Dan's first holiday outside of the UK is something a little special

It perhaps was the most beautiful country Dan had ever seen. Mountains dropped away into dazzlingly blue lakes and thick, green forests carpeted anything that wasn't rock or water. There were very few houses, and those that there were often had grass rooves and were built from timber and stone so that they seemed to be a part of the country and did not look unseemly. The only interruption to the breath-taking earth that spanned below were the roads: smooth and inky black and winding through the fjords. Dan had never driven a car in his life, but he imagined those roads would glide like ice beneath the rubber wheels.

PJ was casting a reflection charm that allowed them to fly just below the clouds without being seen. He led the way with Chris, Dan and Phil following just behind them. It had taken a while to convince Phil that, with enough practice, he could take Norway by broom, and Dan was glad. Sure they could have apparated to each location, but even from the tallest mountain the view would be nothing on this.

In the morning they had met at Dan's house to pick him up and offer his parents once last hug of reassurance. They had taken a portkey to Kristiansand and from there had apparated to a quaint little wizarding settlement buried deep within one of the sprawling forests. The main tavern was in a cave, from the outside a black gash in the side of the mountain but inside a warm, bubbling and surprisingly open space full of travellers and locals alike.

They'd wandered the village and surrounding forests and stayed a night in the inn, then strapped their cases to their brooms and set off. Now, as they were passing a particularly impressive glacial river, PJ led them down the sheer side of a mountain.

"You know," he shouted over the rushing wind. "The lakes are as deep as the mountains are tall. A drop like this just carries on straight down."

They were travelling fast and close to the rocky wall to reduce the chances of being seen, and Dan could only imagine how white Phil's knuckles were as he gripped his broom handle. Even PJ was looking a bit peaky as they pulled up from their dive and skimmed the trees looking for a gap to land in. They touched down on the mossy floor and collected themselves.

"You alright?" Dan murmured to Phil as they shouldered their brooms and gathered their cases.

Phil nodded, pale. "My legs are jelly. Why brooms? Why not, like, armchairs? I feel like they'd have a much steadier pace. My butt wouldn't be so numb, either."

Dan grinned. In front of them, Chris had bewitched the cases to float behind them and was waiting patiently.

"We've got a bit of a walk," he said as they set off. "The muggles hike in the woods a lot, it wasn't safe to get any closer."

"You don't think they'll notice the cases?" Dan raised an eyebrow.

"PJ's sending out a detection spell so we'll know if anyone's ahead." Chris clarified. "It's fine when we're walking but the brooms are too fast for it to be accurate. And obviously it can't work for apparition. We can put the cases down if someone comes."

"And they won't think it's weird that we're dragging wheeled cases through a forest?" Dan queried. "It's not like there are any roads over here, we clearly haven't just come from our car."

Chris frowned. "I didn't realise there was muggle etiquette for suitcases."

"It's not etiquette, it's practicality. But you'll find that out pretty quickly when you try wheel one of these over this." Dan smirked.

"Well what should I have bought?" Chris said, annoyed. "The wheels seemed like a pretty good idea to me."

"For flat ground, sure," Dan tried to keep the laughter out of his voice. "For terrain like this I reckon rucksacks would have been a better idea. We're literally hiking right now. I wouldn't be surprised if we had to use our hands at some point, there are some pretty big boulders and ditches."

Chris looked ahead uncertainly. There certainly wasn't any sort of path, and he'd already nearly tripped over an old, gnarled tree root that protruded suddenly from the dirt.

"What should we do? We can't transfigure them, there's too much stuff inside. I doubt even McGonagall would be able to get it all back when she reversed it."

"We'll know we're about to hit company about five minutes in advance." PJ considered. "We could just hide them and sit down like we're having a break and wait for the muggles to pass."

Dan nodded. "That works for out here, but not when we get closer. We're going to look pretty funny if we just come striding out of the woods with pink and purple plastic suitcases."

"We can aim for the road instead and walk down it till we hit the campsite from that direction?" Phil suggested.

"They'll have a car park, surely. Where would we have put our car?" Dan held back a sigh. He was starting to regret not getting involved in the planning. They hadn't got off to a very good start. Not to mention the fact that Chris was currently wearing his Arsenal shirt backwards.

"We hitchhiked?" Phil suggested.

Dan raised his palms in a shrug. "Why not? The Norwegian people seem pretty happy to let us do our thing."

