Summer in the Sahara by The Heir of Paravel Rating: PG13 Ship: Harry & Hermione Canon: Books 1 - 5 Genre: Mystery, Romance Status: In progress Length: 30,366 words in 8 chapters Published: 3 Sep 2003 Last updated: 7 Jan 2004 Part Three in the "Deeper Magic" series. Summer in the Sahara is a collaboration between The Prophet of the Phoenix (Jon Clift) and The Heir of Paravel (Leslie Parsons). It is the sequel to Summer in Cornwall. Summer in the Sahara takes place in the summer between H/Hr's 6th and 7th years at Hogwarts... Coming back to Paravel for the summer, Harry and Hermione bring home two very dear friends, Leslie and Jon...A blissful holiday is interupted when the activities of a dangerous and depraved wizard, known to the world as The Dark One, gradually begin to impact those at Paravel...When a dear and beloved member of Harry's "adopted" family is abducted by The Dark One, Harry&Company find themselves in the Sahara Desert searching for a fabled lost city, two mythical objects, and a Weasley, thus beginning their Summer in the Sahara...... From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/945/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. Prologue “Summer in the Sahara” A Harry/Hermione Fan Fiction By The Prophet of the Phoenix (Jonathan Clift) and The Heir of Paravel (Leslie Parsons) Disclaimer: Summer in the Sahara is a fan fiction written entirely for pleasure, not profit. Any text similar to that of other writers is fully acknowledged and appreciated. All characters mentioned in this story previously mentioned in the first 5 Harry Potter books are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is or will be made from the publication of this story. All character's not previously mentioned in the official Harry Potter books, and the general plot of this story, are the property of the authors, Jonathan Clift and Leslie Parsons Story Overview: Summer in the Sahara is intended as a sequel to Summer in Cornwall. It will include characters and themes from Summer in Cornwall as well as characters and themes from Jon Clift's story, Harry Potter and The Prophecy of the Phoenix. Summer in Cornwall as written by the Heir of Paravel took place in the summer between Harry and Hermione's fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts. So, naturally, one might expect the sequel to take place in the summer between their fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts. However, to take advantage of the wonderful concepts developing in The Prophecy of the Phoenix and its proposed sequel, The Tablet of Destiny, Summer in the Sahara will take place in the summer between Harry and Hermione's sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts. Over the course of Summer in the Sahara, Harry and Hermione will further solidify their relationship, further develop their powers, and team with familiar witches and wizards to defeat a particularly depraved dark wizard known as The Dark One to the masses, but as Dante to an informed circle within the wizarding world. Major characters will include: Harry Potter Hermione Granger Ron Weasley Bill Weasley (still breaking curses for Gringott's in Egypt) Jonathan Clift (as a former Hogwarts' Head Boy, now in training as an Auror) Leslie Parsons (as a former Hogwarts' Head Girl, now at University) Jules Clift (Jon's older sister, now a Ministry of Magic Ambassador to Morocco) Professor Danner (one of Leslie's instructors in the areas of astronomy and ancient artifacts) Pascal (a Bedouin guide and wizard) Arabella Figg (resuming her Summer in Cornwall role) Remus Lupin (no longer a werewolf) Sirius Black (absolutely not dead) Catherine Granger (Hermione's mother) Dumbledore (Greatest Wizard of Modern Times) Dante (as previously described - depraved and dangerous) Solaris Clift (Jon's father, the Head Auror) The Fire Eaters (Servants of The Dark One) Benu (The First Phoenix) Fawkes (Dumbledore's Phoenix) Moses (Solaris and Jon's Phoenix) Helen (Leslie's Phoenix) Madame Pomfrey (Healer Extraordinaire) Background worth posting: The phoenix is a magical, eternal bird. It lives for centuries, renewing itself every five hundred years. This sacred creature, almost always described as red and gold, was known as benu in ancient Egypt (although it is the Assyrians that gave it its name). It was an important symbol of the city of Heliopolis (City of the Sun). In the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the phoenix claims, “I am the keeper of the Tablet of Destiny, the book of things which have been and things which shall be.” In Egyptian hieroglyphics, the phoenix image conveys the passage of time, and it remains a symbol of immortality today. Writers often use the phoenix as a symbol of undying love and loyalty. One noted authority (Newt Scamander, Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them) describes the phoenix as “a gentle creature that has never been known to kill….it can disappear and reappear at will.” He adds, “Phoenix song is magical; it is reputed to increase the courage of the pure of heart and to strike fear in to the hearts of the impure.” An additional reference on the phoenix notes that “At the end of each life cycle, the phoenix burned itself on a funeral pyre. Another phoenix then rose from the ashes with renewed youth and beauty. The young phoenix, after rising from the ashes, carried the remains of its father to the alter of the sun god in the Egyptian city of Heliopolis.” In Summer in the Sahara much will be made over the healing powers not only of phoenix tears, but phoenix ash as well. A final word: While it is not strictly necessary to have read Summer in Cornwall or Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix before reading Summer in the Sahara, you might find that you enjoy it more fully if you do. I ask you, how much would you have gotten out of Order of the Phoenix if you hadn't read any of the books written previous to it? Last but not least, in Summer in the Sahara, a variety of new characters are introduced. In the beginning, we take quite a bit of time letting you get to know them. But we have not forgotten (nor should you) that this is ultimately a Harry and Hermione fan fiction. We look forward to your feedback and hope you enjoy Summer in the Sahara. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 2. Shifting Sands Disclaimer: Summer in the Sahara is a fan fiction written entirely for pleasure, not profit. Any text similar to that of other writers is fully acknowledged and appreciated. All characters mentioned in this story previously mentioned in the first 5 Harry Potter books are the sole property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is or will be made from the publication of this story. All character's not previously mentioned in the official Harry Potter books, and the general plot of this story, are the property of the authors, Jonathan Clift and Leslie Parsons. Chapter One - Shifting Sands An ominous wind swept across the dunes as three figures knelt before a sputtering fire. They were clothed in rags, their movements furtive. The firelight picked out dirt streaked faces - eyes hooded and sunken from years spent in the shadowy underworld of society. They were part of the Tuareg - the robber bands that haunt the middle Sahara. The chief among them unrolled a dirty sack onto the sand. A few coins, odd bits of jewellery, and a gold watch spilled out. These contents represented their meagre takings for the evening. A ripple of excitement passed through them as the Leader began to divide the pathetic booty into lots. Their gabbling voices were barely audible above the rising wind. The smallest of the three grew impatient and pawed at the coins, only to have his hand slapped roughly away by the Leader. The wind began to shriek as though from the very heart of the desert. Filthy robes billowed around them as camels shifted uneasily. The Leader raised his head warily and squinted at the dark horizon. Without warning, the sand erupted in front of him. Fire Eaters rose from the dunes - encircling the doomed thieves. The Leader watched in horror as the dark-robed figures, faces expressionless, eyes soulless and staring, advanced toward their fire. He turned to run, but fell in the shifting sand. The blade of a scimitar flashed, curved and shining overhead and the Leader was no more. In quick succession, his companions fell victim to the Fire Eaters, executed not for thievery, but for trespassing. Unwittingly, the Tuareg had camped at the rim of a forbidden desert kingdom - the home of the Dark One. Unwittingly, they offended. Unknowingly, they brought the wrath of the Dark One's mindless warriors, the Fire Eaters, down on their heads - heads that were now separated from their bodies. A Fire Eater walked among the strewn bodies, roughly searching bloodstained robes. From within the folds of the foul garment that had once been worn by the Leader, it withdrew a crumpled scrap of parchment. The Fire Eater waved it high over his head - a signal to depart. With sickening speed, the party of warriors mounted desert horses and whirled away - leaving the Tuareg and their imagined treasure for the shifting sands to bury. Miles away, a world away, Arabella Figg took another swallow of coffee and continued her perusal of the Daily Prophet. Her brow furrowed at the headline “American Wizard Feared Lost in the Sudan” She skimmed the article, then lowering the paper said quietly to her breakfast companion, Sirius Black, “Another one has disappeared.” Sirius raised an eyebrow and said between bites of toast, “Where?” “In the Sudan, an American this time.” Arabella answered. “Ministry still declining comment?” Sirius asked. Arabella nodded, then read from the article, “Villagers insist that this disappearance is yet another in a string of acts committed by the Dark One. When asked for her reaction, Julia Clift, Ministry Ambassador to Morocco, said only, `We are looking into the matter.'” Arabella looked down her long polished dining table at the dark haired young wizard engrossed in conversation with Harry and Hermione. She cleared her throat. “Jon?” He looked up quickly, meeting her gaze with a slightly uncomfortable expression. “Clift is not a common last name. You're not by chance related to the `Julia' mentioned here are you?” Arabella asked, tapping her copy of the Daily Prophet with a perfectly manicured finger. Jon looked at her steadily and said, “As a matter of fact, I am. `Julia Clift' is my sister, Jules.” Jon found that his stomach had tightened slightly. He knew the wizarding world to be divided on the subject of the Ministry of Magic. The behaviour of Cornelius Fudge had polarized most of the wizarding population. People either held the Ministry in high esteem or considerable contempt. There didn't seem to be much middle ground. And, by association with his father, an auror, and his sister, an ambassador, Jon was sometimes regarded suspiciously by those who had concerns about the Ministry. But Arabella put his mind at ease at once. “So then” she said with a smile, “Solaris is you father?” Jon nodded. “I have tremendous respect for your father, Jon. He is one of the reasons I still have hope for the Ministry of Magic.” Relieved, Jon returned the smile, his stomach relaxing instantly. Arabella laughed and shook her head, “How is it that after two weeks at Paravel, I am only just now learning about your family?” Slightly embarrassed at having not covered this ground with Arabella already, Hermione spoke on Jon's behalf, “Well, you have kept us rather busy haven't you?” Arabella conceded the point and reflected on the past two weeks. Harry and Hermione had returned to Paravel at the end of term two weeks ago, bringing with them two friends, Leslie Parsons and Jonathan Clift. Since the summer between their fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione had been returning to Cornwall whenever possible - sometimes staying at Godric's Hollow with Sirius and Remus, at other times with her at Paravel. In their fifth year, Harry and Hermione had become prefects and developed lasting friendships with Jon and Leslie, who were at that time, Head Boy and Girl. The friendship continued even after Jon and Leslie left Hogwarts, facilitated no doubt by their common interests and unusual abilities. Like Harry and Hermione, Jon and Leslie were especially gifted with magic. Also like Harry and Hermione, they knew that special abilities and insights often carried great burdens with them. It was for this reason, perhaps, that Harry and Hermione found it easier to be in Jon and Leslie's company than that of most other witches and wizards. Perhaps it was for the undeniable camaraderie that developed over drinks at the Three Broomsticks, or for the close kinship formed around the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room after long days of study. Perhaps it was for all these reasons that Leslie and Jon had become a permanent part of Harry and Hermione's lives. Arabella had met them twice previously, but only briefly. Her fleeting impressions had been positive, so when Hermione asked if Jon and Leslie could visit Paravel, Arabella didn't hesitate to say, “Yes”. As usual, Arabella's insights proved correct. Jon had a quiet charm and obvious intellect that, combined with his open and engaging manner, made him a delight to be around. Leslie was compassionate and witty, seemingly interested in everything. She had listened with rapt attention on her first evening at Paravel as Arabella re-told the history of the manor and asked questions that were carefully considered and intelligent. “Wonderful young people” Arabella thought to herself, glad for the chance to know them better. Their first two weeks at Paravel had passed in a happy blur of riding, swimming, picnicking and exploring the Cornish coast. Harry had toured them through Godric's Hollow with pride, and Hermione had introduced them to the elusive Clio on their first afternoon at the beach. Sirius and Remus devised a variety of wizard tasks designed to hone the skills of the not only of the apprentice sorcerer and sorceress (Harry and Hermione), but of Jon, the auror in training, as well. It was during one of