Man of Archives

Returning to my room was simple and uneventful. I apparated back and then calmly went to eat. As for the car, I disintegrated it into sand over the desert, with no intention of retrieving it.

 

Honestly, after the fight, I lost any desire to stay here longer than originally planned. The journey must continue. There was a rational basis for this too—absorbing and processing the memories of those four men suggested that staying could be dangerous. I didn’t want to attract more attention from Bolshanov.

 

Their spells were intriguing, from a completely different school of magic, but I wouldn’t say they were more advanced than those I already knew. Sure, I learned the passwords to a few bearer accounts, who to approach for certain matters, and where they hid their belongings.

 

Finding a rental apartment was incredibly easy. Afterward, I retrieved everything of magical importance from there. Naturally, everything needed to be secured against spells targeting thieves, distraction barriers, and more. They had set up some protections, but with their memories and experience, the problem was manageable.

 

There was one more issue: Andrei Bolshanov. Even if I hide, I’m certain he won’t forget about me. This means I’ll have to deal with this unwanted attention somehow. Based on what I gleaned from the memories, the Slavykstan families are entangled in countless intrigues. Slavykstan is what they call their country. Some of the schemes these young assassins were involved in could create major problems for the Bolshanov family if the information reached the right people. And who better than me to arrange that?

 

In the magical district of Cairo, which isn’t much different from Diagon Alley, I bought several vials to store their memories. I then sent all the incriminating evidence via magi-muggle mail to various addresses. I felt a sense of relief afterward. There’s truth in the saying: “Do something nasty, and you'll feel fantastic.”

 

For the rest of the week, anyone observing me might have thought I was slacking off, doing nothing. But that wasn’t the case. I was analyzing the books I had stored earlier. Two slots were constantly occupied while I rested. Day and night, everything progressed smoothly. My only breaks were for food, hygiene, and the pool.

 

I also started testing the “Super-Analysis” function. Here’s the thing: its capabilities depend on how many books I’ve already analyzed. I realized this as soon as I activated it. It began analyzing all the books I had processed so far. The estimated completion time was twenty-three days. I don’t know what the result will be or how I’ll react, but it definitely won’t be a dud. Twenty-three days is a long time, so I’ll focus on it when I’m in a safer place. That’s why I paused the function and returned to normal analysis.

 

It seems more practical to finish analyzing all the books before starting the Super-Analysis. I haven’t forgotten that I can go to Zurich and access one of the best libraries on Transfiguration for a month.

 

Lately, I’ve been thinking about my next destination, and the choice came quickly and easily. Kangphu-Kang, on the border between Nepal and Tibet, is not just a mountain. It’s significant because, at its peak, lies the Eagle’s Nest. The Eagle’s Nest is renowned as the site where the head of the International Confederation of Wizards is inaugurated. There’s also a magical village at its base where rare goods are sold, and interesting people can be encountered.

 

Why go there? I want to tap into the knowledge stored in the Eagle’s Nest. With my Archive ability, it feels like the right decision. Additionally, increasing my download speed would be useful. It’s also the only school that teaches wandless magic.

 

After absorbing the memories of four more wizards, I felt I was nearing some kind of barrier. If it weren’t for Arkad, I’d still have some waiting to do. But after him and the wizards, I realized I’m just a step away from casting without a wand. That’s why I want to go there. Maybe I’ll meet someone else along the way—who knows. My life has become too unpredictable to make any firm predictions.

 

Reaching Kangphu-Kang requires some travel. From Pharaonata, I can use the Floo Network to reach the Indian Ministry of Magic in Mumbai. From there, I can make my way to the village near the Eagle’s Nest.

 

With this plan in mind, I began preparing for the journey, savoring the last moments of warm sunshine.

 

“Are you leaving us already?” asked the receptionist, the same woman who had checked me in. “Or perhaps you'd like to extend your stay?”

 

“No, it’s time for me to move on,” I replied. “My lovely vacation in Egypt has come to an end.”

 

“Then I wish you a pleasant journey and all the best,” she said kindly.

 

“Thank you.”

 

The first problem I encountered was that the Floo Network in Mumbai operates very infrequently and only in emergencies. In all other cases, travelers are directed to purchase Portkeys, which aren’t cheap. Since I hadn’t thought ahead or asked about this beforehand, I wouldn’t be able to reach India.

