#book set in Albania

[girlinaswing]

My Bookish World Tour- EUROPE

13 done, 32 to go… Vatican CityCroatiaSan MerinoIcelandPolandLatviaLiechtensteinNetherlandsMaltaUnited KingdomBelarusPortugalAlbaniaRomaniaCzech RepublicMontenegroSerbiaIrelandBelgiumAndorraBosnia & HerzegovinaDenmarkEstoniaGreeceItalyLuxembourgFinlandSloveniaGermanyBulgariaSwedenRussiaNorwayTurkeyMoldovaLithuaniaHungaryMonacoSlovakiaUkraineNorth MacedoniaSwitzerlandAustriaSpainFrance

[ashesandhackles]

HP re-read: Goblet of Fire (Part 3)

Chapter 31,32, 33, 35,36,37

Harry hearing the trial is important because it deepens the seed in him for wanting to finish the war. He thinks about how it was Voldemort who had ripped Neville's parents away, and why BCJ went to Azkaban with his mother fainting and his father asking him to rot. His world has expanded.

Ron being a bb and being like how the extra jinxes they learnt is good training for them being Aurors. I love how childlike his assumption is that this is what the three of them will end up doing. Always the three of them against the world. <3

ooh Harry's initial shield charm is weak. Set up for when it gets stronger later in the series - it's one of the spells he uses in the final battle, one that protects Molly from Voldemort's wrath.

Sirius sending daily owls and then giving Harry a muddy paw print as a good luck card. I LOVE HIM.

Fudge apparently looking stern next to Maxime, and her eyes being "rather red" while Hagrid kept glancing at her from along the table. What a subtle way of telling us what happened here.

Cedric raising his wand to shower red sparks for Krum after being tortured by him. This is a good moment, because Cedric doesn't know Krum is under the Imperius, and he could have just let Harry do it. But he also raises his wand along with Harry, right after saying Krum would deserve being eaten by a passing Skrewt. Nice character work.

Harry politely asking the sphinx to move <3

the chapter really sets up its imagery: a dark overgrown graveyard, a church, a yew tree, an outline of an old house on the hillside. The yew, in particular, because its associated with Voldemort. (we also see baby! Voldemort being carried into this setting by Peter)

there is also something about Voldemort's father's house overlooking the rebirth at the graveyard - the above/below positioning of it all. Such a strong image.

"blank and expressionless as windows of a deserted house": as we note earlier, Avada Kedavra is a spell that releases the soul from its container. So this specific imagery of a deserted house - a body that no longer houses its soul is very eerie, very effective.

every image in this chapter is horrifying: Harry tied to Tom Snr's headstone, baby!Voldemort at his feet, Nagini circling the headstone.

Interesting what was Voldemort's understanding of why his father left his mother: "He didn't like magic, my father", "the fool who gave me his name - Tom Riddle". We know from HBP that he pieces together a story from Morfin's account of what happened - and he thinks it's his father who gave him the "ordinary" name. Even with Voldemort's hatred for his father, it is him Voldemort assumes an active role for, and not his mother. His negative feelings are directed against his father.

"may your loyalty never waver again Wormtail": Voldemort does gift giving and rewards with implied threats. XD

"one who I believe has left me forever, he will be killed of course" : Snape. I would kill for a conversation between Snape and Voldemort, when Snape comes in two hours late.

Peter convinces Bertha for a night time stroll. Where is Peter's adventures in Albania before he returns to Voldemort story? He has been quite busy.

Voldemort Villain monologues the entire chapter. He is so overt with his immortality hints that I am surprised baby Reg is one who catches on. Speaks to his and Sirius' upbringing a bit.

"and now, you face me like a man, straightbacked and proud" : the crumbs we get of James Potter's characterisation and how Harry uses this taunt later to empower himself to fight. ("he was going to die upright like his father")

James arms Harry with knowledge of what he must do, whereas Lily's role is more to offer him comfort (its the nature of the books. Lily gains a more stronger role in last 2 books, whereas the first 5, James is central to Harry's development)

Harry leaps over the cup (his means of escape) to get to Cedric's body first - all this with a broken leg. What a pure boy. It is not only the fact that Cedric asked him to, but because he has also witnessed the desecration of a dead body in the ritual. He recognises it as a violation.

BCJ's father wound pouring out of his monologue, and the need Voldemort fulfills or one BCJ hopes he would fulfill is that he will be closer than a son, that he will be singular, noteworthy and special among Death Eaters in a way he wasn't to his own father.

@dragonlordette talked about how BCJ! Moody was in tune with people's feelings and she is right: the careful way he manipulated Cedric, Dobby, and planted a book with Neville well in advance shows someone who watches, catalogues people's behaviour, so he knows which buttons to push.

Rowling planting Snape's loyalties here: she emphasises Snape's face in BCJ's Foe Glass both when three of them burst the door open and once again when he enters to survey the room.

Crouch's mother's love as a destructive force that enabled the rise of Voldemort when she broke her son out and took his place in Azkaban. (love as destructive force is a theme that series plays with both in good way and bad way - and more overtly in HBP)

I love how seamlessly Dumbles, McGonagall and Snape work together. When McGonagall is losing it over the Dementor's Kiss, Snape sarcastically explains what Fudge has done (" he seems to feel his personal safety was in question" Imao)

Sirius spends all year obsessing over a plot in the tournament and that someone is out to get Harry, and he sees Harry in this state, his suspicions are confirmed in worst possible way. His hand shakes when he helps Harry into a chair .

Harry drawing comfort from Fawkes. <3

Sirius, noticing how Harry was avoiding Dumbles eyes, harshly tells Dumbledore that Harry needs sleep <3

the "gleam of triumph" in Dumbles eyes that set off so many fan forums when GOF first came out.

Sirius gets so upset when Harry mentions how James asked him to escape, so for the first time in the whole meeting, his face is in his hands. (instead of Harry's shoulder) In Sirius' eyes, he failed to protect Harry and James' ghost saves Harry instead. It is a reminder of his failure.

also hilarious that no one besides Madam Pomfrey questions the presence of an emotional support dog. (also like the best emotional support dog in question, Sirius growls at Fudge for insinuating Harry's liar. I would love to hear the cussing out Sirius is giving him)

Snape makes a "sudden movement" when Lucius' name is mentioned. Snape's feelings for the Malfoy family, despite actively working against them, is complicated.

also how throughout the altercation between Dumbles and Fudge, Mrs Weasley had to keep a hand on Harry's shoulder to prevent him from rising.

Another person who has had enough of Fudge in the scene is Snape. Snape showing his Dark Mark to the Minister of Magic is legitimately one of my favourite moments of him in the series. It's a stand he is making - and in rereads, his loyalty and commitment is clear as day.

Harry wants Sirius to stay. I love that Harry actually asks for what he needs when it comes to Sirius. BB :heart:

"He had no memory of being hugged like this, as though by a mother" AHHHHHHH.

ah Cho crying when they raise a toast to Cedric upsets Harry. He looks down in response :(

Impassive face Hermione = Hermione who has just been kissed goodbye by Krum. (also that Harry isn't surprised when Ginny later reveals that they did indeed kiss)

Ron asking for Krum's autograph makes Hermione smile, and him assuring Fleur her english is good enough already makes her scowl The range of emotions she experiences in this scene.

Harry asks the twins to buy a different set of dress robes for Ron and say they are from them. Harry learns how to be careful and sensitive with Ron's feelings. What a sweetheart.

[daughterofyourdarklord]

Delphini gets given a diary by her uncle Lucius right before she leaves on the train to Hogwarts with the simple but profound statement 'it was your fathers'.

On the back in gold block capital lettering is the name 'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE'.

What happens next... ?

The pages are blank. Delphini may be young but she’s no fool. There is a wonderful magic that radiates from this empty book, its gilt page ends shimmering even in the darkness of Hogwart's dungeons. Delphini sleeps with it just beside her bed, she stares at it long into the night wondering when it might be safe to explore. 

Tom Marvolo Riddle. It sounds so wrong - plain. It couldn’t (shouldn’t) belong to her father. Still, her fingers trace the engraving constantly, a sense of familiarity comes every time she touches the leather. The pages are still blank. 

Dumbledore seems to have a set of eyes just for Delphini. She can feel his gaze tearing into her in the Great Hall - even when he’s not looking. Their magic is all over her, she knows that much, the traces of it obvious - dark. Dumbledore couldn’t possibly recognize that… could he? She suspects the Headmaster has a hunch, if there was any sort of proper evidence to go off of Delphini very much doubts she’d have been allowed past the castle gates. 

The pages are blank - until they are not. It is a dreary October afternoon when she finally allows herself to bring a Quill to the paper. She dates the corner, watching as the ink seeps into the paper. She waits. Nothing. 

‘Delphini Cassiopeia Black’. She writes it in large bold letters right in the center of the page. This quickly fades too and she feels a sense of frustration budding inside her. That’s it? It takes a moment before - ‘Is that so?’ - something writes back, the handwriting perfect. Delphini’s heart is in her throat. ‘For as long as I have been alive.’ She answers, sharing her birth date with the pages for good measure. ‘Not just a Black.’ It tells her. 

‘What is this magic?’ It’s a few days before she can muster up the courage to ask. She’s figured her father must’ve charmed the pages something fierce when he was young. That whatever is responding back to her is just the subset of a protection spell. Or that perhaps her magic is merely resonating with the bit of his that was left behind? Perhaps he even spelled the notebook in jest? To deter anyone who dare try to decipher the pages? Still, it feels much too powerful for the magic to simply be residual... ‘Not what - who.’ 

‘You are my father.’ She asks and tells it. There is memory to this magic, like a person - a soul. ‘How did you come to possess this diary, Delphini?’ 

‘So, you are still alive?’ They’ve been telling her as much but it has gotten harder and harder to believe as the years went on. ‘What can I do - how can I bring you back home?’ 

It takes time, but eventually she learns that He is somewhere in Albania and that, yes, He is very much alive. It’s after Hols that he instructs her down to the chamber. Delphini offers herself to him quickly, already so loyal, so ready to serve, so eager for His praise.

She meets the basilisk who quickly bends to the will of the heiress. It is almost strange, she spent her whole life only ever acknowledging herself as a Black, being the last in a long line of Salazar Slytherin's descendants certainly has its perks. The basilisk reminds her of herself - lonely, hiding.

Over summer they agree to keep the snake confined to the chamber - for now. Such sudden deaths would very quickly get Dumbledore's unwanted attention and Delphini has already explained to her father her concerns regarding the Headmaster. Turns out he very much shares in the sentiment.

Whatever piece of her father that lives within the pages refuses to take her life-source. ‘Find us someone we can manipulate, bring them here.’ It’s her first mission. 

It takes time, finding the perfect victim. Luckily, Delphini is well practiced in patience.

She terrorizes Neville Longbottom because she can. And why shouldn’t she? He makes it too easy and that look on his face is too hilarious. Still, witches and wizards would notice if he were to somehow turn up missing. She needs a mudblood, or perhaps someone even less relevant? It would be so much easier if her insipid half-blood cousin were still traipsing around the school. 

Delphini spends several nights a week in the chamber practicing magic at her father’s written instruction. It’s on her walking back one evening, when she is forced to duck into a nearby classroom to escape a Prefect, that she finds it. The classroom is quiet and Delphini even quieter, she turns readying her exit before startling immediately. It takes her a second to realize it’s her own reflection that frightened her, only.. It’s not just her. Delphini is mesmerized, she recognizes them instantly. Her father looks proud, her mother looks loving, they are exactly as she remembers them and strangers at the same time. 