these sessions that Remus noticed with curiosity a certain intensity of power in Jon that he often struggled to control. Neither did it escape his notice that when aided by Leslie (either directly or indirectly) Jon's powers seemed to be not only completely controlled, but amplified as well. Remus was considering their unusual relationship when Sirius interrupted his thoughts, “What do you think of all these disappearances?” Remus hesitated before answering, then said slowly, “That they remind me of the disappearances that marked Voldemort's arrival.” An uncomfortable ripple passed around the table. “But surely you're not suggesting…” Arabella began. Remus held up a hand, “No, I'm not saying Voldemort's returned. I'm just thinking that Voldemort isn't the only dark wizard that ever aspired to power.” “The same thought occurred to me.” said Sirius, in agreement. Then turning to Jon, he said, “Has your sister mentioned anything to you? Do they have any theories?” Jon considered for a moment before speaking, choosing his words carefully. “I think it's safe to say that at least some parts of the Ministry think it possible that one wizard, a dark wizard, might be responsible for these disappearances. There have been twelve disappearances in all, although that number isn't widely known.” Turning to Harry and Hermione, Jon continued. “Do you remember Alias Swift - the Unspeakable who was sent to Hogwarts to deal with the vampire?” Harry nodded. “And Jack Ryan, his associate, who attended the Yule Ball?” “Of course,” Hermione said, “I'll never forget the two of them leading Lucius Malfoy away in cuffs. What about them?” “According to Jules, they're being sent to North Africa to find out who this `Dark One' really is. Apparently, the Ministry feels that the local wizarding governments aren't organized enough to deal with the threat he may pose, not just in the Sudan, but across the entire Sahara.” Silence hung over the table as this revelation sunk in, eventually broken by Hermione. “That sounds ominous. If the Ministry of Magic is actually willing to dispatch Unspeakable's, then someone in power must believe that this `Dark One' is a force to be reckoned with.” Hermione turned to Leslie, “And you still intend to go out there?” Leslie looked around the table at surprised faces, then answered, “Yes, this is the chance of a lifetime. I'd be crazy to pass it up.” She said quietly, careful not to look at Jon. “What is?” asked Arabella, interested. “I'm studying ancient magical artefacts and archaeology at University. I've been awarded a fellowship that will allow me to go on a dig later this summer with a prestigious faculty member - Brad Danner. My thesis work closely parallels his research, but none of it can be substantiated with out some first-hand work on site - in the field so to speak.” Leslie was trying to keep the enthusiasm in her voice to a minimum, but her eyes sparkled as she spoke. “The Brad Danner?” Remus asked. “He's something of a legend among scholars isn't he? Always bringing back treasures from some far flung corner of the globe? Museums must love him.” Leslie nodded. “That's the one” she said quietly. “I've read about him,” said Arabella. “Doesn't he have a reputation for being reckless?” Leslie grinned. “In his younger days, he was known for taking risks, but I think he's settled down a bit over the last five years or so.” Leslie replied, hoping she was right. “And what Holy Grail of the wizarding world is he searching for this time?” Sirius asked, amused. Leslie hesitated, knowing they would find her answer difficult to believe, “The Cadeau Du Soleil” she said quietly. “The what?” asked Harry in surprise. Leslie smiled. “The Cadeau Du Soleil - the companion pieces to the Cadeau Du Mer.” Looking around the table, she saw stunned expressions. “There are companion pieces?” said Hermione in awe. “Hard to believe, I know,” said Leslie, “But according to legend, a sorcerer simultaneously created not one, but two sets of magical objects. One set, `the gifts from the sea' resided in a temple in Atlantis until it was given to a noble and powerful wizarding family - your family” Leslie said, looking at Remus and Arabella. “The other set, the gifts of the sun, resided in an ancient temple in Heliopolis, the city of the sun. Scholars believe that the first to wear the Cadeau Du Soleil were the Prophet of the Phoenix, who resided in the temple, and his wife. After their deaths, the fate of the Cadeau Du Soleil became unclear. Professor Danner thinks that by resurrecting the temple at Heliopolis, he may discover the whereabouts of the Cadeau Du Soleil.” “But I thought Heliopolis was a myth, not a real place…” Hermione said. “Oh it's real alright, every bit as real as Atlantis” said Leslie with a grin, “and I intend to find it.” “By all means, send us a postcard when you do.” Jon said, a little stiffly. Leslie bit her lip, and looked away. Unaware of the slight coolness that passed between Leslie and Jon, Harry asked, “Are the Cadeau Du Soleil's powers identical to that of the Cadeau Du Mer's?” “No one is entirely sure, although I suspect that because they were first worn by a prophet, they may give the wearer's the gift of sight.” Leslie replied. “Later, if you like, you're welcome to go through my notes. You might be interested in some of the sketches Professor Danner has collected over the years of the Cadeau Du Soleil. Apparently it's very similar in appearance to the Cadeau Du Mer, except that the center stone is some sort of fiery amber.” Hermione was impressed. “I'd love to see them. Maybe after lunch?” Leslie nodded, happy to share what was rapidly becoming her obsession with Hermione. “But now, how about that swim you've been promising me?” Harry asked Hermione with a grin. Breakfast was over. Harry, Hermione, Leslie, and Jon climbed the stairs to the guest wing to don bathing suits and shorts while Arabella oversaw Hopkins' preparation of luncheon baskets. Leslie was the first of the party to finish changing and she waited for the others on the large terrace at the rear of Paravel overlooking a sloping lawn and the path to the beach. She leaned on the railing, her hair ruffled in the mid-morning breeze. She was thinking of Jon - of his objections to her plans to go to the desert with Professor Danner. “You're determined to do this, aren't you?” said a voice behind her. It was Jon. He saw her shoulders stiffen slightly. “Yes” she said quietly. “We've been all through this. I know it's risky, but it is the nature of my work. Archaeology can't be done in a library. It has to be done in the field. Besides, you take risks everyday, without even leaving England. You're training to be an auror - a profession a thousand times more deadly than that of a scholar.” Her voice softened slightly. “Jon, you know how I feel about you. Do you think I want to be separated from you? You know I don't. But it's just for a few months and when it's over, I'll have enough data to finish my thesis. Can't you see how important it is to me?” she asked, her eyes over bright. “Leslie, it's not your profession I object to.” Jon ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “It's your timing and…” he added reluctantly, “your choice of colleagues. Do you really want to wander off into the desert right now - with everything that's going on? And do you really have confidence in Danner's abilities? Do you really think he can keep you safe?” “I'm not entirely useless you know. I do actually have a wand of my own.” she said with a wry smile. “Why won't you take this seriously?” Jon said tensely. “Maybe if I were as fully informed as you are, I would.” she said, with a steely note in her voice. “I know you're not telling me everything, Jon. What has Jules told you that you're not telling me?” He looked away, for she was right. Jules had indeed confided in him, had told him terrible things - things he never intended to share, but now, it seemed necessary. “The Dark One is truly depraved, Leslie.” he said urgently. “He kills indiscriminately and savagely. He and his warriors have struck in villages and outposts all over the Sahara without being caught. And it's not just that. The witches and wizards that have disappeared were all highly gifted, highly qualified people. They weren't selected at random - they all fit a similar profile.” Leslie was stunned. “What are you saying?” she asked, clearly taken aback. “I'm saying that the Dark One has a dark purpose - a larger plan. Clearly, his aims extend far beyond a few isolated attacks on remote desert villages. And,” Jon said desperately, “You fit the profile of the abducted perfectly.” He clenched his fists tightly. “I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you.” And suddenly, the tension between them evaporated. She was in his arms in a moment, hugging him tightly. “I'm sorry, Jon”, she whispered into the soft cotton of his shirt. “I had no idea the situation was so terrible.” “I should have told you before now” he said in a low voice, “but Jules swore me to secrecy.” He sighed, thinking of how much easier things might have been if she hadn't. Jon cupped Leslie's face in his hands, searching her eyes, looking for an answer in her face. After a moment he said, “You still want to go. Don't you?” It wasn't really a question. Before Leslie could answer, Jon said quickly. “Of course you do. This means the world to you, doesn't it?” Leslie nodded mutely. Jon took a deep breath, a breath of acceptance and understanding. “Well then,” he said, “I'm going with you.” Leslie looked at him in wonder. “Going with me?” she said, weakly. “I've already talked to Jules” Jon said firmly, “I can continue my auror training from the embassy in Morocco. It's all arranged.” “You knew I'd go, all along, didn't you?” Leslie said quietly. “I knew that I had to try to talk you out of it, but yes, in the end, I was pretty sure you'd go. You are, after all, nothing if not determined.” Jon smiled down at her. “But Jon,” she began, “you'll be miserable. A dig-site is usually hot and dirty; and we'll be working in areas known to be infested with scorpions.” “I don't care.” Jon smiled. “I'd be more miserable at the thought of you out there somewhere with only Professor Danner to keep the wolves at bay.” “So then,” she said looking up at him with a grin, “I'm to think of you as an armed escort?” “Not exactly” Jon whispered, “more like a body guard”. “I like the sound of that.” Leslie said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “So do I!” added Hermione from the French doors leading out onto the terrace. Leslie and Jon turned to see Hermione walking toward them. “Didn't mean to eavesdrop”, she said, “but I couldn't help hearing your last remark, Jon.” “No problem” said Jon, with an easy smile. “I'm relieved you'll be going with her. Frankly, after what you told us at breakfast, I'd have been anxious for the rest of the summer. And besides,” Hermione added with a mischievous grin, looking at Leslie, “Can you imagine a nicer body guard?” 6 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 3. The Dark One 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. Authors' Note: Thanks to all of you who have already reviewed and read the first instalments of Summer in the Sahara. Your comments were much appreciated. For those of you who are not sure what to make of Leslie and Jon, let us say a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! This is, absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a Harry/Hermione fan fiction. Yes, we realize that people adore H/Hr and love reading about them (I ,The Heir Of Paravel, am the one, afterall, who gave you 30 plus chapters of H/Hr in Summer in Cornwall). So, we have a request. Be patient. Who and what Leslie and Jon are, and why they appear to be receiving so much attention at the beginning of this story, will all be revealed in good time. In the meantime, we both hope that you enjoy getting to know them and that you will have faith in us, the authors of Summer in Sahara, to offer you lots of time with Harry and Hermione in the many, many chapters to come. Once again, thank you for reading and reviewing. Chapter Two - The Dark One The desert night was still, the air hung heavy and low - stars obscured by a haze of clouds. The Fire Eaters were returning. A figure, clad not in wizard's robes, but in true Bedouin fashion, leaned against the sill of an upper window, deep in reflection. What news would they bring him tonight? His orders had remained the same for many months now. In addition to maintaining the security of his territories, the Fire Eaters were to bring him any papers, scraps of parchment, anything that might contain bits of information about the outside world. Usually, the tattered pages were meaningless, only rarely did they ever stumble on what he really wanted - hints of the wizarding world beyond his own. Information that could lead him to the glory and power he desperately craved - power that he had craved since his miserable youth. Born into poverty and deserted in his childhood by muggle parents, Dante roamed the streets of Morocco, prey to dark forces that lurk in the abandoned corners of the world. Begging and stealing were his only means of survival. Briefly, the nuns had taken him in, had tried to teach him of their singular god. But the other children had been cruel to the ignorant boy from the streets. They tormented and bullied him. One afternoon found Dante cornered in an alleyway near the crumbling catholic school by three of his classmates. There was no escape for the wily Dante this time. He was trapped and knew it. They were going to beat him senseless - he was sure of it. In his fear and anger, the unfocused magic ripped from his undernourished frame like a white hot flame. His attackers fell to their knees, gasping for breath, eyes bulging in terror. The magic was strangling them. Dante watched in satisfaction as one by one, they expired. Far from being horrified at what he had done, Dante was thrilled, enchanted by the mysterious power that had plainly come from somewhere deep inside him. From a rooftop above, a Bedouin wizard had watched the scene in the alleyway play out with interest. He recognized immediately