Harry Potter and the Power of Love

Having said I wasn't going to write another HP story, I find I am at a bit of a loss to explain the following. Then if I think about it, it comes from having a break in attempting to write an original piece, which is much harder than I thought it would be, revisiting Portkey, and reading a couple of the stories in the Elder Wand competition. For what it is worth this is my attempt to follow on from the last words of Deathly Hallows. The words are the same, but all is not what it appears to be.

Solomon Aegis Wiltshire 2008

Harry Potter and the Power of Love.

1. Sisterly Feelings

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years, all was well….

There was something wrong here, but Harry could not put his finger on it.

The train whistled shrilly as it pulled out of the station.

He had watched all the children clamber onto the train, waved them goodbye with the others and now they were off to Hogwarts.

The last carriages disappeared from sight and he turned back to his friends, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were all there, standing with him on the platform.

He glanced at the large, many faced, station clock, as usual the train was away on time, the hour hand was firmly stuck on nineteen, no that wasn't right he looked again still nineteen, he shrugged his shoulders it wasn't worth bothering about it now.

They all walked together to the platform entrance passing a billboard proudly exclaiming that Mrs Miggings had nineteen varieties of pies just waiting in her shop `Miggings' Pies, Number 19 Diagon Alley'.

In the distance Harry heard the whistle of the Hogwarts Express as it headed north…. Nineee-teeeen it seemed to say to him.

What was it with this number? Nineteen, nineteen, it was stuck in his head, repeating itself over and over, and he couldn't get rid of it.

Nineteen years, nineteen days, no that wasn't it; the engine's whistle sounded again, louder this time, and that was wrong as well, the train should have been further away, not closer.

He turned to look and the train was thundering towards him.

In an instant Harry found he was tied to the track, he couldn't move…

The whistle screamed again, it could not be ignored… and this time…

Harry woke up, he was wrapped so tightly in his bed sheets that he had great difficulty in releasing his arms. Once he could move he brought a free hand down on his alarm clock, the bright red replica of the front end of the Hogwarts Express emitted one final peep of defeat and shut up. It was the most appalling alarm clock that Harry had ever owned and its banshee shriek was guaranteed to wake him but it was so mind jarring that it often became part of his waking dreams, and this last one had been a real corker.

He clambered out of bed and realised he was all hot and sweaty as well, he headed for the bathroom and divesting himself of his pyjamas stepped under the shower. The water was icy cold and he almost jumped out from under it, but he made himself stay and slowly as it began to warm Harry began to accept the start of another day.

Back in his small sitting room with a bath robe wrapped around him and a towel, working under a neat little spell Harry had picked up a day or two ago, furiously trying to dry his hair. Harry stared impotently at the calendar attached to his wall. Even though the numbers on it were quite large, they were still out of focus without his glasses, and the towel had just knocked them out of his hand. So Harry engaged in a silent battle with the towel, only winning when he retrieved his wand from the table, where he had put it, and touched it to the wildly writhing material. The towel stopped and inconveniently flopped down, completely covering his head. Harry pulled it away, muttered a few choice words at the offending bath sheet, picked up his glasses and put them on.

The number jumped out at him 19, that's what it was all about. It was the 19^th of September and today was Hermione's nineteenth birthday. Well at least that was one question answered, but why was his dream filled images of husbands, wives and all those children, why the comfortable feeling of family? Then after a little thought, Harry had an answer for that as well. It was all Mrs. Weasley's fault, he remembered it as if it was yesterday, even though it was four or five months ago.

`I can see it all,' she had said, `give it time and there will be my little Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Harry all happily married, and bucket loads of children to keep you all busy and out of mischief.' It had been Molly's dream to see her family whole again to recover from the losses, to be better than it was before; only none of it had ever happened.

* * *

The euphoria of defeating Voldemort and his Death Eaters had lasted for several days, but the vision of the bodies of the fallen, laid out in death, returned to Harry to haunt him in nightmares worse than any Voldemort had conjured. He coped with these horrors for a week then after a particularly difficult night he decided enough was enough and without telling anyone he had run away. He cared nothing for the concern he caused in some quarters, his mind was in turmoil, and he craved no company but his own. It took Kingsley Shacklebolt a month to find him, and every ounce of his persuasive powers to convince Harry to return.

Harry slipped quietly back into the wizarding world and took his place in the ranks of the aurors. His outward mask of normality was a fragile thing indeed, and the only way he found he could cope was to throw himself whole heartedly into his work. He ploughed his very essence into his job to the exclusion of everything else, and much to Ginny's distress this exclusion included her as well. She had hoped that now he was back they could forget the problems of the past and start again, but Harry became so single minded that he was oblivious of her, and of all his other friends. It was only quite by chance that he discovered that Hermione was not even in the country.

Early in August, a few days after his eighteenth birthday that had passed with no celebration, Harry bumped into Ron in the Leaky Cauldron. Ron was helping George with the joke shop, with no Fred; George was having a hard time of it.

“She's gone off to Australia to sort out her parents,” Ron said, somewhat reluctantly, after Harry asked about Hermione. “I think she felt a bit bad, acting the way she did toward them. She feels now that perhaps they would have understood.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?”

Who knows indeed, and now it was September and for Harry the events of last May were being given some form of perspective, slowly he was getting over it.

Harry ate a lonely breakfast and wondered if the owl he had sent to Hermione a few days before had managed to find her. He worked on the principle that although he didn't know where she was, a letter addressed simply to Hermione Granger, Australia, would reach her. Hedwig had found Sirius with no more instructions when he was in hiding; Harry hoped the regular post owls were just as clever, but he wasn't sure.

Harry had met Ron twice since that first chance meeting back in July and on neither occasion had his best friend mentioned hearing from their other best friend. Perhaps all was not well between the two of them but Harry was wise enough not to push the subject of girlfriends too much because he was aware that he had been a little rough on Ginny and he did not want Ron to get all on his high horse. Ron and Hermione were old enough to sort out their own problems; Harry would leave it to them…..

* * *

“No Harry, keep your wand higher than that, it will steady your aim,” Kingsley suggested.

Harry tried again following the Chief Auror's advice and each bolt of magic sped unerringly to its mark. Although inducted directly into the auror ranks, Harry was the first to admit that he was not as well prepared as he could be, and so he was partaking in some on the job training in the finer points of his profession. It was hard work but it was paying off.

Kingsley Shacklebolt watched Harry with measured concern. He was stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place, he needed all these youngsters to bolster his forces but it was pointless pushing the less able into the front ranks, he would lose them far too quickly, however for one new recruit he made an exception. He used Harry mercilessly, relying not just on his skill but also for the fear his name had on some of Voldemort's remaining associates.

Twice the presence of the chosen one and the mention of Harry's name alone had averted an all out fight, the dark wizards preferring to test the mercy of the ministry rather than face the certain death they imagined that Harry Potter would hand out. Harry himself wasn't proud that in this he had become some strange mirror image of his old nemesis but he had the sense to realise that the saving of any life was worth a little discomfort.

A week after his Hogwarts Express dream and so, it would follow, the same time after Hermione's birthday, Harry arrived home after a hard day at the Ministry to find a rather strange bird hopping about on his doorstep. It was quite large and had a rather fearsome looking straight and pointed beak. It also sounded as if it had just heard the funniest joke in the world as its raucous laughter rolled up and down the street and echoed off the surrounding buildings. That it was a post bird was evident, as there was a tightly wound scroll attached to its leg. Taking some care not to end up impaled on the kookaburra's beak Harry gingerly removed the parchment. The bird looked at Harry with a knowing stare then began to laugh at yet another unheard joke. Mid- laugh the kookaburra leapt into the air, took flight and was soon lost in the cloudy skies.

Harry dropped down into his most comfortable armchair and unrolled the parchment, it was, as he had thought, a letter from Hermione written in her tight, neat, hand.

Dear Harry,

Thanks for the birthday wishes, and I belatedly return them, (sorry things down here have been a bit hectic.) It is nice to hear from home occasionally, and to find out what is going on, yours is the first letter I have received in months.

It has been much harder to de-modify my Mum and Dad than I ever imagined, but a local witch put me in touch with someone who helped me out and now they are fine. To say they were cross with me would be a bit of an understatement, but in the end they realised it was all done with the best intentions.

Fortunately they have fallen in love with Oz, as they call it now, and are intent on staying. For that reason and that there is little to make me want to return to England I shall be staying as well, and will be very busy.

Professor Pindari, the person who helped me with mum and dad, is from the Myalla at Uluru; I understand it's their version of Hogwarts and he has asked if I would like to go there. There is a magic here that is so old and different to ours, it will be fascinating to study. It will give me a chance to catch up on everything we missed out on last year, who knows I might even get to take some of their exams! (That I know won't interest you!)

Please be very careful Harry I could not bear to hear that you had come to harm, I miss you too much already and we are only separated by distance.

Write from time to time,

Lots of Love

Hermione.

P.S. If you happen to see Ron, give him my best wishes, maybe if things had worked out differently, oh well who knows.

H.

Harry read the letter again and again, he imagined her speaking the words it was a comforting feeling. He frowned at the last lines; it was clear from the post-script that Hermione's feelings for Ron had cooled. Harry had surmised as much in his few brief conversations with Ron now this only served to confirm it. Still whatever was going on between the two of them one thing was very obvious, she wasn't coming home, and unaccountably that made Harry very sad. Unaccountable because what he wanted most for his friends was for them to be happy and it seemed that Hermione was, but having said that he wasn't prepared for her to be happy 12,000 miles away. It was on the other side of the world, as far away as she could be, and although he hadn't seen her in the last four months, he was suddenly very lonely for her company.

As September dragged into October and then November Harry thought a lot about Hermione's letter, it was the only one he had received, although he had written twice to her no replies were forthcoming. Was she just too busy? Or didn't she want to get involved in long distance correspondence with someone who reminded her too much of her past? Harry didn't believe either of those, and he began to worry that something might have happened to her. He was worried enough to confront Ron on the subject of his girlfriend.

“I know it's none of my business Ron,” Harry had managed to catch the junior partner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in the shop one Saturday afternoon, “but how is it with you and Hermione?”

Ron stopped unpacking the carton of Jumping Jelly Beans, `Hard to catch and harder to swallow' and stared intently at something on the floor that Harry could see wasn't really there. “Um…” Ron considered his answer, “it's not.”

“Not?”

“No, not.” And Ron drew a deep breath, “If you must know we had a row.”

“Well there's a surprise,” thought Harry.

“A big one” continued Ron, as if Harry had not interrupted, which of course he hadn't. “And it sort of ended there.”

“Oh,” said Harry, “was the disagreement about anything in particular?” He suddenly had one of those feelings that his question had opened a whole new can of worms.

Ron turned to look Harry straight in the eye, “Yes as a matter of fact it was; it was about you.”

“Oh… sorry,” he did not know what else to say.

“It was when you did the big disappearing trick, which had the ministry, well Shacklebolt, running around in circles trying to find where you had gone. Hermione wanted to join the hunt, she was beside herself with worry for you,” Ron tried to look a little sheepish, but merely succeeded in looking defiant. “I thought she was too worried for someone with whom her feelings were supposed to be sisterly.”

“You were jealous?”

“Yeah, big time, and I wouldn't let it go… couldn't,” admitted Ron, “So one row lead to another, and we said some pretty awful things to each other. That was when I realised it wasn't going to work and, I think, so did she. Then you reappeared in Shacklebolt's pocket and she knew you were ok, so off she went to her mum and dad. I haven't heard from her since then.”

Harry looked sadly at his best friend, “I'm really sorry Ron.”

Ron gave Harry a wry smile, “Don't be, I'm not, well not any more. It was hard for a while but I am over her now, plenty more fish in the sea as they say, and,” he nodded his head toward a blonde haired witch that had entered the shop, “that is the one I am trying to land at the moment.” Ron stood, and the blonde seeing him came over, and putting her arms around his neck, kissed him soundly. “And I think I am doing ok,” he added, once he had surfaced again. The girl in his arms gave Ron a questioning look, at what to her appeared a very random statement, and Ron grinned at her. “Steph?” he asked, “I don't think you have met my best mate, have you?” He poked Harry in the chest by way of introduction. “This is him, Harry Potter.”

If Harry was surprised that Ron could be so cavalier over losing Hermione, he didn't show it. He knew well the stresses and strains that war puts on the heart and even though Ron had succeeded with her right at the end having spent the majority of his time at Hogwarts trying to cultivate the romance, it hadn't lasted. Harry had thought that they would all have been drawn together, victors of a common cause, and yet, it seemed, the opposite had occurred, relationships had flown apart, and that brought Ginny back into his thoughts.

Harry remembered seeing her with Molly in the Great Hall; he remembered his hopes, the time they would have to talk, `days' maybe years'. It ended up being hours and it was very difficult for the both of them. Perhaps they had tried too soon after the battle; she was still consumed with grief and that transferred to Harry as guilt. Harry now knew that this was where it all started to go wrong, his slide downwards, until he could take it no more and had run. He wondered how she was coping now, so many months later. Ron, in their few meetings, had kept off the subject of his sister as well, much to Harry's relief, but now he needed to know, because until he had the chance to see her again he wasn't sure how he felt… he wasn't sure how she felt.

* * *

It wasn't hard for Harry to find out when the next Hogsmead weekend was scheduled for the students at Hogwarts; it wasn't all that long to wait and he assumed that Ginny would go. He decided that it would be better to see her in the village than in the Castle itself, the memories held within those walls were still too strong.

Now he was an auror with six months experience, Harry had the sitting quietly hidden from sight, waiting and observing every detail parts of his profession down pat. He watched as the students began to tumble out of the school gates filled with excitement for the last pre-Christmas Hogsmead weekend, and his assumption that the youngest Weasley would not miss out on the opportunity was proved correct. There she was, walking slowly, on her own, head down with her long red hair cascading down her back; …Harry wondered… She looked up and now he could see her face, she was so beautiful, just as he remembered, but there was sadness in her expression, and Harry felt that sadness tug at his heart, he almost stepped toward her, when there was a shout from someone still inside the school grounds.

“Ginny wait up!” she stopped and a secret sort of smile touched her lips; she turned to face the boy who was running to catch up. He was good looking, dark haired, and fit, by the way he was covering the ground; he was also a Ravenclaw. His blue and silver scarf flew out behind him as he ran, then he slowed, and stopped, to stand in front of Ginny Weasley. She stood quite still while they had a hushed conversation, then the boy put his hands on her shoulders, pulled her toward him and whispered something in her ear. Harry couldn't hear her reply but he saw the small nod of her head in assent. The lad's reaction was instantaneous, his arms slipped down to her waist and gripping her tight, lifted her off her feet and swung her round and around. Ginny grabbed him around the neck and kissed him firmly on the lips, an action that brought forth a few ribald remarks from other passing students. Harry could see the two of them standing together each smiling inanely at the other, then very deliberately the Ravenclaw scarf was removed and then rewrapped around a Gryffindor neck.

Harry didn't dare move as the pair; arm in arm, passed by his hiding place, Ginny's light musical voice was full of happiness. The words she spoke didn't matter to Harry, it was all in the tone, and in response, deep inside him a switch was thrown, and a weight he didn't know he was carrying was lifted from his shoulders.

* * *

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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.

3. Old Magic

There was something of an awkward silence in the Granger’s living room. Although they had shown him nothing but kindness, Harry felt Hermione’s parents regarded his unannounced arrival about as welcome as Harry would a visit from the ghost of Voldemort enquiring about some unfinished business. As far as they were concerned Harry’s appearance meant that their daughter was in danger and they were relying on him to do something about it.

Harry was only just coming to terms with the fact that not only had his desire to see his best friend again driven him here, but he was now convinced that Hermione had been calling out to him. How she was managing it he didn’t know, and now he thought about it, it was certainly possible she could have been calling for some time. It would, he thought, give a whole new insight into his day-dreaming and trips down memory lane. Somehow they were an important link to Hermione, and not simply something of his own making. There was also Hermione’s prediction to consider, however off-hand it was made, and however much the girl herself despised Divination, because if nothing else the last few years had taught Harry that prophecies carried a lot of weight. Taking everything into account, when he added it all up, Harry decided that somewhere there was trouble, trouble with a capital T, and his best friend was in it up to her neck

“When was the last time you heard from Hermione?” Harry asked the Grangers, he had to start his quest for his best friend somewhere. “Only she didn’t reply to my letters.”

