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Shut and Be a Bud Again | ||||||
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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:None Genres: General Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations Rating: R Reviews: 228 Summary: Voldemort is gone, but the aftereffects of the War linger. Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all must deal with the toll, and confront the consequences of their actions. Only one thing is certain, things will never be the way they were before. The explanation of the title to this story has been moved to the Author's Notes section of Chapter One. For those who have been reading this story, the Potter's Affairs Challenge entry When Life Gives You Lemons... is a peek ahead into the future of the Shut and Be a Bud Again story arc. Hitcount: Story Total: 47483; Chapter Total: 1520 Author's Notes: It has been a scandalously long time since I have posted. The Australian segment of my story has turned out much more difficult than I anticipated. It is now three chapters long, just like the Canadian segment. The good news is that Chapter Fourteen is already in beta, and Fifteen is almost written. Hopefully they will be here sooner. The title of this Chapter comes from a famous Australian song. This chapter contains another tribute to St Margaret's New Zealand Chronicles. It should be very easy to recognize. My thanks to kezzabear and miri, who beta'd for me, and jennyelf, who made a number of useful Australian suggestions. As always, many thanks to cwarbeck, my uberbeta! |
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Events seemed to speed up remorselessly once Harry and his friends Portkeyed away from Canada on their long trek across the Pacific. It reminded Harry of the last few moments of a Quidditch match, after Harry had spotted the Snitch and he was urging every possible element of speed out of his broom so that everything around him blurred, and only the Golden Snitch mattered. But in this case, the Golden Snitch Harry pursued was reuniting Hermione with her parents. Just as their itinerary listed, they had Portkeyed from Vancouver Island to some place called Hilo in Hawaii. Harry was in the United States, but all he saw was an extravagant tropical garden in a deep valley between towering lava outcrops. After a short break, they continued on to an island called Ta'u, in what Hermione explained was part of American Samoa. It was all very confusing, they left the Portkey terminal in Samoa slightly earlier by local time than they had left the Lodge on Chilko Lake, and at each stop their local hosts were enthusiastically offering them breakfast. But those experiences were nothing compared to their pre-dawn arrival in a walled garden in Australia. The garden surrounded a large airy house with a broad verandah on all sides, the entire affair set above ground level on large timber pillars. There was a carved sign hanging over the stairs that rose to the verandah. Lit by large globes of a ghostly white light, the sign announced in dark block printing, “Portkey Terminal, Queensland, Australia.” The second line, carved in a more flamboyant script, announced: “G'day and welcome to Brisbane!” They had not even set foot on the stairs before the door opened and two figures appeared in the lighted rectangle. “They're here alright,” a witch's voice called back into the house. The proprietor of this Portkey terminal was a short, stocky wizard in his mid-forties with curly hair and a pleasant face. He spoke in a slow, melodious drawl, spacing out his words almost as if pausing to think before each one. He and three witches were waiting to welcome them despite the early hour. The Australian witches ranged in age from mid-thirties to mid-fifties and looked like thinner, calmer versions of Molly Weasley, radiating competence and a quiet good humour. Their hosts had been up and preparing long enough to lay on a massive breakfast. There were platters heaped with eggs both fried and scrambled, sausages, and a small mountain of buttered toast. The wizards in the British party were more than willing to dig in, though they had eaten breakfast once already a little more than six hours before. Ginny, Hermione and Melinda stared at the bounty in dismay. “My word,” the oldest of the three witches answered their unspoken protests, “you need tucker before you waltz off to visit the Kiwis.” She shook her head to dismiss their doubts. “You won't be getting to Auckland until after they're done with brekkie.” That was when they discovered it was now Monday morning. According to the clock, they had been travelling for twenty-three hours. This shocked Ron and Neville in particular, because it meant that they really would be leaving for New Zealand in a few hours. They had studied the itinerary at the cabin in Canada, but none of them had realized that when it stated that they would leave Canada for Brisbane on Sunday morning, and Brisbane for Auckland on Monday morning, that there would not be a night in between. Harry reminded them that Luna had predicted “the Ministry would be paying them for a day that did not exist.” Hermione explained the phenomenon carefully three times. Even Ron understood after the second explanation, but Ginny insisted that Hermione could not have it right. A leg-pulling that, under other circumstances, would have at most wrung an irritated huff of exasperation from their bushy-haired friend, now launched her into a full-blown rant. Hermione was half out of her mind with guilt, tension, and lack of sleep. Harry exchanged wry smiles with Neville. They both recognized that Ginny was deliberately taking the mickey. It would be a long time before Ginny forgave Hermione for her dip in glacier-fed lake water. The whole party waited at the Brisbane terminal for the Ministry offices in New Zealand to open. Over steaming mugs of tea, their hosts asked eager questions about conditions in Britain and their experiences in Canada. Neville described how determined the Canadians were to point out that they were not Americans. That brought a laugh from their Australian hosts. “That sounds like the Canadians I've met,” the youngest witch snorted. “Some day the Canadians'll realize that no one else in the world can tell them apart — most of all the Yanks.” Their talkative hostess gave a conspiratorial smile. “Do you know how an Aussie tells the difference between a Canadian wizard and an American wizard?” she continued. “How?” Ron asked. “The Canadian wizard understands the metric system,” she explained with a perfectly straight face. That drew a laugh from the surrounding group. It even drew a few snorts from Hermione. After feeding his guests, their host gave them the opportunity to lie down and recover somewhat from the effects of their globe-spanning Portkey jumps. There were bedrooms with large windows and folding doors for the witches to share, the wizards were offered sections of the broad verandah fitted up as open-air bedrooms, surrounded by netting to keep the insects away, with Charms to supply steady, cooling breezes. Harry lay quietly and enjoyed the mysterious sounds of a semi-tropical morning. He did not fall asleep, but the peace and relaxation were a balm for his harried mind. He hoped that this respite would help Hermione as well. She was completely out of commission; alternately giddy with excitement at the thought of meeting her parents and bringing them back to England, in the next moment despondent about how they would react when they discovered what she had done to them. Watching Hermione dither focused Harry's thoughts on their upcoming encounter with her parents. He felt responsible for what Hermione had done. He was certain that if she had not committed herself completely to accompanying him on his search for the Horcruxes, his normally logical if not practical friend would have undoubtedly found some less drastic solution to keeping her parents safe. And there was no question in Harry's mind that it was her comprehensive preparations — especially her carefully-stocked beaded bag — that had insured their success. Harry recognized that he had ignored most of the practical aspects of preparation for their quest because he knew he could count on Hermione to take care of all those details. She had taken care of Harry and Ron, neglecting her own family in the process. Now she was the one who needed his help. Harry and his party left a few hours later for Auckland and the New Zealand Ministry of Magic, where they met with the members of the Wizarding Offenders' Squad of the New Zealand Police. The entire Wizarding Offenders' Squad fit in one small conference room. At this point, Harry had enough practice telling his story that this intimate situation posed no terrors. He and Ron, however, went out of their way to point out that the British Ministry was completely changed from what it had been before the war. Now they were even accountable to the Muggle government. Harry told them that the best reason they could have for sending their Aurors to assist the British D.M.L.E. was that if they had their own representatives in the British Ministry, they would have the best possible assurance that they were getting true reports on what was happening in the Wizarding community in Great Britain. That suggestion brought thoughtful expressions to the faces of the senior members of the Wizarding Offenders' Squad. After the discussions, their hosts took them out to a lunch on New Zealand's South Island, to a