Summer in the Sahara

Standard Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc.No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the authors, Leslie Parsons and Jonathan Clift, are the plot and character’s not previously mentioned in the official Harry Potter books. If you wish to use plot devices or borrow characters, please ask for permission: the worst we can do is say “no”.

Authors’ note:  The wait is over.  Contained within Chapter Five are the first of many romantic moments between Harry and Hermione.  Enjoy!

Chapter Five – Desert Rose

Leslie heard Jules shut the door softly behind her as she left, and was grateful for the privacy.  Only this morning, she had been in England, on the Cornish coast at Paravel. Leslie was trying to wrap her mind around the idea that she was now thousands of miles from home - that she was on the northern coast of Africa, in a palatial embassy with Jon. Under other circumstances, she might have been blissfully happy. She had, after all, intended to come to this exotic realm in mere weeks anyway in furtherance of her graduate work in archaeology. Only yesterday (was it just yesterday?) Jon had agreed to accompany her, putting an end to the coolness that had sprung up between them over Leslie’s planned trip to the desert.

Were it not for the ominous disappearance of Bill Weasley and the imminent danger posed by the Dark One, she might have been, even now, plagued only by the question of what to wear to her first Embassy Dinner. But as it was, she took little pleasure in the prospect of a formal evening among the diplomats that populated the Moroccan Embassy.

Sensing her disquiet, Jon crossed to her, and encircling her from behind with strong arms, he said quietly, “Are you alright?’. Leslie didn’t answer immediately, but closing her eyes, allowed herself to lean backward against him. She felt his chin drop to her shoulder in its accustomed place – for they often stood this way, communicating silently, re-connecting emotionally. She crossed her arms over his and said, “I’m fine, Jon, really. There’s just a lot to…”

“Assimilate?” he said, finishing her sentence for her.

“Yes,” she said with a long sigh of gratitude at his understanding. She marvelled at his uncanny ability to finish her sentences. He had been doing it for years, but she was, even now, often amazed by his accuracy.

An unspoken but plainly understood “I know” echoed in her head. Jon was projecting his thoughts again – an ability that was now entirely familiar to her, but impressive nonetheless.

Turning to him, she said, “I’m grateful to be here and I am overwhelmed by everything Jules has done to make us feel comfortable and to help us find Bill, but, I feel...well…guilty at being surrounded by all this splendour when Bill is out there somewhere - imprisoned at the very least, but perhaps far worse.”

Jon was philosophical, “Look, we have to sleep somewhere this evening. You walking out into   the desert tonight and pitching a tent as a show of solidarity won’t improve Bill’s circumstances. Until we find him, nothing about Bill’s conditions are going to change – no matter where we sleep. Might as well rest in cool comfort while you can, Leslie. Tomorrow, we face the desert.”

She smiled up at him. “You’re right, of course,” she said, then added, “And, too, we stand to gain a great deal of information from Jules’ contacts. Speaking of which, they’re waiting for us, aren’t they?”

Leslie made as if to leave, but Jon drew her back, unwilling to let her slip away just yet. In the protective circle of his arms, Leslie found her fears evaporating. In their place, reassuring warmth crept through her. Slowly and deliberately, Jon leaned toward her, kissing her soundly, leaving her breathless.

Releasing her, he held out an arm and, easing toward the door said, “Shall we?” Not trusting herself to speech, Leslie merely nodded and allowed him to draw her arm through his. She smiled up at him as he led her back to the lounge area where Remus and Jules stood waiting.

“All settled in?” Jules asked.

“Yes, thank you,” said Leslie and Jon simultaneously.

Jules smiled. “In that case, I believe there are some people in my office I think you’ll be most interested to meet.” Jules gestured to one of the passages leading from the lobby and said, “Right this way.” She led them from the private residential quarters to the very heart of the embassy’s public half – her own office.

As they approached the double mahogany doors to Jules’ inner sanctum, a white-gloved servant stepped forward and bowed before swinging open one of the great doors for Ambassador Clift.  Jules’ office was impressive to say the least. The ceiling was domed with stained glass ringing the top. Large windows with deep window sills (perfect for sitting on) overlooked yet another garden. One wall was dedicated to bookshelves, the other to maps. Across from the windows a massive ebony desk was piled high with ancient texts and rolls of parchment. In one corner stood a massive globe that seemed to be turning slowly as a replica of the moon orbited around it.

At the opposite side of the room was a large table – so large that it easily accommodated the twelve leather chairs placed strategically around it. Standing, rather than sitting around the table were four men.

