0405 Albania

Words : 1657 Updated : Oct 13th, 2025

0405 Albania Albania, a land of contrasts and mysteries, presents a facade of natural beauty to the unsuspecting Muggle world. According to official government statistics, one-third of Albania's diverse terrain is blanketed in lush, dense forests. These verdant expanses, with their towering trees and vegetation teeming with life, paints a picturesque scene that lures Muggle tourists from far and wide. However, for upstanding wizards in the Wizarding world, it's not a place worth lingering. The root of Albania's magical predicament lies in its demographics. The country's population, by global standards, is relatively small. The limited population renders to a correspondingly small number of native-born wizards and witches. This scarcity of wizards has led to a critical problem that reverberates through every aspect of magical life in Albania. Without a sufficient number of local wizards, Albania lacks the necessary foundation to establish a legitimate Ministry of Magic. Such a ministry, recognized by the International Confederation of Wizards, is the cornerstone of magical governance in most nations. It serves as the regulatory body, enforcing laws, maintaining order, and ensuring the delicate balance between the magical and Muggle worlds remains undisturbed. In its absence, a vacuum of power emerges, leaving only the bare minimum of magical law - the Statute of Secrecy - to govern the actions of witches and wizards within Albania's borders. This lack of comprehensive magical oversight has given rise to chaotic and often dangerous phenomena. Magical creatures in this country are slaughtered indiscriminately. Their parts, prized for their magical properties, fetch exorbitant prices on the black market, fueling a cycle of greed and destruction. The trade in illegal magical substances flourishes in this lawless environment. Rare potion ingredients, some so potent or dangerous that their very possession is illegal in most civilized magical communities, change hands freely here. Smugglers, drawn by the promise of enormous profits and lax enforcement, have made Albania their chosen marketplace. They conduct their evil business with liberty, knowing that no aurors or magical law enforcement agents will swoop down to arrest them. In this climate of unchecked magical activity, the darker aspects of wizardry have found fertile ground to take root and flourish. Dark magic, shunned and forbidden in most magical societies, is practiced openly here. Curses that would earn a life sentence in Azkaban are cast without fear of repercussion. Enchanted objects of malicious design are crafted and sold to the highest bidder. Adding to this volatile mix are the traditional wild witches and wizards who call Albania home. These practitioners of ancient and often brutal forms of magic often conduct cruel experiments here. As word of Albania's unique situation spread through the darker corners of the wizarding world, the country became a magnet for those with something to hide. Fugitives pursued by their home countries' Ministries of Magic saw in Albania a perfect refuge. These individuals, already of questionable character, brought with them their own brands of mayhem. Incidents involving attacks on unsuspecting Muggles became increasingly frequent, though carefully orchestrated to avoid causing widespread panic that might draw unwanted attention. The International Confederation of Wizards, theoretically responsible for magical governance in the absence of a local ministry, found itself in an impossible position. Tasked with maintaining the Statute of Secrecy above all else, the Confederation is forced to turn a blind eye to many of the atrocities committed within Albania's borders. As long as the Muggle world remains blissfully unaware of the magical chaos unfolding around them, the Confederation's hands were tied. Even Dumbledore, arguably the most powerful and influential wizard of the age, was also powerless to change Albania. His desire to protect the innocent Muggles caught in the crossfire of magical conflicts is blocked by the complex web of interests that have taken root in the country. Like the underground world in the depths of Knockturn Alley, Albania's magical underworld is protected by a network of connections that blur the lines between light and dark. To truly change the status quo, Dumbledore would have to charge in wielding his wand and go on a rampage himself. As twilight descends upon this land, the sky's vibrant palette gradually fades. The setting sun, once a blazing orb of fierce crimson, mellows to a softer, more subdued red. At the distant horizon, where the vast expanse of the sea meets the darkening sky, one can just make out the tiny black silhouettes of fishing boats struggling to reach shore, painting a picture of the vast, boundless ocean. The encroaching night brings with it a palpable sense of unease among the Muggle tourists. Despite being captivated by the raw beauty of Albania's natural landscapes, As if responding to some unspoken signal, tourists