She suggests they use Harry Potter. Two birds one stone, petty revenge and everything in-between. She hates the half-blood so much she can hardly even look at him but would revel in the chance to watch on as he chokes on his own blood. He deserves to suffer. 'The boy remains alive - for now.'

It takes time, and much more patience, but one day, her father sends the perfect victim straight to her. 

Professor Quirrell follows her down the wet and winding corridors, sputtering the whole way.

Finally. 

[justforbooks]

Ismail Kadare

One of Albania’s greatest writers who explored the ugliness and dignity of this ancient and long-oppressed nation

Ismail Kadare, who has died aged 88, was the best known Albanian writer of his own generation and all others, and one of the most remarkable European novelists of our age. He leaves a body of work as immense as Balzac’s Human Comedy, as unrelenting in its critique of dictatorship as Orwell’s, and as disturbing as that of Kafka.

Kadare’s 80-plus novels, stories, poetry collections and essays constitute a national monument, an invention as well as a reflection of what it means to be Albanian, an exploration of both the ugliness and the dignity of an ancient and oppressed nation. With him disappears Europe’s last indisputable national writer.

The son of Halit Kadare, a minor official, and Hatixhe (nee Dobi), Ismail was born and grew up in the walled city of Gjirokastër, which was also the home town of Enver Hoxha, dictator of Albania from 1944 to 1985. The city, its modern history and its strange atmosphere are recreated in Chronicle in Stone (1970) and elaborated in The Fall of the Stone City (2008).

Kadare was a brilliant student at Tirana University and already a celebrated poet when he was still in his teens. Albania was a Soviet satellite state at that time; Kadare was therefore sent to Moscow to pursue his literary education at the Gorky Institute for World Literature, which he attended between 1958 and 1960. What he learned there, he often said, was how not to write. The miserable weather of most of his novels, set in a country with a Mediterranean climate, was understood by Albanian readers as silent mockery of the sun-kissed wheatfields of socialist realist novels.

Hoxha broke off relations with the Soviet Union in 1960. Kadare was therefore able to write a fictionalised account of his Moscow years without risk. Twilight of the Eastern Gods (1978) nonetheless implies that something was rotten in the state of Albania too.

Kadare’s first published novel deals with the bizarre duties of an Italian general sent to Albania to gather the remains of soldiers who had fallen during the Italian occupation and the war against Greece (1938-43). The General of the Dead Army (1963) established Kadare’s reputation as a novelist. It also attracted the attention of Jusuf Vrioni, a former aristocrat educated in Italy and France, who offered to translate it into French. Vrioni went on to translate all of Kadare’s work until his own death in 2001, and his name cannot be separated from the story of Kadare’s career.

In the 1960s, communist Albania, which refused to be “de-Stalinised”, entered into an alliance with Mao Zedong’s China, in the middle of the Cultural Revolution. Kadare and thousands of other intellectuals spent months in the provinces among workers and peasants. However, his official position was that of journalist, and he was allowed to return to Tirana before the end of the decade.

In these early years, Kadare wrote a large amount of poetry, and most of his fiction consisted of short stories and novellas. Often, a poem would be rewritten as a prose story; sometimes, stories would be expanded or combined. Names, motifs and places recur from one story to another, linking them as fragments of an imaginary world.

Cross-references between different works are part of the arsenal of subtly hidden tools Kadare used to express opposition to the authoritarian regime of Hoxha. However, despite his fame and international recognition, he was not exempt from political discipline. In 1975, a poem denouncing bureaucracy (but indirectly suggesting that the party had blood on its hands) led to a self-criticism session and “relegation” to the countryside.

In 1981, The Palace of Dreams, a chilling analysis of state-led paranoia, was withdrawn from sale and Kadare was not allowed to publish book-length novels thereafter. Yet throughout these tribulations – and occasional thoughts of emigration – Kadare’s output never flagged.

Kadare was one of the very few Albanians allowed to travel abroad. A visit to Turkey in the 70s brought him into brief contact with an American scholar of Balkan oral epics, Albert Lord: the result was a novel about the struggle for national identity through poetry, The File on H (1981). Kadare also visited China and he used some material from that trip for his Shakespearean fantasy of Maoist intrigue, The Concert (1988).  

Foreign travel barely impinges on Kadare’s writing, which is almost always set in Albania, sometimes in disguise (as Egypt, in The Pyramid, for example, or Ottoman Turkey in The Palace of Dreams). But time travel is of the essence: Kadare’s novels range over the history of Albania from the invasion of the Turks in the 15th century (The Siege, 1970) to the monarchy of the 30s, the victory of the partisans, the communist reign (1944-92) and the post-communist period, while weaving into these stories myths from Greece and from the rich store of Balkan legends, together with echoes of Shakespeare and Dante.

Broken April (1978), perhaps the most read of Kadare’s novels in English, is a harrowing narrative of the blood feud as laid down in Albania’s ancient code of law, the kanun. Indirectly, though, it is an oblique assertion of the permanence of Albanian civilisation in the face of Hoxha’s attempt to replace it with the “new man” of Stalinist ideology.

Kadare’s recourse to national myths and legends – in The Ghost Rider (1979), for instance – resuscitates a national identity, and rejects attempts to suppress folk traditions, including religion. Kadare had little interest in contemporary literature; he was more at home with Aeschylus and Byron.

The fact that Kadare survived in an environment as hostile as that of Hoxha’s Albania led some in the west to accuse him of compromise. His appointment as a member of parliament, which he never attended, misled some into thinking him sympathetic to the regime. It is now accepted that these suspicions were unfounded. Kadare’s story is one of courage, persistence, wiliness and luck. The emergence of his work in a place as cruel as 20th-century Albania shows the resilience of the human soul.

Hoxha died in 1985 and was succeeded by Ramiz Alia, who maintained an isolationist and Stalinist regime. Kadare could not imagine that communism would collapse in his own lifetime, but he could see the weakening of the state and he feared the chaos it would bring. He fled to Paris in 1990 for personal safety, and also to give a signal to the Albanian regime. He was granted political asylum almost immediately and later awarded French nationality.

After the collapse of the Alia regime in 1991, Kadare divided his life between Paris, Tirana and a villa on the Albanian coast near Durrës.

In Paris, he used his influence to promote other Albanian poets and novelists, and wrote criticism and essays on his own approach to literature. Several volumes of interviews also appeared. Far from slowing down, Kadare’s rate of production remained intense throughout the 90s and the first two decades of the 21st century.

Even while he revised his entire opus in two languages for a bilingual complete works series for Fayard, published in parallel hard-bound volumes, he brought out new work in profusion.

Suppressed novels unpublished in their own time (Agamemnon’s Daughter, written in 1986 and revised in 2003), new novels portraying post-communist Albania through the same lenses of myth and dream (Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, 2000), and retrospective exploration of the mental torture of life under tyranny (The Successor, 2003), sequels to earlier novels (Fall of the City of Stone) and entirely new works such as The Doll (2020) continued to flow from Kadare’s pen through his 60s, 70s and 80s.

With each new work, the Kadarean universe acquired ever greater consistency and self-sufficiency. It adds up to a portrait not of the real Albania, but of an imaginary land – Kadaria, some have called it – with a single, central topic: how to remain human in a world ruled by fear and suspicion.

Kadare won a great number of literary prizes, among them the Man Booker international award in 2005, the Princess of Asturias award in 2009, the Jerusalem prize in 2015 and the Neustadt international prize for literature in 2020. Only the Nobel escaped him.

On a state visit to Albania last year, the French president, Emmanuel Macron, awarded Kadare the rank of Grand Officier in the Légion d’honneur.

Most of Kadare’s work is available in more than 40 languages, but several major novels and a swathe of short stories have yet to be published in English.

Kadare is survived by his wife, Elena (nee Gushi), herself a writer of distinction, whom he married in 1963, and two daughters.

🔔 Ismail Kadare, writer, born 28 January 1936; died 1 July 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 6. Revolution

A revolution that is many revolutions

Many people think that revolutions always follow a tragic course from hope to betrayal. The ultimate result of revolutions in Russia, China, Algeria, Cuba, Vietnam, and elsewhere was the establishment of new authoritarian regimes — some worse than their predecessors, others hardly different. But the major revolutions of the 20th century were carried out by authoritarians who intended to create new governments, not abolish them. It is now obvious, if it wasn’t before, that governments always uphold oppressive social orders.

But history is full of evidence that people can overthrow their oppressors without replacing them. To do so, they need reference to an egalitarian culture, or explicitly anti-authoritarian aims, structures, and means, and an egalitarian ethos. A revolutionary movement must reject all possible governments and reforms, so as not to be recuperated like many of the rebels in Kabylia and Albania. It must organize in flexible and horizontal ways, ensuring that power is not permanently delegated to leaders or anchored down in a formal organization, as happened with the CNT in Spain. Finally, it must take into account that all insurrections involve diverse strategies and participants. This multitude will benefit from communication and coordination, but it should not be homogenized or controlled from a central point. Such standardization and centralization are neither desirable nor necessary; decentralized struggles such as those waged by the Lakota or the squatters in Berlin and Hamburg have proven capable of defeating the slower-moving forces of the state.

A new ethos can come about in the process of resisting, as we find common cause with strangers and discover our own powers. It can also be nourished by the environments we build for ourselves. A truly liberating ethos is not just a new set of values, but a new approach to the relationship between the individual and her culture; it requires that people shift from being passive recipients of culture to participants in its creation and reinterpretation. In this sense, the revolutionary struggle against hierarchy never ends, but continues from one generation to the next.

To be successful, revolution must occur on many fronts at once. It won’t work to abolish capitalism while leaving the state or patriarchy untouched. A successful revolution must be composed of many revolutions, accomplished by different people using different strategies, respecting each another’s autonomy and building solidarity. This will not happen overnight, but in the course of a series of conflicts that build on each other.

Unsuccessful revolutions are not failures unless people give up hope. In their book on the popular rebellion in Argentina, two UK activists close with the words of a piquetero from Solano:

I don’t think December 2001 was a lost opportunity for revolution nor was it a failed revolution. It was and is part of the ongoing revolutionary process here. We have learnt many lessons about collective organizing and strength, and the barriers to self-management. For many people it opened their eyes to what we can do together, and that taking control of our lives and acting collectively whether it’s as part of a piquete, a communal bakery or an afterschool club dramatically improves the quality of our lives. If the struggle stays autonomous and with the people the next uprising will have strong foundations to build upon...[113]

[katoktm8]

TENT LIVING

Not many adventures to tell of today. We woke up drove two hours to pick up Julie at the airport maneuvered through unbelievable chaotic traffic. We even parked about a half mile from the airport and walked to get her because the travel was so crazy.

The photo with all the colors on the houses at night is the neighborhood our hotel is in. The other famous neighborhood is across the river.

Then we were on the way to Berat Albania. Another UNESCO world Heritage city. This is known for the hill of houses of 1000 windows. We had a quick lunch because we wanted to keep Julie moving and then climbed about a mile up a hill to a castle where people actually are still living. It is similar to Taos, New Mexico Pueblo. We wandered around there for quite a while then headed back down and then it was almost evening.

There’s a big wide street in town and people in the evening go on walks up and down the street to visit with friends walk with boyfriends and girlfriends and be seen. So we sat and had a drink and watched people saunter along the street eating ice cream, holding hands, laughing, and enjoying the first cool evening in quite a while. The best people watching so far.

After that we went back took a quick shower and then out to an absolutely delicious dinner at a traditional house down the street. This was the first beautiful sunset we’ve seen. See the photos.

