More Than Words

Daffyd Rhys had been closely observing Charlie's work in the hatchery for some time. He was quiet and steady in his character, not given to flights of temper. There was a difficult dragon on the reservation and their efforts had only made matters worse. It was time to have new eyes look at the situation. 'Charlie,' he called softly. 'Walk with me.'

Charlie's throat bobbed as he swallowed audibly. He hoped the older man wasn't there to chastise him for seeing Bronwyn. Daffyd was Bronwyn's father, and he might want more for his only child than a dragonkeeper. 'Yeah. Okay.'

'Last year, right after the battle at Hogwarts, a dragon literally dropped into the reserve,' Daffyd said. 'I'm to understand it used to guard a vault in Gringotts.'

'All right.'

'We've had it separated from the others. It's no more violent than other dragons, as such things go, but it's quite unpredictable.'

Charlie had heard a few things from Bill regarding the treatment of dragons by the goblins, and the hair on the back of his neck rose. 'Okay.'

'Dragons don't respond well to being raised in captivity,' Daffyd told him. 'As I'm sure you know.'

'Yeah.'

Daffyd stopped in front of an enclosure and tapped it with his wand. 'You have to be very quiet. Any noise sets him off. We mostly try to keep him sedated, if we can. But it's not good to keep him that way all the time. And he won't tolerate being touched.' Charlie nodded and slipped into the spacious pen. The dragon shocked him into breathlessness. Emaciated, covered with half-healed scars, its eyes filmy with blindness. Its head swung toward Charlie's scent and emitted a rusty roar, sparks forming in the long throat. Charlie Summoned a chunk of recently killed deer and levitated it in front of the dragon's nose, hoping the dragon would attempt to eat. It raised a claw and swiped half-heartedly at the aroma of fresh meat, and took a few bites, then subsided into a drugged lethargy once more.

Charlie left the enclosure and sat on a knoll next to Daffyd. 'Why haven't you let him go?'

'He can't survive with the others. We tried that first. They nearly killed him. He doesn't know how to hunt, can barely fly anymore. And you saw for yourself he's blind as well.'

'I meant, why haven't you euthanized the Ironbelly?' Charlie said pointedly.

'We hoped he could be rehabilitated,' Daffyd admitted.

'If he'd been young, like the Ridgeback we took on in Romania from Hagrid, it's possible,' Charlie told him. 'But that's a very old dragon. He's likely spent his entire life until last May chained inside Gringotts being abused. He can't see, he doesn't eat, he's wasting away. I don't know why you need me to tell you that.'

'I don't. But you're the only one that's expressed the idea he can't be helped.' He stood and clapped Charlie on the back. 'Takes bollocks to be that honest with the reservation Head. You figure out a way to let that dragon die peacefully, and I'll back you up to anyone on the reservation.'

'There isn't a way to do this already?' Charlie blurted.

'Theoretically,' Daffyd said with a shrug. 'Not something we have to do regularly. Usually don't have much of a need to euthanize a dragon.'

'So keepers that come here for training aren't even taught how to do it?' Charlie asked incredulously. Even in Romania, it was used as a last resort, when all other options had been exhausted. But each and every one of them knew the basic methodology of brewing a potion that would painlessly - as far as they knew - euthanize a dragon. The trick was getting the proportions right. What would kill a Hungarian Horntail wouldn't necessarily have the same effect on a Swedish Short-Snout.

Daffyd looked uncomfortable. 'Not really. Like I said, it's not something we do much, if at all.'

'It'll take a few days to brew the potion,' Charlie said evenly. 'I'll have to go into London for the ingredients. Apothecary won't sell them through the post.'

'Come see me before you go,' Daffyd instructed. 'I'll have some papers for you so the apothecary doesn't give you any guff about it.'

Charlie nodded. 'I'll just go change,' he said, gesturing to his torn jeans. He walked back to his cabin with an unhurried gait, ducked into a hasty shower, then put on his one set of "good" clothes: a slightly faded button-down shirt of indeterminate age and a pair of khaki trousers, both blessedly free of holes. Charlie ran his hand through his damp hair settling it into place and strode across the valley to the tiny office off the hatchings' building. As Daffyd handed him a packet of official-looking parchment, Charlie muttered, 'Don't say anything about this until it's done, all right? I'll need a few blokes to help Stun the Ironbelly, but I'll take care of that.'