quaint pub in a small town set in mountains with breathtaking scenery. The Wizarding town was home to a hospital: St Kilda's Hospital for Magical Maladies. This institution, among its other distinguishing features, hosted the Wizarding world's foremost magical search and rescue program. The entire party went on “the quick tour” to observe some of the training in progress. Harry found the search and rescue drills even more intriguing than the Mounties' training programs at Depot. Ginny shared his fascination. Both of them objected to stopping with “the quick tour.” In the end, Ron and Neville had to drag the two of them away so they did not miss their Portkey back to Australia. That Portkey delivered them to the foyer of a sumptuous building. A large sign proclaimed “Welcome to Sydney's Macquarie Arms, the largest Wizarding hotel in the Commonwealth.” “Who's Sidney?” a Portkey-dulled Neville asked. The exhaustion Harry remembered from their first long day travelling to Canada paled in comparison to the fatigue he felt now. Today they had travelled farther, and Portkeyed more times. The cumulative effect was devastating. “It's the capital of New South Wales,” Hermione supplied in a monotone, her normal enthusiasm for imparting knowledge — whether it was desired or not — utterly absent. Dad Weasley and Mr Patil headed straight for the reception desk to inquire about their rooms. “This is where we'll be staying while we're in Australia,” Melinda explained in a croaking voice Harry could barely make out. “Isn't the Australian Ministry of Magic in Canberra?” Hermione asked in a tone that clearly indicated she already knew the answer. “That's the Federal capital.” “Yes,” Melinda confirmed, “but here they call it the Department of Magic.” She had collapsed bonelessly into one of a group of leather-covered armchairs set around a small table. The bug she had battled all through their stay in Canada had finally laid her low. “We'll...you'll be Apparating somewhere tomorrow afternoon to talk to the Australian Aurors, but there's no Wizarding section of Canberra like Diagon Alley in London, so we'll be staying here in Sydney.” She paused to catch her breath. “I think they're going to have to find someone else to show you around tomorrow,” she grimaced. Harry could not see any reason to complain about their accommodations. This was no Leaky Cauldron, that was for certain. It reminded him more of the atrium of the Ministry in London. The foyer was enormous, something from the nineteenth century, lined down both sides with columns of polished marble, the far end filled by a sweeping grand staircase in dark mahogany that rose up out of sight. Dining rooms, reception rooms, and sitting rooms opened off the lobby on both sides. The most impressive sight however, was the sunken garden that ran down the middle of the foyer, filled with tropical plants and palm trees. Exotic birds screeched and fluttered among the sweeping fronds. The witches were captivated despite their exhaustion. Harry was not unimpressed himself. He could not imagine a sharper contrast with the lodge at Lake Chilko they had left just that past morning. Already their Canadian experience seemed like a dream from half a lifetime ago. “Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron hissed. He was holding a newspaper he had picked up from the nearby table. Harry glanced at the headline his best mate was holding up, and his heart sank. The masthead on the paper proclaimed The Sydney Daily Sorcerer to be the “Voice of Wizarding Australia,” but that was not what had attracted Ron's attention. Splashed across the page in large block letters it said, “HARRY POTTER IN OZ!” The accompanying Wizarding photo was old, but still easily recognizable. This was another difference from their time at Lake Chilko — and a much less welcome one. Harry scanned the article. The sub headline labelled him “Wizarding Britain's Hero: The Boy Who Lived — Twice!” It began by describing the events of the final days of the War, culminating in the Battle of Hogwarts. Then it backtracked to recapitulate the story of Harry's life, from his parents' death through the Triwizard Tournament. The tone of the article seemed to jump back and forth between touting what a fine catch Harry was to thinly veiled concerns about what he had been doing since the War, and questions about whether it was appropriate for Harry to be touring the world when there were so many troubles back in Britain. Harry glanced furtively around the foyer. There were at least three groups of witches who were sneaking glances in his direction and whispering. Two of the groups were consulting what had to be their own copies of the Daily Sorcerer. Harry cringed. How were they going to get away to contact Hermione's parents if wizards and witches were scrutinizing his every move? Of course, before they could even try to get away to contact her parents, they needed to find out where they were. Dad Weasley returned from the reception desk. “We have two suites and a single room,” he said, holding up three keys. He turned to Melinda. “The single will give you a place to recuperate in peace.” Her grateful expression spoke volumes. He looked to the rest of the party. “There's one two-bedroom suite for you six, and I will...entertain Shivraj in the other.” He smiled a wry smile. “Let's clean up and find some supper.” “I think I'll just kip in my room, if you don't mind,” Melinda demurred. The tired group rode the lift to their suites on the second floor. Mr Patil had gone directly up to the suite he shared with Dad Weasley. Just before Ginny's father left the younger members of the party at the door of their suite, he offered Hermione an envelope. “Ah...” he searched for words. “An old friend of mine left this for you at the front desk,” he explained. Everyone stared at the proffered envelope. There was no doubt what it must contain. After an awkward hesitation, Hermione swallowed and snatched it from his hand. “Thank you, Mr Weasley,” she mumbled. Her own hands trembling, she tore the envelope open. Inside was a clipping from a Muggle newspaper, a photograph accompanied by a short column of text. “New Dental Team to Service Tennant Creek” the headline read. The photo showed a large sign set in the front garden of a single storey building. There was a small car park on one side. Harry scanned the text. An immigrant husband and wife dental team from Britain have begun providing an increased level of oral health services to Tennant Creek residents. They have settled locally and will replace the previous team that visited on a two weeks on-two weeks off timetable. They will be taking on the remote service that will include a week in Borroloola about every three months. Harry's eyes skipped rapidly over the details on contacting the hospital to read the sign. General Practice and Dental Surgery Wendell Wilkins, BDS, DDSc Monica Wilkins, BDS, DDSc Family Dentists Ron was the first to react. “No doubt about it.” He heaved an enormous sigh of relief. “It's them.” Hermione was sniffling. For once in her life words failed her, so she nodded her agreement. Aside from the article, there was nothing else in the envelope. No indication who had found the information, or why. Harry turned to ask Mr Weasley how he had gotten the information, but he had left them to enter his own suite. Was that a sign that he did not want to know too many details about what was happening with Hermione’s family? Even the most overwhelming news could only render Hermione speechless for a short time. She blew her nose and said brightly, “Now I can finally bring them home where they belong.” The eight sat down for an early supper in one of the small restaurants that opened off of the hotel foyer. It provided an extensive Italian menu. Their selections were savoury and the servings generous. Ron was in heaven. Their server was an outgoing and cheerful witch with ruddy cheeks, freckles and frizzy auburn hair. Her name-tag said her name was Isabella, but she told them to call her Izzy. She was very interested to discover they were British. “British? Fair dinkum? How are things in Britain for wizards right now — with the war and all?