Morning light cut across Karl Johans gate as Rock and Newt walked side by side. A few Muggles in jackets and coats hurried past, collars turned up against the chill. July in Norway still felt like early spring—midday never cracked twenty degrees Celsius.
Rock tugged his coat tighter. The garment looked like a robe at first glance, but it had been tailored in Diagon Alley to pass for ordinary Muggle outerwear. The heavy fabric did little against the sudden drop in temperature.
"Cold?" Newt asked.
"Not really, Grandpa. Just surprised how fast it got colder once we left the ship."
They turned off the main street. A museum stood on the corner. Newt led them into a narrow, damp alley that smelled of wet stone and old moss. He stopped at a blank section of wall and studied it for a moment. With a flick of his wand, three runes lit up—wealth, journey, protection—and the wall split open like cracking ice.
Behind it lay the Hidden Fjord.
The air that rushed out carried no scent of baking or sweets like Diagon Alley. Instead it smelled of cold iron, forge smoke, and pine. The alley twisted upward with the slope of the mountain, narrow and winding like a frozen river suddenly come alive. Wooden houses lined both sides, painted deep red, butter yellow, and forest green in the old Norwegian style. Ice-laced wind chimes hung from the eaves and rang softly in the breeze.
Newt glanced sideways at him. "What do you think?"
"It's nothing like Diagon Alley," Rock said, turning in a slow circle. "This place feels… older. More tied to the land."
Newt nodded. "That's why they call it the Hidden Fjord. It's bound to the mountains, the forests, and the old stories. Hidden doesn't just mean hidden from Muggles."
They stood out immediately. Their clothes marked them as outsiders, and more than one witch or wizard gave them a long, measuring look as they passed.
Halfway up the slope the alley opened into a small square. In the center stood a massive tree kept alive by magic. One half of its branches glittered with frost; the other half bloomed with soft pink flowers.
"Winter-Summer Twin Tree," Newt said quietly.
Rock stared up at it. The name fit perfectly.
Newt pointed toward a cluster of rough wooden tables beneath the branches. "Let's sit. That's the outdoor seating for the Troll's Toe Tavern."
They had barely settled when a wizard in a thick fisherman's beanie approached. "Two travelers, then. What'll it be?"
"Magic pie and a hot mead for me," Newt said. "Rock?"
Rock looked up at the waiter. "Anything you'd recommend? Nothing with alcohol."
The man barked a laugh. "By Thor's hammer, I'm not selling firewhisky to a boy, even if you are from out of town. For the young ones we've got Shimmering Honey Hot Milk, Viking Warrior Hot Cocoa, or Storytelling Root Soup."
Rock considered for half a second. "Storytelling Root Soup, please."
"Seven sickles total," the waiter said after Newt paid. He returned a moment later with their order and set the pale-green bowl in front of Rock. Steam rose from it in lazy curls. "Want me to mute the sound-and-light effects? They can get loud."
Rock shook his head, drew his wand, and murmured, "Silencio." The soup settled into a quiet, ordinary-looking broth.
The waiter raised an eyebrow but said nothing more before moving on.
A patrol of cloaked wizards appeared at the edge of the square, snow still clinging to their shoulders. Their leader stopped at the table. "Passports, please."
Newt handed them over without comment. The wizard studied the names, then froze when he reached Newt's. His eyes widened.
"You're Newt Scamander?"
The name carried. Several witches and wizards at nearby tables turned to look. Newt simply nodded.
The patrol leader straightened at once and returned the documents with careful respect. "An honor, sir. Welcome to Norway."
"Thank you," Newt said.
The patrol moved on. Rock watched them go, then glanced at the waiter who had waited to serve them until after the check was finished.
"Grandpa," he said quietly, "this place doesn't seem to like outsiders much."
Newt took a slow sip of his mead. "Some places remember who stood with them during the old wars. And who didn't."