Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 7 - Potter's Island
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by Polydicta
A selection of unfinished tales that have been abandoned.
Each 'chapter' represents a single story.
Ongoing warnings for smut, language, character death, bashing, torture, mutilation, religious/social iconoclasm and reader brain damage. Brain bleach is highly recommended.
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Disclaimer:
All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.
There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.
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Unfinished Journeys, Untraveled Roads - 7 - Potter's Island
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Candra, on Portkey, posed a challenge for Harper's Island to be reinterpreted as a Harry Potter tale.
This was my take on the answer to the challenge. maybe, one day, I'll continue it, but in the meantime, here are the first and part of the second episodes.
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The Challenge
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Candra [Oct 13 2009]:
Currently, Harpers Island is running in Germany. Yes, I've been spoiled (accidently) and I hate the ending. So I thought: Hey, it would be great to change this. So I came up with the idea of this challenge: Harper's island Harry Potter style.
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You don't really have to know the show to be able to do the challenge, because everything you need to know is said in a few sentences. In the show Henry Dunham is getting married and he and his bride invite their guests to spend the week before the wedding in a hotel on an island. One of the guests is Henry's childhood friend Abby Mills. There is a serial killer on the island who kills many wedding guests (I won't tell you who it is because I know here are other Germans and maybe one of them is watching the series, too and doesn't want to be spoiled).
So, here is my request: Harry is getting married (you choose the bride) and he and his bride invite all of their friends and relatives to spend the wedding week on an island. Of course Hermione - Harry's best friend - is invited, too. And there is a serial killer who kills of several guests.
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I leave it to you who the killer is and why he/she does it, as long as you give us a plausible motive in the end. I have only two requests:
1. Neither Harry nor Hermione are killer or victim
2. Harry and Hermione end up together (I don't care if you kill the bride, let her be the murderer or let her and Harry simply break up, just get rid of her, okay)
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If you don't have the heart to kill people you like that's fine. Kill the Dursleys or characters we don't know much about like Terrry Boot or Susan Bones (you could make them friends or relatives of the bride). Whoever you want, as long as you stay away from Harry and Hermione. You don't have to kill 10 people in each chapter, I only want a good crime story combined with a lot of Harry/Hermione love.
You'd have to find a reason why no one can leave the island, because if they could they'd all be gone after the first murder. In the show it takes a while until the first bodies are found and after that the bride's niece gets kidnapped and the murderer threatens to kill her in case anybody leaves. But you can use another reason like an anti-apparation charm and no connection to the floo-network on the island.
I hope someone takes this, because I'm really bad at writing crime stories although I love reading them.
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Episode 1: The Cliff of Damned Souls
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A figure sat upon a lonely throne, looking out across a magical floor inlaid with a double-pentagram. At the centre was the symbol of his order. a stylised human hand. A black-gloved left hand cupped a chin that was lost in the shadow of the cowl that hid the figure's features.
The figure spoke, as though addressing a multitude, an audience unseen.
"It is a strange fact that the universe opens to us like the unfolding of a story. Each cycle of creation contains within it a myriad of lesser tales, cycles of being that reflect the greater cycle, and in each are the tales of individuals told.
"Like the great mythologies, these moral stories are repeated endlessly until their lesson is learned.
"Occasionally, the greater tale will impinge upon those beings within the innermost narrative, and at that instant, the world may change, and the nature of creation be altered irrevocably and forever.
"Such a change took place … well, the people of those times in that place called it 'The Breaking of All Calendars'. We call it The Great Nexus …"
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Somewhere on an uncharted island in the Pacific Ocean, a group of five men stood around a hole they had dug. With reverence and regret and, perhaps, a little love, they laid a hunched figure in the grave. A simple burial for a simple individual.
The figure was curled around a small wooden casket containing the embalmed remains of a human hand.
The five men worked steadily to fill in the grave. They were drawn to this unknowably remote place by a common bond of adversity. That bond which tied them to the figure in the unmarked grave.
They carried a badge of their bond, a mark of their comradeship. A sign, unremarkable after the war, but one that would be remarked by any person seeing them together.
A wand was drawn and a black slab of the local volcanic rock was transfigured. A symbol, the outline of a human hand, a left hand, was etched deeply into the glassy surface.
"It is time…"
Five nods, and five figures departed, leaving the island for positively the final time.
