"If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times," the Professor shouted as he and his assistant walked out of their hangar. "Pink is not a good color for our Zeppelin."
"But I like Pink," Henchgirl shouted back. "And if I can't have pink then I want green."
"There will be no . . ." The Professor's tirade was cut off by the sound of several people clearing their throats, "what do you want?"
"We just wanted to . . . discuss the fact that you've decided to use Tesla Disk Turbines to power that dirigible of yours." The figure brandished a large pipe menacingly, "we think it might be a good idea if you were to rethink that."
"Yeah," one of the other figures agreed. "People who power dirigibles with Tesla Disk Turbines suffer accidents around here."
"My good fellows," the Professor began, somewhat annoyed that his argument with his henchgirl had been interrupted. "I would never dream of powering a dirigible with a Tesla Disk Turbine, why the very idea is pure insanity."
"Then what do you have in that hanger?" The first figure asked sarcastically, "sure looks like a dirigible to me."
"Ah, a common mistake." The Professor nodded, "that's not a dirigible. It's a zeppelin."
"Oh," the first figure nodded. "Then we have no beef with you, unless . . ."
"Unless?" Henchgirl echoed.
"Unless you're planning to arm it with STEN guns," the second figure finished. "If you are . . ."
"Why would we do something as silly as that?" Henchgirl was appalled, "what do you take us for?"
"We're sorry for the mix up," the first figure gave an unseen smile. "Good luck with your zeppelin."
"Thank you," the Professor and Henchgirl replied.
"What pleasant fellows," the Professor remarked.
"I thought so," Henchgirl agreed. "Now as I was saying, if I can't have pink then I want green."
"You will get no such thing," the Professor shouted. "Silver is what zeppelins were and silver is what ours shall be."
IIIIIIIIII
Harry walked out of his hotel and spent several hours wandering around the magical sections of Vienna before wanderlust forced him to find a place to purchase transportation to his next destination.
"Good afternoon," the shopkeeper nodded. "What can I do for you?"
"I was hoping to get a portkey to Hungary," Harry shrugged. "I was told that I might be able to get something here."
"I'm afraid that arranging a portkey to Hungary is quite impossible," the shopkeeper held up his hand. "Not because I am trying to withhold it, but because of the protections that the Hungarians have raised around their country."
"What happened?" Harry made himself comfortable.
"As you may know, Hungary is a country that has suffered many trials." The shopkeeper sighed, "after the first great war the Muggle powers decided to slice it into several smaller nations as punishment for having the poor luck of choosing the losing side."
"What does that have to do with today?" Harry asked with a curious frown.
"A cabal of wizards managed to get word of the impending shift and decided to do what they could to save as much of their territory as they possibly could." The shopkeeper gave an evil smile, "all was going well for the mostly French teams of wizards that were involved in shifting the borders and collecting war reparations until one day a team ported in and found themselves far off the mark."
"I know the feeling of having to adjust to a bad port," Harry nodded. "It's not pleasant."
"What was worse," the old shopkeeper smirked. "Was that they could not get any form of magical transportation to work. It seems that a group of wizards calling themselves the Bűbájos-brigades had put up wards around their remaining borders sealing them from any means of magical transportation."
"What happened next?" Harry leaned forward, "I have a hard time believing that the various wizarding governments would just give up."
"You're right," the old shopkeeper nodded. "They didn't give up, and time has shown that the wizards in the first group were the lucky ones. The next several groups found themselves in a cavern with several large and rather angry Hungarian Horntails . . . most subsequent travelers have met similar fates. I believe that the last man ended up in the Bermuda triangle after being repeatedly obliviated."
"They're still worried about something that happened almost a hundred years ago?" Harry asked incredulously.
"No," the shopkeeper shook his head. "That was only the beginning, it gets worse, much worse. They managed to keep the outside world at bay until the second great war when again their country was threatened by outside forces. After the war, it seemed for a time that things might be looking up until . . ."
"Until?"
"Until it became clear to all that the Soviet 'liberators' had no intention of leaving the country, this led up to the revolt of 1956."
"What happened?"
"The people revolted against the Soviet controlled government and managed to throw them out for a short amount of time, unfortunately resistance was crushed when the Soviet army marched into the country." The old shopkeeper gave a sad sigh, "the magical community refused to stand by and was active in resisting the Soviet attack and helping several people escape. All was going well until the Committee for State Security arrived, bringing with them several teams of loyal wizards. What followed was a war between Bűbájos-brigades and KGB wizards. On the plus side, the war had the unintended consequence of keeping most of the old Soviet Union's most effective magical teams pinned down in one area, on the minus it insured that the Bűbájos-brigades would have ample reason to be worried about foreign wizards."
"Wow," Harry shook his head. "They don't sound like very friendly people."
"That's not quite correct," the shopkeeper shook his head. "The non magical people are some of the friendliest in the world, it's only the magical people who are a bit paranoid."
"Is it still possible to visit?" Harry asked with a frown. "I would rather not impose on people that would just like to be left alone."
"It's still possible if you are willing to speak to a representative from one of the Bűbájos-brigades and assure them that you have no intention of conquering their country, they might also want to know why you are visiting."
"That's fine," Harry nodded. "How do I do that?"
"Just get to Budapest and someone will come to investigate," the shopkeeper smirked. "I'll be sure to warn them of your arrival so they're not too jumpy when you show up."
"They're not very happy about magical people dropping by so I guess I'll have to arrange some form of muggle transportation then," Harry shrugged. "Do you know where I can arrange that?"
"Yes," the shopkeeper nodded, "Avala Eurocity leaves from Westbahnhof around ten
or eleven, and you're at Budapest by one o'clock, or you could do something a bit unusual."
"Like what?"
"Vienna and Budapest were once the twin capitals of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and for that reason there are many houses and shops that existed in both cities." The shopkeeper waved his hand to a door in the back of the shop. "Most of them have been sealed up but some of them remain serviceable."
"Sounds great," Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Thank you."
"Just go down the street to the 'For Sale Bar,' it's just over the bridge in front of the Gellert hotel. There is a restaurant upstairs that serves an excellent Goulash soup, I'll tell them to meet you there."
"Thank you," Harry smiled as he stepped through the indicated door.
"No Harry," the shopkeeper spoke softly to avoid being heard. "Thank you for what you are going to do for us."
Harry walked out of the door and immediately came face to face with an old rusted out Russian tank, evidence that the conflict over who would control Hungary's magical sections was fought with both magical and non magical forces. Looking at it sadly, he continued up the street toward the location of his meeting.
"How may I help you?" A man greeted Harry as he entered the Bar.
"I need a table," Harry replied immediately. "I have to meet someone, so I'll need at least two seats."
"Yes sir," the man nodded. "Will you require anything else?"
"Yes," Harry nodded. "I've been told that your Goulash is excellent, so bring up a bowl if it's not too much trouble."
"Not a problem sir," the man nodded. "I'll take care of it."
Harry took a seat and was half way through his soup when he was joined by a beautiful woman.
"Name?" The woman asked coldly.
"Black, Ms?"
"Marosi, Marosiné Varga Katalin." She replied with no hint of warmth in her voice, "the purpose of your visit?"
"Tourism," inwardly Harry shrugged. If she didn't want to be friendly, then he wasn't going to make the effort. "I wanted to do some sight seeing while I was here."
"What do you plan to do and see?" The woman regarded him suspiciously, "and where do you plan to go after this."
"I don't know, I'm told that there are some wonderful forests here . . . I wouldn't mind getting a look at some of your dragons if that's possible. After this?" Harry took a moment to think. "I don't have any solid plans, so maybe . . . Crimea."
"Why do you wish to view the Dragon breeding areas?" The woman became absolutely still as she waited for his answer.
