Disclaimer: I don't own anything that has to do with Harry Potter or have any association with its publishers or distributors and I do not profit from writing fanfiction. I do it because I must. A man must do what a man must do, and so must a woman. And so must El Chupacabras.


"If we haven't been assigned the case in any official capacity, I don't see any point in doing it," said Ernie in a heavy breath.

He was dragging himself out of the Ministry training dungeons along with Harry, Ron, and Clarinda, in a hurry to reach the big simmering cauldron of coffee at the far end of the Auror's office. The members of Teal Team Six had long since trained themselves to make a beeline for the coffee at the beginning of every lunch break to beat the rush, though the queues were much shorter now that Bluish-Purple Squad were the only other remaining trainees.

"Unless you think this will earn us some sort of accolade?" said Ernie curiously.

"That's why you became an Auror, then, is it?" Harry hounded. "God forbid you should enjoy doing a good deed without recognition!"

"Hum!" huffed Ron. "I don't want to go through with it, and good deeds without recognition is practically the title of my biography."

"Spare me."

"Ern's got a point though. Robards won't give us anything worth a Knut for working our arses off while everyone else is slacking off. What would the Prophet say? Auror Office collaborates together in team effort, nabs thief, a credit to Robards' leadership. We'd just be making him look good."

"I don't agree at all. I think that fish-wrapping material they call a newspaper would devour a story about the Boy Who Lived saving the day again. I wouldn't expect anything less of the Prophet," said Harry bitterly. "And after what we saw in Wielder's house, you're not at all curious?"

"Curious," Ron confirmed, "but not curious enough."

"What did you see, again?" asked Clarinda eagerly. Her energized legs had brought her to the cauldron first and she was now pouring herself a steaming cup of coffee.

"Hang on, Indigo's here," said Harry, nodding to Bluish-Purple squad, who were standing behind them in the queue.

"No sugar today in my coffee, no sugar today in my tea," said Clarinda determinedly.

"Won't kill ya, mate," said Ron.

"Don't enable me!"

Harry waited until the rest of his squad poured coffee for themselves and guided them to a more secluded corner of the office.

"They hack me right off, you know," said Clarinda once they were out of earshot of Bluish-Purple. "They keep saying 'crikey' to me. I've never said 'crikey' in my life! And the big one said I looked like a raccoon—"

"If you're done venting," said Harry in annoyance. "I'm trying to answer your question. We found the house ransacked, and there was a Honeybramble living under the floor. I've checked it in Goshawk's Guide to Herbology and wild Honeybrambles don't even grow in the British isles."

"But who would keep a Honeybramble under their house?" asked Ernie. "Is it an experiment? A pet?"

"Aha!" said Harry, gesturing at Ernie. "You're intrigued, aren't you?"

"I've never said it didn't sound interesting," said Ernie. "I just want to make sure we aren't wasting our time chasing after Herbologists. There's plenty to be getting on with as it is."

"What, hand-to-hand combat?" Harry asked, incredulous. "Investigating this thief that's been treating Knockturn Alley like the buffet at the Hogwarts end-of-the-year feast seems a better use of time than getting thrown around by Ron in the dungeons. And you weren't looking so smug when we were doing siege spells," Harry added at Ron's smirk.

"But that isn't our case to solve," reasoned Ernie. "Robards has got his paws all over it. He's been sending squads—"

"Robards has been giving a bunch of poor sods busywork to maintain the illusion that he's doing something about it," said Harry. "I've had it with people like him in power. He's a fuckhead, a fucking shithead—"

"Quiet!" hissed Clarinda as they all glanced around hastily to make sure their boss wasn't around.

"He's just a shade above Fudge, if you ask me," Harry continued.

"And you want to be the Head Auror?" said Clarinda. "Bit early in your career for that, isn't it?"

"He is Harry Potter," reasoned Ron.

"It doesn't have to be me, just someone competent," Harry explained. "Auror Selwyn, for instance."

"George says he got off with her," said Ron, and there was a round of chuckling.

"Be that as it may," said Harry, "Wielder's still missing. I think it's worth our time to get to the bottom of it, and if you two won't help..."

"I never said I wouldn't help," said Clarinda. "I think this is fascinating. Especially since I had a prophetic dream about Devil's Snare growing under my bed."

"Prophetic?"

"Well that's what happened at Wielder's house, isn't it? I got top marks in Divination, you know. Of course, this is a recurring dream, and I've had it since I was a kid, but the Inner Eye never sees clearly."

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on," murmured Harry.

"You're nasty today!"

"And you're not helping."

"Ron! Harry!" called a voice amidst the mass of cubicles beside them.

Harry and Ron made their way through the Auror headquarters towards the sound of Hermione's voice, and found her sitting at Ron's desk.

"Hey, Hermione," said Harry. "No lunch today, we've had protein draughts," he said, spotting the brown paper bag in her hands.

"Protein draughts?" she asked, setting the bag down.

"For building muscle," Ron explained as he stepped around Hermione and pulled out one of his desk drawers; it contained a tray of various condiment packets kept from Muggle takeout and salt and pepper shakers. "Just something Harry and I thought of. We're already killing ourselves in training, might as well get hench in the process. Reckon I might even be able to overpower Charlie one day."

"Hench?" Hermione repeated, staring at him amusedly. "You?"

"Yeah," said Ron in a defiant tone. "Silverware's in the other drawer."

"And where do you keep your office supplies?" she asked.

"In the supply room, obviously."

"Ron, I don't think that's a good—oh, all right," she said impatiently. "Just don't get in trouble. Listen, I've just spoken with Parvati at Magical Transport, and she's told me that Wielder arranged an international Portkey two days prior to our—er—visit."

"What was the destination?" Harry asked.

"Mexico. I've done some more research on it, and all records point to that as his birthplace. That's all I could find on our end, though."

"So that's why that Honeybramble got out of control, then, because he fled the country?" said Ron. "Case closed, innit?"

"No, it still doesn't add up. He may very well come back. I think we ought to owl the Mexican ministry. If it's his birthplace they'll be able to give us more information on him. We'll see if he's got a criminal record."

"Send an owl to the west?" said Harry skeptically. "It'd take ages to handle it that way. We should go there ourselves—remember, we're racing Robards on this."

"Honestly, Harry, it's like you only care about your career," teased Hermione.

"Forgive me, but I wasn't exactly sympathetic when someone cleaned all those dangerous objects off of Borgin's shelves. Frankly, I'd rather see them all belong to one criminal than up for sale at a crime hotspot."

