Here is chapter two for you, I hope you like it. I forgot to mention the usual disclaimers regarding who owns what; so anything that appears in cannon is JKR's / Warner Bros. anything that doesn't is mine.
Solomon Aegis, Wiltshire, 2008.
2. Follow The Yellow Brick Road.
It was getting close to Christmas before Harry was able to persuade Kingsley Shacklebolt that, no matter how many leads they had to yet another pathetic remnant of Voldemort's army of dark wizards, he needed a break. He was frustrated at not being able to get away to see what, if anything, was preventing Hermione from getting in touch with him. His concern for her was given no comfort whatever when the head of the department of international magical relations assured him that if there was any major problem with the condition of someone as well known to the ministry as Miss Granger, then he would be the first to know about it, and there had been no reports, good or bad. Unfortunately Harry remembered what had happened to Bertha Jorkins all those years ago, and he was under no illusion that the ministry had improved since then.
Finally Shacklebolt had agreed to his leave of absence and Harry was free to go. The tall dark man watched the haste with which Harry packed away the things from his desk and then dashed out of the office. Kingsley tapped his finger on the file he had been reading as he thought; it was not the parchment he was thinking of but the young lad that was off to find his friend. "Damn!" he swore quietly to himself. Somehow he just knew that Harry was going to land himself in trouble, and there was no point in letting him take unnecessary risks. He pushed the button on his desk that would call his aid.
"Ah Goosey," he said when the small bald man appeared from a side office, "Please arrange an international floo slot for me, I need to send a message to an old friend in Australia."
"Certainly sir," Albert Goosey replied, "Are you expecting that young Mr. Potter is going to need some help?" Nearly everyone in the department had gathered what Harry was up to and felt a certain proprietary care for the lad.
Kingsley chuckled, "I am sure Harry is well capable for his task." If he didn't show enough confidence in the boy half the department would be off after him. "Let us just say I would feel happier if someone was keeping an eye on him, see to it would you?"
"Yes sir," he replied and Albert left to book the message slot.
* * *
To apparate to the other side of the world was quite a daunting task when it was your first attempt, and you still preferred flying to travelling by translocation. So Harry decided that he would make the trip in stages jumping between landmarks he would be able to picture well and hopefully not get himself lost. He packed a few things in a small bag, closed up his flat, and wearing a fairly nondescript travelling cloak headed off into muggle London.
He popped into a muggle book shop and browsed through the travel section. 'One Hundred and One Places to See Before You Die'. 'Cheery title' Harry thought, as he thumbed through the book, but it appeared to have everything he wanted.
He took his money to the till where a bored looking girl gave the young man before her the once over, 'Umm not bad' she thought, Harry gave her a brief smile. She gave the book back to him with the receipt, and pointed at the title. "Take it you're not thinking of dying just yet?" she said with a snigger at her own thoughtless joke.
Harry gave her a very serious stare, and she blushed slightly under his gaze. "Actually until recently I thought about it most days," he replied in a quiet voice. "Now I am supposed to live," he was really talking to himself, not to the cashier, "but there is something missing, and I am going to find her." He turned his back on the open mouthed girl and walked out of the shop.
He found the place he was looking for in the next street. It was a small muggle café where he hoped he could have a cup of tea and study the travel book he had with him in peace. Here, he was sure, there would be no chance of interruptions from inquisitive witches or wizards. He ordered his tea and sat down at a table to one side of the café. Opening his book he searched through the pages picking out, the Eiffel Tower, the Pyramids, and the Taj Mahal, they were the easy ones. Nice bold pictures he would have no difficulty with those.
The elderly waitress who brought him his tea looked at the book over Harry's shoulder.
"Going somewhere nice dear?" she asked.
"Err yes," said Harry vaguely, as he studied a place called New Britain, which had a nice, familiar name. There was a picture of the capital town with the towering shape of Mount Rabaul behind it and he wondered if it was safe to go there. "Australia, they call it Oz out there you know."
The waitress looked at this rather strange, quiet, young man, and placed his cup on the table, "So I believe. You have a nice time there; you look like you could do with a good holiday."
"Oh, err, thanks," said Harry dragging himself back to the real world. "I'll try." He paid for his tea and then spent the next ten minutes firming the images he wanted in his mind. France, Egypt, India, and this New Britain place then on to Sydney. Short'ish jumps to start with then the longer ones when he had gained some confidence. It was a plan of sorts. He drained his cup and stood to leave, his book tucked under his arm.
"To Oz!" the waitress called to him from across the café.
Harry smiled, "Err, yes, to Oz," and he turned to leave.
"Hoi!" said a man at the next table, drawing Harry's attention. He pointed to the small bag Harry had brought into the café with him which lay forgotten under his seat, "Don't forget Toto." And for some reason way beyond Harry's understanding, burst out laughing.
"Don't you pay him no never mind," called the waitress as she saw the perplexed look on Harry's face, "Thinks he's a comedian that one. You have a good time now." Harry waved in thanks and headed to the door. "Maybe come and tell me all about it, when you get back."
* * *
Harry apparated out of London from a small deserted side street, and appeared in Paris under the shadow of the tall spire of the Eiffel tower. He realised his mistake almost instantly, there were people all around him but fortunately nobody stopped to stare. There was so much noise and hustle and bustle, that his sudden appearance went unnoticed. That there was no loud CRACK to accompany his arrival was a testament to his auror training, the fact that he didn't splinch himself with some poor unsuspecting muggle, was just down to pure luck.
It scared him a bit when he realised what a mess he could have made of his first long distance apparation, so he found a convenient park bench took a seat to calm his nerves and tried to work out a safer way of doing it. He had discounted using the international wizarding apparation points in case someone either friendly or unfriendly recognised him, because right at this moment he didn't want attention from either side. Now he realised that the muggle world was far too crowded to play around in during the day so it appeared to him that there was only one option and that was to apparate so that he arrived at his destination at night.
He kept his watch set on London time and using the handy time zone calculator in his travel book he figured he would need to wait a while before he attempted his next jump to Egypt. He amused himself by wandering around the back streets of Paris paying little attention to his surroundings until his eyes happened to light on a sign hung high on a grey stone wall; a sign advertising a restaurant that looked remarkably like a large red cauldron. It wasn't so much the shape of the sign that caught his attention but the name written on it, 'Nicholas Flamel'. It was there for all to see, as bold as brass, right out there in the muggle world. Harry stared at the name and his mind flashed back to his very first year at Hogwarts, a time when he and his two best friends, battled against Quirrell and Voldemort for the Philosopher's Stone.
The three of them had beaten all the traps the teachers had set, Harry thought of Ron battling on the chess board and then Hermione using her logic in the room with the potions. He remembered that she was worried, fearful that Voldemort might be with Snape; that was who they thought they were up against. He had tried to calm her saying that he might get lucky again, pointing to his scar as proof, but he couldn't have been all that convincing, because then…
"Hermione's lip trembled and she suddenly dashed at Harry and threw her arms around him.
'Hermione!'
'Harry - you're a great wizard you know'
'I'm not as good as you,' said Harry, very embarrassed, as she let go of him.
'Me!' said Hermione. 'Books! And cleverness! There are more important things - friendship and bravery and - oh Harry - be careful!'
The sounds of the city returned to Harry's ears as Hermione's voice faded. It wasn't his first memory of her and he wondered why that particular one should have resurfaced so clearly. She had sounded so young in his daydream, the rounder tones in her voice, that made her so easy to listen to now, were missing, but then, he thought, that was a time when all of them were young, young and innocent. He could still recall the hot flush that came to his cheeks with that first hug, was that it, was that why?