'You're in charge of this operation, Charlie,' Daffyd said. 'Do what you think is best.' Charlie nodded once, then left the office, tucking the parchment into his pocket. The line in the apothecary was long, and Charlie waited patiently until he reached the long, polished counter, presenting his list to the dour looking man on the other side.

'Nightshade, hemlock, foxglove, white hellebore...' The wizard studied Charlie. 'Planning on offing someone, then?'

'No.'

'Yourself?' The apothecary set the list on the counter, obviously waiting for Charlie to give him a good reason for the purchase of several fatal herbs in such large quantities.

'It's for the Holyhead Reservation,' Charlie sighed, handing over the packet Daffyd gave him.

'Sick dragon, eh?' The apothecary drew on a pair of dragon-hide gloves. 'No illness in the herds, is there?'

'Old and injured,' Charlie replied shortly.

'Letting it go peacefully, huh?'

'Going to try.'

'What breed?'

'Ukrainian Ironbelly.'

'Don't see Ironbellies in Britain very much,' the apothecary commented. He carefully poured a large amount of foxglove into a leather pouch. 'Wouldn't happen to be that Gringotts dragon what escaped last year, would it?'

'Perhaps. Perhaps not.' Charlie slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels a little, pretending great interest in the elaborately inscribed cards on the glass jars.

The apothecary carefully used Sticking charms to seal the pouches and packed them into a box, wrapping the lot with brown paper. He held it out to Charlie by the string tied around the parcel. 'Ironbellies, they don't really react to white hellebore. It'll calm 'em down a fair bit. Try and give him a good dose of that before you attempt giving him something else.'

'Thanks.' Charlie took the parcel and carried it out of the shop, bypassing the joke shop. He thought he ought to at least poke his head in and say a quick hello to George and Ron, but he wanted to start the potions as soon as he returned to Holyhead. Besides, he thought he might go to the family lunch on Sunday. It would do. Halfway back to the Leaky Cauldron, he came to a stop and spun around, wending his way through the crowds of people in and around the joke shop.

'Charlie!' George exclaimed in amazement. 'Reservation finally realize what a git they hired and kicked you out?'

'Ron here?' Charlie shouted back.

'Back room!' George told him.

'Thanks!' Charlie politely pushed his way through the crowd. He held the parcel close to his body so as to avoid crushing it in the press of people around him. He couldn't for the life of him imagine how George - and Ron, for that matter - seemed to thrive in this environment. He nudged the curtain aside and watched Ron for a moment. His youngest brother's sleeves were rolled back past his elbows, and Charlie realized for the first time how seldom Ron ever exposed his arms. Thin, pink scars spiraled up each arm, the lines of scar tissue so close together near his wrists that they looked like a larger injury. 'Oi,' he said quietly.

'Charlie!' Ron's face split into a grin. 'What brings you here? Decided to quit playing with dragons and come in with George and me?'

'No.' Charlie set the parcel on the table. 'That dragon that you, uh, liberated from Gringotts,' he began.

'What about it?' Ron set his wand down and wiped a hand down the front of his shirt.

'Dying.' Charlie indicated the neatly-wrapped box. 'I'm going to help make it as painless as I know how,' he promised.

Ron's mouth tightened and he nodded jerkily, retrieving his wand. He made a few more trick teacups then set his wand down once more. 'Don't let them use him after,' he begged.

'What?'

'Heartstring, hide, blood,' Ron recited. 'He's not...' He twisted his fingers together behind his back. 'Just don't let that happen to him.'

Charlie picked up Ron's dragon hide gloves sitting to one side of the table. 'Does it bother you to use these?'

'Of course not,' Ron blurted. 'Didn't know that one personally, did I? That Ironbelly saved my bloody life, didn't it? Figure I owe him something.' He ran an agitated hand through his hair, making his fringe stick up. 'It's just after everything it went through with the goblins...' He shrugged a little self-consciously. 'It just doesn't seem right to cut him up for his parts.'

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' Charlie said gently.

Ron's head bowed for a moment and he plucked his wand from the table. 'Funny thing is, a year ago, I wouldn't have thought about it that way.'

Charlie lightly punched Ron in the shoulder. 'See what I can do, yeah?'

'Thanks, Charlie,' Ron said in a heartfelt whisper.