The adventure of the day is trying to survive in our room. Our hotel is a traditional house. The brother and sister who own the hotel grew up in this house as did their parents as did their grandparents. And it’s been converted into a hotel. The triple room that I booked for us only has two beds. Not only does it have just two beds. It is about the size of a tent. So we are stepping over each other being very quiet, and trying not to interrupt each other’s space. I am sitting in the bathroom as I write this blog to try and give Julie and Caroline space to get organized for the day. My head on my pillow is about 1 foot from the bathroom door. It is a beautiful room, but it is certainly testing my anxiety levels with space. And Julie this morning says I feel like we are living in a tent. If you’ve ever been tent camping, you know how we are doing.

Dogs, of course. And I had to post the last two pictures of me saying goodbye to mama Dog in. Gjirokastër

Tomorrow is Caroline‘s last day and I think we are going to walk about 7 miles to a famous Albanian winery. Do a winetasting and then get a Taxi back. Then the big soccer game Albania versus Italy is at 9 o’clock in the night. We are very excited to be part of the local culture. TVs are already set up on streets in front of businesses All over big screen, TVs, and regular TVs and tons of chairs set out to watch this game tomorrow 🇦🇱🇦🇱

[braveclementine]

Chapter 4

Warnings: None. However, future chapters will contain sexual content so readers that are under the age of 18 may have to skip those chapters (However they are very few so those under the age of 18 can still read a majority of this book. However please keep note of the warnings).

Copyright: I do not own any Wizarding World characters that J.K. Rowling wrote. I do however own Elizabeth Kane (main character) and Trang Nyguen (best friend). There should be no use of these two names without my permission. I also do not condone any copying of this.

💙💙💙💙

𝕸𝖗𝖘. 𝖂𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖑𝖊𝖞 𝖜𝖆𝖘 𝖎𝖓 a good mood when we went downstairs. She was cooking on the stove and informed us that we would be eating outside due to such a large amount of people in the house. Ron and Harry grabbed cutlery and Trang stayed by Mrs. Weasley's side, handing her pans when she needed them. I grabbed cups so that we could fill them with drink and headed out after the others.

Crookshanks was pelting after a gnome which was laughing. It dove into a boot and laughed wildly as Crookshanks put a paw in there, trying to get it out. I smiled.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the house, Charlie and Bill were making two tables smash into each other in a sort of battle. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione seemed to be split in her emotions between amusement and anxiety.

Bill's table caught Charlie's with a huge bang and knocked one of its legs off. There was a clatter from overhead and everyone looked up to see Percy looking down from the second floor.

"WILL YOU KEEP IT DOWN?!" He bellowed.

"Sorry Perce." Bill said, his long locks sweeping behind him as he lifted his head again. "How're the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly." Percy said peevishly, slamming the window shut, making the windows rattle. Everyone laughed again as Bill and Charlie lowered the tables back to Earth. Bill reattached the table leg and then made tablecloths appear from nowhere.

Trang and I set the table in record time and soon Mrs. Weasley had all of the dishes of her cooking on the tables. I put some of the food onto my plate, sitting between Bill and Trang. Hermione, Harry, and Ron were sitting across from me. Both Fred and Charlie kept shooting glances down at Bill as he chatted with me.

I picked at my food, listening, rather than talking, while eating. I was mostly listening to Mr. Weasley and Percy's conversation.

"I've told Mr. Crouch that I'll have it ready by Tuesday." Percy said- meaning his cauldron report. "that's a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he'll be grateful I've done it in good time, I mean, it's extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We're just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman-"

"I like Ludo." Mr. Weasley interrupted mildly. "He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble- a lawnmower with unnatural powers- I smoothed the whole thing over."

"Oh Bagman's likable enough of course." Percy said in a dismissive manner. "but how he ever got to be head of Department. . . when I compare him to Mr. Crouch! I can't see Mr. Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what's happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?"

My mouth went dry. I stopped eating.

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that." Mr. Weasley said with a frown. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat but continued to listen in, "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now- though I must say, if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried. . ."

"Oh Bertha's hopeless, all right. I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth. . . but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her- but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However-" Percy stopped talking to take a sip of wine, "- we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup. You know the one I'm talking about, Father. The top-secret one." Percy said in a slightly raised voice.

I glanced over at the others to see Ron roll his eyes and say, "He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons."

Harry and Hermione laughed but I just gave him a strained smile. No one knew about Bertha? That hadn't occurred to me. Did I say something? But it was a dream, not a vision. . . so. . . even though I knew it happened and Dad believed me. . . would it be evidence? But Dad was always inclined to believe whatever I said, regardless if others believed me. . .but I'd been sure enough of the dream to fake my own death, hadn't I?

"Excuse me," I muttered and I got up from the table, heading back into the house, preoccupied. The others wouldn't be in for another thirty minutes or so. Maybe I could go to Diagon Alley and get my books or something. I went up to Ginny's room and dug in my trunk for the Hogwarts letter. I hadn't opened it. I'd forgotten in my rush to get here.

I opened it up.

I only needed one new book which was The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 by Miranda Goshawk. That was convenient. There were also dress robes but I wanted to get those myself.

I turned to go back downstairs and saw Harry there. I nearly jumped in fright. "Are you alright?" He asked. "You looked upset at dinner."

I hesitated and then said, "You had a dream over the summer, right? About Wormtail and Voldemort and an old man, right?"

Harry looked surprised, "Yeah, how'd you know? Oh, wait, never mind. Of course you know."

"I had the same exact one." I said, chewing on my bottom lip in dismay. "And Voldemort mentioned Bertha Jorkins. . . how he killed her and when Percy and Mr. Weasley were saying no one knew where she was, I realized no one else knew. Perhaps not even you because you might not remember every detail."

Harry shook his head, "No. I don't remember a lot of it. I know they were talking about killing me. I know there was an old man. . . I think they mentioned you a bit and that's it. I didn't remember anything about Bertha Jorkins, not even now when you brought up that Voldemort and Wormtail talked about her"

I nodded my head. "They also mentioned about waiting until the Quidditch Cup is over."

We started walking down the stairs in silence until we got to the kitchen. The others were still outside. "Tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, if they ask that is, that I went to Diagon Alley, okay?"

"Sure." Harry said, looking troubled.

A moment later I was hurrying into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, stepping inside, and looking around. "Hello Miss Kane." She said. "Are you here for dress robes?"

"Yes please." I said. "I was looking for deep blue or purple. I don't need custom dress robes."

She nodded and bustled off into the back of the shop and came out with a variety of different dresses and put them on the rack, "Choose a couple, try them on. We're still open for twenty-five minutes."

I nodded and looked through them, surveying them, grabbed a few, and went back in the room so I could try them on. The one I decided on was a purple dress. It was a longer one and I was glad I had heels and had grown over the summer. It fit my slender frame too. It looked lovely too and I put on my other clothes and bought the dress.

"This one is a lovely dress." Madam Malkin said as she checked me out. "Have fun at Hogwarts this year dear."

"Thank you, have a nice year." I said as I headed out of the shop and made my way back to the Leaky Cauldron and then went back home. No one was in the kitchen, but not everyone was outside anymore.

I headed upstairs and hung the dress up on Ginny's wardrobe. The other three girls came in at that moment.

"Oh," Trang said. "That's a pretty dress Elizabeth."

"Thanks Trang." I said.

"We should get to sleep." Hermione said in a worried voice, "We got to get up really early for the Quidditch Cup."

I grinned at Trang, "Excited?"

She nodded, "Extremely excited."

Ginny laid down in her bed and the rest of us slept on camp beds. I fell asleep quickly, dreaming of a ball where I was dancing with Fred and then Lee then Cedric then Oliver (even though he had graduated) and then Snape who turned into Voldemort and I woke up with a start.

I looked at the clock. It was 4:45. I rolled out of bed and tiptoed around the other girls as I got dressed. I dressed in jean shorts and a white blouse. It would be cold this morning but it was only a few days into August and still very warm. I put on white sneakers. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and then snuck out the door, carrying my peppermint box.

I went down the stairs. Mrs. Weasley was already up, making breakfast and Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table yawning. He stood up and showed off his golfing shirt and blue jeans held up with a leather belt, "Does this look like I'm a Muggle?"

I nodded, yawning myself, "Yes."

Mrs. Weasley eyed my outfit and said, "Well Muggle girls do have good fashion I suppose."

I took some of the boiling water and poured it into 6 cups and put the peppermint tea bags into each of them and then used the excess in Trangs and mine tea cups.

Mrs. Weasley bustled off to wake up the boys. Mr. Weasley was organizing a sheaf of large parchment tickets.

Mrs. Weasley came back down and started stirring the pot on the stove. I yawned and then drank some of my tea which woke me up immediately with the sharpness of the drink.

Fred, George, Harry, and Ron all came downstairs, looking bleary eyed. Mr. Weasley showed his clothes to Harry and said, "What d'you think? We're supposed to go incognito- do I look like a Muggle, Harry?"

"Yes." Harry said with a smile, "Very good."

"Where's Bill and Charlie and Per-Per-Percy?" George asked with a yawn. I slid four of the cups over to them.

"That'll help wake you up." I said with a mischievous smile. I knew how sharp the taste was.

Ron picked up a cup and doused it in a swallow- I hadn't given them much- and his face turned bright red as he choked and sputtered. "What the bloody hell was that?" He asked, his face returning to normal color.

"Are you awake?" I asked, grinning.

"Well, yeah!" Ron said, still red faced and still sputtering.

Harry, Fred, and George picked their cups up. Fred smell his. "It smells like peppermint." He said and took a smaller sip than Ron. "Oh!" Fred said, his face flushing too. "That does wake you up."

Harry and George tried theirs next. George's eyes started to water and he put the cup down, but Harry just smiled, taking a seat next to me. "So what was that?" Harry asked me. Mrs. Weasley set bowls of porridge down in front of us.

"Peppermint tea." I said, dumping a large amount of brown sugar into my bowl and stirring. "Peppermint is a stimulant. It can also be used to cure different ailments like menstrual pains and nausea and muscle and nerve pain."

Everyone stared at me except Mrs. Weasley.

"What?" I asked frowning, setting aside the brown sugar and now putting a sprinkle of cinnamon on my porridge. "We learned about that in Herbology."

George shook his head in amazement. "Well at least we're all awake now."

"Oh, and to answer your question." I continued, now pouring milk into the bowl slowly so that I put the right amount, "Bill, Charlie, and Percy get to apparate so they get to stay in bed."

"Why can't we apparate too?" Fred asked grumpily.

"Because you're not of age and you haven't passed the test." Mrs. Weasley answered. Then she bustled out of the kitchen to get the girls up.

"You have to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes. The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple of people the other day for Apparating without a license. It's not easy, Apparition, and when it's not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This pair I'm talking about went and splinched themselves."

I flinched with the others.

"Er- Splinched?" Harry asked nervously.

"They left half of themselves behind. So, of course," Mr. Weasley said, putting treacle on his porridge, "they were stuck. Couldn't move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair old bit of paperwork. I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they'd left behind. . ."

"Were they okay?" Harry asked, startled.

"Oh yes." Mr. Weasley said. "But they got a heavy fine, and I don't think they'll be trying it again in a hurry. You don't mess around with Apparition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don't bother with it. Prefer brooms- slower, but safer."

"To bad we can't use magic carpets anymore." I said dreamily before spooning another spoonful of lovely sugary porridge into my mouth.

"Indeed." Mr. Weasley said.

"But Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do it?" Harry asked, interested.