Leslie recognized Alias Swift and Jack Ryan immediately. Brad Danner was entirely familiar as well. But the fourth man – a man dressed not in the style of a wizard, but in Bedouin style, was a mystery to her.

Crossing to the table, Jules said, “Good afternoon, Gentlemen.” Four pairs of eyes fixed on Jules and her entourage. Jules continued, “Please, allow me to introduce my friends Remus Lupin and Leslie Parsons, and my brother, Jonathan Clift.” There were assorted smiles and nods. “Some of you have already been introduced, I believe. Is that correct?” Jules looked to Jon for confirmation.

Jon smiled and stepped forward. “Good to see you again,” he said shaking hands with Alias Swift. “You remember Miss Parsons and Professor Lupin, I’m sure.” He gave a nod of affirmation.

As if on cue, Leslie realised she had her own part to play. “Professor Danner, it’s a pleasure to see you, sir. Thank you for altering your plans by a few weeks and for your willingness to help us find Bill.”

Danner waved his hand impatiently and said “Think nothing of it m’dear.”

Leslie smiled warmly and said, “Please, allow me to introduce Professor Lupin.” Turning to the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts had ever known, Leslie said, “Remus this is Brad Danner. I believe you’ve heard me speak of him.  He is a world-renowned expert in archaeology and ancient artefacts, and,” she said with pride, “he is directing my doctoral dissertation and thesis.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Professor Danner.” Remus said, shaking his hand and adding, “Thank you for bringing your knowledge to bear in the search for Bill Weasley.”

Danner should his head slightly. “You seem to forget, our interests are parallel. It is critical that the Cadeau Du Soleil be found and secured before the Dark One gains possession of it. All evidence seems to indicate that the Dark One is undoubtedly trying to use Bill Weasley’s abilities as a curse breaker to seize the Cadeau Du Soleil for his own purposes. I am convinced that if we can locate the Cadeau Du Soleil, we will soon find Bill as well. And, as I’m sure Leslie told you, locating Heliopolis and the Cadeau Du Soleil was what I had intended to do in a few weeks anyway.”

“Although, I’m sure you never expected to be working with threat of the Dark One hanging over your head,” Jon said quietly.

“Professor Danner,” Leslie said instantly, “please allow me to introduce Jonathan Clift. He is, as you know, Ambassador Clift’s brother. He was my classmate at Hogwarts and is in the course of completing his training as an Auror with the Ministry of Magic.” She paused, then said, “Jon, this is Brad Danner. I’m sure you remember my telling you about him.”

“I do indeed,” said Jon, not looking at Leslie, but instead, staring directly at Danner and shaking his hand with a firm grip. His smile was forced, but Danner either chose not to, or genuinely couldn’t, see this.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jonathan. Leslie has spoken of you often.” Danner said easily. “And, as to the threat of the Dark One?” He shrugged slightly and said, “An archaeologist’s life is rarely without risk. I have worked in hostile environments before.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Jon still wearing the false fixed smile.

“And this,” said Jules, who was standing next to the figure in desert robes, “is Pascal”. His face was inscrutable as he made a slight bow. More handshaking ensued. Jules continued smoothly.  “Pascal has been my trusted advisor and friend ever since my arrival in Morocco. It is through his efforts that we have been able to build relationships with the bands of native wizards that populate the Western Sahara. His abilities as a guide, translator, diplomat, and political advisor have been simply invaluable.” Her voice modulated slightly and she said in quite a different tone, “I would have been lost without him.”

For a long moment, he did not speak. Then, with a slight smile, he said, “It is a pleasure to be the ally and friend of Ambassador Clift. I am pleased to be at her service, and,” he added as an afterthought, “to be at your service as well.” He eyed the assembled group with an unreadable expression before stepping to the maps that were laid out down the length Jules’ massive conference table.

Jules gestured them all into chairs. Seating herself at the head of the table, she watched calmly as one by one their eyes drifted first to the maps, and then back to her. Jules nodded her head slightly to Alias Swift who produced a file folder of parchment from the case at his feet. Judging by the amount of material before him, Alias Swift had much to contribute on the subject of Bill Weasley’s disappearance.