XxXxXxX

Ginny arrived at the stadium, already dressed in her practice kit. She walked into the changing room, and came to an abrupt halt just inside the doorway. Her cheeks flushed deeply at the sight in front of her. Twenty women paraded about the room in various states of undress, apparently unconcerned about their partial nudity. She felt her mouth drop open and ducked her head, blindly blundering into the first bench she came to. Hardly daring to lift her head, Ginny rummaged in her bag, emerging with a roll of thick, white tape and began methodically taping her wrists and fingers. Julia plopped next to her, pulling the light jumper over her head. 'All right?' she asked impishly.

Ginny nodded a little too vigorously. 'Just not used to...' She waved a hand at the rest of the changing room.

'It takes a little getting used to,' Julia agreed. 'Hogwarts' changing room isn't quite so...'

'Naked?' Ginny supplied.

Julia laughed. 'Yeah.

Gwenog strode through the changing room. 'No brooms today!' she called. A loud groan greeted this news. Ginny looked at Julia questioningly.

'Conditioning today,' Julia sighed. 'You think you were put through the wringer at the trials, wait until you see how you'll feel at the end of practice today.'

'They aren't going to hit Bludgers at me?' Ginny asked suspiciously.

'Worse,' Julia said a tone of dread. 'Running, bicycling, some mad Muggle thing called yoga, but I hear Gweong likes it. Weight training. Anything we can do on the ground, we'll do today.'

'Blimey,' Ginny said faintly.

Julia rolled her head, making her neck pop. 'Stay hydrated,' she advised. 'Drink water, as often as you can, whenever you can. Just remember, you'll be a better player for what she's going to put us through.'

Ginny laughed shakily and followed Julia out to the pitch. Gwenog waited until all twenty-one players assembled under the goalposts on one end, and led them on a three-mile run. She kept up a near-blistering pace that would have left Harry and the Aurors in the dust. Ginny was barely able to keep up. At the end of the run, she saw a table, set up under the awning that separated the Harpies' administrative offices from the changing room. Upon closer inspection, she saw neat rows of metal flasks, in dark green, with a golden talon. Underneath the talon, each player's name glimmered in gold etching. Ginny found the one bearing "Ginny Weasley" and took several gulps, screwing up her face at the slightly salty, fruit-flavored water. She refrained from spewing it into the grass and held the flask away, glaring at it accusingly.

Marion Brummel, the senior Chaser, chuckled. 'Tastes a bit off, doesn't it?' Ginny replied with a grimace, as she took another sip of the water. 'When you get so thirsty, your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, it'll taste like ambrosia,' she vowed. 'Go grab that box,' she told Ginny. 'Take it to the other side of the pitch.'

Ginny swiped her sleeve across her forehead. 'What's in it?'

'Quaffles. We're going to practice throwing techniques.' Marion paused. 'And maybe you can show us that bouncy sort of toss you did at the trial.'

'If you had a pond and some small stones,' Ginny began uncertainly.

'Why?'

'Skipping stones,' Ginny said. 'My brother Fred taught me how to do that, and I thought it might be neat to try it with a Quaffle.'

Marion eyed Ginny appraisingly. 'After lunch. We'll have everything you need.' She headed for the opposite side of the pitch. 'Come on, Weasley. Get those Quaffles.'

Ginny pulled her wand from the pocket of her jersey sports trousers and aimed it at the chest. She directed it in front of her, and guided it to the group of women clustered under the goal posts. She set it down at the edge of the pitch. Gwenog beckoned her to join the rest of the Chasers. 'I think everyone's been introduced. Weasely, tell me everyone's name,' she barked in her gravelly voice.

Ginny's fingers knotted behind her back. She slowly unwound them and began with the starting side. 'Gwenog Jones, Marion Brummel, and Anna Horton.' Her head swiveled. The other two Reserves stood next to one another. 'Elsie Wright and Claire Russell.' The practice Chasers occupied the space between the starters and Reserves. 'Aimee Wellington, Felicia Barnes-Dare, and Brooke Connolly,' Ginny finished.

'Good,' Gwenog said shortly. 'I want three groups, each with a starter, Reserve, and practice player.' Ginny hung back a little, highly aware this behavior was quite unlike her normal ebullience, but hearing what that one woman had said during the trials made her wonder if the others felt that way, too.