"Charlie had to take the test twice. . . He failed the first time, Apparated five miles south of where he meant to, right on top of some poor old dear doing her shopping, remember?" Fred asked with a huge smile.

"Yes, well, he passed the second time." Mrs. Weasley said as the rest of us laughed.

Hermione, Ginny, and Trang were all coming down the hallway looking sleepy. Trang pointed to the last steaming mug of Peppermint tea, "Is that for me?"

I nodded.

Trang picked it up and doused half of it in one go. The others, especially George and Ron who'd had bad reactions, watched in interest. "That's lovely." Trang said with brighter eyes. "Is there anymore?"

I tossed my peppermint box at her and she got up to make herself another cup of tea. I sipped mine casually.

"Why do we have to get up so early?" Ginny asked, rubbing her eyes.

"We've got a bit of a walk." Mr. Weasley said.

I kicked George and he looked up at me. I shook my head and put my hand under the table, tapping his knee. He handed me the Toffees' and I put them in my pocket. George nudged Fred and Fred passed me his too. Everyone else missed the reaction between us.

I obviously didn't have all of them, but hopefully Mrs. Weasley wouldn't notice. I zipped my bag closed so the Toffee's couldn't escape if she did want them.

"Walk?" Harry was asking in another startled voice, "What, are we walking to the World Cup?" Trang's mouth dropped too as though she thought this might be possible and I laughed, starting to eat my porridge again.

"Silly Harry, of course not." I said with a grin. "But with so many wizards coming in from all sorts of countries, we have to travel incognito. Even Muggles notice large congregations of people going in the same direction and often have the urge to check out what's going on, whether they knew about the event or not."

"George!" Mrs. Weasley shouted suddenly and everyone except me jumped. I rolled my eyes instead.

"What?" George asked, confused.

"What is that in your pocket?" Mrs. Weasley continued. I shifted my body below the table and saw that there was a bulge in his pocket. I sighed.

"Nothing!" George said, putting a hand over his pocket.

"Don't you lie to me!" Mrs. Weasley said, pointing her wand at George's pocket and saying, "Accio."

Trang watched in interest (She loved seeing magic in action) and I watched to see how the spell was conducted. Multiple objects came out of George's pocket and into her hand. Toffees. She kept pointing her wand at them and saying "Accio! Accio!"

Even I had to admit that they had come up with some pretty neat hiding places but I'd wished they'd given me more of their toffees. I checked my bag and saw that I had about twelve or so in it.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred said angrily as she threw the toffees away.

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" She shrieked in anger. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s"

We departed the Burrow very soon after. I stayed back for a millisecond and said to Mrs. Weasley, "Can you use some of the gold in my vault for Ron's robes? Get them new, like Harry's?" Then, I dashed off before she could say yes or no.

Trang, Fred, George, and I were all walking ahead of the others. Mrs. Weasley was still talking to Mr. Weasley and she called after us, "behave yourselves!" Fred and George glowered.

"I still have twelve." I said brightly. "Six for each of you."

"Not much." George said grumpily.

"You could have given me more." I said sharply, though sympathetically, not wanting to be blamed for their stupidity.

"How are we getting to the cup?" Trang asked.

"Portkey." I answered.

"What's that?" Trang asked.

"It's er- a magical device that transports people from one place to another. But they have certain times they take off and usually can only be used once." I said. "They are usually disguised as things that Muggles don't pick up. You have to be touching it to be transported, so don't let go of it when we get there."

"Grand." Trang said, sounding extremely nervous that she might get left behind.

We had to climb Stoatshead Hill was a long climb and before long, I had a painful stitch in my side. My legs were getting sore too but I continued on at a steady pace. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley had caught up to the four of us by this time though I pulled ahead of the others with my impatience to get to the cup.

I ran up the last steps and saw two figures off in the distance. I went on ahead until I found Mr. Diggory and his son Cedric.

"Elizabeth!" Cedric said in glad surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"I was staying with the Weasleys." I said, blushing just slightly. "They're coming on a bit slow, but they'll be here in a few seconds."

Cedric and I hugged and he introduced me to his father who was a boisterous and round-faced man. He was holding a muddy boot in one hand.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!" Mr. Diggory called out and I turned to see the Weasleys, Hermione, Trang, and Harry make their way over to us.

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley said, smiling and they shook hands. To the rest of us he said, "This is Amos Diggory, everyone. He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?"

"Hi." Cedric said, looking around at everyone, laying his eyes on Trang. I felt a strange twinge of jealousy, and then pushed it away.

Everyone said hi back except for Fred and George who only nodded. George had never forgiven Cedric for beating Gryffindor in the first Quidditch match and Fred had other reasons for disliking Cedric. What those reasons were had never been fully disclosed to me, though I had my suspicions.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Cedric's father asked.

"Not too bad. We live just on the other side of the village there. You?" Mr. Weasley asked while checking his watch.

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still. . . not complaining. . . Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons- and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy. . ." Amos said, looking at all the others he assumed Mr. Weasley bought tickets for. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads. This is Hermione, friend of Ron's, Trang, friend of Elizabeth's, that's Elizabeth right there though I assume you've already met- and Harry, another friend-"

"Merlin's beard! Harry? Harry Potter?" Amos Diggory said with widening eyes.

I started to giggle and turned away. Trang watched in a bit of confusion.

"Er- yeah." Harry said uncomfortably.

"Ced's talked about you, of course. Told us all about playing against you last year. . . I said to him, I said- Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. . . you beat Harry Potter!" Mr. Diggory said tactlessly.

Trang's mouth fell open and Fred and George were both scowling again. Cedric looked extremely embarrassed and muttered, "Harry fell of his broom, Dad. I told you. . . it was an accident. . ."

"Yes, but you didn't fall off, did you?" Mr. Diggory roared and slapped Cedric hard on the back, "Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman. . . but the best man won, I'm sure Harry'd say the same, wouldn't you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don't need to be a genius to tell which one's the better flier?"

I wondered if Trang was going to be able to pick her mouth up off the floor as she looked from Mr. Diggory, to Harry, to me and back again.

"Yes." I said coolly for I too had fallen off my broom that match and had taken insult to his words. "Well I'd like to see anyone stay on their broom when a dementor makes them pass out because their parents were murd-"

"Must be nearly time!" Mr. Weasley interrupted loudly, checking his watch again. Fred and George were openly grinning now. "Do you know whether we're waiting for any more, Amos?"

Trang pulled me aside as Mr. Diggory answered him and asked me quietly, "Do people usually insult others in front of them in the Magical world?"

I shook my head. "Mr. Diggory just likes to brag about his son and speaks before he thinks, that's all."

There was a lot of difficulty trying to stand around the boot and touch it. There were about eleven of us and because we all had bulky backpacks, there was less space than there may have been. Trang's finger was barely staying on and I pushed her forward so that she had two fingers on the boot.

We stood there as Mr. Weasley counted down, "Three. . . two. . ." I checked to make sure Trang's finger was still on the boot. ". . .one. . ."

My feet left the ground and I saw Trang's mouth open in a silent scream. Our shoulders were banging together and there was a howl of wind and swirling colors. My finger was stuck to the boot, pulling me forward and with my other hand, I grabbed Trang's arm that was holding the boot, as she was trying to pull it off.

"No!" I shouted, but my voice was lost in the howling wind. She got the message anyways.

Then my feet slammed into the ground and I stuck my ground while Trang stumbled and fell on her face. Everyone fell onto their faces except Mr. Weasley, Mr. Diggory, and Cedric. I had never stuck my ground before and I found why most people fell on their faces- it was exhausting finding the energy to keep standing. Part of me wanted to fall over anyways.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill." A voice said.

I looked to see two Wizards dressed inexpertly as Muggles. Trang started having a fit of giggles and hid behind me so they wouldn't see her. One wizard was wearing a tweed suit with thigh- length galoshes and the other was wearing a kilt and poncho.

I started to laugh just like Trang and turned around so that they would see us laughing.

"Morning Basil." Mr. Weasley said.

"Hello there, Arthur. Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some. . . We've been here all night, You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite. . . Weasley. . . Weasley. . . About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory. . . second field. . . ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil." Mr. Weasley said and we followed him away. We were walking through a deserted moor, and there was such a thick mist, it was hard to see anything. Trang and I walked with linked arms. I really did not want to lose her here.

We said good-bye to the Diggory's at the turn and they walked off. We approached the cottage door.

There was a man there, Mr. Roberts, standing on the doorstep and looking out at all the tents. When he heard our footsteps, he turned his head to look at us.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley said brightly. He loved Muggles and was always excited with every interaction he got with them.

"Morning." Mr. Roberts said a bit less cheerfully.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?" Mr. Weasley asked carefully.

"Aye, I would. And who're you?"

"Weasley- two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye. You've got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it." Mr. Weasley said.

"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts said.

"Ah- right- certainly." Mr. Weasley said uncomfortably and beckoned to Trang to follow him. I went with her. "Help me, Trang." He said, pulling out a wad of Muggle bills.

"How much is it?" Trang asked and Mr. Weasley gave her the amount. She took the bills, counted them out and then gave him the money to pay with and put the rest in his pocket.

"You Foreign?" Mr. Roberts asked as the three of us returned and Mr. Weasley gave a start.

"Foreign?" Mr. Weasley repeated, confused.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money." Mr. Roberts said, looking Mr. Weasley over. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"Did you really?" Mr. Weasley asked nervously.

Mr. Roberts looked for change to give Mr. Weasley. "Never been this crowded. Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up. . ." He looked back out at the tents and I shifted on my feet nervously.

"Is that right?" Mr. Weasley asked, holding his hand out for the change but Mr. Roberts didn't give it to him.

"Aye. People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking 'round in a kilt and poncho." He scrutinized us again, looking at Trang and I in nearly identical outfits except she was wearing a red blouse.

"Shouldn't he?" Mr. Weasley said anxiously.

"It's like some sort of. . . I dunno. . . like some sort of rally, they all seem to now each other. Like a big party."

A wizard in plus-fours apparated next to him and pointing his wand he said sharply, "Obliviate!"

Trang shrieked and grabbed my arm. Instantly, Mr. Robert's eyes slid out of focus and a dreamy expression crept over his face.

"A map of the campsite for you and your change." Mr. Roberts said in a softer voice to Mr. Weasley.

"Thanks very much." Mr. Weasley said, taking both of the items.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied us toward the gate. He looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes and his chin was turning blue from cold. "Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur." He Disapparated without another word.

Trang was still clutching my arm. "Is Mr. Roberts going to be okay?" she asked me in undertone.

"Of course." I said. "It doesn't hurt them, it simply removes the particular components of the magical abnormalities from their minds, that's all."

"But why did he have to forget?" Trang asked in a concerned voice.

"Muggles aren't supposed to know about our world. The only way Muggles find out about the magical world is in two ways. A) they have a magical child who's invited to a magical school or b) they marry someone from the magical world. Other than that, they aren't supposed to know." I said.

"Will they erase my mind if they find out that I'm a Muggle?" Trang asked, shivering.

"No." I said fiercely. "Don't worry about that. I have multiple tricks up my sleeve. And there is no reason for anyone to know that you aren't magical anyways. We don't just go around asking random people if they're muggles or not. You're with us, Trang. No one's going to notice unless you shout it through the magical microphone."

Trang didn't seem to relax any. I put an arm around her as we continued to walk. The sun had come out, making the clouds dissipate and we could see the tents now and thoughts of having her memory change were put out of Trang's mind.

The tents were so magical it was stupid that we even had Muggles at the front gates. I couldn't blame Mr. Roberts for being suspicious.

