50[@more@]Harry rubbed his forehead, thinking. He had a vague idea he had heard the name before, but he could not think where.
"I think Voldemort's looking for him."
"Poor bloke," said Ron fervently.
Harry sat up, still rubbing his scar, now wide awake. He tried to remember
exactly what he had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mountainous horizon and the outline of the little village cradled in a deep valley.
"I think he's abroad."
"Who, Gregorovitch?"
"Voldemort. I think he's somewhere abroad, looking for Gregorovitch. It didn't look like anywhere in Britain."
"You reckon you were seeing into his mind again?"
Ron sounded worried.
"Do me a favor and don't tell Hermione," said Harry. "Although how she expects me to stop seeing stuff in my sleep..."
He gazed up at little Pigwidgeon's cage, thinking...Why was the name
"Gregorovitch" familiar?
"I think," he said slowly, "he's got something to do with Quidditch. There's some connection, but I can't--I can't think what it is."
"Quidditch?" said Ron. "Sure you're not thinking of Gorgovitch?"
"Who?"
"Dragomir Gorgovitch, Chaser, transferred to the Chudley Cannons for a record fee two years ago. Record holder for most Quaffle drops in a season."
"No," said Harry. "I'm definitely not thinking of Gorgovitch."
"I try not to either," said Ron. "Well, happy birthday anyway."
"Wow -- that's right, I forgot! I'm seventeen!"
Harry seized the wand lying beside his camp bed, pointed it at the cluttered desk where he had left his glasses, and said, "Accio Glasses!" Although they were only around a foot away, there was something immensely satisfying about seeing them zoom toward him, at least until they poked him in the eye.
"Slick," snorted Ron.
Reveling in the removal of his Trace, Harry sent Ron's possessions flying around the room, causing Pigwidgeon to wake up and flutter excitedly around his cage. Harry also tried tying the laces of his trainers by magic (the resultant knot took several minutes to untie by hand) and, purely for the pleasure of it, turned the orange robes on Ron's Chudley Cannons posters bright blue.
"I'd do your fly by hand, though," Ron advised Harry, sniggering when Harry immediately checked it. "Here's your present. Unwrap it up here, it's not for my mother's eyes."
"A book?" said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. "Bit of a departure from tradition, isn't it?"
"This isn't your average book," said Ron. "It'd pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I'd had this last year I'd have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would've known how to get going with... Well, Fred and George gave me a copy, and I've learned a lot. You'd be surprised, it's not all about wandwork, either."
When they arrived in the kitchen they found a pile of presents waiting on the table. Bill and Monsieur Delacour were finishing their breakfasts, while Mrs. Weasley stood chatting to them over the frying pan.
"Arthur told me to wish you a happy seventeenth, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley,