Chapter 12. The Trip to Bulgaria

"The last trial was an absolute disaster — you both have to admit that," said Ron darkly. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Minister's office as usual, all three with somber faces. "There's been a lot of talk in Diagon Alley that the members of the Wizengamot gave you a good bashing this time. . . . A lot of people must have had enough of the pro-Muggle policies."

"Just because we don't abuse or discriminate against Muggles and Muggle-borns doesn't mean it's a pro-Muggle policy," said Hermione defiantly.

"You know what I mean," said Ron impatiently. "So what are we gonna do? I can't think of a fair solution . . ."

"There was only one way from the beginning," said Harry simply. "To arrest Eisenbein. I will mobilize all my Aurors to find him."

"What's left of them, you mean. I've also heard about the mass resignations," said Ron. "We should never trust them Slytherins. . . . Even when they seem to be obeying orders, they are always ready to follow any powerful Dark wizards."

Harry didn't argue with Ron this time. Ever since his son Albus and his best friend Scorpius had been assigned to Slytherin House, he had tempered his dislike for it. Recent events, however, had rekindled his animosity toward the Slytherins, some of whom had taken the lives of his parents, his godfather, and many others. If it had been possible, Harry would have changed the House Albus was in to avoid the negative influence of the pure-blood worshippers. As they thought in silence, someone knocked on the door.

"Please come in," said Hermione.

Percy Weasley walked through the door and said, "I have some foreign intelligence to share with you, Madam Granger."

"I think you'd better come some other time, Percy," said Hermione, "if your information is about another country's mascot at the Quidditch World Cup again. It's a serious conversation we're having right now."

But Percy shook his head and turned to Harry instead. "Ah Harry, you were here too. . . . Well, this is something you need to hear as well. A foreign government has discovered the cloak thief you were looking for."

"What? Eisenbein, you mean?" asked Harry urgently, blood rushing to his head. "When and where?"

"Just yesterday. It was the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic that contacted us," said Percy importantly. "We received the letter from Victor Krum, our old friend. He's now in charge of the Bulgarian Aurors."

"Thanks, Percy — that's good to know," said Hermione cheerfully. "Go home and pack your bags now, Ron. We should all go together."

"We're going there ourselves? What about the Aurors?" said Ron, ashen-faced. The moment he had heard the name Victor Krum, his face had darkened.

"It can be very disrespectful to take many Aurors to a foreign land, Ron," said Percy. "I suppose a friendly visit from a small number of people would look better."

"I agree. Besides, a lot of my Aurors have quit lately," Harry added. "There aren't many people to guard this place, and it's hard to trust anyone now. Teddy should be enough for our escort."

"Teddy — is he really our best choice?" Ron grunted, having witnessed Teddy's clumsy behavior many times before. "If you say so, Harry . . . if you say so. . . . I'll pack up and come back here."

They were able to leave the next day because the Bulgarian Minister of Magic had agreed to meet with them. Harry had told his family that he was going on a business trip abroad for a while, and had also called Teddy and explained the mission. Hopefully, in the coming weeks, he would be able to put this mysterious Dark wizard to rest in his memory, just like Voldemort.

When Harry and Teddy entered the Minister's office at the appointed time, Ron and Hermione were arguing, as Harry had seen so many times before.

"So Krum's joining us today, is he?" said Ron sharply.

"I told you — Victor would come if he had time," said Hermione airily. Ron, however, still looked serious.

"It won't matter — that bastard will make time anyhow, even if he has to use a Time-Turner!" He narrowed his eyes as if remembering something and glared at Hermione. "But how did you know about that? Do you two still exchange letters regularly?"

"Not regularly — but in times of need, we can contact each other without hesitation."

"What do you mean by that — without hesitation?"

"Stop it, both of you," Teddy said with a grin. "Lover's quarrels at this age look adorable, but we have a business trip to make."

"Yeah, that's for sure. What I'm not sure about is whether we're going there for something really important, or for our Minister's reunion with her dear old pen pal," Ron sneered.