“Your letters are still here Harry, the owls cannot deliver directly to Uluru,” Natalie Granger answered, giving him a smile in the way of an apology, “I am afraid we didn’t know how to pass them on, and so she didn’t receive them.” She glanced at her husband and he nodded for her to continue. “We had one from her about a month ago; it arrived by kangaroo, gave us a bit of a shock, hopped into the surgery and pulled the parchment right out of its pouch. Fortunately Shelia, our receptionist, didn’t appear to be able to see it.”

“The letter was just like all the ones she wrote to us when she was at Hogwarts, quite ordinary.” Natalie sighed, “You know she never mentioned your adventures in any of her letters; she always waited until the holidays so that she could tell us in person.” Natalie smiled to herself at the memory, and then realised that her mind was wandering. “Sorry,” she apologised for her lapse and then continued, “Hermione said she was fine, and was quite excited about some research she was involved in.”

“She tried to describe what she was doing but we made no real sense of it,” said David butting in. “We found ordinary magic hard to understand at first but this dreamtime stuff is really complex. I suppose that’s why Hermione found it so interesting.”

“Dreamtime magic? I don’t think I have ever heard of that,” said Harry. “But you’re right the more difficult and obscure the more Hermione would love it.”

Despite his worry Harry couldn’t help but smile as he thought of his best friend. Natalie saw his expression and caught her husband’s eye. She knew there was more of a connection between her daughter and ‘her Harry’ than she had been led to believe. Apart from that last conviction that he, as her saviour, would come if she needed him, Harry had always been described as simply her best friend in all the world. Life being life, best friends would come and best friends would go, but Natalie Granger was sure that there was more than that here.

“Well I don’t see any other way but to go directly to Uluru,” said Harry as he pondered what he should do next. “I don’t know anything about the Ministry of Magic here or even if they have one, so that’s no help. I wonder what I have to do.”

“You have to be invited,” the voice was heavy with a native accent, and it originated from a small dark skinned man that was standing in the doorway.

His face was heavily lined, and his head crowned with short white hair, he wore a simple cotton smock that was long enough just to leave his bare feet uncovered. If the cut of the garment was plain, the designs on it were anything but. Brightly coloured dots and swirls covered its surface forming shapes and patterns that when the old man moved into the room produced such a bewildering display that it made Harry feel quite dizzy.

Harry wand was in his hand in an instant pointing unwaveringly at the aboriginal wizard.

“Professor Pindari!” cried Natalie, thank goodness you’re here.” At Mrs. Grangers’ obvious recognition, and his own recollection of the Professor’s name from Hermione’s letter, Harry rather sheepishly lowered his wand.

Pindari nodded to the Grangers and then looked at Harry.

“Ah! The great Harry Potter,” Harry had the grace to look surprised, “You doubt that even here on the bottom of the world we have not heard of you and your exploits.” The old professor gave Harry a searching look, and for the second time in less than half an hour Harry knew he was being judged. “You must be a very powerful wizard, Harry Potter.”

“Not powerful, not really.” He replied. “I was very lucky, and had a lot of help from some very good friends.”

“And it is one of those friends that brings you here.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “one of the best.”

“More than one of the best, I am thinking, more than the best, isn’t she Harry?” the old man didn’t wait for a reply. “Because if she isn’t you will never be able to save her.

The Grangers’ reaction was instantaneous and predictable. Natalie dropped back into the chair she had risen from to greet the professor, her hand at her mouth and a look of anguish in her eyes. David renewed his grip on Harry’s arm and had Harry not been stunned by Pindari’s words he would have winced in pain. Instead an icy calm washed through him it had happened to him before, on each previous occasion he had faced up to Voldemort, and this situation was no less terrifying, in fact it was worse.

“What has happened to Hermione, and what do I have to do to bring her back to me?” Harry demanded in a clear voice, quite unaware of the intimacy he placed in his final question.

“She is lost in the Tjukurpa, the Dreamtime,” the old wizard explained, “I cannot tell you any more here, but when you get to Uluru you will understand. As to what you have to do Harry Potter, only you can tell me that.”

Harry looked back and forth between the Grangers and the professor, searching for the answer. “I must go and find her then, wherever it takes me,” he said at last.

He found himself swept up in a fierce hug from Hermione’s mother and he could feel her shaking with emotion.

“Thank-you Harry, thank-you,” she partially released him so she could study his face, then she kissed him on the cheek, “Take my love with you to protect you both,” she whispered in his ear. Harry shivered; there it was again, the unconditional love of a mother for her child, the memory surged through him, and a lump caught in Harry’s throat. All those years ago his mother’s love had saved him, he hoped against hope, that this time Mrs. Granger would be able to work the same magic.

David Granger shook Harry’s hand, his grip was strong, and he was fighting the emotion that was threatening to spill forth. “Good luck Harry, bring my baby back.”

“I will do my best Sir,” Harry assured him.

“I know you will son, I know you will,” Harry saw the single tear as it slipped from Mr. Granger's eye and rolled down his cheek.

Harry followed the gaudily dressed professor out onto the street and down the hill to the waters edge.

“Professor, do we apparate to Uluru?” asked Harry, as he watched the wizard searching the shore line for something that apparently only he could see.

“No boy, it is not possible, your myall magic …the magic of the strangers,” he translated, “is not allowed near to Uluru. I search for the Dreaming Track of the Rainbow Serpent; if he will take us, it will save us much time. Ah!” At his exclamation Pindari thrust forward the decorated stick he was carrying. In the insubstantial air of a late Sydney morning a shimmering portal appeared, hovering just by the waterline it seemed to lead into a dark tunnel.

“Come Harry Potter,” Pindari beckoned to him as he stepped through and vanished. Harry drew a deep breath and followed as quickly as he could. He was brought up short as he nearly collided with the professor who was standing very still only a few steps beyond the portal. The portal closed and the light vanished with it. In the darkness of the tunnel something was moving, it sounded quite large, and the professor was mumbling awkwardly in a sibilant tongue. Initially Harry could see nothing at all but from the words being spoken he guessed that the professor was attempting to reason with the Rainbow Serpent.

As Harry’s eyes adapted to the dim light from the professor’s stick the vague shape of the Rainbow Serpent became clearer, and then he began to wish it hadn’t, because it materialised into something horribly familiar. Excepting that its brightly iridescent colours were very different, and the fact that staring into the creature’s eyes had not petrified him, the Rainbow serpent resembled the Basilisk far too closely for Harry’s liking. Pindari it seemed, was having some difficulty in reaching an agreement with the spirit.

“Kurreah does not wish to take you, you are an outsider, you are not worthy in his eyes.” The professor was translating; Harry knew he was, because now he concentrated, he could understand exactly what the serpent was saying.

“Perhaps,” said Harry in parseltongue, “If Kurreah, the Rainbow Serpent, knew that my intentions are honest and driven out of the love I have for my friend, who is trapped in the Dreamtime, he would be gracious enough to relent and carry us both to Uluru.” Harry bowed his head in respect.

Professor Pindari was staring at Harry with his mouth open; he could not believe what he had just heard. The serpent merely inclined his head to Harry in a gesture of acknowledgement and nodded.

It was nothing like apparation and not at all like using a portkey. Harry could feel the miles flying by, but he could see nothing other than the Rainbow Serpent’s undulating form before him. The journey was over in a matter of moments and Harry found himself standing along side Professor Pindari in the shadow of a gigantic red rock.

This was the spectacle that muggles travelled from all over the world to see, for them the magnificence of the place, and the wonderful colours that could come and go, were something that could be seen nowhere else. But they didn’t see the half of it.

They didn’t see the huge stone doors, which at this moment were slowly rumbling apart, right in front of Harry. They didn’t see that the many openings in the stone face of Uluru led, not to small caves, but into large rooms. They did not see the corridors beyond the rooms, which wound their way through the rock always leading downwards to the heart of Uluru. They did not see any of this because like Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons the muggles were encouraged not to, but unlike the others Uluru was a tourist attraction and magnet for the muggles, so it was even more remarkable that this place remained a secret.

Professor Pindari had not spoken since Harry’s chat with the Rainbow Serpent; he was busily readjusting his appraisal of the young wizard. He knew his character, that he was strong, loyal, and he had an innate sense of what was right and wrong. He had not considered that a foreigner would be connected to the Tjukurpa or that the spirits would recognise him. There was obviously far more to Harry Potter than met the eye, the stakes here could be much higher than he imagined.

Harry watched the old wizard as he rearranged his perceptions. “If you’re wondering,” Harry offered, “I am a parselmouth, I can speak to snakes. Not that I would consider Kurreah a snake,” he added hurriedly in case he had caused offence, “but I could understand him, even though his accent made it rather difficult.”

Pindari smiled, accepting that Harry, at least, believed his ability and honourable intentions had granted his passage to Uluru, but the professor knew that the spirits of the Dreamtime did things for purely their own reasons, and not at the pleading of a young foreign wizard, parselmouth or no.

They walked under the high arched doorway and entered the hallowed halls of Uluru. The great doors boomed shut behind them, and Harry found himself in a large entrance hall with many passages and doors leading from it.

“I suggest you change out of your travelling clothes,” Pindari advised, “it can become quite warm in the lower levels.” There is a selection of garments like this, in here,” he said indicating his own smock and a small room to the side of the main doors, “it is the normal dress here, and it is best to blend in.”

Harry understood, prejudice it seemed was a worldwide problem, whether it be against muggle born wizards, or simply foreigners like himself. He searched through the gowns in the rack, some of the patterning on them hurt his eyes, and eventually he selected one that was almost plain, the colour of which reminded him of his old Gryffindor robes. The only pattern that adorned this gown was a splash of colour on the chest, about the size of a dinner plate, it was made up of concentric circles of blue and then gold dots set around a central white spot. Harry felt he could cope with that and he stripped himself down to his boxers and slipped the smock over his head, it was like wearing very light wizarding robes and was most comfortable, there was even a convenient pocket for his wand. Not prepared to wander about in bare feet Harry replaced his socks and his boots; they were well hidden as the hem of his new robe swished about his feet less than half an inch from the floor.

Harry returned to the entrance hall to find that in his absence Pindari had been joined by another. She was some years older than Harry but still quite young, her dark skin much lighter than the old mans’ and her features not as classically aboriginal, she held herself proudly and smiled somewhat condescendingly to Harry when the professor introduced her.

“Harry, this is Professor Binda Guru, she is the head of the department that Miss Granger was working in. She was there when the accident happened.”

“How do you do,” said Harry holding out his hand in the age old greeting. The returning hand was cold and fleetingly given. “Could you tell me what happened?”

She nodded then indicated that they should move on while she talked.

“I am afraid there was no one to blame but Miss Granger herself, far too headstrong, she never gave a moments thought to planning,” said Professor Guru. “I had said as much to the professor only that morning. She broke the seal before we were ready, and well the results speak for themselves.” Guru looked to the professor expecting nothing but confirmation.

Pindari was struggling to keep up with the longer stride of the woman and he had to hitch up his smock so that he didn’t trip. “Professor Guru is correct Harry,” he sounded slightly out of breath, “she did come to me on the morning of the accident and complain about Miss Granger's attitude.”

“And so there it is Mr Potter, your friend is irrevocably stranded in the Tjukurpa, the Dreamtime has her, and will never let her go.” Harry decided that he wasn’t all that fond of this professor, he found her supercilious and irritating, but he let her continue uninterrupted. “Since this regrettable accident my work has been at a stand still and I cannot waste any more time on this matter, my project is behind schedule, and I must be allowed to continue my work.”

During Guru’s denouncement of Hermione’s abilities, and her carelessness in wrecking the doctors time schedule, they had walked away from the entrance down a gently sloping passageway, Harry realised that they must be a considerable distance below ground level by now. The young professor stopped at a point where another passage branched off. “I must leave now; if you have any further questions then my assistant Nara will answer them.” She clicked her fingers and a young girl appeared out of the shadows, she looked very nervous and embarrassed to be in the august company of her superior, and only lifted her eyes to give Harry a shy smile as Professor Guru turned and strode away.

“Well…” said Harry as he watched Guru disappear around a bend in the passage. “I don’t wish to go against a member of your staff Professor, but she is not talking about the Hermione Granger I know.” Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Nara looking most uncomfortable and shuffling back away from the light, he knew there was something fishy going on here and he was determined to find out what it was.

Pindari was keeping his own council for the moment; he too had not recognised Professor Guru’s version of Hermione, not from his meetings with her, but until Harry had expressed his doubts as well, the professor had only his own feelings to go on, not enough to challenge his colleague, for Guru had many friends in high places. Never the less he needed to find the truth behind all this and he decided to leave Harry to his own devices.

“I will look into this more Harry, but I am afraid I can give you no more advice than I did this morning. You must act as you think fit, Miss Granger's plight is grave but if anyone has a chance to bring her back it is one who can speak with the spirits.”

Harry began to feel that he was getting out of his depth. Voldemort was evil but at least he was corporeal, well he was eventually; dealing with nebulous beings from a culture he didn’t understand was something else. No wonder Hermione thought it was fascinating, it was mind boggling and now the professor was gone he needed help.

His help was trying very hard not to be noticed by this tall, foreign wizard, with a reputation so fearsome that even mild little Nara had heard of him. She actually knew far more about Harry than anyone in Uluru, because she had been Hermione’s companion during her time here, and Hermione had liked to talk about him and their adventures.

Nara wished she could be as brave as the students in Hermione’s stories maybe then everything would be different and Hermione would be safe. She had failed her friend for she knew far more about the supposed accident than anyone, except Binda Guru, but she had told no one, because she was scared to death of her superior, and what she had done.

“Could you take me to where Hermione had her err… accident, please Nara?” Harry asked gently. He had assessed the girl correctly, a single shout or raised voice and she would be off.

As Harry followed Nara further into the bowels of the earth, he was blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil that was coursing through her. She had been so proud to be selected out of all the students to assist the famous Professor Guru; the story of her eminent boss was well known to all in Uluru. The youngest to rise to a chair and take the title of professor, the completion of an immense task that took the better part of seven years, culminating in the discovery of the chamber, the pictograms, and the doorway that led to Tjukurpa, but the public face of Professor Guru was not all there was to know.

* * *

Nara had worked with Professor Guru for the last six months, reading and recording the pictographs in the chamber. The student worked in silent awe of her superior, who was so methodical and such a stickler for correct procedures, that it came as quite a shock to Nara to be invited to visit the professor’s private rooms. She found, when she arrived, that she wasn’t the only one in attendance, there were two men present as well and Nara vaguely remembered seeing them in the final excavation team that had uncovered the door to the chamber.

For a short while there was polite conversation and Nara began to relax in the company of the adults. She basked in the praise that the professor gave her for the work she was doing, the men, introduced to the girl as Keli and Edi, appeared suitably impressed that one so young had an apparently natural ability to read and interpret the pictographs that they had been instrumental in uncovering.

Nara began to feel a little light headed, she had noticed that the air in the room was quite heavily dosed with a fragrance that she did not recognise, but as Uluru could be a little damp in the lower levels using scented air was quite common. So, slightly befuddled, Nara missed the glance that the professor exchanged with the men who, rising to their feet, excused themselves and disappeared into the next room. She was quite at ease when the professor led her to a chair set in front of a curtained off area of the professors sitting room, and she sat dreamily as the professor disappeared, following Kali and Edi into the next room.

She became aware of a strange buzzing sound issuing from behind the curtain, this made her sit up, she was afraid of flying insects, there was no reason for it, it was just one of those things. But her fear was forgotten as the reed curtain parted and her eyes beheld a strange sight. Kali and Edi were dressed in weird costumes that Nara recognised from the pictographs as those worn by acolytes of the spirit Marmoo and they were supporting the professor who was not dressed in anything much at all. The woman appeared to Nara to have shrunk in size then she realised that Guru was standing in a hollow in the floor that was full of water reaching halfway to her knees.