As Alias shuffled his papers before beginning his remarks, Jules considered him carefully. He was, first and foremost, an Unspeakable with the Ministry of Magic. Jules knew that he tracked down and apprehended the most dangerous of witches and wizards - individuals that most Aurors wouldn’t approach. Secondly, she knew that his time at Hogwarts overlapped with that of Sirius and Remus, but as to whether he was older or younger, she couldn’t be certain. ‘Judging by his appearance, probably younger.’ she thought to herself.  His face was smooth and unlined, his hair held no trace of grey, and his movements were quick and sure. There was an appealing “physicality” to Alias Swift – an appeal made even more complete by the pleasant light baritone in which he spoke.

“The Ministry of Magic has had an interest in the criminal activity in this region for some time.” Alias began. “Politicians are anxious to stabilize this area, but recognize that it can neither become stabilized or unified while the activities of the Dark One go unchecked. As you may know, the Dark One is a dark wizard who has been wreaking havoc through out North Africa for months. Our offices have been diligently gathering information about him for weeks now. Some of what we’ve learned will no doubt be helpful to us as we search not only for Bill Weasley, but for those whose disappearances preceded his.”

Alias paused as if expecting questions. When there were none, he continued. “We have learned that the wizard styling himself as “The Dark One” is actually called “Danté”. His parents were French and apparently abandoned him to the streets of Morocco when he was only a small child.  In spite of the fact that he is not Bedouin by birth, he seems to have adopted desert culture for his own.” Out of the corner of his eye, Alias saw Pascal give the slightest of nods. Encouraged, Alias continued. “In fact, he appears to have made the desert his home.” Pointing to a large region on a map of North Africa, Alias said. “Our sources indicate that he has created a stronghold roughly in the middle of the Sahara.  For all intents and purposes, it appears to be a mountain fortress.”

“Enchanted for protection in someway I imagine?” Remus asked.

“Naturally,” said Alias looking around, “but not the usual protective charms. It’s something far more primitive.” Alias indicated a faint circle on the map that extended miles beyond the fortress in every direction. “This,” he said, tapping the circle, “appears to be some sort of magical barrier or force field. We aren’t entirely sure what it is, or what it does, other than that it can warn Dante if wizards or muggles are approaching.”

Many raised eyebrows could be heard, as Alias once more paused for breath. Stealing a quick glance at Ambassador Clift, he continued once more.

“We also know that the Ward dampens the magical abilities of those within it. I have witnessed a group of wizards (from afar sadly) walk across the line that signifies the boundary of the Ward, and within seconds, dozens of dark-robed figures rose from the very sands beneath their feet. It was all over in seconds - too quickly to assume anything correctly - but I had noticed that one wizard had attempted to use his wand and found that nothing happened. I shan't tell you his fate out of respect for the ladies present.”

Pascal cleared his throat softly, “I, too, am aware of this region, although, until this moment I was not aware of its formal boundaries. My people, the Bedouin tribes, are careful to avoid this area, particularly the mountains. There has always been a great deal of superstition connected with this part of the high Sahara, for centuries in fact, but within the last few years, there has been altogether too much evidence to support the idea that something evil lurks there. Traveller after traveller to this area disappears without a trace. Only a handful return and they are usually mad with fear. Some claim to have encountered Fire Eaters.”

“Fire Eaters?” asked Remus.

“Ancient creatures,” answered Pascal  “now in the service of the Dark One.” He scanned the faces at the table…faces that were uncomprehending, all except a single pair of sky blue eyes, through which some kind of recognition swirled. Pascal continued, “Huge spectral figures on black horses.”

Jon suddenly felt sick, however he hid his discomfort from all – Leslie included.

“Mindless killing machines,” Alias Swift chimed in.  “Seemingly indestructible.”

Pascal nodded in agreement. “They withstand human assaults with ease, but a wizard whose powers are unimpaired may be able to repel one.”

“Unimpaired is the key word,” said Alias. “Within the Ward, you may find your powers diminished, even entirely absent. Our information is incomplete.” Alias looked to Pascal in hopes that he could shed further light.

“As is mine.” Pascal added with a defeated shrug.

There was silence for a long moment, then Brad Danner rose from his chair and said in a rather business-like tone, “Let me see that map.” Alias slid it toward him and Danner scrutinized it carefully before sliding it to Leslie. “Do you notice anything particular about this Ward?” he asked.

A quick glance confirmed what she had feared…what she had been dreading as soon as Alias began describing the magical force field. Never taking her eyes off the map, she said quietly, “According to our records, Heliopolis lies just on the boundary of the Ward.  In fact, given the age and uncertainty of our records, it may lie entirely within it.”

In Cairo…

Harry Potter sighed heavily. It had been a long day - tiring, emotional, and tension-filled. He reflected on his arrival in Egypt and the revelations Samir had shared concerning the Dark One and his dark purpose for Bill Weasley.