what the boy had done - what the boy was. And so he sought him in the streets. In a low whisper, he said to Dante, “I know what you are, even if you do not…” Dante was fascinated, enthralled by the tales the wizard told him - tales of magic and spells, tales of prophecy and destiny. Dante never returned to the catholic school. He became, instead, apprentice to the Bedouin wizard - a wizard who was skilled but cruel. Dante and his master drifted westward across the Sahara from Tangiers to Oran, from Algiers to Tunis and Tripoli. And all the while, Dante was honing his abilities. Exploring the magic within him and using it with frightening regularity to enhance the life of his master, and his own. Dante listened each night at the fireside of Bedouin brothers to tales of the ancient legends, of the old magic and the old ways. What he liked best were stories of the Pharaohs with their powerful elixirs and incomprehensible treasures. He wanted to see Egypt, and in time he did. He saw Rameses' great temple, the Valley of the Kings, and the Pyramids. Standing alone in their chambers, a torch held high overhead, he traced with his fingers the hieroglyphics - the stories of the priests with their mysterious powers and cruel rituals. He marvelled. He memorized. The sublime beauty of the enshrined pharaohs only underscored in him the need for wealth and power. For Dante would not always have a master. He would grow tired of the old man's wheezing waffle and impatient with the endless retelling of past glory. He, Dante, had the courage to create a new glory of his own. He would not huddle in rags before pathetic takings. He, Dante, would seek the power fate had surely destined for him. And so Dante sought his own way - a way was increasingly savage. He gloried in the power he had over other men, the power to take their lives. Dante perfected the Dark ritual magic of the region - reviving the Fire Eaters after they had lain dormant for centuries. He was growing in strength and power. But absolute power still eluded him. Throughout the Sahara, the inner secrets of the ancient temples were still protected by curses and enchantments. Some he easily overcame, plundering the objects within. Others remained firmly fixed against him. He pounded his fist in frustration against the windowsill and began to pace the room. It was an obscenity to him that Dante, the Dark One as he now styled himself, a true son of the desert, could not breech these sanctuaries, while European wizards did it with apparent ease. So guileless were these European wizards. One by one, he began to ensnare them - to torture the secrets from them and force them to do his bidding. There had been twelve in all so far. Some had died from the unremitting pain, others simply went mad. A few still struggled in the fortress dungeons. A door creaked open behind him. A Fire Eater crept forward with the scrap of parchment taken off of the Tuareg leader. Dante seized it, his eyes darting hungrily across the page. “Ahh, yes” he hissed softly, a hideous grin splitting his face. It was a page from The Oracle. There was a photo of a long-haired European wizard outside one of the Pyramids at Giza. The caption read, “Gringott's Curse-Breaker Unlocks Treasure Within…” Returning the scrap Fire Eater's filthy hands he barked. “Bring this one to me” Wordless, the monstrosity swept from the room. “Perhaps this guest will be the one” Dante thought to himself, “Perhaps he shall have the honour of laying all the secrets of Heliopolis at my feet.” Maniacal laughter rang through the Chamber. In Cairo, Bill Weasley shuddered briefly as a strange chill passed over him then vanished as quickly as it had come. The houseguests at Paravel passed a carefree day. Harry luxuriated in the company of family and friends, the peace of the Cornish coast, and in Hermione's loving gaze. Their love was still a miracle to him; forged in the trials that were Voldemort, it burned even more brightly in the absence of his particular evil. Harry and Hermione remained intimately, deeply connected - a connection that was becoming more complete with each passing month. Their powers as a sorcerer and sorceress were continually cultivated under Dumbledore's watchful eye. Arabella was having a hard time thinking of them as individuals anymore. They had ceased to be plural and were becoming a singular, unstoppable entity. The sense of unity the hung around Harry and Hermione was almost tangible - as though “oneness” was something that could be seen and touched. “Ageless, timeless” Leslie had thought to herself as she watched them playing in the surf. “Yes,” she thought with a laugh, “actually playing.” It did her heart good to see them so entirely free of worry and care; to see them so still so obviously fascinated with each even though they had been engaged for months. Not unnaturally, her thoughts turned to Jon and to the future of their relationship. His electing, “No, insisting” she thought to herself, that he was going with her to the Sahara had stunned and moved her - a testimony to his devotion. She smiled, thinking for the millionth time how lucky she was to have met him, to have fallen in love with him and to have that love miraculously returned. But had it really been luck? In quiet reflection, Leslie considered the workings of fate and the surprising depth of their connection. This was no casual romance or heady affair, burning out after only few months of dating. At some level, she recognized that their relationship was a calling, a destiny to be embraced. From the time she first met him - a skinny, wide-eyed eleven year old on the Hogwart's express, to the night of the Yule Ball in their seventh year when, tall and dark, he had swept her off her feet, she had always felt unusually close to Jon and remarkably comfortable in his presence - as though she'd known him all her life. When the easy friendship turned to romance in their seventh year it had seemed the most natural thing in the world, but the speed at which they bonded took them both by surprise. Within days of their first real date (the Yule Ball), Leslie knew that she loved him. She waited weeks to tell him, but that didn't change the fact that her feelings for him had crystallized almost instantaneously. Their bond had a mystical quality about it. Even without the aid of the Cadeau Du Mer, Jon could project his thoughts to Leslie, and from time to time, receive hers. Leslie's unusual empathic abilities enabled her to sense in him a wellspring of ability and power that was at times difficult to fathom - and even harder to control. In times of crisis - in moments of intense emotion, his true powers bubbled to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him. In one such moment, they made an amazing discovery - by drawing on Leslie's powers, Jon could control his own and empower her as well. It was almost cliché - their whole was greater than the sum of their parts. Their closeness, their telepathy, their shared powers were dots, waiting to be connected. Upon closer reflection, Leslie realized that there had been lots of these dots, all driving her toward an inescapable conclusion. She recalled the instance when she had been with Jon in Diagon Alley and a seemingly ancient witch - a medium, had left her tea leaves and tarot cards to embrace Jon saying over and over in a sort of wild detached voice, “You found her, again…you found her…now, things will come right.” She recalled, too, the odd sensation she'd experienced when the aged psychic had taken her (Leslie's) hand and placed it firmly in Jon's before strolling away, cackling madly to herself. Perhaps the most compelling evidence of their connection was the dream. Jon had been haunted by a nightmare, the same one without fail since he turned fifteen. After the night of the Yule Ball, Leslie found herself tormented nightly by the same dream - an unwilling participant. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to re-experience it: She watches Jon standing in ruined temple in the dead of night. She sees herself at his side. There is no moon. Stars shine overhead, providing the only light to guide them on - guide them forward. Once there had been light - the light from a thousand suns, but no more. They reach the altar, shattered now, but magnificent in its day. At their feet are the broken pieces of a tablet. The tablet they have come to find. Picking up a piece of the ancient object, they trace name after name after name after name with their fingers. Hundreds of names, and places and hours and days all enumerated, once coordinated, lie hewn and separated leaving their world spinning wildly out of control. Life - happening at random was a horror… A flutter of wings recalled Leslie from her thoughts. A shadow whizzed suddenly across the beach towel where she had been reading. Leslie looked up, squinting against the sun to see Pigwidgeon, Ron Weasley's owl, circling frantically overhead. Pig managed to elude nearly everyone on the beach before finally settling on Harry's arm, twittering madly. Hermione held the tiny owl still while Harry detached the message from Ron. Unfolding the letter, Harry quickly scanned it, and then swore. “What is it Harry?” Hermione asked, immediately concerned. In a strained voice, Harry said. “Bill Weasley's disappeared - somewhere in Egypt.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 4. The Burrow and Beyond 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: SEX. Now that we have your attention, we'd like to say “thank you” to all those who have read and reviewed Summer in the Sahara. Thank you, too, for your willingness to accept new characters. Don't worry, you'll be getting ever increasing doses of Harry and Hermione from here on out. And, as to the “who” and “what” of what Jon and Leslie are? It will be revealed as the story progresses. Last but not least, to those who have asked about the Deeper Magic series, it is comprised of: Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix, Summer in Cornwall, Summer in the Sahara, and a yet-to-be written piece called Harry Potter and the Tablet of Destiny. Thank you again for your readership and your feedback. We look forward to more. Enjoy! Chapter Three - The Burrow and Beyond There was an immediate uproar on the beach. Sirius, Remus, Jon and Leslie crowded around Harry and Hermione. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. “When did it happen?” “What else do they say?” “There must be something we can do…” Sirius raised a hand for silence. “What does the letter say, Harry?” “Just that he's missing for over a week now, and that the Weasley's are frantic. They're asking for our help.” he said, tensely. “They want us to come to the Burrow as soon as we can, but there are no details beyond that.” Harry held up the hastily written note, Ron's scrawl nearly illegible with haste and worry. Harry's face had paled slightly beneath his tan. He looked ready to apparate directly to the Burrow. Hermione laid a hand on his arm. “We'll need to get a few things together first,” she said quietly, having correctly sensed his desire to rush headlong to the Burrow. He nodded, and then glanced around. “Who's going?” he asked, looking from face to face. “Count me in,” said Sirius. “And me,” from Remus. Jon looked a question at Leslie, who inclined her head slightly. “Us too,” Jon said, answering for them both. Harry was gratified. “Right, then. I'll send Pig back with a note to Ron to let him know we're coming. In the meantime, we should get packed.” “And let Dumbledore know…” Hermione added thoughtfully. Belongings were gathered hastily from the sand. Without much conversation, they sped along the cliff path and back to Paravel. Harry dispatched Pig immediately back to the burrow, then sent a second message to Dumbledore with Hedwig. Arabella became quite distracted at the idea that all of them leaving for the desert and insisted that Hopkins prepare “rations”. What these were, no one knew, but each member of the “search and rescue” team was forced to accept a few lumpy bundles wrapped in brown paper and smelling distinctly like the mixed fragrances of the larder. It was well past midnight, but no one could sleep. Hermione was packing and re-packing spell books, Leslie was reviewing her maps of the Sahara obsessively, and Jon was writing (for the second time) to his sister, Jules Clift, Ministry Ambassador to Morocco. Remus was in Paravel's small potion's chamber assembling a kit of highly useful and extremely powerful magical elements for each member of the party, while Harry and Sirius paced the terrace restlessly. Godfather and godson, so alike, were men of action. It was maddening to them to watch the minutes and hours tick past without doing something. But Dumbledore's owl had been quite clear. No one was to leave Paravel until morning. It would take time to arrange each critical portkey. After much discussion and several exchanges by owl to Dumbledore, they had decided that in the morning, Harry, Hermione and Sirius would apparate to the Burrow to offer the Weasley's what comfort they could, get any additional facts, and then form (with members of the Weasley family) a search party destined for Cairo. Remus, Leslie and Jon would wait at Paravel for a portkey to arrive from Dumbledore which would take them directly to the Ministry Embassy in Morocco where they would receive further instructions from Jules Clift. Morning found Harry, Hermione and Sirius in Paravel's elegant foyer, bags in hand, prepared to apparate to the Burrow. Leslie hugged Hermione tightly, saying, “See you in a few days. Tell the Weasley's not to worry…we'll find him.” Leslie's voice was strained, but she managed a small smile. “Careful out there,” Remus said quietly, hugging Hermione and giving Harry a look that plainly said, “Take care of her”. Jon stretched out a hand saying, “God speed, Harry.” There was a flash of preternatural light from Jon's eyes and Harry felt a slight jolt, then tingling spreading up his arm. Inexplicably, Harry suddenly felt certain that they would find Bill - that they would save him. But this curious exchange had gone unnoticed by the other members of the party. Arabella addressed