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice. “I've read the most far out stories. Crikey, the paper's been full of them for months.” “Well, things are starting to get better,” Dad Weasley offered, “but it's still hard times ahead for a lot of Wizarding families.” Dad Weasley, Ginny, Neville, and even Mr Patil chatted with the young witch, describing some of the efforts to recover from the war. Luna stared around the room, taking in their surroundings. Harry was his usual reserved self. Ron watched Hermione while she brooded and twitched. Harry knew the signs well enough. Now that Hermione had an actual location, she was itching to find the nearest library and learn everything she could about the town where her parents lived. Dad Weasley and Mr Patil passed on having a sweet after dinner, returning to their suite to review their papers for the next morning's meetings. Harry seized his chance, and at the next opportunity, he broke his self-imposed silence to ask Izzy if they could find a Muggle public library nearby. “How's that, a Muggle public library?” The young witch had to stop and think a moment. “We're in Leichhardt. I think there's one right down Norton street,” the young witch answered. “But why would you want a Muggle public library?” Harry gestured in Hermione's direction. “My friend has relatives in a place called Tennant Creek,” he explained. “She wants to find out more about the town.” “Tennant Creek?” Izzy asked, her brows knitting in concentration. “Isn't that Up North, in the Territory?” “Somewhere between a city called Darwin and some place called Alice Springs,” Ron offered. Since the article they had glanced at before dinner involved Hermione's well-being, he had paid attention and remembered the details. “I'm not going to be much help, then,” the serving witch provided. “My relos have vineyards and a winery in the Adelaide Hills, but I'm a city witch myself.” “Your family's in the wine business?” Harry repeated. “So, you're Muggle-born, then?” “Oh, no,” Izzy returned airly. “My family was one of the first Wizarding families to settle in Australia. They came out in 1849 after the troubles in Germany.” Harry noted that Izzy seemed completely unfazed by being asked if she was Muggle-born. “The family did get into the winery business by marrying Muggles, though,” she continued her story. “My old man says his grandfather was livid. The family had always been Pureblood, but there wasn't much choice. Marriageable Muggle women were few and far between in those days; eligible witches were even harder to come by. I'll be back in a flash.” Izzy left to turn in their orders. She had a strange expression on her face when she returned a short while later with their afters. “You're those blokes from the British Ministry, aren't you?” she asked, even before setting down their sweets. The six youngsters glanced at each other. They settled on looking at Harry to provide the response. “Yes,” Harry answered. “Well, the two older wizards who left earlier are from the Ministry, we're just along...” Harry puzzled for a moment about how to explain what they were doing “...to tell our stories,” he finished lamely. “Are you Harry Potter?” she asked, a strange breathless aspect entering her voice for the first time. Now Harry was the one glancing from side to side looking for a way out. Finally he nodded reluctantly. “Who wants to know?” he asked belatedly. Izzy pointed towards a table of six witches, varying from the age of Ginny's parents to a young witch who must still be in school. “They were arguing about whether or not you're Harry Potter. They asked me to find out.” The witches all waved vigorously. “What do you want me to tell them?” With a sinking sensation, Harry realised it was too late. They had seen him nod his head, and now those witches knew the answer. To make matters worse, the youngest witch pulled a mobile from her handbag and began ringing people. Difficulties began as the six young people rose from their meal to return to their rooms. A crowd of spectators had gathered in the hotel foyer outside the restaurant. Several groups of diners, most of them witches, left their tables at the same time as Harry and his party and followed them out of the restaurant. Harry and his companions found themselves trapped between the two crowds. “There he is! It's Harry Potter!” someone shouted as they emerged into the foyer. “Are you sure?” another voice questioned. “I heard that he always uses stand-ins for his public appearances.” Public appearances? Harry thought to himself. I'm not doing public appearances! “Please, Mr Potter,” a young witch with long dark hair and oriental features, not more than eight or nine, held out a notebook. “May I have your autograph?” Harry paused. As tired as he felt, he was not prepared to be abrupt with this young witch. He thought of Blue back at The Burrow, and sighed. He took the young girl's book and scrawled his name in his messy handwriting. The young witch beamed. She turned around, holding the book above her head, and shrieked, “Mummy! Mummy! Look! He signed my book!” The entire crowd surged in Harry's direction, a clamour of voices rising. He could feel hands grabbing at him from every side. Involuntarily, Harry's memory flashed back to the dark underground lake with Dumbledore on the rock and the Inferi closing in from every direction. Harry began to panic. While Hermione led Luna away to the side, Ginny, Ron and Neville closed in beside him and guided him towards the wall, trying to at least limit people to approaching him from the front. He had no idea where it came from, but somehow a self-inking quill had appeared in his hand. As a matter of self-preservation, Harry began signing things that were being thrust at him, not even looking to see what they might be. Harry lost track of time. He had no idea how long this continued, but the crowd gave no sign of getting any smaller. One thing he noticed however, was that very few of his admirers sounded Australian. At least not like their hosts at the Portkey terminal or the witch who had just served them their meal. Suddenly, a heavily made-up witch in tight Muggle clothes was standing directly in front of Harry. “I don't have an autograph book,” she smirked, “how about signing here?” She was holding open the neckline of her low-cut top, revealing nearly all of an ample bosom. There's certainly enough space, was the first thought that came to Harry's crowd-dazed mind. In the next second, the full import of the situation worked its way into his brain, and he jerked back in consternation, dropping the quill. “Back off, you...you...scarlet woman!” A furious Ginny Weasley inserted herself between Harry and his brazen admirer. “He's spoken for!” Her face was flushed and her lips trembled. “That's easily enough fixed,” the statuesque witch smiled condescendingly at Ginny. She looked up and down her slender form. “I read in the Sorcerer his betrothed is a girl who hasn't even left school yet.” Ginny paled. “Schoolgirl!” she snarled. Her expression changed in an instant from offended to deadly. She snapped her wrist and her wand sprang into her hand. Ginny had spent her spare time practising with her new wand holster. “I'll show you what the Death Eaters taught this schoolgirl!” she hissed. The brazen witch recoiled in horror at the young red-head's transformation. “Bloody hell!” Ron gasped. He and Neville stepped forward from where they had been guarding Harry's sides and interposed themselves between Ginny and the now-terrified witch. “Ginny! No!” Harry exclaimed. While his two mates stepped forward, he had wrapped his arms around his betrothed and lifted her bodily, turning to the side so they were both facing away from the offending witch. “She's not worth getting blood on the carpets!” The expression on Ginny's face, combined with her still-ready wand, and the import of Harry's exclamation were enough to clear for the moment an open space immediately in front of them. Before the situation could deteriorate further, several large wizards in the uniform of the hotel staff pushed their way to the front of the crowd. “Alright, mates,” the grey-haired senior wizard of the new arrivals spoke in a penetrating voice. “Everyone move along, please. Department fire regulations require the hotel to keep these areas clear for free passage in the event of an emergency.” He rattled off his message with the confident ease of someone dealing with a familiar situation. “Which of you blokes is Potter?” he asked as the crowd began to drift away. How about the bloke who looks like the photo on the front page of the Daily Sorcerer? Harry thought to himself. “I am,” he said out loud. “Sorry 'bout the dust-up, Mr Potter,” the grey-haired wizard continued. “If you'd let us know in advance you were planning a public appearance, we'd have put proper security in place.” “I wasn't!” Harry snapped, but no one was listening. The hotel staff were shepherding the crowd toward the exits. Ron, looking over the mass of wizards and witches from his higher vantage point, spotted Hermione and Luna. He led off in their direction. Harry kept one arm around a still-seething Ginny, while Neville brought up the rear. Luna and Hermione had appropriated one of the three magical lifts. Hermione had done something to lock the charmed conveyance in place. Once they were all aboard, a wave of her wand sent them on their way. “Well, that was fun,” Neville exclaimed, collapsing against the inner wall of the lift. His wry smile did not take any of the sarcastic tone out of his voice. “I can't wait to spend six more days here.” Harry had realized even before they returned to Australia from their quick visit to New Zealand that he was going to have to take charge of reuniting Hermione with her parents. He needed to start immediately. They were all exhausted, but some questions could not wait. Ron was fully occupied dealing with the symptoms of Hermione's distress, so Harry sat down with the rest of their party in the main room of their hotel suite to discuss how to solve Hermione's problem. “Who's going to cast the Charms to restore their memories?” Harry asked his three remaining mates. There was no need to say that it was not going to be Hermione. The Charms to restore her parents' memories without damaging the new ones they had formed would be incredibly complex. Hermione was so distracted that earlier in the day she had conjured a flock of penguins while trying to cool a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Luna was still puzzling at dinner over exactly what Arithmantic transposition might have occurred. Ginny shook her head. “Memory Charms are beyond me,” she insisted. “Transfiguration, that I might be some help with, but Memory Charms are Advanced N.E.W.T.