FOR TURKISH FANS, THE WAIT is over. Harry Potter ve Ölüm Yadigarlar? came out on Tuesday, less than 12 weeks after the publication of Deathly Hallows. Only Ukraine's Harry Potter i Smertelni Relikviyi was quicker.

In France J.F. Ménard translated previous Potters in nine weeks; this time his candidacy for the Académie Française is delaying Les Réliques de la Mort until February. And in Italy irate Potter fans have organised Operation Feather, deluging the publisher Salani with feathers to demand earlier publication, in the manner of Hogwarts' messenger owls.

There is always a race to translate the latest J.K. Rowling. As well as the authorised versions, internet fan clubs from Germany to Vietnam leap instantly to work. But copyright issues remain murky: a teenager in Provence spent a night in jail for circulating an instant translation. The police let him off, impressed by his near-professional work.

In March Venezuelans enjoyed Harry Potter and the Serpent's Shadow, fanfiction masquerading as the seventh book. The Bengali author Uttam Ghosh was dismayed when his Harry Potter in Calcutta was removed from the shelves. In China a dozen fake Potters are on sale. No wonder Victor Morozov worked 15 hours a day on a Ukrainian translation. “The pirates are getting so good, it's difficult to tell which is the original,” he says.

But how does one translate words such as Wormtail and quidditch? Some names, though, translate more neatly than others. In French, Wood becomes Dubois; Wormtail is Queuedver. The Italian for Fudge, Cornelius Caramell, loses the secondary nuance; Severus Piton sounds snaky, but not as sneering as Snape. Albus Silente conveys quiet authority, but ignores Dumbledore's archaic meaning: bumblebee. The Norwegian version was formed by adding humle (bee) to snurr (spin), also suggesting surr (buzz). Not only rhythmic, Humlesnurr captures Dumbledore's sting in the tail.

Puns and references are intractable. Tom Marvolo Riddle is an anagram of I am Lord Voldemort. To preserve this, his middle name becomes Vandrolo in Hebrew, Marvoldo (Turkish) and Orvoloson (Italian). He is Tom Elvis Jedusor in French, Tom Sorvolo Ryddle (Spanish) and Trevor Delgome (Icelandic). Fawkes, the ever-so-British phoenix, defies translation: should we prefer fiery Vulcan (Norwegian) or alliterative Felix (Slovakian)?

Is it worth the struggle? Translators receive poor fees, scant glory and the opprobrium of fans. Some enjoy the reflected stardust. Yuko Matsuoka, in Japan, says: “A wave of shock ran through me. I said, ‘Here is something I have waited for'.”

Others are less enthused. When Warner Bros bought the franchise, the Catalan translator Laura Escorihuela refused to renegotiate terms — and was replaced. The Israeli Gili Bar-Hillel receives corrections from readers. “Every mistake will follow me the rest of my life,” she says. “The readers are young and unforgiving.”

Don't be surprised if you see translators jumping from Platform 9¾ in front of phantom trains. Even Morozov, whose 66-day turnaround should reap a sales bonanza, admitted: “I'm glad this is the last book.”

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