The Dancing Days

Chapter 5

By Anne

"So you have seen wands similar to this on the black market?" Ron asked for the fifth time.He was currently slumped over the counter of Morlan's Fine Wandery in the High Street of the small Welsh wizarding village he and his squad had been sent to. He was speaking with Morlan himself, who was being -er- less than cooperative, while being as cooperative as possible, of course.

"Well sir, you'll understand, of course, that I've no idea where I would find a black market, and if I had come across one in me dealings with business associates-"

"Yes, yes. You've said all that. But purely hypothetically?"

"Well sir, when you put it that way, as a concerned citizen-" Ron shot him a look, "Aye."

"You have," Ron repeated. "Where?"

"Well sir, it wouldn't be gentlemanly of-"

"Where?"

"Castell Cydweli." The man muttered in Welsh, looking put out.

"Pardon?"

"Kidwelly Castle. It's west of here, near Dyfed. There's quite a community in there."

"Thanks very much." Ron said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he turned to walk out of the small shop.

He stepped out into the road, letting the shop door swing shut behind him.Ron returned to the pub and flopped down in a chair near the fire, next to Alex, who was already massaging his feet.

"Back already, boss?" he asked as Ron sat down.

"Yeah. I got a lead. How about you?"

"Nothing. What did you find out?"

"The guy sent me to Kidwelly Castle - in the south, but west of here. Near Dyfed."

"So when do we leave?"

"As soon as De and Jake get back; they should be done any minute, they were just going to Welsh headquarters to get all their previous information." At that moment Delia and Jake trudged through the pub door, both looking very wet.

"Bloody Welsh weather," Delia said, wringing out her hair. "I've half a mind to go straight back to the islands."

"Raining again?" asked Ron, mildly, earning himself a glare from De.

"Alright you two, I've just been telling Alex that I got a lead from the wand maker. He wasn't particularly forthcoming," Ron smiled wryly, "but I did manage to find out where our 'den of thieves' is. We've got to go to Kidwelly Castle, which is an hour or so west of here. Longer I suppose, since it's raining again."

"You expect us to fly in that deluge out there?" Delia demanded hotly.

"Come on, De," Ron coaxed, "It's just a bit of rain - never hurt anyone."

"That's not what the wicked witch of the west thought." She muttered darkly.

"You're hardly the wicked witch of the west," Ron pointed out, ignoring Jake's sniggers and Alex's dubious look.

"I wouldn't bet on that, boss," Alex said. Delia stuck her tongue out at him.

"Children, children," Ron said placatingly, holding up his hand in a cease-fire, but trying not to smile.

"Everyone get packed up and meet me back down here in half an hour."

* * *

"Harry, I need you to work with Mundungus on this Neo-Death Eater case. The latest leads are sending us to Romania and Fletcher simply isn't up to that trip. He'll go as far as Bucharest with you, but you'll have to do the mountains and forests on your own. I've also arranged for informants." Aurelia Quackenbush leaned back in her desk chair, surveying Harry Potter.

"Isn't there anyone else, Aurelia? I was hoping to get some holiday time soon." He left the statement unfinished.

"I know, and I’m sorry Harry, but there's no one else on call who can work with Mundungus efficiently. He intimidates most of the younger agents and just drives the older ones up the walls."

Harry sighed, "Well, of course I'll go, but when I get back I'd really like a week or two of holiday. I haven't had any in five or six months."

"I think that can definitely be arranged," Quackenbush said. "You'll owl Mundungus, then?"

"Sure," Harry replied glumly. "When should we expect to port to Bucharest?"

"I’ll have one set up in Battersea for tomorrow afternoon. Mundungus lives over near there - well, not too far, anyway. Good luck, Harry."

"Thanks," he replied as he stood and walked out of the office. Harry strode back to his own untidy office and climbed through the gap in the wall that opened to admit him. He sat down at his own desk, pulling a sheaf of parchment and a quill towards him.

Quackenbush wants me to collaborate with you on the Neo-Death Eater case in Romania. We're to leave tomorrow afternoon, so write back quickly and I'll brief you as soon as you can come to the Academy.

