Landing on wet tarmac, Harry adjusted his hat against the freezing rain. Along either side of the street stretched identical brick houses, the driveways empty for the day. It belatedly occurred to him that they should have veiled themselves before Apparating, but a cursory scan of the surroundings revealed no shocked witnesses.

Sirius looked around dubiously. "This is where we'll find help?"

"Yep, good old Magnolia Crescent. Give me a minute, I haven't been to these parts for years." Locating the nearest house number, he jogged ahead to determine in which direction they decreased. "This way!"

Sirius caught up. "Sure your friend still lives here?"

"Dudley mentioned running into him a couple years back." He glanced at Sirius. "Trust me on this. If the ICW has a unit dedicated to spreading misinformation, that means there are nuggets of truth out there they don't want people to see—and from what I remember, the bloke's good at sifting through shit." At Sirius's disgusted look, he added, "Metaphorically."

"I'll take your word for it," Sirius said, wiping the moisture off his brow.

Mercifully, they didn't have to walk far before the house numbers on the right decreased to a six. Harry considered the unexceptional home and its iced-over front garden before walking up to the door and pressing the doorbell. A tinkling melody filtered from inside.

They waited for a good minute, but nobody answered the door. He pressed the button again.

"Maybe he's not home," Sirius suggested.

"If you knew him, you wouldn't say that." He held the button down with his thumb.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open revealing a middle-aged woman with unkempt hair and bags under her eyes. Harry winced guiltily when he took in her knee brace and crutch.

"Yes?" she said curtly.

"Hullo, Mrs. Witherspoon. We wanted to speak to..." He trailed off as the woman looked him over with raised eyebrows. Realizing his mistake, he sheepishly pulled off his pointy hat and tucked it under his armpit. It was too late to do anything about his robes. "Uh, this is..."

She waved off his explanation. "I understand, dear—you must be Brandon's friends. Come in, then. Don't bother with your shoes." Opening the door wider, she shuffled aside.

They wiped their feet on the mat and stepped inside. Mrs. Witherspoon's gaze lingered on Sirius's fur-trimmed cloak, and her lips quirked.

Sirius smiled and mimed a hat tip. "Sirius Black, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"The pleasure is mine, good sir." Giggling, she shook her head. "Is that what I'm supposed to say? Never thought men your age were into those pretend-games, but whatever makes you happy, I suppose."

Sirius's smile faded, and a look of befuddlement came over his face. "Pretend games?" he mouthed to Harry.

Heedless of the effect her words had, Mrs. Witherspoon limped over to a door at the end of the foyer and opened it. A staircase led down into darkness.

"Branny!" she screeched, startling both men. "Branny, you have guests!"

No reply came. Mrs. Witherspoon sighed and thumped aside.

"He must be watching his cartoons. Go right down, gents, but mind your step." She patted her leg with a humorless laugh. "The stairs are a tad steep."

"Cheers." Harry strode to the staircase. "Don't mind us, we'll let ourselves out when we're done."

"Stay as long as you like. My son doesn't get many visitors these days," she said wistfully as he passed her.

Harry gingerly descended the stairs. His palm encountered something sticky on the handrail, and wrinkling his nose, he wiped it on his robes.

Sirius's heavier steps followed behind. "Your friend's a Muggleborn, I take it?"

"Nope, just Muggle."

"Quit pulling my leg." Sirius paused as if waiting for him to say he was joking. "Seriously? How come his mother acted like she had seen wizardwear before?"

Harry snorted. "I'll explain later."

"I thought this friend of yours was a catoptromancer or a scryer! What good is a Muggle?"

"It wouldn't do to underestimate him," he said sagely. "He's a wizard in his own right."

The air grew staler the lower they went, and by the time they stepped onto the grimy floor, Harry struggled not to gag from the reek of sweat, spoiled food, and bodily fluids better left unmentioned. Only his iron will stayed his hand from casting a Bubblehead Charm.

The basement was a single room broken up by load-bearing columns, although given the clutter and the dim lighting, it did not feel very spacious. Arrayed along the walls covered with peeling posters were cardboard boxes that teemed with books and disc cases, a messy bed, and backlit shelves holding neatly arranged, spotless figurines.

The primary source of light was a large computer display that showed a nude wolf-eared girl cavorting in a wheat field. The display sat atop a desk every inch of which was strewn with cans of energy drinks and styrofoam containers. Before the desk, with his back turned to them and his ears covered by headphones, sat the man himself.