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The red, glowing eyes regarded the map of the demesne. The eyes looked to the servant.
"You have done well, Koblitz. They have all agreed?"
"Yes Oh Dark One. All will be in place when you are ready to move."
"And the latest traitor?"
Koblitz indicated a crate. A wand gesture vanished the timber, revealing a wild eyed woman attached to a black monolith by magical shackles. She was missing her left hand.
"Ahh, my dear traitor. Have you no words for me now? Your lover?"
"Fate will not treat with you, but will be your undoing forever."
"Such tenderness, such love! Where are your gentle words now, My dear?"
The bound woman spat at the red-eyed figure.
"Very well. Crucis ac aeternum."
The bound woman started writhing, the cries of anguish echoing around the room, her eyes leaking tears of blood. A series of popping noises indicated the bones of the victim had started to break under the strain of the torture.
A long, bubbling sigh, and the figure was beyond all pain and grief, the tattoo on her wrist now blood red instead of the pale gold it had previously shown.
"Such a pity that they last so poorly. Onward and ever onward, I suppose."
Koblitz wondered, not for the first time, what the traitors meant when they referred to Fate. He also wondered if the zealots were truly as weak as they seemed when they died so easily.
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"Igor!"
"Yes mistress?"
"Is everything … ready for my guests?"
The creature nodded and bowed. "Yes Mistress, everything is in place as you instructed."
"Good. You may go!"
"Thank you, Mistress."
Ginny Weasley turned sharply. How she detested these unnatural elves. They were identical to each other and, for some unfathomable reason, were all called Igor, even the females. There was never any knowing if you spoke to the same one twice. And those tattered ears were a nightmare!
On top of that, their hands were all wrong with too many joints to each claw-tipped finger.
At least, she thought, they don't speak badly, and aren't wilful like some elfs she could think of.
They were actually quite efficient, but too ugly for words, even by house-elf standards. And they were biddable. She liked biddable.
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"Are you comfortable, Severus?"
"As comfortable as I can ever be. The Vortex provides sufficient ambient magic to maintain my continued existence."
"I have to say, you don't look as bad as you did when I brought you here, and you certainly don't …"
"Smell as bad? Be thankful for small mercies. Whilst I have no recollections, I do look forward to going back to … beyond."
"If all goes well, I will see to it myself. And that you get a … decent burial this time."
"Thank you. And if it goes ill?"
"Then someone else will."
"I hadn't realised how serious this was."
"Obviously."
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The chartered ferry entered the sapphire bay at midday on the day of the fourteenth of December 2012. Cutting easily through the slight swell that characterised the reef-protected waters close to the island, the small ship made it's way into port. The skipper wondered if port was the right word, into harbour was just as bad.
The wizarding crew knew of this island, and it had a bad reputation, though the current owner seemed more personable than most were reputed to have been.
The boat moored at the small jetty in the bay that passed as the harbour for the island. It was met by one man. One man with messy black hair, a deep olive tan and startling green eyes.
The thirty-odd guests debarked and their luggage was piled on the jetty.
"Welcome to Potter's Island everybody. If you care to come this way, we'll head on up to the house. It's about another hour's journey from here. Don't worry about your luggage as the staff will take care of it for you."
"Staff? I don't see anybody."
Harry knew it had to be one of the muggleborn, only they would forget about the unseen servants of the wizarding world.
"Yes, we have a staff of Igors on the island."
"Igors?"
"Yes we have a team of house elves, but you'll understand when you meet them."
The party were led to a rock-built cabin hidden among the trees above the beach. After being given the opportunity to freshen up and to take lunch in the magically expanded interior, their host led them further into the jungle interior of the island.
They followed a well-maintained track that passed under the dense canopy of palm and banyan, between oleander and hibiscus. After a few minutes, they were walking along a wooden-decked path supported above the waters of a swamp until they came to a stretch of open water. Here a large raft-like boat was waiting for them.
"Please climb aboard. This is the most convenient way to reach the house. Please sit and enjoy the journey."
The profligate expenditure of magical energy wasn't lost on the guests as the boat pulled away from the wooden quayside and majestically made headway toward the island's interior. The guests were delighted at the multi-hued birds and strange water creatures that they encountered. Their senses were assaulted by sights and sounds and smells.