After their arrival in Cairo, Samir (an Egyptian in the service of the Ministry of Magic) had conducted the Weasley’s (Arthur, Fred, George, Ron & Ginny), Harry, Hermione, and Sirius to a safe house. There, Samir confirmed their worst fears. Bill Weasley had indeed been captured by the Dark One for the incredible and almost unbelievable task of helping him secure the Cadeau Du Soleil. Until recently, Harry hadn’t even known that the Cadeau Du Soleil even existed. In some respects, his head was still whirling at the idea of there being companion pieces to the Cadeau Du Mer Hermione and he shared.

Harry and the others had hardly begun to process the reality of this information when Samir had ushered them from the safe house to Bill’s Cairo apartment. It was like a scene from a nightmare.  Furniture smashed, tables overturned. Scorch marks on the walls from wand blasts. Clearly, Bill had put up a terrific struggle, for no part of the flat seemed to have escaped the destructive force of the Dark One’s Fire Eaters. The tiled floors appeared to have been heavily charred in places – no doubt marking the points where the Fire Eaters had apparated into the flat. Judging from the number of these points, Bill had been significantly outnumbered, and eventually overwhelmed.

Arthur was tight-lipped as he moved from room to room. Ron was white-faced and wide-eyed.  Fred and George paced with restlessness that spoke of fear and anger. Ginny’s small frame shook with sobs as she leaned against Hermione’s shoulder. Harry and Sirius gathered some of Bill’s personal items (a picture of the family taken a few years earlier on a visit to Cairo, and a stack of letters from Molly) for safe keeping. There was little more information to be gained. A cursory search of the apartment failed to indicate where Bill might have been taken, although, the charred marks in the floor certainly confirmed by whom.

“We should leave this place,” Samir said gently, after three quarters of an hour in Bill’s nearly demolished flat. “But first, I must insist that you fully assume you new identities.”

In Bill’s bedroom, the gentleman of the party donned the desert robes consistent with those of wealthy citizens from the United Arab Emirates - white robes with elaborate trim and the simple Bedouin headscarves bound with rich cording. These robes were not like the Egyptian ones Samir wore – they were distinctly more Arabic in nature.

“Ladies,” Samir said, trying to be firm, but Harry detected a slight pleading quality, “if you would be so good as to…” Samir didn’t finish the sentence, but gestured toward Bill’s room - his subtle way of suggesting that it was time for Ginny and Hermione to accept the inevitable. They were going to have to dress as concubines.

 “This can’t be happening,” Ginny muttered angrily. Despite her remarkable speed at hexing the twins, she was still unable to weasel out of hiding in plain sight as a concubine. She shuddered.

It wasn’t as if it were terribly cool – far from it. But she anticipated feeling rather...exposed to say the least. Fred and George sniggered at Ginny’s dismay. “If we get home…when we get home, I’m gonna hex them so hard they’ll look like overgrown radishes. I swear, if it weren’t illegal I’d use the Castrato curse on them…both of them,” she said, continuing her muttered rant.  At the words “Castrato curse,” Fred and George managed to wipe the smirks off of their faces.

Hermione, meanwhile, had discovered a novel way of escaping her potential exposedness. She was currently perched (yes, perched) on Harry’s right shoulder. ‘Talons’ had once more made herself known. Hermione, like Harry, was a registered animagus. As such, she had simply assumed her falcon form and was now elegantly adding to the impression that Harry was a wealthy Arab businessman.

‘Merlin’s Beard I wish I was an Animagus!’ Ginny burst out.  “Hermione! You can’t abandon me like this! I can’t bear to do this alone.”

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ said a deep, almost mellifluous voice from the back of Ginny’s mind. It was accompanied by the sound of something she had not heard in her lifetime. Had she known, she would have recognised it instantly as phoenix song. Her eyes grew wide, but she seemed to take heart.

The voice echoed not just in Ginny’s head, but in Harry and Hermione’s as well. In a brilliant flash of light, Hermione resumed her human form. She was too tender-hearted to leave Ginny to fend for herself as the sole concubine of the party. Throwing a scathing look at Samir and the twins, Hermione swept from the room with Ginny in tow.