Trang looked around, her mouth dropped for what was probably a fifth time already and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet. There were tents with multiple floors, front gardens, back gardens, pools, and a large tent that obviously housed an Indian family. It looked like the palace from Aladdin and had peacocks tethered to the front of the tent.

"Always the same, we can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us." Mr. Weasley said with a smile.

There was a small plot of land with a sign in front of it that read WEEZLY. I giggled.

"Couldn't have a better spot! The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we're as close as we could be." Mr. Weasley said, dropping his backpack. "Right, no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult. . . Muggles do it all the time. . . Here, Harry, where do you reckon we should start?"

Harry stared dully at the tents. He'd never been camping in his life. Trang moved forward and started instructing us all what to do. I gave her an encouraging smile. Mr. Weasley was a bit of a hindrance, especially when he got to use the mallet. Trang was laughing the entire time and looking very happy. I think she enjoyed being able to help.

We all looked back to see how the tents looked. I certainly thought they looked like Muggle tents. But Trang was frowning now. "How are we all going to fit?"

Mr. Weasley laughed kindly and said, "Go on ahead Trang."

Trang went into the tent and gasped. Harry and I quickly followed after her. Harry's jaw dropped so that Trang and him looked identical in awe.

There were three rooms- a sitting room, kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The chairs were mismatched and the covers were crocheted. There was a strong smell of cats which I didn't mind, but it was a bit overwhelming.

"Well, it's not for long." Mr. Weasley said, mopping his bald patch with his handkerchief. It was hot in here. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow, he's got lumbago." He picked up a kettle and said, "We'll need water. . ."

I quickly spoke, "Ron, Hermione, Harry, Trang, and I will go get water. The rest of you are going to look for firewood." The others stared at me and I shrugged, "That's what I saw when we got here anyways." I left out the fact that I hadn't actually seen Trang or I going with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

So, everyone else shrugged, accepting my word, and the five of us headed out of the tent. We quickly looked in the girls tent and Trang, Hermione, and I put our bags down. I made a mental note to give Fred and George their toffees.

The girls' tent was smaller- kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, and sitting room but the rooms were smaller. It was a good thing we didn't have more girls because there were only four beds. However, our tent was slightly cooler and there was no cat smell.

We set off across the campsite with pans and the kettle to fill them with water. The other campers were starting to wake up as well. The first to wake were the families with small children of course. For some reason, little kids weren't fans of sleep.

Trang, Harry, and I looked fascinated at a little boy no older than two, maybe three, who had a wand in his hand, poking a slug.

"Urgh." Trang complained as the slug grew to the size of a large salami. "That's disgusting."

I giggled, but privately agreed. His mother came out of the tent. "How many times, Kevin? You don't- touch- Daddy's- wand- yeecch!" She squealed as she stepped on the slug, making it explode.

"You bust slug! You bust slug!" The boy started to cry as the mother continued to scold him. Farther ahead, two twin girls were flying on toy broomsticks, only high enough that there toes skimmed the grass.

"Wow." Trang whispered softly. "Imagine if we'd had those as kids, Elizabeth."

"I had one." I said. "pink. But I didn't ride it often because dad didn't want me in the forest by myself and he never had time to watch me cause he was working so hard."

A ministry wizard hurried past us after the little girls muttering, "In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose-"

Adult wizards were emerging from the tents and starting to cook breakfast. A majority of them looked around furtively and conjured fires from their wands. Others were striking matches as though they thought they wouldn't work and then were so surprised that a fire was lit that they dropped the matches.

Three African Wizards were in a serious conversation and standing around a purple fire cooking rabbit. Trang stared at the purple fire with pleasure. Purple was her favorite color.

Suddenly, we were surrounded by a large amount of green. "Er- is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?" Ron asked.

The tents were covered in shamrocks, paper and real ones, so that they looked like hills that had sprung up from the Earth. We walked through and then we heard from behind us, "Harry! Ron! Hermione! Elizabeth!"

We all turned. It was Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor. He was sitting in front of his tent which was also covered in shamrocks. Trang seemed to be on the verge of laughing. There was a woman sitting with him who must've been his mother and his best friend Dean Thomas who was Muggle-born.

Seamus had grown his sandy hair out so that it tucked under his ears. Dean on the other hand was close to bald.

We headed over. "Like the decorations?" Seamus asked with a broad grin. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" His mother said with beady eyes. "You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" She added. We all nodded.

"Hey Elizabeth!" Dean said, "D'you know who's going to win?"

"Sure I do." I said honestly, "But why should I spoil it for everyone?"

Dean laughed though Mrs. Finnigan looked annoyed. Maybe she'd put down a bet.

We left and Ron muttered, "Like we'd say anything else surrounded by that lot."

"I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?" Hermione asked.

"Let's go and have a look." Harry said, pointing.

We made our way to the Bulgaria tents. Each one had a poster of Viktor Krum on them. They were moving, blinking and scowling. Trang looked at them, a bit disappointed for some reason.

Ron muttered something and Hermione asked, "What?"

"Krum!" Ron said a bit louder, "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy." Hermione said mildly and Trang started laughing.

"Really grumpy!" Ron said exasperated, "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable. He's really young too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a genius, you wait until tonight, you'll see."

"Actually." I said. "He's seventeen."

Ron gaped at me.

I shrugged, "What? I know my Quidditch players."

There was a line for the water and we got behind two wizards. One of them was a very old wizard, probably in his eighties or so with a long white beard, nearly as long as Dumbledore's. He was wearing a flowery nightgown. Then there was a Ministry wizard who was nearly crying with exasperation. He was holding a pair of striped trousers.

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious-"

"I bought this in a Muggle shop." The old wizard said stubbornly as though Muggle shops only sold clothes that were made for both sexes. "Muggles wear them."

Trang was already quietly giggling, her fist in her mouth.

"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these." The ministry wizard said, brandishing the trousers in the old man's face.

"I'm not putting them on." Archie said in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."

I started giggling too and soon, Trang, Hermione, and I all had to hurry out of line so they didn't hear us laughing. We only got back in line when Archie and the other wizard collected their water and disappeared. Then, we collected our water and headed back.

We walked much slower because of the water we were carrying. We saw many students from Hogwarts though we didn't talk to most of them.

When I heard a familiar voice calling for Harry, I turned. It was Oliver Wood, past captain of Gryffindor Quidditch team. He said hello to Hermione, Ron, and I and when he laid eyes on Trang, his face turned bright red and he said, "H-hello, who are y-you?"

I turned away, smiling. Aww! Oliver had a crush.

Trang's face wasn't anywhere near as red since her dark skin was hiding her blush but she said, "Hi, I'm Trang, Elizabeth's friend."

They stared at each other awkwardly for another second and then Oliver recovered and dragged Harry over to meet his parents. Then he told us all that he had been signed to Puddlemere United reserve team.

"Oh Congratulations Oliver." I said, delighted. "I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks Liz." Oliver said, flashing me a smile.

We said good-bye and were about to continue on when Oliver called Trang back. The four of us watched as she walked over, holding a pan of water. They talked for a few seconds and then she came back, a small smile on her face.

"What'd he want?" Ron asked quickly.

"None of your business." Hermione and I said together.

"My full name so he could send me an owl." Trang said happily.

We were hailed by Ernie Macmillan next, a Hufflepuff student in my house. He was especially friendly with Harry and me.

Then there was Cho Chang and Harry slopped water down his front when he waved to her. She was a Chinese girl, very pretty with long black hair.

"My hair used to be like that." Trang said, shooting Cho another glance as we moved on. "And then I dyed the ends golden."

Indeed, her hair was black up at the top but had turned Ombre gold down near the bottom.

"Where are you from?" Hermione asked in interest.

"Well my parents are from Vietnam." Trang said. "But I'm British."

I laughed. It was a bit of a joke between the two of us though the others didn't understand.

"Have you ever been to Vietnam?" Hermione asked in interest. "to visit or anything?"

"Yes." Trang said, nodding, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes.

"I want to visit a lot of different countries." Hermione said wistfully.

"I just want to go to Australia." I said. "And Japan."

"You've been ages." George said when we finally got back to the tent.

"Met a few people." Ron said, setting his water pail down. I set the pan down, flexing my fingers. "You not got that fire started yet?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches." Fred said with a grin.

Splintered matches lay around his feet but he looked like he was having the time of his life. I giggled along with Trang.

"Oops!" he said when he lit one and then dropped it.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley." Trang said kindly, though grinning. She took the box from him, showing him how to do it properly and then let him do it himself.

The fire was lit, finally, though it took an hour for it to be hot enough that we could actually cook on it. Meanwhile, Trang and I were swapping Chocolate frog cards and eating them at the same time. Harry looked on in interest.

"Don't you have a collection?" I asked Harry as I traded a Dumbledore card for a Newt Scamander card. I already had twenty-five of him, but I also had sixty-three of Dumbledore and this way, it evened my cards out to twenty-six and sixty-two. I liked even numbers.

"Nah." Harry said. "I don't eat enough Chocolate frogs to keep up a collection. Not that my Uncle and Aunt wouldn't throw it out immediately anyways."

"Sad." I said bluntly, rearranging my cards in alphabetical order.

Ministry members ran back and forth trying to keep things under control and Mr. Weasley kept a running commentary of who was who and what they did. Trang kept looking up, interested. "That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office. . . Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now. . . Hello Arnie. . . Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator- members of the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad, you know.. and that's Bode and Croaker. . . they're Unspeakables. . ."

"They're what?" Trang and Harry asked at the same time in interest, both of them pushing their glasses up on their noses. Fred caught my eye and we looked away before we laughed.

"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to. . ." Mr. Weasley said and Trang looked over her shoulder to get a good look at them.

Mr. Weasley let Trang and I cook sausages and eggs. Mostly because it was rumored that I was a good cook and Trang already knew how to cook over a fire from her many camping trips.

The sausages and eggs were done in record time just as Bill, Charlie, and Percy were strolling toward us, looking refreshed.

"Just Apparated Dad." Percy said in a loud voice and looked around to see if anyone had heard him, "Ah, excellent, lunch."

I giggled quietly as Trang served out food to everyone. The sausages were juicy and the eggs were light and fluffy.

Halfway through our lunch period, Mr. Weasley jumped up, waving a man over. "Aha! The man of the moment! Ludo!"

Ludo Bagman was wearing old Quidditch robes from when he used to play. They had thick horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous wasp was stitched onto the front of the robes. He was powerfully built in the shoulders and legs but his stomach was bulging against the robes. His nose was squashed, most like broken by a bludger. His eyes however, were bright blue. With his short blond hair and rosy complexion- he looked a bit how I thought an American schoolboy might look.

"Ahoy there!" Bagman called happily. He was walking with springs in his steps. "Arthur, old man, What a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming. . . and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements. . . Not much for me to do!"

Behind him, four ministry wizards were rushing toward a wizard's tent where a fire had gotten out of hand. It was bright blue and was throwing violet sparks twenty feet into the air. Trang laughed aloud and then quickly stiffled it.

Percy hurried forward at that moment with his hand outstretched. Apparently he wanted to make a good impression. I rolled my eyes. If I didn't like someone, I wasn't going to act like I did to get on their good side. I'd act just as I said.

"Ah- yes." Mr. Weasley said with a knowing smile. "this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry- and this is Fred- no, George, sorry- that's Fred- Bill, Charlie, Ron- my daughter Ginny- and Ron's friends Elizabeth Kane, Hermione Granger, Trang Nyguen, and Harry Potter."