"The wildlife on the island is unique. There are species that are only found in this one place in the world, including several magical forms and a couple of large jaguar-like creatures. Please don't wander from the paths around the house and through the forest, otherwise the chance of getting lost is unbelievably high. The paths are also warded against incursion by any of the more inimical forms."
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By two, the party were being shown their suites in the house, a massive mansion in the Grand French Colonial style.
"Harry?"
"Luna?"
"How many rooms …?"
"Quite frankly, Luna, I have no idea. We've restored forty bedrooms and several of the public rooms, but the house seems to just keep on going."
"Magically expanded?"
He shook his head. "No, it was built before the Black family took it over. It's just an enormous building. Some of it is buried in the mountainside."
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The ancient Catalina flying-boat arrived at four in the afternoon.
Hermione Granger sat, wondering which museum the plane had been resurrected from, while Ron sat beside her, his eyes screwed shut in terror and his knuckles white on the seat in front of him.
The engine noise changed as they began to turn. Hermione was fascinated as the view changed. The plane banked and she got her first sight of the island. Her first impression was that it didn't look real. Maybe ten or twelve miles long and perhaps seven wide, it lay like a massive film set.
The stark, white, coral beaches lay between outjutting black headlands of volcanic rock. Where the white sand and the black rock ended inland was just primordial jungle, but for the upthrusting tower of rock near the centre of the island,
Hermione mentally compared this volcano with the other Pacific islands, and found this to be an anomaly. Rather than a low, conical mass, this was more like a child's drawing of a mountain. Hermione assumed that the volcano was extinct and the ash-slopes had been eroded, leaving only the core of a previously much larger mountain. She noticed a faint, hazy cloud that seemed to hang like a grey halo around the mountain's peak.
The engine tone changed and the plane began its ascent. As they approached their landing, Hermione could see that some kind of ferry was moored in the wide, sapphire-hued, northernmost bay.
The landing, a series of slaps and bumps, followed by a wallowing sensation was alarming, but they had been warned of this. Looking at her betrothed, she could see that he was distinctly green.
The engine's sound died and there was a slight lateral bump as the flying boat moored against the jetty.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, your hosts have asked me to welcome you to Potter's Island. Please feel free to disembark through the front hatch. leave your baggage as it will be collected by the staff once you are on your way to the house."
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Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Remus and Dora Lupin emerged, blinking in the tropical sunlight. They were quickly joined by the elder wizard who had introduced himself as Reynard Bagnall and a younger witch named Medeuse Maladict.
They were joined by the pilot, a wizard by the name of Andy Callaghan.
"You're heading off now?"
"No, I've been invited to stay. I was with Harry when he entered auror training.."
"What was the story there? Harry never did really explain."
Callaghan grinned. "It was a clause in the Black family covenant. It seems that the Black Heir isn't allowed to work past his twenty third birthday once he inherits, unless it is as a teacher of some sort, or operating the Black family businesses."
"Ahh. Yes, that would embarrass Harry no end. And yourself?"
The wizard grinned. "Harry employs me to operate this airborne crate as a freight service. The plane is actually magically enhanced."
Ron, by now was complaining about being hungry. As if on cue, Harry emerged from the forest edge.
"Hermione! Ron! Everyone. This way, and we'll get you up to the house."
The hour's walk and ride was spent almost entirely with Hermione asking questions.
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"Good evening everyone. Welcome to Black Island, more properly known as Isles des Vortices. The island is actually three separate landmasses separated by narrow straits, one of which you travelled on earlier.
"Whist I hope that you enjoy your stay, I will warn you of a few restrictions, not all of our making.
"It is not possible to apparate or portkey to or from anywhere on the island. Nor do I recommend taking a broom any higher than the top of the tree-line. There is a magical vortex above the island that has the benefit of rendering the island naturally unplottable, but the disadvantage of disrupting any magic above about eight thousand feet.
"Muggle electrical equipment doesn't work on the island, but it doesn't become damaged if you forget.
"Finally, you are welcome to go where you wish, but I will caution you that we have placed warnings and wards wherever danger exists or we have not yet checked for safety. If you decide to walk, please keep to the tracks and paths as the jungle is an extremely unforgiving place. From experience, it is possible to get thoroughly lost a mere few paces into the undergrowth.
