Sorry if any of the Norwegian or Finnish is incorrect here. Tell me and I will fix it.

Lucius

On the thirteenth of October, Lucius arrived by Portkey on Leynoya. A sign at the Portkey entrance greeted visitors: Velkommen til Leynøya!

It was early in the morning, hardly past eight o'clock, but the sun shone brightly. The Portkey station was tucked into a quaint little building near the top of a central hill, high enough that one could just see most of the island's north harbor.

Lucius strode purposefully down the carved stone steps to the village. A book at the Manor's library containing detailed maps of Europe's Wizarding settlements had provided Lucius with an idea of where to go. The ports began just outside of the village, he knew. Another map, sent by his Trade Department contact, detailed which ports were set aside for foreign vessels. As the British vessels were kept in the western ports, that was where Lucius went first. Once he descended into the village he passed Norwegian witches and wizards dressed in robes much like his, though some added knit sweaters of bold, traditional patterns in colors both earthy and bright. This late in the year, tourists were no longer common, but the occasional foreigner crossed his path.

When he reached the docks, it was as though he was still in the village, but Leynøya was a small island: any extra space must be used. The persistent smells of fish, salty marine air, and fishingwizards' dirty oilskins permeated the air. Lucius could see he was in the Norwegian section. Further on was a short stretch of rocky beach, then the docks continued. Lucius walked directly across the beach, enjoying the sound of the small rocks crunching beneath his shoes. Once on the pier again, he saw he was in another section of the port, with signs featuring the Norwegian flag and Norwegian Bokmål instead of English, so he resumed his pace, hoping that the girl hadn't signed on to another boat. An amusing image of himself flying back and forth to Leynøya from Britain and over again several times as the girl kept sailing the opposite direction made him shake his head with a grin. Oh, the trouble he went through for this girl!

At last, Lucius saw the familiar red and white crosses on blue emblazoned on a trawler's hull. He saw several wizards up on its deck, even hearing their tired grumbles as they ambled about. It was not, however, the boat Miss Burke was contracted with; the name was different. As he walked further up the dock, Lucius saw that this was the only vessel in the British port, meaning he would not be able to question Kirksay or his crew about the damned girl, but this was to be expected; the fishingwizards didn't usually stay at port more than two or three days, he'd learned. Undeterred, Lucius turned up a flight of stairs flanked by rusted metal rails to the street above, walking some distance until finding himself on a sort of seaside High Street. Inns, taverns, and shops selling practical goods lined the road. After the first letter from Stowehouse, Lucius had sent the man an owl requesting further information. Stowehouse informed him that he had connections at a number of Leynøya's boarding houses, ones meant for poorer (Lucius read that word in Stowehouse's letter as 'more exploitable') dockworkers and fishingwizards and witches.

He had to wander a bit, but eventually Lucius found one of the cheap inn's provided by Stowehouse. The contractor had even offered to write ahead to inform the innkeeper's and boarding house operators that he would be coming round. Indeed, the seedy wizard who ran the little inn understood immediately who Lucius was; he was also an Englishman and told Lucius that no girl was staying there. The next establishment was a boarding house that looked like it housed vermin as much as indigent workers. This was further up the street, down several filthy, cramped alleys in the part of Leynøya most local fishingwizards didn't go. Narcissa wouldn't be caught dead there, and Lucius kept his hood up for comfort as much as privacy. The third and final building was in much the same area. The suspicious old wizard let Lucius in to look around for the girl, watching him closely with his one eye, the empty right socket hidden beneath a patch. Branda was not to be found there, either. Deciding he needed a fresh start, Lucius apparated some way up the street, back to the main section of the street. It was still morning, wandering through Leynøya's western and southern sides with a purpose had taken only an hour. He stopped inside a café that had as many English words painted on its windows as Norwegian and drank a strong coffee. Other wizards sat around the room: haggard seawizards trying to caffeinate a hangover away; a group of sprightly young fishingwizards chattering quietly in Dutch. Allowing the thick, black coffee to reinvigorate him, Lucius considered what to do. If he'd thought to bring a personal item of Branda's, he might've been able to track her through the island, and he cursed himself for such an oversight. By the time he finished his coffee, Lucius had decided on a plan. He approached the wizard behind the counter, who spoke some English.

"Boarding house?" asked Lucius.

The wizard understood him, and when Lucius slid him a few extra sickles, he pulled a bit of parchment from under the counter and wrote the names of two boarding houses, neither of which Lucius had visited yet.