Ludo lifted his eyes to Harry's forehead, looking at the scar.

"Everyone, this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such good tickets-"

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" Ludo asked, waving his hand aside.

I quickly got up and went inside the tent. I didn't want to be asked who was going to win. Once the betting was over, I headed back out, sitting down next to Bill.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite numbers' making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barry'll be able to sort it out. he speaks about a hundred and fifty languages."

Trang looked at me from across the fire, her mouth open. I nodded. She got up and came and sat next to me.

"Mr. Crouch? He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll. . ." Percy said with admiration.

Trang giggled, "What are those languages?"

"Mermish is mermaid-" I started.

"There's mermaids!"

"Anyone can speak Troll." Fred said in a dismissive voice, "All you have to do is point and grunt." About half of us laughed.

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asked and I stopped laughing. Harry and I exchanged an uncomfortable look.

"Not a dicky bird. But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha. . . memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."

"Yeah, yeah there's mermaids and centaurs and dragons and pixies and fairies and unicorns." I muttered under my breath trying to ignore the ongoing conversation. "Ghosts, poltergeists, house-elfs, vampires, a lot of different magical creatures."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggested.

"There's a lot of creatures that even Muggles don't know about like bowtruckles or fire crabs or acromantula." I continued hurriedly.

"What are Acromantula?" Trang asked in interest.

"Huge talking spides." I said.

Trang shuddered.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that." Ludo said, taking a tea from Percy. "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh- talk of the devil! Barty!"

Barty Crouch apparated out of the air, wearing a stiff, impeccable suit and tie. Everything from his neatly combed hairdo to his polished shoes yelled professionalism and rule-follower. Fred actually wrinkled his nose while I thought Percy might bend over and kiss his shoes.

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty." Ludo said, patting the ground next to him.

"No thank you, Ludo. I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh is that what they're after? I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent." Ludo said.

Trang and I laughed.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Percy asked breathlessly, in a sort of half bow. Trang was giggling like mad.

"Oh. Yes- thank you, Weatherby." Mr. Crouch said in a bit of mild surprise, looking at Percy.

Tea spewed from my mouth as I snorted and I quickly covered my mouth. Fred and George both choked on their tea and Trang's giggles increased. Percy's ears turned red.

"Oh, and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur. Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets." Barty Crouch said, staring down at Mr. Weasley as he still hadn't sat down.

"I sent him an owl about that just last week. If I've told him once I've told him a hundred times: Carpets are defined as a Muggle artifact by the Registry of Proscribe Charmable Objects, but will he listen?"

"Why are magical carpets banned?" Trang asked me in undertone.

"If a Wizard tried to sell it to a Muggle pawn shop for money- well Muggles don't think carpets fly now, do they?" I said.

"Ali thinks there's a niche in the market for a family vehicle." Mr. Crouch was saying, "I remember my grandfather had an Axminster that could seat twelve- but that was before carpets were banned, of course."

I rolled my eyes.

"Soo, been keeping busy, Barty?" Bagman asked stupidly.

"Fairly. Organizing Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo." Mr. Crouch said in dry sarcasm.

"I expect you'll both be glad when this is over?" Mr. Weasley asked curiously.

Ludo Bagman managed to look shocked. "Glad! Don't know when I've had more fun... Still, it's not as though we haven't got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organize, eh?"

Mr. Crouch raised a disapproving eyebrow. "We agreed not to make the announcement until all the details-"

Ludo waved a hand. "Oh details! They've signed, haven't they? They've agreed haven't they? I bet you anything these kids'll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it's happening at Hogwarts-"

"Ludo, we need to meet the Bulgarians, you know." Mr. Crouch said interrupting whatever he was about to say. "Thank you for the tea, Wetherby." He pushed the tea back to Percy, untouched. Bagman got to his feet with a bit of difficulty, gold jingling in his pockets.

"See you all later! You'll be up in the top Box with me- I'm commentating!" He waved while Mr. Crouch simply gave us a curt nod and they both Disapparated.

"Wish Lee Jordan was commenting." I said mildly.

George laughed while Fred asked Mr. Weasley what was supposed to be happening at Hogwarts this year.

"You'll find out soon enough." Mr. Weasley said smiling.

"I won't." Trang said dejectedly.

"Don't worry, I'll write to you about it." I said.

"It's classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it." Percy said in a stiff voice. "Mr. Crouch was quite right not to disclose it."

"Oh shut up, Weatherby." Fred said shortly.

I laughed again and then got up and went into the girls' tent to take a nap. 

⬅️➡️

[mariacallous]

A major new work, weaving together historical anecdote and the author’s family history, laments the slow erasure of centuries of linguistic, ethnic and cultural diversity in an increasingly homogenised region.

In Goodbye, Eastern Europe,  a major new work “chronicling a thousand years of strife, war, and bloodshed” from Vienna to the 14 time zones of the Russian Empire, Jacob Mikanowski weaves a rich and amusing tapestry of historical anecdote (and personal family history). His aim is to explode conceptions of Eastern Europe as a grey, featureless bloc – but also to suggest that millennia of tolerance, cosmopolitanism and cultural, linguistic and ethnic variety are slowly being erased. While his epilogue links this diagnosis to the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Mikanowski’s thesis has perhaps even greater relevance to the Western Balkans.

His historical vignettes are delightful – thieves in the finicky Austro-Hungarian Empire handed four-hour sentences for stealing an onion, elderly Romanian communists leaving Kent Cigarettes on graves to pay black-market bribes in the afterlife – but also serve a larger purpose. This tissue of anecdote is the perfect way for Mikanowski to demonstrate Eastern Europe’s “defining characteristic is diversity”. Each page revealing another “little island of heterodoxy”, down to the ultra-fine level where each village has its minority and each minority its particularities, as in the exhaustive account of a Ukrainian settlement where even the cabinetmakers had their own culture: “As Filippians and Old Believers, they spoke Russian, but with a Novogorod accent.”

To Mikanowski, the phrase “Eastern Europe” is an “outsider’s convenience”, a lump term of little practical application to locals. His argument here recalls Maria Todorova’s “Imagining the Balkans”, which powerfully demonstrates the negative, politically-loaded role of the term “Balkans” – as implied by the always-pejorative neologism “Balkanisation” – applied by outside observers and commentators to a shifting set of states and territories while many of those states try to escape the charge.

As with, for example, Romanian writers claiming a Latin identity to evade the “Balkan” label, Mikanowski notes that particularly in the post-Communist era, many Eastern European countries prefer to consider themselves in “Central Europe”, the “Nordic Community”, and so on, thus distancing themselves from the Eastern Bloc. The Balkans are, perhaps, another such an exception, but with the difference that the term is applied from the outside. Rather than a breakaway clinging to Mitteleuropa (Hungary) or Russia (Belarus), they’re isolated and abandoned – the last island of Eastern Europe.

Mikanowski does sketch the deep diversity and (sometimes uneasy) tolerance which has long characterised the Western Balkans – as well as pointing to the mushrooming of latter-day nationalism and ethnic homogenisation. For example, he takes a fascinating trip to Moschopolis in Albania, the “city of the shepherds”, which was for centuries the heart of the little-studied Vlach culture, but whose Christian churches are now largely shuttered.

Overall, the book has less to say about the Western Balkans than other regions. States are covered in the expected proportions, with Poland mentioned around 230 times, but Bulgaria 50 times and Serbia 40, with Montenegro and Kosovo only just reaching 10. This reflects Mikanowski’s Polish-Jewish origins, personal research interests and certain geopolitical realities, but also suggests the extent to which the Balkans represent Eastern Europe’s own East, encoding the same values for other Eastern Europeans as Eastern Europe itself does to the West.

Nonetheless, his arguments can provide a key for understanding the region, for example when claiming polities like the Poland-Lithuanian Commonwealth (represented here as the avatar of its contemporary, fledgling US) and the Ottoman Empire were not “nuclear winters” for culture. Rather, they “tended to accentuate difference rather than suppress it”, in the latter case particularly by fostering the “largest and oldest concentration of Muslims on the European continent”, whose contributions are often overlooked when set against Umayyad Andalusia. As with Christopher Clark’s recent effort to rehabilitate the much-maligned Austro-Hungarian Empire, to Mikanowski there is much to commend these vast and unwieldy institutions, which discriminated against minorities while simultaneously allowing for unprecedented religious toleration on the basis of recognized differences.

With these arguments, Mikanowski aims to push back against simplistic, atavistic nationalisms which have defined the post-Communist era – as when he derides the phalanxes of nationalistic statuary in Skopje, or critiques post-ideological, third-way museums in Hungary for implying communism was “just as bad” as Nazi fascism, in a charge equally applicable to contemporary nationalist ideologues in the Western Balkans. At the same time, he cautions, it’s “easy to fall into nostalgia” when discussing Eastern Europe’s pre-World War 1 diversity. Most cities were not “melting pots”, but characterized by mutually suspicious, if tolerant, communities – as in Albania’s Elbasan, once partitioned in sharply-defined concentric circles of Christian Albanians, Muslim Albanians and Christian Vlachs.

Mikanowski’s anecdotal style is less suitable for identifying other meta-historical trends or making political claims. As with the genealogy craze, everyone finds their own great-grandfather’s story fascinating – but what can this tell us about the course of history?

In such a grand narrative, something is always downplayed, and Mikanowski’s focus is on the personal and local. Understandably, the writer is more concerned with tracing the miserable fate of intellectuals under Stalinist communism than any deep-searching assessment of Communist political economy. He has sympathy for Hungarian “Goulash communism” and respect for Tito’s Yugoslavia as the sole anti-Stalinist “exception” and bane of Stalin’s life but doesn’t delve into how it was that Tito could by and large preserve inter-ethnic diversity and solidarity, instead somewhat simplistically presenting the Yugoslav project as an “act of mutual forgetting”.

Rather, the full impact of Mikanowski’s string of personal anecdotes is revealed when he turns to his family’s experiences in the Holocaust. Pushing back against representations of the slaughter of six million Jews as solely an “impersonal, mechanized process”, marked by German efficiency, Mikanowski argues that in Eastern Europe, “the Holocaust was an intimate slaughter”, as neighbour turned on neighbour in an exhaustive, hand-to-hand massacre. Thus, the author, in the book’s most profoundly affecting passage, can trace his great aunt Rosa’s scream as she was executed in the Warsaw ghetto via a secret milk-can archive, preserving the memory of her murder to the present day, where it “haunts” him yet.

Long-term persecution of the Jews and Roma notwithstanding, cataclysmic 20th-century violence was in part so horrific precisely because minorities had lived cheek-by-jowl with their persecutors for so long, in what Mikanowski calls a “ramshackle utopia”, weathering prejudice and the rise and fall of empires.

Mikanowski’s warning over the dangers of homogenisation and decline of this long-standing cosmopolitanism is particularly germane to the Balkans – all the more so in the neo-liberal free-for-all which followed the Socialist collapse. The Jews are gone, the Islamic presence is much diminished, and regional capitals are an increasingly indistinguishable blur of co-working spaces and Starbucks, masking empty rural hinterlands left to the impoverished, the elderly and the ghosts. But so too is his celebration of a “constellation of parochialism… bigger than the sum of its parts”, traces of which still endure in those same hinterlands, despite all efforts to eradicate it.

[scotianostra]

Captain Pugwash creator John Ryan was born on March 4th 1921 in Edinburgh.

Captain Pugwash creator John Ryan was born on March 4th 1921 in Edinburgh.

