In a hotel on the eastern bank of the Danube, Wright was tallying the accounts. The Shadow Mirrors had sold out in Budapest, and the pile of Galleons felt almost unreal. Yet, reflecting on his efforts, he figured he'd earned every last one.
"That blasted Melvin," Wright grumbled. "Sitting around in Romania, doing nothing but watching dragons, and still raking in hundreds of thousands of Galleons!"
He was fuming. If it weren't for his dream of restoring the Monkstanley family's greatness, he'd be tempted to grab the gold and run.
On the Shadow Mirror front, Abernethy and his old crew were proving reliable. Their memory-gathering channels were diverse, centered around Durmstrang's star Quidditch player. In just three weeks, the framework for the Mirror Club in Hungary was up and running.
Closing the ledger, Wright leaned back for a few minutes' rest before tackling the issues the older wizards had reported.
The strategy of pairing pubs with Shadow Mirrors had been tested in Britain, and many ideas could be directly applied here. For instance, tying teams to specific drinks—score a goal, get nine percent off; catch the Snitch, seven percent off; win the match, half off the entire tab. One night's drink sales could match a whole month's worth back in the day.
Then there were promotions like second drinks at half price or weekend specials.
Wright had no clue how Melvin came up with this stuff. The man claimed it was "Muggle wisdom," but Wright had run a shop on Charing Cross Road for over a decade and never saw Muggle stores pull promotions like these.
Still, Hungary wasn't England. They couldn't just copy everything wholesale. Feedback was constantly coming in, requiring tweaks and adjustments.
After replying to all the letters, the sky had darkened. Wright left his room and headed downstairs for dinner.
Passing the courtyard, he spotted the Thestrals landing in the sunset, trotting leisurely back to their stables to enjoy fine brandy and hay. After a long day's work, Wright paused, momentarily dazed. For a fleeting moment, he saw himself in the stables, not the Thestrals.
"…"
Snapping out of it, Wright shuffled toward the dining hall, growing angrier by the second.
Bloody hell, he was working harder than a bunch of winged horses!
Tomorrow, he'd drag Melvin back from the reserve. Why should that guy get a holiday while Wright slaved away?
---
The next morning, before eight o'clock, Wright was up and on his way to Romania.
At the Carpathian Mountains, he faced thorough and strict inspections. A makeshift checkpoint cabin stood at the entrance, with travelers from across the world lined up.
Beyond standard checks like identity verification and wand registration, there were various scrying lenses designed to detect disguises, lies, or conspiracies.
When it was Wright's turn, a commotion broke out nearby. Two wizards with suitcases were shouting, surrounded by Aurors slowly closing in.
"My Undetectable Extension Charm is legal!" one protested.
"Then cooperate with our inspection!" an Auror shot back.
"…"
Wright, pale as a ghost, remembered his own suitcase bore an Undetectable Extension Charm. The dragon egg theft at the reserve was still fresh, and he knew how these things worked after years at the Ministry: better to detain the wrong person than let a suspect slip.
Glancing over, he saw his suitcase already sealed with a tag, and several Aurors approaching.
No point resisting. Wright was politely escorted into a nearby cabin—or rather, an interrogation room.
The oil lamp had burned out, and faint morning light slanted through the window. The table was cold, scratched with old fingernail marks. Two Aurors sat across from him, offering a cup of hot tea, their demeanor surprisingly mild.
"Name?"
"Wright Monkstanley."
"From Britain?"
"Yeah…"
Wright's mind raced, and absurdly, the first image that popped up was Melvin's face, his voice teasing: *Is that suitcase of yours legal?*
The thought was so ridiculous it almost made Wright laugh, though it was mostly frustration. He silently prayed Melvin would get word and bail him out.
But things took an unexpected turn. The Aurors only briefly verified his identity, exchanged a few quiet words, and the younger one left. The older, middle-aged Auror shook his hand.