Both were located near each other, halfway between the area where the café was located and the dirty alleyways he'd been to earlier. The first he entered was slightly more well-appointed; the woman who ran the house wouldn't let him through to search for any girl, but she did allow him to look at a ledger filled with the names of recent boarders. Branda's name was not on the ledger. Lucius thanked the woman and walked to the second building, where he had the luck of running into two wizards speaking English outside, smoking their pipes.

"I'm looking for my friend's daughter, who ran away last month. We think she may be in Leynøya. Is there a young woman boarding here; dark haired?"

The wizards looked at each other, then at Lucius.

"Er, no—no lasses here. All blokes, innit?"

"Aye man, no lasses in there, but I seen a girl with dark hair wandering up and down the street a few days ago. . ."

It was as much as Lucius could hope for.

"Where might she be staying?" Lucius reached into his pocket, pulling out a galleon.

"Oh lad, I don't know where the girl'd be staying" said the man who'd said he'd seen her, looking rather disappointed, but his mate spoke up for them both; "She might be at an inn—"

"I've been to several boarding houses already; can you tell me what places she might have a bed in?"

The men rattled off a list of inns, boarding houses, and hostels, pointing up and down the street as they named each one. Lucius paid them each a galleon, picked a direction, and began the process again. Some of the establishments they'd told him of were located further along the shoreline, where boats from the Baltic region were docked. That gave Lucius a better idea of which buildings to start with. Of the two nearby houses Lucius hadn't checked yet, the men had said one was cheaper than the other. Branda was a frugal girl, and he suspected that, if she were still on the island, that she would not spend her money on more than was necessary. Just the day before Donius sent an owl to Lucius informing him that a money order from Branda had arrived. It appeared that she'd sent most of her pay to them; Lucius had to admire the girl's sense of duty to her family. Recalling the average wages of a contracted fishingwizard—or fishingwitch, rather—and the three hundred and fifty galleons she'd allowed her family, Lucius felt his confidence rise as he returned to the filthy part of the neighborhood he'd been in previous.

The old woman who ran the boarding house looked at Lucius with a blank expression until he handed her a galleon, English getting him nowhere. She gestured for him to follow her up a flight of stairs, at the top of which she pointed to a door, clearly meaning for him to go inside. A young man and woman exited the room beyond and brushed past Lucius down the stairs. They smelled faintly of fish and oil. The young woman was the only fishingwitch he'd seen, thus far. Inside the long room, narrow beds lined the walls, dormitory style; drab curtains hung from the ceiling to separate the beds for privacy. At the far end of the room, the curtains pulled back to allow in the pale sunlight; a person sat with their back to the door, their dark hair so long it was like a shawl across their back, the ends just draping over the blankets. Sensing the withered landlady behind him, Lucius turned to her and gave her four galleons, the gold glinting even in the poor light from the grimy windows. The old besom snatched the coins from his hand and pocketed them as she descended the stairs.

The room was thankfully empty of any other people, so Lucius closed the door behind him. Branda didn't move or turn around but seemed to be hunched over as if reading something. Lucius whistled sharply.

Branda's head poked up, and Lucius saw her shoulders stiffen. When she looked over a shoulder to see who was in the room one of her recognizably broad cheeks caught the filtered light, filling Lucius with a sense of relief: definitely Branda!

"Miss Burke."

Branda stilled, her eyes widening. Even from across the room, Lucius could see her cheeks pale. She did not, however, move to run away.

He sat opposite her on an empty bed, waiting for her to say something; she remained silent, looking at her hands folded in her lap. Lucius's gaze swept up and down the girl, taking in the shadows beneath her eyes, the way her work-roughened hands had grown even thicker, and the general dullness in her bearing.

"Branda. . . look at me now, girl."

Her green, oblong eyes met his sharp grey ones, if only for a moment. Lucius considered her before asking, "Why did you run?"

Branda clasped her hands tighter, shifting uncomfortably.

"What did you think was going to happen to you? Did you think I was going to hurt you?"

Branda heaved a sigh; "Yes."

So, there it was.

"Well . . . I won't deny that I was angry when I heard what you'd done. . . quite angry, if I'm honest."

Branda would not reply, and she refused to look at him. She sat stock still and tense—probably waiting for him to bring his wrath upon her, he thought. Good. She still had some sense, then.