Harry coughed. "Hey, Brandon."

The chair creaked, but it was merely so that Brandon could recline further, scratch his belly, and let out a thunderous fart. Glancing at Sirius, who appeared dumbstruck, Harry sighed and walked up to the desk.

"Brandon. Oi, mate." Getting no reaction still, he tapped his shoulder.

Brandon let out a girlish shriek and whirled around. The chair lurched over, and flailing his arms, he followed it to the floor. The headphone cord stretched taut and yanked them off his ears.

Harry's lips twitched. "Long time no see."

"Who—what—" Brandon hyperventilated as he scrabbled away until his shoulders pressed to the desk. His face was pale and oily, and his acne even worse than Harry recalled.

"Whoa, hey, calm down." He raised his palms. "Remember me? It's Harry. From the club?"

Brandon's breathing gradually slowed as he squinted at him through his smudged glasses. "What... what are you doing here?" He planted a palm on the desk to haul himself up. "How did you get in?"

"Your mother let us in. Sorry for surprising you, but we're kind of in a hurry." Harry tried to catch Brandon's eye as he righted the chair and picked up the headphones. "Your skills are required for a job."

Brandon twitched, then murmured a profanity. "Mum put you up to this, didn't she? I keep explaining that I'll soon have more money than I know what to do with, but she just doesn't listen! I won't slave away at some fast-food joint, you can tell her that."

Harry worked his jaw before speaking. "Er, it's not a job, as such—we wouldn't actually pay you." Seeing Brandon scowl, he hedged, "Unless you wanted to be compensated, which is totally fair—"

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested." Brandon tapped a greasy spacebar, causing the wolf-eared girl to pause mid-stride. "You can't just barge in here and tell me what to do. I'm incredibly busy right now, and—"

"That so?" Sirius piped up. "Busy with what?" He didn't acknowledge the warning look Harry shot him.

"Pfft, loads of stuff." Brandon folded his arms as he glanced shiftily at Sirius. "Not to brag, but I'm working on a groundbreaking fantasy novel. It's sure to be a hit."

Sirius peered skeptically at the computer screen.

Brandon grabbed the mouse and minimized the video, but that didn't result in much of a difference, because the desktop wallpaper featured a dog-eared maid in a suggestive pose. "Just doing some research—not that I expect someone like you to understand."

Sirius snorted and turned to address Harry. "I don't know what you expected, but the twerp's useless. Let's get out of here before I suffocate." He pressed his sleeve over his nose. "Merlin's pants, it gets worse by the minute."

"Mum hasn't been down to clean," Brandon muttered. He looked at a figurine on the shelf beside Sirius. "And that's not Merlin, it's Medea. What a pleb."

"What?" Sirius said blankly.

"Whut?" Brandon mimicked, rolling his eyes. "What's with the lame Jon Snow cosplay, anyway? Game of Thrones is so last year."

"Who's..." Sirius shook his head and stalked toward him. "Listen, pal, you need to watch your attitude. Harry's friend or not—"

Harry held him back. "Calm down," he whispered. "Let me handle this."

Sirius clicked his tongue, took his hand out of his pocket, and crossing his arms, leaned back against the wall. Harry turned around and did a double-take: Brandon was clutching a lacquered, slightly curved scabbard in his trembling hands.

"Don't make me use this." Brandon flicked the hilt with his thumb, baring a centimeter of the blade. "If I draw my katana, you won't get off easy... You're trespassing, it'll be self-defense..."

"Brandon..." Harry sighed exasperatedly. "Could you just hear me out? After that, we'll leave if you want us to, promise. Come on... for old times' sake?"

"I don't know." Brandon fixed him with a calculating look as he nudged the sword back into its sheath. "You've changed after you got accepted into that fancy boarding school. Became too good to hang out with us."

He shrugged apologetically. "Lots of stuff happened."

"What could possibly be more important than the third season of Spice and Wolf?" Brandon pointed a pudgy finger at him. "You became a total normie!"

He gasped. "Did not! I watch anime and everything!"

Brandon narrowed his eyes. "Oh yeah? Bet it's nothing but mainstream shows you won't be embarrassed talking about with your normie friends. You probably go to parties... maybe even have a girlfriend?" At Harry's lack of denial, he shook his head ruefully. "I knew it."

Harry opened his mouth, then shut it. The accusation cut him to the bone. "Er... I don't work?" he offered hopefully.

Brandon perked up. "What do you live on, then?"

