Three days flew by in no time. I said a warm goodbye to Luna, managed to catch up with the lads, and even popped by the salon for a trim.

Oddly enough, while I still loved fancy cars and working on them, the urge to actually do it professionally had faded—it was more of a hobby now. It lacked that feeling of magic. Even our battered old broom was connected to its owner’s magic, but here, with cars, it was just pure eye-candy and the pride of prestige. Guess I’m changing bit by bit, as Luna might say, choosing new things over the usual.

Ginny was thrilled that we’d all be going together. We left enchanted feeders for the pets, and Percy promised to keep an eye on Scabbers while I was away. So, nothing was holding us back.

We Flooed to the Ministry—straight into the arrival zone—and from there, a Portkey took us to Romania.

The trip was quick, but there was a bit of a jolt. Once there, they gave us universal translators and sent us via another portal to the Reserve, a small settlement where the staff lived.

It had been ages since I’d seen such beauty…

We were standing in a wide valley between two mountain slopes. Even now, in winter, there was a mix of snow and lush green pine forests, with lakes reflecting a cold, steely gleam.

The staff lived in a quaint old-fashioned village. No big hotels here—tourists stayed in little lodges with about five to seven people each, and the owners would double as tour guides. Strangers weren’t common in these parts.

We stayed with Charlie. His little bachelor pad was right by the forest—a small place, just two cozy rooms and a tiny kitchen. Visiting each other wasn’t really the done thing here. Everyone gathered in the local tavern in the evenings for a glass of apple liqueur and some grilled meat.

It’s embarrassing to say, but I’d never eaten so much in my life! The food was sort of like Russian cuisine, especially the soups and pastries, so I really went to town on it.

Surprisingly, it was much cheaper to use British pounds than Galleons.

The exchange rate was about the same as Galleons to pounds—one to five. But while Galleons wouldn’t get me much here, pounds were a different story. So, I treated myself to some souvenirs. I even bought myself… a broom!

The “Moonlight” wasn’t a speedster like the Nimbus, but it looked solid and was one of the most reliable models around. The best bit—it was brand new and all mine. There’s something satisfying about holding something you bought with your hard-earned cash.

Unfortunately, I could only exchange up to a hundred pounds per person, otherwise, I’d have set up a whole operation where I’d send Charlie pounds and he’d ship me stuff that was dirt cheap here.

Charlie had planned to give me his broom, but since I’d bought my own, he gifted it to Ginny. He’d just bought himself a new one—a “Silversweep,” specifically designed for working on the reserve. It looked sturdier, was better against spells, and more resistant to magical interference—dragons are magical creatures, after all.

We weren’t allowed into the dragon reserve itself. The security was intense, with charms like you’d see on a military base—even Charlie had to use a special artifact-pass to get in for work.

But there was no time to be bored. We visited a viewing platform where we got a look at real dragons through special binoculars. They weren’t the fifteen-meter giants that live in isolation far off behind the magical barrier, but seven-meter youngsters raised in an incubator and fed on the plateau to give tourists a show.

From a distance, they looked like a pack of hungry vultures, tearing at their prey and squabbling over the scraps. They must have been shrieking something fierce, but we couldn’t hear it from behind the barrier.

Then we visited a breeding farm and watched Romanian Longhorn dragon eggs hatching. First, we were taken inside and sprayed with some sort of cold mist to make sure we didn’t carry in any diseases—or catch anything ourselves.

Touching the hatchlings was off-limits, of course—we just walked down a bright, wide corridor, where each side had panoramic, magic-reinforced glass. In each enclosure, one egg lay in a box. The magical fire never went out, day or night, and a staff member came in twice a day to turn them.

In another room, magically enlarged and made to look like a forest corner, the little dragons were frolicking, though they mostly just slept. Each dragon had its own space—even the little ones were solitary and didn’t tolerate competition. Hagrid was right—they really were adorable.

We also visited the dragon museum, where we heard an interesting lecture. The best part was a massive skeletal structure in the centre that transformed into different dragons as the lecture went on. It breathed fire, moved, and growled—looked shockingly real. Hard to believe such massive creatures actually exist.

There were lighted pathways on the floor so we could get close to this beast without accidentally getting smacked by a swinging head or flapping wing.

As we left, they gave us each a magical photo—it looked like we were standing between the forelegs of a real dragon. I got mine with a Hungarian Horntail and bought everyone mini dragon figurines that looked like they were alive. Just like something out of a book.