-level work. I'm just starting seventh year for the first time. Even among seventh years, only someone who has studied ahead has even a chance of getting them right.” Harry knew he was not the one. Except for the Wards and concealment spells he had learned from Hermione on their quest, he had no more familiarity with seventh-year Charms than Ginny did. Neville quickly ruled himself out as well. “I might not be the hopeless case I once was,” he smiled wryly, “at least when it comes to Herbology or Defence, but I'm not about to muck around inside anyone's brain.” Harry turned and looked at Luna. The others followed his gaze. Luna was staring out the glass sliding doors leading onto the hotel balcony. The clouds outside the window were already losing the last traces of what had been a beautiful display under the influence of the setting sun. It was only early evening, but here in the southern hemisphere, July was the depth of winter. “Um, Luna?” Harry prompted. Had she paid any attention at all to their discussion? “Let me talk to Hermione,” Luna responded without taking her gaze from the colourful skies. “If she can tell me which Charms she used and in what order, then we shall see.” Luna took Hermione off Ron's hands — much to his relief — for a private conversation in the bedroom the three witches had claimed as their own. The two emerged before long with Hermione mopping tears off her face, and Luna with a slightly abstracted look on hers. She clutched a thick magical tome in her arms that could only have come from the depths of Hermione's beaded bag. Luna walked back to the group at the table. “It's very curious,” she said, setting down the grimoire. “Did you know that the first time Hermione and Ron–” Ginny clamped both her hands over her ears. “Oh, no, you don't, Luna,” she warned. “I won't have any of that kind of talk. It's bad enough having to watch the two of them across the breakfast table each morning, without knowing what they've been doing!” “What about the Memory Charms?” Harry asked, fighting off the urge to shake his blonde friend. “Oh, those.” Luna looked around vaguely. “It seems Hermione did a very orderly job of setting them in place.” She held up a small scroll. “She even prepared meticulous notes. With this,” she patted the magical reference book on the table, “reversing the Charms should be as easy as sexing Doxies.” With any other witch, Harry would not have found that explanation the least bit reassuring. But if Luna said she knew what to do, then Harry was confident it would get done right. Harry had no idea what “sexing Doxies” entailed, but since it involved Care of Magical Creatures, he was certain Luna did — and he suspected she was very good at it. They had provided for the final step, but what about the ones leading up to that? How were they going to reach Hermione's parents to perform the Charms? None of them knew their way around Australia, and what excuse were they going to use for wanting to go to this Tennant Creek place in the first place? Once they were there, how were they going to convince Hermione's parents to permit them to perform the Charms? No one had any ideas on how to solve those pieces of the puzzle. The next morning, Hermione and Ginny were the only ones up at the planned time, and Hermione looked as if she had not slept a wink. It took heroic applications of Charms as well as some not-inconsequential threats on Ginny's part towards her brother to make the other members of their party presentable. Happily, Dad Weasley had apparently anticipated this situation, and had provided extra time in their timetable for recovery. Harry understood Hermione's motivation for rising early, but it was not until Ginny dragged her brother downstairs to the foyer of the hotel to change their money into Australian dollars that Harry remembered that today was the first time in her life that Ginny would be going shopping for clothes without her mother's supervision, and the first time that she had money to spend as well. After breakfast, Dad Weasley introduced them to his opposite number from the Australian Department of Magic. Frederick Windschuttle, the Deputy Secretary for Magical Law Enforcement, was a thick-set bull of a wizard with flyaway blonde hair and a ruddy face. He was shadowed by a young witch who was struggling to suppress a sullen expression. Arthur had explained at breakfast that since Melinda was out of commission, their host was bringing along his daughter to take the party out shopping before they met with the Australian Aurors in the afternoon. When that meeting was done, the six would have several days to themselves before the delegation returned to Britain. “Hullo everyone,” Deputy Secretary Windschuttle announced. “I trust your night was comfortable?” Reassured on that account by their murmured responses, he went on to shake hands with everyone, beginning with Dad Weasley and Mr Patil. When he reached Harry, his eyes crinkled with delight. “HARRY POTTER!” he declared loudly enough to attract attention from across the hotel lobby. “Well, this is a bonza day for Australian wizards!” “Not to mention Australian witches,” his young companion added, the sarcasm in her tone completely at odds with her words. This young witch's reaction was so contrary to Harry's experience with the fan girls the previous evening that he turned his full attention on her. She had her father's broad face, with hazel eyes and short, blonde hair. Her skin was the golden-bronze colour of a fair-skinned person who spent a lot of time in the sun. She wore a conservative Muggle outfit, a navy blue blazer and skirt, with a green jumper very close to the colour Ginny liked to wear. The thought of Ginny prompted Harry to glance in her direction. Ginny was scowling at the blonde witch. After the previous evening's experience, that was only to be expected. Deputy Secretary Windschuttle had winced at her comment. “And this is my youngest,” he rallied. “My daughter, Beverley.” “Call me Early,” she corrected. Her father frowned. “Beverley,” he emphasized the name, “is going to show you kids around while Arthur and Mr Patil come with me to Canberra.” Harry felt rather than saw his companions bristle at the Australian politician's categorization of them as “kids.” Interestingly enough, it was Shivraj Patil, rather than Dad Weasley, whose lips tightened at the reference. Their host continued on unwittingly. “This arvo she'll bring you out to the Reserve for your pitch to our Aurors. Give our guests a proper Australian welcome, Beverley,” he ordered. “G'day, mates!” she offered in an exaggerated accent. “Welcome Down Under!” An awkward silence followed. “Do you have to turn everything into a bloody circus?” Her father hissed. “I have to be here,” she hissed in return. “You saw to that. I don't have to like it!” None of the British visitors knew how to react to that revelation of family tension. Unexpectedly, Luna stepped in to fill the gap. “Early's an unusual name,” she observed. “Is it meant to inspire you, like being named Hope, or Patience, or Chastity?” Early's father stared at Luna for a second before he broke out in a sharp laugh. It was a bitter laugh. “No hope of that one,” he muttered, for all the world as if no one else was there. “Not at all, chickie,” the young Australian witch assumed a friendlier tone. The way Luna had disconcerted the Deputy Minister seemed to improve Early's spirits dramatically. “When I was a tyke, my family called me Bev. I told my friends I didn't want to be a Bev — every girl named Beverley was a Bev. So one of my friends said that if they couldn't call me 'Bev,' the only thing left to call me was 'erley.' And it stuck.” She paused, taking in her father's dark scowl. “We were silly little girls,” she muttered, her rebellious tone making a lie of the retraction. The older wizards said hasty farewells and departed. Dad Weasley and Mr Patil seemed relieved to be escaping the uncomfortable situation. Frederick Windschuttle glared one final warning at his daughter. Left to their own devices, the six friends stared at each other for a minute, completely nonplussed about what to do with their very unwilling guide. The three wizards were completely mystified. Ginny still seemed miffed by Early's first comment about Harry being such good news for Australian witches, even if it had been offered in a sarcastic tone. Luna was completely disinterested in anything so banal as painful, awkward silences. Predictably, Hermione's sense of social propriety caused her to break first. “W...would you like to come up to our suite w...while we get ready to go out?” she stammered. Their reluctant hostess sighed. “Might as well.” Inside the suite, Early looked around appreciatively. “Ripper digs,” she judged. “Good to see our Department is taking proper care of you.” The slight emphasis on the last word suggested that their new acquaintance might have more than one chip on her shoulder. She looked at Hermione. “Now that the oldies are gone, do you mind if I get comfortable?” Hermione was watching the Australian witch with a rapt but uncertain expression. “Oh,” she reacted to being addressed. “No! Not at all.” She waved in the direction of the bedroom the witches had shared the night before. “You can use the room on the–” “Thanks!” Early did not bother with the bedroom. She drew a wand from the pocket of her blazer and enlarged a worn rucksack she was now holding in her other hand. She set the pack on the couch and removed her blazer, dropping it beside the rucksack. Her jumper was short-sleeved, revealing bare arms covered with intricate tattoos. She turned her back to the others in the room and began to pull her