"I like Dragons," Harry smiled. "And I've spent quite a bit of time around them, they're wonderful creatures and I think that it would be marvelous to see them in their home ranges."
"I . . . see." She relaxed, having finally divined the reason for a visit by the mysterious Mr. Black. "Then I would suggest that you make your visit soon, it would be unfortunate if you were to delay your visit too long."
"Thank you," Harry smiled. "Do I need any sort of pass?"
"No," the woman pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a quick note. "But if you give them this note, it will make your visit go much smoother."
"Thank you," Harry smiled. "Would you like something to eat? My treat."
"Thank you but no," the woman smiled. "Just visiting the dragons as soon as you possibly can will be thanks enough for me."
"It will be the first thing I do after I find myself a hotel room," Harry promised. "Thank you for the help and have a nice day."
"What a nice woman," Harry mused to himself as he finished his soup. "Going to all that trouble to make sure I visit the dragons, she must really be fond of the beasts."
Getting up, Harry paid for his meal and walked the short distance to the Gellert hotel.
"May I help you sir?" The man behind the desk asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I'd like to get a room," Harry replied. "The best in the hotel if it's available."
"Right away Mr?"
"Black," Harry smiled. "And after I check in, I need to go out for a while, so is it possible to leave my room key with the front desk?"
"Of course sir," the man nodded. "If you like you can leave your luggage here and I'll have someone put it in your room, that way you can go about your business while we get everything ready."
"Sounds perfect," Harry nodded. "Thank you."
"We try to take care of our guests," the desk man smiled. "Will there be anything else sir?"
"No," Harry shook his head. "Just let me get one thing from my pack and I'll be on my way."
"Very good sir," the desk man turned away and returned to his paperwork."
Harry rummaged around his pack for a few minutes before finding his guidebook, and after one long look around the hotel lobby, he made his exit.
Harry walked back to the magical section of town and found a place to sit. Flipping through his guide book, he soon found the section on Hungarian Horntails.
The Hungarian Horntail is one of the most recognizable of the Dragon family. Its Black scales and bronze horns make it easy to identify and the market for black dragonhide has exploded since the emergence of the Dark Lord Grabhold who dressed his followers in dark colors in defiance to the previous tradition which had the dark lord dressed in purple and his followers dressed in pink . . .
Deciding not to read anymore about historic Dark Lord fashion trends, Harry closed his guide book and walked into the nearest magical shop.
"How may I help you?" The woman behind the counter asked with a frown.
"I wanted to go see the Dragons," Harry smiled. "Do you know how I could get to where the Dragons are? I couldn't find anything in my guide book and I was hoping to get some directions."
"Not a problem," the woman smiled. "I could arrange a portkey if you'd like?"
"That would be great," Harry nodded. "Thank you."
"You might wish to look around while I make the arrangements," the woman gestured towards a corner of the store. "I think I might have some books on Dragons over there if you're interested."
"Thank you," Harry headed towards the indicated corner and began browsing.
Harry returned to the counter with an armload of books, and a grin on his face. "Have you got the portkey ready yet?"
"Yes I do," the woman nodded. "Quite a lot of books you got there."
"Yes," Harry looked down. "I'm afraid I cleared out your entire stock."
"Not my entire stock," the woman began calculating the cost of Harry's purchases. "I have a few things in the back that I don't show to the general public."
"Any chance of letting me see any of it?" Harry asked with a grin, "Sounds like something I'd like to add to my library."
"Depends," the woman gave a coy smile. "What's your name?"
"Black," Harry smirked. "Mister Black."
"I . . . see," the woman gave a slow nod. "Give me a minute to check the back."
"Sure," Harry smiled. "Take all the time you need."
The woman spent several minutes in the back room and emerged with a large box full of books. "I brought all the books I had in the back, not all of them are about Dragons I'm afraid. They are all quite interesting though."