He drew the second sheet of parchment to him and dipped his quill once more in the inkwell, thinking how to explain this to Ginny. Ah well, blunt and to the point was always a good choice.

Gin,

Hey. How are things in Paris? Sorry to spring this on you, but something urgent's come up. I'm needed in Romania on a case with Mundungus Fletcher. We'll probably leave sometime tomorrow, so I'll write again whenever you send Hedwig back. I will get vacation time after this trip, though. See if you can take some time off in the next month or so. Sorry about this again - there's no getting out of it - I tried.

Love,

Harry

He then turned to the snowy owl perched on his window sill and attached each letter to one of her legs.

"Take Fletcher's first, Hedwig, will you?" He said. "And by the time you've delivered Ginny's I'll be in Romania, okay?"

She nipped affectionately at the hand that had finished fastening the letters on and then, in a whirl of wings and feathers swooped out the window. Harry stood for a moment, watching her until she flew behind a tall building and was gone.

* * *

"Hermione?" came a voice from behind her office door.Hermione Granger-Weasley started and looked up to see her editor's face peering down at her, looking slightly concerned.

"Yes, Terry?" she asked, tucking a third pencil behind her ear and blinking in rapid succession as she turned away from her glowing word-processor.

"Hermione, how long have you been here?" asked Terry Boot.

"Three years-" Hermione answered promptly.

"No, I mean since you last went home," Terry interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, that," Hermione consulted her watch, "Well, it all depends on whether that's two in the morning or two in the afternoon."

Terry shook his head, "Alright, Hermione. It's definitely time for you to go home and take a rest. Is Ron out of town again?"

"On business," she nodded, "But I can't possibly go home now, Terry. I'm almost done with the third set of revisions on this interview for-"

"Hermione, now," he said firmly. "That's an order."

"Alright, alright," she conceded. "When can I come back?"

"Not for a week," Terry replied, surveying her, "until those shadows under your eyes go away and you've had a few decent meals. Now go."

"I'm going!" She said, holding up her hands in surrender and shutting off her word-processor. Terry walked back into the corridor and waited. Hermione whispered "Nox" as she shut the door behind her.

* * *

"Castell Cydweli - 1 mile," Delia read off a road sign as she stood next to Ron, who was still straddling the huge motorbike.

"Well, I'll go up and tell Jake and Alex," she said, throwing a leg over her broom. "See you there," then with a swift kick-off she soared back up into the clouds.

Ron watched her go and then started the bike again and kicked off himself. Minutes later all four of the M.L.E.S. agents had arrived at a large castle perched atop a hill near the town center of Dyfed. It looked as it must have done around the time it was built. Funny though, the Muggle tourists milling around it didn't seem to think so:

"Oh, isn't it lovely?" One woman said to her companion within Ron's hearing range.

"Yes. Such a pity it's in ruins, though." The second woman replied.

Ron parked the motor bike as the others quickly shrank their broomsticks and pocketed them. A brief climb found them outside an enormous gatehouse. Ron gave the others a puzzled look, wondering how to get in. Alex returned it with a confused gaze of his own. It wasn't hard to see why. The gatehouse was blocked by two very formidable looking solid wooden doors. However, none of the Muggle tourists seemed to have noticed this. They were strolling straight through the doors the way Ron himself had often done to get through to Platform Nine and Three-quarters at King's Cross. It was as if they couldn't even see the doors. It was then that Ron remembered something Hermione had told he and Harry a long time ago - in their schooldays.

"…Hogwarts is hidden. It's bewitched. If a Muggle looks at it all they see is a mouldering old ruin with a sign saying ‘DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.’"

Was it possible that this castle was hidden, too? Albeit differently? Ron didn't know, but he had an idea how to find out.

He started to walk casually towards the large doors just slightly behind a group of Japanese Muggles with numerous cameras. As they approached the doors, the tourists just seemed to look through them and sure enough, they walked right through. Ron approached the doors in exactly the same manner (sans camera), but as he became level with the wood, and tried to walk through it, he hit the massive door with a thud and staggered back. Alex and Jake rushed forward to help and Delia appeared to be trying not to laugh - unsuccessfully.