Guru was intoning the words of a mantra, calling out to someone or something, the buzzing sound intensified, and Nara’s fear returned. She felt a presence in the room other that of those she knew to be there, it was hovering before her, the buzzing sound it made was angry, making her want to run away, but she found she could not move. The pain she felt was intense, it flashed through her head probing and seeking then withdrawing as quickly as it had attacked, it lasted only a second or two, just long enough for the girl to scream once and pass out.

The professor and her followers remained still and quiet, the tableau looking quite surreal, then the professor scowled.

“Get me out of this thing,” she ordered, and the men lifted her out of the pool and on to solid ground again. Guru walked over to the unconscious girl, leaving wet footprints on the floor. “It didn’t work, Marmoo tried but there is something protecting her,” she cupped Nara’s chin in her hand and lifted her head to stare at the girls face. “There is still time, we can try again; perhaps the aromatics were not sufficient,” Guru vocalised her thoughts in a low mumble. She let go of Nara and turned to Kali and Edi. “Put her back over there,” she pointed to the seat the girl had occupied before, “and get everything cleaned up.”

When Nara opened her eyes she found the professor kneeling over her, “Are you alright, my dear,” Guru said sweetly, “You nodded off to sleep, nearly dropped your goblet.”

“Oh! I am sorry professor,” the girl apologised, “I must have been more tired than I thought.”

“No Nara the fault is mine, keeping you this late after a hard day’s work,” the professor was kindness itself. “Off you go, and get a good night’s sleep.”

Nara rose and headed for the door, “Yes professor, thank-you professor,” she said, as she bowed herself out of the presence of her superior.

Professor Guru’s countenance slipped from a smile to a deep frown the instant the girl departed, she had such supreme confidence in her own abilities that she felt that this whole procedure should not be so difficult. The coercion of a disgruntled spirit and the subjugation of a simple girl should present no problems for an intellect such as hers; at least that was the way it ought to be. If Professor Guru was dismayed by her failure to gain control of her assistant, it was nothing to the feeling that coursed through her the following morning when Professor Pindari arrived at the chamber site with a myall witch in tow.

Hermione Granger viewed the walls of the chamber with undisguised awe, and fascination, she greeted Professor Guru with an enthusiasm that the older woman certainly did not reciprocate, not inwardly anyway. Outwardly she was charming and welcomed the new student with open arms and was even pleasant to the old fool Pindari who it seemed had unwittingly placed another barrier in the way of her plans.

However this new barrier would be easily sidestepped, the girl obviously had no experience with real magic and the power it could deliver, and although myall magic had its uses it was insignificant compared with the might of the spirits. Guru decided that Hermione was a distraction, nothing more, a decision that other, craftier wizards bent on ultimate control of the world had lived, or perhaps not lived, to regret.

During the first few weeks after Hermione’s arrival the professor maintained an open friendly contact with the young witch. However, as the repeated clandestine rituals failed to break down Nara’s resistance Guru became irritated, she was more reluctant to share information with Hermione and her familiarity cooled. Nara on the other hand had latched on to Hermione like a drowning man hangs onto a life jacket.

Unsettling dreams had begun to invade Nara’s mind becoming more real each time, until now she could almost but not quite make sense of them. Hermione provided a means of forgetting her own problems, she told her stories, not like the ones depicted in the pictographs, old dry and of years long ago, but ones of excitement, terror, betrayal, desperation and ultimate victory, and Hermione had lived through them. She spoke of her friends Ron and Harry, though mainly of Harry, Nara received the impression that Hermione had some issues with Ron that had soured their friendship. But it was Harry this, and Harry that, to such an extent that Nara wondered why on earth Harry wasn’t here as well, since Hermione, if nothing else, had a tremendous crush on this young man.

Guru watched the two friends with disquiet, it was possible that influences from the witch were helping Nara to resist the approaches of the spirit Marmoo, the professor would have to recheck her original copy of the pictographs and make sure the inferences she had gleaned from them were correct. It was however a completely unrelated incident that made her realise just how wrong her interpretation had been.

Hermione was working at a small table in the chamber, the copious notes she always produced piling up beside her. Professor Guru walked in, almost managing to ignore her, picked up Hermione’s notes and began to read them. Her attention was caught by the large red book that the notes had been lying over.

“Oh, what is this?” the professor asked with nonchalant curiosity, turning the book on the table so that she could more clearly read the title.

Hermione looked up. “It’s the history of Godric Gryffindor the founder of the house I was in with my friends when we were at Hogwarts. Its called “The Heart of a Lion” the lion is the symbol of the house, you can see it on the cover,” Hermione explained as she pointed out the large rampant lion embossed into the leather. “I was going to lend it to Nara, is that ok? She has been so interested in my stories I thought she might enjoy it.”

“No I see no reason why Nara should not read the book.” Guru admitted, then she asked a question of her own. “These houses you had at school there was a reason for you to be placed in this particular one?”

“Oh, yes,” said Hermione, encouraged that after several weeks of indifference from the professor she was actually talking to her again. “On our first day we sit on a stool in front of the whole school and the sorting hat is put on our head. The hat is full of magic and it looks at you from the inside out and it decides which house you should be put into. In the case of Gryffindor it looks for courage, friendship, and a willingness to stand up for what is right. That is why the book is called the heart of a lion, it is the quality of all Gryffindors.”

“Really?” said Guru, in a way that would have made Hermione suspicious if she had not been on a little memory trip of her own.

“Yes, I could never see it in myself to start with,” she said bringing to mind a friend with dark hair, glasses and a forehead marred by a scar in the shape of a lightening bolt. “It took some one very special to bring that quality out in me, someone that was so brave, so faithful, and willing to give his life for what he believed was right. I know that as long as he is alive I have nothing to fear.”

“It is unfortunate for you that he is not here now!” snarled Professor Guru, who, to Hermione’s complete surprise, pulled a short wand from her pocket and thrust it out at her saying “Petrificus totalus!”

Hermione felt the restricting bands of the spell pull her arms to her sides and her legs together, making it impossible for her to remain on her stool, and she fell heavily to the floor. The professor was mumbling under her breath how could she have missed the clues, how could she, the greatest mind in Uluru, have overlooked something so simple. She began to laugh, and it was not a pleasant sound. Hermione could hear everything, although bound tight in the spell she was not unconscious, and the rambling of the professor sounded horribly familiar. Pitched on the edge of insanity Hermione knew that the professor presented a serious threat, and she wished most sincerely that Harry was close at hand.

The thoughts whirled through Guru’s head at a frantic speed. It was fortunate that she had taken the trouble, just that very morning, to see Pindari and raise concerns over this foreign witch being involved with something as essentially aboriginal as her research. Now she had discovered Hermione’s real identity, and captured her with her own cunning, there was nothing to prevent her orchestrating some disaster to remove this girl with ‘the heart of a lion’.

It was strange that Hermione was the one depicted in the pictograph and not Nara as she had thought, but no matter, she had to throw her down …down… what did it mean? Then Professor Guru caught sight of the seal and an idea began to form. Most visitors to the chamber pretend it wasn’t there; they didn’t like the idea that it was real and may lead to the place it was supposed to go.

There in the floor of the chamber the entrance to the Dreamtime, to a world isolated from this one, a place that even the sprits needed help to cross-over from. “Ohh!” It was so simple, so delicious, she couldn’t help but vocalise her delight. This would make the ideal prison for this interfering girl and Marmoo could have unrestricted access to his …well… enemy. It would be a prison out of time that Hermione Granger would never escape from.

Guru put away her wand and picked up her ju-stick. She mumbled a few phrases that would initiate and enhance her magic, then pointing the stick at the seal intoned, “Purana Marombi!” The seal, carved in a large circular slab, shuddered then slowly began to revolve, raising dust that had lain undisturbed for thousands of years the great stone seal turned faster and faster. It blurred with the speed it was turning then slowly the hard red stone changed, it began to sparkle, and became a pink, swirling vortex an open doorway to a place no human had ever been.

The professor took hold of Hermione’s ankles, lifted her legs, and dragged her across to the doorway; she could see the fear in the girl’s eyes and mocked her. “I thought you said you have nothing to fear…. Ahh! But then your hero is not at hand, is he, and even if he was I assure you that he could look for you to the end of time itself and never find you.” She pushed at Hermione with her foot, so she rolled over closer to the doorway. The vortex grabbed her, pulled her in, and Hermione disappeared in a flash of pure white light.

Out in the corridor Nara had watched the climax of the events in the chamber with mounting horror. She could not believe that the professor was capable of doing such a thing, and yet she had seen it. She backed away from the door, uncertain now of what to do, straight into the embrace of Keli, who gripped her arms and forced them behind her back. She cried out as Keli pushed her back toward the chamber, and then she heard the voice of Professor Guru.

“Nara is that you,” she called in a friendly tone. “Come inside child, I have to tell you that there has been the most unfortunate accident.”

* * *

4. Truths Revealed

Harry and Nara continued their downward journey to a point where the corridors became little more than rough excavations and the stairways between the levels mere ladders. The final descent led them to a wider passageway with a single opening along one side of it and although the light was dim Harry could see where a large stone door had been propped open. Nara walked into the chamber first with Harry following close behind and he beheld a brightly lit room that he knew would have sent Hermione into raptures of delight.

There was not a book in sight but the walls were covered with the most intricate array of pictograms Harry had ever seen. This was not really saying a lot since these were the only ones he had ever seen, but even Harry realised the scope and beauty of the art in the ancient story paintings was exceptional. There were hundreds of them, his eyes traced the length of the longest wall, and then in the far corner of the chamber he saw it, set into the floor, the large intricate seal that was the doorway to the Dreamtime.

Harry drew his eyes away and back to the paintings, each section of the wall held a different story, some appeared connected and others stood alone in their own right. It would take a lifetime to understand all of what he was seeing and it crossed his mind that if he did ever rescue Hermione would she ever really want to leave this place. But that was woolly thinking, rescue first, worry about the rest later, and why was he concerned, Hermione was her own person, wasn’t she? And what she did in the future had nothing to do with him, …right?

Harry was drawn to one area of wall in particular, its surface blackened, and the story beneath obscured.

“What happened here?” He turned to Nara, who was trying to hide in a corner, but she could not ignore his direct question, and reluctantly she came to stand by his side.

“Professor Guru said there must have been a fire here, long ago, and that section was burnt,” she replied her voice so quiet that Harry had to strain to hear. “I don’t know if that is true, but I have never seen it any different.”

“How long has this chamber been open?” Harry asked gently to try and encourage his nervous companion.

“Eight or nine moons… I mean months,” Nara replied, instantly correcting herself. “There have always been stories about the existence of this chamber, but no one had ever considered it important to look for it.” Harry raised questioning eyebrows at the girl, “Well the dreamtime is supposed to be a closed world to us so what good would it do to go there? No good at all,” she said answering her own question, “only harm.” Nara looked away, worried she had said too much.

“And you and Professor Guru have worked in here all that time?”

“No, you see Professor Guru started looking for this place almost from the moment she arrived at Uluru about seven years ago. I was not here,” she smiled shyly, “I would only have been eight then, much too young, but everyone knows, and I have heard the stories. She divined the course of the passages down to this level, every foot of them, and then eventually, after years of work, she found this room. She was very proud to be the discoverer of the chamber, and be the only one who could work in it.”

“Sort of discoverer’s rights?” suggested Harry.

“Oh no,” Nara shook her head, “no one else could get into the room, not even Professor Pindari, the doctor was the only one able to pass through the door and then she had to squeeze through the tiniest of gaps.”

“Really?” said Harry.

“Yes she worked alone for many weeks. It was almost like there was a barrier holding everybody back then all of a sudden for no reason anyone could understand it wasn’t there anymore. Professor Guru seemed pleased that at last she could have some help and much has been done since then to decipher the paintings.”

“And that is where you came in right?” Harry asked, slowly taking his wand from his pocket.

“Almost, I’ve been Professor Guru’s assistant for six months,” Nara said with false pride, “this chamber has been our life since then, reading, understanding; Hermione was very good at deciphering the stories, I’m sure that is why the professor hated her so …” Nara clamped her hand over her mouth wishing those last words had never been said, but her worries were groundless, Harry was not really listening his mind was on another track.

Harry’s experiences with secret chambers were not good and he had a horrible feeling that this one would be no different. With his wand drawn he walked back to the door; he cast no spell but ran the tip of the wand along the edge of the stone that had once plugged the gap. He could feel the resistance of an old charm, someone had used magic, his type of magic, to bar this door and as Guru was the only one able to pass it, it suggested that the spell was hers’. But why would she want to keep others out? Perhaps it was a wish to keep her discovery to herself? That was certainly possible, but as Harry moved over to the blackened wall again he was not so sure.

“So this was like this when the chamber was fully opened and no one has tried to clean it?” he said tapping his wand gently on the stone. Again Harry could feel the magic that had been used to disfigure the wall.

For the first time Harry saw an expression on Nara’s face other than one that was full of conflicting emotions, she was absolutely horrified at the idea. “Oh no, Professor Guru has expressly forbidden it, and it is such an ancient painting, to clean it may destroy it,” then she sighed, “But it is sad because the story that is hidden here could tell us much, it might be the one that gives the reason for the construction of the chamber.”

“Well,” said Harry, “let’s find out. Pindari told me to do what I thought was right.” He stood back, straightening his arm; his wand held steadily in his hand, he heard Nara gasp as he pointed it directly at the disfigured section of wall.

“No! you mustn’t,” Nara cried, “it is forbidden!”

Harry gave a dark smile, “I never was one to take much notice of rules, I’m sure Hermione must have mentioned that; Recantus Tergeus” Harry spoke the spell very gently and the purple sparkles that flowed from his wand softly peppered the surface of the wall. Very slowly the blackened surface faded away leaving the bright colours painted on the wall so long ago clear and clean.

“There!” Harry said, once he was satisfied, “Good as new,” he scratched his head, “I only wish I knew what it meant.”

Nara was staring in wonder, alternately at the newly revealed paintings, and then at Harry. “Err… let me…” she offered, “I can read it,”. Harry stepped back and let the girl scrutinise the wall.

“It is a story that tells of the past, present and future.” She said as her finger ran lightly over the paintings. “It tells of the evil spirit Marmoo, in the long past, in the dreamtime, he created the insects to destroy the world of the One Father and the Sun Mother, but the birds came into being and they ate the insect horde and so the world was saved. That is an old traditional story,” she told Harry, as she moved on to the next line of paintings. “It says here that Marmoo hid his failure deep in his breast but it chewed at his vitals and twisted his mind. This was the way it was supposed to be, but then Marmoo spoke with a voice that came to him from a deep dark pool, and the voice told him of a plan to destroy the world of men.”

Nara stared at the painting depicting a woman standing knee deep in a pool of water conversing with the disgruntled spirit. That she was female was obvious by her nakedness, but that was not what disturbed Nara, the features of the painted figure so exquisitely drawn were horribly familiar to the girl, they were those of Professor Guru. At the realisation of what she was seeing, Nara’s mind suddenly opened, all the images she had thought were dreams and imaginings cleared in the light of reality. But it was a reality she did not want to believe in, the professor had hated Hermione that is why she had sent her into the Tjukurpa, there was nothing more to it than that.

Nara hesitated in her translation; she went back and studied the pictographs once again. The story they told was the same, there was no other translation, so how could she now not believe, for it was here in front of her, fixed in stone, written by some unknown hand many thousands of years ago.

“You ok?” Harry asked his tone one of concern, at the sight of Nara’s shaking hand.

The girl steadied herself, she dared not look at Harry for fear that her resolve would fail and stared fixedly at the wall and the pictures painted there. “Yes I’m fine; there’s more here do you want me to go on?”

“Yes please,” said Harry.

Nara pushed away the thoughts running through her mind, thoughts that would have her tell Harry everything and she concentrated on the translation. “Marmoo would fashion a creature, big enough and cunning enough to attack Baiame, the One Father, and poison him with its sting. Baiame would not die, for he is immortal but he would start to forget the world he had made with the Sun Mother, Ybi. Because of his inattention the world would begin to turn in on itself and then, when the time is right, Marmoo could release an infinite army of his creations and the world of the inapertwa would cease to be.”

“What good would that do anyone?” Harry spoke his thoughts out loud, “If the world is gone no one wins.”

