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”.

Chapter Six – Sands in the Hour Glass

In Morocco….

An uncomfortable silence hung over the long polished table in Ambassador Jules Clift’s exotic office. The painful reality that Heliopolis might lay within the Ward crept around the table like a chilling fog.  A collective shiver passed through assembled group in spite of the desert heat. At length, Remus Lupin spoke in a voice that was calm and determined.

“Our information about the Ward is incomplete. At this point, it isn’t clear to me yet whether or not our magic will simply be impaired, or totally nullified. Beyond that, we can’t be sure that Heliopolis is, in fact, inside the Ward. You’ll forgive me, Professor Danner, but archaeology can be an inexact science. You came here to confirm the location of Heliopolis; your maps might be mistaken.”

“You are entirely correct, Lupin, but don’t forget, there is a historical basis for Heliopolis at this location,” Danner said in a manner that was not in the least bit defensive.

“I understand,” Remus continued, “but the only thing we are truly sure of is that Bill Weasley is missing and that this ‘Danté’, person has him.” Turning his attention to Jules, Remus said, “How had you intended for us to proceed? Prior to this revelation, what were your plans for us?”

Jules exchanged a meaningful look with Pascal and took a deep breath. “After careful consideration and input from both Pascal and Mr. Swift, it was my intention that as a group, you will apparate from here to a ‘jump-off’ point in the desert. Pascal has arranged for all your equipment and supplies to reunite with you there. Additionally, he has secured horses, camels, tents, drinking water and food enough for ten days.” Remus cast an appreciative look at Jules – she always thought of everything. The look did not go unnoticed as Jules continued,

“From the jump-off point, you have a journey of between two and three days to reach the Ward. It is my hope that you will reach Heliopolis before that time.”

Jules paused looking carefully at the faces of the potential leaders in this party of would-be rescuers. What she was about to convey might not go over well, but it was necessary and, as a diplomat, she was used to making the unpleasant seem palatable. “In terms of the structure of this group, Remus Lupin will be its unchallenged leader. He is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, as is Bill. Although members of the Ministry of Magic are accompanying you, I want to make something perfectly clear - this is mission of the Order of the Phoenix. Your role, Mr. Swift, will be to act as my agent. You and Mr. Ryan will represent the Ministry of Magic in support of these efforts. As Unspeakables and as my agents, you are dually charged with keeping the members of this party safe, and with apprehending Danté.”

To his credit, Alias Swift merely nodded. He recognized at once the unusual nature of Ambassador Clift’s directive. Ministry officials did not typically ask Unspeakables to submit to direction from anyone, much less from a member of the Order of the Phoenix. But then, Julia Clift was no ordinary ministry official. He would have done anything for her.

Jules now turned her attention to Professor Danner. “Dr. Danner, speaking on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix and of the Ministry of Magic, I would like to thank you again for your willingness to lend your expertise to our search. Because we believe Bill is either at Heliopolis or may be taken there shortly, we look to your knowledge of the ancient city to help us locate it. You will be responsible for establishing the location of Heliopolis. It is you who will establish this group’s destination. As well, you will help formulate appropriate priorities for locating and securing the Cadeau du Soleil once Heliopolis has been reached. However,” Jules said meaningfully, “I require and request that you utilise Pascal’s skills for navigation once the destination has been established. Rely on Pascal’s judgement for the manner in which you reach your Heliopolis. He knows the desert like the back of his hand. He knows how fast you can go, when it’s safe to move, and what areas to avoid. The path to Bill Weasley is not a linear one, do you all understand that?” There were murmurs of acquiescence around the table. “Are you prepared to accept these arrangements? Are you willing to work together?” There were nods of agreement – not terribly enthusiastic nods in some cases, but agreement nonetheless.

Unbidden, Leslie spoke quietly, “Never forget, you are only as strong as you are united. Stay together, work together, and you will succeed.” As everyone stared in her direction, she felt her cheeks flush. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud. “Just something Dumbledore said to us before we left,” Leslie muttered by way of explanation. To her relief, Jules smiled and said,

“Truer words were never spoken. Thank you for reminding us, Leslie. And now, I think its time we adjourned. I’m sure each of you has much to consider and even more to pack. Not to mention the fact that we have an Embassy Dinner beginning shortly.” Jules rose to her feet – her signal that the meeting was over. Alias Swift gave Jules a curious look, and then cleared his throat, deliberately. They eyed each other for what seemed like a full minute.

