Nov-97

Chapter 14

November 1997

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"Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?" (Bellatrix) yelled... "You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it – righteous anger won't hurt me for long...." – Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 36

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Charlie peered out through the darkness, his senses on high alert: eyes on the lookout for movement, ears pricked to detect sound. The night was silent, moonless, and frigid, as befit the Carpathians in November, and he was grateful for the warmth of the Shield-charmed balaclava his twin brothers had fashioned for him. He exhaled slowly in order to allow the Disillusionment Charm disguising him to dissipate his fogged breath before it gave his position away.

The Chinese Fireball's lair he and his comrades had staked out that night was suboptimal in many ways, clearly chosen by an inexperienced, low-ranking adolescent female: cramped with jagged walls, too near the ground, and a mouth cluttered with rocky debris. In other words, far too easily accessed by bipedal creatures on foot. She'd paid a heavy price for her ignorance – and for the fact her life's blood was prized as an aphrodisiacal element to many purported sexual enhancement potions and fueled a brisk black market trade.

They nearly killed her... all so some impotent sods could get a boner! He ground his teeth once more, fuming at the injustice of it all.

It was something of a minor miracle Charlie'd found the poor creature in time, significantly weakened by a raging infection from her wounds. The fucking animals that had repeatedly bled her most likely Stunned her first (accounting for the various injuries from where her body had crashed un-Cushioned into the stone walls), then slit open the tender flesh of her limb sockets near her underbelly, just where the arteries were closest to the surface and the hide most vulnerable. Done expertly and no more than once a year at most, it was a relatively safe and pain-free method of harvesting dragon's blood.

Unfortunately, the health and comfort of the donor mattered little to poachers. Their latest victim had multiple wounds in all four limb sockets, every one of them now oozing pus. They'd left her with nothing more than a half-arsed Staunching spell to cover their tracks (which barely counteracted the Anti-Coagulation charm they'd used first – it was a marvel she hadn't been bled dry just to line their pockets with gold). Merlin only knew how unhygienic the blade and collection vessels they'd used were.

This sort of illegal and inhumane harvesting of dragon-derived materials was precisely why the International Brotherhood of Dragon Professionals was currently lobbying for all such Class B Tradeable Goods to be limited to those obtained from certified sources – namely, an accredited reservation like Ridgebit, where licensed keepers implemented respectful and responsible harvesting techniques. While Charlie doubted it would end all poaching efforts, he did hold out hope that requiring a magical stamp of certification on all dragon-derived products might make it easier to determine which of them were obtained legally. It would at least be a step forward in protecting the health and safety of dragonkind.

The poor thing was resting more easily now, anyway. Since Charlie's discovery, they'd kept her sedated with a specially concentrated Sleeping Draught, enabling them to treat her wounds with antiseptic salves and flesh-knitting unguents. They roused her once every other day, just long enough to consume a sheep carcass enriched with immune-boosting vitamins, antibiotics, and Blood-Replenishing Potion, then put her back under. The more she rested, the better her own body could fight off the infection and work to repair itself, as well as lessen the possibility of reopening the wounds.

A rotating team of keepers had been standing guard over the Fireball's lair ever since Charlie found her, not only to keep a vigil over her progress, but also in hopes of apprehending the vile criminals who'd hurt her, for there was no doubt they'd be back for more as long as she remained alive. Hoping to catch them unaware and to minimize disturbance to the recuperating dragon, the keepers had avoided warding the cave in any way. The non-magical surveillance of the lair had persisted now for a fortnight of freezing in the dark, laying in wait for the monsters to return.

Tonight, as they'd done every night but two, Charlie and Sasha stood sentinel, manning the highest lookout point on a ledge a little above the lair's entrance. Partners Boian Vaduva and Romolo Miele watched over a rampart nearer the mouth of the lair, and Flaviu Vaduva and Freya Eidelmann, the lone female keeper on the reservation, guarded the lower approach.

The Vaduva brothers bore a strong familial resemblance to each other, their three-year age difference long ago overwhelmed by their almost mirror-image dark hair, grey eyes, and bull-like physiques. Even their mannerisms were practically identical: each chewed on the inside of his cheek when thinking particularly hard, both laughed like braying donkeys. Most people relied on their noses to tell the two apart: long and aquiline, each had been broken at some time during the past, but healed slightly off-center. Boian's nose curved right, Flaviu's left. Interestingly, the brothers were partnered with two of the three non-Durmstrang graduates on the reservation – Charlie wondered if it was purely coincidence or yet another example of their penchant for taking risks.

Romolo, a Muggle-born Italian wizard, had been educated at the venerable Liceo di Maghi in Rome. Full-lipped, blue-eyed, tall, dark, and handsome, he fully deserved his reputation in the Romanian wizarding villages as a ladies' man. But as suave as he proved himself with the local witch population, he was as clever and daring in his keeper duties. Charlie had found in him a friendly, generous comrade with a devastatingly quick wit, but felt they had little else of significance in common besides being dragon keepers.