He doubted Brandon would believe him if he said he sold figurines of his likeness. "I own a business of sorts."

Brandon threw his hands up. "That's even worse! Right, you need to leave."

"Can't we—" He backtracked as Brandon drew the blade. "Whoa, careful, those things are dangerous. You never know when you're going to stab your leg or something."

"Get out!" Brandon advanced on him, brandishing the sword. "Out, out, out—"

"Expelliarmus," Sirius said.

The scarlet jet of light hit Brandon's chest, forcing him back as the sword soared from his grip and clattered to the floor. He gaped first at his empty hands, then at Sirius's extended wand. Harry rounded on his godfather, but Brandon spoke first.

"Wicked! What is that, some kind of a phaser? A repulsor beam?" Forgetting his katana, he waddled toward Sirius. "I don't see a trigger. Is it neurally activated?"

Sirius barely managed to stow his wand before Brandon was upon him. Pressing his back to the wall, he glanced around for an escape. "Nothing that kooky, no."

Panting, Brandon stared at Sirius's pocket. "Are you from a secret government agency? Harry, too?"

"Get off me—no, we're definitely not from the government!"

Seeing Brandon's shoulders droop, Harry picked up the thread of the conversation. "Which is what we'd have to tell you if we belonged to one." He waited for Brandon to turn his way and gave him an exaggerated wink. "After all, such a hypothetical agency would be top secret."

Brandon gaped at him, then let out a hysterical laugh. "I hoped my abilities would be recognized eventually," he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I just didn't think today would be the day."

Harry gave him a tentative grin. "You'll help us, then?"

"Of course," Brandon said in a tone that implied it was a stupid question. He sniffled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "So, what are we fighting: invaders from a parallel universe? Star-eating aliens? Eldritch horrors from another dimension? Don't worry, I won't balk no matter how horrifying the truth is."

Harry exchanged a glance with Sirius. The sudden enthusiasm was, in a way, as difficult to deal with as the preceding hostility. "Let's start on a more local scale, shall we? Are you still following those cryptozoology boards?"

"Yeah, why?" Brandon bounced in place, which was somewhat unsightly on a man with a belly as generous as his. "Wait, don't tell me—it's a skin-walker, isn't it? No, you said local... The Beast of Exmoor? Nessie? The reptilians?"

"Eh, technically," Harry said, tilting his hand side to side. "It's dragons. The flying, fire-breathing, size-of-a-house kind."

Brandon frowned. "Are you taking the piss? No one talks about dragons. That lot chase cryptids, not fairy tales."

He pulled a face. "Humor me and see if anyone's reported anything along those lines, won't you?"

Brandon stared at him as if expecting him to say it was a joke, then slowly nodded. "Alright, then."

The desk chair creaked as Brandon sank into it. His fingers flew over the keyboard, launching a browser and opening dozens upon dozens of tabs. Harry and Sirius inched closer and watched with bated breath—mostly because of the smell.

The tabs cycled so quickly Harry barely registered their contents. Nothing appeared to be dragon-related, though, and Brandon's disgruntled mumbling corroborated that impression. Harry was beginning to fear that Sirius had been right about this being a waste of time when Brandon lingered on a grainy video thumbnail depicting a golden blur in a dim alleyway. Harry stooped closer.

"Huh." Brandon scrolled down to skim the comments. "Some weirdo's trying to pass off furry porn as a genuine sighting. Only a matter of time before he gets banned." He switched to the next tab.

"Bring it back!" Harry waved at the screen impatiently. "Play it!"

Brandon glanced at him incredulously but did as asked. A vertical video with black bars on the sides filled the screen. The cameraman's hands were trembling badly as he jabbered non-stop in what sounded like French. It wasn't hard to see why: in the middle of a narrow street, brushing the facades on either side with its wings, squatted an enormous golden dragon.

"That's him!" cried Harry and Sirius.

"Who?" Brandon asked.

Harry shushed him, his eyes glued to the screen. The street was cobbled and the surrounding buildings were historic, but judging by the cars parked along one side, it was a Muggle area. The camera was shaking too badly to make out any license plates.

The claws of the dragon's hind legs struck sparks from the cobbles as it lumbered toward a van and pressed up against its back doors. Latching onto the roof with its front legs, the dragon thrust its hips. A screech of metal and shattering glass preceded the blare of the van's alarm. The dragon puffed out smoke like a steam locomotive as it humped vigorously.

Sirius made a choking noise. "Is he..."

Harry nodded, dumbfounded. "He is."