"That's fine, I'll take them all." Harry shrugged. "Are they safe to shrink or should I do something else?"
"Use this," the woman pulled a small leather organizer. "It has a rather long and confusing name, but I just call it a pocket dictionary. It's an antique, they were popular with travelers and pilgrims until international portkeys became so cheap and reliable."
"Sounds like a good gift for a friend of mine," Harry took the small item. "Do you have another one of these?"
"I'm afraid that I only have the one," the woman frowned. "No one wants them anymore and this is the only one I have left, I'm sure that you could have another made if you knew the right people."
"I suppose I do know the right people," Harry grinned. "Does it have any drawbacks?"
"It won't hold very many books," the woman shrugged. "And I'm afraid that the weight reduction charms are rather . . . primitive."
"I'll take it," Harry nodded. "Do I have enough time to put the books in the organizer before the portkey activates?"
"Of course," the woman nodded. "I forgot to ask, do you want the portkey to return you here or to some other location?"
"Could you get me back to my hotel?" Harry asked hopefully, "it's in a non magical neighborhood."
"Not a problem Mr. Black," the woman pushed over a small bronze dragon. "Horntail will take you there and 'hotel' will return you."
"Thank you," Harry paid for and pocketed his purchases. "Horntail."
"Are you Mr. Black?" A soot-covered man asked nervously, "we've been told that a man named Mr. Black was coming."
"I am," Harry nodded. "I guess you've been expecting me."
"I have," the man nodded. "How much experience do you have with Dragons?"
"Not very much I'm afraid," Harry admitted. "I watched the hatch and later helped raise one, and I've had a bit more experience with older Dragons . . . why?"
"I was hoping you could help with what's been happening," the man's shoulders dropped. "I guess that it was silly to get my hopes up like that."
"I may not have very much experience," Harry frowned. "But I do know a couple of experts, I also have several books that we can look through before we call them in."
"Wonderful," the man regained some of his enthusiasm. "Do you want to look at them now, or would you like to hear what's been happening?"
"Why don't you tell me what's been going on first," Harry replied calmly. "Then we can look at the dragons."
"It all started a few months ago when I noticed one of the larger males seemed . . . sluggish," the man took a deep calming breath. "He got worse and his scales began to dull, we isolated him from the others but by then it was too late. At this time, every one of the dragons are showing signs of the sickness."
"Let's go take a look at them," Harry took a deep breath. "Do you have any idea what they're supposed to look like under mage sight?"
"I'm afraid I don't," the man shook his head. "Why?"
"Because the only thing I can do aside from flip through these books is look at them under mage sight," Harry shrugged. "I don't have many talents but I do have a few."
"Maybe one of the books will have something," the man gave a hopeful grin. "So why don't we flip through them first?"
"Good idea," Harry nodded. "You take this stack, and I'll take the other."
"And with luck, one of us will find something." The man nodded.
The two of them spent several hours going through the books, Harry going slow and making the occasional note. The other man quickly flipping through the books, and occasionally making in depth reads and rereads of new information.
"I've found nothing," the man tossed down the last book in disgust. "Did you perhaps find something?"
"No quick answers," Harry shook his head. "But I did find several diagnostic charms, with any luck we'll be able to gather up enough information so that my friends can figure out what's wrong."
"I hope you're right Mr. Black," the man forced himself to stand. "If you're not, then I'm afraid that Hungary's Hornatils will soon be no more."
"I promise that I will do everything I can to keep them alive," Harry put his books away. "Now, let's go check the dragons."
The two of them went through a long series of passages, finally emerging in a large cavern holding a large male dragon.
"Let me get to work," Harry set up a place to write and began to cast spells. After several minutes of furious note taking, Harry activated his mage sight. "I'm going to need green, blue, red and pink ink."
"Right away." The man waved a hand, summoning the requested items. "But why?"
"Because those are the colors that showed up under mage sight for some reason." Harry shrugged, "with any luck the experts will know what this all means."