"Hang on, I must've misheard," said Ron. "Are you saying that we should travel to bloody Mexico on some vague lead about a case we're not even supposed to be working on?"

"It would be fun to visit Mexico," said Hermione. "We haven't learned much about the wizarding New World from History of Magic, have we? We could visit a few museums, learn about the culture—"

"Oh that sounds like fun!"

"Don't be silly, Ron. You enjoyed Egypt, didn't you? And I don't believe you'd fancy staying behind while Harry and I go?"

"No, I suppose not," Ron sighed.

"Then it's settled," decided Hermione cheerfully. "Want a bite of my sandwich? Your mother says I'm advancing quite well."

"Anyone can make a sandwich," Ron mumbled, but he took a bite nonetheless, and immediately winced. "Corned beef? Yeah, you're learning from Mum all right."

"Right then," said Harry. "A weekend in Mexico. I'll tell Ginny."

Ginny's response, however, had disappointed Harry once they had returned to Grimmauld Place.

"I can't go," she said. "I've got practice Saturday and a game on Monday. Shootarounds in the morning—"

"Before the sun, I know," sighed Harry, rubbing his bum which was sore from repeated crash landings in the day's combat training. Clarinda had taught him a valuable lesson in low center of gravity. "Can't you skip the practice?"

"No, I've missed enough already," said Ginny firmly. "It's just a weekend, Harry, what's got you so upset?"

"I'm not upset," said Harry quickly. In truth, his mind had already spawned vague plans of proposing to Ginny on a sunny beach in Mexico. He regained his composure and glanced over at Ron and Hermione as they sat on the couch at the other end of the living room. Hermione, book in hand, was attempting to teach Ron Spanish.

"No, that doesn't end with 'a,'" Hermione was saying. "You've got to remember the gender—"

"Words don't have genders!" said Ron exasperatedly. "Not in any sane language, at least!"

"Words don't have genders, but you're questioning a language's mental health?" she shot back. "If we're going to properly visit Mexico, we simply must learn rudiamentary Spanish. The basics, at least."

"Yeah? Did you learn any Bulgarian before you visited—"

"This again!" Hermione let out a hollow laugh. "I've never visited Bulgaria in my life, Ron, have I?"

"Well..."

"And who did I spend that particular summer with, anyway?"

"Me," Ron admitted.

"Thank you."

"Krum's a git."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned a page in her Spanish book. "Stop it," she said. "Now, if you're asking to see the loo..."

"No more Spanish," Ron cut in. "No, Hermione. You can't learn a language on such short notice. This is making me want to smash my" — Ron leaned next to the glaring Hermione and glanced down at the book — "cabeza into a wall."

Harry turned his attention away from Ron and Hermione and looked back at Ginny. "Don't leave me alone with them," he pleaded, gesturing towards the bickering couple.

"I'm sorry," she sniggered, sounding nothing of the sort. "I've already been to Egypt anyway, and one trip to the desert is enough for this ginger. I'm surprised Ron's keen on the idea."

"I've got official orders with me," said Ron, nodding towards Hermione.

"What's that?" Ginny asked, and that's when Harry noticed Ron was carrying a big brown disk under his arm.

"It's the Portkey," Ron replied. "Parvati's arranged it for us."

"It's a potter's wheel," added Hermione, and then she grinned and paused, waiting for the pun to sink in.

"Ha-ha," huffed Harry dully. "That Parvati's got a wicked sense of humor, eh?"

"Yeah, she does, where's yours?" said Hermione. "Come on, it's a potter's wheel, and you're Potter, and it's being used to transport you!"

"Like a real-life wheel!" barked a voice from across the room. Sirius Black had awoken in his portrait. At this, Harry sniggered. "You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, Harry?"

"'Course not," said Harry. Ginny kissed him goodbye with haste. His hand then joined those of Ron and Hermione on the wheel and Ginny backed away. "Goodbye, Sirius. See you Monday, love. Good luck this weekend."

"You too, love," said Sirius.

"I was talking to Ginny—I'll be listening on the wireless. Goodbye."

"See you then," Ginny responded quickly.

A few moments passed with Harry, Ron, and Hermione staring expectantly at the big round object.

"Any second now," Harry assured.

"I say, Portkeys are the most awkward of transportation methods—oh, there they go," said Sirius casually as Harry, Ron, and Hermione whirled toward the ceiling as though lifted by a powerful tornado and spun until they disappeared.

Harry felt a familiar tug at his navel as his vision was lost in a twisted blur. He had never travelled this far by Portkey before, and after nearly a minute in a perpetually spinning world where Harry could distinguish little more than brown shapes and Ron's red hair, the effect began to take its toll.

They landed with a thud against a bed of soft yet prickly material. Harry was so dizzy it took him a second before he could identify it as a landing pad made up of several stacked bales of hay. Beside him, Hermione was laboring to remove several of the small yellow straws from her hair.

After he had adjusted his glasses and allowed his eyes to refocus, Harry saw that he had fallen into a very small room about the size of a bathroom stall. It reminded him of the dressing rooms in Muggle shops, but with the smooth, milky wooden walls of a log cabin.

"Gerroff!" Ron groaned. Harry had landed on him.

"Sorry," said Harry, shifting his weight off of Ron and standing to his feet.

After they rose to their feet and brushed themselves off, Hermione nodded towards the room's only exit. They left the small room and found themselves standing inside what looked like a cross between a massive barn and a mineshaft. Harry got the immediate impression that it was what the grand staircase at Hogwarts would look like if the stairs could not move; dusty wooden walkways bridged the many floors in every possible direction, creating a spiderweb of wood and rope on every level. The hall was illuminated by thousands of lit torches, swinging lanterns, and flickering lightbulbs that gave every surface a fluctuating golden ambiance.

"Merlin," mumbled Ron as he deposited the used Portkey into a designated disposal bin just outside the door.

"Welcome to North America," said a voice behind them.

A man in Muggle clothing had been waiting beside the door. He had round spectacles that reminded Harry of his own, though twice as thick. His thin face was scrunched in a big, friendly smile and he had short, frizzy blonde hair that stood on end as though he had just received an electric shock.

"You must be Mr. Triggs," said Harry, shaking the man's outstretched hand.

"Call me Milo," he insisted. "Oh boy, you are the real deal, aren't you?"

"Harry Potter, yeah," said Harry, resisting the urge to cover up his scar.

"And his loyal cohorts, Ron and Hermione?"

Ron and Hermione introduced themselves, and Milo turned his attention back to Harry.