"Told you it was porn," Brandon said. "Dragons fucking cars, it's some meme fetish—"

"Quiet," Sirius barked.

The van's suspension creaked faster and faster until the dragon tilted its head back and roared in concert with the dying wail of the alarm. The beast nuzzled the van's torn roof, then wobbled away and scaled a wall, sending several balconies crumbling down. The operator jumped back with a yell, and the video tumbled before cutting off.

Harry and Sirius burst out laughing.

"That car's not going anywhere soon," Sirius said, slapping his thigh.

"Imagine having to clean dragon spunk off the back seats," Harry quipped. "Where was this taken?"

Brandon peered at the screen. "Well, the uploader's got a French flag, but I can't tell you anything beyond that." He swiveled on his chair to face Harry. "Hang on—you're kidding, right? No way this is the clip you were after. It's obviously CGI."

"How do you know?"

"Because everyone says so!" Brandon pivoted back and scrolled through the posts. "Look, someone analyzed the shadows and found lots of mistakes... and this guy says he can tell it's fake by the pixels... and this jackass is claiming this is now a furry thread." He right-clicked on the adjacent thumbnail and hovered the cursor over 'Save image as' before closing the menu and throwing a chagrined glance over his shoulder. "Disgusting, eh? I don't know what the mods are doing, this thread should've been nuked ages ago."

"Ignore the shitposts," Harry said impatiently. "And save the video while you can. Reckon you could give us a more precise location?"

Brandon clicked rapidly. "There was a street sign in the back... I could extract a still frame and ask elsewhere if anyone recognizes the place."

"Brilliant—and keep an eye out for more reports. We'll be away chasing it, so contact us immediately if you find out more." He glanced at his godfather. "The mirrors?"

Sirius handed over the paired hand mirrors from his pocket. Harry extended one to Brandon, who turned it over in his hands skeptically.

"It's, uh, an encrypted channel only we can use," Harry said. "Just say my name out loud, and it'll connect."

"Harry." Brandon blinked when the mirror lit up. "Whoa, the resolution's amazing. Is this OLED?" He tapped the glass with a grimy nail. "Though the spy-movie disguise is overdone if you ask me. Hey, do I get my own phaser too?"

"Er... There are some prerequisites that you don't meet," he said diplomatically. "Look, we're racing against time, so I can't explain all the details. What matters is that you can save an innocent life."

Brandon's eyes gleamed. "Is she cute?"

"It's a he, actually." Brandon didn't appear impressed, so Harry added quickly, "And the fate of the world hinges on it too. Please, you're the only one we can ask."

Brandon puffed out his chest. "Say no more, old friend. My skills are at your disposal."

The windows on the screen rearranged at a dizzying speed as Brandon downloaded the video and ran it frame-by-frame looking for clues. Harry nodded in approval. He was about to tell Sirius they were good to go when Brandon's left hand drifted under the desk to caress a greenish statue atop the computer tower in what seemed to be an unconscious habit.

Harry's eyes widened as he made out a jade figurine of a naga. Had it somehow found its way here from Grimmauld Place? But no, where his held a tortured expression, this one was joyous and carefree down to the relaxed bend of her tail. Yet despite the different mood, the figurine unmistakably depicted the same woman.

"Where did you get that?" His voice came out unexpectedly harsh.

"Huh?" Brandon's hand stilled. "Oh, this. Mum bought it for me in a car boot sale years ago."

"Sell it to me." He stared at the statuette. How magnificent would it look next to his? And... what if there were more? Then it would be his duty as a connoisseur of the finer things in life to collect them so that he could marvel at every aspect of this beautiful creature—

"Nah." Brandon's grubby fingers closed over the figurine. "It's not my thing, exactly, but I can't sell a gift from my mum."

He gritted his teeth. "You will hand it over unless you want to—"

"Harry?" Sirius arched his eyebrows at him. "This isn't the time to squabble over toys."

Harry turned to retort, but his ire abated when he took in Sirius's reproving stare and Brandon's confusion. He rubbed his forehead. What had come over him?

Sirius frowned at him, then turned and clapped Brandon on the shoulder. "We have a dragon to catch. Keep us updated, yeah?"

"Will do, boss," Brandon said brightly, and went back to work.

Harry couldn't help but eye the figurine covetously. The sight of Brandon's sweaty hand pawing something that exquisite offended him to the core.