Chris nodded. "They're very relaxed. My friend, the one we're staying with on Friday, says they just don't really care. As long as you're not annoying them, you can pretty much just do your own thing. They're very straight up, too. All the Scandinavians are. They say what they think. That's why they're all so successful and rich, they get stuff done. None of our British awkwardness faffing about and being desperately afraid of offending all the time. They're chilled. He's really funny, too. He's got that completely deadpan-"

"Christopher," PJ interrupted him. "If you fancy him this much why didn't you visit earlier?"

Chris grinned, a little embarrassed. "I'm just saying. It's cool seeing different cultures."

"Yes, very nice dear."

They hit the road sooner than they'd expected and felt pretty stupid as they wheeled their suitcases in single file down the side of the tarmac. After a few minutes, Chris suggested dipping back into the trees and following the road out of sight.

"I see what you mean about the suitcases. I hit one rock and tipped the whole thing over." Chris called to Dan, concerned.

"It's fine," Dan said back. "We're eccentric, British idiots. I'm sure they've seen worse."

All around them was green. They were following a thin strip of forest now and could see the glistening lake through the trees, and a tiny slither of yellow beach. Every few minutes a car would set off PJ's detection spell and they had to stop, as there was no way of knowing it was a car and not a party of walkers heading towards them. They ground was rough and the going slow, but the air felt impossibly clean and the scenery was undeniably beautiful.

Under foot was a springy layer of yellow-green moss and the occasional patch of peat which usually meant there was a boulder near, the stone warmed under the sun and the lichen that covered the surface thick enough that it was soft and pleasant to the touch.

They quickly learnt that the patches of bracken were to be walked around and not waded through. The stems were thick and unforgiving. While there were cars, many of them were hybrid or electric or just very expensive and so made little noise to disturb the tranquillity. A few birds sang lazily at the blue sky and, when it was really quiet, Dan could just about hear the water lapping gently on the shore.

"Jesus, Chris, you didn't warn me about the mosquitos." PJ complained suddenly. "I'm sure there's a repellent spell. I would have looked it up."

It wasn't something Dan had noticed until PJ had pointed it out, but now he was waving his hands in front of his face as he walked in an attempt to waft them away. They had crept up so silently on the four boys.

"Do you think the muggles would notice if I conjured up a tornado?" PJ carried on, slapping his arm and wincing. He inspected his palm before wiping it disgustedly on his shorts.

"What do muggles do about them?" Chris asked Dan. He'd had a similar revelation, and was seeing the clouds of insects where previously there had been open space and green foliage.

"Mosquito repellent. It's this cream stuff that smells bad, so they stay away."

"So you just make yourself smell bad?" PJ asked, alarmed.

"It only smells bad to them. Well it's not nice to us either, but it's not that strong. You stop noticing it really quickly."

"That's really clever," Chris frowned. "How do they figure something like that out?"

"Science." Dan grinned.

Chris sighed. He'd heard a lot about muggle science since befriending the muggleborn, and it all sounded pretty far-fetched.

"Okay. Will we be able to buy it at the campsite?"

"I have no idea. We're staying in a cabin, but it's a campsite so there's camping space too, right? Sounds like it's probably pretty big. And there's nowhere around here. There's a good chance they sell food and have a little shop, so yeah, maybe." Dan narrowly avoided a painful encounter with a spiky bush and fell into Phil.

"Just a couple of days of smelling bad. I can deal with that." Chris grunted as he pulled himself over a boulder.

"Hold up," PJ said, letting the cases fall with a gentle thud. "There are people ahead, but they're not moving. I think we're close. Let's go back to the road."

At the entrance to the campsite stood an old, wood and stone house that looked like something from a fairytale. Some of the wooden planks were their natural red colour while others had been painted yellow in a pattern that seemed random yet somehow made perfect sense. PJ climbed the steps to the quaint little porch while the other three looked through the trees at their home for the next two nights.

Nestled on the hillside, not too close together but not particularly far apart either, were a huddle of tiny, red log cabins raised off the ground on stilts. They had little square windows and round, stone chimneys and every one looked out onto the still, blue lake.

PJ bounded down the wooden steps jangling a set of keys. Dan couldn't help but share his excitement. This was the type of holiday he never imagined actually having. He expected resorts with swimming pools and identical hotel bedrooms and a strip of restaurants and clubs that exclusively spoke English. Not a cabin in the woods with mountain climbing behind them and lake stretching in front of them. It was impossibly picturesque. The kind of place you'd find in a children's picture book but never in the flesh.

