[Castling] Chapter 54

The trip cost me a fair bit—thirty-five Galleons just for the travel, another ten to join the expedition, and fifteen more for a translator, a Portkey, and getting all the paperwork sorted between the two Ministries. But I didn’t regret a single Knut, even if I was a bit put out at first.

The international Portkey took us straight from the Lovegoods’ home to Manaus, a city in Brazil where we spent the first two days. And I’ve got to admit—I was a little underwhelmed.

The city was massive, but rundown. Towering buildings loomed overhead, yet the place had the feel of a glorified village. Clean in some areas, even stylish and expensive-looking in spots, but at the same time, kind of shabby and worn. The wooden stilt houses by the water were brightly painted, but the wood had blackened with age, and the paint was peeling in places. The older mansions had crumbling mosaics and weathered carvings. It wasn’t quite the modern metropolis I’d imagined from the travel brochures.

But what really got me was how, just beyond the city—this bustling, chaotic place—there was nothing but jungle stretching for miles. You could step out of your house, walk five minutes past waterlogged, rotting tree trunks, and suddenly, you were in the Amazon rainforest.

We were put up in a magical hotel designed in an old colonial style. Hermione would’ve said it looked like something she’d seen in Paris. But surrounding it were rows of ugly, peeling four-story blocks, like some dreary, distant suburb. The hotel itself was nice enough, though. Not that we stayed there long.

They kitted us out with enchanted rucksacks full of supplies—clothes, all white, charmed shoes to repel moisture, and a few other interesting trinkets.

One little device fit in your nostrils like a tiny ring, regulating humidity for easier breathing and warding off infections. It even changed colour to indicate your health status. We were also given a universal potion to guard against local magical and non-magical illnesses, covering everything from yellow fever to dragon pox.

Another gadget, like a sleek earpiece, kept your body temperature regulated and had a small glowing crystal that repelled insects from getting too close. I was well impressed—all these magical tools were compact and actually useful.

On top of that, we got a bracelet—an emergency Portkey back to base. It activated automatically in danger and doubled as a tracking charm, so no one could get lost.

After a full briefing on jungle safety and strict instructions to only use magic at designated spots, we were finally ready.

On Wednesday morning, after breakfast, we boarded a ferry, and the adventure began.

At first, we passed scattered stilt villages—little wooden shacks thrown together from whatever materials people could find. Scrawny trees dotted the banks. Then, at last, the scenery changed. Lush, wild greenery took over. The air thickened with humidity, heavy with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves. Without our enchanted gear, it would've been unbearable.

We stuck to the right bank. The rainy season had ended, but the floodwaters hadn’t fully receded yet, leaving entire stretches of land submerged. Trees jutted straight out of the water, their branches level with our heads, where all sorts of small creatures scurried about. It was fascinating to watch. Luna and I spent the entire day glued to the railing, trying to spot as many animals as we could.

I was surprised at how much she knew. She identified almost every critter we passed and, if she wasn’t sure, flipped through a field guide, and we’d debate over the species—though she was always right in the end.

This was an expedition, not a sightseeing tour, so the adults were busy taking notes, making charts, and having serious discussions. They left us to entertain ourselves. Luna basically became my personal guide—unlike me, she’d actually read up on the region beforehand. I, on the other hand, had completely forgotten to do my homework.

There were two other teenagers in our group—twin boys a year older than me. Their dad studied Peruvian Vipertooths, the local dragon species. This wasn’t their first expedition, so they had plenty of stories to share. Between them and Luna, I was never bored.

By evening, our ferry docked at the riverbank, and we were assigned tents. No separation by gender here—we four ended up in one tent together. I made sure Luna got the spot by the wall, giving her as much space as possible. She wasn’t one for crowds, and I figured she’d appreciate it.

A protective dome covered the entire campsite, blocking out the jungle sounds so we could sleep in peace. In the morning, Luna was up at the crack of dawn, dragging me out of my sleeping bag for breakfast before we joined the twins—they’d promised to show us something interesting.

Near the river, there was a large cleared-out area—three, maybe four kilometres across—enclosed by a magical barrier. Inside were various magical creatures, waiting to be transported. They moved about naturally, oblivious to us and each other.

Apparently, this was a sort of checkpoint. Some creatures had been bred or studied in the reserve and were being released back into the wild. Others had been captured for research—or ingredients. I recognised plenty of creatures whose parts were used in potions. Seeing a Runespoor, Boomslang, or a Snargaluff in real life, instead of just reading about them, made things feel a lot more real.

We spent the whole morning wandering through the invisible enclosures, trying to identify animals from the guidebook.

By evening, three more ferries arrived with more wizards. Throughout the day, a few barges and loads of small boats passed us, but Muggles couldn't see a thing.