"When I got your owl, I couldn't believe it," he said, shaking his head slowly. "We don't get too many owls over here to begin with. We use eagles for transatlantic communication and they aren't always friendly to other birds. When I saw it was from Harry Potter, I thought was a practical joke, but when I saw that it had the official British Ministry letterhead... I hope I did you a favor by keeping it under wraps. I think it's safe to say more than a few people here would be excited about this."

"Thank you," said Harry. "I only wish people back home were as thoughtful."

Milo smiled wider and began walking past the row of doors marked Arrivals and towards the main hall, gesturing for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to follow.

"Some folks here think you're just a legend," Milo continued as they walked into the twisting crowd of Ministry employees that were moving in all directions.

"Do they really?" said Harry. "Well, I exist, and I'm an Auror. I need to access a criminal record."

"You'll have to speak with Soledad about that—Soledad Arena. He maintains the archives."

"Is that where you're taking us?"

"Yep."

"I'm confused," said Ron, his head tilted up as he looked around the grand hall. "I thought this was the Mexican Ministry?"

"Oh no, this is the primary ministry for all of North America," Milo explained. "This branch was founded by the Aztecs. Most American wizards belong to indigenous tribes, and they're separated by tribal territories, not the borders of the newer Muggle countries. We are separated into Mexican, United States, and Canadian divisions. Though, we do have a former capitol up north. Great country up 'dere," he added with a chuckle, affecting an odd sort of accent; if it was a joke, Ron didn't seem to get it.

Harry apprehended from Milo's tone that he enjoyed explaining things to people. He had just entertained the thought of suggesting that Milo apply as Professor Binns' long overdue replacement at Hogwarts when Ron frowned and said, "So I didn't have to learn all that Spanish?"

"Oh no, all that hard work down the drain," said Hermione dryly.

As they passed through the thick crowd, Harry marveled at the diversity of the Ministry employees and guests. Most were what Uncle Vernon would call Red Indians, clad in thin cloth, animal hide, and denim; there were also black wizards and witches dressed in Muggle clothes, conversing in English; though there was no shortage of caucasian wizards, dressed mainly in colonial garb; the few European wizards seemed out of place in traditional black robes that would have been uniform at the English Ministry.

Unlike the English Ministry, the employees did not seem to recognize Harry. Milo, however, attracted a lot of attention. He reminded Harry of Arthur Weasley the way employees from every level were familiar with him.

They passed several different offices on their journey through the walkways and staircases across the main hall. There was a Floo area where witches and wizards were emerging from the emerald-green flames of open campfires and disappearing into others. Most of the different departments existed within teepees that were enchanted in the same manner as magical tents, with interiors larger than their exteriors.

Harry recognized the visitor's entrance by two colossal, blocky statues that stood guard at the gates, peering down at passersby and occasionally smacking each other with their stone swords; they didn't seem to get along. A wide cloth banner hung down over the visitor's entrance, flashing different messages as though there were an invisible projector in the doorway; it was currently an advertisement for Bob Winter's Famous Steaks ("I kill the cows myself!")

Hermione's wide eyes scanned every bit of their surroundings with excitement, and she frequently alerted Harry and Ron to points of interest, even if they weren't particularly interesting.

They soon arrived at a teepee with a crooked wooden sign posted beside it, marked Magical Police Dept. Milo led thim into the teepee and they found themselves in a grid of cubicles similar to their Auror Headquarters, but with a noticeable lack of paper airplanes zipping overhead. Instead, large puffs of smoke littered the air, as though the occupants of the cubicles were on fire.

"Smoke signals," Milo explained. He glanced at an elaborate smoke formation over a nearby cubicle and flinched. "Gee, that guy's a real cut-up, huh? Hey, watch your language, Pendergraph!" He admonished, standing on his toes to peek over a cubicle wall. "Good thing Cook's not here to see that. He's the head of the department. Hopefully we won't run into him."

Harry merely nodded awkwardly, though he felt he could relate.

"Milo, I've noticed something," said Hermione. "I've yet to see any Magical Creatures here other than humans."

"You didn't see the Chenoo?" Milo asked in disbelief. "They're pretty hard to miss. Big stone giants, can't stand each other, like to intimidate humans..."

"I thought those were bewitched statues," mused Harry.

"Nope. Why do you ask, anyway?" Milo asked, stopping in place and turning back to Hermione.

"I was just wondering if other part-human or sentient creatures had their own Ministry, or their own branch?"

Ron groaned, a knowing look dawning on his face, but Hermione ignored him.

"We don't get many of those creatures in America. No, it's mostly humans. Anything else will kill ya."

"What about... Elves?" asked Hermione, her casual tone betrayed by Ron's eye-roll.

"House Elves?" Milo shook his head. "We've got something similar, called Menehune. But they only clean your house as a reward for good deeds. Slavery isn't very popular in America these days."

Hermione smiled brightly at that, but Harry and Ron knew that this was information Hermione had already researched, and, sensing that she was eager to learn more, they urged Milo to start walking again.

"Here we are," said Milo as they arrived at a door of hanging colored beads that formed the crude image of a solid red bird over a tan backdrop. "These are the archives."

They ducked through the beads and found themselves in a dark room of incredibly tall steel shelves, each with thousands of labeled compartments. A fluctuating golden glow shimmered off of the high shelves illuminated by swinging lamps hanging from the ceiling, the light not quite reaching the floor.

At the end of the long aisle in the center of the room was a man sitting at a desk, scribbling away at some paperwork.

"Hey, Soledad," said Milo when they finally reached the man.

Soledad was chubby and had tan skin, neatly combed black hair, and a square face.

"Triggs," he said, not looking up from his writing. "Qué pasa? Crop circles still giving you trouble?"

"I keep handing out the citations, the kids keep doing it," sighed Milo. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Then why—" Soledad paused as he looked up and caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Oh, I'm sorry. Hello," he said, putting his papers away.

"Hola," said Hermione, grinning and extending her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm with the British Ministry of Magic."

"Hermione Granger?" Soledad frowned as he shook her hand. "And you..."

"Harry Potter," said Harry, shaking Soledad's hand briefly.

Soledad's eyes went over Harry's scar, then he looked to Milo, who nodded fervently.

"Hey, this day just got interesting," he said. He looked to Ron, and said, "So you must be Wiggleby? Kidding!" he said at Ron's scowl. "Of course I know who Ron Weasley is. Nice to meet you."

"Right," Ron grumbled. "Didn't realize Rita's books had gone international."

"I've got to go make sure Pendergraph isn't fooling around up there," said Milo. Soledad tutted, shaking his head. "I'll be outside, Harry."

He gave Harry another friendly smile and walked away.