jumper over her head. “Strewth, I've been dying to get out of this straitjacket!” she exclaimed, apparently oblivious to the fact that the other three witches in the room were wearing outfits very similar to the one she was removing. Removing the jumper exposed a shocking pink singlet that began to ride up her back, dragged by the jumper. Her back was covered with more of the intricate tattoos. The flowing tattoos seemed to take on a life of their own as she moved. Harry had never seen anything like that before. The shapes fascinated Harry, so much so that he forgot he was staring at the body of a witch he had just met. It did not escape Ginny's notice however, as her sharp dig in his ribs alerted him. Ron gulped when Early dropped her navy skirt around her ankles, but she was wearing what Harry would have described as cycling shorts underneath. She Summoned a much shorter denim skirt out of the rucksack, and pulled it on, over the shorts. The Australian witch examined her hair critically in the reflection from the glass in the picture frame in front of her, clucking with disappointment. Retrieving her wand, a few quick gestures converted her hairstyle into a spiky maze highlighted in a variety of wildly unnatural colours. Apparently satisfied, she turned around to face her companions. “There,” she exclaimed, “that's better.” She tugged at the hem of the tight singlet, pulling it straight and down closer to the waistband of her skirt. The words printed across the chest of the shirt proudly proclaimed, “My ID is fake, these are real!” Hermione stared as she read the message, but otherwise did not react. Ginny, on the other hand, giggled. “Where can a witch buy tops like that?” she asked. Early seemed, if anything, slightly taken aback at the blasé reception her transformation received, but then she had never known Tonks. Harry resisted the impulse to burst out laughing. As usual, it was Luna who could be counted on to cut through the social niceties. “Why are you unhappy about having to spend time with us?” she asked. “We're not about to infect you with Nargles, even if we did just come from Britain.” Early stared at Luna, clearly uncertain what to make of her. It seemed as if she considered several possible responses, before settling on the one she gave. “It's my relos, y'see...” “You're angry with your family?” Luna responded in her matter-of-fact, singsong tone. “It must be nice to have a family to be angry with...I only have my father. And he's not around most of the time.” Harry looked at Luna. As usual, her expression gave no clue to her true emotional state, but something told him that she was genuinely missing her parents at the moment. Harry knew that feeling. Neville must have also sensed there was more behind Luna's comments than random prattle. He stepped forward and put one hand on her shoulder. “Oh, I don't know,” Neville offered. “With a family name like 'Windschuttle,' I'd be resentful towards my family as well.” He softened the comment with a whimsical smile. “You would know, 'Longbottom,'” Ron smirked, “though I never saw you get rebellious.” Neville nodded amiably in confirmation. “Lack of rebellion doesn't mean lack of resentment, though.” Early glared. “Well, I have even less use for your Pommy Ministry than I do for my relos, so don't press your luck!” That failure to jolly Early out of her mood should have put an end to the conversation entirely, but Luna was never one to pick up on conventional social cues. “Are your tattoos magical?” she resumed in her dreamy voice. “They are very similar to some of the Druidic markings we studied in Ancient Runes.” “Really?” Early showed the most positive interest she had evinced since they met her. “They're similar? What do you know about them? Our Ancient Runes classes were bodgy. All they covered were the bog-standard European dead languages.” She thought for a moment. “Is anyone in Britain still using those Druidic markings?” “Not that I know of,” Luna replied. She tilted her head to one side. “The Quibbler gets regular reports about secret Druid cults, but so far they've all turned out to be mistaken. The only 'Druids' my dad found who had tattoos were members of a Muggle circus sideshow.” Early was visibly disappointed. “What about you, Hermione?” Luna asked. “Do you know of any bands of tattooed Druids?” Hermione shook her head no. She was now examining Early's tattoos herself with an interest she had not shown in anything else for several days. “So your tattoos are magical?” Luna returned to her original question with uncharacteristic tenacity. “Yes.” The Australian witch held out her arms and inspected them. “They're Dreaming maps.” Everyone watched her expectantly. It was clear they were in need of more explanation. Early organized her thoughts. “The indigenous Australians have traveled across the empty ranges of this continent for thousands of years by following instructions passed down by their ancestors in Songlines or Dreaming tracks. These Songlines guide them in communing with the sacred places and spirits across Australia. Indigenous magic-users are given these markings as additional guides for their encounters with the spirits who teach them the secrets of traditional Australian magic.” “Do they work?” Luna asked. For Luna, 'tact' was a word in the dictionary. Early grimaced. “Sometimes,” she muttered. “Are they defective?” Luna asked. “The effectiveness of some Runes is dependent on proper execution of the preparation rituals.” Strangely enough, the prickly young Australian did not seem to be at all bothered by the questions with which Luna peppered her. “They shouldn't be,” she answered patiently, “they were each done by a different aboriginal witch in the traditional way.” Early frowned. “Most were prepared by Anangu and Yapa witches, but I know a Koori witch who is very powerful with both European and indigenous magic, and she uses some of these same maps.” “Did she have any advice that might help?” Hermione asked. Early shook her head. “No. She was as mad as a cut snake when I explained what I was trying to do. She said it was too dangerous for an outsider.” “How many other wizards and witches are trying to learn aboriginal magic?” Hermione sounded fascinated. Early snorted. “None is the best bet. Most European or Asian wizards and witches agree with that Koori witch I mentioned. They believe it's hopeless for outsiders to try to master the indigenous magic.” “But you don't think that, do you?” Hermione observed. “How did you become interested in this?” Early scowled. Her mood changed in a flash. “Enough earbashing,” she muttered sullenly. “If you want to get your shopping done before we have to Apparate to your meeting, then we'd best get moving.” “Where are we going?” Ginny asked. Now they were on a topic close to her heart. “We'll start with the Square, and move on,” Early offered. “The Square?” Harry asked. Early sighed. “Let's have a squiz off the balcony here,” she stated, opening the sliding door and stepping out. “You Pommy wizards have your Diagon Alley, we Aussies have our Triangle Square.” They followed their moody guide onto the balcony. In contrast to Diagon Alley, the Sydney Wizarding quarter was built around an open square in a faux Italian renaissance style. Their hotel balcony opened directly on to the Square, which even at this early hour was filled with carts and stands where various magical products were for sale. Customers were just beginning to filter among the stalls. Larger, more formal establishments formed the four sides of the square. Their hotel, the Macquarie Arms, made up one entire side. The buildings surrounding the square varied from three to five stories in height. The ground level of the buildings formed one continuous arcade around all four sides with stores opening into the covered walkway. The first floor above was also made up of a continuous series of galleried arcades around all four sides, this level opening on a different series of stores and establishments from those on the ground floor. Above that first floor, most of the buildings had porches that opened out over the square, like the hotel. Many of the balconies were decorated with wrought-iron fancy work, those of the Macquarie Arms among the most ornate. The buildings themselves were mostly brick, with a few of the most substantial faced in stone. Not even Hermione's current focus on her parents could entirely divert her from exploring new knowledge. “Triangle Square,” she echoed Early's last words. “Is that some sort of play on Diagon Alley?” “Sounds like, doesn't it?” Early was shaking her head. “Not at all. In Wizarding Australia, the Triangle is an imaginary set of lines connecting the cities of Sydney, Adelaide and Melbourne. Nine out of ten wizards and witches live in or near the Triangle. Many of the rest live nearby. Because of that, most Wizarding families can Apparate here to the Square from their homes. Most of the Wizarding folk who live far outside the Triangle are aborigines, and most of them don't have much use for Triangle Square or the things we sell here.” Harry had noticed something about Early. She liked to sound uneducated, but she did not talk like an uneducated person. She had knowledge that could only come from a comprehensive education. As if she had intuited what Harry was thinking, Early resumed speaking in an exaggerated accent. “Me old man said youse need new clothes,” she continued, examining each of them in turn. “What’re youse looking for? There's Wizarding tailors here in the Square...” “No,” Ginny