Hungarian is a language designed to humble anyone whose first language is English. Anthony and Hagrid got by on smiles, simple gestures, and a lot of body language.
When Hagrid, flapping his arms in a truly impressive pantomime and bellowing the word "Dragon," Anthony hadn't even had time to worry about the International Statute of Secrecy before the confused but helpful villagers led them past children skating on a frozen pond to a chicken coop, and then, after Hagrid shook his head, offered them chicken sandwiches instead.
After several more failed attempts at communication, the locals gave up, leaving Anthony and Hagrid to wander the lanes themselves, discussing how best to get in touch with Charlie Weasley. Anthony managed to get a cup of water to soften his rock cakes. It was a poor substitute for a proper soak.
The local children, fascinated by Hagrid's sheer size, followed them at a distance in a chattering, giggling pack. The ginger cat poked its head out from Anthony's rucksack, glared at them with profound disdain, and was rewarded with a fresh wave of excited whispers.
"What's wrong?" Anthony turned, seeing his cat flatten its ears and shoot a venomous look at their entourage. He immediately swung the rucksack to his chest, placing it as a barrier between the cat and the noisy, living crowd.
Hagrid looked down, spotted the cat, and beamed from behind his bushy beard. "Oh. Afternoon."
The cat stared at him for a long moment, then ducked back inside the bag. Anthony slid his free hand into the opening, blindly ruffling its fur in a calming gesture. He received several sharp scratches for his trouble. He withdrew his hand calmly and zipped the bag shut.
All three of his pets had enjoyed the trek through the snowy mountains—the howling wind, the stinging ice, the hidden branches ready to trip a man. But the moment Anthony and Hagrid had climbed back into the carriage, the Wraith Chicken and Wraith Mouse had vanished without hesitation, and the ginger cat had shaken its fur and burrowed into Anthony's rucksack.
From the moment Anthony had shown Hagrid his luggage, Hagrid seemed to have classified the rucksack as some kind of magically expanded menagerie. He never questioned how Anthony could carry a cat, a chicken, and a rat without appearing to be an animal abuser.
As the cat's head disappeared, Anthony heard a chorus of universally disappointed sighs from the children behind him. One sigh was very close.
He finished zipping the bag and turned. A child, bundled up in a woolly hat and scarf so only a pair of bright black eyes were visible, was gesturing with a mittened hand, repeating a single word.
"Cat?" Anthony guessed, pointing at his bag.
The child nodded vigorously. He leaned over, rummaged in a bulging trouser pocket for a long time, and pulled out a packet of unfamiliar snacks. He pointed at the rucksack.
"Sorry, she's not friendly." Anthony shook his head regretfully.
The child hesitated, pocketed the snacks again, pointed a thumb at his own chest, and said, "Balint."
"Balint?" Anthony repeated.
The child thumped his chest and nodded firmly. "Balint." He scurried over to a shop sign, patted the wall to get Anthony's attention, recited the shop's name, and repeated, "Balint."
Anthony smiled, pointing to himself. "Henry."
"Henry," Balint repeated instantly.
"Henry," Anthony agreed. He crouched, holding up the rucksack on his chest. "Cat." He gestured to Balint. "Balint."
Balint beamed. "Cat!"
Just then, a shriek erupted. Anthony looked up. A child was holding the filling of Hagrid's weasel sandwich upside down by the tail, shrieking in a mix of terror and delight.
"Oi!" Hagrid said with dismay, reaching to retrieve it. The group of children scattered with more screams, leaving Hagrid standing alone, holding two sad slices of bread.
Anthony held up his still-not-fully-softened rock cake. "The Muggles probably didn't realise that was your lunch, Hagrid."
"Oh… right…" Hagrid said glumly, taking a bite of plain bread.
Balint hesitated, pulled out the snack packet again, stood on tiptoe, and tried to push it into Hagrid's enormous hand. Hagrid blinked, then looked down and gave Balint a wide, warm smile.
Balint offered a cautious smile back and whispered, "Balint."
…
With Balint as their guide, they explored the entire little town. By the Christmas tree in the square, Hagrid pulled a small toy bow and arrow from his moleskin pouch and gave it to Balint. Anthony rummaged through his pockets and found a pack of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, a relatively harmless magical sweet.
Balint's face lit up. He tugged Anthony and Hagrid to a street stall, had a serious, lengthy discussion with the vendor, then took off his mittens, fished a small cloth purse from his pocket, counted out coins and notes, and bought three huge, bread-like things—one for each of them.
They were cylindrical. The vendor spiralled dough around a metal rod, coated it in sugar, and roasted it slowly over a brazier.
The air grew thick with the rich, sweet scent of caramelising sugar. Only when the shells were golden and crisp did Balint, urging the vendor with quick words, secure their prizes. Anthony and Hagrid accepted the steaming treats, thanked Balint with smiles and gestures, and copied him, tearing off still-hot pieces and stuffing them into their mouths.
By nightfall, they knew this was the best food in town. Balint had also shown them the tallest tree and pointed out the house of the best cobbler. He was like a proud collector, leading his guests through a gallery of treasures, stopping before his favourites to slap a wall or a tree trunk and flash a triumphant thumbs-up.