"Last but not least, please be aware that this is essentially a wild island in the Pacific Ocean. There are cliffs and sudden gorges, chasms, caves and canyons. There are rivers, rills, waterfalls and rotten logs, and there is a tendency for the weather to change suddenly.
"Whilst this is not the rainy season, it is quite possible for the weather to go from dangerously sunny to death dealing deluge in fifteen minutes. A major cloudburst is quite capable of washing you from an exposed path, or causing a mountain stream to become a raging torrent.
"As a final word, we are served on the island by the Black Family Retainers, house elves who are, because of their isolation from the rest of the wizarding world, rather startlingly different from the elves we are used to in Europe.
"And with that, I invite you to enjoy your meal."
The vast dining table was suddenly piled high with a banquet to quite put a Hogwarts feast in the shade.
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The next morning, Hermione left Ronald snoring and went to explore before breakfast. She decided to follow a path upward from the house.
She passed through the limit of the jungle foliage and onto what was essentially bare rock hosting a ground cover of hardy grasses and low-growing shrubs.
Crossing a cleft on a flat slab of rock, she looked down to see water far below and a forest of ferns and mosses in the rock walls.
"It's only about six feet deep, you know."
She looked up. "Malfoy?"
She hadn't seen the reformed death eater's apprentice in over a year.
The blonde Slytherin smiled. "That is I. And I was curious, so I lowered a length of string over the side of the bridge. Just over six feet to the water."
"It looks deeper."
"It's some kind of illusion. There are loads of places on the island like it. The Cave of Birds is the best."
"What's that?"
"It's around an hour's walk from here. It's a cave with a waterfall, and it's always filled with birds. The stream that goes in is just that, a stream. The water that comes out is a little more, but the waterfall is enormous … deafening."
"Sounds interesting."
"I was going to suggest an expedition there one day this week."
"That would be good."
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Breakfast over and done with, Harry spent some time in the library catching up with Ron and Hermione. Ginny was off doing whatever she occupied herself with.
"She'd probably still organising and tweaking the arrangements."
Harry nodded. "Probably. Now, how are you both?"
Ron mumbled and burbled and blustered to the effect that they were well and then gave Harry a run-down on what he was doing with his life. A run-down in exquisite, agonising and above all boring detail.
Ron's stomach rumbled noisily, so Harry recommended that he go and find himself a snack, telling him how to get to the kitchens.
As Ron left, Harry looked at his female best friend.
"So, tell me about how you're doing?"
Hermione sighed deeply. "I'm not certain that my betrothal to Ron is the right thing, but I can't get out of it with the law as it stands in Britain."
"Why ever not?"
She pulled a wry smile. "How long since you were back in Britain, Harry?"
"Three years, and I haven't actually been off the island in ten months not since joining Ginny here. Why?"
She looked sad. "They passed a new law. The wizarding population act. Any single witch or wizard above the age of twenty must be betrothed within six months of the date set, and must be married under wizarding law within twelve months. We have to get married in about another three months. I couldn't get out of the country without an unbreakable betrothal contract."
"Damn, it's almost as bad as when Voldemort was still around."
"No, Harry, other than the killings and the torture, the average witch in the street has it worse. The old laws are back, as soon as a witch is married, she becomes a chattel. Property."
The expression on Harry's face was one of deep sadness and hurt, but something else as well … something unreadable.
"What about your professional status as a healer?"
She shook her head. "Ron's demanding that I give up work, that I become a hausfrau like his damned mother."
They both sat and reflected on the domineering, manipulative woman who had caused so much pain during the early aftermath of the war.
"Look, Ginny will probably kill me, but come this way …"
Harry let her to a small, ornately carved door. He placed his hand on a plain panel, and then told Hermione to do the same. Then he bid her open the door.
Predictably, Hermione's eyes grew wide as she stared at the Potter library.
"Harry … it's magnificent!"
A voice from her left spoke. "It's enormous, you mean. Quarter of a million books, and not one of mine."
She looked at the portrait, and her eyes widened. "Y-you're … "
"HG Wells at your service. Scientist, Philosopher and, apparently, all but forgotten author of muggle fantasy."
She barely noticed that a smiling Harry had departed.
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Ron, meanwhile, was suffering from shock. His visit to the kitchens had been … surprising.