"It's a wonder Penny hasn't been canned," said Soledad under his breath. "We used to crack jokes at his stupidity, but eventually it—well, it brings to mind analogies involving fish and barrels. So, how can I help you?"

"We're doing a background check on a man that may have come from this area," Harry explained. "A man named Sef Wielder."

"Wielder? Hey, that's a tricky one, Mr. Potter. Sounds like an English word, which means he could be Native. The Natives' names are often translated into their English meanings when used in the English language."

"What about the given name?" asked Ron. "'Sef?'"

"That was the given name? I thought you had something stuck in your throat or something. My mistake, amigo," he told Harry, chuckling. "Seth Wielder—I'm sorry, Sef—that sounds more like an English name. Hey, I'll check the W's."

"Thank you," said Harry.

"Hey, anything for Harry Potter. My kids love you," said Soledad as he stood up and made his way down a nearby row of shelves.

Harry forced a smile and followed him. As it turned out, retrieving a record was a simple matter of standing before the correct shelf and requesting it by name.

"Wielder," said Soledad, to no avail. "Sef Wielder?" he tried. Nothing.

"It's actually pretty rare that nothing turns up at all, even a birth record," he said. "Then again, if he's Native, we'd need the actual name."

"But you can find that out, can't you?" asked Hermione.

"No, you'd need an Elder for that. This ministry is disastrously unorganized at the moment. There's a culture class between the colonist wizards and the indigenous tribes, even if the wars ended long ago. Best to seek out an Elder; there's one who lives in the hut on top of the Tough Times cafe in Hiawatha Valley," he explained. "His name is Old Panther, or at least that's what he calls himself. If you can stand the smell long enough to ask him, you should pay him a visit."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione thanked Soledad and bade him goodbye. When they left the archives, they found a weary-looking Milo stepping out of a cubicle that had a nameplate that read Pendergraph.

"Find anything?" Milo asked when he caught sight of them. Harry shook his head. "I'm sorry. The Archives here are largely incomplete. Native Americans aren't exactly synonymous with written records."

"There's still hope, though, isn't there?" said Hermione. "Soledad said a man named Old Panther could help."

"Panther?" Milo's jaw dropped a bit. "Yes—yes he could, I guess."

"Could you take us to the Tough Times cafe?" she asked.

"Er, I don't think... maybe..." Milo cleared his throat and cast a quick glance around the bustling city of cubicles. "Moose!" he called suddenly. "Come over here!"

Milo's call was answered by a tall, gangly black wizard dressed in casual Muggle attire. 'Moose,' Harry surmised, was a nickname; the man's long, bony face was rather mooselike.

"I was almost out the door," said Moose longingly. "What do you need?"

"Half day today?" asked Milo with a grin. "Well then you're going into the city anyway, right? All I'm asking is that you take these three along."

Moose apparently hadn't noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing next to him. He cocked an eyebrow, then turned back to Milo, and said, "I was gonna Floo, actually. Got a date tonight."

"Oh come on, don't you know who this is?" Milo insisted, gesturing to the trio. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Ring any bells?"

"Really?" asked Moose, his round eyes growing wide as he surveyed them. "Why didn't you say so? And I almost left..."

"Guys, this is Moose," Milo introduced as Moose extended a big, gangly hand for them to shake.

"How's it going?" he said, flashing a big yellow-toothed smile. "Heading to Hiawatha? Let's get a move on."

"Wait!" Milo began rummaging through his pockets, then pulled out a small bronze key with a number 21 tag attached to it. "This is your room key at the Seward Inn. It's the biggest building in the city, you can't miss it," he said, handing the key to Harry.

"So, where to?" Moose asked over his shoulder after they said goodbye to Milo and started down the aisle towards the exit.

"The Tough Times cafe," said Hermione.

Moose clicked his teeth, amused. "Why would you wanna go there? You know there's an Elder living in the attic?"

"That's who we intend to meet," said Harry slowly. "And why shouldn't we?"

"They just smoke some weird tobacco, s'all," said Moose dismissively. "Stuff's like smelling salt, and it sticks to your clothes."

They exited the department and once again found themselves in a sea of Ministry employees. It appeared that word had spread that Harry Potter and his friends were in the building. Starstruck witches and wizards were emerging from the mouths of the teepees that lined the hall and pointing Harry out to their colleagues.

Moose wasn't as popular as Milo, it seemed, but he commanded a noticeable respect from the surrounding mob; they looked as though they ached to swarm Harry with questions, but stopped themselves from getting too close.

"It's him!"

"Look at the scar!"

"Harry!"

"Can I be in Dumbledore's Army?"

"Sorry about this," Moose mumbled.

"It's fine, it's the same back home," Harry replied.

Moose cracked a grin and approached another, shorter black wizard with thick eyebrows and an impatient air about himself.

"Mohammed, I'm gonna need to see some work out'cha," said Moose, nodding towards the surrounding crowd. Mohammed promptly began herding the gawkers away by shooting sparks out of his wand and waving it about.

They made their way through a catacomb of rope bridges and creaky wooden staircases until they reached the ground floor of the atrium. There was a commotion at the visitor's entrance, where one of the massive blocky Chenoo that guarded the gate had severed the other's head and was refusing to give it back; Moose instructed them to keep quiet and they snuck across the atrium unnoticed.

"The Tough Times had their Floo Network access revoked," said Moose as they arrived at a row of campfires in a bed of soft dirt. "Whole lotta drunks trying to Floo out of there at night. They wind up in all sorts of places, and the Muggles can only blame space aliens for so much before they start to catch on, y'know. The closest fire is at the bazaar on Hogride Road. Follow me."

Moose crouched and scooped up a handful of soft soil from the ground, then stepped over a nearby campfire with the dirt streaming from between his bony knuckles. He then dropped the soil over the fire in which he stood. "Hogride Road Bazaar!" he exclaimed as he was consumed by roaring green fire.

"They use dirt as Floo powder?" Ron asked, grabbing a handful of soil from the ground. "Everything is so barmy here."

"It's not barmy, Ron, it's a different culture," said Hermione.

"Those statues were barmy," Ron affirmed.

Flooing by campfire, it turned out, was a much smoother experience. There were no stone chimneys to bang your elbows on, and spotting the right location at which to stop was much easier outdoors.

Once they had arrived at the fire outside the Hogride Road Bazaar, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were speechless as they surveyed the surrounding desert. They felt like aliens themselves as they observed scattered cacti, stagecoaches, bristly bushes, and skeletons of cattle and birds. The long black road beside them was the only road in sight and stretched all the way over the horizon, betwixt faraway hoodoo rock formations in the distance.