Anna, one of the younger players, gave Ginny a small, sympathetic smile. 'Ginny,' she called, motioning for Ginny to join her and Brooke, who tossed a Quaffle from one hand to the other. Ginny nodded jerkily to Brooke, who appeared to be in her thirties. Brooke quite suddenly threw the Quaffle to Ginny, who had no choice but to catch it, clumsily, or risk having it smack her in the nose.

'Didn't you just finish school?' Brooke asked, more than a little snidely.

'Yes...' Ginny balanced the Quaffle on her fingertips.

'Still dating Harry Potter?'

'Yes.'

'Figures,' Brooke snorted, turning to Anna.

Ginny set her lower lip between her teeth and bit down firmly to bite back the retort that rose quickly to her lips. It wouldn't do to antagonize her teammates. Especially if she responded in kind regarding Brooke's skills as a player if she was truly as old as Ginny believed and was still relegated to the practice squad. 'All right,' Gwenog yelled. 'Get rid of it!' Startled, Ginny threw it too high, and it sailed over Anna's head.

'Sorry...'

Elsie kicked it back to Anna. 'No worries,' Anna said gently. She remembered how nervous she'd been her first day with the team. She tossed it casually to Brooke, who caught it one-handed. Brooke hurled it at Ginny. Ginny dodged the Quaffle, but backpedaled and caught it just before it hit the ground. She let out a soft oof when she landed on her back. Without getting up, she all but shoved it through the air back to Brooke.

After several minutes of this, Gwenog finally called a halt. She gathered the Chasers into a circle, the Quaffles in a heap at her feet. 'Hands up! When you catch the Quaffle, keep your hands down. Throw to someone whose hands are still up! Remember who threw it to you and who you've thrown it to!' Once those words left her mouth, Gwenog tossed it across the circle to Claire. Ginny was the last one with her hands in the air. She held the Quaffle in bemusement until Gwenog barked, 'Throw it back to me, Weasley.' Ginny threw it to Gwenog, a flush spreading over her cheeks. Instantly Gwenog threw it to Claire, and they spent a few minutes throwing it in that pattern. Gwenog picked up another Quaffle and tapped it with her wand. It changed colors to purple and passed it to Marion, standing on her left. 'Purple goes clockwise!' Another few minutes passed, and Gwenog picked up another Quaffle and tapped it with her wand. It turned yellow and she held it up. 'Yellow in reverse!' she yelled, just before tossing it to Ginny. Ginny's eyes widened as the original red Quaffle, the purple one, and now the yellow one, all headed for her hands at once. The red one hit her in the side of the face and she bobbled it, using her forearms to catch it. She stood for a moment, juggling all three Quaffles, until she got a grip on the purple one, and handed it grimly to Anna. The red one headed for Gwenog and the yellow one to Marion. She briefly rubbed the sting on her cheekbone and held her hand out just in time to catch the orange Quaffle Gwenog sent flying at her. Without thinking, Ginny tossed it to Marion. 'All right. Stop,' Gwenog called. 'Get in your original groupings. Throw it on the run.' Gwenog picked up one of the fallen Quaffles and took off, followed by Felicia and Elsie. 'Get rid of it!' Gwenog shouted, throwing the ball to one of the other Chasers as soon as it touched her hand.

They darted through the other players, around members of the support staff, weaving through the stands and goal posts. Ginny made it a game in her head to try and see how briefly she could actually touch the bright red ball. It took her mind of the quivering muscles in her legs and arms. When Gweong finally called for a break for lunch, Ginny all but staggered toward the canteen with the others. 'All right?' Julia asked in concern.

'Yeah,' Ginny breathed.

Julia casually linked arms with Ginny, helping to unobtrusively steer the younger girl into the lounge. Ginny stiffened and half-heartedly attempted to pull away, but Julia tightened her grip. 'You don't want to show the starters any sort of weaknesses,' she murmured. 'They'll pounce on you like a hippogriff on a lovely dead ferret.' Ginny's eyes flicked to Julia. 'They'll need to know they can count on you, even if you're tired, bleeding, or missing an appendage.' Julia studied Ginny's profile. 'And it wouldn't hurt for you to socialize a bit. There's talk that you're... Erm...' Julia faltered. 'Swotty,' she mumbled.

'I'm not!' Ginny protested. 'I'm just trying to learn how things go here.'

'I know that, and you know that, but Ginny, I've been playing for years. It doesn't happen very often, but it's not unusual for someone to sign as a Reserve straight out of school. It's just that... you're somewhat... special...' Julia let go of Ginny to push the door of the canteen open.