As he walked in there were house elves, well, he assumed that was what they were.
Taller than he was used to, these were more grotesque than the worst features of Dobby and Kreacher combined. Their eyes were different sizes and their ears were decorated with a series of notches. The snub-noses gave them a bestial appearance and their voices held no middle ground between an animalistic growl and a petulant whine.
They didn't walk so much as shamble, their long and, Ron noticed, many-jointed fingers dragged on the ground, their great, splayed feet reminding him vaguely of Viktor Krum. Even to his dim sensibilities, they seemed like mockeries of life.
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"So when are you planning on taking everyone on the grand tour, Draco?"
"Tomorrow, I reckon. I was thinking of leaving first thing. Take a picnic. We'd be approaching from the bottom, past the foot of The Cliff of Damned Souls. An hour's walk out as far as the resurgence pool, then up to the dry portal along the cleft and then into the cave itself. Depending on time, we can then either go up to a window behind the falls and then up onto the ledge, or we can head straight back."
"Well, you can count Remus and myself in."
"Is that the place you told me about this morning?"
Draco nodded.
"Then I'll be along too. Ron may not bother. He likes his sleep in the morning."
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In all, about a dozen people decided to go to see the cave.
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Morning arrived and fifteen people set out on Draco's walk.
The Cliff turned out to be an eerie face of twisted black rock, full of holes and pits that, with a little imagination, resembled nothing more than a wall of twisted, tortured faces. The sound of the wind through the jagged rock was like the moaning of the damned.
The foot of the cliff was bare of large plants, being the broken surface of an earlier, more ancient lava flow.
As they climbed, they came to a pool in the hillside from which a small brook flowed down to the sea. There was a cave at the back of the pool from which emanated the sound of falling water, a hint of the spectacular sight to come.
"This is the bottom of the Cave of Birds. The vertical lava-tube is about a thousand feet high, so the water arrives as a constant, heavy rain a few hundred feet into the mountain side. Please notice that the stream is little more than the stream that feeds the Black Lake at Hogwarts."
Draco led on, up a winding path that steadily climbed the mountainside. As they climbed, they were gifted with glimpses of magnificent views across the island. At length, the path branched and Draco led them along a narrow track that entered a slot in the hillside. The slot joined a larger chasm which had a thread of water running at the bottom. Looking up and down, they could see that their path was about half way down the cleft.
"What you can see below you is the stream that we saw emerging from the hillside. Although it looks infinitely deeper, the water is about five hundred feet below us. Now, please be careful. The distant sound you can hear is the waterfall itself."
The top of the cleft became narrow and eventually they were in a high, narrow tunnel. The party suddenly became acutely aware of the distant thundering. Barely audible, it sounded like the engine room of the gods.
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They passed through a rock arch and were immediately assaulted by brightness and noise and a rainbow of unexpected colour.
The chamber they were in was vast. The opening far above their heads was a circular pool of deep, azure sky.
The dark rock walls were covered by a forest of viridian, a jungle of massive, feathery ferns and the occasional patch of something bright. Specks of brilliant purples and oranges and reds were glimpsed amongst the foliage.
On the far side of the vertical chamber was a waterfall, struck golden by the sun, it lit the entire cavern. The torrent was unbelievable, spilling over half the circumference of the entrance far above, the river was massive. The clear waters arced into the yawning depths with a sound that owed little to running water. The sky, they noticed, was alive with birds. Tiny, jewel-bright winged creatures dived into the falling tumult, and emerged carrying wriggling slivers of silver in their beaks.
Enchanted and enthralled, the visitors gazed, their minds simply rapt in the wonder of the moment.
Eventually, Draco led them on and at last to a point behind the water where they could reach out and touch the edge of the falling river. From there a path led on, into the mountain and then up onto level area on the flank of the volcano.
A few hundred paces and they were at a point where a small stream passed over the path and disappeared down a hole in the rock.
"Ladies and gentlemen, May I present you with the entrance to the cave of birds …"
"You're kidding us, Draco."
He grinned. "Nope! This is the circular hole you recently looked up at, and this is the stream that you were so amazed at."
"How …?"
He smiled. "This island is the centre of a strange, permanent magical effect. The original name is Les Isles des Vortices. There are innumerable locations where magic simply bubbles through the ground here. The Cave of Birds is one, Miss Granger saw another yesterday, a six feet deep cleft that looks to be several hundred deep.