"Come on," said Moose. "We have some walking to do. Just a mile or so."

And so they walked. It was only a short while before the city of Hiawatha Valley came into view and the road began to curl down a cliffside into the valley below, but by the time they reached the city, they were sweating under the hot sun.

"Haven't you Americans ever heard of clouds?" Ron groaned, cupping his hand over his eyes and looking up at the solid blue sky.

"You live here long enough, you get used to it," said Moose, who had not shed a drop of sweat.

"I'll pass," Ron mumbled.

Hiawatha Valley was a different sight from the deserted road above, with colorful storefronts of all sorts of shops and residences with big grass yards and gardens. The roads were cluttered with rolling wagons, coaches, and a few ancient-looking sputtering cars.

They passed through a pleasant neighborhood of pretty houses, vibrant green trees and sparkling fountains and swimming pools in many of the yards. A modern skyscraper stood tall at the center of the city, with a bunch of big red letters atop it that spelled Seward Inn.

"This is the place," said Moose.

The Tough Times was a two-story cafe with a sign outside that simply read Bar & Grill. The building's chipped paint and odd trinkets in the windows reminded Harry of the derelict buildings at Grimmauld Place. Emanating from it was the constant rowdy clamor of its patrons, and the whole area was polluted with a foul stench from the blacksmith shop across the street.

"If you're gonna eat here, just keep it simple—a B.L.T. or something," Moose suggested. "Don't get the chicken wings."

Ron's face fell.

"I have plans tonight, so I'll be going—wait, just a second," said Moose, breaking out in a grin. "One thing before I go... did you three really rob a bank with a dragon?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a quizzical look, then turned back to Moose and spoke at the same time. Harry said "no," while Hermione said "not exactly," and Ron said "yeah."

"We escaped on the dragon," said Harry.

"And you didn't get arrested?" Moose chuckled. "Man, those books were right, you really can get away with anything. Well, nice meeting you. Peace."

Harry thanked Moose for his help and Moose Disapparated with a *crack*.

"Peace?" Ron asked after Moose had gone, but Harry and Hermione merely shrugged in equal bewilderment.

"I might fancy a B.L.T., actually," said Hermione, turning her attention back on the cafe in front of them.

Together, they stepped through the glass double doors of the Tough Times cafe. Their nostrils were relieved as the foul smell of the blacksmith's was replaced by the scent of hash browns and beer. The floor was made of very old and dusty plastic tile and was covered in scratch marks from the legs of many metal chairs.

"I didn't expect it to be quite this crowded from Moose's opinion of this place," said Harry as they approached the bar. "Three B.L.T.s, please," he told the barman.

"Sir, I wonder if you've seen our friend?" said Hermione in an attempt at a casual tone as the barman retrieved a packet of Bob Winter's Famous Bacon ("I kill the pigs myself!") from the pantry behind the bar. "He's called Wielder. Dark-skinned fellow."

The barman's eyebrows shot up over his thick square glasses. Before he could respond, however, he was distracted by something behind them. He smirked, and yelled "Aw, shit!"

Confused, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around and saw a scuffle taking place near the front door. Several wizards dressed in colonial outfits Harry recognized from the Magical Police Department were apprehending a few seedy-looking men in black robes. The American Aurors captured the black-robed men in a matter of seconds, and began hauling them away.

"Damn cultists, they never let up," one of them said with a southern drawl.

A young man emerged from the commotion with a green duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his shaggy blonde hair shifting with every step.

"I want a chilli dog and lots of fries, and a beer," he announced, dropping his bag on the counter and taking a seat at one of the stools.

"Funny you should show up here, Sky," the barman replied. "These British folks are looking for your brother."

"He ain't my brother," said Sky testily as he reached over the counter and began filling a tall glass of beer from the tap.

"He says that now," the barman told Hermione in an undertone. "But they were inseparable. Always playing their stupid tricks on Muggle tourists. Prancing around with that silly dance craze, the Sprain."

"The Sprain!" groaned Sky in agony. "Don't bring it up!"

"So you know Wielder?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Nope," Sky replied without looking. He then took a swig of beer and wiped away the foamy residue left on his stubbly beard with his sleeve, and said, "Whoever told you that was real mistaken."

"Please—Sky, was it? We need information on this man because we strongly suspect—"

"Look, lady—" Sky fell silent as he turned around and caught sight of Hermione. He then smiled, leaned back in his seat, and said, "Well, hello."

"Hi" — Ron cut in, stepping in front of Hermione and blocking her from view — "Ron Weasley," he said, extending his hand.

"My name's Kenny," said Sky slowly, his eyes narrowed, but he smiled again when Hermione stepped out from behind Ron with an expression reminiscient of Professor McGonagall and Ron edged away from her a bit.

"If there's anything you can tell us, such as his real name," she began, but Sky shook his head.

"I ain't tellin' you a thing," he said.

"We're British officers with the English Ministry," said Harry impatiently. "We're Aurors. If you know anything, you're required by law—"

"Yeah, well, I'm a member of the Junior Rainbow Rangers. Doesn't mean anything around here."

"I think it does," Harry countered. "Because we're collaborating with your Ministry on the case. I expect Milo Triggs, the Deputy Chief at the Magical Police Department, means something around here."

To Harry's annoyance, Sky snorted at this. "Triggs is gonna make me talk? Triggs couldn't arrest me if he caught me pissing in the town square. Go and tell him I'm not talkin'. Tell him Kenny said so."

Harry made to respond, but he noticed Ron's hands had balled up into fists at his sides, and decided it was best to whisk Ron away and go find a table. Hermione followed with their tray of food and they found a seat at a booth in the back.

"Veritaserum, I reckon," Ron suggested as they sat down. Harry nodded.

"What?" Hermione gasped. "Ron, you can't!"

"Hermione," Ron groaned. "You were the one that wanted to come all this way following little bread crumb trails and suddenly a big tray of biscuits falls right into our lap and now you don't want to take a bite?"

"That was a mixed metaphor—"

"Wielder's childhood friend!" Ron urged, gesturing towards the bar; Harry glanced in the same direction and saw that Sky's seat was empty.

"It's no use now," said Harry. "He's gone."

"You can't just spike people's drinks with truth serum, especially not here. What if our Ministry received word of it?" said Hermione as Ron angrily chomped on his sandwich. "Honestly!"

"He could be an accomplice!" Ron argued.

"Very possibly he is, but—well, you know what they say about catching flies?"

"What, then?" Ron demanded. "What were you going to do, seduce him?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I've come to think of you as intelligent!"