and Harry protested simultaneously. They glanced at each other, then Ginny continued. “Unless the Wizarding robe makers here are much more....up-to-date...than the ones in Britain, we'd much rather try the Muggle shops.” “Robe makers?” Early began, as if she could not believe her ears. She rallied quickly. “Youse certainly have a broader selection of clothes in the Muggle stores,” the Australian witch confirmed. “Once you've found the styles you want, there are several places right down here in Triangle Square where you can have them charmed with whatever features you might want, if you're too Eastern suburbs to do it yourselves.” Harry was reasonably certain that remark was not complimentary. He still did not understand why Early was taking the time to show them around, if she did not want to be with them. They rapidly sorted out the arrangements. Ginny was eager to go out. Hermione agreed to go along reluctantly, but only because Ron reminded her that she wanted to look her best when she met her parents. Harry and Ron went along, Harry because he wanted decent clothes almost as much as Ginny, and Ron because he was not going to let Hermione out of his reach under any circumstances. Luna and Neville quickly declined, their eyes on each other. Harry wondered what the couple had in mind. Ginny had no doubts. As the party left the hotel room, Harry heard Ginny muttering under her breath, “If they don't use the beds in the wizards' room, I'll hex them straight back to England myself!” Each bedroom had two double beds. Ginny had said earlier she was sharing with Luna to give Hermione her own space to toss and turn. At least Neville had his own bed, since Harry was sharing with Ron. Much to Harry's surprise, Early had ready use of a Muggle van, and she knew how to drive. She took them a short distance, a specific destination clearly in mind. “This is a Muggle shopping centre,” Early prepped them as they searched the multi-storey car park for an open space, “but it's popular with wizards and witches as well. We may run into other Wizarding folk.” It ended up taking them longer to find a space in the car park than it did to drive to the shopping centre. Passing through the entryway to the shopping centre itself, they stepped into a long curving hallway almost as broad as the foyer of the Macquarie Arms, but much longer. Both sides were lined with stores, and people were already beginning to throng the walkway. “This is brilliant!” Harry stared around. The Dursleys had never even considered taking him along to such a destination. The praise seemed to have an odd effect on Early. “Well,” she muttered, “this is only part of it, there are two more floors above.” “Bloody hell,” Ron whispered as he also stared around unabashedly. “It's like Diagon Alley for Muggles.” “Watch the language, please,” Early warned. Ron turned to her, an incredulous expression on his face. “You don't hold with vulgar language either?” he asked, his face reddening. “I don't give a bloody buggering hell about vulgar language,” Early retorted, checking around carefully before continuing in a voice barely above a whisper, “but don't talk about 'Muggles' where they can hear you!” The friends became more circumspect after that. Harry watched Ginny. She was staring around just as avidly as her brother, albeit without the comments. Harry remembered his first visit to Diagon Alley. That had been the most wondrous experience of his life up until that moment. It had revealed a whole new and unexpected world. Watching Ginny, he could see the same feelings play across her face. This might well be the first time she had ever seen the Muggle world in all its variety. The shoppers passing by included a large proportion of young people of school age or near. Hermione asked about that, and Early explained that since this was July, Australian schools, both Wizarding and Muggle, were on school holidays for two weeks. Early recommended they start with Grace Brothers, a large department store that anchored the middle of the curving rows of stores running through the centre. Harry had experienced some anxiety as to where Early might take them to shop, judging by what she considered appropriate attire, but there was nothing radical about this store. If anything, Harry found this store fancy enough to be intimidating. After all, he had never gone shopping in an upscale Muggle store in his life, himself. Hermione — and surprisingly, Early — came to his rescue to guide him through the intricacies of locating what he wanted and negotiating the etiquette of the changing rooms. Ginny took charge of advising him in colours and style as he picked out a number of dress shirts and trousers. Hermione offered her opinions when asked. Early offered a few suggestions, but Ginny discouraged her assistance. Harry did not feel the need for anything so formal as a Muggle business suit at this point, and Hermione advised him that it would not be particularly useful. Ginny stuck to her responsibilities gamely, but the longing glances she shot with increasing frequency in the direction of the young women's department pulled at Harry's heartstrings. After adding a selection of less dressy trousers to his haul, Harry suggested that she go looking for herself. Early led Hermione and Ginny towards the women's clothes, though Ginny certainly needed no directions on how to find that section of the store. Ron and Harry sought out the public restroom, where they waited until it was unoccupied, whereupon Harry shrank his purchases down to a size he could fit easily into his pockets. The two wizards wandered around the store, taking in the sights, until the three witches came back to collect them. Hermione had a small number of packages. Surprisingly, Ginny had only a few more, fewer than Harry had collected. “That was quick,” Ron said, a hopeful expression on his face. He had obviously expected the witches to take much longer. Harry had as well, for that matter. “Don't get your hopes up, mate,” Early offered sardonically. “The ladies...” she included both of the witches in her words, but her glance went to Ginny, “are interested in something...younger.” Ron's expression of hope deflated. “I'm taking them to Witchery and Just Jeans,” Early explained. “Do you two want to come along?” Harry and Ron exchanged blank glances. If they did not go along, where would they go? They both nodded resignedly. On their way down the mall, Ron stopped and pointed out one brightly lit store. “How about that one?” he asked. Early looked at the store, then at Ginny and Hermione in their blazers and skirts, then back at Ron. “Supre?” she asked rhetorically. “Tarts-R-Us is more like it,” she snickered. “I don't think that's quite the girls' speed.” Ginny flushed under Early's examination. The display in the window showed a range of tight, short dresses in bright animal prints. “I'm not afraid of something daring,” she protested. “I'm not some old–” “No, you're not,” Hermione interrupted, seizing Ginny's hand and pulling. “But you do have a modicum of good taste, not to mention self-respect.” Ginny glared at her friend as Hermione dragged her away. They spent only a few minutes in Witchery. Hermione found a few items she wanted, but Ginny wanted something “more practical.” Harry had seen her eyes widen when she checked the prices on some of the items she fancied. Early led them down the hall to Just Jeans. Just Jeans displayed a large assortment of shirts and jumpers at the front of the store. The two wizards were just about to make a bid for freedom while the witches went about the serious part of their shopping, when a high, feminine voice called out. “Oh, Beverley!” The tone reminded Harry of Lavender Brown at her flightiest. They all turned in the direction of the interruption. A petite blonde girl a few years younger than their age was hurrying across the store, one hand waving excitedly. “Oh, for Merlin's sake,” she whispered when she reached them, dispelling any question about whether she was a Muggle or a witch, “it really is you!” “It's 'Early,' Millie,” their guide protested sullenly. The new arrival surveyed Early up and down. She glanced at her own jumper and skirt, then back at Early's scanty outfit. “Aren't you cold?” she asked. “Not at all,” Early gave her acquaintance a defiant glare. The glare made no impression on the young witch. She was shaking her head, a look of dismay growing on her face. “What have you done to yourself, Beverley? Where did you get all those horrid...” Words failed her, so she had to content herself with vague gestures of one hand in the overall direction of Early's tattoos. “I went walkabout,” Early supplied, as if that explained everything. “So you actually did it?” a new voice contributed. Two more sedate versions of the witch Early had identified as Millie had followed their leader from the other side of the store. “I remember you talking about it when you were in Year Twelve, and how your old man would disown you if you ever had the balls to actually go through with it.” “That's right!” the third witch interjected, as if she had just now puzzled out what Early had meant “My dad said you'd run off and taken to living like some Blackman's cook–” “Rachael!” Millie hissed. “Don't be so vulgar...” “Why not?” She sounded genuinely curious and not the least bit repentant. “Because it's wrong!” the last member of the trio insisted. “We all have aboriginal friends...” Rachael felt compelled to justify her position. “But Jess, everyone knows that Abos are–” “Stop right there,” Early