“Don’t you think we should tell them?” he asked her, cryptically.

Everyone was now standing, staring at Jules, waiting for her answer. She sighed heavily.

“It has come to my attention that Danté has managed to insert a spy into our midst,” she paused, waiting for the predictable outbursts of “No!” and “Are you certain?” to subside.

Jules continued in careful, measured tones, “For some months, Danté has benefited from inside information. It has been clear to me, and Mr. Swift concurs, that someone within the local wizarding community, someone with access to ministry officials, has been feeding the Dark One with information about the movements of witches and wizards in the region and the locations wherein he might encounter my Aurors.”

“Have you any insight as to the identity of this spy?” Jon asked, with an imperceptible glance in Brad Danner’s direction.

“Not really,” Jules said with resignation, “only that whoever it is seems to be well connected and highly discreet.”

“So be careful what you say, to whom you say it, and how you convey information to other members of your party,” Alias added gravely. For his trouble, he received only a few brief nods, then silence. “I guess that’s it then,” he said, once again looking to Jules to set the tone.

 “Thank you, all,” Jules said briskly as they gathered belongs and moved toward the door.  “Leslie, could I see you for a moment?” she called.

Leslie had already reached the door, but turned at the sound of her name. Jon hesitated for a moment, uncertain if he should stay as well, but a sisterly wink from Jules sent him on his way.

“Leslie,” Jules said with a small half-smile, “you are about to set off into the desert with an unusual assemblage of personalities and egos. Care for a word or two of advice?”

“Yes, please,” Leslie said, returning the smile, “guidance from you would be well…invaluable.”

“What I’m about to say, may sound sexist, so please, bear with me. Have you had much experience in dealing with the male ego?”

“Clearly, not as much as you have,”  Leslie said with a grin.

“Touché,” Jules said with a laugh. “You, young lady, are going to have your hands full. As the only female in the group, you will find yourself the natural diplomat…the smoother of ruffled feathers and the keeper of peace. Are you prepared for that?”

“Is anyone prepared for that?” Leslie asked wryly. Then said more seriously, “I’ll try, Jules.”

“That’s all I ask. Support Remus, lean on Jon and Pascal, and try to keep everyone else from getting their noses out of joint. Then, in your abundant free time, find Bill Weasley for me.  Think you can handle it?”

Leslie had the grace to laugh and then snap a smart salute. “I’m at your service Ambassador Clift.”

“Good girl. Now, unless I’m much mistaken, you have an Embassy Dinner and Ball for which to prepare.”

A wave of gratitude swept over Leslie. Forgetting all aspects of decorum, she gave Jules an unexpected hug, and then slipped from the room.

Jules watched her go. With yet another heavy sigh and a shake of her head, she thought, “She’s got her work cut out for her.”

In Cairo…

Harry opened one eye, experimentally, then the other. The sun had not yet risen, but the sky was lightening. At the edges of heavy curtains, soft grey light began seeping into his Cairo hotel room. He could feel her warm weight against him, their legs entangled, her head on his shoulder, one arm flung across his chest. He shifted slightly, turning to face her. Instinctively, she snuggled closer. Harry ran his fingers through chestnut waves, fanning her hair on the pillows.  She sighed softly in her sleep. Not for the first time, Harry Potter smiled at the thought of what Hermione Granger might be dreaming.

Unable to resist, he kissed her tenderly on the forehead, kissed the closed eyes with their delicate dark lashes, the smooth cheeks - the perfect lips. Harry found himself drawn to the little hollow in her neck, the sweet curve of her throat. She moaned slightly and he saw the ghost of a smile play across her features.

“Live that dream, Hermione, live it with me…” he whispered into one of her perfectly formed ears. Harry drew her closer. Skilfully caressing, persistently teasing - slowly, surely, he was bringing her to life. A wave of delight and desire washed over him as he felt the silken lips responding to his own. Her fingers were tangling in his hair, her sighs and whispered half-formed words became his name. The ring he wore, the Cadeau Du Mer, began to glow…her thoughts were focused only on him. With startling clarity those thoughts were revealed to him…he was seeing the dream.