'It's not like Harry's using his reputation to have the Harpies put me on the Reserves in exchange for sexual favors,' Ginny sighed.

Julia picked up a tray and handed it to Ginny. 'Of course not,' she soothed. 'Keep it light,' she suggested, nodding toward the food. 'You don't want to heave it all on your boots later.' Ginny chose a salad and a plate of steamed vegetables with rice, hoping it tasted as decent as it looked. The dark green flask suddenly appeared on the tray. 'And drink whatever's in that flask. It'll help keep you from cramping too badly later.' She led Ginny to a table off to the side. 'So you and Harry?'

'Just dating,' Ginny demurred.

'That's not what I've heard,' Julia informed her. She leaned forward conspiratorially. 'I heard that the two of you were up here the Saturday after the trials. You took him up to the flat you've let and you didn't emerge for hours...'

'We were just discussing how to arrange the flat,' Ginny hissed, feeling her face burn.

'And spending the night at his flat?' Julia continued. 'Magical community's a small world, Ginny. And you and Harry...' She shrugged.

Deeply unsettled, Ginny stuffed a forkful of lettuce into her mouth. She chewed it briefly, then nearly choked swallowing it. 'We didn't do anything,' she insisted. 'We... haven't...'

Julia's spoon clattered against the rim of her bowl of soup. 'You're still a V?' she blurted.

'Shhhh! I don't think they heard you in bloody Montrose,' Ginny snapped. 'And yeah. I am. And why is it such a big deal?'

'It's not,' Julia replied. 'Surprising, though.'

Ginny lifted a tentative forkful of vegetables and rice to her mouth, chewing gingerly, then with more enthusiasm. It was quite good. 'How so?'

'He's lived with your family off and on for years, and well, it's not like either of you are fourteen.'

Ginny pushed a runner bean around the edge of the plate. 'We were a bit busy,' she drawled. 'Fighting in the war and all.'

'All the more reason,' Julia snorted.

'Could we change the subject?' Ginny asked pointedly. 'Please?'

'Sure.' Julia glanced around the canteen. 'They really do make it nice here,' she said. Ginny nodded in agreement. She only had a rudimentary idea how other teams were set up from the contracts she'd been offered by Tutshill, Kenmare, but she was beginning to be amazed at the amount of people that worked with the Harpies. People who handled ticket sales and the hospitality for visiting teams, reporters, and people who paid through the nose to watch the match in relative luxury. The witches who helped with their training, and the ones who ensured they stayed healthy. And just as the team was made up entirely of witches, so was the support staff. And while the team itself was owned by an old wizarding family, the one who consulted with Gwenog on matters of the team, and indeed from the day of the team's founding, was a witch.

Delighted giggles broke into Ginny's musings. A group of children ran into the canteen, trailed by young witches who obviously watched them during the day. Most of the children darted to members of the support staff, but a few trotted into the outstretched arms of a player. 'They have child care here?' she exclaimed.

'Didn't you do any research at all into the Harpies before you signed?' Julia asked in exasperation. 'What made you pick the Harpies, anyway?'

Ginny rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin in her upturned hands. 'The team, and apparently everyone that works for them, is discreet. Nothing I do or say is going to end up in Witch Weekly, or the Prophet, or in any other publication with a social or gossip column.'

'What? You expect to be anonymous?' Julia pointed her spoon at Ginny. 'I'll grant you that not everything you do will be scrutinized. But enough of what you do will be in the papers. Get used to it.' She Summoned two apples to the table and passed one to Ginny. 'Let's go walk, eh? Then you won't be so stiff after lunch.'

They took several turns around the pitch, munching the apples and comparing their respective mornings. It turned out that the Beaters had spent most of their time doing something called weight training to improve their strength. The Harpies were unique in that they employed several Muggle devices and techniques in their training. They spent just as much time on the ground working on things like passing the Quaffle back and forth as they did on brooms. After a bell sounded to mark the end of the lunch break, Ginny reported to a room next to the canteen. Several intimidating-looking Muggle contraptions lined the room. A middle-aged witch approached Ginny. 'You're Ginny, aren't you?'

'Yes...'