Sirius seized him by the arm and dragged him to the staircase. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing, it's... it looked just like..." He shook his head and twisted out of Sirius's grip. Perhaps it was because of the fresh air wafting from upstairs, but the haze in his mind lifted. "Forget it. We've got ourselves a lead, so now we need broomsticks that'll get us there on time."

"From someone who'll sell them without awkward questions and won't snitch on us afterward," Sirius reminded, halting before the stairs. "Guess it's back to Knockturn for us."

He grinned. "Screw that second-hand crap—let's drop by Padma's. I'll take us right inside, so no one will even know we were there. "

Sirius groaned. "At least try to be gentle. It felt like you left my spleen behind last time."

Glancing at the engrossed Brandon, he clasped Sirius's shoulder. "Hold on to your spleen."

He spun on his heel to rematerialize among ceiling-high shelves stacked with tents and camping gear. Tripping over Sirius's foot, he stumbled backward into something.

"I say, watch where you're going!" cried the something.

Harry glanced back at an older wizard in a safari outfit. "My bad."

He took off toward the end of the aisle, leaving Sirius to mollify the stranger. As he was about to step into the open area before the counter, a young brown-skinned witch barred his way. Her trendy maroon robes looked rather flattering on her figure.

"Harry. I should've known." Padma jabbed her finger at the wall to her right. "How many times do I have to tell you? It disturbs customers."

Leaning out of the aisle, he saw a notice in red reading 'NO APPARITION'. "Aww, did you make that just for me?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "You and some others who can't seem to take a hint. If you absolutely must Apparate in here, at least use the delivery room in the back."

Sirius squeezed out from behind him. "Our sincere apologies, Miss Patil. We have a bit of an emergency on our hands and require your expert services."

"Mr. Black?" Padma's eyelashes fluttered. "That's understandable, then." She lowered her gaze and smoothed down her robes.

"Is that a new shop uniform?" Sirius asked. "Rather fetching, I must say."

Harry opened his mouth and raised a finger, then lowered it and sighed.

Padma beamed. "Thank you, my mother and I came up with the design ourselves. Um..." She shook her head slightly and assumed a more professional demeanor. "You said you had an emergency?"

"Me and my godson here have to go on an urgent trip to the continent to retrieve a... runaway animal. We'll take the fastest broomsticks you have."

She spared a glance for Harry. "Oh, what did you get yourself into this time?"

He scowled. "Hey, Sirius is as much at fault as me—more, actually!"

"Somehow I doubt that." Her skeptical gaze lingered on him before she faced Sirius. "Please, follow me."

She led them along the counter and toward the far wall, which was crammed to the ceiling with horizontally-mounted broomsticks of all shapes and sizes. Padma gestured at a pair featuring peculiarly short tail twigs and long shafts that bristled with luggage baskets, hooks, and leg stirrups. Harry's lip curled in disgust.

"If you need to fly long-distance in comfort, nothing beats the Zibens," Padma said. "Wind protection, built-in Muggle repellent, Anti-Collision Charm, patented Chameleon Cloak... We've had them in stock for a while, but our customers are leery of foreign brands."

"Chameleon Cloak?" Harry asked.

"A trademarked name for one-way Disillusionment. Makes you invisible from the outside, but you can still see yourself—and your travel companions, if you stick close."

"How do you reckon they accomplished that?" He eyed the brooms with newfound respect. "Perhaps it runs along the boundary of the protective charms, like a soap bubble—"

"Not the time for geeking out," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "What's the cruise speed like?"

"Officially, three hundred miles per hour," Padma said. "But in optimal weather conditions, they can easily sustain five. Latvia never signed the treaty limiting broomstick velocity."

Sirius whistled. "How much?"

"Two hundred forty Galleons apiece. Import taxes drive the price up, I'm afraid," she said apologetically.

Not batting an eye, Sirius hefted his coin purse out of his inner pocket. "We'll take two—don't bother wrapping them."

Padma's eyes lit up as she accepted the purse. "Thank you for your patronage, Mr. Black."

He flashed her a rakish smile. "Sirius, please."

"Then I must insist on Padma." She tucked her hair behind her ear, her other hand sagging from the weight of the purse.

Harry's eyebrows climbed his forehead as he looked from one to the other. This was just wrong.

She kept her eyes locked with Sirius's for a moment before twitching. "Oh! I almost forgot—since you're buying a travel broom, I'm legally obliged to inform you that upon entering a foreign country, you must register with its Ministry of Magic or the corresponding institution."

Sirius sketched a half-bow. "Consider us informed."