After dinner, the adults gathered in the main tent for their discussions, leaving us by the fire. The twins and an old local shaman entertained us with stories and legends of the region. Luna, not one to be left out, shared a few English folk tales of her own. Her soft, melodic storytelling was so soothing that I nearly nodded off.

The next day, everyone split into smaller teams. Ours had eight people:

A native guide, officially representing the reserve.
A journalist and a writer—Xenophilius Lovegood.
A magizoologist—an energetic, sharp-eyed Spanish woman named Isabella, who talked so fast that even the translator struggled to keep up.
Two burly Brazilian security wizards.
A photographer, Gustavo, who specialised in magical wildlife photography.

And two of us.

The next morning, our travel companions transferred to another boat heading for Peru, off to the dragon reserve, and disappeared northwest. We also swapped vessels, trading the ferry for a boat of our own.

It was large and comfortable—more of a small yacht, really—and from the outside, it looked just like the Muggle boats that zipped past us along the river. Inside, though, it was a different story. Each of us had a proper cabin, there was a shared dining area and a lounge, and—finally—actual bathrooms. Up until then, we’d been relying on magic for, well, everything.

The most interesting part of the journey happened closer to midday. We passed through a magical barrier—I felt it as soon as we crossed, my ears popping as if all sound had been sucked out of the air.

For a moment, my vision doubled. The river ahead seemed to split into two for the briefest second before merging back together, like staring through a heat haze on a blistering summer day. Everything blurred and shimmered.

Then it was gone. Back to normal. Except… it wasn’t. The air had a different ‘texture’ now, a faint taste of something unfamiliar. The sounds around us were sharper, crisper. The river, wide as an ocean, had been murky and brown before, thick as liquid clay. Now, it was crystal clear—though you couldn’t see the bottom, thanks to the thick carpet of underwater plants stretching up towards the surface, swaying gently with the current. And then there was the magic. A presence so dense and heavy, it was almost tangible. Like stepping into the heart of a magical sanctuary—but magnified tenfold.

“Congratulations, colleagues,” came the captain’s voice over the speakers. “Welcome to the Jaú Magical Reserve.”

There was a round of applause and a few excited cheers before everyone settled back into their business.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, stunned, once we were alone on deck.

“What do you mean, Ron?” Luna replied serenely.

“I mean—just now. My vision doubled, and then everything… shifted. Did we just pass through some sort of portal?”

“We crossed into the magical part of reality,” she answered, which, of course, made no sense at all. Seeing my confusion, she elaborated. “All magical locations exist in a different space. Only a tiny part of them extends into what Muggles perceive as reality—like the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, or the red telephone box for the Ministry of Magic, or even that warning sign near Hogwarts. These places act as transition points, just like here. Think about it—how else would we hide entire magical landscapes and buildings? Muggles would have spotted them from space by now with all their fancy technology. Just imagine how massive a dragon reserve has to be to let those creatures live freely.”

“But I never felt anything like this when I visited our reserve back home,” I argued. “Or when I went to see Charlie in Romania.”

“Well, you never actually went inside the reserve in Romania, did you?” Luna countered. “You need special clearance for that—tourists aren’t allowed in. You probably only saw the rearing pens where they breed dragons artificially and a little souvenir shop. And our local reserve doesn’t require a permit because it exists within the Muggle world—it’s built on a magical hotspot. The magical background there is weak, and there’s nothing of great value, so access is unrestricted.”

“So… wait, let me get this straight,” I frowned, trying to piece it together. “Are you saying wizards sort of… fold space with magic to create extra pockets of reality?”

“Not exactly.” Luna tilted her head in thought. “The Muggle world is three-dimensional. Ours is four-dimensional. Actually, it’s multi-dimensional, but we, as wizards, can only perceive the first layer of it. The other layers are inhabited by magical entities and creatures. I think we, as magical beings, naturally belong to this world, but we have access to the Muggle one. And where magic seeps through into their world, creating breaches, we feel at home. All magical creatures, plants, and everything else originated here, in this reality. But over time, wizards adapted certain areas of the Muggle world for magic as well. Even so—this place feels better, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah… I guess,” I admitted. “Thanks for explaining. I had no idea things were so complicated.”

“I’m sorry, Ron,” she said softly. “I’m not very good at explaining. I just see and feel what’s true, but putting it into words is hard. I’ll give you a book about it when we get back. Then you can explain it to me properly—scientifically.”

“Hold on,” I said, something clicking in my head. “Isn’t the Muggle world technically four-dimensional too? What about Time?”

“Well, time in the real world is linear and fixed, whereas in ours, it can be manipulated. We can alter it using magical artifacts, and that, in turn, can affect their world. But they can’t influence ours. So for wizards, the Muggle world is effectively three-dimensional.”