On our last day, they took us to a show.

In an arena about half a football field in size, a team of dragon tamers simulated a dragon hunt. Now I understood why you had to know how to fly to work at the reserve.

The blokes flew as fast as professional Quidditch players, coordinating their spell-casting as they charged at the dragon. It was a team effort, each one trusting the other and working without words—no place for a lone wolf here.

But Charlie’s job was less brutal; he didn’t kill dragons. He monitored the population and scouted for unregistered specimens. Each team had at least three security officers, a tracker, two dragon slayers, a biologist, and a magizoologist—like my brother.

The reserve housed eleven dragon species, though they only bred the local variety—it had nearly been wiped out for its horns. Researchers and observers came from all over the world. Never thought it’d be such a serious international organization.

I was surprised to learn that there’s also a dragon reserve in Britain, over in West Wales. Not nearly as varied as this one, mind you, but they do have Welsh Greens and Antipodean Opaleyes. The Opaleye was stunning—a white beauty with sculpted wings and peculiar, colorful eyes, graceful as anything. It reminded me of Luna, so I picked up a little figurine of it as a gift. Hope she’ll like it.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Time just flew by, honestly, and we didn’t even set foot outside the reserve. Didn’t see any towns, castles, nothing. Our Portkey only worked for the Reserve, so we couldn’t leave the grounds. But all good things come to an end, and soon enough, we headed home. Here’s hoping Charlie sends me an invite for summer, like he promised. Pretty sure I’ve got my career sorted now.

I spent the rest of the holiday with Luna. Dad added one of his own concealment charms to my broom—he’s already tried it out on the car. So now I flew over to the Lovegoods' instead of cycling.

Dad’s car came out amazing. There were magical walnut wood inserts on the steering wheel, dash, doors, even the gear stick. The interior was done up in leather from young Highland cattle. Really looked sharp and posh. Must be Dad’s first proper gift to himself in twenty years, and probably a secret from Mum. I mean, he didn’t have a son working at a garage in the book, did he? And now it made sense why he kept asking me so many questions.

Shame wizards are banned from using Muggle tech. Even the Malfoys would probably go for a magical car—just a top-of-the-line one, naturally.

Instead of all the regular Muggle dials, he put in an altitude indicator, compass, climate control, invisibility switch, cruise control, and autopilot. It even had something like a magical sat-nav for setting up a route, storing it in memory, and adding up to five stops along the way. And the best bit: if you left it somewhere, it’d automatically head back to the garage after an hour.

Honestly, I never guessed Dad had this much talent.

I didn’t have time to poke around too much in the car, though we did take it for a spin. After some well-placed persuasion, he enchanted my broom for me.

Luna liked her gift—a quick little kiss on the cheek to show it. She named the little dragon Ley and carried him everywhere. Or rather, he climbed onto her shoulder and rode along, even trying to bite me and shove Fluffy off her other shoulder. Crafty little beast, too—it charged from its owner’s magic, but if she didn’t touch it for a while, it’d turn back into a regular figurine.

I took Luna for a short ride on the broom, though it wasn’t long because, even with climate control, it doesn’t stop the wind. We decided to save flights for the summer. I also tied the broom to myself so no one else could pick it up—simple anti-theft charm, but not everyone bothers. They say it takes away a bit of speed, but it’s not like I’ll be racing.

Going back to Hogwarts wasn’t the most exciting thought. Felt like I wanted to be an adult already, doing something interesting—working at the reserve, maybe. Bit tired of the usual school routine. But at least now I know what to focus on, and there’s no getting out of it for Flitwick. Then I’ll definitely try for the Quidditch team—best recommendation you could ask for to land a job like that.

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Hermione and I took the train back together, and she spent half the trip chattering away. She’d been skiing with her parents. Didn’t learn to ski well, mind you, but apparently there was a lot to see.

She liked the Hebridean Black I’d brought her, though she clearly hadn’t expected a gift and looked a bit uncertain at first. She relaxed a bit once Neville, Seamus, and Dean joined us, as they each got one, too.

Neville was practically in awe of his Chinese Fireball and kept flinching every time it breathed a puff of fire. Seamus and Dean, though, started a battle between the Ukrainian Ironbelly and Welsh Green. I’d saved the Peruvian Vipertooth for Harry.