'I'm Maggie. Maggie Sullivan.' Ginny took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. 'I'll be working with you for the first several weeks, until you get used to the weight routine.' She led Ginny to a tall, glossy white monstrosity with pulleys and cables. 'Sit yourself down. Make sure this pad...' Maggie patted a cylindrical pad. 'Is resting on top of your thighs.' She showed Ginny how to adjust the seat and waited for Ginny to make the necessary changes. 'Reach up and grab that bar overhead and slowly pull it down.' She watched as Ginny pulled the bar down to her shoulders. 'More... More...' she encouraged until the bar was below Ginny's chest. 'Now let it up at the same pace.' When Ginny's arms were outstretched over her head, Maggie nodded in satisfaction. 'Now repeat that. Three rounds of 10 reputations.'

Maggie took Ginny on a circuit of the room, patiently instructing her on how to use them. If Ginny thought she was wobbly after that morning, she was even more so after she slid off the final machine, legs trembling. Maggie sent her to the changing room to shower and change. Ginny grabbed her bag from her locker and trudged tiredly to a vacant shower stall. She flipped on the hot water and leaned against the marble wall, peeling her kit off, and letting it fall to the floor, and tugged the ponytail elastic from her hair. Rather than wash immediately, as was her habit, she stood under the flow of water, wishing she had Harry's lovely bathtub to soak in later. With a deep sigh of regret, Ginny washed her hair, cursing its length and the time it took to properly wash it without tangling it. She lathered a face cloth and began to scrub away the layer of dried sweat and grime accumulated during the course of the day. Her arms felt weak and leaden. She wearily shut off the water and used the towels waiting on the shelf on the other side of the curtain to wrap around her hair and dry herself. She dressed and emerged from the steamy cubicle and tossed her soiled clothes into a hamper, then dropped to a bench to comb out her hair.

'All right, listen up!' Gwenog said, over the murmurs of chatter. 'I've just received word from the captain of the Swedish national team that we can do our annual scrimmage and training with them next week. Portkeys leave here at eight Saturday morning. Do not be late, or you're going to find your own way to Malmö. We're only taking Maggie and Corrine with us,' she added, naming the other senior trainer. 'If you need to bring your sprogs, let me know by tomorrow morning, so I can make arrangements for that.' She paused. 'Questions? No. Brilliant. Tomorrow morning, on the pitch, with brooms at ten.'

Ginny's mouth suddenly closed with an audible snap. It had fallen open when Gwenog announced they were leaving for Sweden. On Saturday. In two days' time. The inside of her mouth felt as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. She hadn't really been anywhere without her family, aside from Hogwarts, and even there she was surrounded by people she knew. 'Erm. Excuse me. Gwenog?' She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled after the captain. 'How long are we going to be gone?'

'A month, Weasley. We'll spend a week in Sweden, Lithuania, Italy, and Bulgaria.'

'Oh. I see.'

'And no guests,' Gwenog added significantly.

Ginny's shoulders straightened. 'Of course not.' She picked up her bag and filed out of the changing room, Apparating to the landing outside her flat. She opened the door and fell across the double bed. She thought she ought to see about organizing something for dinner, but she was too tired to even think beyond toeing her shoes off. She closed her eyes and let herself doze, drifting in and out until a series of knocks on the door made her sit up with a snort. 'Whaaa?' She stared at the door waiting, wondering if the knocks were meant for her door or someone else's. The door moved slightly, as the knocks repeated, slightly louder and harder.

'Gin? Are you home?'

Ginny slid off the bed and shuffled to the door. 'What are you doing here?'

'Molly thought you might not want to bother trying to cook today,' Harry told her, holding up a sizeable basket.

'She was right,' Ginny admitted, stepping back to let Harry into the flat. He set the basket on a freshly painted drop leaf table under a window.

'This looks like it used to be in the Burrow,' he commented. 'But I don't remember seeing it...' It was wooden and sturdy, with more than a few scars. 'She put enough in here to feed Ron and George...' he added, unpacking the food.

'It was. Until the twins came along,' Ginny replied, automatically removing two plates and cutlery for them both from the cupboard. 'It was tucked in the back of the attic.'

'How was your first day?' Harry asked.

'Exhausting,' Ginny said. She filled both plates and looked up at Harry. 'You'll be staying? You did come all this way...'

Harry indicated the second plate. 'Looks that way.' He grinned and held out Ginny's chair. 'So sit, eat, tell me how it went...'

Ginny plopped into the chair and picked at the chicken. 'I have to leave Saturday,' she burst out.