Harry waited until his calculations had determined that it would be night time at his next planned destination, and as Paris was replaced with Egypt Harry could feel the heat and vaguely in the darkness he could see the pyramids. There was no particular rush for him to leave, it would be dark in India for hours yet, and he had been on his feet for a long time now, a little rest was quite in order. He found himself a comfortable spot, out of the wind, with his back up against a rock, and his behind well supported by fine warm sand. He closed his eyes for what was supposed to be a short snooze, but when he opened them again the sun was peeping over the horizon, he has slept too long and missed his chance. If he was to stick to his plan he was trapped here for the day.
There was little choice but to make the most of it, and to that end he blended in with the muggle tourists. Harry partook in guided tours of two pyramids and another of the innumerable holes in the ground that were the burial places of many ancient Egyptians. He was beginning to wonder what had made this place so fascinating that Ron and his family had seen fit to spend one of their summer holidays here. Sand and dead people not the best combination, but then out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the mummies surreptitiously pull a bottle of water from within its bandages and take a deep swig. It stopped the bottle still at its mouth when it noticed that Harry was watching, and only relaxed when Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and gave it a little twirl. The heavily bandaged figure puffed out a very dusty breath, and mimed wiping imaginary sweat from its brow, showing relief in discovering that Harry was a wizard and not one of the many muggles wandering about. The mummy had time to stow its water bottle and give Harry a cheeky wave before the next batch of muggles entered the tomb, and it froze in the position it had first taken up many, many years before. The vaulted chambers echoed softly to Harry's quiet chuckle as he made his way back into the light of day, perhaps things here were not quite as dry and dusty as they seemed.
An undulating movement on the ground caught Harry's eye and he watched as a brightly banded snake writhed its way over the sand to disappear into a small dark hole. Harry shivered as the image of the basilisk crowded into his mind, but it didn't stay to haunt him. Instead it was replaced by the frozen form of his bushy haired best friend, lying in the hospital wing so still and so cold that she could have been dead. He remembered the wrench in his heart at seeing her like that, he felt so helpless, he felt so alone. Ron was there by his side, he knew that, but it wasn't the same; she was a part of him something that couldn't be replaced. If anything ever happened to her he wouldn't know what he would do.
Harry was broken out of his revere by something wet and slimy dripping onto his ear. He turned to stare directly into the uninviting face of the largest camel he had ever seen. He politely, and with considerable difficulty, refused the offer of the ride of a life time. That assertion by the camel's handler made him smile; he had already had one of those sitting astride a magnificent hippogriff. He was very sure the land bound camel could not do better than that.
By the evening, and seven o'clock by his watch, Harry knew he was safe to continue his journey. He looked at the picture in his travel book, concentrated hard for a moment, and apparated. The sudden change in humidity sucked the energy out of Harry as he appeared in front of the Taj Mahal and he dropped down on a convenient bench. He stared at the shining white tomb glistening in the moonlight but it brought back too many painful memories of Dumbledore's grave, so he didn't linger. He stayed just long enough to reset his apparation coordinates then apparated out again, leaving the image of what some consider the most beautiful building in the world, etched on his retina.
He had very little time to dwell on his thoughts about Dumbledore because as he appeared in the warm wet jungle close to Mount Rabaul, there was a deep rumbling noise and the ground shook violently. Harry lost his footing and as he tumbled he put out his hands to cushion the impact. In the darkness he did not see the inconveniently placed branch that caught him on the side of his head as he fell and he completed his descent to the leafy ground as limp as a bag of rags.
Harry's head swam with stars, strangely there was no pain, but the stars were very bright, and at first there was no sound. Then he could hear his name being called quietly but insistently. "Harry…… Haa…rry," he thought he knew who was calling but her name kept slipping by and he couldn't hold it. He was walking now, the stars swirling around him, and the voice was still calling, "Harry…… Haa…rry,"
Now there was someone else with him, walking by his side, her image faint and indistinct, he reached out to touch her but the ghostly form moved away just out of his reach. No matter how hard he tried he could not make contact, and then everything began to swirl around and dissolve into a mass of colours. Just as the colours faded to black there was a streak of flame across the sky, like one of Weasleys' best rockets, the light shot high above Harry's head and exploded.
