Note to readers: this takes place after the Deathly Hallows.

A soft, gentle, breeze blew my braided hair over my shoulder and ruffled the end of my long shirt. "Summer's coming on," I said quietly, wading through the tall grass that flooded the Dragon Sanctuary. As I climbed the hill that hid my 'cracheur de feu', my 'fire breather' (a female Swedish Short-Snout), I saw three men standing around it. I drew closer and they took notice of me.
"Hello," one smiled at me, extending his hand as the other two continued to study cracheur de feu. "Charlie Weasley." His voice was deep and smooth, though...