"Oh, for God's sake, I'm not going to curse you, Branda! I want to know what you were thinking! I'd also like to hear your own version of events; Narcissa's told me, of course—"

"She locked the door!" said Branda suddenly, interrupting him. "Why did she lock the door?"

Narcissa had told him of this, that when the girl refused to stay, his wife silently locked the door of the drawing room to keep the girl in. "I didn't expect her to panic!" Narcissa scowled. After she admitted to having grabbed Branda to force her to sit, Lucius began to feel that neither witch had been using her senses. Still, Lucius believed there was an order to things, especially between people; maintaining future interactions between his family and Miss Burke meant he needed to give the girl some perspective.

"'She locked the door'—Branda, it's her house! She can do as she pleases, and you're still a child, practically! Don't look like that; you know what I'm saying! Now, tell me what happened that day."

Branda huffed, but after a moment, she began to speak, explaining all that transpired the moment old Nott left the manor. Her tale was more or less the same as Narcissa's, though Branda portrayed herself more favorably than his wife had; he'd expected no less. By the time the girl was finished, Lucius concluded that each witch had behaved irrationally—in equal measure. In other words: they'd flown off their brooms. He'd had enough petty arguments and near duels with other Death Eaters over stupid matters to understand that sometimes, when things weren't going well, it was easy to give in to irrationality.

"You two witches. . ." he muttered. He looked at the floor in thought, considering how to proceed.

"How are—"Branda cleared her throat, "How are my family?"

Lucius looked at her. "They're well. They received the money you sent them yesterday; Donius wrote to me to say so. I'm sure it was most welcome."

Branda's shoulders slackened a bit, looking satisfied at this news. Relaxed as he suspected she would be, Lucius took his chance.

"Miss Burke, I expect you to return to Britain with me." He spoke in an even tone. "No one's going to curse you when you get there, though my wife may give you a good tongue-lashing—not that I'm going to stop her if she does." He gave Branda a stern look at this last bit. She had the grace to look down.

"Well? Have you got any objection to that? I'd rather not have to drag you back."

Branda seemed to struggle with her thoughts, so Lucius made the decision for both of them and stood up.

"Come on. Get your things."

After a moment's indecision, the girl reached under her bed and pulled out a very worn old rucksack and a long bag of what Lucius assumed to be Aconitor's gear. He waited as she looked over her belongings, making sure she had all that she'd come with. At last, she pulled her arms through the rucksack's straps and looped her gear bag over a shoulder.

"At last! I thought I'd starve standing here waiting!" teased Lucius, pretending he wasn't flooded with relief.

Mr Malfoy being who he is, he complains all the way through the dirty alleys of the cheap district I've stayed in for the past three days and nights.

"Fish! How could you stand the stench?" Mr Malfoy shakes his head in disgust at the rancid smell of fish, smoke, and vomit from drunken seawizards who stumble nightly about, trying to make it back to their rented rooms. Though typical for an island, the buildings here are especially crowded together, which is probably why the area is cheap and rundown. All the nicer places are located up the street, running adjacent to the south and southwest side of Leynoya. The village proper is all the way on the other side of the island, and I certainly haven't been there.

At last, we skirt a wooden fish-house built right out on the docks and enter the much cleaner main road that I've heard locals refer to as Bryggeveien—the dock road—as it runs so close to the docks along the south and west sides. 'Vei' I've figured means 'road' or 'street'; it's like 'way' in English, innit? The overpowering smells of fish and exhausted humanity Mr Malfoy groused about are replaced by those of pipe smoke, black coffee from cafes (these Norsks drink a lot of coffee), and yet more fish. It's still a fishing island, after all. The salty sea air reaches us more easily here, too, bracing and almost tangy as I breathe it in. It makes me miss the smell of my home—a long way away on a mountain in Wales—how the cold mist made everything bright and fresh; how I could smell the hard, earthy minerals of the shale in the sides of the crags. I even miss the smell of all the stupid sheep there!

We walk past the shops and taverns serving lunch to fishingwizards and travelers. I haven't been inside any of these places—as if I'd spend my earnings on anything I don't already have! I ate my meals at the boardinghouse, which were included in the rent. The landlady cooked them herself. Breakfast—frokost—always included bread and a brown cheese they call brunost, sometimes alongside porridge—grøt. The old lady always served it with a spoonful of butter on top. Lunch, or lunsj, was always sandwiches without the top piece of bread—"Smørbrød" the landlady said when she saw my confusion, chuckling and pointing with a gnarled finger. I liked eating mine with slices of radish and onions over cheese. Then dinner—middag—would be a stew of meat or fish and potatoes—always with potatoes. Her cooking wasn't bad, at least as far as I could tell of her Norwegian dishes, but I wished we could've had more. Whenever someone asked for more than the single serving she would give us, she'd hold her hand out for money. The landlady did her job, but she was not a kindly old grandmother.