"Ron, that's enough. You used to be a huge fan of Viktor Krum yourself," said Harry. "And thankfully, he also helped us find Eisenbein's location. Let's get going then."

Just like on their trip to France, they lined up holding hands around the bucket Hermione had prepared beforehand. Harry's arm jerked as Hermione put her foot in the Portkey, and suffocating darkness enveloped them all. About ten minutes later, the lights came back on and they were back on the ground. Harry glanced quickly around the unfamiliar landscape, his hand still on his wand. In stark contrast to Harry's expectations, they were in a clearing in the middle of a dense forest, with tall birch trees reaching high into the sky.

He was startled when Teddy suddenly began to sneeze next to him. "Achoo! Sorry — I'm allergic to pollen . . . ACHOO!"

At that moment, Harry spotted a figure hiding in a thicket behind his godson's hunched body and pointed his wand at it. A plump, middle-aged woman stepped out. She wore a black dress and had brown hair in a ponytail.

"Nice to meet you. My name is Hermione Granger, the British Minister of Magic," said Hermione politely, taking Harry by the arm and lowering his wand.

"Greetings, Madam. I am Grozda Vulchanov, the Bulgarian Minister of Magic."

The two shook hands as Grozda walked over. In close-up, her nose was swollen and red-tipped, and the drooping skin around her mouth gave her a depressed look. Her gaze was then drawn to Harry's forehead, which was slightly exposed in the breeze.

"And you must be the famous Mr. Potter. Our people all know you vell — it's a great honor to meet you."

"I am honored to meet you as well, Madam Vulchanov," Harry said, shaking her hand.

"Could you be related to Boris Vulkanov, the Bulgarian National Team's Beater? My brother and I are huge fans of his," Ron said with great interest when it was his turn to shake her hand.

"Boris is my son. And Pyotr Vulchanov — another vell-known Beater active at the end of the last century — happens to be my husband," she replied in a slightly annoyed tone. "But in Bulgaria, my surname is better known as being derived from Nerida Vulchanova, the founder of Durmstrang Institute."

"Durmstrang, did you say? I've heard many fine wizards have come from that place," said Teddy briskly. Knowing his godson, Harry knew it was a sarcastic reference to the school that had produced many Dark wizards like Gellert Grindelwald.

He rushed forward before Teddy could show any more diplomatic disrespect and said, "This place really has fresh air. Is there an entrance to the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic nearby?"

"Sorry, Mr. Potter — outsiders aren't allowed in our Ministry," said Grozda bluntly, "although there is a good café vhere ve can talk. Come vith me there."

Grozda and Hermione led the way, the other three following behind. Grozda's steps were so broad that Hermione had to hurry to keep up with her. The gap between the two women and the three men had widened. The two Ministers of Magic seemed to be having a boring discussion about the need for unity within the European Wizarding community, so Harry kept a little distance to avoid being drawn into the conversation.

"Sorry, outsiders are not allowed in our Ministry — yeah, whatever." Teddy let out a muffled chuckle when Ron imitated Grozda's stern tone. "Talking like the Cold War is still on — I thought Viktor Krum was the only Bulgarian so full of himself. . . . Where are we going anyway?"

"The road seems to continue into the deep forest," said Harry, trying not to stray from the narrow path they were following.

"Maybe it'll lead us to the vampires?" said Ron in a low, worried voice. Harry and Teddy looked at each other and grinned, so he quickly excused himself, "Transylvania isn't that far from here. . . . We can't worry too much about them, can we?"

"You're so silly, Ron. Even vampires pay for their meals in restaurants these days," said Teddy.

"You'd have been scared too if you had heard about the Vampire Squib as a child . . ." Ron shivered. "That vampire thought he could use magic if he drank the blood of young wizards. . . . That's why every night he —"

"Wait — I've heard this story," said Harry. "I recently learned that one of the Black Ancestors was a vampire hunter who killed that Squib. . . . By the way, Ron — weren't spiders your greatest fear, not vampires?"