"The straits between the separate islands are another. In places you can step across them, and yet they are probably several miles wide. It is one of the reasons for remaining on the paths here. Distance has no meaning."
The Welsh witch, Delta Ffordd asked, "what do you mean?"
Draco looked serious. "The islands, when mapped from the air, appear to be no more than about twelve miles by five, and yet, when you actually pace the road between your point of arrival yesterday and the house, it is over eighty miles. Even allowing for the fact that the road is far from straight, it doesn't account for the distance."
"How do you know how far it is?"
"I took a broom ride to go for a swim. It took an hour to get there, and I wasn't exactly going at walking pace. Anyway, this is a good place to stop for a snack, and then I suggest that we head back down to below the tree-line before the sun gets too high."
After a break they pressed on, they passed the top of The Cliff of Damned Souls. Looking over, they could see the road they had walked earlier.
As they crossed into the relative cool of the trees, Delta asked, "Where are Terry and Mandy?"
Everyone looked around until Draco said, "Look, I'll go back to look, everyone else, the road goes straight to the back of the house. I'll backtrack and I'll meet you all there."
"Draco?"
"You go. I have a broom, so I can be back before you, and still look thoroughly."
He un-shrunk a broom and mounted as the rest of the party headed back to the house.
Two hours later, Draco arrived, ashen faced and levitating two people.
"They were at the foot of the Cliff … they were both dead when I got down to them…"
"What happened?"
He shook his head. "I'd guess they went too close to the edge, but I can't guess why they didn't use magic to break their fall."
Hermione, however, did. "They were both full of a slow-acting sleeping draught. I'd guess they were killed deliberately."
Two death certificates were written out. Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst, both death by trauma from falling. Hermione also made note of her autopsy report – the slow sleeping draught and both having unidentified magical residues on them, as though they had been hit by some low-level curse.
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At dinner that night, the conversation was subdued.
"Where's Reynard?"
"Who?"
"Reynard Bagnall. The Druid?"
"Viola's missing, too. I haven't seen her since lunch."
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As the sun was dipping toward the horizon, one of the searchers found Viola deMounceforth, barely alive, and brought her to Hermione, the only other healer on the island.
The girl died later that night, succumbing to some subtle poison that left a purple foam on her lips.
Hermione wrote out a third death certificate, Viola deMounceforth, death by poisoning. The autopsy report showed a rare and difficult potion had been used to procure her death, a potion that caused the cells of the body to rupture over a period of hours.
No sign was found of the Druid.
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The following morning, Remus and Dora went by broom to see the foot of the cliff where the two had been found the day before. As they approached, they could see something caught in the rocks half way up.
Flying up, they found another body. Expecting it to be the Druid, they found, instead, the remains of Andy Callaghan, the sea-plane's pilot.
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"He was despatched using the Killing Curse. The damage to his body occurred after he was dead, and what's more, he was placed in that cleft rather than dropped from any great height. There are traces of alcohol in his body, but not enough to slow him down by much. He was either surprised or he knew … and trusted his killer."
Hermione sighed. It was only the second day on the island and she had already had to write up four murders.
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"Harry, some of us need to leave. I'm sorry, but it just isn't safe here."
Harry nodded. "I understand, but there's a problem. The ferry has already left, and won't be back for another two weeks, and since our pilot is dead, we can't fly you out. Look, I know you're frightened, but we're all stuck right now."
"What about apparation? Portkeys? The Elves?"
Harry shook his head. "It's too far for the elves, and the magical effects will spread your atoms halfway across the universe if you try to apparate or portkey."
"What about brooms?"
"Good thinking …"
When they opened the broom-shed, they found themselves bereft of even that option. The burned remains of two dozen Nimbus Seeker brooms lay forlornly on the scorched floor, disturbing proof that someone wanted them here and isolated for some dark purpose.
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Two cowled figures met in a circular chamber. The glassy, black stone floor was inlaid with a pale pentagram, in the centre was a simple outline design. A left hand, inlaid using some material that looked like solidified fire.
"It has begun."
A nod. "They have been isolated, I assume?"
"Yes. There is no stepping in to assist. Nor may any leave until a resolution is achieved."
"What about The Specialist?"
"That one is already in place and has made contact with our agent who has now arrived."