interrupted. She had clearly lost her temper. “If you want to call me a slut, then go ahead and do it to my face, but don't blame it on the witches who tutored me.” Early did have a way of putting a damper on a conversation. She led the group over to the side of the hallway, where the corner between two storefronts provided a minimum of privacy. They all spent a moment watching the passing crowd. None of the passers-by showed any interest in the small group of young people. The witch named Rachael finally broke the silence. “So...was it worth it?” she asked, her own conviction that it could not have been evident in the tone of the question. “Some,” Early muttered, clearly uncomfortable. “Who are your friends?” Millie asked, trying to divert the conversation into more conventional channels. “I don't believe I've met them....” “I'm sure you haven't,” Early snapped, still out-of-sorts from the previous line of questioning. “I'm helping my Dad. This mob is from the British Ministry. I'm showing them around. Then I'm taking them to the Department for meetings.” “You're guiding wizards from the British Ministry?” Rachael exclaimed. This seemed to shock her even more than the thought of Early going walkabout and letting the aboriginal elders tattoo her body. “After Stephen was killed, you swore that if you ever met any of those Pommy...” “Please! Rachael!” Millie smiled weakly. “They're standing right in front of us!” Rachael tried to recover. “Well,” she gulped, “I'm sure it was all...well...just the grief talking or something.” The third member of the Australian trio, the one they had called Jess, was examining the visitors closely, most of her attention on Harry. “These aren't just any Pommy wizards,” she exclaimed. She pointed at Harry. “That's Harry Potter!” “No!” Millie objected. “Fair-dinkum?” Rachael addressed Harry directly. He understood that much Australian at least. He did not say anything in reply. He just nodded reluctantly. “Strewth!” Mille gasped. All three of the new arrivals looked as if Christmas had come in July. One of them, Harry was not certain which, actually squealed in excitement. Suddenly, Early's stand-offish behaviour seemed delightful in comparison. “Did you really fight that Lord Volde-thingie?” Millie asked breathlessly. “You look so spu...young.” Harry was blushing now. “Well...yes...but...” He glared accusingly at Early. She had the grace to look shamefaced, but said nothing. “...I had a lot of help,” Harry concluded lamely. There was something like a low growling noise, which Harry suspected might be coming from Ginny. Of course, he could be imagining it. “What did you do with him afterwards?” Rachael asked, honest curiosity in her voice. Harry stared. What kind of person did this witch think he was? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Early wince and grimace. Ginny — never in the best of moods whenever other witches were crowding around Harry — looked like she was building rapidly towards an explosion. “Oh, for Merlin's sake, Rache,” Jess interjected before the others could say anything, “Lord Voldemort was dead when the battle ended!” Harry breathed a mental sigh of relief. She had thought he'd taken Tom Riddle prisoner! “Dead?” Millie echoed. She was still looking at Harry with eyes like saucers, but now her excitement was tempered by something fearful. “Why would you kill him?” “Harry didn't kill him,” Ron came to his rescue. “Harry offered Tom — the Dark wizard you called Voldemort — the chance to surrender if he could feel remorse for what he had done, but he attacked Harry instead.” “Tom Riddle was killed by the backblast of his own Killing Curse,” Ginny supplied. She stepped forward and took Harry's hand, staking her claim for all to see. Hopefully that meant she had decided not to hex anyone. “Killing Curse?” Rachael whispered. “Did those Death Eaters really use Unforgivables? I'd heard that, but I couldn't believe it.” Early had passed through grimacing at the tactless behaviour of her acquaintances and was now well into looking mortified. The four Brits exchanged perplexed glances. They did not know where to begin with trying to explain their war experiences to these innocents. “Yes,” Harry finally responded. He stopped there. “Did...did you ever see anyone hit with the Cruciatus curse?” Rachael asked, her tone equal parts trepidation and fascination. Harry glanced at Hermione. Ron did the same. That night at Malfoy Manor was still vivid in their memories. Hermione's lips had pressed into a thin line. A faint flush on her cheeks was the only clue that this line of questioning might be bothering her. A second thought made Harry glance at Ginny where she stood with her hand in his. The Carrows had used students in detention for Cruciatus practise. While she had never said so explicitly, Harry was certain Ginny had served many detentions. Her eyes were flashing. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. Harry ground his teeth. When they told their stories to Canadian or New Zealand Aurors, those audiences at least had a practical understanding of the situations Harry and his friends had endured. This was...surreal. “Yes,” Harry answered again, even more curtly than his previous monosyllabic response. Jess had studied the exchange of glances before Harry answered. Now she turned and cupped her hand around her friend's ear, and whispered urgently. Rachael's eyes went wide and round. “Oh!” she gasped. She turned and stared at her friend. “You mean...” “For Merlin's sake, belt up, Rachael,” Early sighed. “Don't embarrass yourself any more than necessary!” “Oh, look!” Millie interrupted eagerly. “Isn't that Ned?” Millie waved. “Ned, Ned, over here!” The relief in her voice at the opportunity to change the subject was palpable. Ned was a handsome young wizard with sandy hair and a flamboyant confidence that made Harry think of a young Roger Davies. It was not a pleasant thought. Harry glanced at Ron. He was scowling slightly too. Millie and Rachael introduced Ned to their new British acquaintances. There was still an uncomfortable breathless quality to their behaviour, but happily Ned was more mature — or at least more blasé — than his schoolgirl friends. “So you're here to talk to our Aurors,” he said when he shook Harry's hand. “I'd give a lot to hear that discussion.” “Ned here's going to be an Auror when he leaves school,” Millie explained. She was watching the newly arrived wizard with the same admiring gaze she had bestowed on Harry a few minutes before. “Well, that's one of the options I'm considering.” Ned waved one hand airily. “What are you doing out shopping today?” Early asked. To Harry, she sounded faintly disapproving. “Got to replace my duds,” Ned shrugged. “I've grown so much since school started that I'll look like a derro if I go back in my old clobber.” Harry looked at Early. “He's needs to replace his school uniform,” she translated. “The things I do for old Murrumbidgee Secondary College, the pride of Wagga Wagga, New South Wales,” he sighed, spreading his arms theatrically. Ron perked up. “Are there any werewolves in Wagga Wagga?” he asked. “No...” Ned looked mystified. “Were there ever any in the past?” Ron asked again. Ned turned an inquiring glance to his school-mates. They all shook their heads. “Don't know of any,” he summarized. Ron turned to Hermione, a brilliant I-told-you-so smile on his face. “I knew it!” he crowed. This time it was the Australians' turn to stare in bemusement. “Is that school you mentioned the Wizarding school here in Australia?” Ginny asked, trying to get the general conversation back on intelligible ground. “Yes,” Early confirmed. She smirked. “Murrumbidgee — the only Wizarding school in the world with a more embarrassing name than Hogwarts.” Millie tilted her head and examined the blazers, slacks and skirts that the four British visitors wore. “Is that your school uniform?” she asked. “It looks bearable — the colours are certainly more practical than ours. No tartans, at least.” She huffed. “Tartan is so passe, but we have to wear it, because we have to 'maintain the Highland traditions of Wizarding education,' whatever that means.” “Um, no,” Ginny replied. “This is what we are wearing for our Ministry appearances. Our school uniform is....robes.” “Oh,” Rachael said. “You mean academic gowns, like they wear at those British Muggle unis?” “Um, no,” Hermione weighed in, “Robes.” She grimaced. “With tall, pointed hats,” she muttered. “Eeeww,” one of the Australian witches objected. Harry was almost certain Hermione was blushing. “You're having us on!” Millie exclaimed. She seemed to find this revelation more shocking than any discussion of Unforgivables. “Hardly,” Hermione continued. “We wear plain black Wizarding robes. When we're sorted into our Houses, the trim on the robes is charmed to change to our House colour.” “Robes?” Jess repeated. “Like something a monk would wear?” Hermione thought for a moment. “Almost exactly,” she conceded. Millie's eyes were like saucers. “In the Dark Ages?” “Well actually, they're very similar to the robes that monks still wear today.” “Heavy woollen robes?” Ned asked, his face twisting in distaste. “That's right.” “How can you stand to wear something like that?” he asked, looking at Ron and Harry. “They must make you look like complete dags, not to mention being stinking hot.” Harry did not know what to say. He had always been relieved that the robes hid Dudley's cast-offs, and had never thought beyond that. “Well, they're certainly not stylish...” Ginny began. Ned's