It took Ron a moment to regain his composure."Well, that's obviously not-" he started, when a creaking noise behind him made him stop. They all turned and stared as one of the huge doors creaked slowly open so that it revealed a small man in shabby robes. He spotted them, gave a small squeak, and hurriedly began to try to shut the door again. All four of them rushed over.

"No!" Ron started.

"Don't!" Delia called.

They reached him when there was about a foot wedge of daylight pouring into the castle.

"Please, let us in." Delia gasped, trying to look pale. "I'm ill. With child, you know," She patted her stomach which suddenly seemed a great deal more swollen than it had minutes earlier.The balding wizard's eyes widened. So did Ron's.

"Please," De said again, "Just a drink of water and a place to rest before we continue. I couldn't sit on the broom another second."

Ron, catching on, put a supportive arm around her back and looked back at the wizard."We won't trouble you long; just until my wife can continue the journey. We're on our way back to London."

Slowly, looking very wary, as though De might give birth on the castle floor then and there the wizard backed up and let them through.

"Brilliant, De!" Ron hissed in her ear as they passed.

"Shut up and let me go," she whispered back. He obligingly dropped his arm from around her back, but held onto her arm all the same. It had to look convincing, after all.

They walked through a dark entrance hall amidst various Muggles who no longer even acknowledged their presence. They were gazing avidly around them, pointing and gesturing, but every time one turned towards the five wizards they seemed to just look through them.

"Can't they see us?" Ron asked their guide, curiously.

"No," said the man in a rather high-pitched voice. "They see only a ruined castle. Not what truly is." And with that extraordinary pronouncement he led them through into an open air oval ring, crowded with people. Some were Muggles, looking just as the ones in the entrance had done, but others were obviously witches and wizards. They had set up shops and stalls all over the place. A particularly round woman dressed like a gypsy flounced over to them.

"'Ere now, Ernest! Who've you got there with ye?" She asked loudly in the voice of one who had had too much mead, too early in the day. Then she caught sight of De. "Good Lord! She's preggers!"

At this several people at nearby booths turned to look. De, flushed slightly and mouthed 'Help' at Ron, but he just grinned back at her as the heavy woman grabbed her arm and lead her over to a caravan with a sign reading "Madame Mimi's Dark Divination Skills".

"Now you just come with me, dearie. Ol' Ernest would have had you on your poor feet all day. You just come right in 'ere…"

She whisked De behind some curtains and the muffled sound of her voice was swallowed up by the noise of the rest of the crowd. Ron looked around in interest. Aside from Madame Mimi's there were purveyors of contraband brooms, flying Persian carpets, unpleasant looking potions, amulets and talismans of all sorts, and wands.

It was this last item that attracted Ron's attention.

He waited for Ernest to lead Alex and Jake off to a side of all the hullaballo before slipping into the crowd himself and wending his way over to the ramshackle booth in a corner labeled ’Fine Wands from abroad - what the government doesn't want you to know a wand can do.’.

Ron shook his head. Did people really think like that? He strode over to the robust man standing behind the counter.

"Can I 'elp you?" He asked.

Ron stifled a snigger; this was the black market - in every sense of the term - and the man wanted to know if he could help him? The ironies of life.

"Er, yes. I'm looking for a wand," he replied, reaching into his pocket and producing the one he'd shown the shopkeeper in Caerphilly (the Welsh Wizarding capital and home of the Caerphilly Catapults), "Something like this. I borrowed it from a friend once and just haven't been able to settle for my old wand since. He told me about this place and so when the wife and I were down in Wales for a holiday of sorts, I thought I'd pop by."

The man nodded, "Well, try a couple of these," he said, pulling a few battered boxes from beneath the counter. Ron took out one of the stout, thick wands and gave it a swish through the air. Nothing.

"Where'd you say you got these wands?" He asked conversationally, as he took out another wand.

"Bulgaria." The other man grunted, handing Ron yet another box. (The last had failed as well.)

"Really? Never been to Bulgaria myself - imagine it'd be quite different. Got a pretty fair Quidditch program there, though."