Thinking of all this food makes my stomach rumble loudly, and Mr Malfoy actually stops and looks at me, as though unsure if I'm the one whose belly is acting unruly. He gives me a smirk and shakes his head slightly. We continue on, passing by the Swedish, Danish, and British boats into a kind of open-air market where people buy steamed mussels—which I love—sandwiches with fresh shrimp, bread smeared with caviar and salmon roe, smoked salmon, sausages, and other foods. Though it's now October, the temperature feels mild, probably a warming charm to keep the few stray tourists around. Mr Malfoy buys a large plate of mussels which we eat at a little wooden table beside the railing that separates the market from a short wooden promenade below (I wonder which parts of the island have Extension Charms placed on them). The mussels are so fresh and tasty, I've practically got to force my hand away from the plate at times so Mr Malfoy can eat his own fill! The taste is so good that the next one I pop into my mouth has me humming in appreciation.

"I didn't know you liked mussels so much," says Mr Malfoy, looking mildly surprised.

"Mm . . . I love shellfish." I do—my mam took me to a cousin's seaside wedding in Anglesey when I was little and I ate cranc—crab, wystrys—oysters, and cregyn gleision—mussels for the first time—yum! Shrimp are okay, more so when grilled, I think.

"What about other seafood?"

"I found a baby octopus in a tide-pool once and ate it. I didn't like it raw, so I threw it on a grill and it came out quite nice."

"You like lemon desserts, bite into raw octopus, dislike wine—"

"Snake is good, too." Lots of Aconitors eat the snakes they catch; some believe it gives them special properties against venom.

Mr Malfoy looks at me a while; "You have a unique palate, Miss Burke." He pushes the plate of mussels closer to me, signaling that he's finished (or he's just taking pity on me). I eat every one.

"Come on then. I've got tasks to complete while I'm here!"

Mr Malfoy's tasks happen to be ordering a shipment of high quality smoked salmon from a shop in the little village, as well as several tins of non-native beluga caviar, and, as an afterthought, some local salmon roe. The amount of gold he spends on all this. . .

I'm glad when we leave the nice little shop. While inside, I felt especially grotty beside Malfoy in his sleek black robes and cloak, his blonde hair all shiny. Me? I've barely managed to scrub all the fish scales and brine smell from myself. Of course, the landlady at the boardinghouse made us pay to use the bath! I've had two since I've been here, but in my worn clothes, oily to the touch even after the old cow washed them for me, I still feel dirty.

Now horribly paranoid about my appearance, I pat my hair to make sure it isn't messy.

"What are you doing, Branda?" asks Mr Malfoy with a little chuckle as we step onto the Bryggeveien again.

My face feels hot.

"Oh . . . I'm just . . . making sure my hair is . . . alright."

"Why wouldn't it be? You're always neater than most in your place."

Is he referring to my class, or poverty-stricken wretches in general?

"Sir, when are we leaving?"

"Seven o'clock. I've already ordered a Portkey. We'll arrive in Hogsmeade and leave from there."

Seven o'clock?! Good lord, it's barely a quarter past two! I'm about to ask him what else he's going to do here when he says "Come. Let's go down to the docks in the foreigner's sections."

I can't imagine why he wants to do that, but I go along without any protest. I'm rather curious about the other foreigners here. We walk along the Bryggeveien until it turns right and becomes stone steps that lead to a rocky beach which we cross to a boardwalk that itself leads to the eastern docks.

I'm surprised at the number of boats sporting the Finnish flag due to the fact that they had to have sailed through the Muggle infested straits, but maybe they like Leynoya enough that they've grown accustomed to it? Bully for them, I suppose. Wizarding Finland definitely has a lot more fishingwizards than Britain; all around us I hear what must be Finnish being spoken, and I realize that I know almost nothing about it. I thought Finns would sound like all the other Nordic languages I've heard, with their clear, precise vowels and abundance of consonant pairs, but what I'm hearing now doesn't sound like that at all! Here, I hear s and t everywhere; flowing, dipping uos and uas; elongated aas and uus; and crisp ois and ais. Mr Malfoy stops to watch the crew of one large vessel in particular as they unload their catch. A wizard I take to be their skipper stands chatting with another wizard; they gesture and nod and throw out different words, possibly numbers. Suddenly, a voice some distance behind me calls out:

"Neiti! Hei neiti!"