 

For me, that meant it was time to pull out a map and look for other options. Sitting in the Pharaonata, I began studying it. Soon, I felt someone sit down near me. Glancing at him, I noticed he was dressed rather inappropriately for the local weather. His thick black mustache drew more attention than the small scar on his forehead. He seemed to want to speak but didn’t know how to start—or which language to use.

 

“Good afternoon,” I said, deciding to make it easier for him. “Can I help you?”

 

“Oh, I see monsieur is interested in travel,” he said in French, his eyes lighting up with hope that I spoke the language. Lucky for him, I do.

 

“That’s right,” I nodded. “I’m contemplating my next destination.”

 

“I understand,” the man nodded. “That heavy burden of choice, where two rams can’t cook in one pot. But I have an offer for you.”

 

“What kind of offer?” I asked.

 

“A very good offer,” he began. “I have a Portkey I can’t use because certain important matters have come up.”

 

“And where does this Portkey go?” I asked. The man hesitated.

 

“Astana,” he finally said.

 

“Where’s that?” He pointed to a country called "Kazakhstan"—a pretty large country, honestly.

 

“And how much will this Portkey cost?” I asked.

 

“Two hundred galleons,” the man replied.

 

“I won’t pay more than a hundred,” I said, cutting the price in half. I sensed from his thoughts that he was desperate to sell it quickly, or he’d lose the money he’d paid for the artifact.

 

“Merlin’s beard!” He clutched his chest and muttered something under his breath, comparing me to a goat in his thoughts. “Fine, that price works for me.”

 

He pulled out a horseshoe. It was indeed a Portkey.

 

I quickly handed him a check for a hundred galleons and took the horseshoe. It wasn’t heavy, but not exactly light either.

 

“What’s the activation phrase?”

 

“Menıñ atymdy aparıp ber,” he said slowly, pronouncing each sound carefully. “It means, ‘Take me, my horse!’”

 

“Interesting,” I replied. “When do I need to activate it?”

 

“In three hours,” he said, glancing at his watch. “After that, the Portkey will deactivate.”

 

I spent the next hour practicing the phrase. I didn’t want anything to go wrong because of a mispronounced word. That would be more than just bad—disastrous. Magic doesn’t tolerate such small mistakes.

 

“You’re doing great,” the man nodded approvingly. “When you arrive, look for Bekshempir Bakhituly. He’s my older brother and will gladly welcome you.”

 

“What should I tell him? How will he know you sent me?”

 

“Tell him you’re from Balta Bakhituly,” he said with a casual wave. “That’s my name.”

 

“Nice to meet you then,” I chuckled. “I’m Timothy Jodie.”

 

He shook my hand firmly, then got up and went about his business, leaving me with the horseshoe in my hand. A few checks confirmed it was indeed an artifact and wouldn’t harm me.

 

Arriving in a new country where I don’t know the language at all would make communication difficult. On the other hand, I had absorbed Bolshanov and the attackers. That definitely gave me some new language knowledge.

 

Two hours later, I moved to the designated area for using Portkeys. An Egyptian nearby gave me a bored glance before returning to whatever he was doing, not particularly interested in people leaving the country.

 

“Menıñ atymdy aparıp ber!” I recited.

 

In the next moment, I was pulled into a vortex of magical energy. Since the distance was significant, the journey took a bit longer than I was used to.

 

After about ten minutes, I was hurled back into real space. I conjured something like air-steps to descend to the ground smoothly. A few people glanced at me curiously before continuing on their way. Likely wizards, they must see this kind of thing almost every day.

 

As I gently landed, I was surprised by the chill in the air. Not quite as cold as a Scottish winter, but a stark contrast to Egypt’s warmth. With a quick flick of my wand, I wrapped myself in warmer clothes.

 

A group of wizards immediately began moving toward me, their demeanor anything but welcoming. Strange, I thought.

 

“***!” the first wizard muttered. He was dressed in simple clothes, almost like a uniform, with a few stripes and a peculiar cap on his head. “Do you understand me?”

 

His final sentence was in a language I recognized from the memories of the men who had attacked me.

 

“Yes,” I responded, surprised at how strange it felt to hear myself speak it, especially with a noticeable accent.

 

“Good,” the man nodded. “So, who are you here to see?”