begin to call out to their companions and walk with hurried footsteps to their cars to leave. By the time the cold moon becomes faintly visible in the sky, there were hardly any Muggles left at the boundary between the primeval forest and the hills covered in lush green grass. However, by the rippling lakeshore, a middle-aged woman was kneeling, sobbing desperately as several policemen try to restrain her. "What's going on?" A young man carrying a travel suitcase appeared silently behind a policeman, startling the Greek-looking Muggle police officer who had been standing nearby, hands on his hips, surveying the scene with a weary sigh. "Oh Damn, where did you come from?" The policeman, seemingly the leading officer, nearly twisted his ankle. His hand even moved reflexively towards his gun holster, but after his gaze swept over the gray-haired young man's entire body, the vigilance in his eyes dissipated, replaced by a touch of embarrassed anger from being frightened. "What happened?" The gray-haired young man asked, ignoring the Muggle policeman's emotions, raising his chin and looked towards the middle-aged woman who was struggling with several officers and wailing loudly as she tried to rush into the lake. "Ah—" The Muggle policeman seemed to be a very approachable person. He didn't dwell on how the gray-haired young man managed to sneak up behind him without making a sound on the open grassland where they could see everything. Sighing, he looked at the middle-aged woman with sympathy in his eyes. "She's a tourist from Italy. This morning, the lady and her daughter were out boating on the lake. Everything seemed normal at first, but then a gust of wind blew by. The woman says she just blinked, and in that instant, her daughter vanished." Clad in black robes, Bryan ignored the greedy eyes that were lurking in the deep darkness, secretly peeping and waiting to strike, as he struggled along a barely noticeable path. The vines around were so thick that Bryan wasn't even sure if he's walking on the right path or if he's already gone astray. After struggling through the vegetation, Bryan paused to check the letter from Kakus Fawley once more. From an inner pocket of his robes, he took out the slightly crumpled parchment. Attached to it was a crudely drawn magical map. In the dim light filtering through the canopy, Bryan studied the parchment intently. According to the map, he was very close to his destination. Not far from it, a larger symbol marked his goal. Bryan took a moment to survey his surroundings, matching the outlines of the land to those depicted on the map. Satisfied that he was indeed on the right track, he carefully refolded the letter and map, tucking them safely away before setting off once more. The next ten minutes of his journey were perhaps the most grueling yet. The forest seemed to grow denser with each step, as if actively resisting his progress. Finally, after these ten minutes of struggle, Bryan emerged into a small clearing. At its center stood a massive spruce tree, its trunk as wide as a small house. But it was what hung at the base of the spruce that truly caught Bryan's attention. There, fixed to the ancient trunk, was the severed head of a goat. The sight was grotesque and unsettling in equal measure. The flesh where the head had been separated from its body was startlingly fresh, droplets of blood still clinging to the its edges, about to fall at any moment. But the rest of the head bore unmistakable signs of age and decay. The skin had tightened over the skull, giving it a mummified appearance. Most disturbing of all were the eye sockets - once home to the goat's eyes, they now gaped as empty hollows, seeming to stare into Bryan's very soul. "I wish to enter the camp," Bryan said in an old voice, facing the goat's head. For a moment, nothing happened. The clearing remained silent, the only movement the gentle swaying of leaves in a breeze Bryan couldn't feel. Then, slowly at first but with increasing intensity, a change came over the scene. A subtle wind arose, seemingly from nowhere, rustling the undergrowth and setting Bryan's robes to fluttering. The air grew thick with an unseen energy, making the hairs on the back of Bryan's neck stand on end. And then, most unsettling of all, the goat's head began to move. Creak, creak, creak-- A sound emerged from its throat, a creaking, groaning noise. As Bryan watched, the goat's head fixed to the spruce tree suddenly laughed ghostly, two points of sickly green light ignited in the depths from its hollow eye sockets. "State your name and your introducer," When the goat's head spoke, its voice was like nails scratching a chalkboard, high-pitched and grating. "Golden Viper, introduced by Kakus Fawley—" ******************************* Author's Note: This whole thing regarding albania is fully fictional. i just used the place's name in Original Story as a reference. This albania and our real world albania are different. ******************************* For More Chapters; /FicFrenzy

0405 Albania

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