The man nodded briefly. "Krum's ruddy brilliant. The rest I could do without."

Ron smiled a bit, as he always did when he heard Krum's name now. In truth he felt a bit sorry for the Bulgarian. "Yes, he is. I met him once, y'know."

The man merely grunted, but Ron took this as a signal to continue.

"Yup - came to my school once. Don't know where in Bulgaria he was from though - didn't talk to him much." That was an understatement. "You never know; he could be from the same village as this wand," Ron gestured with the current wand he was grasping and a single spark shot out of the end.

The man cracked a smile, but just barely. "Want me to wrap that up, then?"

"Er" Ron pretended to consider it, "You're sure this is legal, then?"

The man gave him a peculiar look and then a particularly twisted smile."It is as long as you don't get caught," he said with a rough laugh.

Ron nodded and replaced the wand on the counter, reaching once more into his pocket.

"Well in that case, I'd say you've got a bit of a problem Mr.-" he paused, but the other man made no reply and so he continued, "Well, whatever your name is, I'm terribly sorry to inform you, but-" he gave a wry smile, "you've been caught."

* * *

Nearly an hour later they headed out of Kidwelly castle, leaving some Welsh M.L.E.S. agents to deal with it. For the first time Ron looked down at Delia's swollen belly and asked tentatively, "That's not - y'know - real is it?"

She looked up at him with a grin, "Nah, just a variation of an engorgement charm. Even us brilliant, successful, single witches with careers still have to do that the old fashioned way."

"I'm very glad to hear it." Ron replied as they all mounted their brooms.

"I stink!" Delia burst out suddenly, sniffing her robes in disgust.

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything on the ride over, but" Alex said, ducking as she took a swat at him.

"That horrible Mimi woman must have had enough incense in her caravan to suffocate the Pope!"

Ron laughed, remembering Professor Trelawney's tower room, "Remember, we're just flying back to London to the Continental Portkey Office. We'll port to Sofia and go from there. Gregorovitch is a very well known Bulgarian wand maker and he works out of a small town in the mid-east of the country called Byala. We'll try there first."

"Since when are you an expert on Bulgaria?" Jake asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Since I owled back to headquarters for information when I found out where we were headed," Ron retorted. "Now let's get going."

* * *

"So Sorjenson says the latest information is sending us to Romania," Harry looked across his desk at Mundungus Fletcher, who gazed back unblinkingly.

"I've got that bit, laddy. When do we leave?"

Harry had to grin, "Tonight, if possible. Can you wrap up everything here and be ready to leave, say, around eight? We can port over to Bucharest and then travel west from there. The last reported sighting of the Dark Mark was in the suburbs of a town called Slatina. We'll try there first."

"Right. Who were the victims?" That stare again.

"Muggle family - er, the name's here somewhere - Ileana and Nicolae Vladislav. They have a daughter who's a witch - Ylenia. She attends Durmstrang, I believe."

"The girl's still at school?"

"No, I've written to Nadia Movila, headmistress of Durmstrang, and I think she's staying with relatives in Slatina for awhile. She was at home at the time of the attack."

"We'll have to speak to her."Harry nodded, "Are you bringing the Delacour girl with you on this one?"

Fletcher nodded, "Good for her to see how it works in the field, I think."

"Well, I think that's it. I'll see you at the C.P.O. at eight, then?" Harry said.Mundungus nodded shortly and stood.

"See you Potter."

"Bye," Harry called as he left, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

* * *

"I hate port-centers!" Alex exclaimed vehemently as a middle-aged woman rolled over his foot with her trolley.

Ron rolled his eyes and Jake grinned. Delia, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is she?" Ron asked the air in front of his face exasperatedly.

"Well, you know women," Jake began, "Can't go away for the weekend without packing-"

"I'm here!" a voice called down the crowded, bustling terminal. De was dashing towards them, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

"Where were you?" Alex asked, still massaging his injured foot.