The light returned to Harry's eyes and with it an excruciating pain in his head, even for one as accustomed as Harry to violent headaches this was a bad one. The right side of his head was pulsating as if it would burst. He levered himself up on to his knees and a groan escaped his lips. Some trip this was turning out to be, surely it couldn't get any worse, then the rumbling sound returned and the ground shook again, Harry was not so sure. He looked up through, the trees the blow to his head had blurred his vision but he could see enough. The top of the mountain was lit up, flames and sparks shooting up into the night sky and Harry realised he should have read more about Mount Rabaul rather than look at the pictures; he was sitting on the slopes of a volcano. There was no way he could apparate in his present condition, he needed shelter and somewhere to rest so he climbed to his feet. "Lumos," said Harry groggily, and the end of his wand lit up driving back the shadows. There was a pathway a few paces to his left and having no real alternative Harry retrieved his bag and began to stumble along it.
The hut he found, after about ten minutes staggering down the rather wet and slimy path, had certainly seen better days, its walls and roof of corrugated tin were streaked with rust and it didn't smell too good on the inside either. Harry assumed it was some sort of observation shack, as it had a good view of the hissing and spitting crater of Mount Rabaul. The ground shook again not so violently this time but the shack groaned and the walls swayed, at least it didn't fall down. This sure was a bloody stupid place to choose Harry told himself, but he was here now and unable to concentrate enough for him to feel safe apparating he squatted in the corner of the shack and took stock..
He had packed a little food and water in his bag before he had left home but he hadn't eaten much since Paris. His journey should not have taken so long and now he needed time for his head to clear it was time to finish off his rations. He ate the rather squashed sandwich and drained his last bottle of water, and felt better for the food and fluid. His headache had dulled to an even throb but a gentle probing at the side of his head set it off again so very sensibly he left it alone.
The wind whispered through the tree tops high above the roof of the tumbledown shack, like a voice going around in his head Harry could hear it calling to him "Harry…… Haa…rry," Then he remembered the vision that had flashed through his mind when he had bashed his head, the ghostly figure and voice were Hermione's he was sure of it. It occurred to him, rather late in the day, that she had been calling him for some time now. How she was doing it he had no idea, but her silent summons must have been triggering all these side trips down memory lane. Somehow like Voldemort before her Hermione was messing with his mind, she was calling, and if she was calling him like this she was definitely in trouble, and that was all the incentive he needed.
He looked at his watch in the light of his wand, "Sod the time, I can't wait any more," he said to himself, because there was no one else to hear it. In his mind he pictured that weird building in Sydney, and with the noisiest apparation he had made on his trip, vanished from the jungle, to appear on the steps of the Opera House.
* * *
Morning was far enough along to have drawn out the early commuters and a number of joggers. Harry could see them as they ran around the harbour and on into the park behind him; his luck had held yet again and none of them had seen him arrive in such a precipitous fashion. Only one shabbily dressed man was anywhere near him and he was sprawled across on of the benches that were dotted about, seemingly fast asleep, well at least he was snoring loud enough.
Harry headed down to the water side, he had seen a telephone box there, and he felt sure he would find Hermione's parents' address in the phone book attached to the box. He hoped there were not too many Wilkins that were dentists in the city.
As Harry walked away the snoring tramp opened one eye and watched the young Auror with interest. The man stopped snoring and sat up he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small mirror and a wand. He touched the mirror with the tip of his wand and a small blue spark jumped between them.