"Becuh' I am," said Ron through a mouthful of bacon and bread.

"We've still got an Elder to meet," said Harry. Ron and Hermione noticed his weary tone and silently came to a truce. "If the barman here knows Wielder, then the Elder will too, won't he?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione deposited their dishes at the bar and inquired about meeting Old Panther. The barman pointed them to a door behind the counter. Atop a narrow staircase and beyond another wall of patterned beads, they found themselves in a very dimly lit room. The walls shone different colors by the glow of steaming potions that hung in rows on the walls like multicolored lanterns. A long red carpet stretched out from their feet to the end of the room, where what looked like a big breathing lump of clothes sat atop a very large cushion.

Harry met Ron's eyes, then Hermione's, then nodded and started moving forward. He had only taken one step onto the red carpet, his leg becoming enveloped in a yellow-tinted light, when the man at the end of the room spoke.

"Who's there?"

Harry squinted through the darkness. He could barely make out the whites of the man's eyes.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said. "These are my friends, Ron and Hermione. We're Aurors with the English Ministry of Magic."

It was a few seconds before the man responded. He emitted a low croaking laugh.

"I've heard a lot of bullshit in my day, but that's a good one. Who is this, really? Is that you, Dale? I already told you, if it burns when you piss, then you need a Healer, not an Elder—"

"Please, sir, he's not lying," said Hermione quickly, raising her voice in an attempt to mask Ron's laughter. "We're here searching for a suspect and we believe you might be able to help us!"

"Come over here, then, before my voice gives out!"

The Elder came into clear view once they got closer. He was a very old man wrapped in an off-white robe, with saggy, wrinkled skin that drooped under his chin and jowls. From his long grey hair to the tiny dreamcatchers hanging from his earlobes, every bit of him looked ancient except for his eyes, which were a blank white.

"Are you Old Panther?" Harry asked.

"Obviously."

"And do you know a man named Wielder?"

"I do."

Hermione gasped hopefully, and flashed Harry a smile. He turned back to Panther and asked, "Then you must know his real name?"

"No."

Harry blanched.

"But you're an Elder..."

"A Sioux Elder," Panther corrected. "We Indians hail from many different tribes. I know this man is not like the Sioux. He does not embrace the benevolent spirits. Then again, this is not Sioux land." He turned his head in Harry's direction, staring blindly at the space over Harry's shoulder. "Why do you seek this man?" he asked.

"He's a suspect in a criminal investigation."

"Cow-tipping?" Panther asked before breaking out into a wheezy laugh.

"No, I'm afraid it's much more serious. It's a string of burglaries in England."

"He traveled to England, you say?" at this, the laughter faded from Panther's tone. He tensed his eyebrows in interest. "I wondered why things had gone quiet here as of late... still waters... I thought perhaps it was all the tension brewing in the shadow of that monstrosity that Bob Winter built in the middle of the city."

"You're talking about the Seward Inn?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. It's nothing more than a tourist trap. Winter's meats were bad enough. You have to feed your cattle grass for supple meat, you know? And now he's made the same mistake with this hotel chain. It's an unmistakable statement; a message of colonialist white culture."

"Er, right," said Harry uncertainly. "But about Wielder, the barman downstairs said something about Wielder committing petty crimes along with a man named Kenny."

"They are close," Panther said. "In fact, I might get an inkling that something was going on between them if Sky didn't incessantly pursue my granddaughter."

"But isn't that rather suspicious?"

"No, I don't think so. If anyone is suspicious, it is the red-haired one."

"What—how did you—hang on, you can see?" Ron whispered.

Panther did not answer. Instead, he drew from his robe a curled goat horn that had been fashioned into a pipe. With his other hand, he drew his wand and lit the pipe, and took a heavy puff of red smoke from the other end. As he inhaled, his solid white eyes filled with scarlet fog like little crystal balls.

"Bloody hell..."

"Wolf-dog," said Panther finally. "Half wolf, half husky. That's what I see."

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth, and Harry's jaw dropped.

"How did you know?" Ron asked.

"Those potions aren't just for decoration," Panther replied.

Ron turned around and noticed that a cobalt cauldron on the wall beside him was releasing wisps of blue smoke that stretched around him like a big ghostly tentacle. He whipped his arm around, trying to shake the fumes off, but they only grew thicker and clinged to his clothes.

"If there's anything else you can tell us," Harry began, turning back to Panther, but Panther raised a hand.

"I don't think I have anything else to say. It is not my place. However, I think there may be someone who can tell you plenty. A man well-versed in Muggle magic... perhaps too well-versed..."

"Who?"

"He was never given a name I could commit to memory, I'm afraid. If you weren't the famous Harry Potter, the hero of the European wizard war that granddaughter swoons over, I'd probably have forgotten yours by now. The smoke will only wane if you distance yourself from the pot, werewolf," he added.

"My name's not 'werewolf!'" Ron coughed, now completely obscured by blue fog. "I'll just—*cough*—I'll just be going now..."

"Goodbye then. Unless, of course, you're interested in purchasing a dead fish?"

"No thanks," said Harry.

"Can all the Natives tell I'm a werewolf?" Ron asked, brushing smoke off of his shoulders, as they ambled down the stairs on their way out.

"I'd hate to think so," said Hermione breathlessly. "But then, if they can, they're the most werewolf-tolerant people I've ever seen."

"He didn't seem tolerant of me," Ron mumbled.

"Muggle magic," said Harry absentmindedly.

"What, like George sells at the Joke Shop? Card tricks?" Ron asked. "I've just about had it with this case, you know. I'm not going to play Niffler all across this city in search of a Muggle magic-man."

"The people here don't seem to want to help us, do they?" Hermione agreed. "Yet they all seem to know this Wielder. Do you think they're hiding something?"

"Oi, barman!" Harry huffed as they passed the bar. "Have you seen anyone doing Muggle card tricks around—" Harry faltered as his eyes fell upon the barman's nametag. "You're Dale?"

"Yeah," replied Dale.

"Well, good luck with pee—with everything, and all. Goodbye."

"See any Muggle Magicators?" Ron asked, yawning and stretching as they walked out into the sun and set off down a road towards the towering Seward Inn at the center of the city.

"I think our only conclusive lead is that Kenny bloke," Harry said seriously. "Perhaps Wielder is mentioned in Kenny's files?"

"He definitely seems to know Milo Triggs," Hermione added. "Milo might be able to give us more information."

"Look at these old bangers," said Ron, eyeing the rusty old cars that passed them on the street. "Actually makes me proud to own a Ford Anglia."