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Harry was waiting in an emerald-green, hand-knit jumper. Mine’s the same but in gray. Back in autumn, I asked Mum to make mine in gray or black and plain—no letters, thanks; I know my own name by now.

He was thrilled to see us. Kept busy enough during the day, but being alone in the dorm at night gets a bit lonely and, well, a bit scary, really. But loads had happened to him over the break, which he was eager to tell us all about.

Hagrid had given him a homemade flute, Hermione brought him a box of Chocolate Frogs, I gave him a bunch of Muggle sweets, and an anonymous “someone” gifted him an Invisibility Cloak with a note saying, Use it wisely. We spent ages trying to figure out who it could be.

During the Christmas feast, Harry found all sorts in his crackers, including a chess set. Since then, we’d had a game before bed every night.

Oh, and the daft bloke snuck into the restricted section in the library. Nearly got eaten by a book that bites! Didn’t think to bring a charmed torch, ended up smashing a lamp in a panic, setting off screaming charms, and almost got caught by Filch and then Snape. But now, of course, he was treating it all like a brilliant adventure.

“And I found a magic mirror, too,” he said with a sigh, “and saw my parents.”

“Mmm... sorry, but aren’t your parents…?” Hermione began delicately before trailing off as she caught my warning look.

“Yes, Voldemort killed them,” Harry nodded. “But the mirror showed them as if they were alive… just, you know, without talking. But they hugged me and ruffled my hair,” he said, brightening up a bit.

“Erm… Harry,” Hermione interjected, probably picturing it, “I think maybe you shouldn’t go back to that mirror. It sounds a bit… dodgy. I don’t get why they’d keep something like that in a school?”

“Well, I’m not going back there anyway,” Harry said, looking glum. “They took it somewhere else, and Dumbledore made me promise I wouldn’t try to find it.”

“Would you have gone looking?” I asked, relieved the mirror was hidden before Harry could drag me off to see it.

“I felt drawn to it,” Harry admitted, ruffling his hair nervously. “But since I promised…”

“What else did Dumbledore say?” Hermione asked, beating me to it. “And how did he even end up there?”

“Well, he’s odd, Dumbledore is,” Harry replied after a pause, like he was gathering his thoughts. “When I went the third time, he was already there, just invisible. And he knew about my cloak. Told me the mirror would be moved and that I shouldn’t go looking for it. And if I did stumble across it, I should be ready and not let it mess with my head. Said we’re meant to live in the present, not cling to the past. And when I asked him what he saw in it, he told me… woolly socks, ‘cause he never gets any as gifts. Do you reckon I should get him a pair next Christmas, Ron?” he asked me, completely serious.

“Go for it, can’t hurt. Even if he was having you on,” I replied. “Get some when you’re out shopping for yourself, yeah? I know a good shop where they’ve got nice clothes. You could use some new stuff yourself, mate.”

“Pointless getting me new things,” Harry waved it off. “My aunt’s always whinging that I’m hard on clothes.”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re Muggle clothes, you daft sod,” I chuckled. “You’ve noticed I don’t throw some of my things in the school laundry, right? Do ‘em myself. And even so, I’ve only worn this new jumper four times, and it’s already got pulls, the shape’s gone off, and some of the seams on my shirts are coming apart.”

“Professor McGonagall showed me a clothes shop straight away,” Hermione chimed in. “But I thought it was just school policy, like we all had to wear the same brand. Now I get why I…” she trailed off, suddenly going red, then started rummaging in her bag, looking flustered.

“Hagrid didn’t say a word to me,” Harry said, surprised. “Ron, can you get new glasses, too? Maybe they break all the time because of magic?”

“You can order them by owl post,” I replied. “Just borrow Percy’s catalog. The lenses adjust to your eyesight automatically; all you need to do is pick the frame.”

“I’d like to keep them round,” Harry said, looking a bit sheepish. “My dad had ones like that.”

“They’ll send whatever you want,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

‘Also makes it the official look of The Boy Who Lived,’ I thought to myself.

Three days later, Harry’s new glasses arrived by owl post—same round shape, but brand new, enchanted to be damage-proof and water-repellent. I asked him for the old pair for Ginny since he was just going to chuck them.

He looked a bit embarrassed, but not surprised—he’s used to being a bit of a celebrity. Ginny, by the way, was over the moon and sent me two whole rolls of parchment gushing about it. I always knew I was a decent brother, but hearing I’m “the best one ever” was a first!