Sirius, “I am not to hear that even so much as a hair on anyone's head has been harmed. Do you understand?” He nodded and hugged her, for despite her fierce words, there were tears glistening in her eyes. “Best be off then,” said Sirius and with a “pop”, he, Harry and Hermione apparated to the Burrow. Hermione lurched against Harry slightly as a rush of wind surrounded them. She righted herself quickly as her feet touched the solid floor of the Weasley's kitchen. There was a murmur of noise from the family that had gathered at the breakfast table, unable to eat the food Molly had prepared. An unnatural quiet hung over the usual lively Burrow. The cheerful banter that accompanied most meals was absent, replaced by a silent strain. Worried faces turned in the direction of the party from Paravel. Molly's eyes were red-rimmed. Ginny was pale. When Hermione hugged them both, Molly came dangerously close to breaking down, but by sheer force of will, did not. Ron got awkwardly to his feet to greet Harry and Sirius. There were dark shadows under his eyes and he looked thinner. Ron managed a weak smile and gestured to the empty chairs at the table. “Morning Arthur,” Sirius said quietly, directing his attention to the head of the table where Arthur Weasley sat heavily, clearly consumed with worry. Arthur lifted his head at the sound of his name and Harry was shocked. Mr. Weasley's eyes had a haunted, dead look about them. His voice was toneless as he spoke. “Thank you for coming,” he said, directing his gaze to Sirius, Harry, and Hermione in turn. “I only hope it's not too late.” “Tell us everything Arthur, - everything you know…” Sirius said, with the air of someone who would never accept the idea that it was too late. In halting sentences (and with a few interruptions from Molly), Arthur explained that Bill had been expected to deliver the contents of a newly curse-freed tomb to a colleague from Gringott's some ten days ago, but that Bill had never arrived. The colleague waited for two days before notifying anyone at Gringott's home office in the hopes that Bill had just been unavoidably detained, knowing that he would turn-up eventually with a big grin on his face and sacks of gold in tow. Bill had done things like this hundreds of times - after all, curse-breaking was an inexact science. But by the third day, the colleague grew worried and contacted the home office. Gringott's officials requested assistance from local authorities, but without much success. In the mind's of Cairo officials, if a wizard with a fantastic treasure disappears, it is more likely to be theft than kidnapping - and theft from Gringott's was always handled “internally” so to speak. So, in typical bureaucratic fashion, Cairo authorities paid only lip-service to the request from Gringott's to locate Bill and did, essentially nothing about his disappearance. At this news, Sirius made a derisive noise. “Nothing's been done - for ten days. And they've only just told you?” Arthur mumbled something that sounded like an acknowledgement. “But the trail may have gone cold by now!” Sirius roared in frustration. In a wooden voice, Arthur said, “I'm leaving today. I'm going there myself to find him,” He paused, looking around at his family, “and you are not going with me.” There was a general uproar among the red-heads present. Molly Weasley got to her feet, silencing everyone. “Your father is absolutely right. I am out of my mind with worry as it is…how do you think I'll feel if the rest of you are out there as well?” Fred and George looked defiant. “We're qualified wizards, and we're of age.” Fred said, matter-of-factly, “You can hardly stop us.” Molly's hands were on her hips. Her mouth a thin line. “And if Harry's going, then you know I am.” Ron said quickly. “Same goes for me,” Ginny said, chiming in. “If Hermione's going, then so am I.” But here, Molly Weasley drew the line. “You are most certainly not going, Ginny. Put the idea right out of your mind, because you are not to set one foot outside of Ottery St. Catchpole. Do you understand?” Ginny made a face, but fell silent. “So that's it then,” said Arthur quietly looking at them all. “Sirius, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and I will leave at once for Cairo.” Arthur straightened his shoulders. His voice seemed more normal and it was filled with purpose. “I'll arrange a portkey with the Ministry immediately. Meanwhile at Paravel… Arabella, Jon, Leslie, and Remus stood staring at the spot where Harry, Hermione, and Sirius had just been standing. No one spoke. At last, Remus broke the silence. “C'mon you two,” he said eyeing Jon and Leslie, “let's get the last of things together before Dumbledore arrives.” “Dumbledore?” echoed Jon, surprised. `He should be here shortly.” Arabella said smoothly. “Dumbledore will be bringing your portkey to Morocco personally.” “Is he going with us then?” Leslie said, sounding both relieved and hopeful. “No, my dear,” Arabella said with a slight shake of her head. `His duties at Hogwarts and to the Ministry prevent him from entering into any long absences from England.” Arabella saw Leslie's face fall slightly. “But,” she continued gently, “he has every confidence in your abilities, Leslie - as he does in yours, Jon.” “Thank you,” Leslie murmured, giving Arabella a hug. “She's right, you know,” said a voice behind them. The tall figure of a wizard was framed in the doorway to the sitting room. The long silvery white beard and twinkling eyes were unmistakable. Dumbledore had arrived. Arabella embraced him immediately. He gave her a knowing smile, then turned to Jon, Leslie, and Remus. “Time is short I'm afraid, and there is much to be said. Join me, please.” Dumbledore said, sweeping into the sitting room, his robes flaring out behind him - for despite his age, he still possessed great energy. Dumbledore eased into a large armchair and bid the others be seated as well. “It seems fairly certain,” he began, “that Bill Weasley is being held captive by the wizard widely known as `The Dark One'. Jon stirred uncomfortably in his chair, remembering the atrocities Jules had described. Dumbledore continued. “What is not certain is for what purpose he is being held. Prior to Bill's disappearance, twelve other highly qualified witches and wizards went missing in the same area - presumably as a result of some encounter with the Dark One. Although we can't be certain, it would seem that these individuals possessed some talents or abilities the Dark One wants or needs. Directly, or indirectly, he's using their knowledge and power for some larger purpose, but what that is, I cannot say.” Leslie felt a knot building in the pit of her stomach. “How would you have us proceed, Dumbledore?” asked Remus coolly, as if he were merely asking for input on a class lecture. “Carefully, thoughtfully, and un-emotionally if possible,” Dumbledore said with a slight smile, “But, barring that, just as you have intended. Go to the Embassy in Morocco and learn what you can as to this wizards movements and whereabouts. Seek his motivations, seek his lair, seek his destination and you will find Bill and with any luck, the other witches and wizards that are being held against their will.” Dumbledore turned to Jon and fixed him in an unblinking blue-eyed stare. “Jonathan…” he began then dropped his voice slightly, becoming more familiar, “Jon, I know the burden you carry better than you know it yourself. I know how you've been working to master it, and to discover its origins. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed by me - nor will your abilities go unnoticed by those who seek to harm you. As you seek Bill - as you face your destinies in the desert - do not give way to the emotions that would cloud your judgement and give rise to the demon that great power can be. Seek another, find yourself. But do not think for a moment that you carry this burden alone. Draw on the strength of those around you - allow them to aid you and sustain you, just as you would do for them.” Dumbledore's gaze flicked almost imperceptibly to Leslie, then back to Jon. “Yes Albus,” Jon said in a low voice. Dumbledore turned his attention to Leslie. “You had planned to seek for something in the desert already, had you not?” Leslie was a bit taken aback, “Yes, I had, but that can certainly be put on hold until….” Dumbledore interrupted her, “That is exactly what you must not do. You must find the Cadeau Du Soleil. Find it before The Dark One even realises it exists - before he can put it to his own uses. He must not have access to objects of such power. Destroy them if you have to, but don't let them be used for dark purposes.” Leslie was stunned, but nodded slowly. Dumbledore's voice became more gentle, “And don't underestimate your own powers. You may think of yourself as a handmaiden to a wizard greater than yourself, but you are not. You have the power to read men's hearts - and in that sense, their truth. No mind reader can do that.” Leslie found herself on the verge of tears. Dumbledore patted her hand and then addressed them all. “Never forget, you are only as strong as you are united. Stay together, work together, and you will succeed.” Silence fell over the group as each considered his words. From deep within the folds of his robes, Dumbledore drew out an ornate silver-backed mirror and handed it to Remus saying, “This mirror is part of a set of two. You have one, Sirius now has the other. They have been enchanted to allow you to communicate with each other, no matter the distance between you. When you want or need a member of the other search party, simply look in the mirror and speak his name. You'll be able to talk easily with one another.” “Thank you sir,” said Remus, pocketing the mirror. “And now, are you all ready?” Dumbledore asked. Hastily getting to their feet and slinging bags over their shoulders, they nodded. Dumbledore conjured an alabaster box (about the size of a cigar box) from thin air. It had a hinged lid and on the top there was an etching of a phoenix. “Is that Fawkes?” Jon asked, recognizing the figure immediately. Dumbledore smiled. “It is indeed,” he said, delighted at Jon's quick eye. There was more to the young wizard than appearances would suggest. “Contained in this box are the ashes from Fawkes' last burning day. I think you may find them most helpful to you in the not too distant future.” Dumbledore said, drawing out his wand. He pointed it at the box and said distinctly, “Portus”. The box glowed blue for a moment and shook violently in his hand, then became still. He held it out gingerly to Leslie who took it in trembling fingers. Jon and Remus stepped forward to lay a hand on each side of the box. “Good Luck, my friends,” Dumbledore said just as Leslie felt the characteristic jerk behind her navel. The sitting room disappeared and Paravel was gone. ***** At the Burrow… Arthur apparated to his ministry office to arrange their portkey to Cairo. In his absence, Molly, much like Arabella, fell to packing knapsacks of food and extra clothes for the unusual, if not extraordinary “rescue” team that had assembled in her kitchen. Sirius turned to Fred and George, “What about Charlie? Isn't he coming?” “Dunno,” said George. “Dad owled him, but we haven't heard from him yet.” Fred shrugged, “Maybe he'll just meet us there - you know, apparate or something.” “I suppose.” said Sirius slowly, scratching his chin, “We could really use Charlie if he can make it.” Ginny piped up from behind Sirius, “Oh, he'll make it. Once he knows Bill's in trouble, he'll turn up. Our family are that way.” Ginny lowered her voice and winked at Sirius, “Sometimes, we just…turn up…if you know what I mean.” Sirius eyed her suspiciously and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing to Molly. In truth, he admired Ginny's spirit. Arthur returned in less than an hour carrying what appeared to be a bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey in a gloved hand. Molly gaped at him, “That's the portkey!?” He shrugged, “I think the fellows down in the Department of Magical Transportation thought it might come in handy…well…afterward.” Sirius privately agreed. Arthur looked like a man who could use a stiff drink. When everyone was ready, and after Molly had made not one, but two rounds of tearful good-byes, Arthur gathered everyone around the bottle. It was a tight squeeze getting Harry, Hermione, Ron, George, Fred, Sirius, Arthur and all their things around the bottle, but at last, when everyone seemed to be making firm contact, Arthur closed his eyes to concentrate on the spell to activate the portkey. In so doing, he failed to notice Ginny creeping slowly on hands and knees through the group, lunging at the last second to touch the very bottom of the bottle with an outstretched hand. Ginny felt the characteristic jerk behind her navel and knew that she had done it. She was enormously pleased with herself, not minding in the least how mad everyone was going to be. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 5. East and West Authors' note: The Essence of Deep Magic To our beloved readers. This note is more an explanation of something that seems to have vexed some of you. Please allow us to lift the veil of confusion from your minds. Many of you have wondered why “Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix” (by Jon Clift) is described as “Part One of the Deeper Magic Series”, when it takes place at the same time as “Summer In Cornwall”(by The Heir Of Paravel) which is “Part Two.” To best explain this we need to tell you that “Cornwall” and “The Prophecy,” do in fact take part in the same timeframe - but NOT the same reality. Think of it as this: “The Prophecy” is one river, “Cornwall” is another. They begin in different areas of a country, but they eventually wind their way towards the sea, gradually growing closer and closer until the two rivers merge. Where they merge is “Summer in the Sahara”. Furthermore, this Great River has not yet reached the sea. Thus, when it does, you shall find “Harry Potter and the Tablet of Destiny.” Think of the Deeper Magic Series as a Trilogy in 4 parts (for the moment). Therefore it would be impossible for us to reveal anything about the Prophecy because it would detract from your (the readers') enjoyment and would also give away far too much information about “Sahara” and “Tablet.” We sincerely hope that we have answered you all to your satisfaction, but, in-case we have not, please feel free to rate & review, and e-mail us any further queries you might have. Yours in Fellowship, Jon Clift Author of “Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix” Co-Author (with The Heir Of Paravel) of Summer in the Sahara And The Heir Of Paravel Author of “Summer In Cornwall” Co-Author (with Jon Clift) of 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 Four - East and West Almost simultaneously, two parties of wizards were transported from their homeland in England to the burning sands of the great Sahara desert. One party arrived at the extreme western side of the Sahara - in Morocco with its crowded streets and sordid past. The other party found themselves at the extreme eastern side of the Sahara - in ancient Cairo with its kings and temples. Somewhere in between - in the dungeon of a dark wizard, was Bill Weasley. He sat, chained to the wall, manacles at his feet and ankles. His head hung limply on his chest, his red hair dirty and dishevelled. On his face and hands were the bruises and gashes he'd gotten the night the Fire Eaters appeared in Cairo - looking for him. Bill had put up a terrific fight, but in the end, he'd been overpowered. Now, more than ten days later, deprived of adequate water and food, he was too weak even to apparate. Each day, The Dark One brought Bill before him. Each day, the Dark One sought by one means or another to force the red-headed wizard to do his bidding, and each day he stubbornly refused. Danté had raged and screamed, had cursed him and beaten him - but to no avail. Bill infinitely preferred torture to the idea that he might somehow enable a truly deranged wizard to gain a stronger foothold in the magical world. But Bill was getting weaker and the torture more excruciating. From his corner of the dimly lit dungeon, Bill breathed in the foul smelling air, then exhaled with a trembling breath, `They'd better find me soon…” ***** Remus Lupin felt his feet hit something firm and heard the crunch of gravel. The rushing wind ceased and he opened his eyes. He, Leslie and Jon were in the front courtyard of the Ministry of Magic Embassy in Morocco. The Embassy lay on one of Morocco's main thoroughfares (such as it was). High walls (undoubtedly enchanted) separated the courtyard from the noise and confusion of the street beyond, and although Remus could see the hustle and bustle going on outside through ornamental “peeps” in the walls - he could not hear it. Inside the walls, the courtyard was a kind of paradise - a tiered fountain, laid with intricate tile work splashed in the centre. Monkeys chattered among large palms and brightly coloured birds darted among lush plantings and exotic flowers. And the smell…it was hard to describe. Emanating from the very air around them was a sort of perfume - dusky and spicy, like curry and cinnamon, but sweet at the same time, reminiscent of dates or fruit. Leslie inhaled deeply, and then looked around, charmed by the otherworldliness of it all. At the sound of flying feet, she turned to see an attractive woman, skimming down a flight of stone steps toward them. “Jules!” Jon cried, stepping forward to meet his sister, the Ministry Ambassador to Morocco. Julia Clift, in striking contrast to Jon's height, was petite. Her eyes were warm and full of laughter, her smile genuine and all-embracing. She wore flowing robes in an ancient pattern that set off her curved figure nicely. At her throat and wrists were ropes of precious stones - woven into a fine mesh of gold by native craftsmen. Leslie caught her breath. Jules Clift was not in the least like any stuffy ambassador she had ever heard of before. She was like one of the exotic flowers growing in the courtyard - looking more like a high priestess than someone who had regular staff meetings on Monday mornings. Jon folded Jules into a great hug, picking her up off of her feet. When at last he set her down, Jules turned to Remus Lupin. “So glad to see you again, Remus, how long has it been?” she asked. Remus looked thoughtful for a moment. “Three years, I think,” he said slowly, “And you haven't changed a bit. In fact if anything you're looking even more lovely,” he said with a smile. “Clearly, the foreign service suites you.” Jules threw back her head and laughed, a sweet rippling sort of laugh and said, “You flatter me, Remus.” Eyeing him closely she said, “You have changed in three years. I never realized the toll the Werewolf's curse was taking on you - until now. It's like I'm looking at another man altogether. If I didn't know better, I'd swear that you weren't Remus Lupin, but his younger brother.” Now it was Remus's turn to laugh. “You never change do you?” he said, giving her a great hug. Jules now turned her attention to Leslie. Taking both of Leslie's hands in her own she said, “Welcome to Morocco. You've no idea how glad I am to finally meet you after hearing so much about you these last few years from Jon.” Leslie was a trifle flustered and simultaneously delighted. `Years?' she thought to herself. `He's been writing to Jules about us for the last few years?' “Oh…I…” Leslie stammered uncharacteristically before regaining her senses and her manners, “Thank you, Jules. It's a real pleasure to meet you and to be here finally, although, I wish the circumstances were happier ones.” “True enough,” said Jules, “And speaking of those circumstances, there are parties inside most anxious to meet with you. But let's get you settled into your rooms first.” And, looping her arm companionably through Leslie's, Jules led them through a side door in the courtyard to a long, low wing of the Embassy. They passed through double mahogany doors into a circular room with a domed ceiling. Here, too, there was elaborate tile work in lapis lazuli, deep garnet, and amber. The room was set about with comfortable looking chairs and sofas, and the odd writing desk. Potted palms were placed strategically throughout, and sunlight filtered in through skylights in the dome and small windows near the ceiling. It was cool, pleasant, and utterly tranquil. “This wing is part of the Embassy's private residential quarters.” Jules said. “That passage leads to the Embassy's receiving areas for the public, and that passage,” she said, turning around, “leads to the guest rooms. And now, if you'll follow me…” Jules smiled and strode briskly down a carpeted corridor offset by a series of louver doors. Stopping outside a door approximately half way down the hall, she said to Remus. “For you, kind sir…” and opened the door. He stepped inside gratefully and flung his bag on the bed. “Meet you back in the lounge in…half an hour?” he said. “Perfect,” said Jules, who conducted Leslie and Jon to rooms slightly further down and across the hall. Leslie was delighted with her room. It was spacious and airy. Filtered light from high opaque windows fell softly on a double-bed that had been draped in mosquito netting. Teak chairs and a rattan writing desk were in one corner, with a lacquered oriental bureau in the other. A few thick rugs were laid across a highly polished wood floor. Orchids had been arranged artistically in vases that dotted the room. A ceiling fan turned slowly overhead. “Thank you, Jules,” Leslie breathed, carefully setting her bags in a nearby chair. “Not at all,” Jules said breezily, throwing open the door to the adjoining bathroom. Stacks of thick white towels sat on shelves near an overlarge clawfooted bathtub with brass fixtures. A glass-doored curio held a variety of shampoos and soaps. Two pedestal sinks stood impressively on the opposite wall, each with their own mirrors. Leslie was still taking it all it, when a door on the opposite side of the bath opened. Jon's dark head appeared around the corner. “Sharing are we?” he asked with a grin. Before Leslie could answer, Jules said, “You don't mind do you dear? Normally, you could have the whole bath to yourself, but at the moment, we're playing host to the French Ambassador and his entire attaché corps. It's left us a bit full.” “No…not a problem…” Leslie said, slowly. “Soon enough, we'll all be in tents anyway, even shared, this bathroom is a luxury.” Jules seemed pleased with her answer. “Well then, freshen up a bit, and meet me back in the lounge in half an hour, alright?” As she left, she inclined her head in Jon's direction and said, “Behave”. She gave him a sisterly wink, and floated out, her robes billowing behind her. In Cairo… They landed in a tangle of arms and legs on a dirt street. It was a full minute before Arthur realised Ginny was there. He stared at her open-mouthed. Bright red patches appeared on his cheeks. Harry saw him inhale sharply. Arthur Weasley was about to explode - and Arthur Weasley rarely exploded (if ever). “Ginny!” he said sharply as she scrambled to her feet, “what on earth do you think you're doing here?” Ginny's shoulders were high and squared, her chin thrust forward slightly. “The same as the rest of you…I'm here to find Bill.” Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Ginny, these wizards, or whoever it is that has Bill…they have powers beyond what you're equipped to deal with. They…” But Ginny cut him off, “Beyond what I could deal with alone, maybe. Perhaps beyond what any of you could deal with alone. You need my help - you need me.” She said, her voice growing increasingly loud. Arthur was on the verge of responding when a figure in native robes swept toward them. Walking directly toward Arthur, a dark skinned, dark eyed man raised a finger to his lips and hissed urgently, “Shhhhh.” “I am Samir”, he said, speaking quietly, “I work for your Ministry. Follow me please.” Without another word, the man turned and moved purposefully away down the street. Arthur, Sirius, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny seized their bags and followed. He led them to the bazaar, past the vendors and merchants, through “old” Cairo and onto a narrow street with washing stretched across it every few yards. He paused outside a tumbledown building and rapped sharply at the door. It was opened at once by a figure entirely covered in robes and veils - presumably a woman. As Samir beckoned them inside, Harry instinctively reached for his wand. This “Samir” had shown no credentials…for all anyone knew, he could be The Dark One himself. Sirius was evidently thinking along the same lines. Harry noticed that he had taken his wand out and was directing it at Samir. Arthur addressed their dark-skinned host, “I say,” he said in an odd voice that sounded like he was reading from a script. “It's terribly hot here.” There was a long pause. Samir replied, “Yes, but not as hot as it's been in Kensington Gardens.” As strange as this conversation seemed to Harry, it was perfectly understandable to Hermione. It was Ministry code. But was it the right code? Evidently, it was, for a smile of relief broke over Arthur's face and he shook Samir's hand warmly. “Thank you for meeting us. We're so grateful for any assistance you can give us.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed that Sirius lowered his wand, but didn't put it away. Samir bowed slightly to Arthur, saying, “You travel with quite a large group, sir. I did not expect so….many.” He finished a trifle awkwardly. “Yes, well, not all of us are staying on…” said Arthur, eyeing Ginny. “Allow me to introduce you, Samir.” Arthur said, turning to the group behind him. “These are our friends, Sirius Black, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger.” “An honour to meet you,” Samir said, “your reputations precede you.” He bowed again. “And these are my children, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny,” Arthur continued. Samir's eyes travelled over the four of them, “You have been blessed many times, then Mr. Weasley, to have so many children.” “Thank you.” Arthur said shortly, ready to turn the conversation from those children present, to the son made noticeably by his absence. “Have you any news of Bill?” Before answering, Samir led them to the center of the room. Cushions and pillows covered faded Persian rugs. “Please, sit,” Samir said, kneeling on the floor. They formed an irregular circle around him. “It is as we feared, Mr. Weasley. Your son was taken from his rooms in Cairo by Fire Eaters - the servants of the Dark One. We have eyewitness accounts.” Ginny made a small gasping noise. Ron shifted his feet uncomfortably and looked at the floor. “Samir, we know that Bill isn't the first wizard to have been taken…do you know for what purpose people are being abducted?” “I have no proof, sir, only suspicions.” Samir said flatly. “And what are your suspicions?” Sirius asked. Samir looked thoughtful, as if choosing his words carefully. “The Dark One is not a true Egyptian, nor is he a true Arab. He appears to be seeking legitimacy and power. With his Fire Eaters, he has been, for years, quietly seeking out those people and objects that could enrich his abilities. He has raided tombs, ransacked temples, and laid waste to villages. When his own powers have been inadequate, he usurps the power of another. Or, in this case, several others.” “You're saying he takes wizards because he needs their help?” Ron asked. Samir turned his dark eyes on Ron. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Whispered voices from the desert tell us that he is now seeking his greatest prize to date. But he'll never claim it without a wizard like your brother to break the enchantments surrounding it.” “What prize, Samir? What does he seek?' Arthur asked, urgently. “The Cadeau Du Soleil.” “Ah's”, gasps, and murmurs swept through the group. “The what?” Arthur asked. For Arthur, like most wizards, had never realized that the Cadeau Du Mer had companion pieces, much less that they were hidden somewhere in the Sahara desert. Harry, Hermione, and Sirius, knew, having learned of its existence from Leslie only recently, but they kept cautiously silent - curious to see what Samir might say about this powerful set of objects. “You do not know of them?” Samir replied, “I shouldn't wonder, for many believe that they exist only in myth or legend, if at all.” “But what are they?” asked Ron, who, alone among the Weasley's, could guess at the nature of the Cadeau Du Soleil, because of his two best friends, sitting just behind him, were wearing the Cadeau Du Mer. “The Cadeau Du Soleil are part of the legend of Heliopolis - the City of the Sun. Heliopolis is, or was, an ancient city - the home of a powerful prophet and the birthplace of the phoenix.” Samir let this sink in, watching the expressions on the pale European faces around him, wondering if they could possibly grasp the significance of what he was telling them. “Within Heliopolis, there was said to be a magnificent temple - a monumental tribute to the Prophet of the Phoenix, who was himself a powerful wizard - a sorcerer, I believe you call it. According to legend, the Prophet was benevolent, judicious, and devoted to the well-being of those in the ancient world - magic and non-magic alike, patiently seeking to instruct, uplift, comfort and prosper those around him. For this, he has much beloved, as was his wife, a powerful witch in her own right. The Prophet and his wife were aided in their efforts not only by their own innate magic, but also by countless magical objects, and of course, by Benu, the First Phoenix. One of these objects (or set of objects, I should say) was the Cadeau Du Soleil - the gifts of the Sun. They were believed to be an amulet, worn by the Prophet's wife, and a ring, worn by the Prophet. The Cadeau Du Soleil purportedly endowed them with certain enhanced abilities, although exactly what, it's hard to say. Some conjecture that it was the power of the Cadeau Du Soleil that gave the Prophet his “sight”, but no one can really be sure. It is doubtful, however that it was the sole source of his “sight”, for the Prophet came to power long before the first mention of the Cadeau Du Soleil and of Benu..” “And you're saying the Dark One is trying to obtain the Cadeau Du Soleil for himself?” Arthur asked, a look of concern on his face. “That is what we fear.” said Samir, gravely. It was all beginning to make sense now. “So the Dark One intends to use Bill's talent as a curse breaker to find and secure the Cadeau Du Soleil?” Sirius said, speaking for the first time. “It is the logical conclusion,” Samir replied. “Good Lord,” Arthur said, quietly, glad that Molly was at home and not hearing all this. He turned and looked at Sirius, who seemed to comprehend more fully than any of them the danger of a dark wizard suddenly endowed with the gift of near perfect “sight”. It made the urgency in the pit of Arthur's stomach far worse than it had been, if that were possible. “Samir, I must get my daughter, Ginny, home. She cannot remain here. Can you arrange a portkey for her?” Samir frowned. His forehead wrinkled slightly. “Of course, a portkey can be arranged, but it is not as simple here as it is England. There will have to be a series of owls between the Egyptian Ministry and your Ministry in London. It might take…..a week perhaps.” “A week!” Arthur bellowed. Behind him, Ginny, Fred and George smiled broadly. “But how are we to keep her out of harm's way for a week?” Samir seemed unmoved by this outburst, “In the same manner that we intend to protect the rest of your party, sir.” He snapped his fingers and the veiled woman returned carrying native robes of all description. “It is the considered opinion of the intelligence agencies within my ministry and yours that a large group of European wizards moving around Cairo is likely to attract unwanted attention. At the very least, attention that may interfere with your attempts to find your son, at the worst, attention that may place you at risk of finding yourself imprisoned along side him. Therefore,” said Samir evenly, “we suggest a scheme designed to enable you to search for your son more discreetly.” “What sort of scheme?” Arthur asked. “It is our intention to have you pose as a group of wealthy industrialists from the UAE (United Arab Emirates) here to provide financial backing for a group of archaeologists and to purchase certain oil rights in the desert.” Samir replied, taking the robes from the native woman and handing them around. “Brilliant, Samir. Brilliant plan,” said Arthur, receiving his robes gratefully. Arthur, Sirius, Fred, George, Harry, and Ron's robes were fairly typical of the native robes they had already seen as they crossed Cairo to Samir's “safe house”, although perhaps a bit nicer. The “garments” given to Ginny and Hermione were not typical of anything they had seen in Cairo, or anywhere else for that matter. There were headpieces and veils, not dissimilar to that of the women they had seen in the market place. It was the rest of the robes that were in striking contrast. Hermione held the flimsy garments up for inspection as Fred and George burst into laughter. Hermione's face when completely white - first with shock, then with fury at Fred and George. “What's the matter Hermione?” Fred asked with an air of assumed innocence, “can't find a pocket for your wand?” “You know perfectly well what the matter is,” she snapped. “I can't go around dressed in...these”. Samir bowed and addressed Hermione, speaking to her directly, “They may seem...unconventional to you ma'am, but I assure you they are common enough in this region. This attire will afford you a measure of protection that is critical to your safety and to the safety of your party.” Hermione looked at Harry in mute appeal. Turning to Samir, Harry said, “And you're sure this is… this…necessary?” “For her own safety, and to conceal your identities, it would be best if she and Miss Weasley assumed the look and manner of the women in this region - an elite class of woman, certainly, but still, of this region.” Hermione felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably… “look and manner”… “an elite class of woman”. She spoke stiffly to Samir, “And to what class of woman do you refer? What manner am I to assume?” Her voice had a dangerous edge that Harry knew all too well. Samir, was seemingly unaware of any flaws in his carefully laid plans and answered mildly, “Why, that of the concubine, of course.” Absolute, total, dead silence. He continued, “Your manner should be subservient, your eyes down-cast. Naturally, in public, you would walk five to ten steps behind the men in your party and of course, you shouldn't speak unless one of them addresses you.” To their undying credit, Fred and George had somehow managed to keep quiet during most of Samir's casual explanation of Hermione's and Ginny's new wardrobe, but the last line was too much to bear. A burst of laughter ripped from Fred and George as though someone had exploded a paper bag. They clutched their sides from the delicious ache of uncontrolled laughter. Tears rolled down their faces. Ron grinned. Even Sirius chuckled softly, under his breath. Ginny's response was perhaps the most practical…she hexed Fred and George with a speed and severity that would have made any auror jealous. “Petrificus Totalus,” she hissed, as a jet of red sparks enveloped the mirth-filled twins. They fell, like oversized bookends, to the floor in the throes of the full body bind. Arthur was vexed. “Ginny!” he said sharply. She said nothing, but with a look of satisfaction, put away her wand. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 6. Desert Rose 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.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 7. Sands in the Hour Glass 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”. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 8. Flowers In The Desert 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: Thank you for all your kind comments and helpful reviews of the preceding chapters of Summer in the Sahara.They are deeply appreciated.We hope you continue to review and enjoy not only this story, but the other components of the Deeper Magic Series as well.The other components include Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix by Prophet of the Phoenix, as well as Summer in Cornwall and We Fools Who Love by the Heir of Paravel. For those of you have been troubled/concerned by the series of events presented in the Epilogue(s) to Summer in Cornwall and their relationship to this story, we’d like to explain. Summer in the Sahara takes place in the summer immediately following Summer in Cornwall – before Harry and Hermione have graduated and before they have married. For those of you who have asked about Harry and Hermione’s children (mentioned in the Epilogues of Summer in Cornwall), they will have their own story.It’s called The Children of Godric’s Hollow and has not yet been fully written – as soon as we feel it’s ready, you’ll know about it. Last but not least, for those of you who would prefer a bit more of H/Hr and a bit less of other characters, we understand, we really do.They are a great couple.One of the great things about them is that they run around with great people – people we want you to meet.Thanks for your patience and for keeping an open mind where and whenever possible. Thank you again for your continued readership! ~*~ Chapter Seven – Flowers in the Desert In Morocco… The glittering formal dining room at the Ministry of Magic’s Embassy in Morocco was a stage, waiting for the evening’s drama to unfold. The largest and longest dining table outside of Europe was set for the one hundred and forty-four guests expected that evening. Goblets sparkled beside gold place settings; flowers welled from vases, running along yards of snow-white linen tablecloth. Native footman in white gloves stood behind each and every one of the heavy ornate chairs. Ambassador Clift surveyed the room, pleased with the splendour of it all. The room, the table, the menu, exactly suited the tastes of the French Ambassador. It would put him at ease and serve as a sign of good will. She needed him in the best of humour if she was going to convince him to help her look for a spy. In the glorious entrance hall, diplomats and guests alike were gathering. The sound of their voices as they mixed and mingled echoed across polished marble floors and rebounded from the painted frescos that adorned the candle lit ceiling soaring high above them. These period details, this baroque finery, were lost on Alias Swift and Jack Ryan as surveyed they chamber from opposite sides. Reminiscent of highly alert watchdogs, they prowled, unsmiling among the guests, ever watchful for even the smallest sign of treachery. Remus Lupin swept into the entrance hall with time to spare before the imminent dinner. His eye fell at once upon Brad Danner, who was deep in conversation with one of the French diplomats. In the absence of the curse of lycanthropy, Remus Lupin, was on the whole, spectacularly good looking, and dressed tonight as he was in wizard finery, his appearance might easily have drawn the attention of those around him, save for his quiet manner. Remus had a special talent for gliding unnoticed among the masses – an ability acquired during those painful years as a werewolf when he yearned for solitude and peace among the crowded halls at Hogwarts. So it was with ease that he slipped strategically into place behind Brad Danner in order to better hear his conversation with the wizard from France. Danner and the French diplomat apparently knew each other; they spoke of common acquaintances and of relics Brad Danner had evidently retrieved from far flung corners of the world on behalf of the French government. “So,” Remus mused quietly, “he has worked for other countries.” As the conversation continued, Remus was gratified to hear (or rather not hear) any mention of Danner’s real reasons for being in Morocco. The Dark One’s name was never mentioned. But that, in and of itself, struck Remus as odd. The Dark One was mentioned on the front page of nearly every paper in the region. Danner had indicated that he was going into the desert to take up some long standing archaeological research, but never mentioned even as an aside the fact that wizards had been disappearing from the very region he intended to work in. Even more curious was the response of the diplomat who might, in his official capacity, have warned Danner of the potential dangers posed by the Dark One. Yet he completely failed to do so. It was as if they had agreed before hand to avoid the topic – an idea that Remus found telling. As he listened to Danner and the French diplomat, Remus’s eyes swept the room. It was an eclectic group -. Europeans in wizard and muggle dress, various and sundry representatives of the various North African cultures in native attire, and resplendent among them, in white Bedouin robes, was Pascal. He moved through the crowd smiling and nodding, but with an aloofness that reminded Remus forcibly of a desert chieftain about to address a tribal council. Remus checked his watch then scanned the crowd for Jon and Leslie. He was torn between concern for their safety and amusement at the probably reason for their delayed arrival. As the hour for the dinner grew near, Remus was on the point of going to find them when he saw them slip discreetly through a side door and into the glittering throng. The irrepressible smiles, shining eyes and flushed cheeks were proof enough for Remus that dementors, hinkypunks, or boggarts had not, in fact, delayed Jon and Leslie. Remus made his way through the crowded room toward them. “You look lovely, Leslie,” he said with a courteous half bow. “Thank you,” she said, the flush on her cheeks deepening as she fidgeted with her elbow length white gloves. In a tone reminiscent of the one he used to take with James and Sirius in their misbegotten youth, Remus said wryly to Jon, “You’re looking splendid yourself. That’s a particularly nice shade on you.” Remus winked and gestured to the trace of lipstick that remained on one of Jon’s cheeks. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Jon, who, in a flash of insight, wiped away the ghost of a kiss that had lingered to betray him. Remus raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering if Jon was going to offer comment. Fortunately for Jon, the ringing of a gong saved him. An embassy official was ring a small gong outside a pair of arched double doors, opposite from the doors leading into the dining room. A hush rippled through the room as the doors were thrown wide. The embassy official, whose voice had been magically amplified, announced, “Her Excellency, Ambassador Julia Clift.” All heads turned as she appeared in the doorway, smiling serenely and giving a slight nod in the direction of Jon, Leslie, and Remus. She wore an exquisite beaded gown with a sash bearing the Ministry of Magic crest, seal, and emblem. Pinned to the sash, as well, were the ribbons and medals signifying her membership in the Order of Merlyn and her former service on the Wizengamot. Ambassador Clift (for it was impossible to think of her as “Jules” at this moment) was also wearing elbow length white gloves, over which a triple-strand pearl bracelet shone softly – a perfect match to the ropes of pearls at her neck. Jon’s face shone with pride - Remus’s with something else. Leslie shivered as a powerful premonition filled her vision. Leaning of to Jon, she whispered quietly in his ear, “She’ll be the Minister of Magic one day.” Jon smiled and nodded, knowingly, as Ambassador Clift cleared her throat to make an announcement. “Good evening witches, wizards, ladies, and gentleman. Thank you for joining me in paying tribute to our honoured guest, His Excellency, Ambassador Aurelien De Tournet of France.” A polite pattering of applause called the French Ambassador to the double doors through which Jules had appeared. But at the sight of him, the applause died a sudden death to be replaced by gasps. It was, however, not the Ambassador that produced this singular effect, rather the woman on his arm. “Woman,” is a pathetically inadequate term to describe the apparition that was floating at Ambassador’s De Tournet’s elbow. A sheet of silvery blonde hair fell like a curtain to the middle of her back. Her dress robes clung to her like pearly mist, revealing a perfectly formed figure. Her eyes, haughty as ever, regarded the crowd coolly. “Fleur! Fleur Delacour!” Leslie hissed under her breath to Jon and Remus (as if they needed to be told) - as if a Tri-Wizard contestant who also happened to be part Veela were easily forgotten. Heads turned as Ambassador Clift, Ambassador De Tournet and his attractive companion parted the sea of guests filling the entrance hall. They swept, as one, through the gothic archway into the dining room. Once the dignitaries were seated, footmen directed guests to their places. Ambassador Clift sat at one end of the immense dining room table. Ambassador De Tournet was seated in state at the opposing end. On De Tournet’s right, (a signal to all of her importance to him) was Fleur Delacour looking feline as ever. Remus, Leslie and Jon were eyeing the place cards to discover the location of their own seats when a footman conducted them to the head of the table. Remus Lupin was surprised to discover that he was being seated on Jules’ right. At first he protested mildly. ~*~ Remus resisted, reluctant to take a position of honour. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he yet understand that he was far nobler than any of the stuffed shirts surrounding Ambassador Clift’s expansive table? Anxious not to offend his hostess, Remus eventually took his seat. She noted with maternal happiness and secret satisfaction the appraising looks that Julia Clift was occasionally giving him as he engaged those around him in conversation. Equally interesting were the sidelong glances he kept stealing at her. He hadn’t looked at anyone like that in years. But then, for years, he hadn’t allowed himself to even consider the possibility of romance. He had been a werewolf – outcast by society, unable to keep a job. And in a way, he had thought that all for the best. He had secretly loved Lily Potter for years, but never told her…never told anyone. Being a werewolf gave him the perfect excuse for not dating. But the truth was, he wouldn’t have dated anyway. He loved Lily and she had been taken. She loved his best friend. And Remus, being the saint that he was, kept his feelings to himself. “Or nearly to himself,” she thought with a bittersweet smile. She remembered watching him play the piano for Lily, remembered the moment when she had realised the depth of his feeling for her. She never told him she knew, and if Lily guessed, she never said anything. She sighed, expelling the ghosts of the past forcibly from her thoughts. Lily was gone and Remus was no longer a werewolf. Free of the damnable curse, he was now poised to experience the kind of life she had always wanted for him – free to live, not just to exist. His time had come at last, and she was thrilled for him. The world was his, and nothing would stand in his way. Courses came and went; conversation flowed freely as did the wine. Remus was totally at ease, totally unprepared and unsuspecting – completely caught off guard by the native server with the mad gleam in his eye and the curved knife in his hand. She screamed his name, but no sound came out. She screamed and screamed again. Remus never even had time to draw his wand. In a swift movement, the rogue server plunged the knife into the crisp white dinner shirt Madam Malkin had tailored especially for Remus months earlier. Jon Clift was on his feet in an instant, stunning the server before he could land a second blow, but it didn’t matter. It was too late. Remus stared at his own chest - noting with horrified fascination that the knife was still buried, hilt deep through his heart – marvelling that it didn’t seem to hurt at all - watching as the scarlet stain spread across his robes and welled onto the snow-white table. Ambassador Clift was screaming now. Her face would be the last thing he ever saw. As the mists closed around him, his features went slack and still. He slumped forward onto the table as Julia Clift wept bitterly over his body. “NO!” Arabella screamed “No…no…it can’t be…Remus!” Catherine Granger heard her mother’s cries of distress and flew to her room. In the midst of satin sheets, Arabella Figg was struggling and weeping. Catherine shook her gently awake. “Mother! Mother, wake up.” The words sank in slowly as Arabella fought her way back to consciousness. Her eyes were wide with terror. “Albus,” she half-sobbed, half spoke, “I need Albus.” In the Headmaster’s Office, Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… The solid oak door, glowing faintly with the patina of age, swung easily on its hinges, clicking softly closed behind Solaris Clift as he departed the Headmaster’s Office. Dumbledore allowed himself a small sigh before returning to the cavernous depths of his beloved chambers with its delicate instruments humming and whirling on spindle-legged tables, its treasured volumes of spell books, and rather famous collection of portraits of former Hogwarts’ Headmasters. It had been a long night. Solaris had been understandably upset to learn that both his son and daughter were in a position to encounter a formidable dark wizard. Solaris was equally (if not more) disturbed by the idea that Jon might stumble across a key to mysteries of his past (and future) in the desert. Dumbledore did what he had always done. He allowed Solaris to vent his frustration and anger, and then calmly, rationally, offered him an alternative point of view. In the end, Solaris was no less happy, but had accepted the situation for what it was. He would, of course, be joining his children to guard and protect them, and to reinforce the warnings he had just issued via Moses, his Phoenix. Dumbledore surveyed the remaining two Phoenix perched in his eclectic office. Fawkes, his own faithful companion was gazing, regal as always, at his master. The second Phoenix, however, was restless and agitated. The only female Phoenix in the world, Helen belonged to Leslie and had been entrusted to Dumbledore’s care whilst Leslie joined members of the Order in their search for Bill Weasley. Helen ruffled her feathers anxiously and appeared to be fretting, not at all typical of the dignified birds. Dumbledore regarded her with a blue-eyed stare. “Wanted to go with him, didn’t you?” he said softly, alluding to Moses who had just been dispatched to Morocco. In answer, Helen, crooned a single bittersweet note. Dumbledore smiled absently and stroked her head, understanding fully her desire to remain with Moses and to be reunited with Leslie in Morocco. Still musing over the nature of these remarkable birds, Dumbledore found himself suddenly anxious - filled with an unnamed dread. A single word, a single thought echoed within his mind, becoming clearer with each passing inch of time. “Arabella”. The aging headmaster, unbeknownst to many, had a significant emotional connection to Hermione’s grandmother, Arabella Figg. Its depth and history were highly personal and extremely powerful. She was never far from his thoughts and in times of extreme emotion, he could feel her presence almost tangibly in his mind. Now…he sensed her distress, her urgent need to see him, to speak to him. Much as members of the Order of the Phoenix had their own secret and highly reliable methods for communication with each other, so too, did Arabella and Dumbledore. He was just about to invoke their particular means of communication when Arabella’s daughter, Catherine Granger, did so herself. “Professor Dumbledore” her voice was faint, but in its urgency confirmed for him that indeed something was amiss at Paravel, “please, can you come right away? It’s mother.” His eyes swept his office swiftly, preparing to depart. Thinking it unwise to leave the agitated Helen on her own, and with his legendary foresight, Dumbledore tucked Helen under his arm and apparated to Paravel. So great was his concern for Arabella that matters of simple decorum fell by the wayside. Dumbledore appeared with a faint “pop” at her bedside, taking Catherine Granger completely by surprise – but not Arabella, for she had sensed him coming. Taking Arabella’s trembling hands in his own he said, his voice full of concern, “What is it my dear?” Catherine Granger took an involuntary step backward. The aura of the bond between them was palpable, powerful and…private. Slipping silently from the room, Catherine went in search of Arabella’s faithful butler, Hopkins, knowing that in all likelihood tea would be wanted and soon. Arabella waited until Catherine had closed the bedroom door before she began to speak, but then in hushed tones recounted for Dumbledore the nightmare, the vivid images of Remus’s life being taken. She knew with perfect certainty that what she had witnessed had been more than a nightmare it had been a shadow of the future. “I believe you. I believe you,” he said in a manner that was simultaneously reassuring and horrifying. Arabella was relieved and gratified that he had come, that he believed her, but terrified for Remus, desperate to alter the reflections of the future she had seen for him. “We must warn him” she said, her throat tight, her tone urgent. Dumbledore merely nodded. Looking into his gently lined face, she took comfort from the resolution she saw there, and from his purposeful stride as he advanced to the small writing desk in the nook by the window. The scratching of quill on parchment was the only sound in the room. Arabella didn’t breath, didn’t move while he wrote. Deftly folding his completed, if cryptic, warning, Dumbledore gestured for Helen who flew to him immediately. “Take this to Remus Lupin, please Helen. It is a matter of some urgency.” Helen remained motionless while Dumbledore affixed the roll of parchment. When he had finished, he retreated to Arabella’s side. In a flash of fire, Helen was gone, leaving behind a single scarlet feather, and two soul mates in an emotional embrace. In Morocco… Moses swept silently out of heavens blacker than burnt velvet, eyeing the North African coast. The night was still and dark. Below him, tiny villages and towns were strung like the gems along a twinkling necklace of shoreline. Intuitively he wheeled away from the sea, soaring inland across seemingly infinite stretches of sand to the dusky city that was his destination. As Moses approached the bounds of Morocco, a blinding flare of radiance rent the air in front of him. He veered sharply to avoid colliding with the fireball that had materialized in his in course. Circling high above the unforeseen inferno, he watched intently as Helen emerged from the blaze. Smaller than Moses and with a decided bent for mischief; the only female Phoenix in the world had just rejoined her mate. She spied him immediately, soaring aloft to greet him with a soft cry and a playful snatch at the top of his regal head. The supremely elegant and completely dignified Moses looped her easily, returning her greeting with a haunting note of his own before leading her to the Ministry of Magic Embassy. By common consent, Moses entered first, gliding silently across a marble terrace and through the open doors to the ballroom. Everywhere, couples were whirling and swaying to the long-forgotten melodies of another time…to waltzes that would have seemed out-of-place anywhere except in the glorious setting that was this chamber. From amongst this ocean of swirling colour, Moses honed in on the intended recipient of the letter clutched in his talons. Ancient instincts, keen eyesight and undying loyalty led the magnificent bird directly to Jon Clift, who as if sensing Moses’ approach, had stopped dancing and had turned in the direction of the open doorway. As Moses plunged among the dancers to light on one of Jon’s tuxedo-clad arms, gasps filled the room. It was not that phoenixes were totally unknown, but they were exceedingly rare and unimaginably beautiful. That a family might keep one as a pet was not unheard-of, but that it could be dispatched with messages was a surprising to say the least. Phoenixes, after all, are not tame birds. The sight of Moses enthralled nearly all the assembled guests, but a few turned away, unable to bear the sight of something so pure. In