"Ooh, look!" Hermione exclaimed, pointing ahead to a very large modern-looking building that closely resembled a small stadium. Arcing over the front door in sparkling gold lettering was Magical Museum of Hiawatha. "It's a magical museum. I've read about these, they're quite popular in America."

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron as though awaiting his objection.

"What am I, the bane of learning?" said Ron. "I'm interested in this stuff too, you know."

"I think you swayed him with that comment about his intelligence earlier," Harry whispered in Hermione's ear, and she chuckled.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione chorused relieved sighs as they entered the museum; it had been fixed with a much-needed Cooling Charm. Before he had entered the museum, Harry had surmised that everything was different in America, but this building bore a remarkable resemblance to every other museum he had ever been to (though he was usually made to stay in the car), with reflective marble floors and sunlight shining through ceiling-high windows.

The first exhibit Harry expected to see was a standing skeleton of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He felt like a child experiencing magic for the first time when he discovered that this museum's skeletal Rex was alive; it flexed its enchanted bones menacingly and attempted to roar at passersby, though its lungless ribcage made no noise other than rattling.

The witches and wizards scattered around the museum didn't seem like locals. They were mostly tourists, looking around at each exhibit in awe. Harry tried in vain to pat his hair down over his scar as he and Ron and Hermione made their way to a ticket booth in the front lobby, circling widely around the giant skeleton's pedestal.

"Thank you, and please do not use magic in this building," said the guard behind the booth, accepting their money and handing them passes to wear around their necks. "And don't try to take the Muggle money on display, because it's fake."

"Ooh, where do we start?" said Hermione eagerly as they came to a fork in the hallway. "It looks like Magical Creatures are this way, and American Magical History & Muggle Settlers are down that hallway."

Harry and Ron outvoted Hermione in favor of Magical Creatures and they started off down a hallway with paintings, animal skulls, and wilderness scenes on display at either side.

The first exhibit featured a creature called the Jackalope: a hare with the antlers of a deer. According to the card under an encased set of Jackalope antlers, the Jackalope can perfectly mimic any sound it hears.

Hermione swooned over the Jackalope, but she was much less fond of the next creature exhibit, which was El Chupacabras. It could be described as a giant slender rodent with burning red eyes, a thin forked tongue sticking out between four fangs as long as steak knives, and spines protruding in a line from the base of its neck all the way down its devilish tail.

"I've heard about these," said Harry.

"El Chupacabras, or 'The Goatsucker,' is so named because it survives by drinking the blood of farm animals, mainly goats, and does not generally attack humans unless threatened," Hermione read. "They are born as winged snakes and sprout limbs in their youth. Their discarded wings are used as a rare Potions ingredient. Males are identified by the spines on their backs."

"They're just delightful," Ron mused, as the stuffed Chupacabras in the glass case plunged its fangs into its stuffed goat companion and attempted to suck its blood.

Next they passed a standing skeleton that looked eerily human, though it was big enough to be Hagrid's. Harry recognized the animal in the drawings as the creature called Bigfoot he had seen on Muggle television.

"The sasquach is a creature of near-human intelligence," Hermione read. "It is most skilled in silent Apparition, which has allowed it to evade capture by Muggles and wizards alike. Its remains sink into the Earth after death and are said to attract invigorating spirits."

"I know what you're thinking," said Ron, "but I don't think you should make it your personal mission to get these hairy things a chair at the American Ministry."

Hermione grinned and led the way to the next display case. As they continued down the hall, they learned of various Magical Creatures. Squonks; wart-covered creatures that cannot bear to be seen by human eyes, and will cry themselves to death if spotted. Axehandle Hounds; dogs with heads shaped like axe heads that eat the handles of axes that have been left lying around. Sidehill Gougers; creatures with arms and legs longer on one side of its body, adept at running across slopes, but not up or down them.

The Magical Creatures of Native American discovery seemed to be more myth than reality. While some creatures appeared real, such as the blocky stone Chenoo and hardworking Menehune, others were a bit farfetched, like Amala the giant who holds the Earth up on a pole behind its back.

"Wicked!" Harry and Ron cheered at the Xolotl, a demonic underworld dog whose legs and feet are backwards and can swivel its ears in any direction. "I'd need an abacus to pronounce that name, though," said Harry. "Why don't the Natives give the English nicknames to these things and leave people's names alone?"

"I don't know. Look, a dragon! The Mexican Digger," Ron read, standing before a painting of a very plump dragon with tiny wings and fat, spiral-shaped horns curling around its head. Its entire body was a silvery fishscale blue. "The Mexican Digger is the only Western dragon species incapable of flight, due to its immense weight and undersized wings. Dwelling in inaccessible caves, the Mexican Digger uses its horns to drill tunnels underground. Diet consists mainly of fish..."

"I've seen this dragon before," said Harry, inspecting the painting.

"I don't remember it in Care of Magical Creatures," said Ron.

"No, this... Luna!" said Harry suddenly. "Ginny showed me a drawing of Luna's—a Crumple-Horned Snorkack—and it looked just like this. Look at the horns!"

"But this is a Mexican Digger," said Ron blankly.

"But this could be what inspired the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. I wonder if I could have a picture of this for Luna?"

"I don't know, Harry. If Luna finds out Snorkacks are real, she'll probably lose interest in them."

"Harry, come see this!" Hermione called from down the hall. Harry and Ron left the Magical Creatures section and found her on the verge of laughter, standing before an exhibit labeled The Boy Who Lived.

"Why am I not surprised?" Harry mused.

"Don't you think there's something odd about this?" asked Ron.

"What do you mean?"

"Really, Harry, you don't see anything amiss?" said Hermione. "Not the broad shoulders, rippling muscles, towering height..."

"Yes, well, I expect that'll all be accurate once the Protein Draughts take effect."

"I don't think they'll have you growing a foot taller," said Ron with a smirk. "Look, they've even made you taller than me—OI! IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE ME?"

"Shush, Ron!" Hermione urged.

"We'll see about this!" Ron growled. He drew his wand and took aim at his little stone likeness, which was short and chubby and bore a horrible resemblance to a young Neville Longbottom. With a few clever flicks, Ron adjusted the model's features until it was thin, gangly, and taller than the rest.

"There," he said with satisfaction, but his grin faded when he turned to find Hermione glaring at him in disapproval. "What? I'll do you, hang on..."

"Not any time soon, you won't!" Hermione raged.

Harry burst into laughter, and Ron leered at him before turning back to Hermione. "Do you really want people thinking you look like that?" he asked, indicating the Hermione figurine in the case.