"Kingsley, can you hear me?" a squeaky affirmative issued from the mirror. "Good, your lad is here, just like you said. How you knew he would apparate here is beyond me." He fell silent as he listened intently to the small sounds Kingsley was sending from London. "No the Opera House is not the only building in Sydney; strewth mate are you telling me you just guessed?" There must have been an affirmative response at the other end of the connection. "Well bloody lucky for you is all I can say." There were a few more squeaks then, "Yeah he's fine, looks like he's been pulled through a hedge backwards, but he is all in one piece," he said, the man paused again as the mirror produced some more high pitched sounds. "Strewth old boy keep your hair on, I'll keep my eye on him, don't you worry he won't get away from me." The man looked up from the mirror to find the area by the telephone box was now deserted. "Bugger!" he swore, then in answer to the questioning squeaks, "No nothing's the matter, better go, be in touch." He moved his wand from the mirror and the connection was broken. "Now Harry boy," he murmured to himself, "where the bloody hell have you disappeared to."
Harry had found the entry in the phone book easily enough, 'Wilkins & Wilkins Dental Surgeons'. There was an address in a place called McMahon's Point, North Sydney but he had absolutely no idea where it was or how to get there. He turned away from the Opera House and followed the curving quayside toward the central area that was crammed with boats and jetties, and more people than he had seen since Paris.
He received a few stares, because of his dishevelled state, but there were others dressed as oddly as he was, entertaining the early morning commuters, and generally he was ignored. It gradually dawned on Harry that the many boats tied up at the landing stages were the harbour's equivalent of London buses and destinations for each one appeared on light boards over the ticket offices. It wasn't that difficult to find one that included McMahon's Point in its list of destinations. He searched his pockets and pulled out his last ten pound note, Harry was well aware that his English money would be no good here. He wondered what he should do, then at the back of the quay, under the railway arches he saw a money exchange booth. 'For the benefit of all our tourists' it said in large hand painted letters over the small glass window; Harry didn't think it looked very official, but it would do him.
Harry waited with the other passengers for his ferry gazing out into the harbour and so missed the excitement on the quayside where the wizard who had been in contact with Kingsley Shacklebolt was running backward and forward in a frantic attempt to try and find his missing charge. Dagoberto Williams swore loudly and with feeling, earning him the hard scrutiny of a muggle police officer. The wizard waved an apology at the uniformed man and gave up on his search. He headed up the hill into the city and his ministry hidden deep under Centre Point tower wondering what on earth he was going to tell Kingsley.
The small blue and white boat chugged manfully across the crowded harbour, and Harry had to admit he had never seen anything quite like it. There were boats everywhere plying back and forth carrying the muggles to work, home or school. His own crossing appeared quite sedate compared to some and he had plenty of time to look around. They were heading towards a finger of land that jutted out into the bay, and was covered with buildings of all sizes. His ferry passed under the great iron bridge that even as a wizard he could not fail to recognise and then he could see the small jetty that was his destination.
At the side of the jetty there was a small shelter with a street map displayed on the wall and from this Harry soon found the directions he needed to get to the Granger's surgery. He turned away from the waters edge and contemplated the very steep path that led up to the buildings on the hill above him. It probably wasn't as bad as he felt it was but then his unwise stopover in the jungle had left him feeling rather sore and his head still hurt. He struggled up the slope and walked passed the well appointed apartment blocks that gave their owners great views back over the harbour and the city beyond.
He reached the street he was looking for about ten minutes later, it was lined with shops, several cafés and a couple of wine bars. Mixed in amongst these were small business units, a printers, legal offices, and there at the end a sign that proclaimed 'Wilkins & Wilkins Dental Surgeons'. He had found them.
The surgery smelt of disinfectant, everything was very clean, everything that is, apart from Harry. He had only just realised what a state he was in when he caught sight of himself in a long mirror by the main door, it had to be said he was rather filthy. The young receptionist regarded Harry with some alarm as he stood swaying slightly over her desk.
"I need to see the dentists." Harry told her. "It's quite important."
"Gees' mate, looks like you need a doctor, rather than a dentist," the girl informed him. "But I'll go and see if one of them is free."