"Spiders can also be considered a kind of vampire . . . sucking the blood of their victims and binding them with webs!" He almost hit his head on a birch branch as he closed his eyes and shuddered. "Isn't she really taking us to the vampires? Why is it taking so long?"

"Look — Grozda has stopped," Teddy said, pointing forward. The two Ministers had stopped in a small clearing between trees far ahead and were waiting for them. "That can't be a café, can it?"

A gesture from Hermione forced Harry, Ron and Teddy to step into the open space after a moment's hesitation. Grozda then moved the fallen birch tree, uprooted by its roots, into the middle of the lot without using any magic. Then, without explanation, she rode up the bare, leafless tree like a horse.

"Wait, is this our ride?" asked Ron, staring at the birch tree in disbelief.

"Birch is an excellent material for brooms," said Grozda stiffly. "Even the famous Firebolt is made of birch."

"That's true," said Harry, "but still, riding the whole tree . . ."

"Harry — you've never read anything about this part of the world, have you?" said Hermione accusingly. "In Russia and other Eastern European countries, they often ride logs instead of brooms. You might find it in my library's The Traveling Wizard's Guide to the Eastern Provinces."

"Is there a law that says you have to read a book when it's on the shelf?" grunted Ron. "And if you know it so well, why don't you show us how?"

Putting on a brave face, Hermione sat carefully between the branches just behind Grozda, holding the main trunk with her arms. "See? Once you get the hang of it, it's easy."

The three of them could not resist sitting down on the birch. Unlike a broom, Harry was unable to grasp the thick trunk with his fingers, so he had to lie on his stomach and hug it. Grozda and Hermione, on the other hand, found it more comfortable to sit on the top of the tree and hold on to the branches.

"I should've ridden first," Ron muttered in a low voice that only Harry and Teddy could hear. With his arms behind his body, he clung to the soil-covered roots. He desperately searched for a place to support himself.

"I hope you are all ready then," Grozda said from the front.

Harry's feet suddenly lifted off the ground and the tree began to rise. Harry's gaze gradually shifted from the trunks to the leaves of other birch trees standing nearby, as he held on tightly to the trunk, until all the trees disappeared and a clear sky appeared at the end. Beneath his feet was a wide field and a blue lake at the edge of the forest. The clouds huddled together on the clear surface of the lake looked like sheep grazing peacefully on the meadow. The air and Harry's mood cleared up as they climbed into the sky. It was easier to take in the scenery since the trunk was heavier than a broom and less likely to sway in the wind.

Crossing fields and mountain ranges, they arrived at a beautiful city dotted with tiny buildings that looked like toys from a distance. Upon closer inspection, the city was a mix of concrete buildings and small houses with red roofs. There were so many clusters of trees in the downtown area that the city itself seemed to have grown naturally out of the ground.

"This must be Sofia — the capital of Bulgaria. . . . It's my first time visiting!" Hermione exclaimed in front of Harry, her bushy hair fluttering in the wind.

Harry was worried that passersby would notice them, but they passed right over them without anyone realizing — it seemed the birch tree was protected by a charm. Whenever necessary, Grozda changed direction by applying different forces to her arms. Once she reached the top of an uncharacteristic building in the center of town, she began to push the log down.

"Follow my lead, those in the back!"

Following Grozda's instructions, Harry pressed the tree trunk down as if compacting earth. The birch gradually descended until it landed on the roof of the small building.

"It was worth a trip, but I'll never use it again," Ron said in a low voice, brushing the dirt from his buttocks. "I'd have preferred a carpet, but this . . . "

"This place is called Pŭlna Kofa, the favorite café of vizards and vitches in Sofia," Grozda said as she led the group down dark, narrow stairs from a small door on the roof. It sounded like the place played the role of the Leaky Cauldron in Bulgaria. The interior of the café became visible as Harry walked down the stairs, the cement walls exposed by the lack of paint, and the sour smell penetrating his nostrils at the same time. There was no doubt as to the source of the smell: behind the counter by the window, glass bottles filled with thick liquids were stacked on a shelf.