A desert oasis. A torn canvas stretched between two trees formed a simple shelter. Faded carpets, soft pillows - the sound of a spring nearby. As the dream progressed, Harry’s eyes widened, a knowing smile crossed his face. “So that’s what you want is it? How naughty of you Miss Granger!” He laughed softly, thrilled by her secret wanton nature - her carefully controlled and publicly concealed passion. From within the cocoon of sleep, the ecstasy of her dream, Hermione gave a throaty purr that drove Harry nearly to distraction. “Your wish is my command, love,” and with a low growl, he succeeded in bringing her fantasies vividly to life.

The sun was fully above the horizon now, golden shafts of light fell across the bed. Hermione stretched lazily, grinning broadly before opening her eyes. Harry was staring at her, his head propped on one elbow, eyes still smoky with passion. “Sweet dreams?” he asked with a mischievous smile.

“The sweetest,” she said, her gaze never wavering, “but then, you knew that, didn’t you Mr. Potter?” Her mahogany eyes were twinkling at him. Laughing, she said, “Last one in the shower’s a squib!” Wrestling, tickling, they tumbled from the bed and raced toward the bathroom. The reached the shower simultaneously, and while you or I might have been tempted to call it a tie, Harry, in looking back on the shower that followed, maintained that they both won.

An hour later, they drifted into Samir’s expansive rooms where the group had agreed to meet for breakfast. Something of the lover’s euphoria lingered about them, unnoticed by the younger members of the party, but detected easily by Sirius, who found himself winking at Harry over his orange juice and coffee. Harry flashed him a lopsided grin, then looked away, trying with some difficulty to focus on the details of the arrangements Samir had made for their travel into the desert.

In the Fortress of the Dark One…

Bill Weasley drifted at the edge of consciousness. The small chink of light that filtered through a crack high in the dungeon wall hurt his eyes. It illuminated the sores on his hands and feet - his matted hair, and filthy robes. From somewhere in the inky blackness, he heard the moaning of another captive. The constant keening of a witch in agony played endlessly in his mind. He heard it so often that he began to wonder if it was real or if he was becoming delusional.

“Like the prisoners in Azkaban,” he thought bitterly to himself, “they go insane.” He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. Even in his weakened state, Bill found himself still able to reason. His standoff with Danté was getting him nowhere. Although he knew with perfect certainty that his family would never allow him to rot in this stinking hole of a prison, he could no longer afford to wait on them. He would have to act - to save himself and his sanity. “Otherwise,” he thought with a shudder, “I’ll hardly be worth rescuing.”

Desperate to create an opportunity for escape, Bill resigned himself to his fate – to the loathsome words he would be forced to utter, if only to gain the use of his wand for a moment.

 

Dawn found him stretched face down on a polished marble floor at the feet of the Dark One.  “What did you say?” Dante said, kicking Bill viciously. Bill raised his head from the floor - his nose bloodied, his bottom lip cut.

“I-” Bill rasped, “I said…I….would….help….you.” It had taken every ounce of strength to manage a hoarse whisper. His head fell to the floor and his eyes fluttered closed. The last thing he heard before slipping into the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness was psychotic laughter.  “Now,” Bill thought dimly to himself as he passed into blackness, “now I stand a chance.”

In Morocco…

Remus Lupin paced his room, uncharacteristically agitated. “A spy,” he thought to himself, and shook his head in disgust and frustration. The thought of a traitor in their midst gave him more pause than the thought of Danté, the Ward, and a dozen Fire Eaters put together. He knew only too well the devastating consequences, the havoc and misery, a turncoat could wreak on the innocent and unsuspecting. He thought of Lily Potter and the spy responsible for her death.

A grim, twisted smile flickered momentarily across his handsome features as he remembered how Sirius had avenged Lily’s death – killing Wormtail as they fought in the surf one dark night at Paravel.

Remus was still thinking of Sirius as he rummaged through his suitcase for dress robes. “Sirius must be told about the spy, about the Ward – about everything we’ve learned,” Remus thought to himself and, reaching for the enchanted two-way mirror Dumbledore had given him, nearly summoned Sirius then and there, but a glance at his watch checked him. The hour for the Embassy Dinner was drawing near and he could not be late. He was determined to be at Jules’ side to receive each and every guest, to look each one in the face for any hint of betrayal.