"I got detained," she said, looking pained as they hurried toward their key-gate. "I went to Diagon Alley to pick up a few provisions and I bumped into an ex. Well, the engorgement charm hasn't quite worn off yet-" she gestured at her still somewhat swollen belly, "and he wanted to know what the hell I'd gotten myself into. It took quite awhile to convince him that I wasn't pregnant and it was a disguise," She shook her head.

Ron grinned."De, all of London must be littered with your ex-boyfriends."

"Ha - this is nothing. Come back to Martinique with me to visit my Mum and Da and you'd get the shock of your life. I've been out with half of Fort-de-France. I was quite a wild-child in my youth." She pretended to look nostalgic and the three men laughed.

"Attention! Attention please! Key number 346 for Paris, France will be leaving in ten minutes. All ticket holders please report to Gate 12 immediately," a magically magnified nasal voice boomed throughout the terminal.

"That's us!" Ron said, picking up his pace.

"Paris? What're we going to Paris for?" De asked, jogging to keep up with his long strides.

"Well, we can't port directly to Sofia, but we can to Paris and from Paris to Vienna and Vienna to Sofia."

"Couldn't we go directly to Vienna?" she asked.

"We missed today's key - we'd have had to wait until tomorrow and then we would have lost a whole day."

"And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" De muttered mutinously under her breath.

"Nope," Ron replied cheerfully. "And besides, I've owled ahead to Ginny, and she agreed to meet us in Paris and have a spot of dinner with us before we leave for Vienna."

Delia brightened at this suggestion. She had met Ron's sister only a handful of times, but had come to like her very much.

Jake and Alex seemed to perk up at this news, as well.

They reached Gate 12 and deposited all their bags on a cart being manned by what looked suspiciously like a hag. She gestured them over toward a pert looking blonde witch in a uniform who was standing near a table holding a large inner tube with numerous rubber handles protruding from its sides.

"Everyone please step this way!" she called, "Take hold of a handle - no empty spaces please - we'll be leaving at precisely seven forty-three. Right this way, sir - take hold of a handle sir, and hang on tight," she directed a decrepit looking old warlock. "No, sir," she raised her voice, "Take hold of a handle sir, not my hand."

Ron tried, and failed, to hide a grin. Suddenly though, all such thoughts were wiped from his mind as he felt the familiar jerk somewhere in the pit of his stomach. In a whirl of color and wind they were all whisked off the ground in London and, moments later, landed with a thump in Paris.

Ron was still on his feet, though barely, but he was one of the few who still was. Most of the other port-passengers had fallen to the floor and were struggling to their feet with the help of uniformed witches and wizards speaking rapid French.

As Ron gazed around he was amused to see that one of the few people who was also still standing was the little old warlock. He was clinging to the blonde stewardess for dear life.

Ron chuckled.

De was still on her feet, but Alex and Jake had both fallen, so she and Ron bent to help them up.

As De tugged at Alex's arm and tried to ignore the mischievous grin he was giving her, she heard a voice come from behind her.

"Hi everyone!"

De looked over her shoulder and saw Ginny Weasley jogging toward them, beaming. In her moment of relaxation, Alex tugged on her arm and she toppled on top of him. Jake burst out laughing, as did Ron and Ginny when they caught sight of the two of them.

"Alex!" De screeched, hitting him upside the head as two of the French stewards rushed towards them.

Alex looked up at the two men standing over them, puzzled. De, however, replied in rapid French.

"Non, merci. Nous sommes bien. Aides-moi, s'il vous plait," she stretched up her hands, which both men took.

They heaved her to her feet, and one of the men exclaimed, "Zut! Tu es pleine!"

At this, Ginny got involved in the conversation.

As De said, "Non! Ce n'est pas véritable! C'est un déguisement! Pourquoi est-ce que personne ne croit moi?"

It was Ginny who replied as the two French stewards walked off, muttering.

"Maybe because you look distinctly pregnant, De," she said, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's good to see you again!"

The two women embraced, and then Ginny held Delia at arms length. "Now just what have you gotten yourself into?"

"I didn't! It's just a variation of an engorgement charm! I swear - that's the last time I ever go undercover! Next time, you get to be the pregnant one!" She jabbed an accusing finger at Ron.