"Sorry for the delay. We've checked your suitcase—it's clear."
"Huh? Oh, right…" Wright mumbled, still dazed.
The younger Auror returned, handing back his suitcase and politely escorting him out of the cabin.
Wright glanced back at the room. The two wizards from earlier were still detained, sporting fresh bruises and pained expressions. Apparently, Romanian Aurors weren't always so courteous.
"I can have Laszlo take you to the Norwegian Ridgeback area via the keepers' private Floo—no queue," the older Auror offered.
"Uh… no need, thanks."
"Suit yourself. Safe travels."
The Auror clapped Wright's shoulder, his tone warm. "Mr. Monkstanley, give my regards to Professor Levent."
Wright nodded absentmindedly, then froze, catching the friendly smiles. Suddenly, it clicked why he'd gotten special treatment.
---
The morning mist cleared, revealing lush green branches. The July lake valley felt crisp and fresh. Wright emerged from the Floo, brushing off the choking ash, and followed the staff's directions toward a restricted lake deep in the reserve.
The sound of flowing water and young, raspy roars grew louder. Wright muttered to himself, feeling oddly nervous about seeing Melvin after so long, especially after the Auror incident.
At the lake's edge, he was met with a bizarre sight. The Norwegian Ridgeback territory was teeming with a dozen baby dragons of various breeds, freshly hatched, without sharp fangs or claws. They stumbled clumsily, almost adorable.
A young professor in keeper's gear—Melvin—sat on a rock, playfully teasing the half-blind dragonets. The normally ferocious creatures were docile, snuggling against the rock, nuzzling his hand like affectionate puppies.
It seemed Melvin's magical aura put them at ease.
Sensing a stranger, the dragonets grew restless, inching closer to Melvin. Two skittish ones, farther off, tripped in their panic.
Melvin casually flipped them over, letting them struggle to right themselves before flipping them again, calming their nerves through playful roughhousing. Once they adjusted to Wright's presence, he stacked a few dragonets together, watching them roll and tangle, unable to get up, until they started play-fighting.
The mischievous professor grinned, clearly enjoying himself.
Soon, an annoyed dragonet huffed, spraying weak, sulfur-scented dragon breath.
Unfazed, Melvin herded them to the lake and pushed them in with a splash. The dragonets, natural swimmers, cooled off in the clear water, their fiery throats doused. They quickly forgot their squabble and began splashing playfully.
Wright's head was spinning. "Since when did you learn to tame dragons?" he stammered.
Everyone knew dragons couldn't be tamed. Romania's keepers used food to coax adult dragons into basic tasks, and for underdeveloped dragonets, they wore protective leather gear to feed and guide them.
No one—not even Newt Scamander—could play with a dozen different dragon breeds at once.
Not even their own parents could manage that.
Wright eyed Melvin suspiciously, slowly processing the shock.
Melvin squinted at him. "That look in your eyes is awfully rude and offensive."
"You can tell?" Wright said, guiltily shifting his gaze.
"Couldn't tell. I used Legilimency."
"…"
Wright didn't bother bantering. Though curious about the dragonets, he was, after all, the Mirror Club's second-in-command and had responsibilities—unlike *some* people.
"The Shadow Mirrors are taking off in Budapest. The Pure-Bloods' channels are solid. Most major wizarding pubs in Hungary have installed them."
"How's the content?" Melvin asked.
"No worries there. In Britain, we centered it on Hogwarts' house matches. Here, we're using Durmstrang's star player as the draw. They've got a talent as popular as Harry!"
"And Abernethy's crew?"
"Very reliable. Those old wizards have serious connections—access to great match memories and even introductions to wizards from other countries buying mirrors. Abernethy hooked us up with several German pub owners. They're preordering without stock, even paying deposits."
Wright couldn't stop talking. "Plus, wizards from remote places—ever heard of Wagadu in Africa's Mountains of the Moon? No clue how they ended up in Budapest or linked with the Pure-Bloods."