'Why?' Harry set his fork on the table.

'The Harpies, it seems, spend a month traveling to European national teams and training with them.' She took a bite of the chicken. 'It wasn't mentioned in my contract. All it said was I'd participate in any and all practices unless I was physically incapable of doing so. A bit blindsided by it, actually.'

'A whole month, eh?' Harry pushed a tomato around his plate. 'Won't be so bad. I can come visit,' he said brightly.

'No, you can't,' Ginny said miserably. 'No visitors.'

'Blimey,' Harry sighed. 'We can write,' he suggested. 'Better than nothing.'

'It's not the same,' Ginny argued, recognizing the futility of protesting. 'But it'll have to do.'

'I'll come up Friday after work,' Harry promised. 'We'll make a night of it. Give us both something nice to think about over the month. Ginny laughed, but it turned into a groan.

'Oh, don't make me laugh,' she breathed. 'It hurts...'

'What did they do to you today?'

'Before lunch or after?' Ginny's brows arched. 'I don't think I've ever thrown a Quaffle around that much in my life...'

XxXxXxX

Bronwyn opened the door of the hatchery. 'Adam, seen Charlie?'

'Stillroom,' he told her.

'Thanks.' Bronwyn left the hatchery and ran around the building until she came to a small stone addition on the edge of an herb garden on the end of the infirmary. She bounded through the door. 'Charlie, there's a group of us going down to London Saturday,' she began, trailing off as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the stillroom, lit only by the fire under an enormous cauldron. She stepped closer to the table, recognizing the shape of the dried foxglove stalks. 'Why do you have that in here?' she demanded. 'It's bloody toxic.'

Charlie glanced up from his work. 'I know it is.'

Bronwyn peered into the cauldron, noting the shimmering violet potion. 'What are you doing?'

'My job,' he said shortly.

'Foxglove kills dragons,' Bronwyn stated mulishly.

'Yes.'

'Why are you planning to kill a dragon?'

'Because it's old, horribly ill, and it's dying anyway,' Charlie huffed, stripping his dragon hide gloves off. 'The least I can do it make it as painless as possible.'

'No, you're giving up,' Bronwyn countered. 'I know which one you're talking about,' she accused. 'Nobody wants to try.'

'Do I tell you how to do your job?' Charlie shouted. 'No, I don't. I saw the damn dragon yesterday,' he raged. 'It's effing hopeless, understand? There's nothing we can do for him! I'm not doing this because it's something I want to do. I'm doing it because it's what's best.' He yanked his gloves back on and decanted the potion into a large metal flask. 'Now, if you'll excuse me.' He shouldered past her and strode across the valley to the enclosure, where four other keepers waited nervously. 'Non-verbal Stunners only,' Charlie instructed. 'Any noise sets him off.' He indicated the broomsticks. 'We're going to fly over the top of the pen, Stun the Ironbelly on the count of three, and then I'll go in, and...' He held up the flask. 'Any questions?' The four keepers all shook their heads. 'All right. Mount up.' Charlie took the broom someone offered him, and hovered over the top of the pen. He held up his wand and with the other hand, counted down silently. Simultaneously, five red jets of light hit the sleeping dragon. Charlie cautiously flicked his wand and a blue jet of light prodded the dragon lightly, then more forcefully. 'Okay. I'm going in.' He directed the broom toward the ground, and produced a length of tubing and gently lifted the dragon's lip, slipping it between a large gap in the dragon's teeth, then fed the tube down its throat until Charlie could hear a gurgling sound that was clearly the dragon's stomach. Charlie rested a hand on the dragon's snout. 'I'm sorry, mate,' he whispered. 'I wish I didn't have to do this.' His fingers lightly stroked the rough hide. 'But you won't feel a thing. And I won't leave until you're... Well, you know.' He turned up the end of the tube, and carefully poured the potion down the tube until the last violet drop disappeared.

Charlie settled on the ground, gently stroking the dragon's scarred nose, murmuring nonsense, until he felt the hide grow cold under his hand. He flicked his wand at it, but no answering light rose over the still form. He gave the dragon one final pat, then rose to his feet and slipped out of the enclosure. 'It's done,' he said softly. Daffyd stood at the back of the group and Charlie caught his attention. 'I want it cremated,' he said. 'No harvesting anything from it.'

'Understood,' Daffyd said.

Charlie retreated to his cabin and walked inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.