Returning the mirror to his suitcase, he resigned himself to contacting Sirius as soon as the Dinner and Ball had ended. “I’ll know more then,” he muttered, and locking his door securely behind him, went in search of Jules.

A few doors down the hall, Leslie was contemplating her own wardrobe for the evening and wondering if Jules was really an ambassador or some sort of fairy godmother. Knowing that no one in their right might would have packed a ball gown for a rescue mission in the desert, Jules had conjured everything Leslie could have wished for or needed in order to be properly attired for an Embassy Dinner and Ball.

Upon returning to her rooms to dress, Leslie found everything arranged neatly on her bed – a stunning heavy silk gown in a shade of aquamarine that exactly matched her eyes, elegant high heeled shoes (perfect for dancing), and simply exquisite aquamarine and diamond jewellery that completed the ensemble in near fairytale style. With child-like excitement she showered and then dried her hair – sweeping the loose curls into a fashionable twist at the back of her neck. Here and there, she allowed a curl to escape, framing her face softly. Necklace, earrings, and shoes came next, then the dress.

Leslie slipped it carefully over her head, allowing the heavy silk to settle around and on her. The effect was remarkable. She was transformed, transfigured into a version of herself she never thought possible. The gown was off-the shoulder, the neckline daring, the fitted waist dropped to flaring full skirts that rippled like water as she moved. There was a soft knock on her door and she knew (as she always did, but never knowing quite how or why she did) that it was Jon. “Come in,” she called.

“Are you rea..” he said breezing in the door. The words died on his lips at the sight of her. He seemed incapable of speech. Leslie had the grace to blush and turning from the mirror she took an uncertain step toward him.

“You look wonderful,” she said, admiring the tuxedo Jules had apparently conjured for him - dark pants, crisp shirt, white dinner jacket. The tie was a perfect butterfly, but she couldn’t resist the urge to straighten it.

Her touch seemed to bring him to life, and having recovered his senses, he breathed, “Leslie…you look…you are…”

“Going to be late if you don’t help me with this zipper?” she asked, playfully. Jon smiled and drew her close, reaching behind her to zip the last few inches of gorgeous dress and to fasten the tiny hook Leslie had been unable to manage herself. He did it all with a deftness that surprised her, for he had never taken his eyes from hers.

“Now,” he whispered, with a wicked smile, “you won’t be able to blame your lateness on that zipper.”

“Am I going to be late?” she said, heart suddenly doing strange things in her chest.