“So…” I hesitated. “Can Muggles accidentally stumble into a place like this—this magical reality?”

“They can. And they do,” Luna said, nodding. “Sometimes, a tear forms between the worlds—an unregistered gateway opens up. When that happens, Muggles can wander into our reality. Some of them get sent back, but rarely. Most of the time, they don’t survive. There’s an entire international network that tracks missing Muggles who end up on magical lands.”

“No wonder so many people disappear without a trace in the Muggle world,” I muttered, feeling a chill creep up my spine. “That’s terrifying. Imagine never knowing what happened to someone you love.”

“It is sad,” Luna agreed. “But these breaches can’t be predicted. The places where they happen often, Muggles call ‘cursed lands.’ Sometimes, it happens the other way around—magical creatures accidentally slip into the Muggle world. You’ve heard the stories, haven’t you? They’re always seeing something—Yeti, Chupacabra, the Loch Ness Monster, giant squid, kelpies… A dragon even made its way onto a Muggle beach in our county once. ‘The Ilfracombe Incident’—you must’ve read about it, Ron.”

“That does ring a bell…” I frowned, trying to remember. “But I don’t recall the details.”

“In the 1930s, a Welsh Green escaped from a reserve through a breach and landed on a beach, scaring a bunch of Muggles,” Luna reminded me. “Luckily, there was a wizarding family there on holiday, and they acted fast. After they subdued the dragon and Obliviated everyone on the spot.”

“And these breaches… how do they find them?” I asked, feeling more than a little stupid—turns out there was a lot I didn’t know, despite spending so much time in the library.

"In every Ministry, there's a department that deals with these incidents and cleans up the mess afterwards. In Britain, it's the Department of Mysteries—lots of specialists work there in different fields. My mum used to work there too," Luna added, turning away to watch the river.

"Er… Luna," I said, pulling her attention back. "So right now, at this very moment, there are Muggle boats floating along this same river, going about their business? And we can’t see them, just like they can’t see us?"

"That’s right," she nodded. "They’re in their reality, and we’re in ours. The Hogwarts Express works on the same principle. It runs along a Muggle railway track, just in a different layer of reality. Wizards Apparate through intersections of magical currents, Floo travel works this way too, and owls deliver letters so quickly because they use magical pathways—places where space folds in on itself, shortening the journey. There’s not a lot of magic in the Muggle world, so even though we live side by side, we each exist in our own reality. That’s why Muggles don’t notice much."

"Then why do these breaches in the barrier appear?" I asked. No way I’d be able to relax until I got an answer.

"There are lots of reasons," Luna said thoughtfully. "The energy of the barrier between worlds isn’t stable—it’s always shifting and changing. Think of it like a piece of fabric being pulled in all directions—eventually, it stretches too thin and tears. It’s a bit like our skin—flexible and resilient, but still vulnerable to damage. Muggles have so many new devices now—towers, machines, satellites… They send out waves and interference, creating tension in some spots while stretching others too far. And then—rip."

"I always thought electricity was what messed with magic," I frowned. "I read that Josephine Flint, before she became Minister for Magic, gave a whole report to the Wizengamot proving that Muggle inventions interfere with the proper function of a wand."

"Well, she was a pure-blood," Luna shrugged. "It suited her to say that. But really, it’s the opposite. In the real world, it’s actually magic that disrupts technology—it’s a three-dimensional world, remember? It wasn’t made for magic. But all those waves and disturbances—when the energy surges high enough—can cause tears in the barrier."

"Oh, look—a river dolphwing!" she suddenly gasped, leaning over the railing and pointing at the water.

Something big leapt from the river. Maybe it was a dolphin—except for the extra set of razor-sharp fins along its sides that looked alarmingly like wings. It snapped its jaws shut around a tiny monkey dangling from a branch and, with a shrill cry of triumph, disappeared back into the depths. The whole thing lasted no more than a couple of seconds.

Before I could even react, more of them burst out of the water, yanking their own meals off the branches. A fat toad managed to wriggle free and tumbled into the river, only for two of those not-quite-dolphins to slice through the water like blades, each taking a bite before vanishing beneath the surface again.

"Erm… Luna," I finally choked out, still staring at the rippling water. "Are you sure those are dolphins?"

"Not exactly. They’re a magical species," she answered, completely unfazed. "But all dolphins are carnivorous. Besides, their saliva and glands can cure Gill’s Fever—that’s when a wizard’s magic burns out. Nature is brutal, but it’s perfectly balanced, don’t you think? Come on, Ron, let’s get something to eat. I’m hungry too."

And with that, she calmly dragged me off to the dining area, as if we hadn’t just watched a bunch of river monsters tear their lunch straight out of the trees.