Everyone laughed."Well, isn't anyone going to introduce me to these two?" Ginny asked gesturing at Alex and Jake, who were standing to one side.

"You'd be better off if we didn't," De said.

Ron, however, did the honors.

"Gin, this is Alex Morinov and Jake Winston. Guys, this is my baby sister - be nice."

Ginny smiled and elbowed Ron in the side. "It's lovely to meet you both," she said, extending a slim hand. "Now, why don't we get going - I don't suppose you want to eat in the Portkey Center, and your key for Vienna is only in a couple of hours."

Half an hour later they were seated inside a bustling restaurant on the left bank of the Seine.

"What do you recommend, Gin?" Ron asked, looking down at the menu, befuddled.

"Well, la salade de tomates is a lovely appetizer, and my favorite entrée is the bouillabaisse, but the poulet avec les pommes de terres au gratin is great, too. That's chicken with potatoes au gratin. It comes with a side of asparagus. But for you, Ron, I think definitely the steak-frites."

Her brother stared at her blankly for a moment before saying, "I'll just let you order for me, shall I?"

Ginny laughed as the waiter approached.

After a lovely, though all too short, meal during which they all ate and drank heartily, it was time to hurry back to the Portkey Center. They stepped out into the busy street and with a series of pops disappeared.

"Well, I'll leave you all here, then," Ginny said, stretching out her hand to Jake and Alex in turn. "It was lovely to meet you both. De - great to see you again, and Ron," she said, giving her brother a huge hug, "It was lovely to see you, too. Give Hermione my love and don't stay away too long - who knows, we might end up in England at the same time!"

Ron bent down and kissed her cheek saying, "It was great to see you, too, Gin. And tell Harry I asked after him if you see him before I do."

"Not bloody likely, the way our lives are going," Ginny laughed. "But, in that unlikely event, I certainly will. Have a safe trip, you guys - and don't get into too much trouble!" She waved furiously before blinking out of sight.

* * *

"Ylenia, I know this is a very difficult time for you, but if you could answer our questions, it would be very helpful in our search for the people who attacked your home," Harry said gently to the back of the seventeen-year-old girl who was gazing fixedly out the window. A long dark plait swung a bit as she turned. She looked at him with large, dark eyes and, after a moment, spoke in heavily accented English.

"Mister Potter, I vould like nothing better than to help you and your colleagues discover my parents killers. But you must know that all Death Eaters vear long, hooded robes. I simply could not see."

Harry nodded, "Yes, I understand - could we review the rest of your statement, please?" She remained silent and he took that as consent.

"You've told the Romanian authorities that there were five Death Eaters. Is that correct?" Mundungus Fletcher put in. She nodded at the floor of her aunt's living room more than at him. "The tallest was about 190 centimeters - that's roughly" he did some quick calculations, "Six and a quarter feet. And the shortest was around 150 centimeters?" The plait bobbed up and down. "Quite a range, that." She shrugged.

"I don't suppose he chooses them by height," she spat the pronoun out as though it were something nasty she'd just eaten.

"He?" Harry asked.

"Vol- Voldemort," she said, her voice shaking slightly, but her gaze not wavering from his face.Harry shook his head - even now, they wouldn't stay the name.

"Voldemort's gone, Ylenia. I destroyed him myself. This wasn't him."

"They thought he was gone before; that you killed him - and then he came back," she answered, ominously.

Harry didn't know quite what to say.

* * *

"What does that sign say?" Ron asked, yelling back to Delia, who was riding on one of the tandem bikes provided for them by the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic.

"How should I know? It's in Bulgarian!"

"Well, what's the town name?"

"B- B- hang on-" She squinted at the sign they were slowly approaching (she had quit pedaling) "Byala!"

"Yes!" Ron pumped an arm in the cool air, causing the tandem to veer towards a cow pasture on the side of the road. He grabbed the handlebars just in time to prevent what would have been a rather embarrassing accident.

Almost half an hour later the two bikes pulled into downtown Byala, which consisted of three main streets. They found the entrance to magical Byala in a dilapidated tea-shop. A short, round woman with gray hair wrapped tightly in a bun stuffed them with tea and biscuits before leading them out the back of the shop and into a small village square.