“Very,” he said softly.

~~~

Meanwhile, a world away…

“You sent my son…MY SON to the desert where that…that…creature is devouring every poor soul that come within his reach? How COULD you Albus!”

The usual twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes had died long before this tirade from the younger wizard had ever been contemplated.

“Solaris, arguing the matter does not alter the very fact that your son volunteered for this mission. He is a responsible wizard, and he is of age. I could no sooner order him to stay behind as I could bring back your father,” said Dumbledore coolly, calmly.

The look of utter condescension vanished from the face of Ministry of Magic’s Head Auror.  The mention of his father had been the turning point. No longer would he argue the point…at least not tonight.

“Albus…he’s too young for this…he’s not experienced enough.”

Dumbledore sighed, choosing his words carefully. “Solaris, you underestimate his innate abilities.”

“His abilities…we don’t even know WHAT abilities he has! They aren’t tested, and they are certainly not yet tempered by judgement!” 

Solaris Clift prowled furiously round Dumbledore’s office, snarling at the portraits of Hogwart’s illustrious past headmasters. He was understandably agitated. Albus Dumbledore, a trusted friend (and occasional collaborator) had done the unthinkable; he had sent Solaris’s own son, Jonathan, directly into harm’s way.

Clenching and unclenching his fists restlessly as he paced, with each and every breath Solaris realised that now, he might even be too late. For all his own training, for his untold dozens of years as a Ministry Auror, for the years spent teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, Solaris Clift was powerless to help his own son… For the thousandth time since he’d learned of  the rescue mission in the desert, he thanked Merlyn for Jules – his eldest and only daughter. Knowing that Jon and Jules were together was simultaneously reassuring and heart achingly frightening. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing them both, but at least they were together.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, bringing Solaris forcibly back to the present and to the discussion at hand. “Solaris,” he said patiently, almost parentally, “it was his time…time for him to wrestle the demons that have plagued him for years.”

Solaris looked away.  Dumbledore was on the point of continuing when Solaris said sharply, “The Dark One aside, think Albus! Think what may happen if he…if he reaches Heliopolis.  You know what I believe, what I’ve suspected for years…” his voice was overwrought. 

“Is it not time he knew the truth? That we all knew?”

“I should be with him… There are things…things I should have told him.”

Dumbledore stared at his steepled fingers lost in thought - thinking of another young wizard from whom the truth had been kept for far too long. Understanding wholly the nature of a fathers love - a father’s need to protect and shield, he said more to himself than to Solaris. “The walls we erect to keep them safe can trap them as well.”

Solaris stopped pacing.

“Go to him then. Tell him what you suspect. Prepare him for what he may learn, prepare her as well.”

“Her?”

“Surely, you’ve guessed, Solaris.  If what you believe about Jonathan is true then…”

“It… may be true for her as well…” he said, his voice mingled with shock and concern. Solaris Clift inhaled slowly, letting the truth of it all sink in. He felt a knot tightening somewhere in his chest. This chain of events was going to unfold whether he liked it or not. He experienced an unpleasant sensation of deja-vu. The lives of those he loved were at risk...and he felt powerless in a way that was painfully familiar. “Not again,” he thought to himself, “not this time. While tomorrow remains unwritten, I can and will intervene.” In that moment, he decided…he would pit himself against destiny if necessary, but he would not stand by and watch fate steal their future.

Having made his decision, Solaris Clift immediately began making plans. “Albus,” he said abruptly, “I have a letter to write.”

Gradually a spark returned to fill the void that had occupied Dumbledore’s eyes for so long…since knowledge of the Dark One had surfaced once more. He knew that he had defeated the first Dark One, many years ago, but surely someone else would rise to take his place? He knew all too well the horrors a wizard fully trained in the dark arts could wreak on humanity.

A soft simple melody sought his ears. Three scarlet and golden birds, perched side by side on the edge of Dumbledore’s desk, were singing in blissful harmony.

With a nod, Dumbledore communicated to the phoenix the gravity of the whole situation. Fawkes remained his noble self, whilst Moses and Helen looked upon each other with deep concern for their owners…for their parents.

With a flash of crimson wings, and golden flames, first Moses, then Helen, disappeared…Leaving Fawkes and Dumbledore alone in the Headmasters almost empty office.

“He’ll do fine Dumbledore,” whispered the Sorting Hat from high upon its shelf.

“Of course Solaris will, he is an accomplished wizard and I have complete faith in his abilities,” countered Dumbledore.

“Solaris has a fine temper Dumbledore, remember that. It’s why I had so much trouble Sorting the poor lad. I was talking about someone else. You know who I mean.”

“I do.”

The Eastern Sahara…

Harry squinted against the unremitting glare of midday sun. Heat waves shimmered blindingly on the horizon. The rocking gait of the camel that had seemed so strange to him this morning, was now monotonously familiar. Swinging from side to side, the regular motion of the beast beneath him and intense heat of the desert combined to lull Harry into a state dazed reflection.