Born as John Gerald Christopher Ryan in Rintoul Place, he was the youngest of four sons of the diplomat Sir Andrew Ryan KBE CMG, who served as consul-general to Morocco and was later British minister at Jeddah and in Albania. His uncle was the Archbishop of Trinidad. and Tobago Ryan spent his early years in Turkey and Morocco before returning to Britain, where he was educated at Ampleforth College Boarding school. His first cartoon was in the school magazine when he was just 9.

During the Second World War he served in the Lincolnshire Regiment in Burma and India, achieving the rank of captain. After being demobbed he studied art at the Regent Street Polytechnic, London.

He then worked as assistant art master (and later art master) at Harrow School, during this period Ryan began contributing strips to children’s comics such as the Eagle, Girl and Swift.

His best-known creation, Captain Horatio Pugwash – skipper of the Black Pig and “the bravest, most handsome pirate of the Seven Seas” – first appeared in the launch issue of the Eagle on 14 April 1950. Set in the 18th century, the strip’s full title was “Captain Pugwash, the Story of a Bad Buccaneer and of the Many Sticky Ends which Nearly Befell Him”. The portly, cowardly and conceited Pugwash, with his moustache and goatee beard and skull-and-crossbones hat, would frequently utter cries such as “Dolloping doubloons!”, “Kipper me capstans!” and “Coddling catfish!” The red-and-black striped shirt which he wore under his blue frockcoat was inspired by Ampleforth College’s football team’s colours. His arch-enemy and main rival in the quest for treasure was Cut-Throat Jake, captain of the Flying Dustman.

I think I should point out, and maybe spoil some peoples memories about Captain Pugwash, there was no Master Bates, Seaman Staines or Roger the Cabin Boy, they are urban myths, it was Tom the Cabin Boy and Pirate Willy, entirely innocent names, the other names are thought to have originated back in the 1970’s in student rag mags, the smutty names, according to Ryan’s father had an upsetting affect on her dad, who she describes as “a very charming and innocent man” The family had to sue some publications after her father’s death when some papers printed the fake names. The family gave money they were awarded to lifeboat charities.

Another series Ryan created, and one I certainly remember when growing u, was Mary, Mungo and Midge. John Ryan also drew topical cartoons for the Catholic Herald for more than 40 years and was the author and illustrator of more than 50 books.

He passed away in July 2009.

[kestrellady]

Reading Around the World Challenge

Read one book set in every country around the world

Ongoing Total: 49/195 Setting and Author: 34/195 Setting Only: 15/195

The StoryGraph Challenge Link

My guidelines for this challenge:

Books should be set primarily or entirely in that country. (No travelogues counting for multiple countries.)

Fiction is preferred, but memoirs are acceptable. No history books.

Magical Realism and Fantasy are acceptable, so long as the country is named and recognizable. (No high fantasy inspired by the country.)

Authors should be from that country, living there for a majority or large portion of their lives and closely identifying with the country.

Diaspora and descendant authors are on a case-by-case, with the above criteria in mind.

Please feel free to send me suggestions! I read primarily in English, but can also do intermediate Spanish, so I'm interested in adding some Spanish language books to the list. Let me know if you disagree with my characterization of any authors or have suggestions for an author from a particular country.

Full list under the cut.

Setting and Author

Afghanistan - The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini Not generally a fan of literary fiction, but I actually didn't hate this! A more hopeful ending than I expected.

Albania - The Ghost Rider by Ismail Kadare This did not end at all how I expected. A quick and fascinating read.

Algeria - The Stranger by Albert Camus & The Meursault Investigation by Kamel Daoud Interesting to read these two together, and glad to have the literary background, but not really my thing.

Angola - A General Theory of Oblivion by Jose Eduardo Agualusa, Trans. Daniel Hahn A bunch of intertwined stories centered around Angola's independence and the following decades. I'm not sure I would call this magical realism, but it kinda has that feel to it.

Antigua and Barbuda - A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid Fascinating long essay that is a must read for tourists, particularly those traveling in the Caribbean.

Argentina - Mouthful of Birds by Samanta Schweblin Collection of horror and adjacent short stories.

Armenia - Three Apples Fell from the Sky by Narine Abgaryan, translated by Lisa C. Hayden A dying village on a mountain finds a reason to keep going. It's got that slight fairy/folktale feel to it that commonly gets called "magical realism."

Australia - The Things She's Seen by Ambelin and Ezekiel Kwaymullina Surprisingly sweet and wonderfully clever. Really enjoyed this one!

Cambodia - Music of the Ghosts by Vaddey Ratner This is a really lovely novel about healing after tragedy and finding your home again after it's been destroyed.

Colombia - Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez I preferred 100 Years of Solitude, but this is the novel more firmly set in Colombia.

Cuba - The Tower of the Antilles by Achy Obejas A volume of short stories exploring life in Cuba and in the US as an immigrant from Cuba. Not my favorite short story collection, but there were a couple that were really evocative.

France - The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas Read an abridgement that made me want to go back and read the unabridged version. Liked this better than The Three Musketeers.

Ghana - Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi Literary, but enjoyable! The back and forth twining of the storylines was used to really good effect.

India - A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth This is billed as a romance, but don't believe it. It's long, the links between the storylines aren't always clear, and it's a "realistic" ending.

Ireland - Dubliners by James Joyce These are... meh? More like vignettes than short stories. And very "everyone is unhappy."

Italy - The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco This was really interesting! I feel like I need to read it again to really get all the twists and turns.

Japan - The Travelling Cat Chronicles by Hiro Arikawa This was so sweet! And bittersweet. Just generally lovely.

Kenya - Unbowed by Wangari Maathai An interesting memoir by a remarkable woman.

Malawi - The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Meler A fascinating story of how ingenuity, persistence, and small changes can profoundly change a community.

Malaysia - The Ghost Bride by Yangsze Choo I really liked this one! A good spooky mystery with great fantasy/folklore elements.

Mexico - Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia Loved this book! Great horror story.

Netherlands - The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank Important, but sad work.

New Zealand - Quiet in Her Bones by Nalini Singh Thriller filled with interesting if not always likeable characters and a somewhat unreliable narrator.

Nigeria - Noor by Nnedi Okorafor Not my favorite of Okorafor's works, but a fascinating near-future sci-fi.

Norway - Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset Not a happy story, but well written and engrossing, even at over a thousand pages.

Pakistan - Unmarriageable by Soniah Kamal A retelling of Pride and Prejudice set in Pakistan. I loved the way that Pakistani culture was woven through and enhanced the original plot and themes. A really good read!

Poland - Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk Interesting mystery if not ultimately quite my thing.

Russia - War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy Yes, I did read the unabridged version. Yes, you should definitely find the abridged version.

Rwanda - Our Lady of Kibeho by Immaculée Ilibagiza First hand accounts of a little known Marian apparition in Rwanda.

Singapore - Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan Enjoyed this and its sequels. Less a romance and more intertwined stories of a family dynasty.

Switzerland - Heidi by Johanna Spyri Classic children's novel.

Syria - The Map of Salt and Stars by Zeyn Joukhadar Sad and lyrical. A great exploration of the legends and towns of North Africa. (This one barely counts as mostly set in Syria.)

United Kingdom - Persuasion by Jane Austen Lots to choose from, but officially using my favorite Jane Austen.

United States of America - The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne Weird story, beautiful prose.

Setting Only

Austria - The Star of Kazan by Eva Ibbotson Read this as a kid and remember really liking it. Should probably find one that I actually remember....

Canada - Hatchet by Gary Paulsen Very formative of my childhood, so I had to include it.

China - The Bonesetter's Daughter by Amy Tan I remember this being one of my favorite's of Amy Tan but not much more.

Cyprus - Othello by William Shakespeare Apparently this one counts? This play has good speeches but is not great for a modern audience.

Democratic Republic of the Congo - The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver Had to read this for class in high school and can't say I enjoyed it.

Egypt - River God by Wilbur Smith Definitely one of my favorites out of my Wilbur Smith phase.

Greece - The Magus by John Fowles Really weird book that's on the BBC Top 100 books for some reason?

Romania - Hunting Prince Dracula by Kerri Maiscalco Book 2 in this YA series with main characters and a romance I love.

Solomon Islands - Devil-Devil by Graeme Kent This was a really fun mystery that centers the clash of traditional, modern, and colonial societies.

South Africa - The Woman Next Door by Yewande Omotoso Fun little neighborhood drama.

South Korea - Wicked Fox by Kat Cho Really enjoyed this YA novel set in Seoul. Good fantasy and interesting moral dilemmas.

Vatican City - Angels and Demons by Dan Brown Easily my favorite Dan Brown. Though the sequels get a little off the rails. (Not sure anyone counts as a native of Vatican City?)

Vietnam - The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien Short stories inspired by the author's time in the Vietnam War.

Yemen - Don't Be Afraid of the Bullets by Laura Kasinof A budding journalist describes her experience in Yemen during the Arab Spring.

Zimbabwe - A Girl Named Disaster by Nancy Farmer Loved this book as a kid, it's one that really stuck with me over the years.

To Be Read

Andorra, Azerbaijan, The Bahamas, Bahrain, Bangladesh, Barbados, Belarus, Belgium, Belize, Benin, Bhutan, Bolivia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Botswana, Brazil, Brunei, Bulgaria, Burkina Faso, Burundi, Côte d'Ivoire, Cabo Verde, Cameroon, Central African Republic, Chad, Chile, Comoros, Costa Rica, Croatia, Czechia (Czech Republic), Denmark, Djibouti, Dominica, Dominican Republic, Ecuador, El Salvador, Equatorial Guinea, Eritrea, Estonia, Eswatini, Ethiopia, Fiji, Finland, Gabon, The Gambia, Georgia, Germany, Grenada, Guatemala, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Guyana, Haiti, Honduras, Hungary, Iceland, Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, Israel, Jamaica, Jordan, Kazakhstan, Kiribati, Kuwait, Kyrgyzstan, Laos, Latvia, Lebanon, Lesotho, Liberia, Libya, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Madagascar, Maldives, Mali, Malta, Marshall Islands, Mauritania, Mauritius, Micronesia, Moldova, Monaco, Mongolia, Montenegro, Morocco, Mozambique, Myanmar, Namibia, Nauru, Nepal, Nicaragua, Niger, North Korea, North Macedonia, Oman, Palau, Palestine, Panama, Papua New Guinea, Paraguay, Peru, Philippines, Portugal, Qatar, Republic of the Congo, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Samoa, San Marino, São Tomé and Príncipe, Saudi Arabia, Senegal, Serbia, Seychelles, Sierra Leone, Slovakia, Slovenia, Somalia, South Sudan, Spain, Sri Lanka, Sudan, Suriname, Sweden, Tajikistan, Tanzania, Thailand, Timor-Leste, Togo, Tonga, Trinidad and Tobago, Tunisia, Turkey, Turkmenistan, Tuvalu, Uganda, Ukraine, United Arab Emirates, Uruguay, Uzbekistan, Vanuatu, Venezuela, Zambia

[citrusreadstoa]

The Dark Prophecy Predictions (TOA SPOILERS)

Now is probably a good time to mention that this whole blog was inspired by the PJO/HOO Live Reactions series by bihli1 (Brenna) on TikTok. She did predictions before starting every new book. I didn't do that for The Hidden Oracle because 1) I forgot and 2) I already had the vaguest of memories of the book from when I read it years and years ago. Starting now, I'll do predictions, but they will be very short and not at all serious. That being said:

Alrighty, next book is The Dark Prophecy. Based on the two prophecies given by the Grove of Dodona, they're probably gonna fly to Indiana (Is Apollo allowed to fly to high altitudes if Zeus is mad at him? He was fine with the Ant Queen, but what if he goes higher or for a longer stretch of time?), there's gonna be a battle involving ripe bananas, Apollo's gonna drown in a horrible caving accident that leaves him without enough oxygen going to his brain and he's gonna go insane, they're gonna have a close call with Python and maybe some insects, maybe find some lost Sybilline pages, poor Festus is gonna crash land again (The mainland US is really bad for him. Even in Albania and the Sea of Monsters he only got bonked and dented.), and Festus is gonna have to eat something really really bad.