“No Harry you misunderstand. The world that will die is not that of the Shaman or the Wizard; our worlds are part of the dreamtime that is where our magic comes from. We would be spared, it is the world of those who have no magic, who cannot see what we see, that will be overrun.”

“You mean muggles?”

“Yes, we call them ‘inapertwa’ it means ‘the simple creatures’. Our name for them is not very flattering but then the term muggle is the same where you come from is it not?”

Harry sighed, “It means more to some than to others,” he said sadly. “Is that all there is on the wall?”

“No there is one more line,” Nara turned her attention back to the paintings. “It is not so easy to read. There is a woman with a… there is no word for this symbol it seems to be a fighting cat. Yes, a woman with a fighting cat at her heart; she tries to stop Marmoo but she is thrown down by the creature from the deep pool.” Finally Nara understood, she believed; it was more than hate that had made Guru do what she had done to Hermione. Nara now realised that she could no longer withhold the truth from Harry.

He was talking quietly to himself trying to make sense of it all. “A lion in her heart, a Gryffindor. …Hermione? No, that isn’t possible,” Harry said it with open disbelief. “But she has vanished into this Dreamtime of yours…. so if it was her what sort of creature could it be, a Grindlyow, Dugbog, a Merperson?” Harry was recalling all he could remember from Hagrid's classes.

“No Harry, it was not even the Bunyip,” Nara broke his train of thought as she mentioned the magical creature that haunted pools and stole babies from unwary travellers. Harry turned his attention to the girl, who seemed to be fighting some internal turmoil, then suddenly her indecision was gone and the words rushed out in a panic to tell him everything. “It was Professor Guru!” she cried. “In the old tongue Guru means deep water. Oh Harry it was her and she really means to do it!” The girl was shaking in fear and looked at Harry with wide, tear filled eyes as she finally said, “It was Professor Guru Harry, she was the one who pushed Hermione through the seal!”

“What!” Harry’s face darkened and he took on a fearsome appearance, Nara shrunk away from him. He grabbed her arm. “Tell me!” The girl shrieked and Harry with great effort calmed himself. “I’m sorry, please tell me what happened.”

Nara stifled a sob, “I knew the professor didn’t like Hermione, she resented her being here. Hermione was not a native; Guru believed that a myall witch had no place in her department. At least that is what I thought, but now I understand. There were rituals you see, I always thought I was dreaming them,” she pointed at the figure of the woman in the pool, “Guru like that, summoning Marmoo to attack me, I don’t know why, though now I have read the pictogram perhaps she thought I was the one with the lion in my heart.”

“But Guru worked out it was Hermione instead,” surmised Harry.

“I suppose she must have done,” Nara agreed. “I was out in the corridor when I heard the professor use a myall spell, I peeked around the door and I saw Hermione bound so tightly, lying on the floor, then Professor Guru pointed her ju-stick at the seal and she said the unlocking words. The seal opened and the professor dragged Hermione to the edge and rolled her in,” Nara looked imploringly at Harry, willing him to understand her fear, “I didn’t know what to do, I thought of running but Keli was right behind me and he caught me, brought me in here, they made so many threats if I told what had happened to Hermione.” Nara burst into tears. “I’ve wanted to tell someone this for so long,” she sobbed, “but I‘ve been so afraid.”

“And so you should be,” said a cold voice from the door.

Harry didn’t hesitate for a second, his wand was still in his hand, and he spun around, pointed and fired. “Expelliarmis!” he yelled, and Guru’s ju-stick flew from her hand, and the professor herself was catapulted out into the corridor to crash against the far wall. “Colloportus,” Harry ordered, and with a commanding flick of his wand the great stone slab of the door ponderously moved to fill the gap and sealed itself tight.

He scooped Guru’s ju-stick from the floor where it had landed, and pushed it into Nara’s shaking hands. “Here you can probably make better use of this than I can. I’ve no doubt that Guru will be at us again and I don’t know how long that door will hold.”

Harry walked over to the other side of the room and for the first time seriously studied the doorway to the dreamtime. A circular stone set into the floor, its surface covered with symbols that meant little to the young wizard. “So Guru is the one manipulating this Marmoo character and if he is not stopped the muggle world will end.” He mumbled to himself, Harry’s shoulders sagged and he stared at the portal to the Tjukurpa in silence for a moment. “Oh Bugger!” he finally said to no one in particular, “Why does it have to be me again?”

‘Because Harry – you’re a great wizard, and you know there are the more important things like friendship, bravery and love. I do need you Harry – be careful!’ And Harry knew that Hermione was right.

”You say you know the enchantment to open this?” Harry asked pointing his wand at the carved floor; Nara nodded in reply.

“Purana Marombi but they are just words. I do not know how to use the ju-stick, only a fully trained shaman has that knowledge.”

“Great,” said Harry with a certain amount of feeling, “we’ll just have to carry on the way I have since I arrived here, and play it by ear. Is their anything more on that wall that will help us?”

“I don’t think so, there is a symbol for a man and hiding inside him is a brown boa, he is shown striding over the dark water, to the woman with the cat… sorry lion heart.” Nara was shaking her head, “That is all does it mean anything to you.”

“What is a brown boa?” asked Harry, hoping he already knew the answer.

“A snake,” it was the reply he wanted.

“Yes!” he shouted and punched the air and he smiled at Nara’s perplexed expression. “Ironic really, the wizard I fought, Voldemort, he was the one with the snake. He tried to kill me when I was very young; instead, amongst other things he made me a parselmouth, now I am the one with the snake inside him. Poor old Voldemort; how he would have hated the idea that, yet again, he has helped me out.” There was a loud banging from the other side of the magically sealed door. “Will you be ok here; you could come with me.”

“Me in there, in the dream time,” shrieked Nara, “no way, don‘t worry I can hide, I’ll be fine.”

Harry place himself over the decorated seal, he had broken so many rules now he doubted that one more would matter so he pointed his wand downwards closed his eyes and focused all his magical power into the spell “Purana Marombi”. He wasn’t even sure his wand would respond to the aboriginal enchantment but a deep rumbling sound made the whole room shake and Harry felt the seal begin to spin beneath him. He opened his eyes to see Nara sinking back into the shadows Guru’s ju-stick held close to her chest, and then the door burst open and a dishevelled Professor Guru stood on the threshold. At that moment Harry felt the floor beneath his feet give way and he hurtled downwards. Fading into the distance he could hear a desperate cry of anguish from the professor as she realised she was too late.

* * *

There was nothing that Hermione could do to prevent Professor Guru tipping her into the vortex; the total body bind Guru had used held her tight. The vortex closed over her head and suddenly Hermione found her arms and legs free, but there was nothing for her to do with them, nothing to grab hold of, nothing to stop her from falling, and at this particular moment that was precisely what she was doing. She did manage to fumble for her wand deep in the pocket of the thin set of aboriginal style robes she had taken to wearing. Pointing her wand down in the direction she was travelling she tried to slow her fall but no matter what she used the spells didn’t seem to be working. In desperation Hermione then aimed a messenger spell back up to where she hoped the mouth of the vortex was, she called for the one she knew would come if he could, but only the faintest wisp of her patronus slipped from the end of her wand and it was soon lost in the air that swirled around her.

She was not sure how long she had been falling, long enough for the panic to subside and for her to resign herself to whatever fate had in store for her. It was clear that her magic did not work so there was little she could do to help herself that way, she did however concentrate her mind on the dark haired young man she had tried to send her message to, and even if was not actually helping her situation it made her feel better. She remembered the first time she had seen Harry, so many years ago on the train going to Hogwarts; wide eyed and innocent, so different from the weary young man that had returned with Kingsley. So affected by the war and the guilt he carried that it broke her heart to see him, but the pain of Ron’s accusations were far too fresh in her mind, for her to get too close, and so she watched at a distance, not letting him see that she was there. It was an opportunity missed and she regretted it because now it might be too late to set the record straight, and tell him how she really felt.

Hermione fell into a day full of sunshine, she could see the ground below her rushing to meet her, this was it, where it was all going to end. She thought of her parents and sighed, she thought of everything she was leaving behind and the tears dampened her eyes, then she thought of Harry and she cried. A blessed darkness claimed her before the ground and she never knew how hard she hit it.

* * *

Harry had fallen before; from his broom, onto the hard ground of the quidditch pitch; from the girl’s toilet on the second floor of Hogwarts, into the chamber of secrets; and from that trapdoor in the corridor on the third floor, down into the grip of the devils snare, but none of the falls were quite like this. He could not see the walls of whatever shaft he was falling through and the air, although Harry could hear it rushing past his ears, did nothing to ruffle his clothes or hair. He decided he was not really rushing down to meet oblivion on some hard unyielding surface; it was more like being in a lift, only there was no lift, only him.

He remained calm, and began to experiment by waving his arms about to see if he could affect his descent. There was a nasty moment when he managed to turn himself upside down and fall head first but he reasoned that even if he was moving reasonably slowly when he landed, using his head as a buffer was not a good idea. He was beginning to think that his journey was never going to end when suddenly he burst out into bright sunlight and there was a grassy slope beneath him. Harry was falling slightly faster than he had imagined and as the ground rose to meet him he rolled as he landed hoping to lessen the impact. He still hit hard, and his breath was driven out of his body. It took him a minute or so to recover and when the pounding in his head stopped he sat up.

Wherever he was the place was beautiful, the grass was just the right shade of green, and the trees were spaced perfectly about the meadow, the hills on the horizon were exactly the right size and distance away to frame the panorama superbly. Everything was immaculate and that told Harry he was no longer in the real world. He listened intently to the entrancing sounds of the birds and other animals, and then at the furthest reach of his hearing came the call “Haaaaarrrrry! and he recognised her voice instantly.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes, she was lying on her back, and as her vision cleared she could see the perfect blue of a cloudless sky. She tried turning her head to the left and right, it didn’t seem to hurt to move it, and a broad green meadow, bounded in the distance by tall trees, swam into view. She gingerly tested the other parts of her body nothing appeared broken but there was a disquietingly dull throb in the region of her left ankle. It wasn’t too bad, the ankle would just about take her weight but she wouldn’t win any races on it that was for sure. Hermione hobbled over to a convenient rock and leaned back against it and took stock of her surroundings. So this was the dreamtime, it was as perfect as she had expected it to be, the only thing that wasn’t perfect was that as far as she could tell she was stuck here with little hope of getting out.

It was the first time she had been in a jam without Harry or Ron around to get her out of it and the thought made her laugh. The boot was usually on the other foot, the pair of them usually relied on her to get them out of a mess, now look at her. Her laugh had a little edge of hysteria to it, for she could not imagine Ron putting himself out for her now, and Harry he could still be in that same state of despair she hadn’t had the courage to help him out of. Hermione’s laugh became a sob as she thought of him, it wasn’t fair to Harry but she knew she just knew that if he could possibly help he would come if she called, and so she set to that task with a will.

* * *

Harry was up and running toward that cry and he was halfway down the hill before she had time to repeat it. The sound of her call was closer this time and then he saw her, leaning against a perfectly shaped rock. She had her back to him, her head was in her hands and he could see her shoulders rising and falling as she sobbed. His feet flew across the grass hushed into silence by it lushness, she didn’t hear him as he closed the distance between them. The cry came again much quieter this time, as if she had given up expecting an answer, “Oh Harry if only you knew, I need you.”

“So I understand,” a voice said quietly from behind her. Hermione whirled around in an instant, and stood there, her brain not believing what her eyes were telling her, then moments later his arms were about her and she in turn was hanging onto him and she knew he was real. They held on to each other fiercely, neither wishing to let go,

Hermione’s head was pressed into Harry’s chest and he could smell the familiar fragrance of her hair. He touched her head and ran his hand down, the strands of her hair slipping between his fingers. As he repeated his caress he could hear her saying “Harry, Harry, oh Harry” and in response he hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head, murmuring, “It’s ok I’m here, I’m here.”

Then Hermione lifted her head from his chest to stare up at Harry, she looked into the emerald- green eyes of her oldest friend, someone she had shared so much with, but never everything. He looked down at the tear-streaked face of a girl he had cared about for as long as he could remember but only recently had he realised that his feelings for her went much deeper than that.

In a perfect land, where time probably meant very little, it stood still. Harry bent his head down and Hermione lifted hers higher and somewhere in the middle their lips touched. The softness of her mouth melted into the firmness of his and the years of being just best friends were whisked away. Love can grow slowly or it can strike like lightening, and for Harry and Hermione friendship blossomed into love between one heartbeat and the next.

Here is part five, I am glad that those of you who have reviewed are enjoying the story. Considering the amount of tales written about our heroes it surprises me that anything is original anymore, somewhere at sometime someone must have….. but if they haven’t and this is a first then my mind must be weirder than I thought it was. Thanks for reading.

Solomon Aegis

Wiltshire 2008.

5. Borrowed Magic

Nara, hiding in the shadows, watched as Professor Guru ranted and raved at the seal covering the gateway to the dreamtime. It had closed once Harry had disappeared and resumed its normal solid state, and without her ju-stick none of the incantations Guru was using appeared to be having any effect. The clamour of her protestations brought Keli and Edi running into the chamber, their ju-sticks raised ready to fight off whatever horrors their leader had brought into being this time. But they found her with her dark face suffused with anger throwing enchantments at the floor that fizzled and sparkled before fading away leaving a slightly sulphurous smell behind them. Guru whirled on her henchmen and snatched the ju-stick from Edi’s hand; she pointed it at the seal and shouted the unlocking incantation. The power behind the spell was palpable as it streaked across and hit the seal, but as with everything else the professor had tried the seal remained unresponsive and as set in stone as before.

“That dratted boy!” Guru spat out, “He has changed the seal; using his myall magic has ruined it. We must perform the ritual; Marmoo must see to it that he causes no more harm to our designs.” The professor tried hard to calm herself as yet again she thought through the plan which would enable her to rise to her rightful place. “The ceremony of the first stepping is not that far ahead, we still have time despite this upset,” she was talking quietly now almost to herself, “yes, yes everything will be alright.” Now convinced in her own mind she turned to the two men. “You have received assurances from those outside, and taken care of that other matter?”

“Yes professor,” Keli replied. “Everyone is ready and simply awaiting your signal. Those of our people already here will make the takeover straightforward and as for that other matter it has been done as you instructed.”

“Good, good,” Guru gloated, “Come to my rooms and we will finish this thing; I must speak with Marmoo then it is just a matter of waiting.”

The professor led the two men out of the chamber and Nara let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding. She slipped from the shadows, nervously watching the door until she was sure Guru would not suddenly reappear. Clutching the professor’s ju-stick to her chest she crossed over the seal and stood in front of the paintings she had so recently read to Harry. As she stared at the neatly drawn figures she became aware that the last line she had read out was no longer the last line of the story. Before her astonished gaze new images were forming, this tale it seemed was far from over.

* * *

Harry and Hermione sat with their backs pressed up against the perfect rock, their arms around each other. Hermione could still feel the tingle on her lips left by their first kiss, and that tingle resonated throughout the rest of her body. Why did it have to be now, when their chances of returning to reality and having something of a life together were so slim. Was it always so that perfect love is only found in a perfect place such as this and can never exist where real people lived? No, she didn’t believe that for a moment.

Hermione shifted her head so that she could look at the young man that had come to save her. She knew he would come, she had never doubted that for a moment. All the time she had known him she had felt secure knowing that he would do the best he possibly could to look after her. Perhaps that is why she had never thought to fall in love with him; perhaps that is why he had never thought to fall in love with her. Yet they had been in love, maybe not since the very first train ride, but certainly since the troll paid her a visit in that awful bathroom. They had thought that love like that was different, “Sisterly feelings,” Ron had called it; whatever, it was certainly very different to the attachment she had felt for Ron.

She had fancied Ron, she could not deny that, but physical attraction alone was not love, not the love that lasts anyway, and Ron had a problem that he couldn’t get over; a problem that meant their love was bound to fail, he didn’t trust her. Harry was different; true they hadn’t agreed on everything over the years but there was an implicit trust between them that whatever each of them did, it was always done with the best of intentions to help out the other.