 

“Bekshempir Bakhituly,” I replied, recalling the name the Portkey seller had mentioned.

 

“Ah, I see,” the man said. “Do you want me to take you there, or will you find your way?”

 

“I’d prefer to be shown the way,” I answered quickly. I could find it myself, of course, but if someone offers help, why not take it? There’s no harm in that. After all, if someone asked me for help with something reasonable, I’d be happy to assist.

 

“Zhіbek!” he called out to someone.

 

Seconds later, a near replica of the man appeared—same uniform, just younger and shorter. The boy looked at me with wide, curious eyes.

 

“***, *** Bekshempir Bakhituly,” the man said to him.

 

“***,” the boy replied in the same language.

 

“You can follow Zhіbek,” the man said. “He’ll take you to the right house. It’s not far from here.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

The boy waved for me to follow him. As soon as we moved away, I sensed someone tailing us. The stalker’s thoughts were filled with curiosity—wondering who I was and why I had come here. There was also concern for the boy’s safety.

 

Wizards we passed eyed me with concealed curiosity but made no attempt to engage. I wasn’t planning to start a conversation either. I simply followed Zhіbek.

 

We soon arrived at a small, well-built house. The boy knocked on the door, and we waited. A short man with glasses and a small beard opened it, scanning me with sharp eyes before addressing the boy.

 

“***?” he asked.

 

After the boy responded, the man turned to me. “What brings you here?”

 

“A man named Balta Bakhituly suggested I come,” I said calmly.

 

“Tsk,” the man clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. “And what’s he done now?”

 

“Nothing too serious,” I shrugged. “I bought a Portkey from him, and he advised me to seek you out.”

 

“Do you know what he did?” the man asked. “He ran away from his wedding! May he be cursed.”

 

I said nothing. Family traditions are not something I care to get involved in.

 

“Well, fine,” Bekshempir sighed. “If he sent you to me, I wouldn’t be myself if I turned you away from my door. Zhіbek, ***.”

 

The boy nodded and quickly ran off to do his chores.

 

“Come in,” the man invited me inside.

 

The house was spacious but simple. A few paintings, a large dining table, and another table with several books—that was all. Oh, and a small figurine of a horse. I followed him to the living room, the richest part of the house.

 

The floor was covered with a carpet featuring an interesting pattern. Cushions were scattered around an empty space in the center. Through a second door came a short woman with her head covered by a white scarf.

 

“This is my wife, Balshaker,” Bekshempir introduced her. She bowed slightly. “And you are...?”

 

“Timothy Jodie,” I introduced myself. I probably should have done so earlier—didn’t want to seem impolite.

 

“Please, sit, Timothy,” Bekshempir said, gesturing to the floor.

 

No need to ask me twice. A small feast began, during which I got to know the host and his wife better, and they learned more about me. Bekshempir turned out to be a well-known local magical healer. Besides his regular medical practice, he also taught at the local School of Magic. His wife, Balshaker, grew herbs and brewed potions—skills highly valued in the local magical community. I shared some of my own achievements, though I kept the details of my travels brief.

 

I learned more about the city, as I was curious if there were any interesting places. It turns out there were, such as a large Arabic cemetery and a magical alley where goods from both the north and south could be found. The alley was small, with only about ten shops and a branch of the local bank, but it was enough for their needs.

 

From the conversation, I gathered that the local magical community wasn’t as centralized as in Europe. Instead, they were more scattered across vast lands, and if someone wanted to trade with others, they would send a special caravan for that purpose.

 

Caravans were quite popular here, as they transported resources from the north that couldn’t be carried in magically expanded bags, by Portkey, or via Apparition. These resources had to be delivered by hand. Caravans traveled from somewhere in the north, through Kazakhstan, to Guangzhou in China. Astana was one of the major relay points, where caravan guards were recruited. The local roads were crawling with magical creatures that often attacked ordinary people and consistently targeted caravans, eager to seize magical resources.

 

Why were there so many magical creatures, and why were they so abundant in this land? The answer is simple. While Europe fought goblins, the battles here were between tribes, hordes, and clans, using the most brutal rituals and spells to secure victory. Wars were fought over resources and control of trade routes. It’s a complex history.

 

“They pay quite well for guarding the caravans,” Bekshempir said. “You see the world, earn some money, and get involved in interesting things. Why not? What do you think?”