"That's yogurt, isn't it?" asked Hermoine. "Bulgaria is famous for its yogurts, and even wizards seem to enjoy them."

"Vell, ve and Muggles influence each other," said Grozda. "I haff heard that your vizards' food is as foul as British Muggles'."

Hermione gave her a weak smile, seemingly unable to figure out whether she was joking or being serious. After saying something in Bulgarian to the small, bald old man standing at the bar, Grozda looked around the guests.

"Choose your drink, our Ministry vill pay for it."

Harry looked suspiciously at the bottles of liquid one by one. There were yogurts in every color but white, but none of them looked appetizing.

"What's that made of?" Teddy pointed to the greenish, snot-like liquid.

"Fermented troll milk," Grozda replied, and Ron made a face of disgust.

"That will do for me, thank you." After a moment's hesitation, Hermione pointed to the pink liquid that looked like congealed blood.

"This is Nogtail milk. It tastes salty at first, but has a savory aftertaste," said Grozda. As she gestured to the bottle, the old man tilted and poured it into a glass.

Pointing to the grayish liquid that was the whitest thing on the shelf, Harry asked, "Can you tell me what this is made of?"

"Milk from the hippogriff," Grozda said.

"Then I'll take it."

"If you drink too much, your lips can harden like beaks, so be careful."

Eventually they sat down at a private table in the corner, where the old man soon served glasses of yogurt in different colors. Hermione sipped her pink yogurt, and only after she had cast the Muffliato Charm over their seats did she say, "My letter explained the reason for our visit, but I want to tell you again. I've heard that there has been a sighting of a Dark wizard named Eisenbein here."

"Yes, you are right," Grozda said, sipping her fluorescent yellow yogurt. "He hasn't committed any crimes in this country yet, but ve're on the lookout in case he shows up at your request."

"Then why did he show up?" said Harry quickly. He had to strain his jaw muscles because the thick and sweet Hippogriff yogurt had glued his teeth together.

"In fact, Eisenbein did not appear in person," said Grozda. "The suspicious groups led by him haff recently appeared in Bulgaria and neighboring countries. In addition to holding anti-Muggle protests, they secretly visit orphanages."

"Orphanages?" said Hermione, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes, they haff been disappearing with orphans with magical abilities before our Ministry officials could do anything about it. . . . It's happened several times in the last three years, but it turns out something similar happened in Hungary and Romania as vell."

"Where does Eisenbein come in?" asked Ron impatiently.

"During an anti-Muggle lynching a few days ago, Viktor and his Aurors captured a rogue wizard named Ivanov. Viktor is . . . skilled at gathering information from such people; Ivanov testified that Eisenbein had ordered him to do so, and also to steal children with magical powers from orphanages."

At these words, Harry's mind flashed back to an orphan with dark hair and a pale face. Tom Marvolo Riddle had been the name of the orphan who would cause enormous pain and suffering to countless people in the years to come. . . . Was Eisenbein looking for a child with the potential to become the next Dark Lord? Harry could think of no other reason for gathering orphans with special powers, no matter how hard he tried.

The sound of a bell broke the silence as the wooden door at the entrance to the shop opened. A muscular man with round shoulders approached their table duck-footed. Aside from his larger frame and a short beard around his mouth, Viktor Krum wasn't much different from what Harry had remembered. His black eyes gleamed beneath thick, dark eyebrows, and he had a large, curved nose, looking sullen as ever. When he saw Krum, Grozda moved in to make room for him to sit down.

"Good day, Grozda. Herm-own-ninny — you look vunderful. Hello, Harry and his friends," Krum shook hands with each of them in turn.

"Long time no see, Viktor. What happened to your cheek?" said Hermione, looking worried. After a loud tutting Ron suddenly drank his blackish yogurt, which he had barely touched, and coughed. His ears had turned bright red from the moment Krum had entered and were now hard to distinguish from his flaming hair.