"And the talisman?"
The other shook his cowled head. "Undisturbed. So far. Unfortunately, the acolytes fare less well. They are easily found out and … go on to the Judges of Beyond, may they be judged and found worthy. The mechanisma are still functional, though, for which be thankful."
"The Powers Above and Below Protect us. There is more to that place than I care to consider. Tell me, what about The Vortex?"
"Undisturbed and operating normally for now. We must trust to planning and the tenacity of those who stand for what we believe. The war will be fought first on the island."
"Let us trust now to hope, for events are in motion that cannot be halted or undone. What will be will be."
"So mote it be."
And so saying the two parted, going about their secret business.
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Episode 2: The Pointed Wand
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Consider, if you will, The Great Nexus. Your first question must naturally be as to what it is.
This is, perhaps, the simplest of all questions to answer, it is a turning point, the fulcrum of time, the pivot upon which the past, the present and the future rests. To change the world at that point is to change the past as well as the future.
Why is one point in time and space so important? Because, quite simply, that point is the centre of the current cycle of creation, the half-way mark between the first emergence of time and space to the eventual disappearance of them in the cold furnace of entropy.
How does it appear, you wonder. The arithmantics are quite simple, and it turns out to be nothing more than a vortex in the structure of m-space centred upon a small archipelago of volcanic islands lost in the vastness of the Pacific Ocean.
To ask why it would appear there and not an equivalent location in deep space or on an uninhabited world requires a more complex answer. Essentially, m-space only distorts around living beings who have the inbuilt ability to manipulate their environment using what is grossly termed magic. Indeed, it is this distortion that provides the energy gradient for magic to operate.
Let us now consider this nexus, trapped beneath its mantle were a group of individuals, some of whom possessed talents and powers sufficient to manipulate the vortex. Unfortunately, many such individuals are jealous of their power over what they consider lesser beings. One such was on the island, flexing incorporeal muscles and preparing for war.
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There were six figures in the lifeboat. Five men and one … other. The five had known each other on board the ship bound for Australia, but the sixth had been hauled on board the small boat after the ship had sunk.
The small … being had not yet regained consciousness, but somehow made the men feel more … justified.
"Mr Wells? Tell us one of your tales, help us to keep our spirits up?"
The wizard smiled. He had made a good living while still in England writing and selling science fiction stories. He was grinning inwardly that here he was actually involved in a real adventure.
Looking at the dark-furred creature, he thought for a moment and described a tale regarding the shipwreck and the subsequent adventures of a gentleman by the name of Edward Prendick upon the island of the sinister Dr Moreau.
Mr duMontplaissant, a member of the Vernesian Society applauded him on his invention, and once more raised the question that haunted them.
"Gentlemen, here we are, adrift in the Pacific Ocean, a thousand miles from land. We have little fresh water and even less food. I ask, what can we do?"
Mr Black, a dark-haired individual bearing the unlikely name of Centaurus, suggested that in the case of one of them suffering greatly, he would be willing to ease their passing with his knowledge of certain occult practices.
Mr Cholmsley remarked that he would appreciate the exercise of those dark practices if only he would take away the pain of his left hand. Mr Black examined said hand and agreed that the injuries would soon become infected and Mr Cholmsley would either die or lose his hand.
"To lose my hand and to survive would be no small favour. Can you perform this surgery, sir?"
"I can, but you may all think the less of me afterward, but upon my honour, I use my arts only for good."
He took out a small stick, pointed it at the wrist and simply said, "diffindio. Cautus."
The hand fell painlessly away from the wrist and the wound was immediately closed, and Cholmsley sighed a great sigh of relief.
"My gratitude sir. Now, I ask, will this suffice to provide a little sustenance?"
There was general amusement, but the hand was wrapped and placed in safe keeping by Mr Black, saying, "Perhaps and perhaps not. At the least, it will become a symbol of our adventure."
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They were gathered in the dining room of The House. It was three days since the last of the guests had arrived; the seventeenth of December. Harry stood and addressed the gathering.
"Ladies and gentlemen, friends …"
He looked around, catching Hermione's eye for a brief moment.
"As you know, we have during the past two days suffered … umm, how should I put this? We have suffered some difficulties. Unfortunately, it is no longer possible to leave the island, at least until the ferry arrives in two weeks' time. I'm afraid that, unless something comes up, we will have to weather the storm.