Hermione wondered what else had happened to Harry since she had last seen him. She had watched with dismay his initial break-up with Ginny. Perhaps to some the pairing off of the four of them would have appeared ideal, but the cracks in the relationship between the red-head and the chosen one had appeared very quickly. Had he seen her again? It didn’t really matter because although Harry hadn’t said, Hermione knew, that he and Ginny were as over as she and Ron. The fact that he was here and that first kiss was all the proof she would ever need to know that Harry Potter was in love with her, Hermione Granger.

He felt the softness of her move against him, he had found her, she was real, and she was in his arms. Hermione had come to no harm, well she only had a sore ankle, as a result of her fall, and that was getting better. She had been so shocked when he told her that she had been gone for the best part of a month, for her only half an hour or so had seemed to pass, since she had fallen into the Tjukurpa. Those men, who had coined the term Dreamtime for this place, were probably far more accurate than they had realised. Time didn’t appear to follow the same rules as it did up top, or was it down below, neither Harry or Hermione understood where they were in relation to the world that held Mr and Mrs Granger, Ron, Ginny and all the others. They knew it was not the same, and they knew that, at this moment, it had not been touched by anything to ruin its perfection.

If Harry could have ignored their unusual location he would have been blissfully happy, as it was he was worried. Sure he had found Hermione and she was ok but he had absolutely no idea how they were going to get back to Uluru. He was trying very hard to think of a way to solve this problem when his concentration was broken by Hermione gently shaking his arm.

“Harry, you were snoring,” she said with a giggle.

“Oh, sorry,” he blushed slightly, and smiled. Hermione smiled back, and that simple smile produced a warm glow in Harry’s chest and it spread to fill his whole body, making him blush even more. “Err… what do you think we ought to do?” he asked mainly to get his mind back on track.

“I’m not sure there is anything we can do. I must admit I haven’t tried my wand, I was a little afraid to see if it would work, it didn’t help me when I fell and if it did now it could muck things up even more.” She took her wand from her pocket and rolled it between her fingers, it appeared quite unresponsive, as was Harry’s when they examined his.

“Well we can’t sit here doing nothing,” declared Harry. “There is a stream down there let’s at least go and get a drink, I’m parched,” He jumped to his feet, and then stooped to help Hermione to hers. She tested her ankle, it seemed quite sound now, so hand in hand the pair walked down the slight incline toward the sound of running water.

There was a small waterfall which fell into a shallow pool of crystal clear water; the beauty of the place was indescribable. They had nothing but their hands to scoop up the water but they managed to make adequate cups and slake their thirst. The sun sparkled off the surface of the pool and Hermione sighed, then making an instant decision kicked off her shoes and began to pull her robes off over her head.

Harry froze, his eyes fixed on the sight of Hermione removing her clothes, he didn’t want to stare but for the life of him he could think of nothing else to look at. She very obviously had as little on underneath her robes as he did. In fact the small blue garment that remained covered only enough of her to cause Harry’s imagination to work overtime and decide, that in this perfect land, she just might be the most perfect thing here.

With a splash and a shriek at the temperature of the water, she was gone. Her body sliced through the still water, and the clarity of that water concealed none of it. She surfaced in the middle of the pool, and turned back towards Harry who was stoically trying to look at anything but her, and failing miserably.

“Come on Harry, get in, the water’s fine once you get used to it,” she could sense his reluctance, “Oh Harry, don’t be so stuffy, I do love you, you know, and I have nothing to hide, I hope you have nothing to hide from me?” she teased.

She was standing in the water, which was just deep enough to cover her breasts. The sparkling of the sun on the ripples she was making in the pool provided the illusion that just enough of Hermione was concealed to allow Harry to stare at her.

What was he worried about?

Was it an inner shyness that Hermione obviously didn’t feel?

No, it was because he knew there was that unspoken trust between them a trust that he didn’t want to betray. But he told himself that trust like that worked both ways she trusted him to do the right thing so how could he not trust her. So before he could confuse himself enough to change his mind he pulled off his boots and socks and then the thin robe over his head. Standing on the bank of the pool he looked down at the smiling girl and without considering the consequences, dived into the water.

The water was icy cold, and Harry’s skin reacted immediately; he had to swim hard to try and warm up, but again the young wizard did not consider the consequences. Boxer shorts are not designed to be swimming trunks; Harry only kicked out his feet once, and his red and gold Gryffindor boxers floated free and headed back to the bank on their own. Even with his head below the water Harry could hear Hermione’s silvery peals of laughter as they echoed around the pool. He surfaced and she was standing there, no more than a few inches from him, she was showing not the slightest trace of embarrassment at his predicament, or the closeness of their bodies. He could see her teeth as she smiled, they were perfect, and he couldn’t understand how her parents could have objected when Madam Pomfrey had made such a wonderful job of them. Hermione moved closer still, sinuously sliding her arms out of the water, she wrapped them around his neck and pulled him tightly to her.

It briefly flashed through Harry’s mind that there should be the slight tinge of awkwardness associated with their relative positions, but then he knew why there wasn’t. He was in love, it was not hard to think it; would it be more difficult to say it to a friend, such as the one currently pressed up against him so that he could feel every contour of her body?

“I love you,” he tried it out, and he liked the way it sounded, and the reaction it produced. When their lips eventually parted he said it again. “I love you, so much. Why did I never see this before?”

“I don’t know Harry, I don’t care, and it doesn’t matter.” Hermione said from deep in his embracing arms, “You have cared about me from the moment that blessed troll tried to do me in, and that caring was love. Not silly adolescent love, but proper love, and now I am a woman that can respond to that love.” And so she did.

Harry felt his senses begin to unravel as she moved against him, but he had no wish to be the silent partner in this relationship and so began strategies of his own to confound the young woman that was doing such a good job on him. Neither of them paid any attention to the small piece of blue material that floated slowly to the bank to join Harry’s scarlet and gold shorts; they were consumed with each other, and the perfection of the setting slipped into the background of their thoughts. Given the opportunity it may have remained so, but a sound so unpleasant that it could not be ignored rose in volume to drown out everything else.

The lovers parted and looked about, a dreadful buzzing, hard and merciless, it droned on and on becoming painful to the ears, and then the source of that sound passed overhead. The scream of fear caught in Hermione’s throat, and Harry, similarly fearful of attracting the monster, suppressed his cry of horror. It was something out of a nightmare, its body larger than that of a tall man and with a wingspan that stretched to twenty feet. As it flew over the pool the downdraught from its wings ruffled the water, and left in its wake an appalling stench.

All thoughts of the consummation of their love for each other driven from their minds Harry pulled Hermione towards the shore, where they gathered their wet and dry clothing and hastily put them on.

“What do you think it was?” Hermione asked.

“Well if the wall paintings are correct then that is the latest creation of the spirit Marmoo and it’s on its way to use that bloody great sting attached to its rear end to attack Baiame.” Harry said as he struggled with his last boot.

Hermione looked a little shocked at Harry’s pronouncement but also impressed, “I didn’t know that aboriginal myths were a speciality of yours, where did you get this information.”

Harry smiled for once the tables were turned he knew something that she didn’t. “I had a crash course, and the last set of paintings were read to me.”

Hermione gave Harry an accusing look, “You used your wand to clean them up, priceless works of art and you…. you…. what did you do?”

“Recantus Tergeus,” said Harry, “but slowly and very gently.” Hermione drew in her breath, and to forestall what Harry knew was going to happen, held up his hand. “And before you forget I am Harry and not Ron and yell at me, it worked, the paintings are fine. Now shall we see if we can find out where that thing has gone or not?”

Hermione looked into Harry’s eyes. “I may yell at you from time to time in the future, I can’t promise that I won’t, but there is one thing, I can promise, I will never confuse you with Ron. I love you Harry Potter and I always will, and she kissed him soundly on the lips. “Come on then.” And grabbing his hand she pulled him away from the pond and they headed off after Marmoo’s creature.

* * *

In the days following Harry’s disappearance into the dreamtime Nara had searched Uluru for Professor Pindari, but no matter where she looked she could not find him. For fear that Guru would catch her again she didn’t reveal herself to her fellow students but kept to the shadows where she knew she was safe. The very thing that had led her into so much trouble at home was very probably keeping her alive. Her mother had been so dismayed to find that her only daughter was a naya-mai a dream walker, someone who could move from shadow to shadow at will. In the tales of the ancestors this trait was used to enable those so cursed to inhabit the shadows near sleeping men and women and control their dreams. It was all nonsense of course all a naya-mai could do was to fold the space hidden in the shadows, fading from one dark corner to reappear in another, an ability Nara had never thought was particularly useful until now.

She had watched as Guru performed the ritual and spoke with the disturbed spirit. His presence filled the room as before and Nara sank further into the darkness that had become her haven. The girl now understood what had gone on before but this time Marmoo was not concentrating on her, he was unhappy that Guru had let not only Hermione but now Harry slip by her and upset the balance of the dreamtime. It took a great deal of persuasion on the part of the professor to restore the confidence the spirit had in her and get him to initiate the plans she had in mind. As Guru bowed low to the spirit she thought she had under her control, Nara saw the look in Marmoo’s eyes, it was clear he had an agenda all of his own and she doubted that the professor ranked very high in them. Now there was something else for her to worry about, Guru was no more than a highly skilled shaman and she could be beaten, but Marmoo was a powerful spirit what on earth could beat him?

The days and then weeks slipped by but without Pindari Nara had no possibility of getting anyone to act against Professor Guru, she was far too powerful to confront and at the moment was acting perfectly normally. The young girl kept to herself, using the shadows to leave her room in her ongoing search for Pindari and keep herself fed. By the start of the week leading up to first stepping Nara had almost given up. In a few days nearly everyone in Uluru would depart to their homes to celebrate the day man and woman first walked out of the dreamtime onto the sands of the homeland.

Then the day arrived and Guru made her move. The few students, researchers and teachers that had remained in Uluru were no match for the outside help Guru and her cohorts had enlisted. Fortunately the invasion only resulted in a few slightly damaged heads and some bruised egos so with very little trouble Binda Guru found herself in charge, and Nara incongruously had her first break. She saw the weak and battered form of Professor Pindari, supported none too gently between Edi and Keli, being half dragged back toward his office. The smell coming from the old man’s robes, told its own story, and Nara cursed herself for not thinking of looking in the miles of sewers that served Uluru.

* * *

Harry and Hermione struggled to run through the long grass but it was an impossible task, the creature was moving much too quickly, they could see it in the distance but there was never any way they would catch it. They collapsed onto the grass to gather their breath, and the creature finally disappeared from their sight.

“Bugger!” said Harry with feeling, “What do we do now?”

He felt Hermione grab his arm, “Run might be a good idea,” she said a little shrilly as she climbed back on her feet.

Initially she was not sure if what she was seeing was real but as it pushed its way through the long grass it suddenly reared up and scanned the area with its eyes. Only for the briefest second in her life had she ever seen any like the beast that was now heading in their direction and that one glimpse had ended up with her petrified in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. She had no wish to repeat the experience, but her advice to Harry was being ignored, and the great lump was sitting calmly staring at the Basilisk as it weaved its way over the ground. Harry looked up as she tugged his arm again and with the single glance he gave her, she realised she was safe. He stood anyway and slipped his arm around her waist.

“He is not quite what he looks like,” he told her. “He scared me too the first time I saw him, but this is Kurreah the rainbow serpent, he brought me to Uluru from Sydney, he’s friendly… I think.”

Kurreah had known where to find them; their song sang so loudly it was not difficult to follow, it even drowned out the foul emanations from Marmoo’s creation, surely that could only be a good sign. The woman had seen him first and there was a perceived recognition and alarm in her expression, but then the man caught sight of him and in one glance calmed the woman’s fears. He stood to be beside her and in that one vision, of the two standing together, some of Kurreah’s own worries left him.

They probably didn’t realise the significance of their dress, he in red, she in pale blue, the designs on the front of their robes identical. There, formed before his eyes, was the image of the joined souls, an image as old as this land, the image of the first. If nothing else this must make Baiame see reason. Kurreah had to hope, it was hope that kept him alive and at this moment all his hope was concentrated in this young couple.

The serpent stopped and rose up so that his head was level with Harry’s. “I see that you have found her then Harry Potter.”

Harry began to translate to Hermione but she stopped him, she was staring in wonder at the spirit that only a few moments ago had frightened her so much. “It’s ok Harry I can understand him, I don’t know how, but it’s fine. Yes he found me,” she said to Kurreah, “thank you for bringing him to me.” Her words came out in English but the serpent bowed to her none the less.

Kurreah turned in the direction the flying creature had taken, flicking his tongue to taste the air. “We do not have much time,” the ground shook for a second or two and Kurreah hung his head. “The creature has already completed its task and Baiame sickens. Marmoo will soon learn that you are here, the one you call Guru will tell him, and he will send his creature after you.”

“Guru wants to destroy the muggle world and use the spirits to rule what is left”, said Harry, “She thinks we can stop her, that is why she threw Hermione through the seal.”

“I am aware of her plans but she will have nothing to rule,” said Kurreah. “The shaman, at least in one instance, is wrong. If Baiame is not cured then destruction will not be confined, all will perish, humans, witches, wizards all will die, and the Tjukurpa will vanish as well, nothing will be saved.”

“Then there is something we can do to stop all this happening,” said Hermione, hoping she had understood the serpent correctly. “Can we use magic?” she asked.

“No the magic in your wands will not work here. This an ancient place possibly the most ancient, and only magic as old as the Tjukurpa will work.” Kurreah looked at the two young people before him, and if a serpent can smile he smiled. “Magic like that you have a plenty. The two of you are so full of it I can taste it, you hold it in your hearts for each other and Harry even brought some in from outside.”

Harry suddenly understood, “You mean love.”

“Yes Harry love. The power of love is infinite, love that is selflessly given can literally move mountains; how do you think this place and all of us were made.” An angry buzzing sound began, and started to grow louder. Kurreah wound his coils protectively around Harry and Hermione. “There is a cave, I will take you,” he said. “you will be safe there. The love Hermione’s mother gave you Harry will protect you both, but once the creature realises it cannot get at you it will backtrack to your guardian. I cannot stay here with you; I must go to help protect her.”

They experienced no conscious movement but they found themselves in a cave that, like everything in this strange place, appeared to be the blueprint for every cave there ever was, and it was hard to tell if it was natural or not. The cave mouth was not large and Harry had to stoop to look out of it, he could see they were perhaps several hundred feet up the smooth side of a mountain and he could hear but not yet see Marmoo’s creature. He ducked back inside Hermione was standing there with a worried expression on her face, he moved to her side and together they examined the fortress that was to protect them. The vaulted roof was smooth, devoid of hanging stalactites, one side of the cave was formed by a wall of deep red rock it was dry and looked comfortingly solid. The other side glowed with light, the wall there was made of crystal, a beautiful pale pink colour, and light from outside was refracted through it making the inside of the cave much brighter than it should have been. They could see as well as feel that the floor was covered with a thick coating of soft, springy moss that smelled fresh and clean, and looked very inviting.

There was definitely something most odd about this cave, the light that filtered through the crystal wall had a strange hypnotic quality to it, and for both Harry and Hermione the cave seemed unnaturally warm. Together they stood in the centre of the floor almost transfixed; their examination of the cave was over, now they were looking at each other, each one concentrating on the others face. Harry’s arms were around Hermione’s waist and her arms were draped over his shoulders. This exquisite examination, this drinking in of each other’s soul continued while the insistent buzzing grew to a painful level, but neither appeared to be that concerned by it.

“What did Kurreah mean about my mum’s love protecting us?” said Hermione dreamily.

Harry had watched as her wonderful mouth formed the words, “When I left them, she gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek, she told me to take her love to protect us both,” he replied. “I remembered that my mum had done the same, and I hoped that your mum’s magic would be as strong.”

“My mum doesn’t have any magic.”

“Of course she does …” said Harry gently gazing down into Hermione’s dark wonderful eyes, “watch and listen.”