gaze drifted over Ginny as she spoke and settled on Hermione's more pronounced figure. His eyes lit with an evil light. Harry felt a rush of anger at the light in the other wizard's eye. How dare he think about Harry's best friend that way! “On the other hand,” Ned drawled, his attention sliding towards Millie to gage her reaction, “think of the possibilities. All those pretty sheilas running around with nothing on under their robes, trying to stay cool...” Early and Jess were rolling their eyes. Rachael looked confused, while Millie began to blush furiously. It was Ginny and Hermione's reaction that surprised Harry. They both burst out into gales of laughter. Harry had not heard Hermione laugh like that in days. The Australians reacted with varying degrees of puzzlement. “You've never been in the Scottish Highlands, have you?” Hermione gasped. She waved one hand in the air while trying to catch her breath to continue. “The Highlands are cold, and damp, and it rains — a lot. It's windy almost all the time.” “And castles!” Ginny broke in. “Castles are large and cold and damp and very, very draughty!” Ginny covered her mouth to help suppress another chuckle. “I can't speak for the wizards,” she gasped, “but if you're a witch, you mostly worry about how you can put on enough layers to keep your bits from turning blue!” “In the Common Rooms, perhaps, you might be hot,” Hermione resumed the tale, “with a good, strong fire burning. That's one thing. But in the classrooms, or the hallways, you can see your breath often as not eight months out of the year.” Early scowled. She was unmoved by the British witches' willingness to laugh off the comment. “These are our guests, Ned,” she growled. “Do you have to behave like such a wanker?” That brought the chatter amongst the witches to an immediate halt. Harry could not help but find this more than bit hypocritical. After all, Early had hardly concerned herself with her guests' feelings. The other three Australian witches went silent and watched their schoolmate for his response. Ned flushed. “Wanker, is it?” he repeated. “I won't deny it, Early dear.” The sarcasm dripped from the young wizard's voice. “I'm not Stephen. I never will be. That's probably the only thing you and my parents have ever agreed upon.” He stared around at his audience, a defiant look on his face. “Everyone is disappointed.” He turned back to his tormentor and surveyed Early slowly in the same way he had looked at Hermione earlier. “Nice tatts,” he sneered. “What does your mum think of those?” If his gibe had hit home, Early gave no sign, her face was expressionless. “Like everyone else,” Early spoke slowly, “she's had to find a way to accept me as I am.” “Well, it's not as if you have to rub everyone's noses in it,” Millie spoke up, taking courage from Ned's implied criticism of Early. “It would be easy enough to Charm those...” here she resorted to waving her hand in Early's direction again “...so that no one would notice them. Even you have to know enough cosmetics Charms for that.” Early stared at the younger witch. At first she did not say anything, she just continued to stare. The longer she stared, the more the young blonde wilted. Unable to bear the scrutiny, she stepped back behind her friends. “Thank you for your advice, Millie,” Early said in a frigid tone. “What are you doing now?” Jess asked Early, trying to take the conversation back to a less controversial zone. “I'm at uni, part-time. Otherwise I help my olds.” “The Muggle uni?” Rachael whispered in a hushed tone, as if Early had just confessed to a particularly scandalous affair with some bohemian artist. “I can't believe it, Early,” Jess interrupted. “You were the biggest swot in your year. I know you came top in half the subjects at school in your year. With your family connections, you could have had any job you wanted at the Ministry. Why did you throw all that away?” “I. Had. Other. Plans,” she answered, biting off each word. She shrugged her shoulders. “I would never have fit in as a Ministry drone, anyway.” The expression on her face warned even the clueless duo not to continue this line of questioning. Harry could not miss noticing Jess's eyes jump to him and his companions while Early was speaking. What did they have to do with her answer? Millie, Rachael, and Jesse led Ginny and Hermione into Just Jeans. Early trailed along reluctantly. Harry and Ron wandered around, window shopping while they waited for the witches. Harry lost Ron to the theatre vision display in a home electronics store, but continued on alone, deep in thought. How were they going to contact Hermione's parents? More importantly, how were they going to travel to Tennant Creek without attracting the kind of attention they had received in the hotel the previous night, or even what they had experienced with the young people here today in the supposedly Muggle shopping mall? Hell, Harry did not even know where Tennant Creek was. Where should he go to get a good map? Forget the map. What he really needed was an Australian guide, someone who would not be over-scrupulous about the rules or the law, but who would be willing to help them without taking advantage of them. Someone who could be trusted to keep quiet about it afterwards. That was the hard part. Where was he going to find someone like that on short notice? That would require some sort of miracle. “What are you looking for?” Early interrupted his train of thought. Then — on the other hand — there was the obvious solution. Preoccupied with his thoughts, Harry had wandered back to Just Jeans. Looking through the large plate glass display window, he could see Hermione and Ginny inside. Harry turned his attention back to Early. “I need a map,” Harry answered, trying not to sound desperate. “What map?” Early asked, not the least put out by Harry's obtuse answer. “The witch who served us in the restaurant last night said something about ‘Up North’ and 'the Territory.' I have no idea what she meant.” “Oh.” Early brightened in recognition. “That would be the Northern Territory. We can get maps for that right in here.” She led Harry to a newsagent named Newspower across from Just Jeans. “If they don't have what you need here, there's a larger newsagent up on the second floor.” Early looked down at her feet. “What do you need to know about the Northern Territory?” she asked. Harry examined Early as he considered his response. How much of a gamble would he be taking if he trusted this Australian witch with their secret? She made no bones about the fact that she was not pleased to be with them, but she had still been willing to help whenever she could. The question was: how much of her behaviour was a put-on? Early found his silent scrutiny unnerving enough that she began to fidget. Harry decided to take a chance. “You're not all talk, are you, Early?” he asked. “What do you mean?” The young witch was intrigued enough at the unexpected question that in this case her response sounded genuinely curious rather than combative. “All this tough-bird, rebellious attitude,” he clarified. “It's not all an act for our benefit, is it?” Early did not bluster or react angrily to the insinuation. She just smiled seductively. “There's only one way to find out,” she drawled. Her tone of voice hinted that she was thinking of one particular kind of rebellion. It was Harry's turn to scowl. If Ginny had been there, she would have been doing more than scowl. Harry ignored the implied invitation. He was not going to give up, however. He suspected that Early was yet again trying to take the piss out of him. “Well, we have a little...” he searched for the right word, “situation...that we need to deal with.” “Yes?” After Harry did not rise to her bait, Early immediately abandoned any pretence of flirting. “Erm...” Harry tried to think of a way to tell the story without revealing too much. “We need to get to Tennant Creek to see Hermione's parents. They're Muggles. To keep them safe during the War, Hermione modified their memories and had them move to Australia. We have to keep this quiet, because they're living here in Australia under assumed names.” Early stared across the hallway, to where Hermione was visible through the front window of the store, examining skirts with Ginny. Early squinted at Harry's friend, and then turned back with a sceptical expression on her face. “You're not having a lend of me because I had a go earlier, are you?” Harry did not have a clue what Early meant, and it must have shown in his face, because she translated for him. “Are you pulling my leg?” she huffed. Harry shook his head. “Fair dinkum?” Early said wonderingly. She pointed at Hermione. “You're telling me she Memory-Charmed her oldies to believe they were not related to her, then shipped them Down Under?” An expression that looked disturbingly like hero-worship was forming on the young Australian witch's face. “Never in a million years would I have had the balls to do something that far out!” She grinned. “They must've really spit the dummy when they found out.” “Actually,” Harry temporized, “that's why we're here.” A look of understanding dawned. “Ohhh,” Early exclaimed, “you're here to reverse the Charms.” “Yes,” Harry confirmed, “and we'd like to get it done with no one being the wiser, if possible.” A look of feral delight spread over Early's features. “I'm just the girl for you,” she announced proudly. “Sounds like a cracker of a family reunion. I wouldn't miss it for quids.” |
| Reviews 228 |
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