"Tell me something Mr. Black," the dragon keeper looked down at Harry's notes with a smirk. "Do these experts speak Magyar?"
"I don't believe so," Harry's face screwed up in confusion. "Why?"
"Because that is the language you wrote your notes in," the dragon keeper chuckled. "It's not a problem, just tell me what language to have it translated into."
"Give me a moment and I'll do it myself," Harry grabbed a quill and began translating. "I'm sorry, I didn't notice I was putting it in the wrong language."
"Not a problem Mr. Black," the dragon keeper's smirk was firmly in place. "I don't read English so well, so it's good to have it in my native language."
"Well, now you have it in both." Harry handed over the translated notes. "I'll put out the call that you need some help with your dragons, is there any way that you'd like them to contact you. Or would you rather they just come here."
"Tell them to contact the Bűbájos-brigades and when asked have them tell the Bűbájos-brigades that they are going to deal with the dragon problem," the dragon keeper smiled. "That should solve the usual visa and entry problems."
"Thank you," Harry yawned. "I've got to get back to my hotel, I'll try to get the ball moving before I get to sleep."
"Thank you Mr. Black," the man waved his hands. "Thank you for helping us deal with all of this."
"It's not a problem," Harry stifled another yawn. "I just hope that things turn out ok . . . hotel."
Harry arrived in an alley close to his hotel, and forced himself to make the short walk at a quick pace.
"Welcome back sir," the man at the front desk nodded. "Here is your key, I'll have one of the bellhops lead you up."
"Thank you," Harry followed the bellhop up to his room.
"Here we are sir," the bellhop opened the door and handed back the key. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call the front desk."
"Thank you," Harry tipped the man and pulled out his Zippo. "Professor, are you there?"
"I'm here my friend," the Professor's unique voice answered. "What can I do for you?"
"Is my portable floo connected to the normal floo network?"
"Yes it is," the Professor gave an unseen nod. "But I would be happy to make any calls for you, as tired as you sound I think you should be getting to sleep soon."
"Sounds fine," Harry gave another yawn. "There is a problem with the dragons in Hungary, I've done what I can and I was hoping to call in a couple of experts to look over my notes and find a solution."
"Who do you need me to contact?"
"The first is a man named Charlie Weasley," Harry blinked hard. "I'm not sure of his floo address, but I'm sure you can get it if you floo The Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole."
"Charlie Weasley, Burrow." The Professor repeated, "who else?"
"The next is a man named Rubeus Hagrid, usually just goes by the name of Hagrid." Harry stifled another yawn, "he teaches 'Care of Magical Creatures' at Hogwarts, and he has experience with dragons. Try flooing Hogwarts to get in contact with him."
"Hagrid at Hogwarts," the Professor agreed. "Anyone else?"
"One more thing," Harry struggled to keep his focus. "How good is Henchgirl at brewing potions?"
"One of the best," the Professor answered immediately. "Why?"
"They might need some help with potions, and I'd rather have someone I trust providing it." Harry answered immediately. "Unless you can think of anything else, then I'm going to bed."
"Good night Mr. Black," the Professor smiled. "And goodbye."
"Goodbye." Harry replied.
"Henchgirl, Henchgirl." The Professor screamed for his wayward assistant. "Where are you?"
"What?" Henchgirl looked surly, "I'm busy."
"Then I guess you don't want the chance to update your potions laboratory?" The Professor smirked, "I'm sorry for disturbing you."
"Talk," Henchgirl was in no mood for games. "I've been awake for the past three days and I was looking forward to some rest."
"Yes I'm well aware that you've received several back issues of 'Teen Witch Weekly' or some such . . ."
"It was 'Potions Quarterly,'" Henchgirl interrupted.
"But now is not the time to dwell on such things," the Professor ignored her. "Mr. Black feels that he may need some help from you with Potions, so I think that it may be a good idea to get anything that you might conceive of needing."