They turned to face the narrow entrance, their movements slow and out of time, the magic of the cave woken from countless years of slumber began to work once more. The sound of the creature outside rose to a crescendo then fell silent as it landed and only the tumbling of loose rocks could be heard as its feet scrabbled for purchase on the mountain slope. It tried force its sting deep into the cave, searching for the occupants, there was a brilliant flash of light and it gave an almost human scream. Again and again the huge insect thrust its stinger into the cave and at each attempt the flash of light and scream rang out anew. To Harry and Hermione it seemed an age before it occurred to the creature that the cave was inviolate. Then in fury Marmoo’s creation thrashed at the rocks around the cave mouth, not to try to get in but causing them to fall and completely block the entrance, Harry and Hermione were trapped.

Its insect mind worked on the most basic level, the creature knew exactly what to do, it would store these morsels here and go on to destroy the source of their protection then it would dig them out; food hard won often tasted the sweetest. Even through the pile of rocks that blocked the entrance to the cave and imprisoned Harry and Hermione the angry buzz of its wings could be heard as the creature took to the air, and vanished.

* * *

6. Blue Magic

The dark clouds gathered over Sydney Harbour, and the lightening flashed down to strike the curving arch of the Harbour Bridge. The storms recently had been so bad that the bridge was closed to all muggle traffic and only the hardiest or maybe it was the foolhardy who tried to cross the harbour in any form of boat. The city was essentially paralysed and it was not the only one. All over the world the muggles were in trouble, the weather was unpredictable and violent and the electricity supplies and electronics they relied on so heavily were failing them. Even in the countries where life revolved around simpler means of survival, the rains brought floods and the merciless sun brought droughts to places that until this time had seen neither. The world was beginning to fall apart.

* * *

In the heart of Tjukurpa the great spirit Baiame sat and stared out over the land that had been created so long ago. At one time he had thought it perfect but it did not appear that way to him now, he sighed and his breath flattened the grass and raised the dust, everything was so dry, everything was beginning to die. Marmoo watched Baiame from the safety of his own ground. The spirit of the insects lived below the rocks and in the crevices around the roots of the trees, places that were dark and usually damp, he watched and he was pleased with what he saw. He wanted revenge, he had nursed his hurt almost since the beginning of time, and now he was seeing the fruits of that revenge. But as he watched Baiame succumb to the sting of his creation he began to worry. His realm should not be harmed and yet before his eyes it was drying out. The rocks were crumbling to dust and the trees were dying, their roots shrivelling with the lack of moisture, he had forgotten, in his arrogance, that Baiame the one father and Ybi the sun spirit had spun everything out of the nothingness that had existed before, everything, including himself.

* * *

In a northern suburb of Sydney a raggedly dressed man sat on a sofa and wondered what the hell he was going to do now. Hermione had hidden her parents so well from the magical community that it had taken him a week to track them down. ‘If only she had removed all the confunding charms that concealed their whereabouts when she had restored their memories’ he thought ‘then he might have found them before Harry had disappeared off to Uluru’. There was nothing he could do about that now, but what was really getting his goat was that another six weeks had passed, they were still waiting for Harry and Hermione to turn up, and all his requests to Professor Pindari at Uluru for information had gone unanswered.

The ‘they’ that were waiting for the missing pair were the raggedly dressed man, Dagoberto Williams, and his opposite number from England, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Kingsley had been rather put out with Dago when he had lost track of Harry and even more put out by the inaction; he had first arrived two weeks ago and at each visit kept insisting that they go straight to Uluru and sort things out. He was, until Dago put him right, quite unaware of the delicate balance that existed between the native and non-native magical communities that would make presumptive action like that totally unacceptable, even if it was to rescue Harry Potter.

At least the Granger-Wilkins were being most co-operative, something the Australian Auror found very rare in most muggles, but then he supposed, they had a vested interest in seeing their daughter back home safely. There was a deep rumble of thunder from outside that made the window panes vibrate and rattle in their frames, the wizard sighed, prised himself out of his seat, walked to the window and looked up at the sky. It was shaping up to be another whopping storm, the flash of lightening that crashed out of the clouds blinded him for a moment, and then as his vision cleared he saw something that he could never have imagined even in his worst nightmares.

* * *

In the cave and unknowable distance away Harry and Hermione had hardly moved, the magic of the grotto holding them in its thrall. They had shown no fear during the attack by Marmoo's creature, but in the silence after its departure concern had crept into Hermione’s mind.

“Harry,” her voice was a whisper, “your mum died to protect you, do you think my mum….?” Hermione stopped unable to go on.

Unable to pull his gaze away from her face Harry could not completely hide his own thoughts from her, but he comforted her by saying, “Kurreah has gone to her, I’m sure if he can he will keep her safe. My mum never really had a chance, but she left me for a reason, and your mum is no different, she would give herself gladly for you.”

“For us Harry, for us,” she countered, and her love for the young man in her arms soared and their embrace slipped closer, and closer.

* * *

Dago Williams whipped his mirror from his pocket, “Kingsley!” he yelled into it, “Here! Now!” and with an uncharacteristic, CRACK!, which further rattled the window panes, Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared.

“What?” said Shacklebolt.

“Up there!” said Dago, pointing wildly up at the sky.

“Oh crap! Where are the Grangers?”

“Here,” said David Granger as he and Natalie emerged from the bedroom, “what’s going on?”

“We’re about to have a visitor, and not a welcome one,” said Kingsley. “Stay behind us.” And the two wizards faced the window, wands drawn as something large and very unpleasant crashed through the wall and landed in the living room buzzing angrily.

Both wands spat green fire but despite the deadly curses Marmoo’s creature was still very much alive, it was merely forced back away from its intended target, and now it was even more upset than before.

It didn’t seem to matter what the two chief aurors used, the creature was impervious to all the magic at their disposal. All they were able to do was to hold it at bay, the physical force of their spells all that was stopping it from getting at the Grangers. Dago and Kingsley fought on despite their failure to kill the creature, they dare not slacken their defence or it would be on them, and its incessant, ferocious attack gave them no opportunity to apparate to safety. Even such well trained aurors were not inexhaustible, using every spell in their arsenal was taking its toll and the wizards began to tire. The creature sensed this fatigue and doubled its efforts to swing its stinger towards the group now cowering against the wall. Kingsley and Dago were losing an unequal battle and all appeared lost then a long, thick, sinuous body erupted from the stairwell and Kurreah the Rainbow Serpent launched himself across the sitting room.

His coils enveloped the creature, and try as it might, it could not bring its sting around to strike at the serpent’s body. Kingsley and Dago stopped firing spells, they weren’t that sure about this large snake, but for the moment it appeared it was on their side, and they used the unexpected respite to usher the Granger's back into the bedroom.

Kurreah’s body tensed as he squeezed and the creature struggled wildly and let out the same scream of pain that the barrier at the cave had produced, but this time the pain did not stop, there was no withdrawal, there was no relief. The Rainbow Serpent continued to apply the pressure, tighter and tighter his coils contracted, and the pitch of the scream rose higher and higher. The sound passed out of the range of the watching aurors’ hearing but they could still feel the vibration in the air it produced. As the ultrasonic sound shattered the windows in the buildings across the road the pressure Kurreah was applying became too great and creature’s body suddenly exploded, and its sting, fired like an arrow from a bow, shot across the room and buried itself in the wall.

After the noise of battle there was a palpable silence as Kurreah unwound himself from the carcase and dropped it to the floor with a wet thud. The Grangers reappeared in the sitting room to stare in fear at this next perceived menace; Kingsley and Dago stood prepared to face the snake, with their wands at the ready.

The Serpent drew himself up to the height of a man, his head turned slowly to face the wizards and Hermione’s parents. It stared at them all with dark emotionless eyes, as its tongue flicked tasting the air, and then to their surprise it spoke to them slowly in English, “I am Kurreah the rainbow serpent, your magic will not harm me,” he said, “but then, in turn, I will not harm you. I have news of the two you seek.” The two chief aurors somewhat cautiously lowered their wands. Kurreah turned to Mrs. Granger, “You are the naya?” … it was clear she did not understand… “The mother?” he asked.

“Yes I am, err…the naya,” she replied trying hard not to show her nervousness and respond correctly. Hermione had often said how particular magical creatures could be if you said the wrong thing.

“Your daughter is well she is with her mugung…” Kurreah paused again, searching for the right phrase, “her lover,” he selected. “They are safe but if Baiame cannot be cured all will be lost. The fate of this world and that of Tjukurpa depends on them. I must go. I need hope to survive,” he explained, “and there is so little hope in this place already it is hard for me to stay.” There was a flicker of light and Kurreah vanished, leaving the totally destroyed sitting room, and a ten foot long, squashed, and very smelly, bug on the floor.

“She’s safe, and Harry’s with her,” Natalie let her relief out, and the tears started to fall. “I’ll give that snake all the hope he needs,” she said determinedly, “I know I’ll see them again, I just know it.”

“The snake said she was with her lover Natalie,” said David Granger, not too loudly and with a certain amount of fatherly concern.

“Yes I know”, his wife replied, as if she had not a care in the world, “and I can’t think of anyone else I would want him to be.”

“Umm,” said David not even loud enough for his wife to hear, “I think I’m going to have a long talk with that young man.”

* * *

The young man David wished to speak to, and his young lady, lay in the soft moss on the floor of the cave. Clad now only in the garment they were born in, they were cocooned and protected by the magic that still survived in this special place and were unaware of anything but the love, so long held in check and so recently released, that existed between them.

* * *

The creature may have perished but its poison was still doing its work and Baiame was fading. As his essence dwindled so the dreamtime withered about him, all that he and Ybi had made so long ago began to unravel. Even Ybi shining so brightly in the sky was powerless to stop his decline, and so the dreamtime vanished slowly bit by bit.

What was happening in Tjukurpa was also happening to the world outside, the disasters natural and manmade grew in incidence and destruction; even sacred Uluru was not exempt. The rain beating down on the normally arid place was most unusual, it was hard and prolonged, and the water was cascading off the rock in great waterfalls forming huge lakes on the desert floor below.

* * *

Nara was worried, not for herself, not anymore; her brief association with Harry had at least taught her that bravery came in many forms, and her ability as a naya-mai, to slip into the shadows and hide where no one could find her, had kept her safe. She was worried about Professor Pindari, he had looked in a bad way as Edi and Keli dragged him passed her hiding place. She followed the men as close as she dared still having to be very careful as Guru’s mercenaries marched the halls and corridors and would instantly attack and incarcerate any individual they found that was not on their side.

Nara slipped out of the shadows as close to Pindari’s study as she could, there was a one-sided shouting match going on inside and Professor Guru was scoring all the points. Nara retreated back into the darkness as the door to the study banged open and a wild-eyed Dr Guru flanked by Edi and Keli marched out. She strode imperiously off down the corridor, her bare feet slapping hard on the cold stone floor, the men slammed the door closed behind them but in their haste to keep up didn’t lock it. Nara waited until the sound of Professor Guru’s progress faded into the distance and then gathering all her courage, she slipped back out of the shadows and silently opening the door to the study went in. Professor Pindari was there, sitting in his chair, his head in his hands, mumbling to himself.

“Professor?”

“No more, no more, do not ask me more Guru, I will not answer,” he croaked out.

“No professor it is me, Nara, something strange is happening,” she crossed over and laid her hand on the old man’s shoulder, he looked up, but his eyes were dull and had little comprehension in them. The girl with compassion in her eyes for the state of the old man fetched a goblet of water from the side table and held it to his lips. He reached up and placed his shaking hands over hers and took a long swallow. “I helped Harry through the portal to get to Hermione,” Nara was saying as Pindari paused in his drinking, “Professor Guru was furious, and I was so scared. I’ve been in hiding since then, but that was weeks ago now everything is changing, there is something terribly wrong. Outside it is raining, raining so hard.”

Pindari stared at the young girl as she talked and he seemed to recognise her, some life coming back into his eyes. “Guru seeks destroy the world of the inapertwa, and to rule what remains,” he told her, and shook his head at the folly of it all, “she has tried to wrest the secrets of Uluru from me so she can rule from here, but she does not realise that there will be nothing left, nothing, everything will be destroyed.” The old professor grabbed Nara’s hand, “You must help sustain Uluru, until Harry Potter succeeds or the rest of the world is gone, when this place is all that remains then you must make the decision to let it go. It will be the end of everything.”

Nara was regarding the professor in horror, “I cannot protect Uluru, I am only a lowly student; all I have is Professor Guru’s ju-stick that Harry gave me but I don’t know how to use it, what could I do?”

Professor Pindari looked at the magical totem held so closely to the young girls chest and then up into the wide eyes of the girl herself. He smiled reassuringly at her. “That young wizard did better than he knew when he elevated you to the status of shaman.” Nara started to protest at the professor’s words, but he stopped her. “No my dear I did not understand at first but Harry is unique, he has travelled to a place that as far as I know no others have returned from safely and now he is chasing his love, to …well who knows where, beyond the bounds of this existence surely. That, in my book, makes him well qualified to decide who should wield a wand or ju-stick, and my dear he picked you. You, young Nara, are what he chose you to be, and you will go to the highest point of Uluru and you will sing the song of creation until the end.”

“But the ju-stick is not mine, I can’t…” Nara was still not convinced, but Pindari laid a hand on her arm and stalled her protestations.

“The ju-stick will search your heart, it will find that it is true, and it will work for you.” He waved the girl off, and continued to ramble to himself, “Go, believe me, it will work for you, as it never worked for Guru, it saw her heart and it led her astray.”

After locking the door of his office from the inside, Nara reluctantly left the old man and melted into the shadows again. She had her orders and although she knew the song he spoke of she had no real idea of how she was to accomplish the task the professor had set her. She wound her way through the halls of Uluru heading always upwards and she reappeared in a room lined with ceremonial robes hanging from hooks in the walls; it was the room closest to the top of Uluru, and was the only one that gave access to the dayoorl. She opened the door, and stared out at the dark threatening sky and then over the desert below, it was now under several feet of water, a lake that stretched for miles and miles in every direction. She stepped out onto the wet, slick, surface of Uluru and scrambled and slid to an area where there was a large expanse of bare rock that was absolutely flat. This was the dayoorl, a hallowed place on this sacred mound that was used on the most special of occasion. Had Guru not taken over, the ceremony of the first stepping would have been celebrated here; now, a hallowed place or not, like everywhere else, it was being swamped by the rain. There was a flash of lightening and a crash of thunder that rolled on and on over the desert lake. From here Nara should be able to see for miles but the rain closed everything in, she glanced up, for a moment she could see the sky, and it was black and terrible.

Nara thought hard, perhaps deep inside her she knew what to do; she, like Harry before her, trusted that what she thought was right was indeed the correct thing to do. So she tapped the ju-stick on the dayoorl once, twice and then a third time. She saw the tendrils of flame that leapt from her ju-stick and flashed over the surface of the dayoorl which began to glow, its natural red colour enhanced by the fire that seemed to have seeped into the rock. Nara stepped onto the flickering rock and walked to the centre of the dayoorl; she lowered herself down to sit cross-legged on the wet rock and began to sing.

* * *

In their cave, on the slopes of Omaroo, Harry and Hermione lay, their bodies entwined, their love for each other consuming them utterly. Slowly and carefully each had undressed the other, their robes flowing to the floor to lie side by side as now were their former wearers. The moss was soft beneath them and the air was warm around them, the light of the Sun Mother, Ybi, shone through the crystal wall of the cave and bathed then both in a gentle pink glow.

Harry’s touch was so tender, he ran his hand down Hermione’s neck and then on to feel the flowing curve of her spine finally resting his hand in the hollow of her back. Her skin was smooth and warm and her hair smelled of the cool clear water that had so recently washed it. He felt his desire for her grow and then become trapped between them as she pulled herself tight to him.

Hermione’s body was tingling all over she shuddered with pleasure as Harry’s hand caressed her back, and could feel the effect their closeness was having on him. The effect on her was no less demanding but she was not ready yet and she tightened her embrace better to feel the hardness of his body. She pressed her breasts into his strong firm chest and let the delight of him reach down and stimulate her body in a way that had never happened before.

She drew back her head so that she could see his face, Harry’s eyes were closed, and for a moment Hermione just let his warm breath wash over her, then she leaned in and touched his lips with hers. His mouth opened and she was drawn into him and a small sound escaped her throat only to be swallowed up by his, and Harry opened his eyes. Hermione stared into the intense emerald pools and she lost herself to them, finally ready. Harry saw the pupils of her beautiful chocolate coloured eyes dilate and Hermione’s body almost flowed into his, and he flowed into her.