Ron spotted a tiny wooden cabin with the sign 'Gregorovitch Varázspálcas' hanging over the door.He pointed it out to the others and beckoned them across the village green with him.

They entered the tiny shop and the old man behind the counter looked up, smiling, "Szia. Mell ego segly te?"

De merely stared at him before turning to look at the shelves and Alex and Jake did likewise, but Ron had a go.

"Do- you- speak- English?" He asked very slowly.

The old man's smile widened revealing a few missing teeth. "Oh! Yes, I do. I was just asking how I could help you."

"Oh, thanks," Ron said, walking up to the counter and pulling the wand from Kidwelly out of his pocket. "Could you tell us if this is your work?" He asked, placing it on the counter.

Gregorovitch fingered the wand and held it up to the light. "No," he replied slowly, "it is similar to my work, but this is not one of mine. Where did you get it?"

"In Wales," Ron explained, re-pocketing the wand. "We've been having trouble with them on the black market. We're from the British Magical Law Enforcement," he produced a badge.

"Oh," said Gregorovitch, his eyes widening, "Well, I haven't exported to the U.K. since the Foreign Import Restriction Act of 1932. Let me see that wand again, please?" Ron handed it back. "Yes, yes," he murmured, "I see it now. This wand is very much like some a colleague of mine makes."

"Who would this colleague be?" Ron asked, pulling out a quill and piece of parchment.

"Dashmir Vorschev," replied Gregorovitch. "He works in a small village on the Albanian coast - Shngjin."

"Er- could you write that one down?" Ron asked, holding out the quill.

Minutes later Ron gathered De, Alex, and Jake, and aboard their tandem bikes they started to pedal their way back to Miskloc where they could get a portkey to Tiranë.

* * *

"Where on earth are we?" Harry asked as he found himself standing in the middle of a forest.

"'Ze middle of nowhere," Gabrielle answered from his left, as she popped up beside him.

Fletcher just grunted. They had all just apparated from Slatina to what was supposed to be a safe apparition point on the way to Durmstrang, where they were to speak with Nadia Movila, the headmistress.

"Hang on a minute there!" A British voice called through the trees. "I'll be right with you!"

Soon a red-haired man wearing thick dragon hide gloves came jogging towards them.

"Charlie?" Harry said, in disbelief.

"Harry!" Charlie Weasley hurried over and shook his hand heartily. "What are you doing here?"

"We're apparating our way to Durmstrang - this is one of the points on our itinerary."

"Yeah, we're pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so the dragon reserve does work as a safe apparition point sometimes. Come on, you've got to come see the camp. And who are your friends?" Fletcher scowled at this description, but Gabrielle beamed at Charlie.

"Oh, this is Gabrielle Delacour and Mundungus Fletcher," Harry said.

"Pleased to meet you." Charlie said, shaking each of their hands in turn.

Mundungus grunted and Gabrielle said, "Enchantée."

"She's French," Harry explained.

They were being led into a large clearing where numerous tents were set up and people were milling around, most wearing heavy gloves like Charlie and other protective gear.

At one end of the clearing there were massive enclosures set up, where three huge dragons seemed to be sleeping. As they neared them, though, Harry realized that only two of the dragons seemed to be breathing. He recognized them as a Swedish Short-Snout and a Norwegian Ridgeback. One kept snoring and shooting five-foot jets of flame out of its nose.

"Charlie," Harry asked, "What's wrong with that one on the end - the big silvery gray one?"

Charlie looked saddened and replied, "That's an old Ukranian Ironbelly. He died early this morning."

"What did he die of?" Harry asked, looking at the old dragon with sorry eyes as well.

"Probably scale rot. The hide on his underbelly is nearly gone. The only thing I can't understand is why we didn't spot it sooner," he shook his head, then turned to the other three. "C'mon. I'll get you something to eat in the dining tent and you can tell me all about what's going on with everyone back home, Harry."

The four of them walked back towards the compound of tents as Harry took one last look at the fallen dragon.