noted. She had only ever seen one in person and this was exactly as she remembered.
Who knew he was such an artist?
Charlie beamed as he clutched the stack of papers to his chest. Clearly he hadn’t spoken to anyone new about his research beyond his local companions.
“And—“ he dug through the pages again, “and there are rivalries between the dragons. Did you know that? And not just between species. The adults are quite aggressive towards the juvenile dragons. Not the young ones, mind you. It seems once they turn three there is a massive change in their behaviors that just pisses off the older ones.”
“Teenagers?”
“More or less. They are bloody assholes.”
They were the ones that Charlie had said would enter the camp, she noted dryly.
“So do they fight for resources as well?” Hermione asked as she watched Charlie waving his arms around excitedly.
“Not as much as you would think. Territory? Yes. The adults are incredibly terriortial with their own species but tolerate the others. The young and juvenile remain in the forest or caves for the most part,” he passed her a small stack of papers. She flipped through the notes, once again noting the lack of organization.
“So this new one you spotted, you think it’s a juvenile?” She pulled out a quick sketch of a dragon she couldn’t quite recognize.
“I do! I’ve only spotted him a few times near the river. I think he has a den somewhere nearby, but whenever he notices me he disappears.”
“Disappears?” Hermione set the papers on the rickety table between them.
Charlie wiggled his fingers in the air as he tried to gather his thoughts, “His scales are… I’m not sure how to describe it. I feel like he can camoflague himself amongst the foliage.”
“And I’m guessing that is not a common trait?”
“No, most definitely not. There are no other dragons that can change their color at whim,” Charlie paused as he screwed up his face in thought, “I mean, the Opaleye has scales around their faces that change color during breeding season. Crimson red. But it’s not selective.”
Hermione was finding herself more intrigued despite her reluctance to go tromping about in the woods with possibly dangerous creatures.
“And…is this new species aggressive?”
“I don’t think so,” Charlie shrugged, “It seems quite skittish, rather. Which isn’t entirely unusual. Most of the young avoid people altogether. But the size of this one would indicate it’s a juvenile and they are quite social.”
“Social with people, you mean?”
“Oh gosh, yes. You’ll see in no time what I mean. They are curious buggers. You’ve seen the state of our tents.”
Indeed, she had.
In fact, the one they stood in now had a numerous patches of duct tape along the walls and ceiling. She had originally chalked it up to weather and wear but…
Next question.
“Are they aggressive?”
Charlie didn’t seem to notice her scrutiny of the tent around them as he answered her; “Surprisingly, no. Not until they reach maturity and the hormones kick in. Then it’s just all about nesting and breeding. And pillaging. That bit is true. They seem to enjoy raiding the local villages.”
Hermione had read plenty of fantasy novels growing up so this caught her attention a fair bit; “So Muggle dragon lore is fairly accurate?”
Charlie opened his mouth to respond but a loud crack outside and he moved to the door, opening the flap. He poked his head out for a moment before withdrew to look at her. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement; “Did you want to meet one?”
Hermione remained firmly seated as she listened to the loud noises of branches breaking outside.
“I’d rather not.”
Charlie grabbed her hand, dragging her to her feet, “Too bad. Sheila is such a doll.”
Hermione coughed at the affection term doll being used for a creature that could kill them in one swipe of their tail. She was helpless to stop herself as his strong hand gripped hers and pulled her out of the tent and away from whatever relative safety it offered her.
“Sheila! I know you’re out there. Stop fucking with the bushes,” Charlie called out as he drew to a halt. He scanned the tree line, following the way the trees shifted as a body moved through them.
“Can she understand you?” She whispered quietly as she scooted behind Charlie’s back, peering over his shoulder.
Just in case.
“For the most part, I think. Sort of how a dog does,” He responded.
The dragon in question reached a clearing in the trees, shaking her wing free of branches that clung to her. She lifted her head to look at them and upon spotting Charlie, slinked her way towards them. Charlie tugged on her hand, pulling her out from behind his back.
“I think I’m good here,” she hissed but he was unrelenting.
As she stumbled out from behind her only shield, the dragon – Sheila, Charlie called her—came to a halt. Golden eyes leveled on Hermione as it looked between them. It was studying them.
“Come here, Sheila. This is Hermione. She is our friend,” he placed his hand on her lower back, pushing her forward. Hermione tried to dig her heels in as he shoved her towards a possibly murderous creature with very dangerous fangs and teeth.
He was bloody nuts.
“I don’t think she cares about my name,” Hermione whispered frantically.
