In Britain, there's a saying: if you see an owl during the day, it's a sign of bad luck—especially for Muggles.
That likely cos from situations where an owl delivering magical items is accidentally spotted by a Muggle. If that happens, the unlucky Muggle might have their mory erased by a wizard from the Departnt of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Over ti, the superstition stuck.
After all, mory modification isn't exactly a pleasant experience. And if the wizard handling it is inexperienced, the poor Muggle might end up forgetting who they are entirely...
So even though Muggles have advanced tools like telephones, wizards—preferring not to mix too much with the non-magical world—developed their own forms of communication.
The Ministry of Magic uses enchanted paper airplanes, while most wizarding families rely on owls for ssaging.
In this area, it's fair to say wizards fall behind Muggles.
...
As for the pure-blood Parkinson family, there wasn’t a telephone in sight. To be exact, they despised anything remotely Muggle-related—a trait shared by many pure-blood families.
Naturally, if Pansy wanted to get in touch with Draco, she had no choice but to rely on the long-eared owl in front of her...
Unfastening the letter from its leg, Pansy eagerly tore it open.
But after a quick skim, the excitent on her face imdiately darkened.
“Romania?”
“What’s Draco doing there?”
“That’s not exactly a great place.”
Pansy knew very well what kind of reputation Romania had in the wizarding world.
Located in the northeast Balkans of southeastern Europe, Romania’s varied and rugged terrain was ho to a wide array of magical creatures. Since few wizards actually lived there, it gradually beca a hotspot for magical expeditions.
And when people said “expedition,” they ant it—many of the creatures found there were classified as dangerous.
In fact, the region was ho to the Romanian Longhorn, and thanks to its remote location, it had beco one of the wizarding world’s top three dragon training and research grounds—a place where dragons were both studied and contained.
Which is why Draco’s decision to go there left Pansy both shocked and confused. Romania was hardly a vacation destination...
“I’m a little worried.”
She tossed the letter aside, a look of unease clouding her face, mixed with a hint of resentnt at being left behind.
And that wasn’t the only reason for her mood. Pansy had invited Draco, after all...
“I had the whole Diagon Alley trip planned. I wanted us to spend the day together.”
Burying her head in a pillow, Pansy let out a muffled groan. She looked like a little creature abandoned by its owner—dejected and moody.
Just as she was wallowing in her disappointnt, soone knocked on her door.
“Little mistress, dinner is ready.”
As expected of one of the wealthiest and most prominent pure-blood families in Britain, Pansy's room was outrageously large and filled with extravagant furnishings. As Goyle once put it, this room alone could probably buy the Weasleys’ entire house—with plenty left over.
Pansy lay sprawled on her grand princess-style bed, staring at the door knocked by one of the Parkinson family’s house-elves.
"If I rember right, tonight’s the Parkinson family dinner."
Sitting up, she ran her fingers through her sleek black bob. She hadn’t forgotten the task Draco had entrusted to her—and tonight was her best chance.
Her father might not be a Death Eater...
But the rest of her family? That was another matter entirely.
...
Just as Pansy had said, Romania was no place for a young wizard like Draco.
In terms of danger, it was comparable to the Forbidden Forest with its vampires.
While Romania might not have vampires—humanity’s natural predators—it did have werewolves and wild dragons. Neither was easy to deal with, which made Pansy’s concern entirely justified.
Unsurprisingly, Draco’s mother had been completely against the idea. If Lucius hadn’t stepped in, Draco probably wouldn’t have made it to Romania at all...
“Whatever you do, don’t leave the base. We can’t guarantee your safety out there.”
The warning ca from the dragon handler assigned to receive him. But the man’s tone was less than friendly—maybe because of his flaming red hair?
Draco ignored the red-haired wizard’s attitude and focused on the Romanian Longhorn restrained by heavy iron chains in the enclosure. Without sparing the handler another glance, he silently studied the creature.
“Hmph. Don’t get yourself killed.”
Clearly irritated by Draco’s indifference, the redhead threw out one last remark before turning on his heel and striding off with a dramatic sweep of his robes.
Watching him finally leave, Draco muttered under his breath.
“Honestly, Weasleys really are everywhere.”
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought aside and returned his attention to the dragon before him—a Romanian Longhorn, completely still.
For this creature, its entire life might be spent in this place, bled for its scales day after day...
Until it died of old age.
Draco didn’t know why, but the sight stirred sothing in him—an unexpected surge of anger. He instinctively reached for his wand, only to rember it had been confiscated when he arrived. With effort, he forced himself to calm down.
At that very mont, as his emotions wavered, the dragon in front of him stirred.
The Romanian Longhorn slowly opened its eyes.
In that instant, Draco’s cool grey gaze t the dragon’s golden pupils...
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