Cabin four was the like all the others but just a little bit different. As they climbed the wooden stair to the decking at the front of the cabin, Phil turned suddenly to the lake and gasped.

From the direction they'd approached they hadn't seen much of the lake once they hit the road, but almost directly in front of them the tarmac continued straight out across the mouth of the lake where it tucked itself into a fast flowing river. The bridge was a smooth, white curve that was incredibly graceful and, despite its steel and plastic structure, fitted perfectly into the view in front of them. Like the houses and churches and roads, it did not insult the scenery it cut through. It was meant to be there, and Dan doubted even the deer and moose and rabbits that roamed the forests took offense.

Inside, the living room was cosy and the kitchen verging towards cramped. It was lit by a yellow bulb inside a wooden bracket that filled the room with warm light. There were two bedrooms, each with bunk beds, and Chris raced ahead to claim top bunk.

"Because I get a window." He explained with a grin.

The window was tiny and framed with floral, cotton curtains that couldn't have looked more like they'd been lifted from a little old grandma's cottage in the woods.

It was small, but Dan was sure he could spend weeks here without complaint. He'd been in the beautiful country only a few hours and already his chest hurt with the knowledge that, all too soon, he would have to leave. It was a bizarre sensation.

After dumping their bags, they set out immediately, giddy and chattering like children.

First, they followed the dirt track that led through the campsite to where the bank flattened out into a little beach. A child and a dog were splashing in the shallows of the lake, and paid little attention to the four teenagers. To their left were a handful of small boats tied to a wooden dock. Like so much of the country, they blended so well into the nature around them that they were invisible from most angles – shielded by tall rushes that swayed languidly in the afternoon breeze.

The water was very cold. It was glacial, collected here as it ran off the snow-capped mountains. Of course, these were boys used to swimming in the highlands of Scotland, and the temperature was not a factor that swayed them even slightly. Chris was underwater in about the time it had taken Dan to remove his shirt, and the collie dog got so excited by the sudden burst of activity that it bounded in and out of the lake like a yoyo, barking all around the boys.

An elderly man sitting on the deck of his cabin looked over the top of his newspaper, disapproving of the break in tranquillity, but none of the beings in the lake noticed.

Mountains circled the lake towering high into the blue sky. Trees covered the islands that brimmed over the still water here and there. Birds sung and the sinking sun painted everything with gold.

~

The light pine walls of the cabin reflected the morning light until, eventually, Phil stirred. Once the excitement of the bunk beds had worn off, Dan and Phil had regretfully agreed to share the lower bunk as it was wider and could easily accommodate two. Chris had shown no such agreeableness and stuck to his resolve, claiming the top bunk and leaving PJ to sleep alone below him and occasionally kick Chris's mattress with is feet. He had awoken first due to the little window next to his head and had stared silently through the dusty glass for at least an hour before the others stirred.

The woods just felt right. It was perfect peace. The trees outside his window did not fear deforestation, they had surely stood for hundreds of years and grown tall into the sky. This, Chris thought, was how humans were supposed to live. It was impossible to be unhappy in somewhere so beautiful and calm. He was sure that he could strike out alone in any forest or any city without fear or even the tiniest inkling of stress. It was idyllic. It was perfect. It was nature and humanity existing in harmony with one another. It was a window smaller in area than his face, but Chris felt as though he would be satisfied to stare out of it forever.

They had no plans for the day and, after Dan had demonstrated the use of an electric oven to an awestruck audience, they struck out into the woods for a walk. There wasn't any sort of definite path, but the trees were spaced out so that they could see a long way ahead and wander where they pleased.

PJ ducked down in the ditch behind where a tree had uprooted and glanced over his shoulder before pulling out his wand and pointing it at a cluster of yellow mushrooms growing in the shade.

"Don't bother, they're edible." Phil said at a glance.

"You sure?" PJ asked.

"Well, you'll be eating them first."

PJ rolled his eyes, plucking a few of the biggest from the soil and slipping them into his pocket.

They walked without direction, striking out towards anything beautiful looking. It was beyond peaceful. All four of them were in their own separate bubbles of content, made all the better by the bigger, brighter bubble that encompassed them all with the warmth of good company. Every now and then they would stop and wait for Phil to catch up, the boy having become distracted by something small and green growing on the forest floor. PJ was mimicking birdcalls and Chris was running his fingertips over the rough bark of every tree he passed. Dan was having a moment.

