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The Romanian Assignment
By : EllieDarling
Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female
Views: 1453 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Mareille took one last look around her empty flat, the furniture had been sold and all her essential belongings were packed and ready to port. Sunlight poured in through the bare windows, illuminating the dust in the air; a blur of black that was her cat, Eris, darted about the barren room chasing imaginary mice. A shiver of excitement ran down her back and she smiled; she had completed her training at last and it was finally time for her to report to her post and assume her duties as official healer to the Romania Assignment. All that was left was one last goodbye.
“Healer Welborne,” Mareille started at the gruff voice behind her.
“Papa,” she cried and threw her arms around her father, a grizzled man who looked older than he was. His once thick black hair had mostly turned to grey and deep, ancient scars marked his arms and face.
“All packed and ready to go, I see, can’t wait to up and leave your country and father, eh?” His words were harsh but his voice was soft, a man unaccustomed to expressing his emotions.
“You know that’s not true, Papa, you know I have to do this,” said Mareille, her head on his shoulder.
“I know,” Argan said, “I know you’re following your heart, Mareille, and…well…I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. You put your mind to something and you did it and no father could be happier with his daughter, I just wish your mother could see this day.”
Tears ran down Mareille’s cheeks as she looked into her father’s eyes, knowing just what it cost him to make such a speech, and how much he missed her mother, who had passed away the year Mareille started her healer training. “I’m going to miss you, Papa, but I’ll be home for Christmas, and I’ll floo you whenever I get the chance,” she promised.
Argan grunted his agreement, “Did it have to be Romania?” he asked.
“Yes, it really had to be Romania.”
* * * *
At precisely one o’clock in the afternoon, Romanian time, Mareille arrived on the appointed hilltop for her rendezvous with the head keeper of the Romanian division of the International Dragon Keeper’s Guild…except that he wasn’t there. Placing a very unhappy Eris’s cat crate on the rocky ground, Mareille retrieved the envelope containing her assignment from her healer’s bag. She checked the rendezvous information to confirm that she had all the details correct, which she did, but Charles Weasley was not there to meet her. Irritated, she looked about her, trying to catch a glimpse of the dragon camp, but there was not much to see but rocky hillside and a great many dark, brushy evergreen trees which blocked her view of anything beyond the hill. For several minutes, Mareille stood tapping her foot impatiently, trying to decide what she should do. She had not spent the past three years of her life training to be a healer just to waste her time on a bleak hilltop in the middle of Romania so she drew her wand and placed it on her flat palm and began to say “Point me,” but the words never left her mouth as a deafening roar filled the air, followed immediately by the shouts of a great many men. Directly above her, an enormous grey dragon rose into the sky, roaring furiously and smoking from the snout. Not taking her eyes off of it, Mareille very slowly picked up Eris’s crate and backed cautiously into the tree line. The shouts of men grew louder and within moments, the clearing was flooded with men bearing raised wands. As one, they cried “Stupefy!” and bright shocks blazed from their wands, crashing over the angry dragon’s hide. It froze mid-roar and fell out of the sky like a small mountain, the earth quaking with its impact. Most of the men ran off in the direction of the dragon, but one man, one very attractive man remained, looking curiously at the healer’s bag Mareille had left in the clearing. Mareille approached wordlessly, allowing irate Eris to do all the talking as she absorbed the sight of him: a kind, handsome face under a riot of fiery red hair was distinguished by a long, thin scar running through one eyebrow and halfway down his cheek; he was tall with a strong, muscular build and looked every inch like a man who knew how to handle himself with a dragon, or with a woman. The man watched her advance with a strange sort of smile on his face, “I’m late, aren’t I?” he said, “I hope you’ll excuse me, I was detained by a dragon. Welcome to Romania, Healer Welborne. I’m Charlie Weasley.”
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