She returned a few moments later and walking behind her was a woman who could only be Hermione's mother. She was to all intents and purposes a more mature version of his best friend and the sight of her opened the flood gates to all the memories he ever had of the young witch her mother so closely resembled. The impact of all those thoughts made Harry sway dangerously and he grabbed the reception desk to steady himself.
"Can I help you young man?" Harry gaped at her, she even sounded like the girl he was seeking. "Are you alright?"
Harry eventually found his voice. "Err… yes, I'm ok," he looked into a set of brown eyes that seemed so achingly familiar, "I am a friend of your daughters, she may have mentioned me, my name is Harry Potter."
The response Harry received from Hermione's mother was not quite what he expected, her hand flew to her mouth and she let out a small shriek of fear, and then just as quickly her composure returned, another likeness to her daughter he thought.
"David, we have a visitor, a friend of Hermione's" she called out, but Harry felt a spell at work, and he knew that the receptionist had heard the name Wendell and not David. A slightly balding bespectacled head poked out from a round a partly opened door and the man took in the scene in one glance.
"I'll be finished in a few minutes, Monica," he said emphasising her name and giving her a look that said calm down, "Take young err…"
"Harry," said Harry, and he saw the colour drain from the man's face at the mention of his name, but despite his shock Mr Granger didn't miss a beat.
"…Harry, up to the flat, I'll join you when I've finished with Mrs. Thompson." With that he disappeared behind the door again and the sound of drilling started.
"This way Harry," said Hermione's mum, and she led him out to the back of the surgery and upstairs to the apartment above. Hermione's mother turned and stared at the young man she had heard so much about and wondered how someone so young had managed all the things Hermione had told them about. Mrs. Granger remembered the pride with which Hermione had spoken of 'her Harry' and their adventures together. Then she realised that Harry was standing at the top of the stairs looking just a little uncomfortable, she smiled encouragingly "Would you like to freshen up Harry? I'll put the kettle on, and I'll have a look at that cut on your head when you're done. The bathroom's over there." She said and pointed to one of the doors off the passageway.
"Thanks," said Harry, "you're very kind, Mrs. Grang…err ah Wilkins"
"Granger, Harry. Since dear Hermione reminded us who we really are we only use the Wilkins professionally, but I find it hard to remember all the time, so she put a charm on the surgery, so the muggles will not hear if I make a mistake."
Harry grinned, the irony of her statement not lost on him. "Yes I thought I recognised Hermione's spell work, she always was the best in charms." He sighed at another memory and headed off to clean himself up.
Ten minutes later David Granger thumped up the stairs to find Harry and his wife sitting at the kitchen table. Harry looked much more presentable and Hermione's mum was dabbing some antiseptic on the cut by his right ear. He smiled at them both and then held out his hand to Harry.
"Sorry I took so long, I was half way down Mrs. Thompson's lower molar when you arrived, and couldn't leave it open to the air."
"Enough David, I don't think Harry has any interest in dentistry, it's Hermione he needs to know about.
"Err… yes, of course," He sat himself down next to Harry. "The truth is son, is that your arrival gave us a bit of a shock. It's not your fault," he added hurriedly to set Harry's mind at rest. "It was just something Hermione said in passing before she went off to Uluru. Natalie here was worried that she might get out of her depth with the type of magic that is practiced there; we understand it's very different to yours. Nat was just trying to tell her to be careful, it's what mothers do, and Hermione tells her not to worry. She said she would always be safe, because she had someone who would always come and rescue her, someone who would never let her down, and only if he appeared unannounced should we ever be concerned." David Granger gave Harry a very penetrating stare, as if trying to gauge the worth of the young man sitting at his table, he seemed to reach a conclusion and continued, "And that someone… well that someone was you Harry."
David laid his hand on Harry's arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Harry felt his throat go dry and an uncomfortable feeling invaded the pit of Harry's stomach. He had known that something was wrong, that she needed him, but now he was beginning to feel that something awful had happened to Hermione.