 

I pondered for a moment. This could be incredibly useful for me, and I’d love to try my hand at it. After all, I have plenty of skills that could come in handy in all sorts of situations. Moreover, gaining some renown would be beneficial.

 

“How much would I earn for such work?” I asked. “Roughly.”

 

“Well,” he thought for a moment. “It depends on your skills, knowledge, and how intense the attacks on the caravan are. Some make up to five hundred galleons for a single journey. The highest recorded pay was over a thousand, but that was for a particularly tough trip with heavy losses among the wizards.”

 

“Is that so?” I was intrigued. “And when does the next caravan leave?”

 

“One leaves tomorrow at six in the morning,” he replied. “The next one is in about a month and a half. I know because I’ll be quite busy for the next few days, tending to the guards who arrived with the caravan.”

 

I have a feeling that if I join this caravan, something big and terrible will happen, causing many to lose their lives. If I don’t go, nothing will happen. The question now is: am I willing to risk others' lives for the sake of potential danger and experience?

 

Why not? Risk is part of life. Besides, the caravan members know they might be attacked, so they should be prepared for the possibility of death.

 

“If I wanted to join this caravan, would I be able to?”

 

“I can ask and introduce you to the leader,” Bekshempir shrugged. “He’s an old friend. But it’ll depend on you. I won’t put my reputation on the line for you.”

 

That was fair, and I didn’t blame him. We barely knew each other. I wouldn’t risk my reputation for someone either if I didn’t know how they would perform.

 

“If you’d like,” he added after a moment.

 

“Why not,” I nodded.

 

“Then let’s go right now,” he said. “They’ll give you a spot to sleep for the night. You’ve just come from Egypt, after all.”

 

Indeed, I hadn’t arranged any sleeping accommodations yet. I still had my tent, though, so I could sleep anywhere if needed.

 

As we stepped outside, I noticed the sun was already beginning to set. Following him was easy, though I could tell from his brisk, firm steps that he wanted to wrap this up quickly.

 

After about seven minutes, we arrived at a small house, outside of which several large trucks and a few jeeps were parked. The jeeps were painted dark green with a few stripes, and the trucks practically radiated magical energy. A few wizards stood nearby, watching us with interest. I only noticed them by the subtle magical vibrations they emitted.

 

“Wait here,” Bekshempir said, nodding toward a bench.

 

I sat down and waited calmly, closing my eyes for a moment. Sensing the interest of the other wizards was easy, but I didn’t react. They posed no threat to me—not because I’m overconfident, but because none of them had the mental defenses necessary to block me. Let’s just say... only one of them had minimal natural protection, while the others had none at all. If they all attacked me, I could wipe their minds clean with ease.

 

About ten minutes later, Bekshempir came out of the house with another man—a tall figure with a long mustache. He wore a tall black wool hat, covering his head but leaving some light hair exposed. His robe was held together by a black belt, and a small dagger hung at his side.

 

“So, you're the one who wants to join us?” he asked loudly, trying to intimidate me with his gaze. But his attempt at pressure didn’t affect me.

 

“Yes, I am,” I nodded. “Timothy Jodie,” I added, extending my hand.

 

The other wizards, who had been watching me with interest under invisibility spells, began revealing themselves. They looked a bit haughty, as if debating whether or not to accept me into their group.

 

The man eyed my hand suspiciously but didn’t move to shake it. I retracted it, much to his smug satisfaction. Yeah, yeah, big boss.

 

“My friend Bekshempir tells me you're a Master of Transfiguration,” he began. “But aren’t you a bit young for that?”

 

“Maybe, but I’m talented,” I replied, showing him my ring. But he didn’t seem to recognize its significance. Clear enough.

 

“Fine, I’ll give you a spot in the truck,” he said. “But you’ll sleep in your own tent. Meals with the group. Pay is two hundred galleons. What do you say?”

 

“That sounds fair,” I nodded.

 

In truth, I didn’t care much about the money, especially since it wasn’t a lot for me. Two hundred galleons is no small sum, but still.

 

“And what if we’re attacked?” I asked.

 

“We’ll talk about that if it happens,” he said curtly.

