Before the ramshackle Burrow, Mr. Weasley waved his wand, directing several suitcases to hop into a rusty Ford Anglia.
"Kids, double-check the tent," he called. "Albania's forests are known for sudden thunderstorms."
"Can this car fly?" Severus Snape asked, curiosity piqued. This must be the car that crashed into the Whomping Willow, he thought.
"Fly? Of course not," Mr. Weasley replied, puzzled. "Muggle cars are supposed to stay on the ground, aren't they?" But his eyes sparkled with sudden excitement. "Though, that's a brilliant idea—if it could fly…"
"Arthur, are you sure we should take this thing?" Mrs. Weasley interrupted, frowning at the car as if it were a Blast-Ended Skrewt ready to snap.
"My dear, this is what adventure's all about!" Mr. Weasley said, rubbing his hands eagerly. "We agreed—no magic, just the Muggle way! Car, airplane, the works!"
"Right, everyone in!" Mr. Weasley clapped the hood cheerfully.
Eight of them squeezed into the car—Mr. Weasley insisted on driving himself, despite his shaky grasp of how the metal contraption worked. Luckily, wizards were rarely harmed in car crashes.
Once they were all packed in, Mrs. Weasley glanced at the back seat, where Bill, Charlie, Eileen, Severus, and Lily sat comfortably side by side. She and Percy took the front, the seat stretched magically to resemble a park bench.
"Muggles are cleverer than I thought," she remarked. "I mean, you'd never guess from the outside how spacious it is inside, would you?"
In the rearview mirror, Mr. Weasley winked at Severus, then started the engine and pulled out of the yard.
For once, the Weasleys didn't forget anything, and the Ford Anglia chugged steadily toward Exeter International Airport, the closest airport in Devon. With Severus's help, they'd managed to book tickets over the telephone.
The journey was hair-raising. The Ford Anglia rattled ominously along the A30, making suspicious clunking noises, and Mr. Weasley nearly veered into a ditch three times. Still, they finally rolled into the airport parking lot.
Exeter International Airport was a whirlwind of chaos.
Muggles barreled around with metal trolleys, a mechanical female voice droned flight updates, and security scanners flashed blinding red lights. Mr. Weasley's eyes widened, his hand instinctively reaching for his wand.
"Put that away!" Mrs. Weasley hissed, grabbing his arm. "We're doing this the Muggle way, remember?"
At the check-in counter, Lily let out a gasp. "Oh no! I forgot to buy a ticket!"
"You're a witch, aren't you?" Severus said. "A simple Confundus Charm will fix it."
"But that's against the rules," Lily whispered.
Severus shook his head, his wand slipping silently from his sleeve. "Confundo," he muttered, barely moving his lips. A faint golden spark hit the staff member.
"Oh, of course!" the woman beamed suddenly. "Miss Evans, we've got a window seat in economy, fifth row from the back. Enjoy your flight!"
She printed Lily's boarding pass with brisk efficiency and handed it over, placing her next to Severus and the others.
At boarding, Mr. Weasley's fascination with the "giant metal bird" nearly got him detained by security when he tried to inspect the plane from the tarmac. Severus cast another discreet Confundus Charm, ensuring they all boarded safely.
The plane's takeoff left the Weasleys and Eileen gripping their armrests in panic. Mrs. Weasley went pale, clutching the seat, while Eileen squeezed her eyes shut.
"Is this really safe?" Mr. Weasley whispered to Severus. "No Balancing Charms like a broom?"
"Relax," Severus replied. "You're more likely to die playing Quidditch than flying in a plane."
Hours later, the plane touched down at Tirana's airport in Albania as night fell.
Warm, humid air greeted them, with towering mountains cloaked in dark green forests looming in the distance and exotic red-tiled, white-walled buildings nearby.
"Welcome to Europe's last magical frontier," Mr. Weasley said, taking a deep breath and unfolding a Ministry-issued travel map. "According to Magical Places: A History of Albanian Wizardry, this place is home to one of Europe's oldest wizarding communities—"
"I heard the forests here have vampires," Bill said in a conspiratorial tone. "And werewolves!"
Mrs. Weasley tensed immediately. "Children, don't wander out of sight! Arthur, you promised this would be a safe holiday!"
Mr. Weasley, distracted by a motorcycle parked nearby, mumbled, "Of course, dear, perfectly safe… Oh, look at this—a car with just two wheels! How clever!"
Severus and Lily arranged two rickety taxis, which bumped along to a small town. Following the map, they walked down a cobblestone path to a tavern with a heart-shaped sign reading "Dracula's Den" in golden letters.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, they entered a warm, dimly lit room. Copper lanterns hung from the wooden ceiling, casting light on walls adorned with preserved magical creatures.
Wizards of all sorts sat at rough-hewn tables—some in traditional Albanian robes, others clearly foreign tourists.
"I'll sort out the rooms," Mr. Weasley said. "Find a table."
They settled at a large round table when a plump, round-faced woman hurried over from the bar. Her bushy brown curls bounced, and freckles dotted her cheerful face.
"Arthur!" she squealed, loud enough to turn heads. "You made it!"
"Bertha! So good to see you!" Mr. Weasley waved enthusiastically.
"The Weasleys! And… oh, Merlin!" Bertha Jorkins jogged over, seizing Mr. Weasley's hand and shaking it vigorously. "Severus and Lily! I haven't seen you since Hogwarts—you've grown so tall!"
Bertha pulled up a chair, plopping down with familiar ease. "So, a family holiday? How adorable!"
Her eyes lingered on Severus and Lily, glinting with gossip-hungry curiosity. "So, you two… traveling together?"
Severus, unimpressed by this nosy former schoolmate—later killed by Voldemort for her meddling—tried to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Bertha, we haven't eaten. Any local dishes you recommend?"
After a hearty meal, they climbed the creaking stairs to their rooms. Outside, Albania's mountains glowed blue-black under the moonlight, and distant, eerie calls echoed from the forest depths.
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