Images of the morning flashed past like pictures in his head: The breakfast with Samir. The cold knot of dread in the pit of his stomach as Samir announced that their party would be proceeding directly to the fortress of the Dark One while the other half of their team would leave Morocco in search of Heliopolis. The memory of Ginny Weasley’s face as this news was delivered… watching her blanch visibly beneath her magically acquired tan. Trying to catch her eye, to reassure her and failing.

Tense silence in the cars as Samir drove them through the sleeping city…watching as the building grew fewer, thinning out until finally the modern world was left far behind. The highway they followed turning gradually from pavement, to a two lane track in the sand, to a path discernible only by the rocks set along its edges to mark it.

A small smile flickered across Harry’s face as he remembered Fred and George’s out bursts of discomfort and annoyance at the idea of riding camels. But they adjusted quickly, as did everyone else. At first, as a group, had tried to talk… to carry on conversation, but the camels were disinclined to travel abreast and kept stringing out in long lines. But Harry knew instinctively that even if this difficulty could have been overcome, that the horror of what they were seeing would have silenced casual conversation in an instant.

Their path to Dante’s lair led them through two of the villages that the Dark One and his Fire Eaters had lain waste to. Harry was haunted by the images of ruined buildings, scorched walls, and charred timbers. The make-shift shelters, the ragged clothes and the fear that still lingered in the faces of nearly everyone they encountered.

At a well where they had stopped to rest and water the camels, Harry nearly fell over the form of a small boy, huddled against the base of the one of the crumbling walls surrounding the well. 

Dark haired and painfully thin, the child couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old.  Harry tried in vain to reassure him…to communicate that he meant no harm…but the boy backed away, clearly terrified. Samir spoke to the child first in Egyptian, then in Arabic, but to no avail.  He fled in terror, driven away by their presence. One of the women who had gathered at the well to draw water addressed Samir, telling him that the boy’s parents had been killed when the Dark One attacked their village.

Harry felt his insides writhing. Another boy deprived of his parents by the acts of a dark wizard.  Another boy, orphaned. Tom Riddle had been orphaned. According to Samir, Danté had been orphaned as well - left to roam the streets of Morocco, prey to the loathsome forces that lurk outside the bonds of family. Harry mused over his own life, his own horrible childhood with the Dursley’s, and wondered what had kept him from following the same path. He thought with a shudder of the periods of utter despair and grief that had marked those years at Number Four Privet Drive.  What had kept him, in his darkest hours, in his vulnerable, critical moments of deep despair from becoming bitter and disillusioned as Tom Riddle had… as Danté had?

He felt his heart catch in his throat. He knew why. The answer was simple but powerful. It was love. He had been deeply loved by both his parents and though he had no conscious memory of it…the effects lingered. His mother’s love for him was so great that in the moment of her death it had been infused in him…in his very skin. And that loved carried him through ten long lonely years, sustaining him until the world of magic had been opened to him once more.

As he took his rightful place in the wizarding world, the darkness that might have consumed him, that might have made him cruel, had been further and forever banished by the outpouring of love that greeted him upon his return. Hagrid was devoted to him. The Weasley’s had embraced him fully as a member of the family. Dumbledore looked on him as a grandson; Sirius as a combination of brother and son. Ron was fiercely loyal, and then there was Hermione – here, Harry smiled, a wave of warmth and love washing over him.

Hermione Granger had been teaching him the true meaning of love and friendship from the moment she laid eyes on him. As his friend she demonstrated unswerving devotion – she had faced nightmares for him and with him.  When the friendship had flamed to love, she had opened the door to yet another world for him – a world of light, of pure joy, of hope for his future, of believing for the first time that he could have a future – free of Voldemort.  In her total and unconditional love for him, she had made him whole. She had bound herself and her soul irrevocably to him. In nights of passion, in the peace of still reflection, in the most mundane activities of day to day life she was, unfailingly, his own.  She was the essence of love, embodied in his life…love made flesh, love incarnate - the ultimate and perfect talisman against bitterness, hatred and despair.

The orphaned boy disappeared from view among the ruins of his village.  Samir urged the party back to their camels and into the desert, but Harry couldn’t shake the image of the child, backing away, eyes wide, so consumed by fear and panic that he was unable to accept the hand of friendship they offered.  Instinctively, Harry knew that without compassion, without love, this boy would continue to shut himself off from the world - that without intervention, this boy like so many others before him, could succumb to the darkness.  But who would intervene? Who would, at the critical moment, step forward and offer this child the love he so desperately needed? It was a moment of epiphany for Harry - of powerful realisation.  He turned to look at Hermione and a vision of their future filled his senses.  The orphaned boy in the desert village might be beyond the reach of their compassion, but at home, in Cornwall, with Hermione’s help…he might be able to make a difference.

 