 

On the other hand… this place isn’t exactly a pleasant living situation. I have a map that shows my current location; I can reach the Eagle’s Nest on my own, even if I have to fly on a broomstick. What’s a bit of broom travel compared to staying here with unpleasant people? Honestly, even traveling with decent Muggles would be better.

 

“Two hundred galleons isn’t a small sum, kid,” Bekshempir sighed.

 

The moment money becomes more important to me than anything else, that’s when I stop being a wizard. I can live without money—I have enough knowledge and skills to do that.

 

“You know, I’ve decided I’m not interested in joining after all,” I said, looking straight into the leader’s mind.

 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged and turned sharply, leaving me standing there. Bekshempir gave me a disapproving look, shaking his head. He wasn’t happy with this turn of events either, but I no longer cared.

 

The guards’ thoughts became far more hostile, as they were also displeased with my decision—not because I refused to work, but because they felt I had insulted them by doing so.

 

“We need to find you a place to sleep,” Bekshempir muttered.

 

“No need to worry about that,” I smirked. “I can take care of myself.”

 

I pulled out my wand and disappeared from the sight of all the wizards around me. Had any of them possessed decent mental defenses, they might have detected me. But as it stood, I was dealing with the magical equivalent of sixth-year Hogwarts students and a healer.

 

I transformed into a bird and flew out of the city, searching for a place to rest where I could plan my next move. Lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been drifting aimlessly, and it’s time to start paving my own path.

 

As soon as I flew far enough from the magical district, a brutal chill hit me. The temperature was far below freezing—I could feel it immediately. I quickly landed on the roof of a tall building and returned to my human form, casting several warming spells on myself.

 

The gusts of wind made flying difficult, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t use a broom. On second thought, though, it wasn’t worth the risk. The broom could ice up, damaging its quality and possibly breaking it. And, of course, I lacked the skills to craft a new one. It seemed I’d have to descend and travel on foot like an ordinary person.

 

Along the way, I transfigured my clothing to blend in with the locals. To be honest, I hadn’t expected it to be this cold. Staying in Egypt a little longer wouldn’t have been so bad—maybe I should’ve gone to see the Sphinx.

 

There weren’t many people around, though I did see a few. They were wrapped in layers, making it hard to see their faces. Not that I was interested in looking at them anyway. There was no point.

 

Before I even realized it, I had stepped out of the city limits. It was a strange sensation—one moment, there were buildings, and the next, everything abruptly disappeared, leaving only snow, cold, and a few scattered trees. No, I definitely preferred warmer climates.

 

So, south it is. But for now, I’ll rest.

 

A dozen spells later, I had sectioned off a small space from the outside world. Then, with another dozen spells, I packed the snow down and cast protective and repelling charms. Once everything was prepared, I pitched my tent and built a large, warming fire. Soon, a kettle appeared on it, along with some metal rods for grilling meat.

 

As I ate, I thought about my next method of travel. If I couldn’t transform into a bird or Apparate because I didn’t know the destination, had no Portkey, and had no access to the Floo Network, I’d need another way. I know how to create golems, so why not make a golem out of ice and snow and use it as a draft animal? It wouldn’t be the worst idea.

 

As I lay down on my bed inside the tent, another thought struck me—why go through the trouble of creating a golem? I could just transfigure an animal and ride it to my destination. The animal wouldn’t tire, wouldn’t need food, and wouldn’t stop until I said so. The fastest animal is a cheetah, and if I increased its size and modified its form, its speed and my comfort would improve.

 

So, once again, why not?

 

Driven by curiosity, I went outside and began transfiguring the animal I needed. First, I created an ordinary cheetah and made it run around. Gaining confidence in my plan, I began enlarging the animal. By the end of my transfiguration experiment, the cheetah had become much larger and heavier. It was now the size of a large horse, which enhanced its speed. Next, I modified it to add harnesses for holding a rider. The first few attempts weren’t very successful.

 

After several more tries, I changed my approach, and by the tenth attempt, I had created a comfortable saddle that wouldn’t fall off during the animal’s fast movements. Night had long fallen, but I wasn’t about to give up. The itch of creation wouldn’t go away.

 

The next step was testing how well I could stay in the saddle. A bit more magic, and everything worked harmoniously. Satisfied, I returned to my dinner and tea.