"Defacing museum property is highly illegal," said Hermione coldly. "We're supposed to be on our best behavior. Besides, I used to look like that once, do you remember?"

"Not in fifth year. This scene is supposed to depict a D.A. meeting. Your teeth should be normal, and you weren't all short and stumpy. In fact you had grown out nicely. You know, Dumbledore's Army wasn't the only uprising you caused that year..."

Hermione gave in to Ron's goofy grin and gave him one of her own.

"I am still here!" Harry announced indignantly. "Come on, let's get back to the Ministry. I want to ask Milo about Wielder's friend."

When they returned to the American Ministry, the workday was nearly at an end. Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked briskly across the rope bridges and creaky walkways, eager to reach Milo's office before they were recognized. As they ducked through the mouth of the teepee labeled Magical Police Department, they nearly collided with Milo himself on his way out. He was accompanied by a short, balding man with thick bottle cap glasses and a grubby, frog-like face.

"Oh, h-hey, Harry," said Milo. He cleared his throat, then nudged his companion in the arm and told him "I'll catch up with you at the Chenoo, Penny. And don't mess with them while you're down there."

"Hey, you know me," said Penny. He grinned and gave Harry a nod before brushing past and disappearing into the hall.

"That was Pendergraph," Milo explained. "He's the office's resident practical joker. All those years on the force haven't got him down—that's nice, isn't it? I've got to go."

"Wait," said Harry, his eyes narrowed. "We've got more information on this Wielder case. We want to know about his friend, Kenny, also known as—"

"Sky?" said Milo in a choked voice.

"You know him, then?"

"Not exactly, I mean—"

"He seemed to know you," said Ron.

"I do, but..."

"And he also seemed to think you didn't have any authority over him," said Hermione.

"He's just being—er—"

"You're hiding something, aren't you? Come off it, are you really the Deputy Chief around here?" Ron demanded. "Or are you an intern that saw Harry's letter sitting on the desk of someone important?"

"Oh, of course I'm the Deputy Chief! Here, look," said Milo impatiently as he guided them to the door of his office and pointed at the nameplate beside it, which read Milo Triggs, Deputy Chief. "Now come in, quick," he whispered, casting furtive glances at the cubicles around them, the occupants of which were gathering their things and heading out the door.

"I'll have you know I have plenty of authority over Kenny Ness," said Milo as he led them into his office and closed the door behind them. "It's just that—he's got some dirt on me, all right?"

"He's blackmailing you?" asked Harry.

"Not really, but the thing is, I'm Muggleborn."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" exclaimed Hermione.

"That's not it. See, I'm a scientist at heart. When I found out that I was a wizard, and that there was such a thing as magic, I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it, actually," he said with a nervous laugh. "I rejected it."

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth, but Ron raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Why'd you do that?" he asked.

"Because science makes sense, darn it! Sorry, I didn't mean to fly off the handle like that. I tried to continue my work," he went on, pacing back and forth in front of his desk. "I was one of the few independent scientists doing research in animal cloning—that's where you create a duplicate of an existing animal, sort of like manufacturing a twin."

"Blimey."

"I agree. The results were largely inconclusive, and there was—er—an incident. Involuntary magic. I had bottled it up for so long, you see."

"What happened?" asked Hermione in a small voice.

"I thought I had reached a major breakthrough. I thought I had realized actual animal cloning. Then I found out my partner, Dr. Wong, had faked the data in order to get funding. I was so angry, I... exploded. Literally. Brought the entire building to the ground."

"No!"

"It wouldn't have been so bad if it had just been my lab, but Dr. Wong happened to tell me about it at my apartment in Ohio—that's in the U.S.—Twenty-nine dead, including Wong. Several more injured," he said with a shiver.

Milo's words hung in the air heavily for a moment, then Harry spoke up, "How does Kenny know about this?"

"He was there. In fact he took the blame," Milo sighed. "He was very young at the time, and the Ministry thought it was his first sign of magic. Even his parents thought so. They had stepped out and left him in my care."

"And you let them believe that?"

"I know it was wrong." Milo retrieved a white rag from his pocket and wiped sweat from his forehead, taking a deep breath. "I hated myself for it. Kenny was let off, of course, but the community thought he was dangerous. Eventually, he and his parents moved to Canada. He moved out here to the Aztec capitol once he was of age, and he's kept my secret ever since. There are people working at this Ministry who lost family members in that incident. If they knew..."

"That's it," said Hermione quietly. "Panther told us to seek a man well-versed in Muggle magic. A scientist."

"That's what the Natives call it," said Milo with a weak smile. "I've always found that a bit amusing. Science, like magic, has its wonders and horrors."

"So then you must know how Wielder fits into all of this?" Harry asked.

"Oh, him? He and Kenny were friends in Canada. They moved out here together. Natural troublemakers. I've had to sort out quite a few of their messes. I admit, I've been rather lenient on Kenny, for obvious reasons. Wielder moved abroad for a family emergency, I believe, but he came back for a visit just recently."

"Why didn't you bloody tell us?" shouted Ron.

"I thought you'd be able to find him through official channels," said Milo defensively. "I've never told anyone the nature of my connection to Kenny."

"Why'd you tell us?" asked Harry.

"Kenny would have told you if I didn't. You can fool some people sometimes, but you can't fool everybody all the time."

"You've never met Severus Snape," muttered Ron.

"What's Wielder's real name, then?" asked Harry.

"I don't know. I honestly don't!" he insisted. "I've only ever heard his Native title."

"What did he do while he was here?"

"Nothing. It was actually surprisingly quiet. I had expected Sky and Wielder to return full-force. But, you know what they say about still waters. You know, there was one thing..."

"Yes?"

"It was never linked to those two, but I can't think of who else it would be. A mine was collapsed in New Mexico, and the gentlemen in question happened to be out of town when it occurred. I questioned them about it but there's really no evidence tying them to the case. The whole mine was dug up. Someone was looking for gold, I presume, but Kenny and Wielder would have just done it for thrills."

"Wait," said Ron, his brows furrowed in thought. "Do you know why the Natives called him 'Wielder?'"

"Yes, it's because he's always had a fascination with magical objects that are unique or rare. Probably why he and Kenny get along so well. I remember once he believed he had obtained the charmed sword of a legendary Prussian paladin, but that turned out to be fraudulent. Practically sold his soul for a set of rare arrowheads, last I heard."

"Might he have any interest in Dark artifacts?"

"I'm not sure, but I've been expecting one major spree from him for quite a while now. Kenny's recently been attempting a few get-rich-quick schemes, so there may be a debt involved. To pay off what one owes in one fell swoop... it never ends well, does it?"