Their passion soared as they became one, and delight followed on after delight as the culmination of all those years of love and caring came to fruition.

There could be no doubt that the cave itself was enchanted, the effect it was having on the young couple, was testament to that. With the world disintegrating around them Harry and Hermione could see only themselves, they encountered no distractions as they made love and reached a peak of pleasure that allowed the power of their love to radiate out and carry its scarlet light into the dimming world of the Tjukurpa.

“Look Baiame, look!” called Ybi from her place so high in the heavens, and she pointed down with a finger of the brightest sunshine. Her light struck the slopes of the beautiful mountain Omaroo, and it was tinged with the colour of blood, the colour of creation.

Baiame looked, but his vision was clouded by the venom from Marmoo’s creature and his spirit weakened. He could see them as if the rock surrounding Harry and Hermione was not there, but he could not see the tenderness with which they made love, nor the pleasure they each received from the other as they reached the culmination of their passion.

In his weakness it was impossible for him to grasp the importance of what he was seeing and he turned his head away. The darkness of the unravelling of the dreamtime touched the lower slopes of great Omaroo and threatened to climb up and so destroy the cave and its occupants for ever.

“WAIT!” shouted Kurreah, from his position low on the ground, he had returned and lay with his coils wound protectively over the entrance to the cave. “Come closer One Father, come closer and see, come closer and see with eyes not clouded, but clear, in the light of their love.”

Baiame wearily turned back and came closer, and the unravelling slowed and then stopped. “I know you of old, worm,” he said to the Rainbow Serpent, “why will you not let me go, I am tired and the Tjukurpa holds nothing for me any more. I sense that you are merely trying to save yourself.”

“Those are the words that Marmoo would have you speak, they are not those of the Baiame I have known for so long,” said Kurreah at his most persuasive. He was, after all, the father of all snakes and could turn on the charm when necessary. “Feel the love that is in here, look at it, taste it, talk to them; give creation a chance.

The scarlet light touched the countenance of Baiame and he felt its warmth, and with it the depth of the love that Harry and Hermione had released.

“Umm….,” said Baiame, his curiosity tickled by the feeling. “There is something here that is familiar to me.”

“Yes, yes,” encouraged Kurreah and Ybi speaking together, almost as if they had rehearsed it.

Baiame regarded the two lovers, now sleeping, their bodies relaxed, with Harry’s arms protectively encircling Hermione. He did not wake them, he watched the tiny movements each of them made, and even in their sleep Baiame could sense the love that coursed between them. And the poison in him began to fade, and lose its hold on him, then something caught Baiame’s eye, something he had not seen since the very beginning of the dreamtime.

Harry and Hermione’s robes were, as were they, lying side by side, the designs on the front of them almost touching, and Baiame saw, as had Kurreah before him, the image of the joined souls. He stared at the pattern, so like the one he had given to the Firsts so long ago, and as he stared his consciousness began to expand once more and right on the edge of his senses, coming from so very far away, he heard a child’s voice singing a shaman’s song, singing the song of creation. Nara’s song was the final catalyst and the bane of Marmoo finally dissipated.

The One Father stood now on the edge of creation with a decision to make. Only half of Tjukurpa remained, should he rebuild what had disappeared or should he start again. Was the world that had risen out of his dreamtime worth saving?

He would have the truth of it, and that the truth was there in front of him, in the forms of the sleeping couple, they were humans, unable to lie to him, he would wake them now, and if he found them wanting, he could still unravel the rest of the world.

As Harry awoke he could hear the song, it was quite faint but it sounded hauntingly familiar, and he thought he recognised the clear young voice that was singing it. One thing he had no problem in recognising was the presence of the young witch by his side, her smooth soft skin so close to his own. Harry turned to Hermione, and slowly, so as not to disturb her, ran his fingers through her hair, there were some strands of those bushy brown curls that were obscuring her face, and he gently brushed them aside. He revealed a pair of smiling dark brown eyes, and a face full of happiness.

“Hi,” she said dreamily, and hooked an arm around his neck.

“Hi,” he replied, and he let her pull him down until his lips met hers.

“Hello!” screeched a voice; the word was followed by a shrill whistle, which made Harry and Hermione jump. They looked for the source of the voice, and sitting on a boulder, close to the collapsed entrance of the cave was a large white cockatoo. It tipped its head to one side, the way parrots do, and regarded the couple; it gave out another long whistle and raised its crest showing bright yellow feathers.

“Did that bird just speak?” Hermione asked; she was now completely awake.

“Err… I think so,” Harry replied looking about the cave with searching eyes, “and can you hear that singing?”

“Yes, and I am sure I have heard that song before, but I can’t think where.”

“So you can hear the song of creation,” said the cockatoo in a deep modulated voice, most unlike the speech one normally associates with a talking bird. “Now that I can see you clearly I can tell you are not the Firsts I put here so long ago, they will long have turned to dust. Why are you here?”

So Harry and Hermione explained the series of events that led to them being shut in the cave, and the cockatoo listened to every word. As they told their tale the sound of the song became louder, never enough to interrupt the narrative, but clearer until Harry suddenly exclaimed “Fawkes! I recognise it now; it is the song of the phoenix!”

“You know of the fire birds,” said the cockatoo, and rather disconcertingly it transformed into a tall dark skinned man, who was as unashamedly naked as Harry and Hermione. “They took that song as their own,” he said, as he remembered back to almost the beginning of time, “But it was mine first, it is the song of creation, the song of eternal life.”

“I knew I’d heard something like it before,” said Hermione sadly, “but my recollection is not a happy one.” Harry gave her a questioning raise of an eyebrow. “The day Dumbledore died,” she gripped Harry’s hand, as a down cast but understanding expression crossed his face, “Fawkes sang his lament; it was the saddest thing I had ever heard.”

“Indeed you are right, sung slightly differently the song will be its antithesis,” said the man, “but the child sings this one well.”

Hermione shrewdly watched the man who had until quite recently taken the form of a sulphur cockatoo. “Does Nara sing it well enough to make you want to stop all the undoing, Baiame?” She asked.

“Ah so you know who I am, and you think one story and one song is enough to convince me that the world deserves a second chance?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Maybe and maybe not,” Baiame was being divinely ambiguous, because he was searching for his final confirmation that these two, the ambassadors of their kind were worthy of the second chance that they wished for their world. Then in their minds he found what he was looking for, the final test for love, death.

“I would ask you young woman,” he said to Hermione, “would you be prepared to do as I ask without question or understanding to save your world?” .

Hermione glanced to Harry then back to the Spirit, “Yes,” her answer was clear but there was a small waver of apprehension in her voice.

“Very well,” he said, “all you have to do is walk through this, and your world is saved.” Baiame waved his arm and at the back of the cave a horrifyingly familiar stone arch appeared, a grey fluttering veil hanging down over the opening, concealing what lay beyond.

Hermione gasped and a fearful expression crossed her face but she fought it down and bravely confronted her fate. “If it will save everyone else then I will go,” she declared.

“NO!” Harry shouted, “It’s not right,” he grabbed her hand to hold her still, “you have a mum and dad waiting for you, if you do this, they will lose you and I will have nothing either. I will go, for them and for you.” He cast his mind back to May, “I’ve faced this before; it’s not so bad.”

“The bargain does not concern you,” Baiame said to Harry, “You may leave,” and he waved him off.

“It’s alright Harry it really is,” Hermione pulled him into a fierce hug, and then looked up into his eyes. “I have had more than I could have dreamed of. Your love will never leave me I will carry it in my heart for ever, and I know that mum and dad will understand when you tell them. You must go back Harry there are so many people who need you… need you to make their world a safer place.”

But Harry was not going to be so easily put off. “You’re wrong you know, there is no one out there that needs me, but there is someone here that I need, and if this is for last time then I am going to put Harry Potter first. If I let you go on your own I could never face your parents, I could never face Ron, I could never face Ginny or any of the others, and I could certainly never face myself. If this is the only way, then there is nothing in this world, or any other that can stop me from going with you.” Harry glared at Baiame daring him to contradict him, but the Deity merely shrugged his shoulders and gave a small shake of his head.

Harry bent down and retrieved their clothes from the floor, “Here it might be cold on the other side,” he said, as if to explain his actions, and he slipped Hermione’s robe over her head. As she reappeared he gazed longingly into her dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears then leaned forward and kissed her. She in turn helped him into his robe and then they faced Baiame hand in hand. He stared back at two young people, determined to face their fate together, the image of the joined souls shining so clear to him now, it was all the reassurance he needed… the dreamtime would flourish again and the world would continue.

“You are sure this is what you want?” Harry asked the tall dark man, who held an inscrutable expression on his face, he said nothing but simply nodded in reply.

Harry and Hermione turned to face the veil, “I love you,” said Harry unable to mask the emotion in his voice.

Hermione drew him close to her, “And I love you to, I think I always have, and I know I always will.” She caught her breath determined not to dissolve into floods of tears. “Come on let’s get this over with.”

And with her slightly in the lead, Hermione and Harry walked to the very threshold of the arch. The veil billowed out to pull them in but they brushed it aside and together they stepped through the arch and left the dreamtime for ever.

* * *

a/n For those of you who are not Australian, the term Blue is often used to describe a red headed friend, thus blue can mean red, but red does not mean blue. Confusing isn’t it. Curious to think that had JKR originated from down under, Harry could have called poor old Ron ‘Blue’ all the way through, but perhaps she would have changed the colour of his hair instead.

Probably no new chapter until after the festive period, for those of you that celebrate Christmas have a happy one, for those that don’t I wish you well.

Solomon Aegis

Wiltshire, England

Here is the final instalment of this story. One and a half chapters for the price of one (everybody has a sale at this time of year) I hope you enjoy it. S.A.

7. For Better or Worse

Nara was exhausted; she had been singing the song of creation for hours, and through all of this time the rain had poured down upon her, but still she sang. The blackness in the sky out to the west hadn’t crept any closer, but neither had it faded away, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could carry on. She closed her eyes for a moment and steadied herself trying to keep her breathing in control. Tired as she was she had no intention of giving up just yet, she owed Harry that much, and so she let her voice rise giving refrain to one of the most uplifting songs ever heard.

* * *

Being dead was not quite what Hermione had imagined it to be and, had you asked him, it was not the way Harry remembered it either. As the young couple passed through the stone arch they walked out of one world and into another that, if anything could be, was weirder than the one they had just left.

They walked a little way in total darkness, slowly and with instinctive cautiousness they felt their way forward, but the only point of reference they had was their intertwined fingers, so each held onto the other tightly as they moved toward the unknown. Very slowly the darkness began to lift or at least their eyes became accustomed to it and each was glad now that they could see as well as feel the presence of the other. Far away, to either side of them, pin points of light began to appear out of the blackness, Hermione pulled herself close to Harry and she looked up.

“It’s like standing out under the night sky Harry,” she said in a whisper, “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Harry didn’t answer straight away; he had glanced down and found that below his feet more of the blackness that surrounded them was peppered with the brilliant points of light that twinkled back at him. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain their predicament to her, that there was no floor beneath their feet, nothing at all and yet it felt as solid as the floor of the cave or a pavement in Diagon Alley.

“Umm, yes it is,” he said, catching her eye and indicated with a nod of his head that looking down might be a good idea, or in her case possibly not as Hermione’s vertigo claimed her when she did. She emitted a shriek of fear and clung desperately to Harry. “I think you could say we are standing in the night sky, rather than under it,” he said kindly, but unhelpfully.

“Oh Harry what has happened to us, have we become part of the sky, is that what death is?” her tear-filled eyes looked at the young man in front of her. He smiled at her and tenderly brushed the hair from her face.

“Would it be so terrible to spend eternity here with me, shining in someone’s sky like the star you are?” He kissed her gently on the lips and the tension in her body left her as she melted against him.

“No Harry being with you is all I want, and I suppose being a star would be rather cool, but…. it’s just that I don’t like heights.” she finished plaintively. Buried in his arms she could feel Harry’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Well,” he chuckled, “if you can still feel afraid of things like that then I doubt that this is the fate Baiame had in mind for us. We still have a path beneath our feet,” he stamped his foot to make the point, “I suggest we see where it leads us.”

Hermione nodded still holding tightly to Harry they turned and began to walk. All around them, the stars shining so brightly, gathered and spun themselves into galaxies and then galaxies gathered and spun themselves into universes and amongst all of this a young man and a young woman walked and marvelled as the whole of creation was displayed before them. Their journey was like a dream, watching as stars were born and as stars died, all the while part of and yet separated from the spectacle that no living person had been privileged to see. Harry glanced back the way they had come but there was no sign of the path they had walked, only more of the same amazing vista that stretched out before them.

Hermione squeezed Harry’s hand and he turned his attention to the girl by his side. “Can you hear it?” she asked.

Harry listened… nothing… he hadn’t realised that all of the wondrous things that were happening around them had been doing so in absolute silence. Then as if from very far away he heard it, Nara’s song, Fawkes’ song, drawing them to it. “Yes, I hear it now, funny for a while I wasn’t aware of it, but now it is there again. It’s louder than it was in the cave.” He turned slightly, “It’s off in this direction,” he tugged at her hand, “Come on,” and he led her toward the sound.

Then out of nothingness the stone arch suddenly appeared in front of them. It looked the same as the one in the cave, the same as the one in the department of mysteries, only this time through the veil floated the sound of the song and a cool breeze that carried it.

* * *

Professor Guru was elated and frustrated at the same time. As far as she could see the world of the inapertwa, the muggles, was in disarray and its destruction was continuing according to plan, but she had yet to force the secrets of Uluru out of Pindari and that had now become a necessity. It was the only way for her to make her rule complete; if the old man died in the questioning so be it, it would be his fault, all he had to do was to give in and provide the information she required. She paced back and forth, stopping occasionally to looking out over the vast desert below now covered in a layer of water that jumped and splashed as the rain continued to fall. She was lost in thought, only vaguely aware of those around her. Her initial concern at the loss of contact with Marmoo was fading, she had tried using the enchanted cockroaches he had given her but without her ju-stick it was proving impossible to send them to him. Still he had been warned about the Granger girl and Potter, what could possibly go wrong?

“Professor Guru?” she looked around at the man who had entered the room it was Edi. A thoroughly distasteful man, she was aware of that from many experiences with him and his equally unpleasant friend Keli. Their repulsiveness was what had drawn her to them in the first place and they had been useful to her but that did not mean she welcomed the interruption now.

“What is it? I am busy,” she growled.

Edi bridled at his greeting. ‘Supercilious bitch,’ he thought, ‘She’ll get hers, when the time is right,” “To busy to know that Nara is up on the dayoorl, singing the making song,” he said only slightly more politely than the tone of his thoughts. “And she has your ju-stick.” He might just as well have poked his tongue out at her at the finish; he loved her as much as she loved him… not that much.

Guru was incensed, this must be Pindari's doing, that pathetic little girl could never have come up with this on her own. “Get Keli and meet me up there,” she ordered. “Bring your makuwarta; I will have the girl’s guts spread out on the dayoorl for this.” Guru rushed off, and at a more leisurely pace Edi departed to look for his friend and to collect his lovingly sharpened broad-bladed spear.

Some ten or fifteen minutes later the two men followed Professor Guru out onto the rain lashed top of Uluru. Each was holding a large and deadly looking spear in his right hand with a confidence that suggested they had much practice with them. Their ascent to the dayoorl was not elegant, the sandstone was slick with water and all were soaked to the skin by the time they reached the edge of it.

Nara was still sitting cross-legged in the centre of the dayoorl singing the endless song of creation but the strength had gone from her voice. She was swaying from side to side as she sang, desperately trying to remain awake as fatigue claimed her. So tired that she did not register the presence of Guru and the armed men and the threat they posed. The song faltered in her throat and she fell back to lie flat on the dayoorl, only her shallow breathing showing that she was still alive.

“KILL HER, KILL HER NOW!” shouted Professor Guru, and the men, with no further encouragement needed, advanced on the exhausted girl.