They're probably going to make it to the west coast by the end of the book, but if a lot of time is spent in Indiana, Camp Jupiter might only appear at the end. I keep hearing about some Waystation being referenced in a lot of fanfics, so somehow Caleo's gonna find time in the middle of all this mayhem to set up an auto repair shop (How???), and obvoiusly they're gonna find Meg and she'll join them permanently for the three books following.

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Events 8.17 (before 1840)

310 – Pope Eusebius dies, possibly from a hunger strike, shortly after being banished by the Emperor Maxentius to Sicily. 682 – Pope Leo II begins his pontificate. 986 – Byzantine–Bulgarian wars: Battle of the Gates of Trajan: The Bulgarians under the Comitopuli Samuel and Aron defeat the Byzantine forces at the Gate of Trajan, with Byzantine Emperor Basil II barely escaping. 1186 – Georgenberg Pact: Ottokar IV, Duke of Styria and Leopold V, Duke of Austria sign a heritage agreement in which Ottokar gives his duchy to Leopold and to his son Frederick under the stipulation that Austria and Styria would henceforth remain undivided. 1386 – Karl Topia, the ruler of Princedom of Albania forges an alliance with the Republic of Venice, committing to participate in all wars of the Republic and receiving coastal protection against the Ottomans in return. 1424 – Hundred Years' War: Battle of Verneuil: An English force under John, Duke of Bedford defeats a larger French army under Jean II, Duke of Alençon, John Stewart, and Earl Archibald of Douglas. 1488 – Konrad Bitz, the Bishop of Turku, marks the date of his preface to Missale Aboense, the oldest known book of Finland. 1498 – Cesare Borgia, son of Pope Alexander VI, becomes the first person in history to resign the cardinalate; later that same day, King Louis XII of France names him Duke of Valentinois. 1549 – Battle of Sampford Courtenay: The Prayer Book Rebellion is quashed in England. 1560 – The Catholic Church is overthrown and Protestantism is established as the national religion in Scotland. 1585 – Eighty Years' War: Siege of Antwerp: Antwerp is captured by Spanish forces under Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma, who orders Protestants to leave the city and as a result over half of the 100,000 inhabitants flee to the northern provinces. 1585 – A first group of colonists sent by Sir Walter Raleigh under the charge of Ralph Lane lands in the New World to create Roanoke Colony on Roanoke Island, off the coast of present-day North Carolina. 1597 – Islands Voyage: Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, and Sir Walter Raleigh set sail on an expedition to the Azores. 1668 – The magnitude 8.0 North Anatolia earthquake causes 8,000 deaths in northern Anatolia, Ottoman Empire. 1717 – Austro-Turkish War of 1716–18: The month-long Siege of Belgrade ends with Prince Eugene of Savoy's Austrian troops capturing the city from the Ottoman Empire. 1723 – Ioan Giurgiu Patachi becomes Bishop of Făgăraș and is festively installed in his position at the St. Nicolas Cathedral in Făgăraș, after being formally confirmed earlier by Pope Clement XI. 1740 – Pope Benedict XIV, previously known as Prospero Lambertini, succeeds Clement XII as the 247th Pope. 1784 – Classical composer Luigi Boccherini receives a pay rise of 12,000 reals from his employer, the Infante Luis, Count of Chinchón. 1798 – The Vietnamese Catholics report a Marian apparition in Quảng Trị, an event which is called Our Lady of La Vang. 1807 – Robert Fulton's North River Steamboat leaves New York City for Albany, New York, on the Hudson River, inaugurating the first commercial steamboat service in the world. 1808 – The Finnish War: The Battle of Alavus is fought. 1827 – Dutch King William I and Pope Leo XII sign concord. 1836 – British parliament accepts registration of births, marriages and deaths.

[jkvfhjkfvhesj]

Athens in Americans’ top 10

With higher salaries in their pockets and record investment income, Americans are boarding planes en masse to every corner of the globe, including Athens (pictured), boosting economies abroad and driving up and down real estate markets in Europe and elsewhere. From the temples of Japan and the thermal baths of Hungary, to the islands of the Cyclades in Greece, American tourists are everywhere this summer, and Athens is among their top 10 destinations. With the dollar rising, the value of the money in Americans’ pockets seems to take them even further. The growth rates of the American economy, which are higher than in Europe and beyond, attract investments to the USA. These inflows are pushing the dollar to its highest levels for the year, with the US currency up 15% against the yen and 2.3% against the euro since the end of 2023. In countries such as Argentina and Vietnam, the dollar’s purchasing power has never been stronger, the Wall Street Journal noted in a report published on Thursday. With higher wages in their pockets and record investment income, Americans are boarding planes en masse to every corner of the globe, boosting economies abroad and driving up and down real estate markets in Europe and elsewhere. Nearly 3 million travelers passed through Transportation Security Administration security checks on June 23, setting a new record. And on these trips abroad, Americans do not spare any expenditure: They stay longer, book expensive tours and bring extra suitcases with them, which they fill with souvenirs and other shopping. In Japan in particular, American money is taking on even more ground as the yen recently fell to 38-year lows against the dollar. However, according to data from Mastercard, the top destinations for American travelers this summer are Cancun, Mexico, Aruba and London. Tokyo is also in the top 10, as is Athens. According to Axios, Albania is also rising in the preferences of American travelers, as prices in the country are still much lower than more established European destinations. Romania is also on the rise, in part because it recently joined the Schengen zone, making travel easier. In Greece, data from the Bank of Greece show that arrivals from the US increased annually in the four months from January to April by 62.1%, to 267,500 travelers. Travel receipts from American travelers increased by 35.7%, to 204.6 million euros. Read the full article

[fifaworldcup2026tickets]

Spain FIFA World Cup: Spain Coach Plays Down Favorites Tag After Topping Group

Spain FIFA World Cup: Spain's coach Luis de la Fuente has downplayed the tag of being a favorite despite an imposing performance in the Euro 2024 group stage. Spain’s journey to the top of Group B was marked by a 1-0 victory over Albania, following wins against Croatia and Italy. These results ensured Spain’s smooth passage to the round of 16 with maximum points and without conceding a single goal. Such defensive solidity and dominance are reminiscent of their glory days during their 2008 title-winning run.

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De la Fuente’s strategy of making ten changes to his starting eleven for the match against Albania FIFA World Cup highlighted the depth and flexibility of the Spanish squad. Despite resting key players like Alvaro Morata, Rodri, and Dani Carvajal, Spain maintained their high standards and controlled the game from the outset. The luxury of rotating the squad while still securing victories speaks volumes about the team’s quality and preparedness.

Spain's ability to adapt and manage their squad effectively could be crucial as the tournament progresses. The coach’s cautious optimism and emphasis on teamwork and readiness demonstrate a pragmatic approach to navigating the Spain FIFA World Cup challenges. While the results have been impressive, de la Fuente’s focus remains on continuous improvement and maintaining the team’s unity and resilience.

FIFA World Cup 2026 Tickets: Spain's Tactical Mastery and Squad Depth on Full Display

De la Fuente’s decision to ring in ten changes against Albania at the FIFA World Cup 2026 demonstrated his confidence in the depth of his squad. Spain, already assured of a round-of-16 spot, had the luxury to rotate players and provide rest to key figures. The match against Albania showcased Spain’s tactical flexibility and ability to maintain their high standards irrespective of the personnel on the pitch.

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In the opening minutes, Spain dominated possession, setting the tone for the match. Despite Albania's need to take the initiative due to their precarious position in the group, it was Spain who controlled the pace and exerted pressure. Dani Olmo’s perfectly weighted pass to Torres in the 13th minute FIFA World Cup was a prime example of Spain’s ability to switch from possession-based play to a more direct approach when needed. Torres’ sublime finish highlighted the clinical edge that Spain possesses, capable of creating and converting chances out of seemingly nothing.

Albania, struggling to keep up, found themselves playing catch-up throughout the match. Although they managed more shots on target than Spain, they lacked the precision and cutting edge in the final third. Spain’s resolute defence and the timely interventions by goalkeeper David Raya ensured that Albania’s attempts to equalize were thwarted. The ability to maintain defensive solidity while rotating players is a testament to the strategic planning and preparation by de la Fuente and his coaching staff.

Strategic Rest: Spain's Depth Shines in Key Player Rotation

One of the significant talking points of the match was de la Fuente’s decision to rest key players like Alvaro Morata, Rodri, and Dani Carvajal. This move could have been risky, but the performance of the team justified the coach’s faith in his squad. The players who stepped in showcased their readiness and ability to perform under pressure. Ensuring that the absence of star players did not affect the team’s performance in FIFA World Cup 2026.

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Dani Olmo and Torres were particularly impressive. Olmo’s vision and ability to deliver precise passes created opportunities, while Torres’ goal demonstrated his finishing prowess. The cohesion and understanding among the players on the field were evident, reflecting the team’s preparedness and tactical discipline. Substitutions, including the introduction of Morata and Lamine Yamal, brought fresh energy. And creativity to the attack, underlining the depth of the squad FIFA World Cup.

Spain’s ability to rest key players and still secure victories without compromising on performance bodes well for the later stages of the tournament. It ensures that the squad remains fresh and reduces the risk of injuries, which can be crucial. In a long and demanding competition like the FIFA World Cup 2026.

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Spain's Focus on Unity and Readiness Amidst Dominant Performance

Despite topping their group with a perfect record and showcasing an impressive blend of tactical mastery. And squad depth, Spain’s coach Luis de la Fuente remains cautious about their favourite tag. His focus is on maintaining the team’s momentum and unity as they progress to the knockout stages. The emphasis on being a “family” and the importance of every player being ready. To contribute highlights the team’s collective spirit and preparedness.

Torres, after winning the Player of the Match award, echoed the sentiment of unity and readiness. His comments about making selection decisions difficult for the coach reflect the healthy competition and high standards within the squad. This internal competition ensures that every player remains focused and motivated, which is crucial for sustained success in the tournament.

Spain’s blend of experienced players and emerging talents creates a dynamic and adaptable squad capable of handling different challenges. As they move forward in the FIFA World Cup. Maintaining their defensive solidity, tactical flexibility, and team unity will be key. De la Fuente’s pragmatic approach and the team’s collective spirit position. Them well to navigate the knockout stages and potentially challenge for the title.

While Spain’s performance in the group stage has been dominant, de la Fuente’s downplaying of the favourites tag. Is a strategic move to keep the team grounded and focused. The journey ahead will test their resolve and adaptability, but with the depth. And quality at their disposal, Spain is well-equipped to tackle the challenges.

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[rachel-sylvan-author]

"Free: Coming of Age at the End of History" (also called "Free: A Child and a Country at the End of History") by Lea Ypi

This book deserves more hype! Absolutely adored it! 10/10, no notes! Will probably be my favorite in April! 🥰

Thank you @womensbookclub_paris for the amazing experience! ❤️

Perfect for Book Challenges! Set Albania, so Read Around The World and 24 countries in 2024. Also! Memoir so nonfiction Or are you trying to read more women books, women authors, women stories