"Don't vorry about it. Ivanov did not come easy," Krum said, touching the stitches on his cheek.

"I wonder what his charges were . . . milking a troll, maybe?" said Ron coldly. Teddy held back a laugh, almost spitting out his yogurt as he covered his mouth with his hand.

"No. The filthy mark of Grindelvald vas found on him at the checkpoint," Krum said, not smiling at all. "It's unclear if it's true, but this man testified that Eisenbein uses the same mark, and that he calls himself the successor of Grindelvald."

"Then Eisenbein is a total fraud," said Teddy indignantly. "In our country, he claims to be Voldemort's heir!"

"What do you think, Viktor? Does Eisenbein really have anything to do with Grindelwald?" Harry asked sternly, and Krum shrugged his round shoulders.

"I haff no idea, but I caught some Dark vizards saying that Eisenbein knew everything only Grindelvald's most trusted companions would know. . . . He is not to be underestimated."

With the exception of the Bulgarian Minister, who had said goodbye and parted ways with them, the other five walked through downtown Sofia toward the nearest orphanage. Harry, whose mind had become complicated, absentmindedly looked at the surrounding landscape, while Hermione marveled at the colorfully painted, multi-domed cathedrals whenever she found one.

"Harry, are we going to find anything in this orphanage?" said Teddy next to him.

"I hope so. Viktor believes that all the witnesses' memories have already been erased, but there may be traces left," said Harry. "Besides, there's no other place to investigate than there. Eisenbein's men visited that orphanage just a few days ago, Viktor just said."

"We can trust Viktor Krum's words, I think," Teddy said, looking at Krum's back. "I saw him catch the Golden Snitch during the World Cup a few years ago. . . . He's the kind of guy who does his job right."

"Yeah — come to think of it, you were with us in Argentina too." Harry grinned as he remembered watching the Quidditch World Cup final in the Patagonian desert with Dumbledore's Army. "I didn't know you watched the game. . . . The reporter said you and Victoire were snogging throughout the game."

"That Skeeter woman did the commentary, remember? There's not a word of truth in her words."

"At least I agree with that."

On a wide brown lawn stood the orphanage, made of wood and painted white. Several small children were playing soccer on the grass, glancing curiously at the strangers who entered through the barbed-wire fence. An old man in a black suit and mustache approached Harry and his companions. Krum shook his hand and the two chatted in Bulgarian.

"This person runs the orphanage here," Krum said, turning back to them; in response to the unfamiliar foreign words spoken quickly by the old man, the others also shook hands. "According to this man, several people claiming to represent a government agency asked him if they had any children with abnormal abilities. Apparently there was a strange boy who used to climb on the roof by himself and talk to the animals, so he let them take him away. . . ."

"Sent away like that?" exclaimed Hermione, her face contorted in disbelief. "Surely there was some paperwork or something?"

"Herm-own-ninny, this is not England," grunted Krum. "The Bulgarian administrative system and child protection laws are veaker than yours. The orphanage has no funding, so it could be closed at any time."

"We can save the child," Harry declared, comforting a tearful Hermione. Turning to Krum, he said, "Viktor, ask him what the kidnappers looked like."

Krum immediately asked the old man something in Bulgarian. The old man tugged at his gray hair in pain, closed his eyes, and replied something rapidly in Bulgarian.

"He says he has no memory of their faces," Krum translated. "He remembers that people came and took the boy, but he cannot remember their faces."

"They must have used a powerful Memory Charm," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"I agree. When Voldemort has tricked others, he has only altered certain parts of their memories," Harry said, thinking of Morfin Gaunt, Voldemort's uncle who had been wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban. "It would be wise to bring in memory experts from the Ministry of Magic. . . . First, let's search our surroundings for evidence. If we don't find any, I'll call the experts."

The group spent three hours searching the orphanage and its surroundings, but found no clues to Eisenbein's whereabouts. Harry, feeling tired, sat down on the playground with his godson.