I turn my head slightly, wondering what's happening.

"Neiti—katso tänne!"

This time I turn around, looking for the source of the voice.

"Täällä!" Two fishingwizards on the deck of another boat wave and gesture for me to look at them, or rather, what they have hanging between them. My eyes widen.

"Huomaatko? Se on hai!"

I walk closer to get a better look at the dead shark—a porbeagle, I think, it's sharp snout and gray, squat body making it likely. I'd say it's a good seven or seven and a half feet long.

"Hai!" One of the men pats the shark's flank and grins, "Hai! Näetkö?"

"Sillihai!" adds his companion.

The first man pats the shark again: "Hai."

Shark. He is telling me the word for 'shark'.

I point to the porbeagle: "Shark!"

The men grow excited: "Shaa-rk! Joo, hai!"

I repeat the sound that has held this entire interaction together: "Hai!"

The men look pleased. "Joo—hai! Silli-hai!"

"See-lee-hai." I shout back. Sillihai—porbeagle.

"Joo! Hyvä!" They shout in agreement, nodding their heads. One of the men pulls out his wand and turns to the shark while the other continues talking to me.

"Oletko englantilainen?"

"What?"

He shouts down from the boat-deck more clearly, "Englantilainen? Er—English?"

"Na! Cymraeg!"

The other man, the one who pulled out his wand, walks to the gunwale and bends over, holding something in his hand for me.

"Tässä—hain hammas."

I step closer to the dock's edge and reach up; he places something small, smooth, and pointy in my open palm. When I open my fist, I see one of the porbeagle's small, awl-like teeth.

"Hammas" he repeats.

"Ham-mas," I echo; "Tooth."

"Branda!"

I whip around to find Mr Malfoy waving me over to him. I turn to thank the two fishingwizards: "Diolch!" (I've noticed being around languages other than English makes me speak more Welsh).

"Hwyl!"—Bye!

"Hyvästi!"

We all wave at each other, and I run back to Malfoy. I hear other Finns along the dock joking and laughing with the two I just spoke with.

"What was all that about?" Mr Malfoy raises an eyebrow at me.

"They gave me a shark tooth!" I hold out my palm so he can see it. It's small, but no less vicious looking for it, T-shaped with a center cusp like a thick, bony thorn.

I look from the tooth to Mr Malfoy, but he's still staring at me, his mouth quirked in amusement.

"Say 'tooth' again, Miss Burke."

"Tooth," I reply in my clearest Welsh accent. I don't say 'tooth' as he does: my version's 'oos' rhyme with those in 'soot' or 'hook' rather than those in 'moon' or 'boot'.

He gives me a little smile and examines the tooth in my palm, the hain hammas—dant siarc—shark tooth. I close my fist around it, feeling the point of the cusp nip through the calluses there.

"Yes—how nice. I think we shall go to the Russians next. Come along."

We pass the Polish docks where only one boat is moored. The Russian section, on the other hand, is almost as full as the Finnish one. I soon discover that Mr Malfoy is on the lookout for more expensive sea-goods—things caught in the Baltic and the Gulf of Bothnia. Fishingwizards are always finding strange and rare creatures with their hauls. Many of these creatures turn out to be venomous, making them of great value.

Some of the foreigners and Norwegians here speak enough English that Mr Malfoy is able to get across his reason for being in the vicinity, but nothing of interest turns up in this section of Leynoya, so we venture onto the southern docks, passing the empty Belgian and French ports and stopping at the Dutch section where three boats sit anchored and silent, their catch seemingly unloaded already. Further along are the ports for the Scandinavian countries, Germany, and Britain. The port for German boats is also empty. There are two boats in the Danish section, but no signs of life onboard—the crew is either out on the town or asleep from hard work. I check my watch—the gold and mother-of-pearl one Mr Malfoy gave me—it's exactly four in the afternoon. Most of the local fishingwizards sell their catch in the morning, so the smaller, noncommercial ports they dock at are empty but for the odd wizard tending and mending their boats and gear. The big buyers who sell internationally or stock the fish houses here are mostly gone, as well. When Kirksay docked, there was already a buyer he knew waiting to buy his catch. I tell some of this to Mr Malfoy, and he agrees that we'll probably not find any rare specimens today.