"After I sleep," Henchgirl nodded. "Nothing can start happening for a few hours anyway, and I shouldn't be working until I get some rest."
"Quite right," the Professor nodded. "I didn't want to spring it on you later with no warning."
"Good night," Henchgirl yawned and went off in the direction of the bed.
"Good night," the Professor replied as he walked toward the fireplace. "Burrow."
"Yes?" A young red headed female answered the call, "can I help you?"
"I was hoping to speak with your brother," the Professor smiled. "I believe that they might be able to help me with a problem."
Not bothering to ask what brother the odd little man wanted, Ginny pulled her head out of the fireplace and called out.
"Fred, George, there's a strange man flooing you." After all, none of her 'normal' brothers would be getting a floo from such an odd little man.
"What can . . ." one twin began.
"We do for you?" the other finished.
"I am the Professor," the little man replied proudly. "And Mr. Black has asked me contact a man named Charlie Weasley about a problem in Hungary involving dragons."
"Mr. Black?" One twin asked in surprise.
"Charlie?" The other agreed. "We'll do what we can, do you have some way that Charlie can contact you?"
"Here," the Professor handed a small object through the flames. "There are directions engraved on the side, just tell him to call for the Professor."
"You . . ."
"Invented this?" Fred finished, "would you mind taking a look at . . ."
"Some of our work?" George smiled hopefully.
"I'm always happy to help out a pair of burgeoning inventors." The Professor smiled, handing through two more small objects. "Call me in a few day after everything has calmed down with the dragons."
"Thank . . ."
"You Professor"
"Any time," the Professor gave one last smile before ending the call.
OMAKE: Due to a spelling mistake that got caught. This takes place at some future part of the story and will be referenced if I remember it.
"Are you sure he's in there?" The group of death eaters regarded the old factory with suspicion, "and not just planning an ambush?"
"I'm sure," the old night watchman nodded. "He's in there and all alone, poor bastard won't stand a chance."
"Excellent," one of the death munchers smirked. "Mr. Black will die tonight."
"Whatever," the old night watchman shrugged. "Just pay me and be on your way."
"Oh we'll pay you alright," the assorted bad guys smirked. "Cruc . . ."
"And not with any o' dem spells either," the old man knocked the wand out of the way. "Gold or cash, don't take no checks."
"Fine," the death muncher muttered, digging through his pockets. "But I'll have you know that this goes against years of tradition."
"Cough it up," the old man held out his hand. "And be on your way."
It took several moments for the assorted death munchers to gather up enough gold to pay the old man.
"Thank you," the old man pocketed the gold. "And seeing as hows ya' paid without too much trouble . . . ah'm gonna give you some advice. If yous wanna get the jump on Mr. Black, ah'd advise you ta hide in the old bin fulla copper. He'll never suspect an ambush from there."
"Good job old man," the death eater gave an amateurish sneer. "And if your information is wrong."
"No, no, no." The old man shook his head. "You gotta do it like this. And if your information is wrong . . . see how I finished? The dramatic trailing off? Try it again."
"Like this?" The death eater cleared his throat. "And if your information is wrong . . ."
"Perfect," the old man nodded. "Now don't forget, bin fulla copper."
"We got it," the death eaters nodded.
"Dumb bastards," the old man muttered as he watched them run off. "Ah guess ah better give 'em a few minutes to get into place before ah hit the button."
The old man waited a few moments before he started up the old factory. The death eaters screamed as the bin full of copper scrap that they had been hiding in was dumped int a much larger crucible of melted copper. The next day, the workers that ran the old factory were shocked to discover that someone had completed several days work during the night in the form of several thousand feet of new copper cable.
"Ah should be tarred and feathered for that joke," the old man smirked. "Turning a Cabal of death eaters into a cable of death eaters, wonda if da Professor will buy the finished product. Ah well, if he don't ah'm sure that Mr. Black will get a laugh when he hears about this."