The dragon remained stationary, neither moving away or towards them. It once again looked between them, that scaled head tipping to the side that Hermione could almost wish was the same as a dog.
But a dog this was not.
Sheila stared a moment longer at Hermione, who was struggling to breathe at this point, before she turned around and left the clearing. With ease, she sprung into an upper branch of one of the towering trees. Broken branches and leaves fell to the ground as the dragon clambered through the canopy and disappeared from view.
“She didn’t try to eat you, so I think she likes you,” Charlie said brightly.
Her heart was about to beat its way out of her chest as he dropped his hand from her back.
“I think you might have lost your damned mind, Charlie.”
He stepped forward and draped his arm over her shoulder, smiling after the long gone dragon, “Obviously. What sane person chases dragons in the woods?”
“You’re lucky I’m married to your brother or else I would have left by now,” She scolded, pushing his arm off her shoulder.
Charlie turned that smile on her, “Nah, I don’t think so. I can see it. Your mind is abuzz. You find this just as interesting as I do.”
“I don’t think I will ever admit that.”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to. Just enjoy the wonder that creatures are,” Charlie replied with a shrug. He paused for a moment, his head tilting to the side, “I’ll show you the pool and you’ll understand.”
“Pool?”
The pool was a natural spring buried deep in the woods, about an hour hike from their camp. Hermione had kept her wand tucked into her sweater, just in case. But it had remained unresponsive to her attempts to use it while she had been setting up her tent earlier.
The spring was shaped like an oval, one side flowing off into a stream that could be heard through the trees somewhere. Out here, it was hard to tell distance. The trees were old and massive, some jammed close together while others were separated by yards, and vines twisted their way up the trunks.
Sunlight poked down through openings in the canopy above them. The spring water was sparkling in the light from the clearing overhead. It was perfectly clear and she felt like she could see all the way to the bottom. She wondered how deep it was, or if this too were an illusion. What magic did this water hold? Coming from the depths of mountains, it likely was ripe with properties unknown to them. She would need to get some vials next time and run tests on it.
The water was ice cold when she dipped her fingers in it from where she sat upon a boulder at its edge. Charlie had ushered her to this spot and ordered her to wait.
Was he serving her up for dinner to a dragon?
He appeared next to her and sat down, resting his walking stick across his lap as he crossed his legs. He was silent as he pointed across the water to the other bank.
The branches shifted and a pair of metallic grey dragons slipped out from the undergrowth. They were small, perhaps the size of a deer.
“Are those…?” She leaned forward slightly as she drew her knees up to her chest.
“They are about half a year old,” Charlie said as he leaned close to her, his voice a whisper in her ears.
Hermione ran through the mental images in her mind of the various dragons she had read about prior to venturing out to Romania; “Ironbellies?”
“Exactly,” his voice was barely perceivable as he continued to whisper, “They are nearly identical to the adults from birth. Some of the other species take time to develop into their adult appearance but not these guys.”
Hermione crossed her arms on her knees as she watched the two small dragons looking about the clearing, as if making sure it was safe to approach the water. She remembered Charlie had said the adults rarely attacked the young, but perhaps they face other dangers. The young creatures finally crossed the last few feet, dipping their snouts into the water to drink from the spring.
Charlie leaned even closer to her to continue, as if divulging a secret, “This is my preferred place to observe dragon behaviors. They tend to let their guards down here and we can see how the behave without being defensive,” he smiled as the smallest of the dragons spun in a circle, chasing its own tail, “This is where I first spotted the unidentified species.”
“You think it’s the spring water that draws them here?” She turned her head slightly to look at him. Perhaps because of some unknown hidden property, she wondered.
He looked at down at her, their height difference only minimal as they both sat on the rock, “Most likely. The rivers sometimes dry up throughout the year, but this is always here. A secure water source. And none of the adults venture here. Or none that I’ve seen, at least.”
They fell into silence as they watched the two chasing each other, a stark reminder to Hermione why she was here. Why she had chosen the career path she was in. To protect these beautiful animals. They weren’t just mindless, dumb, aggressive creatures. This right here affirmed that they were near sentient beings.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Charlie,” she said quietly as she rested her chin on her arms.
“Of course, Hermione,” he briefly touched her arm, “If anyone can help them, its you.”
“Do you think we’ll see the other one?”
She meant the unknown species, the one that had brought her here. The one she was truly interested in.
“Maybe if we wait long enough,” Charlie responded, giving a soft sigh as he leaned back on his hands, “He isn’t a regular visitor to this spring.”