Freya, conversely, was something of a paradox. Tall and stout, she hailed from Germany's equally ancient Entzücken-Schule, hidden away for ages atop a Black Forest mountaintop.¹ She worked hard to eliminate all outward physical evidence of her womanhood – bound breasts, short-cropped hair (which was somewhat ironic, considering how many male keepers wore their hair in a long plait down their backs), a masculine demeanor and wardrobe: no visually discernable trace of femininity remained. Ghenadie admitted her hiring was intended as something of a practical joke, and Flaviu had endured an overzealous ration of shit from their colleagues for being saddled with a female partner when she'd first started work on the reservation. But she'd long ago proven herself in regards to all the typical keeper qualifications: excellent broom skills, physical strength and endurance, reliable teamwork, and more. Even so, she still often felt driven to go above and beyond. Usually the first to arrive and last to leave a job, Charlie wondered why she still tried so hard to impress everyone.

A quiet crack of distant Apparition broke the silence of the night, interrupting his thoughts. The echo of it amplified within the narrow stone gorge, making it difficult to triangulate an accurate position. Several more cracks followed – Charlie thought he counted six, the generally accepted minimum of wizards required to subdue a dragon. He hoped none of them had been Side-Alongs, or they'd be outnumbered.

Just when Charlie began to make out the approaching group – tallying six and no more, thank Merlin – Romolo, on cue, cast a Sonorus Charm on himself and began mimicking the distress rumblings of a fearful, agitated, wounded dragon. Charlie marveled at how convincing Romolo's talent was: he sounded exactly like the young Fireball female would've if she'd been awake and aware of the poachers' return. The ruse was necessary; complete silence might've alerted the poachers to the trap awaiting them.

Six men with packs began the final ascent to the mouth of the lair, not bothering with disillusionments of any sort. Their brazenness fanned Charlie's loathing, and he felt a strong urge to attack in that moment. But he held back, reminding himself that they would soon be taught the folly of their ways. He, like the others, understood the official goal of the evening was to apprehend the perpetrators and deliver them to the local magistrate – but in a firefight, things could quickly devolve into a kill-or-be-killed situation. And Charlie'd be damned if he'd let any of his colleagues be martyred by a fucking lowlife poacher.

Flaviu and Freya, Disillusioned and therefore invisible, were now creeping up behind the poachers, wands at the ready, blocking the obvious escape route. The keepers had all cast special sound-dampening spells upon their boots, eliminating the crunching of their footsteps in snow, but Flaviu and Freya were also careful to hide the visual evidence of their presence by mingling their tracks with those of the poachers.

Romolo kept up the dragon distress call, luring the band nearer. Meanwhile, he and Boian slipped into flanking positions. Charlie and Sasha moved off together into the night, down closer to the lair's mouth.

Charlie didn't recognize the language the poachers were speaking as they passed by him, their voices hushed into whispers. Which rules out any local suspects, he thought. Despite the Disillusionment Charms, Charlie could sense the presence of his fellow keepers closing in on their quarry: the poachers were soon surrounded with nowhere to go but into the lair.

The keepers waited for the poachers to set foot inside the mouth of the shallow cave. At that moment, while the poachers busied themselves quietly assuming their positions, preparing to cast their Stunners on the dragon victim, the keepers quickly raised Anti-Disapparition barriers as well as wards to alert them in case enemy reinforcements were summoned. At the same moment that Romolo shouted in Romanian for the poachers to surrender, Charlie and Sasha both cast Shield Charms around the dragon's prostrate body and the keepers' perimeter, and Freya sent aloft a glowing orb to hang near the cave's ceiling, illuminating the proceedings like a searchlight.

Unsurprisingly, the poachers did not react to the interruption with calm or consideration. Freya's light blinded them, and they shouted in protest while trying to shield their eyes, unable to see who was accosting them. Then the orb split itself into six smaller orbs, each descending and settling atop a poacher's forehead like a beacon, making it nearly impossible for them to see beyond their noses, as well as marking their positions in the darkness. The keepers let their Disillusionment Charms fall away, the better to avoid friendly fire.

Whatever system of organization the poachers might have had, it seemed to disintegrate quickly into chaos, every man fending for himself. Flashes of random deadly force ricocheted off the walls of the lair as they blindly lashed out at the unseen keepers, and Charlie strengthened his Shield around the dragon, pouring his concentration into the spell. Sasha and Boian worked to Shield the other keepers while Freya, Romolo, and Flaviu went on the offensive.

Freya quickly disarmed one of the poachers – the clatter of a wand hitting the stone floor echoed through the lair – then incapacitated him with a petrification spell. At that, point two others who'd apparently reached the limit of their bravery for the night bolted out of the cave directly toward the ring of keepers. One, either as a function of poor luck or clumsiness, stumbled over the body of his frozen compatriot – a delay that gave Flaviu a clear shot at him. The man fell with a shout, struggling against the coils of magical ropes binding him ever more tightly.