Was it possible for someone to be allowed this much happiness? He doubted that there was any offer of riches or luxury or life changing experience that would make him want to be anywhere other than here in this little pocket of time. He was catching the birdcalls that bounced between PJ and the canopy and committing them hungrily to memory, drinking up every shade of green and splash of flowers and sparkle of blue lake that his eyes absorbed and breathing deep, happy lungfuls of the fresh air. He was watching quietly for deer and gasping gleefully at the young rabbits bounding suddenly from the undergrowth in front of them. He was smiling fondly at Phil and laughing at Chris and observing PJ with reverent awe. He was listening to a stream slipping through rushes and mud and then almost falling into it as he sought it out. He was alive and enthralled. He was seeing and breathing and smelling and being. He was smitten.

"This is the most beautiful country I've ever seen." He said suddenly, and in that moment he knew the words were true.

PJ nodded thoughtfully. "There's something about it. Even the bits that aren't spectacular, like this. It's the country itself that's so cool."

Phil almost walked into Dan, who had stopped to gaze upon another viewpoint of the sea lake through the trees. Every angle seemed more beautiful than the last, though they had barely moved a hundred metres.

"It's just nice, isn't it?" Phil said, most of his attention on the tiny purple flowers in his hand. "You don't want to leave."

"Are those flowers glowing?" Dan asked suddenly. It was difficult to tell in the daylight, but the delicate petals certainly had an aura about them.

Phil nodded. "Clever little things," he explained. "Evil, really. They're saprophytic, like most mushrooms and stuff – not really plants at all. They grow off the nutrients released by decaying, dead plants. You find them in really dark places, these were inside that fallen tree over there. The light allows plants to grow – and grow really well because if it wasn't for the dark those places would be perfect, really rich soil you know? And these guys turn off their lights and let the plants die and harvest their remains, essentially. They like the really early stages of death. That's why they do it."

"That's brutal." PJ chuckled.

"How come muggles don't find them? They're literally glowing." Dan asked with a frown.

"Defence mechanism." Phil was speaking more to the flowers than to the boys. "They learned pretty quickly that most animals like pretty lights and will get curious and probably end up killing them, whether they deliberately pick them or just scuff about and pull them up. They have tiny root hairs that sense the vibrations in the ground. They turn off if something's coming, but that's not magic – it's like those ferns that close up when it rains to protect themselves, but the actual mechanism is more like a venus flytrap. These guys are only lit now because I'm casting a shield charm around them."

Dan considered internally. He had assumed, for whatever reason, that magical plants only grew in magical places. How else would the ministry explain to muggles all the bizarre things their gardens were doing to them? Just another example of his muggleborn ignorance, he supposed. Maybe he would ask Phil about it another time in private.

"Hey," Phil said suddenly with a grin as PJ bent down to collect another cluster of the yellow mushrooms. "Why do toadstools grow so close together?"

Dan raised an eyebrow.

"They don't need mushroom."

Phil dissolved into giggles and PJ sighed sadly.

"Real funny, Phil. Have you considered a career in comedy?" Dan shook his head.

"I thought you'd take a lichen to that one." Phil's grin spread.

"What?" Chris said, confused, and Phil pointed at the yellow plant that grew over the surface of the boulders like moss.

"Lichen." He explained.

Dan picked up a small rock and tested its weight in his palm. "I'll be taking a lichen to your head in a minute." He threatened.

"Permission granite." Phil responded quickly, and Dan let out a yelp of frustration.

"That one's so much worse. Like, it's not even clever, it's just painful." He said helplessly.

Chris sniggered. "That's how you know someone's a Hufflepuff. Terrible, lame, excruciating puns. Then there's you Slytherins with sarcasm so dark and dry it chafes on the way out of your throat.

"Ravenclaws are the sharp ones," He carried on a little wistfully. "It's even in their motto. Wit beyond measure, and all that."

"While the Gryffindors just like to make a fool of themselves to be centre of attention." PJ looked round amused. "Loud and obnoxious, that's Gryffindor's motto isn't it?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "If that's what I get from a compliment I promise I won't be trying it again any time soon."

"I've got more," Phil chirped up. "What do you call a cow with three legs?"

Chris shrugged, bracing himself.

"Lean beef."