In the western sky, the setting sun had already bathed the passing clouds in a soft golden light. With the ringing of the bell, all the children who had been playing there all day went inside the building, leaving the outside quiet and peaceful. Teddy was sitting on one of the scrap tires that surrounded the sandy playground, scattering a nearby pile of sand with an idle wave of his wand.

"I suppose I should contact our Ministry of Magic and ask for a memory expert, after all," said Harry. "Even so, the expert may not be able to restore the memory unless he or she is as talented as Dumbledore . . ."

"Well, sometimes even vain hopes are worth holding on to." Teddy stood up with a groan. "I'm going to ask Mr. Krum if there's a place nearby where you can rent owls. I may need to learn the Patronus Charm soon so I can deliver messages more easily."

"That won't be necessary," Harry said, suddenly feeling the weight of the smartphone in his robes. "I'll try the Muggle way this time. . . . It would be a lot faster than an owl."

Turning on his smartphone, he found an icon that resembled a green handset and pressed it. He first called Faraday, who was probably still in the basement of Flamel's house looking for information about the Sorcerer's Stone. He then put the phone to his ear in an awkward motion, expecting Faraday to relay his message to the desired person through his department's staff.

"Harry, is that you?" Faraday said a few beeps later.

"Yeah, it's me. How's your work going?"

"Don't mention it — I feel like my eyes are going to fall out from looking at book covers all day, and I still haven't found any information about that damn stone. . . . It has helped me improve my French a lot, though."

"I understand. . . . Do me a favor: Could you please forward it to our Ministry of Magic to send some memory experts to Bulgaria?"

"Have you found any forgetful eyewitnesses for memory restoration?"

"Yes. I need a description of what the criminal looks like, but all memories have been magically erased."

"Have you checked the CCTV footage then?"

"What kind of TV channel is CCTV?" whispered Teddy, who was listening right next to him, but Harry ignored him.

"Oh, I forgot to check. . . ."

"Then take care of that first!" yelled Faraday over the phone. "You have to start with the basics. It would be a shame if your detective skills were inferior to those of Sherlock Holmes when it's the twenty-first century!"

"All right, all right, I get it. I'll do as you say," Harry said and hung up, looking forward to finding a helpful clue using another Muggle technology. With Teddy at his side, he climbed the stairs to the orphanage building. In the waiting room, Ron, Hermione and Krum were sitting on the sofa in silence, looking tired.

"Harry, did you find anything?" asked Hermione, her eyes brightening.

"No, not yet. But Faraday told me to check the CCTVs, so here I am."

"He's right — why didn't I think of that?" cried Hermione. She then found the small camera in the corner of the room and pointed to it. "They're all over the place! Let's check them out right away."

"Do you really think they left the footage intact when they erased the witnesses' memories?" said Ron with a doubtful look.

"None of us thought to check, so it's likely they didn't either. Especially if they are pure-blood wizards," said Harry hopefully.

After Krum had questioned several of the employees, the old man they had met earlier took them to his office. He put on magnifying glasses and operated his old computer, finally showing them the recorded screens. The kidnappers had not touched the CCTV tapes just like they had hoped, and when the screen was enlarged, their faces were clearly visible. However, Harry, who had identified them, felt no joy, quite the opposite.

"This is Ivanov — I captured him two days ago. . . . Do you know the other two?" said Krum, pointing to a young man with a triangular badge on his robes that looked like the sign of the Deathly Hallows. Standing next to Ivanov was Markus Dolokhov, who had a long, twisted face. And then there was —

"Isn't that Slughorn?" said Teddy, sounding both shocked and accusing. Just as he had mentioned, the image of Edmund Slughorn in an elegant suit, who had been one of Harry's most trusted men, was on the screen. "What did I tell you, Harry? Never, ever trust a Slytherin!"

Harry could not argue with his godson. A sense of betrayal choked him, and his heart was beating so fast it hurt.