The end of spring in Romania feels warmer than you expected.

Not suffocating heat yet, but the kind that lingers pleasantly against your skin while the wind carries the scent of pine trees, smoke, and something faintly wild through the mountains. The dragon reserve stretches across the landscape beyond the jeep window in flashes of fencing, cliffsides, and distant movement massive enough to make your stomach flip every time you catch it.

“You’re staring again,” your friend teases from beside you with a grin.

“I’m sorry, did you expect me to act normal about actual dragons?”

“That’s fair.”

You glance back out the window just in time to catch the shadow of something enormous passing high overhead, scales glinting briefly beneath the afternoon sun before disappearing again behind the mountains.

Your heart nearly stops.

“Oh my god.”

Your friend laughs loudly this time. “Just wait until you meet Charlie.”

There it is again.

That look she keeps giving you whenever his name comes up.

You narrow your eyes slightly. “You are being weird about this.”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’ve mentioned him like twelve times since London.”

“Because he’s great.”

“Mhm.”

“He is.”

You shake your head with a quiet laugh, but it does nothing to stop the growing suspicion that this entire trip may have come with motives your friend neglected to mention earlier.

The jeep finally slows as the reserve comes into view properly now—large wooden structures built into the mountain landscape, dragon keepers moving through the grounds below, the distant sound of roaring echoing somewhere far off enough to send excitement rushing straight through you.

The second you step out of the vehicle, the air feels alive.

Magic hums through the reserve in a way Hogwarts never quite managed. Wilder. Less controlled.

Your friend barely gives you time to take it in before grabbing your wrist lightly. “Come on. He’s probably near the nesting cliffs this time of day.”

You follow her through the reserve, trying not to look completely overwhelmed as dragon handlers pass by carrying equipment, shouting to one another over the noise in the distance. Somewhere nearby, something large screeches loud enough to vibrate through your chest.

Then—

“There he is.”

Your eyes follow where your friend points.

And immediately land on a tall redhead standing near one of the fencing gates below.

Charlie Weasley.

Even from a distance, he stands out effortlessly. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, worn boots dirtied from work, sunburnt freckles scattered across his arms and face while he laughs at something another handler says beside him. There’s a confidence to him that feels easy instead of arrogant, like someone completely at home in dangerous places.

Then your friend calls his name.

Charlie turns—

And the second his eyes land on you, he visibly pauses.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Enough that you notice.

Enough that your friend notices too, judging by the smug expression suddenly spreading across her face.

Charlie starts walking toward you both, brushing his hands against his pants as he approaches before finally stopping in front of you.

Up close somehow makes it worse.

Or better.

You haven’t decided yet.

“This,” your friend says proudly, gesturing toward you, “is the person I was telling you about.”

Charlie’s eyes stay on yours for half a second longer than normal before a slow grin pulls at his mouth.

“Yeah?” he says warmly. “Funny… I suddenly feel like this trip just got a lot more interesting.”