"I have managed to send an albatross to the Australian Ministry, but from experience, the soonest that can arrive will be in five days time.
"If you wish to retreat to your rooms and close the door, then please do so. I will instruct the Igors to serve you in your rooms if you so wish. As for anyone else, please remain with at least one other person you feel you can trust while out and about."
There was, if not out and out panic, then consternation and not a few raised voices.
"Potter?"
He looked at the source of the loud voice. "Yes Ronald?"
"You've done this deliberately. You've …"
Hermione's wand was pointing at her betrothed.
"Shut up, Ron. I'm sure we don't want to hear your angry, cowardly bleating any further."
She looked at her hosts. "Can I have a separate room from this … creature, please?"
"Of course. I'll instruct an Igor."
The pandemonium was beginning to subside as couples and groups began to reach their agreements on the forthcoming fortnight.
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Dean Thomas and Dustin Smythe had decided to explore the mountain a bit, taking a picnic lunch and a few bottles of butterbeer, they set out to see what appeared on an old, framed map of the island as Parrot Falls. Harry had said that is was another magical location, a high cliff over which tumbled a spectacular waterfall. The forest-clad valley walls were home to vast numbers of parrots.
They were joined by Ron Weasley, who remarked that Hermione had discovered a library, and that he didn't expect to see her again until New Year at the earliest. Both men thought that Hermione had gotten the dodgy end of the deal being trapped into a marriage with Ron.
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At the same time, Minerva McGonagall was sat in the Black Library with Hermione. Both were working on what they described as private projects which they wouldn't discuss in detail. Hermione hinted that she was interested in some of the Healing Magic that was in the books, McGonagall remarked that there were some interesting aspects of Transfiguration discussed.
The portrait of Mr Wells smiled and referred them to the several copies of his own works that were on the shelves.
"I did start reading your novel of Dr Moreau last night."
"It was actually a yarn I spun while stuck in a lifeboat with several others. It is where I first met Centaurus Black, you know. The geography of the island, well, it's based on this one, you know. M'ling, the real M'ling, that is, is buried on the island, you know."
"I had no idea …"
The portrait smiled. "Few do, other than we five who knew her after we were shipwrecked. She was actually a beautiful creature … "
The portrait drifted off into a reverie and Hermione continued her researches.
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Dean, Dustin and Ron arrived at Parrot Falls around mid morning. Understandably, they were amazed at the scene that confronted them as they rounded a buttress of rock. Above them was the waterfall which thundered over the cliff and fell, easily a thousand feet below them into the misty depths of the valley.
Muggleborn Dean remarked that he expected to see Pterosaurs flying above the valley and not parrots, and that he found himself listening for velociraptors and tyrannosaurs. He had to explain to the two pureblood wizards.
The sun, behind them as they approached, struck incredible, vibrant rainbows from the billowing fog of the falls. The green of the tropical foliage below was muted by the mist, and disturbed occasionally by zephyrs and the many, brilliant-hued birds.
At last, they stood atop the cliff. The river came out from the dense jungle, crossing the wide shelf of hard lava-rock that they now stood upon, and then cascaded into the steep-sided valley.
As they stood chatting and marvelling, Ron saw a bolt of green pass in front of his face, hitting Dean and blasting him, already dead, into the river only to be rolled and then tumbled over the cliff.
Wand out, Ron scanned the surrounding jungle, but there was no further sign of anyone for several minutes. Warily, the two started back down the mountain to bring the latest news back.
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They were just rounding the rocky knoll at the end of the buttress when they heard a crashing in the jungle. The two wizards spun and witnessed the sight of a badly cut and battered Draco Malfoy staggering out of the jungle, wand out and wild-eyed.
This was enough for Dustin Smythe, never a particularly brave individual. He broke and ran away from Malfoy, in his panic forgetting that the path bent sharply to the right.
His scream dopplered until it ended in a series of woody crashes which made both Malfoy and Ron Weasley wince.
"That's two more you've killed, Ferret. Drop the wand."
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An hour later, Draco Malfoy was marched into the house at wandpoint by a now exhausted Ron Weasley.
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"Very well Ron," Harry said after he'd heard Ron's side of the story, "Let's see Draco's wand."
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