While the remaining three darted behind the cover of boulders inside the lair, the other ran careening down the rocky slope. Flaviu moved to take up the chase, zinging Impediments and Tripping Jinxes at the fellow. Charlie was confident the enemy would not get far – Flaviu would run him to ground before he left the boundary of the Anti-Disapparition Jinx.

A momentary standoff was reached with the final three poachers. While Freya's head-lights marked their positions with certainly, they'd each managed to wedge themselves behind large rocks or wall-outcroppings. From these positions, they cast hexes and jinxes that were steadily increasing in desperation, if not improving in accuracy. With Flaviu otherwise occupied, his brother Boian assumed command. Wanting to end the fight as quickly as possible, he directed the keepers to advance into the lair.

They split up into two groups. Boian and Romolo moved in on the poacher furthest from the others, nearest the drugged and sleeping dragon. Charlie, Sasha, and Freya took on the other two by virtue of their proximity to each other. Freya and Boian both started shouting for the poachers to surrender or face death, offering terms in several different languages: English, German, and Romanian, for starters.

Panicked shouts, none of which made any sense, and more spells answered them. A lethal green light lasered through the darkness.

Freya dodged the spell, countering it with a jinx of her own. The cowering poacher was blasted several feet backward, hitting the wall of the cavern with enough force to knock a troll senseless. Not one for doing anything less than thoroughly, Freya followed it up with a German version of the Stupefy spell, then disarmed and bound the now limp body slumped on the floor.

Charlie and Sasha aimed several hexes and jinxes toward the other poacher, attempting to flush him out into the open. Sensing he was well and truly trapped, the man seemed hell-bent on taking as many keepers down with him as he could. Shots of purple light so dark they were barely visible strafed the lair. To Charlie's horror, one of them hit Sasha square in the chest. He froze as he watched the purple-black light spread instantly to cover Sasha's entire body, behaving like a liquid spilled over a flat surface. The form-encompassing light flickered faintly, resembling flames on an alcohol-soaked cloth, the likes of which Charlie'd never seen.

Sasha collapsed, howling in pain, tearing at his clothing. Never had Charlie felt so horrifically helpless.

"Greek Fire! Greek Fire!" Freya shouted, warning the rest and knocking Charlie out of his terror-trance.² "Boian! Sasha's been hit!"

Instantly, Boian left Romolo to finish subduing their Stunned poacher, dashing over to join Freya at Sasha's side. The Durmstrang graduate, more familiar with such Dark magic than the rest of them, knelt on the ground beside him, competently singing counterspells and performing a complicated wand movement over Sasha's writhing, bellowing body.

Heart pounding again after having stopped completely, Charlie launched himself over the boulder where the cowardly poacher hid, intent on nothing now but exacting vengeance. They collided with enough force to send them both hard to the ground. After rolling over each other twice in a battle for supremacy, Charlie managed to come out on top. He grabbed the man's wand hand and slammed it against the uneven stone floor, smashing his grip apart and sending his wand flying.

The man screamed in pain. He kicked out, trying to dislodge Charlie with his legs, but was unsuccessful.

How dare you hurt Sasha!? How many dragons have you killed over your pathetic existence? How many keepers maimed? Charlie could think of nothing but causing this miserable excuse for a human being more agony. He rammed his palm up against the man's jaw, throwing all the force of his body weight against the man's neck.

"That shut you up, didn't it?" he snarled as the man pinned beneath him squirmed for breath, clawing at his wrist. Charlie flicked a few Slashing spells randomly about the filth's body. "Shall I open a few arteries, hmm? Watch you bleed out right here on the dirt and stone?" He squeezed the flesh of the man's throat even tighter, gloating as his eyes began to bug out. "But if it's good enough treatment for dragons, it's far too fine a thing for you. Maybe I'll light a little fire of my own, eh? Roast your wretched arse and feed you to her?" His fist still curled around his wand, Charlie punched the man in the face, relishing the feel of his nose crumbling beneath the blow. "Nah, a rotten piece of shite like you'd only make her ill."

With one last push of effort, the man reached his arm above his head, palm open, summoning something. Charlie felt a surge of magic ripple from his enemy, saw movement in his peripheral vision. The man's wand flew into his open hand, and his fingers curled around it.

"Avada Kedavra!" Charlie screamed, slashing his wand across the man's face.

Instantly, a euphoric rush chased all the fury, fear, and adrenaline out of Charlie's body from the core outward, down to the tips of his fingers, toes, and hair. A flash of green filled his vision, then went back to black. The body beneath him fell still, and lifeless eyes stared up into Charlie's face.

1- Liceo di Maghi = "Wizard's High School" in (approximate) Italian; Entzücken-Schule = "Enchantment School" in German. Once again, I'm relying on online translation sites.

2- I do not intend my description of the spell-version "Greek Fire" used by the poacher to represent the real stuff used by the Byzantines (and others). That being said, the actual recipe for Greek fire is lost to us (though there are loads of guesses – see link below), and by the time of the Middle Ages, the term "Greek fire" was used to describe pretty much any incendiary weapon of war. So, who knows? Maybe it was magic! If you're interested in learning more, here's the Wikipedia link for Greek fire