Hermione wondered how long it would take to see him. She had a minimum of six more days here before the portkey would allow her to leave. Or fourteen days if she decided to stay longer. Although she had made sure to keep her timeline for this expedition open until she was satisfied she had enough research to bring back with her.
“Do you think he’ll come today? How long can we wait?”
Charlie turned his head to look at her, “However long you want to stay is fine with me, but we probably should head back to camp to start the fire before it gets too dark. It keeps the other beasts away that we don’t want entering camp.” He angled his hips as he dug into his pocket, withdrawing a lighter. He held it out to her, “If we stay too long, we’re going to need this. Even if you leave before nightfall, it gets dark in the woods first.”
She took it, running her fingers along the plastic before she shoved it into her back pocket. Sometimes it was easy to forget that such simple things existed when she had magic at the tip of her fingers.
They fell into a comfortable silence as they watched the pair of dragons bounding about in a careless fashion, clearly playing with each other. She wondered if they were siblings.
How many offspring survived a clutch? Did they bond as a family? Did they care about any of that? As adults, did bloodlines matter? Hermione had so many questions. She would need to compile a list and question Charlie when they got back to camp.
They lost track of time as the young dragons exhausted themselves from their play and fell asleep in a heap next to the water. The larger of the two snorting in its sleep as it rested its head on the others.
The sun slipped across the sky overhead, the shadows lengthening through the trees. The air started to chill ever so slightly.
It had to be late afternoon.
Charlie had left her at some point to stretch out next to her on the grass, his head pillowed on his arms as he gazed up at the clouds above them through the trees. She was fairly certainly he had fallen asleep as well, the sound of the forest like a natural lullaby. She could hear the faint rumbling of a stream nearby, just a constant trickling of sound amongst the birds and rustling of leaves.
Hermione quietly unfolded herself and rose to her feet, her body aching in protest from having remaining motionless for so long. She glanced at the sleeping Weasley before she crept away from him, watching where she placed her feet to not make a sound. She headed to the place where the pool flowed over the edge into a trickling waterfall, following it with her eyes to see where it led.
The small falls carved a path through the trees all the way down the hillside to the stream far below. A stream that likely drew in the other dragons. The larger ones. Juveniles and adults.
Perhaps the mystery one.
Casting a look over her shoulder, she started down the hillside, grabbing onto the trees as she went to stabilize herself. It wasn’t a far hike, a couple hundred yards.
All downhill, unfortunately.
Which meant she would have to climb back up. She had a couple hours left before they would head back to camp and the round trip wouldn’t take long. Her feet slipped in the loose dirt of the hill as her pace increased with each step, gravity pulling her faster down the face of the hill. She was nearly breathless as the ground leveled out and her legs burned.
Hermione pushed her hair from her face, ignoring the way the back of her neck was sweaty as she twisted it into a bun atop her head. She followed the water towards the stream in front of her, planning to use it as a guide back up the hill.
The trees fell away as she neared it and she looked both ways up the flowing waters, taking note that the opening in the canopy was wide enough for a sizeable dragon to navigate if it chose to. She shaded her eyes as she looked skyward, scanning the clouds above her.
How often did the dragons come this way? Did they, even? She couldn’t hear anything above the water or sounds of the forest.
She dropped her head and strode to edge of the water, kneeling down on the stones to hold her hand in the water. Ice cold, just as the spring was. Fresh from the mountains that loomed up river, the peaks just visible through the trees.
This place was gorgeous, she thought to herself. A place that inspired the fairy tales she read while growing up.
She swirled her fingers through rippling water, casting her eyes across the bank. She stilled as the trees across from her shifted against the wind. The branches rattled. A signal she was no longer alone in the moment. She had company, but from something unseen.
The trees continued to shift as the unknown creature moved through the trees along the bank, just out of sight. She could feel its gaze on her, whatever it was. It raised the hair on the back of her neck and along her arms. A primal alert to the unseen danger, to being hunted. The movements still just across from her, a hundred feet or so. If she chose to, she could throw a stone that far.
The only thing that separated her and the unknown was the river. Which was hardly a deterrent. It was likely something she could wade across. She felt her heart rate starting to accelerate as she slowly withdrew her hand, creeping backwards at a crouch. Her wand wouldn’t help her now, but she slipped it out of her sleeve regardless. It made her feel safe as she held it in front of her. Her magic sputtered as her fingers curled around the wood.
“Hermione!” Charlie’s voice called from up the hill and it broke the trance between her and whatever was watching her.
With a rustle, the creature left her and retreated back into the depths of the woods on the other side.