"I'm feeling rather peckish—what about you, my girl? D'you want something to eat?"

Of course, my stomach responds with an echoing gurgle!

We wander back into the Bryggeveien and Mr Malfoy takes us into a clean little café where he buys us good Nordic coffees and light sandwiches. Then, we walk about window shopping, as most of the shops have begun to close. A particular set of dress robes catches my eye—rich plum silk trimmed with glittering copper-colored threads—I bet they cost every coin in my pockets. Mr Malfoy enters a shop that sells instruments like binoculars, remembralls, telescopes, and such. He exits stowing something in his pocket—perhaps a set of good seawizard's binoculars?

We stroll along the pebbly little beaches where he reveals his purchase: a personal camera.

"We've got to have a little picture of you on Leynøya!" Upon seeing my discomfort, he smirks.

I've never been easy in front of cameras by myself; I don't know what to do; It's always so awkward!

"Now gather up your tools like an Aconitor. . ."

He has me stand in front of the shore with my gear, the water nearly brushing my heels, probably looking like I'm totally lost. He takes another photograph of me in front of the cliffs, surrounded by dried kelp. As soon as he's done with that one, I jump out of his sight for fear of him finding another background he likes. He relents, and we continue along the shoreline.

He asks me to tell him about working on the trawler. He pries all the details out of me despite my efforts to try and hold them back or make light of them, knowing how he scorns such work. I manage to skip over the details of one night in particular . . . no one needs to hear about that. He can't believe I lived the way we did on that boat; that I didn't immediately try to go home as soon as I landed on Leynoya.

"Really! And you actually considered doing it again?"

I shrug. "The money's good." I'm sure in his mind, all the gold in the world couldn't induce him to accept such a job.

Mr Malfoy scoffs; "The money's good—Listen—" he stops and makes me face him. He continues in a low voice; "I know you were afraid of what I would do to you, but for God's sake, I wasn't going to kill you!"

I look at the ground, embarrassed.

"Look at me, Branda."

I look into his eyes, gray as sea clouds, stern as they size me up.

"I'm pleased you understand that I don't tolerate any mistreatment of my family, but you shouldn't have acted so rashly—"

"Sir, what would you have done to me, if I'd stayed where you could find me right after?" When I ran away that day, I could only think of what Donius had said to me about the Malfoys' influence, and how dangerous the man in front of me now can be. Why would I have thought that Lucius Malfoy would not do something awful to me after physically hurting his wife?

Mr Malfoy's eyes narrow a bit, but he answers me; "I'm not sure, Miss Burke. I certainly thought about beating you; perhaps forcing Donius to lend you to me for free labor. . . honestly, Branda—I don't know what I would have done, and you certainly didn't give me the opportunity!"

Hell no, I wasn't going to!

"I would prefer it if we set this whole incident aside—then we can move forward."

He looks at me expectantly, lifting an eyebrow. I stare at the rocks beneath my feet, eyeing the salt-washed ripples along their surfaces.

"Are you going to—" I heave a sigh, nervous, "—What about your wife, sir. . .?"

"I'm not going to let her curse you, Branda! She'll probably haul you over the coals for what happened, as I told you earlier—I won't stop her from boxing your ears if that's what she wants. . ."

He watches me closely before continuing.

"You're not going to limp out of my manor, if that's what your worried about."

What else can I do but go with him if I wish to go home—ever? Even if I stayed away for seven years, they'd remember. I nod my head at the rocks.

"Look up."

I tilt my chin just enough to catch his eye.

"You've got a right to defend yourself, Miss Burke, but it's just as important to use your head in those moments."

I respond with a slight nod.

Mr Malfoy leans back, turning to look at the waves gently washing the beach. A jagged sea cliff jutting out from the island keeps the sun from throwing its afternoon light on the beach, and everything before us has a dark, cool slate tone to it. It's October, and the sun will begin to set in another half hour.

Mr Malfoy turns back to me. "Come on. We've more than an hour left until our Portkey leaves; we can see the sights on our way up to the station."

At precisely 6:57, Mr Malfoy and I prepare to leave Leynoya—or Leynøya, with its proper ø. As I shrug my bags more firmly on my shoulders, something sharp pinches my palm, and I look down to realize that I've been holding the shark's tooth this whole time.