All these thoughts, however, came to an abrupt halt, much the same as Harry’s camel. Surrounding the group were twelve hideously tall and robed figures – their faces were masked, their eyes were soulless and staring.

Fire Eaters, the Dark One’s netherworld fighters, had seemingly erupted from the sand at their feet.  There was instant uproar.  Someone screamed.  The camels bellowed in panic and tried to bunch themselves into a tight knot.  Harry was thrown off balance as his camel lunged to join its brethren and was thrown heavily to the ground. 

Rolling and twisting, he managed to avoid the scrambling feet of the fear-maddened animals, desperately trying to draw his wand from the depths of the cumbersome desert robes Samir had insisted they all wear.

Ginny shrieked as the fingers of one of the ghastly creatures closed over her upper arms, dragging her to the ground.  Arthur’s stunning spell had little effect as the Fire Eater began to recede into the shifting sand from which it had emerged, attempting to take a struggling and screaming Ginny Weasley with it.

Fred and George had flung themselves to the ground and taking hold of Ginny, were trying frantically to wrench her from the clutches of the Fire Eater that sinking with chilling determination into the earth.

“Get down!” Sirius shouted to Hermione, Ron, and Arthur who were, even as Sirius had yelled, dropping to the ground, trying to make their way through the plunging camels to Ginny, Fred, and George.

Harry scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding the drawn sword of a Fire Eater who had slashed it, curved and shining, at Harry’s face.  “Impedimenta!” he roared, sending a well placed impediment jink at yet another Fire Eater who had singled out Hermione for some sinister attention.  The force of the spell was such that the Fire Eater stumbled…giving Hermione the critical seconds she needed to dodge behind one of the frightened camels.

Ginny’s feet and ankles had now disappeared into the sand.  Fire Eaters had closed in on Fred and George, ripping them away from Ginny who screamed in terror as she sunk ever deeper.  George roared in frustration as he struggled uselessly in the steel grasp of the Dark One’s terrible warriors. Fred tried unsuccessfully to reach his wand.

Ron looked wildly around for Samir, while jabbing his wand at the nearest Fire Eater and shouting “Supefy!”  The spell did little to deter the menacing figures that were closing in around them.  Then, he saw him. Still seated on his camel, struggling to maintain control, was Samir.  Ron watched with horrified fascination as Samir drew what appeared to be a curved wand from his robes and pointed it at the nearest Fire Eater.

“Tafaiyit Haree a!” he bellowed.  With a howling shriek, the Fire Eater was blasted backwards off its feet.  It lay crumpled on the ground…unmoving.

Simultaneously, Hermione closed her eyes, concentrating fiercely, lips moving silently, her gossamer thin robes billowing in the winds that had risen, like the Fire Eaters, out of no where. Suddenly her eyes snapped open “Expecto Patronum!” she shouted, aiming her wand at the devils that had now seized not only Fred, George, and Ginny, but Arthur as well.

Her wand vibrated with the force of the spell.  An enormous winged figure rippled like quicksilver from the tip.  It streaked toward the gang of fiends, scattering them, driving them back. 

Harry stared in wonder.  Hermione’s Patronus was a phoenix, but not just any phoenix, it was Firebird, an exact replica in shimmering silver of his own animagus form.  Her voice suddenly filled his head.  “You have always been by protector.”  As always, in times of crisis, her faith in him girded her; it shielded her from fear that might have rendered her unable to respond to the dangers that surrounded them. 

Sirius was shouting at Samir.  “That spell! What was that spell?!  For God’s sake man, tell us what it is!” 

“Tafaiyit Haree a!  Tafaiyit Haree a!” Samir repeated. “The Extinguishing Spell. It is the only way!”

At once, Sirius sent the “Extinguishing” spell with such force at the Fire Eater who still held Ginny, that it gave a stupendous shudder and collapsed scorched and smoking to the ground. 

Hermione levelled her wand at the Fire Eater holding George. “Tafaiyit Haree a!”  A jet of red light shot from her wand making the soulless eyes of the foul creature glow in sinister fashion before sending it writhing to the ground.   

While the Firebird Patronus held the remaining Fire Eaters at bay, Ron, Harry, and Sirius managed to free Arthur and Fred.  Meanwhile, Hermione and Samir were struggling to drag a shaken Ginny from the waist deep sand into which she had been pulled.

Five of the Dark One’s Warriors lay slain around them…the other seven lurked in the distance, unable to approach because of the silver guardian Hermione had conjured.

“They will not leave,” Samir said, “until they collect the bodies of their brothers”. 

“What are you saying?” Sirius hissed.

“The Fire Eaters are ancient kings, trapped in the service of the Dark One. They are not alive, and therefore cannot truly be killed.  The Dark One can re-animate these forms,” Samir said, pointing to one of the singed figures on the ground.

“An army of warriors that cannot be killed?” Arthur croaked, his voice filled with disbelief and dread.

Samir nodded, never taking his eyes off the figures in the distance. “Miss Granger” he said quietly, “your Patronus is fading”.