But as the sky darkened and a pale lilac crept across it, it was time for the collector to close his boxes and lock the vault. Lights winked on in the little houses lining the lanes. The clatter of pots and the rush of water spilled from open windows. Through more gestures, Anthony and Hagrid understood: Balint needed to go home for dinner.
"Balint." Balint mimed eating. He drew a circle in the air encompassing the three of them. "Henry? Hagrid?" He pointed between them repeatedly, smacked his lips for 'eat,' and tilted his head in a question.
"Blimey, I think he's asking us to dinner, Henry," Hagrid said.
"I think so too, but wouldn't that be a lot of trouble for Balint?" Anthony said.
"Right," Hagrid agreed. He scratched his head, then patted his own substantial stomach. "Hagrid. Full. Full."
Balint patted his own belly. Hagrid took a deep breath, and even through the moleskin coat, his stomach visibly inflated. Balint giggled and looked at Anthony.
Anthony patted his stomach. "Henry. Full."
Balint hunched over, clutching his middle, making himself look as small and empty as possible. "Balint."
Anthony and Hagrid both laughed. Hagrid gave Balint a gentle nudge, gesturing for him to go. Balint hesitated, looked up at both of them, waved, and skipped away down the lane.
"What now, Henry?" Hagrid asked, lowering his own waving hand.
"If we can get the right train tickets…" Anthony said.
Suddenly, a familiar, sharp cry split the air. An owl glided out of the dusk, wings outstretched, a letter tied to its leg.
It circled them twice, then landed squarely in Hagrid's wild, bushy hair. Hagrid untied the letter and shook out a small parcel wrapped tightly in newspaper.
"What's this?" Hagrid asked, pinching the package between two fingers.
"Read the letter first," Anthony said, pointing to the envelope with 'READ ME' scrawled in capitals on the back.
Hagrid unfolded it. "'Dear Professor Anthony and Hagrid,'" he read aloud. "'Hope this owl finds you. Since I didn't see you at the station, I'm guessing plans changed a bit. The Hungarian Ministry is very keen on scholars from Hogwarts visiting the reserve, so they fast-tracked a Portkey application.
"'Enclosed is a teaspoon. Activation is standard, any human skin contact.
"'Yours, Charlie.'"
Anthony carefully wrapped his hand in his scarf and picked up the small, newspaper-wrapped object. "The Portkey." He glanced around. Balint had, conveniently, led them into a very quiet alley. "Hagrid, you activate it. I'll hold on to you."
"Righto," Hagrid said. He checked his gear one last time, spread the newspaper on his palm, and gingerly placed his fingers on the teaspoon.
Anthony grabbed a fistful of his coat. A violent hook jerked behind his navel. The world blurred and spun. His feet left the ground—
"Henry! Hagrid!" someone shouted.
Anthony strained his eyes. In the whirling chaos, he caught a glimpse of Balint, running towards them, panting.
The ground vanished. Anthony looked down. Balint and the alley were shrinking into a tiny speck in the spinning vortex. Wind roared in his ears. Then his feet slammed into solid ground. He crashed into Hagrid, unable to stop himself.
"You alright, Henry?" Hagrid said, hauling him upright.
"I'm fine." Anthony pulled open his rucksack to check. The ginger cat was sound asleep, a fluffy, ginger, short-haired Puffskein-shaped lump in the dim light.
"Long time, Hagrid," a voice said.
Anthony looked up and immediately recognised Charlie Weasley. He was shorter than Percy, Fred, or George, but his trademark red hair was longer than all of theirs.
"Ah, Charlie," Hagrid said, beaming. "How've you been? How's Norbert?"
"Good. Good. Answer's good for both." Charlie extended a hand to Anthony. "You must be Professor Anthony."
"Henry's fine," Anthony said, shaking the offered hand. "I don't believe you were one of my students." He noted the faint scars of old burns on Charlie's wrist, disappearing under his sleeve.
The Charlie Weasley standing before him was far more weathered and assured than the boy in the photographs Anthony had seen at The Burrow.
"Right," Charlie said. "How was the trip? Where'd our owl find you?"
"A little town near the Hungarian-Austrian border," Anthony said. "Speaking of which, where are we now?"
They stood in a small, tiled, empty room. The window was pitch black, reflecting only their three shadows.
Charlie grinned. "Ah, yes. Hagrid, Henry, welcome to the Hungarian Dragon Reserve."
He turned and shoved the door open. Wind immediately howled into the room.
Hagrid strode to the doorway, then went still, one hand on the frame, his coat flapping wildly in the gale.
Anthony moved to his side and looked out. Darkness first. Then, the jagged silhouettes of mountains. Forests stretched away beneath them into the night. They were in a shack, perched halfway up a cliff face, overlooking it all.
"Gallopin' Gorgons," Hagrid breathed beside him, his face rapt. "That's Hungarian Horntail territory."
"Right. They're very close partners with the Romanian Reserve," Charlie said. "The Ministries argue, but that's not our business. I borrowed three cabins from them. Come on, if we're back too late, it gets a bit awkward."
Anthony asked, curious, "What kind of awkward?"
"They might trigger the missing persons alarm. You know, in case we got eaten or something." Charlie said it like it was perfectly obvious. "This is Horntail range. They prefer sheep and goats, but trust me, if they get the chance to sample a human, they won't say no."
"Ah," Anthony said.
"Three trainees got eaten already," Charlie warned them. "That's why this reserve is always hiring."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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