At this point several things appeared to happen all at once, the rain suddenly stopped, the incessant noise it had made hitting the rock ceased, and in surprise the two men stopped short of their target. Before they could gather themselves and complete their grisly task the clouds parted and with a bright flash the sun broke through and riding on the beams of sunlight came a golden and red plumed bird streaking like fire across the sky and from its throat the song of creation that had faltered as Nara collapsed was taken on anew. The bird, as large as a swan, landed at Nara’s feet and Edi and Keli took an involuntary step backwards.

Then, moments later, on the far side of the dayoorl a grey stone arch appeared, it’s opening covered with a fluttering veil and from the arch stepped Harry and Hermione side by side and hand in hand.

The Auror and the young woman with him acted purely on instinct, an instinct honed to a fine edge after seven years of battling the dark arts. They gave Edi and Keli barely a second to come to terms with the situation, when two red bolts of magical energy streaked across the width of the dayoorl, struck them cleanly lifting them off their feet and smashing them to the ground. Harry finished the job as he spun ropes out of fresh air, binding the two men, then sending them reaching out for Professor Guru as she turned to run. Hermione’s well aimed Petrificus totalus ended her flight and the ropes did the rest.

“Well,” said Harry scratching his head with his wand, “There’s a surprise.” In fact there was more than one. They were alive to start with, which was definitely a bonus, they appeared to have beaten the bad guys, not something they always took for granted and there was Fawkes, his wings spread wide singing at the top of his voice. A sight that neither Harry nor Hermione ever thought to see again.

Then they saw the crumpled form of the young girl lying just beyond the phoenix, and they broke the hand contact that they had retained since those moments before stepping through the veil, and ran to her side. Nara began to stir, her exhaustion driven away by the phoenix song and she opened her eyes to see the blurry shapes of Harry and Hermione leaning over her.

“Take it easy,” Harry advised the young girl as she tried to sit up, he knew from many experiences how fuzzy everything would be for her. Gently they helped her up and she looked in bewilderment at the tightly bound forms of Edi, Keli and Dr Guru, then she saw Fawkes and her face lit up with delight.

“He is so beautiful, and he sings so much better than I,” she said with awe. “He is a fire bird, yes?”

“That’s right,” Hermione replied, “a phoenix, that’s what we call them, his name is Fawkes and he is a very old friend of Harry’s.”

“Why is he still singing?” Nara asked.

“I think,” said Harry with a sigh at the ache in his heart, as he watched Dumbledore’s old familiar, “he is trying to mend the world.”

To the left and right of the small group on the dayoorl, flashes of fire burst in the air and six phoenix each with a wizard hanging on to its tail appeared. The wizards some more flustered by their mode of transport than others grouped themselves around a tall dark skinned man and his untidy compatriot. The birds each as magnificent as the rest flew to perches amongst the rocks and like Fawkes spread their wings and joined in the song.

For those on the top of Uluru the sensation was truly indescribable the song so powerful with one voice was now sung by all seven of the birds, all of the phoenix that had ever existed. Fawkes drove his brothers to sing and as the song reached a crescendo, for just a moment, the earth stopped and the universe flinched. Then with a shudder that shook Uluru down to its lowest levels the world began to turn again.

For the moment there were other considerations for those left in the silence atop blood-red Uluru. As the world turned once more the phoenix had vanished, even Fawkes was gone. Dagoberto Williams took in the scene in an instant and sent his aurors off to gather up the bound men and a now wriggling Professor Guru who had been trying hard to free herself since Hermione’s curse had worn off.

Kingsley Shacklebolt went straight to what he was sure was the centre of all the trouble. “Harry, where on earth did you go; we’ve been looking for you for weeks?” The chief auror looked down at the young couple kneeling by, and supporting, Nara. He knew these two of old, but now there was something different about them, they stood lifting Nara up between them, and then handed her over to a hovering auror. Harry’s arm slid naturally around Hermione’s waist and she repeated the manoeuvre, their bodies pulled tightly together, then Kingsley knew what he was seeing, and was happy for them both. He held out his hand, “Good to see you again boy,” and smiled at Harry’s ready handshake, “And you Hermione, I am glad you are safe.”

“How could I not be,” she replied hugging Harry closer still, as she shook Kingsley’s proffered hand.

“So where did you go?”

“Ah… not really sure actually,” said Harry, “somewhere other than here that’s for certain. Main thing is I found what I was looking for, and I suppose you could say that our side came out on top.” He looked out over the rapidly drying desert below, “Did we miss anything?” he asked innocently.

“Very nearly the end of the world Harry,” said Kingsley, “but then I suspect you knew that already.”

They followed the others off the dayoorl and scrambled down to the doorway that led down into the interior of Uluru. In the distance they could hear the sound of running feet and some shouting.

“Clearing up the last of Guru’s cronies, I hope,” said Kingsley, supplying the answer to Harry’s unasked question. “When the phoenix arrived to bring us here, Dago’s department brought all the dispossessed Uluruans back here and dumped them at the front gate. We felt it was better for them to sort out the mess considering the status of this place, kept our aurors out of it as much as we could.

“Who’s Dago?” asked Harry.

“He’s the head of the Australian Auror Department Harry; my opposite number out here.” Kingsley replied. “He’s that imposingly tatty fellow over there.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded understanding now, “The bloke on the park bench, down near the Opera House, good disguise.”

“I think that is the way he normally dresses,” said Kingsley quietly, “best not tell him eh?” Chuckling lightly Kingsley led Harry and Hermione back into the depths of Uluru where all the sounds of discord had now ceased.

They were escorted to Professor Pindari’s office where the old man was receiving attention from a healer, he waved the young man away as Harry and Hermione entered.

“Ah! I see that my trust was not misplaced Harry, you found what you were seeking?”

Harry smiled, “Yes sir I did, thank-you.”

“I knew you were a remarkable man Harry, and from what I have been told your young lady is no less so.” Pindari smiled at the confused expression on Harry and Hermione's faces. “A fire bird appeared on my desk, imagine that, there, right in front of me, and he sang to me, just to me, and I felt so… so…” Pindari was lost for words.

“It’s ok Professor,” said Harry understanding, “we know exactly what you mean.”

“You do?” Pindari asked, the memory of meeting Fawkes filling his mind; he shook his head to clear it. “Anyway the fire bird told me what you had done, both in the dreamtime and up on the dayoorl, you saved us all by your unselfish sacrifice but most of all you saved my grand-daughter, my little Nara.”

At the sound of her name Nara appeared in the doorway having escaped the clutches of another healer. She still looked very tired but brightened instantly at the sight of the old professor. “Professor!” she visibly controlled her emotions, “Err… you are well now?”

Pindari held out his hand, “Come my child, our secret is out, and it should never have been hidden in the first place.” Released from the restraints of their concealed relationship Nara ran forward to throw her arms about her grandfather.

At that moment Dago Williams and his aurors arrived, “The whole place is back in your hands Professor, all the troublemakers are locked up and your boys are guarding them. Once they knew that Guru wasn’t going to be around to provide the wages they seemed to lose the will to fight. All of them are of your people, the Ministry will leave the decisions as to what to do with them up to you; we will not interfere unless you need us to.”

“Thank-you young man, your Ministry has always been so understanding, where we are concerned.”

“Well it is a local matter really, no impact on anyone else after all,” said Dago.

Hermione looked at Harry and he smiled at her then lifted a finger and placed it to his lips in a code for silence. It was better to allow everyone to produce their own reasons for what had been going on, after all no one would believe what had really happened.

* * *

The following morning Harry and Hermione readied themselves to leave Uluru; in deference to their hosts they still wore their light robes with the circular designs on them. Hermione opened the door to her room to find Professor Pindari with his hand raised, just about to knock, and Nara standing in the corridor behind him.

“Oh!” she cried in surprise, and then she gathered herself. “Good morning Professor, we didn’t expect to see you just yet.”

Pindari smiled good naturedly, “I am sorry to startle you Hermione but we felt that before you go a final visit to the ‘Chamber of the Seal’, that is what my colleagues are calling the room with the wall paintings now…,” he shrugged his shoulders at the vagaries of academia, “…would be in order.”

“Of course Professor,” Hermione replied, “Ok with you Harry?”

“Sure why not,” Harry acquiesced. “Any special reason Professor?”

“Ahh… no Nara thought you might find it err….educational.” he fluffed then turned and headed off down the corridor.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances but said nothing more then they followed the others as they wound their way down to the room where as far as they were concerned the whole thing started.

A group of people were examining the wall paintings. “Guru kept this place much to herself,” Professor Pindari explained, “This is the first time we have had a chance to really look at them, and I see that my old friend Professor Nungeena had wasted no time in getting started.”

A tall, dark skinned, man who had been minutely examining the last panel, stood up, uncoiling his long frame and as he did so Hermione could not hold back the gasp of recognition. It was Baiame or at least this man was the form the One Father had adopted back in the cave, Hermione’s grip on Harry’s arm tightened as the man walked towards them. He inclined his head in acknowledgement of Pindari, his bow was slightly deeper as he greeted Nara and then he stood directly in front of Harry and Hermione.

“The picture from the last panel in physical form, my friends,” he announced indicating the witch and wizard before him. “Something you will not see every day,” everyone was staring at Nungeena in astonishment at his proclamation. “See if I am not correct.”

The group at the wall looked first at Harry and Hermione then back to the wall, muted cries of excitement brought those studying other parts of the chamber over to crowd around the paintings on the wall, only Nara, Harry, Hermione and Nungeena didn’t move. There were a few moments of excited babble and furtive glances over shoulders to stare at the couple and compare them with the paintings. Nara had seen the painting before, and she wondered how her two friends would react when they knew the significance of what they depicted.

The crowd of academics thinned as Nungeena led Harry and Hermione over to look at the painting. It seemed much as it had before but then Harry noticed that the final line of drawings looked fresher than the others and it had not been there the last time he had looked at it.

The young couple stared at the figures depicted in the pictogram, they told the story of the hunt and the finding, of Harry and Hermione together and the idyllic moments in the pool. Then the story moved on to the lovers in the cave and the joining of the souls and finally the sacrifice and the journey home. The final painting showed two figures standing side by side, framed in the arch, the veil fluttering behind them. The designs on the robes they were wearing were clearer than their faces but each figure unmistakably held a wand in one hand and their companion in the other, and at their feet was a phoenix it’s wings spread out and shining like the sun.

Nungeena placed his hands on Harry and Hermione’s shoulders. “You are truly what you appear to be,” he said obviously alluding to the pictures on the wall and quietly so that only the two of them could hear him. “The joined souls indivisible now and forever.”

“Thank-you,” said Hermione and Harry together, not really understanding why but it seemed the right thing to say.

“No it is I who should thank you,” and Nungeena bowed his head low to the couple, releasing them and turning to rejoin the group now gathered around the table, as if nothing special had just occurred.

They left the chamber to the academics still busying themselves with the paintings and walked slowly back to Hermione’s room. She knew the path well and took the opportunity to study Harry. He had been rather quiet since meeting Nungeena and he had that slightly bewildered expression on his face that Hermione thought made him so adorable.

“What is it Harry?” she asked.

“Oh nothing really, I was just wondering what happened back there, and if Nungeena was who he appeared to be.”

It was Nara however that answered his questions. “Nungeena? …He is a visiting professor, not sure where he comes from… but he pops up here from time to time. He seems a little strange but I think that is the way he is, I mean did you see the bow he gave me, very odd.”

The rest of the morning passed all too quickly and soon Harry and Hermione found themselves at the massive door to Uluru. Nara and Professor Pindari were there to see them off and they waited while once again the professor searched for the Dreaming Track of the Rainbow Serpent.

Harry thought back over the other disclosures of the morning. They had discovered the fate of Guru and her accomplices. Guru was stripped of all her power and sent to live with one of the most isolated desert groups, to fill her days with the menial tasks that would give her time to reflect on the error of her ways. Edi and Keli were considered too dangerous to be allowed the pseudo-freedom granted to Guru and permanent incarceration was the only other alternative. A stay in Azkaban would be a sinecure compared to the fate awaiting the two thugs. The only other player in the recent pageant that Harry wondered about was the spirit Marmoo. Someone they had never met but had earned himself a place in Harry’s list of least favourite entities when he learned of the viciousness of the attack on Hermione’s parents.

As Professor Pindari’s search continued Professor Nungeena arrived to join the group, he smiled at Pindari’s efforts and with a concealed wave of his hand directed the tip of the professor’s ju-stick to the correct spot and the portal magically opened. Harry gave the man a hard look who acknowledged the scrutiny. “You are right Harry, but not all the time and Nungeena is quite unaware. Most of the time he lives a quiet existence in his home on the coast far from Uluru and he is happy to do so. There have been others in the past and I suppose there will be others in the future.” He sighed, “it is the nature of things,” he said sadly.

“What of Marmoo,” asked Harry quietly, while he watched Hermione saying her goodbyes.

“He is contemplating the unfairness of it all at the moment, and will do so for the foreseeable future, which in his case could be for a very long time indeed.” Baiame answered. “Do not worry about him, you have a far greater adventure awaiting you and I can guarantee that he will not spoil it for you.”

“A greater adventure?” Harry asked, “What do you mean?”

“Life Harry, just life,” the one father in his guise of a tall dark skinned man shook Harry by the hand, “you have someone to be with you, a soul who is joined to you in a way few, if any, on this world would understand. You have much to look forward to.”

Harry Potter followed Baiame’s gaze and there was Hermione looking back at him, the light shining in her eyes and he knew that Baiame was right.

* * *

Epilogue.

The great red engine released a cloud of steam with a whoosh and it’s whistle gave one short blast. Harry and Hermione stood together close to one of the carriage windows and blew kisses to the children inside.

“James!” called out Harry, “you will remember to look after your sister won’t you?”

“Of course he will,” Hermione answered for her first born. “You fuss too much Harry.”

“I know but it is her first year, and your first year can be scary,” said Harry, “Nat needs looking after,” his concern for his daughter was getting the better of him.

Hermione gave him a scathing look, “Perhaps you ought to go up with them if you are so worried, you could enjoy Hogwarts all over again and relive your childhood.”

Harry froze as that thought percolated into his mind, “Err... no, on second thoughts I am sure she will be fine,” he said hastily. “Much as I love her I don’t think I could go through that again.” He slipped his arm around his wife’s waist and hugged her to him. “Besides I am having much too much fun as an adult.”

“What is the matter with you Potter, can’t you keep your hands off this poor young woman for a moment,” called out a voice that rose uncomfortably over the noise of the now departing steam engine, and cause a few head to turn in their direction.

Harry laughed, “No Ron not for a moment. How’s the family?”

“Oh fine two packed off to Hogwarts two at home with Steph and the latest doing well, due soon,” he answered brightly.

“Due in two weeks Ronald,” said Hermione with mock annoyance, “as well you know. Make sure to tell Steph that I will come over on Wednesday as usual.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Ron responded throwing Hermione a cheeky salute.

Harry suddenly had a very strong feeling of déjà vu, and his mind flew back over the years to a dream he once had about being on platform 9¾ with Hermione and Ron. This time however things appeared to be much more to his liking, he looked at the wonderful young woman he had married sixteen years ago and he remembered the words of Baiame. The one father had been right this was the greatest adventure he had ever had and despite being surrounded by parents waving goodbye to the departing train Harry swept Hermione into his arms in an embrace so complete that you could not have slipped a hair between them; engaged in a kiss so passionate that even Ron blushed and turned away again.

“You ok,” Harry murmured to Hermione when their kiss broke. She was breathless with the excitement he had released in her and in answer plunged back into a second kiss just as passionate as the first.

They released each other just enough so that they could see each others face, Hermione smiled, “I have never been happier in my life, Harry. I love you Mr Potter.”

Harry smiled in return and gently brushed away a little of Hermione’s wayward hair that had fallen over her face, and as he gazed at her his emotions caught hold and he felt a tear well up, there was nothing he could do to stop it and he let it fall. “That’s good Mrs Potter, because I love you too.”

* * *

Well there you have it. I have tried to make this story as original as possible and for the moment I have written all I can about our hero and heroine. I have learned never to say never again, for the world created by JKR is rich and easy to continue, but for now another story is calling me. I will let you know how it goes. Until then be well.

Solomon Aegis

Wiltshire 2009.