 

Once I’d finished eating, I quickly packed up camp and stored everything in my bag. A few spells later, nature had reclaimed the area. I mounted my transfigured cheetah, now the size of a horse, and cast a sticking charm to keep myself securely attached to the saddle. Then, I cast several protective charms and signaled the animal to move.

 

The transfigured cat bolted in the indicated direction, steadily gaining speed. Feeling the powerful muscles moving beneath me was quite an experience. The animal kept running as I allowed myself to drift off to sleep.

 

When I woke up, the cheetah was still running. Slowing it down, I was pleased to notice that the weather had changed—it was much warmer now. Still below freezing, but not as harsh as Astana. I stopped the cheetah and took a moment to stretch before pulling out the map to check my location. I was now just outside a small mountain range near the city of Bishkek. Not bad progress.

 

It was better to go around the mountains, which meant I’d have to backtrack a little and then follow the road between the villages of Sosnovka and Suusamyr. That’s exactly what I did, covering the distance in just over two hours. Now, I had to plan the rest of the route, as Kyrgyzstan, the country I was in, had different geographical features to navigate.

 

After a quick meal break, I studied the map to plan my next steps. My next target was the village of Naryn, which I chose because no other settlements were shown on the map. I was sure that if I asked the locals, they’d tell me there were other towns along the way, and I’d believe them. I reached Naryn in a little over two hours.

 

As I suspected, it was a small, somewhat desolate village. Of course, there were people here, but not enough to create any sense of a crowd. After walking a few kilometers out of the village, I built another fire and started preparing lunch.

 

I pulled out a two-way mirror to contact Nymphadora. It should be around eight in the morning in London. She was probably already up.

 

Knocking on the mirror, I waited. About three minutes later, the slightly sleepy face of the girl appeared.

 

“Hey, Nymphadora!” I greeted her. “Still asleep?”

 

“Hey, Timothy,” she yawned. “No, not anymore.”

 

“Day off?”

 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Finally a day off. I’m sick of all the constant training. But anyway… How are things with you?”

 

“Not bad,” I replied. “I’m in Kyrgyzstan right now.”

 

“Where’s that?” she asked, slightly surprised.

 

“A country north of China,” I answered.

 

“Oh, and how is it?”

 

“Cold,” I chuckled. “But overall, livable.”

 

She got up and adjusted her black hair. I immediately noticed she was still in her pajamas. Walking down the hallway from her room, she headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

 

As Nymphadora tidied herself, I unexpectedly caught a glimpse of her alluring chest. Let’s just say, that one look was enough to make my pants feel a little tighter.

 

“By the way, have you heard what’s going on at Hogwarts?” she asked.

 

“No,” I shook my head. “Anything interesting?”

 

“Oh, plenty!” she smirked. “A lot’s happened that I haven’t told you about. For instance, young Weasley, who stole his father’s car to fly it to school.”

 

“For what reason?” I asked.

 

“They say he wanted to impress some girl,” she shrugged. “Either his sister or someone else.”

 

“Hmph,” I chuckled. “I doubt it.”

 

“And Arthur Weasley got into a fight with Lucius Malfoy,” she added.

 

“Really?” I asked, surprised. I couldn’t quite picture Lucius, who prided himself as a pure-blood aristocrat, brawling with someone from the opposite end of the social spectrum. “And who won? Was it a duel?”

 

“They fought with fists, like Muggles in a bar,” she laughed. “It was quite the spectacle. Too bad I didn’t see it live, only heard about it from others.”

 

“Indeed,” I agreed. “I’d have liked to see that.”

 

“Oh, and for over half a year now, there’s been a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts.”

 

“And who is it?”

 

“Gilderoy Lockhart, the famous writer,” Nymphadora said.

 

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of him,” I nodded. “Though I’m not familiar with his works. Word is he was quite the professional from the Hunters’ Guild.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied, sounding doubtful. “Something’s off about him, to be honest.”

 

“Do you think something in his biography might be fake?”

 

“Yeah, he’s not listed in the guild’s records,” she shrugged. “Rumor has it the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is investigating the matter now.”

 

We chatted a bit more about various topics until it was time to say goodbye. Nymphadora blew me a kiss and went on her way. I too had to keep moving, so I extinguished the fire and climbed back onto my transfigured cheetah. It stood on its hind legs, mimicking a real animal, and dashed off in the direction I had indicated.