"…"
Budapest's proximity to Romania made it a hub for dragon trade, so this distribution role wasn't surprising.
Melvin pushed a few more dragonets into the lake, assigning tasks unhurriedly. "For the rest of the summer, focus on Romania's business. Large-scale pub mirrors can wait. Prioritize retrofitting smaller mirrors for the Floo Network…"
These were pre-set plans, backed by Ministry higher-ups and Pure-Blood channels. With no obstacles, steady progress was all that was needed.
"Got it," Wright nodded, then froze, frowning. "That's all *my* work. What about you?"
Melvin paused, then said solemnly, "Things here are mostly wrapped up. I'm heading to New York, back to Ilvermorny."
"Opening new markets, huh…" Wright felt a sudden sense of balance.
The boss wasn't slacking either. After finishing here, Melvin barely had two days' rest before heading to America. Mirror production and sales were grueling, and dealing with various factions was just as tough. Maybe Melvin had it worse.
All for the Mirror Club!
"…"
Melvin watched Wright's expression shift, staying quiet. Whatever the man was imagining, it was best not to interrupt.
Charlie, a keeper, approached, muttering, "Professor Levent, it's feeding time for the dragonets."
Melvin glanced at the lake, a valley basin where clear water pooled, reflecting the surrounding greenery. Some dragonets had swum too far, their shadows barely visible from shore.
With a flicker of magic, a blue flame bloomed in the air.
Sensing it, the dragonets surfaced, flapping wings and claws to race back, practically skimming the water.
Wright didn't quite follow, only noting the flame's warm, vibrant glow.
---
A light rain fell that evening. Mountain terrain often trapped moisture, but the drizzle was gentle, pattering on leaves. Last month's scorched rocks were washed clean, and the air lost its mix of animal musk and sulfur. The forest grew damp and soft.
Before the sun fully set, a thunderous boom echoed through the valley, the ground trembling slightly. Norwegian Ridgebacks leaped into the air, chasing each other through low rainclouds. Their sleek, dark scales glistened, and a single bump could snap pines in half.
It was a fierce spectacle.
Other dragon territories echoed with similar sounds—sharp screeches from Hungarian Horntails, thunderous wingbeats from Hebridean Blacks, faint firelight from Chinese Fireballs playing, and splashing from Peruvian Vipertooths rolling in the marshes.
A campfire glowed at the camp.
Melvin stepped out of a cabin with glass jars, watching the mountains come alive with flashing fire and roaring wings. It could've been mistaken for a massive thunderstorm.
The nearby magical creatures summer camp hadn't returned yet. Hagrid was probably dragging Professor Kettleburn to play with Norbert in the rain.
The air was chilly, and the blue flames in Melvin's jars were perfect for warmth.
He watched quietly for a few minutes. Then Charlie, the freckled, dark-skinned keeper, returned with two rule-breaking tourists. The wizards walked steadily, but Hagrid, the half-giant, stumbled, clutching his chest and panting.
No explanation needed.
Norbert was nearly the size of a house now. Any move left Hagrid with bruises, and without Melvin's blue flames, there'd likely be burns too.
Hagrid, of course, was thrilled. "Norbert's got some strength! He'll be a proper sturdy dragon one day!"
"He already is," Charlie said dryly.
"Melvin's blue flames are brilliant! You can get right up close to dragons with 'em," Professor Kettleburn said, his scarred face wistful. "If I'd met him in my youth, I might still have my arms and legs."
"Truly remarkable flames," Charlie agreed.
Melvin stood at the camp entrance, holding the jars of blue fire, chuckling softly. "Don't worry, I've left you a dozen jars. Should last a while."
"What's that mean?" Kettleburn's sharp instincts kicked in. "Where are you off to?"
"Back to Mount Greylock," Melvin said calmly. "The theft case files are sorted, and some of the dark wizards involved are tied to Ilvermorny…"