When they re-appeared, a quarter of an hour later, they had changed into Samir’s carefully contrived wardrobe. Sheer veils covered their faces and hair leaving only their eyes exposed.  Their arms were bare, set off by numerous bracelets and cuffs. Their mid-riffs were bare as well.  From the waist down they were draped in shimmering fabric that changed colours subtly in the light. At first, Harry had thought they were wearing skirts, but as Hermione moved, he realised that she was actually wearing a sarong and satin slippers. She looked for all the world like a genie having just climbed from a lamp or bottle. This impression was further enhanced by the fact that Hermione had used charms to darken her skin and Ginny’s.  Hermione had even darkened Ginny’s hair. The once titian locks were now a dark auburn, almost chestnut brown. The effect was remarkable. They looked like natives.

‘Very attractive natives at that,’ Harry thought silently to Hermione who merely scowled beneath her veils.

Samir’s relief showed plainly on his face. He whisked them outside to waiting limousines and to a large hotel – one owned and operated by Western Europeans. In the posh lobby, Harry sensed Hermione’s unease. There were women and men in conventional European dress as well as in native apparel. Samir’s instincts, however, were apparently infallible, for no one gave Ginny or Hermione a second glance.

When each member of the party were finally alone in their rooms, Harry had apparated directly to Hermione’s side. They were both exhausted – emotionally and physically. For what seemed like ages, he simply held her gently, feeling her relax.

Sighing deeply she slipped from his embrace saying, “Just let me change out of…this, all right?  I can’t stand another second of it.” She slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Harry stretched lazily on the double bed and sighed heavily. After reflecting on the day’s events, he thought for the thousandth time that Hermione was perhaps the bravest most selfless person he knew. She had abandoned her falcon form, just for Ginny. In an effort to save Bill Weasley, she was exposing herself literally - and figuratively - to ridicule at the very least, but most likely to grave danger as well. Harry was suddenly overcome by the desire to do something very special for Hermione.

In a twinkling, he extinguished every light in the room, filling it instead with candles. Harry conjured an enormous bowl of strawberries and second smaller dish filled with melted dark chocolate. A chilled magnum of champagne and two glasses appeared on the bedside table.  “Melodius,” he whispered as the thrumming and throbbing of music softly filled the air – Sting’s Desert Rose. ‘Perfect,’ Harry thought, smiling to himself.

Harry looked forward with pleasant anticipation to the moment when Hermione would step from the bathroom to see the miniature paradise he had created. He tried to imagine the look on her face – her look of surprise and delight. What he hadn’t imagined was that he would be the one surprised.

“This desert rose. Each of her veils, a secret promise. This desert flower. No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this.”

Hermione stepped from the bathroom hardly having changed at all – except for having removed a key veil or two. She swayed toward him, dazzling eyes fixed only on him. He made a small noise, something between a gasp and a sigh.

“And as she turns, this way she moves in the logic of all my dreams. This fire burns. I realize that nothing's as it seems.”

Harry had expected to sweep Hermione off her feet – to take her breath away, but his concubine had other plans. Never taking her eyes from his, she ripped open his shirt in one skilful movement. Harry heard buttons hitting the floor but didn’t care. With her hands flat against his chest, she eased him backwards onto her bed. Settling him comfortably against the pillows, she sat astride him. With a wicked grin she reached for a strawberry and swirled it slowly through the melted chocolate. She held it teasingly above Harry, allowing some of the dark sauce to drip on his bare chest before feeding the strawberry to him. He made to wipe the chocolate away, but Hermione moved quickly, clasping his hand in hers and shaking her head, “no,” - preferring to perform this labour of love herself, in her own way.

“I dream of fire. These dreams are tied to a horse that will never tire. And in the flames her shadows play in the shape of a man's desire.”

Hermione was slowly driving him crazy - kissing him, licking away the spilled chocolate, nibbling and teasing. Unable to stand it any longer, Harry’s long arms encircled her, pulling her to the bed beside him, tipping her face to his. His lips swept across hers and he tasted the chocolate, the sweet ripe fruit, and her. She moaned as his attentions became more urgent. Now the concubine wanted not only to pleasure, but to be pleasured as well. Harry was only too happy to oblige.

“Sweet desert rose. This memory of Eden haunts us all. This desert flower. This rare perfume, is the sweet intoxication of her love.”

Hours later, exhausted, spent, and deliciously tired, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. But not a dreamless sleep - the words of the song haunted them both.

“I dream of rain. I dream of gardens in the desert sand. I wake in pain. I dream of love as time runs through my hand.”

Suddenly, Sting had ceased to sing…his voice replaced by the deep mellifluous one that so often filled their heads. “He will be found in the gardens of the desert. You must seek Bill at Heliopolis.”