Padma giggled, and Harry barely resisted the urge to make gagging noises. She sent him a funny look before returning her attention to his godfather.

"I'll be back with your change shortly, Sirius," she promised, and started toward the counter.

Sirius's gaze lingered appreciatively on her back before he turned to collect his purchases, oblivious to Harry's glare. Harry scowled and hurried after Padma. She had ducked behind the counter and was watching the wire-fingered hands of the till count out the coins from the purse and deposit them into the drawer. A mechanical counter atop the machine just rolled over one hundred.

He cleared his throat. "Er, Padma..."

She raised her gaze. "Yes?"

"Could you do me a favor and pass on a message to Su? Ask her to try and smooth things over from her side. She should know what I mean by the time she gets it."

"Alright," Padma said, tapping a finger on the counter. "And?"

He cocked his head. "And?"

She sighed. "I'll tell her that you'll be away on an urgent matter, but not to worry, because you have things well in hand—and that you're sorry for asking her to cover for you, again."

Blinking, he ran the sentence through his mind. "Right, let's go with that. Thanks."

"I can't imagine what the poor girl sees in you." A faint smile belied her words. She sidled from behind the counter and hugged him. "Be careful."

"You know me, I always am. If the Hitwizards ask, we haven't been here, by the way."

She drew back and stared. "Hitwizards? Are you on the run from the law again?"

"The less you know, the easier you'll sleep at night." Chuckling at her peeved look, he reached for the purse that the till's spindly fingers had helpfully tied with a drawstring.

"Oh, I'll take that—"

"We're in a hurry, and you've got customers waiting." He nudged his chin at a khaki-clad wizard who hovered nearby holding a pair of dragonhide boots. Hopefully, they would find Cedric before he was made into those.

Her face fell. "I guess you're right. Tell Sirius he's welcome at Patil Expeditions any time."

"I will," he lied. "Toodles."

He rejoined his godfather and exchanged the much slimmer purse for one of those atrocities the Latverians, or whatever they were called, were passing off as broomsticks. Grappling its awkwardly long shaft, he motioned Sirius to follow him past a sign prohibiting access to anyone but the staff and into a windowless room with shipping crates stacked in a corner.

"Figured I'd check with Brandon before we take off," he said, retrieving the mirror.

Sirius cocked his head. "I admit you were right about him, but surely he hasn't found anything so soon?"

"We'll see." He looked at the murky glass. "Brandon. Oi, mate, come in."

A stubbly double chin swam into view. "Am I supposed to tap this or—oh, hey, Harry! What's that laundry pole behind you?"

"Nothing important," he said, nudging the Zibens from sight. "Do you have anything for us?"

A keyboard clacked in the background. "Got some responses about the video's location, but nothing certain. Two people said it was Marseille, but on another forum I got Figeac—however you pronounce that—Lucerne, and Rennes. There's also a bloke from Switzerland who swore he lived on that street—"

"Slow down." He glanced over the mirror's frame at his godfather. "Are you getting this?"

"Stick to France," Sirius said, crouching to spread the Globetrotter's Map on the floor.

He relayed the order to Brandon, then parroted the town names back to Sirius. "Well done," he said into the mirror. "Keep at it."

Brandon nodded solemnly. "Brandon out—no, wait! I forgot to ask, do I get a codename?

"Uh... Sure, knock yourself out."

"I want to be Nightblade!" Brandon swung an imaginary sword, sound effects and all. "No, no, wait—Soulreaper!" Furrowing his brows, he scratched his stubble. "Hmm... Is that too edgy?"

Harry saw Sirius tap the map with his wand and wave to him. "I gotta go."

"Got it!" Brandon pulled a dramatic face and covered one eye with his hand. "Shadowlord out."

Snorting, he pocketed the mirror and squatted down before the map.

"We're in luck," Sirius said, pointing at a town called Rennes. "Every other place is too far. Dragons are insanely fast if they get up in the jetstreams, but even the fastest breeds wouldn't have made it to Southern France, never mind Switzerland, in such a short time."

Harry traced the path they would have to take with his eyes. "Almost straight south. Should I pop us back to Surrey? I haven't been much closer to the Channel than that."

"You need to get out more." Sirius rolled up the map and rose with a grunt. "I can take us all the way to Dorset and save us a good hundred miles." Picking up his broomstick, he proffered a hand.

Harry clasped it and braced himself. Sirius spun on the spot, and for the third time today, Harry's body turned into goo and was sucked through a straw.