fact, something of Moses’ own light seemed to be reflected in the faces of those surrounding him, a phenomenon that made one face in particular stand out in distinct contrast to those around it. Fleur Delacour had been dancing with Professor Danner when Moses swooped past. Brad Danner felt her shudder, felt her recoil in horror. For a spit second, her cool facade slipped and she muttered before she could stop herself, “Oh zat ‘oreeble bird!” Looking at Jon she added, “‘ow can he stand to touch it? It looks so cruel…so vicious!” Brad Danner raised an inquisitive eyebrow and was about to comment when a second scarlet and gold form hurtled past. Singing gaily as she flew, Helen had entered the ballroom as well, completely disrupting the few couples that had returned to the gleaming dance floor in the wake of Moses’ arrival. Leslie watched with amusement as Helen careened dramatically among the dancers. It did not escape Jon or Leslie’s notice that as Helen brushed by Fleur and Professor Danner, the former tri-wizard champion looked positively ill. The face that had darkened at the sight of one Phoenix was now creased with worry and tinged with green at the sight of a second and the sound of its song. Simultaneously, Jon and Leslie experienced a flash of rapport – “Did you see that?” echoed loudly in the forefront of each of their minds. To Leslie’s further surprise, Helen sailed past her, past Jon, and even past Moses in a graceful arc that took her directly to Remus Lupin, who, like Jon, extended an elegantly clad arm to receive the Phoenix and her alarming message from Dumbledore. In the Eastern Sahara… “Miss Granger, your Patronus is fading.” Sirius glanced sharply at the fading form. “Suggestions?” he barked. “The Firebird,” said Harry, instantly, “the real Firebird.” “No! Harry, you can’t.” Hermione said a quavering note in her voice. “Dumbledore said you mustn’t.” “Not mustn’t, Hermione, shouldn’t, unless there were compelling reasons.” Harry looked into her pleading eyes, and then glanced at the Fire Eaters who were becoming bolder now that the Patronus was fading. “I see seven very compelling reasons right there. Besides, you can call me back…you did it before, and you’re even stronger now, more accomplished than you were then.” Her throat was too tight for speech. She shook her head slowly from side to side. “Harry, mate, there’s got to be another way.” Ron said. Samir was mystified by this exchange. “What do you mean ‘the real Firebird’?” “I am an animagus” Harry said, his tone grave. “But I can assume more than one form. Normally, I become a phoenix, like the one you saw Hermione conjure, but once...” his voice trailed off remembering that horrible night on the beach in Cornwall when he had killed Voldemort, “once, I became THE Firebird, the super phoenix of legend.” “And it nearly killed you.” Hermione said, her voice shaking. Sirius turned to Harry, taking him by the shoulders. “One day, it may become necessary for you to risk your soul in that way again, but not today, not while the odds are in our favour.” Ron was doing some quick mental arithmetic. “Seven of them, nine of us.” “Eight” George interrupted, “Ginny’s hurt.” Where the Fire Eater had gripped her, her thin robes had been burned away. Great red streaks, like the signature of a nameless lash criss-crossed her arms where the thing had touched her. Some were oozing blood. “I can still hold a wand,” she said, defiantly. “We stand and fight then,” said Sirius tensely. “Use the Extinguishing spell. Did you all hear it? Are you prepared to use it?” Like a general before a battle, Sirius made eye contact with each of them, satisfying himself that they were ready. “Right then, wands out”. Nine wands took careful aim. Nine pairs of eyes fixed on the immense robed figures looming ever nearer. “Mark your man.” Sirius muttered…”Don’t cast your spells until my signal.” Harry gripped his wand, forming the words to the spell in him mind. “Now Sirius” he thought, “Do it now.” From high overhead, a ringing cry rent the air. The Fire Eaters halted in their march. A bird of prey wheeled in the wind tossed sky above. “Nighthawk!” said Samir, “That hawk is the Dark One’s familiar. Danté is nearby, watching.” Instinctively, the nine who had stood shoulder-to-shoulder facing the Fire Eaters, now drew themselves into a loose ring, back to back. The hawk gave a piercing shriek and without warning, the Fire Eaters drew from the ground the most terrifying horses Hermione had ever seen. Sinister and snorting, they made the Thestrals back at Hogwarts look positively cuddly. After battle with Voldemort on the beach at Paravel, Hermione had been able to see them for the first time, but her shock at seeing the Thestrals paled in comparison to her revulsion at the vile beasts summoned by the Fire Eaters. With frightening speed, the servants of the Dark One mounted their cruel chargers and whirled away, vanishing into the trackless Sahara. “What was that?” Fred exploded. “I thought for sure we were about to be mowed down where we stood. What made them leave like that?” The sudden and unexpected departure of their foe was disconcerting and vaguely unsettling. “I would have thought it was obvious.” Sirius said, mildly surprised. “What?” Harry asked “The Dark One recalled them,” Samir replied, answering for Sirius. “But they will be back...back for fallen comrades, and back for us.” “But they won’t find us.” Sirius said quietly. “For we will be far from here when they return.” “Let’s catch those camels shall we?” Arthur said with false brightness. This time, neither Fred nor George objected to their unusual mounts as the battle-weary caravan headed east, across the burning sand. In the Fortress of the Dark One… “What did you say?” Danté 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.” ~~ Danté scowled at an irregularly shaped smear on the flagged stone floor. Bill Weasley’s recently spilled blood was drying with sickening speed in the relentlessly arid climate of the Sahara. “Pathetic. What an arrogant fool!” Danté muttered. That Bill Weasley might have a genuine change-of-heart at this late date was illogical and therefore, suspect. His concession was transparent - the motives behind it easily seen and understood. This Bill Weasley had demonstrated clearly that he would sooner die than do anything to further the cause of the Dark One. “But no matter,” Danté whispered, a lurid grin splitting his face. “He might willingly sacrifice his own life, but would he allow another to be sacrificed in its place? Oh no…I think not.” If the information provided him by a certain desert flower was correct, then the means to inspiring a true change-of-heart was nearly in his grasp. The Dark One spat in disgust – had his Fire Eaters been more strategic, that means would already be in his grasp – Virginia Weasley had nearly been his captive. But for the meddlesome Samir and the efforts of the wizards with whom she travelled, she would have been, even now, begging him for her life. And while the Dark One was long since immune to pleading, he felt certain that Bill Weasley was not. Danté was neither a legilimens, nor was he empathic. He could read neither the minds nor hearts of men – at least not yet. But he was an accomplished scholar of human nature and could predict with absolute certainty that while Bill might not comply to save his own life, he would certainly comply to save the life of his only sister. “And then,” he laughed malevolently, “then I will have it… the Cadeau Du Soleil. I will see as once the Prophet saw. I will know the course of man before he knows it himself.” He savoured the idea, turning it over and over obsessively in his mind. “Ahh… to be so utterly and divinely empowered…” he whispered silkily, caressing each syllable like a lover. He allowed himself a shiver of pleasure and then began to pace excitedly. “To know the future, is to control it.” Pausing at one of the keyhole arches that framed his vast desert kingdom, he vowed, “I will bend Fate to my will as surely as the cyclone bends blades of grass. I will not suffer the destiny laid out for me as a child. I will be the supreme architect of the future – subject to the whims of no man, of no god.” He battered the window ledge with clenched fists, shouting, “I will claim the heritage to which I am rightfully entitled – the sweetest wine, the ripest fruit, the wealth of nations and the souls of men shall be mine!” Whirling from the window the Dark One flung himself into a self-styled throne, taking long deep breaths – willing his thoughts to order, gradually gaining control of the powerful emotions that perpetually drove him to ill-considered actions – the unbridled passion had earned him the reputation of being deranged. Danté shook his head forcefully. He must not make a mistake now. He was so close…so close. He breathed slowly, centring himself. He focused himself fully on the hawk that was his familiar. Danté’s eyes rolled in his head. The room vanished as his mind entered swiftly that of the bird - 'Borrowing' came easily to Danté now. He “saw” the open desert – the molten sun, low on the horizon. He was soaring - racing his own shadow across the dunes. “Tracks,” he mumbled, willing Nighthawk to circle, ever lower. There, as plain to him as if it had been written on a billboard, were the impressions of a sizeable caravan – their tracks leading directly to the oasis at the boundary of the Ward. Laughter, soft and sinister, rippled from him as he considered the evening to come. In Morocco… The meal had been sumptuous, the company enchanting, the setting breathtaking. “Has any evening ever held so much promise?” Leslie wondered to herself as the dinner concluded and the ball began in earnest. The fact that morning would find her leaving the palatial comforts of the embassy for the Spartan lifestyle of the desert, coupled with the knowledge that a dangerous spy might, even now, be lurking among the glamorous guests around her might have made a lesser woman quail, but not Leslie. To her, it was impossibly exciting. In fact, if only Bill Weasley had been safe, she would have called the evening perfect. Out of respect for Jules, Leslie had dutifully danced with each octogenarian diplomat who approached her. Aged and stiff, most had simply marched her around the room, shouting pleasantries while attempting various charms designed to improve hearing. She smiled and nodded vaguely at her partners, while allowing her eyes to search the immediate environment – contemplating the likelihood that somewhere in the ballroom, a servant of the Dark One watched and waited. Meanwhile, Jon was discharging similar duties with a variety of fading roses. Gallant and charming, he escorted each dowager Jules had discreetly identified to the floor for a heady spin ‘round the room leaving each breathless and beaming in turn. As he returned the last matron to her table, his eyes sought Leslie immediately. She was standing in the shadow of a massive pillar and gazing across the floor at a pair of striking dancers. So captivated was Leslie by the arresting unspoken dialogue taking place between Remus and Jules, that she failed to notice a tall figure gliding quietly up behind her. “Not a good idea you know,” whispered a deep male voice from unlit regions behind her, “tucking yourself away in the shadows like this. Anything might happen.” Powerful arms held her fast, drawing her into the dark recesses of the ancient embassy. Turning to face her captor, she raised an eyebrow and gasped softly “What… ” Grinning, Cheshire-cat style, Jon kissed her very slowly and very deliberately in wordless greeting. “… took you so long?” she breathed. In the veil of darkness, twin orbs - glinting from the brilliance of reflected light from the chandeliers - answered her silently. Returning to the luminous ballroom, they became a flawless team – dancing seamlessly between knots of couples, listening for snatches of conversation that might be telling. They had just completed their third circuit of the room, when Jon stopped suddenly, turning toward the open balcony doors in time to see Moses sweeping towards him. The bird of wonder landed with skill and precision on Jon’s extended arm. Ignoring the “oohs,” and gasps around him, Jon smiled warmly and accepted the roll of parchment Moses offered, flicking it open with his free hand. His brow furrowed slightly. “Dad’s coming,” he said simply. For the first time, Leslie could gleam no sense of emotion or thoughts from Jon. Though he wasn’t shielding anything from her, his mind truly was unreadable. Leslie stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Your… your father is… Solaris is coming here?” Jon nodded. She was about to suggest that they share this astounding news with Jules when the completely unexpected sound of her own phoenix, Helen, singing gaily somewhere nearby, demanded her attention. Leslie whirled to see Helen sweep past Fleur Delacour and Brad Danner. Fleur blanched visibly at the sight of Helen and at the unearthly singing. In a flash of rapport, Leslie and Jon thought simultaneously to each other, “Did you see that?” Expecting Helen to land at her side, Leslie watched in amazement as the youthful phoenix sailed past and directly to Remus Lupin – who received her with mild surprise. Making their way across the room through a crowd of chattering onlookers, Leslie, Jon and Moses joined Jules, Remus and Helen near the balcony. Jules ushered them into a quiet corner as Remus broke the seal on the role of parchment bearing his name. Dumbledore’s even hand was instantly recognizable. As Remus skimmed his letter, Jules turned to Jon. “Why is Moses here? Is Dad…?” her voice trailed off into a whisper. “Dad’s coming. Here.” Jon said quietly. Jules arched an eyebrow. “Can’t say that I’m surprised,” she sighed. Turning to Remus she said, “Is Dumbledore coming as well, then?” Remus had an odd expression on his face and said in a strained voice. “No… No, Dumbledore isn’t coming.” “What then?” Jules asked, curiosity mixing with alarm. “He says…” Remus paused, as if uncertain about how to continue. Looking directly at Jules he said gravely, “He says there will likely be an attack on my life this evening.”