Ring A Ring O' Roses

by Gallivant

Hermione has it all: a loving family, successful career, even happiness (of sorts). But when Draco Malfoy warns of a devastating threat to the Wizarding World, a series of unexpected events turns her life upside-down... If working with Draco to destroy a deadly weapon was the last thing she ever wanted, falling for her enemy was the least expected, with far-reaching consequences..

52. The Insolence of Office

Beltane Bonanza, Election Fever and a dangerous desert mission…

52. The Insolence of Office

Naked, writhing limbs, coated in a gleaming sheen of sweat, an opaque pall of long, tousled hair fanning out over his face… the bed-sheets were crumpled, falling to the floor.

'I wish she'd bloody move,' Hermione grumbled. 'I want to see who's underneath her.'

She glanced at Gunter. His face was as red as the cape he usually wore. He gurgled something non-committal.

'Oh! They've shifted! Was that a glimpse of his hair?' Hermione asked excitedly, 'sort of sandy brown, would you say?' But the man's face was buried in Sylvestra's breasts.

'I think we've seen enough now,' Gunter muttered in stiff tones.

'I'm not a voyeur!' Hermione said, horrified. 'It's important to know who she's shagging!... Where are they?' She squinted through the gauzy grey 'veil' that separated them from the unreality of the picture-space and the bedroom where she'd tracked Sylvestra down to. It certainly wasn't the sort of bedroom one would expect in Malfoy Manor, but plain, with a single bed and an armchair.

Through the window she could see clouds scudding rapidly through a pale sky - no landmarks – and a sweeping flash of brown… regular, metronomic… skirting the top-left edge of the window.

'Come on!' Gunter pulled her back into the picture. 'Man has the stamina of an ox,' he grumbled.

'Gosh, Gunter. You've no qualms torturing and murdering,' Hermione said, remembering Senor Canaro, 'but a bit of rumpy-pumpy and you're like a squeamish schoolgirl.'

'This is one of the lovelier pictures we've been through,' Gunter said, looking around. This was the first time he'd ever done Proyeccíon Astral… His reddish eyes were bathed in saturated pink from an abundance of roses...

The garden was bathed in a soft, white light, dappling a crisscrossed network of paths. Tall, arching trellises interwoven with climbing roses of every hue, framed the multiple entrances to the garden – five in all – leading to a pentagonal fishpond. Plump, golden fish teemed in its coppery depths and clear, sparkling water tinkled from an ornate fountain.

A marble statue at the pond's edge - a woman swathed in a flowing toga, hair swept into an elegant chignon, left hand resting on a truncated classical column – lifted her gaze towards the veil and beyond.

'She looks like you,' Gunter remarked.

They walked through the garden to a shady arbour, passing a glass house with tall stained-glass windows. The interior was inviting – light, airy space shot through with a multiplicity of jewel-like colours… a sumptuous couch draped in furs and silk.

'Set for a lovers' tryst,' Hermione murmured.

Gunter gave the glass house a cursory look and accelerated out of the picture.

XXX

Draco was in the kitchen making tea.

He listened in silence, hands on hips, as Hermione recounted in elaborate detail their remarkable success in tracking down Sylvestra, expressing disappointment that they never learnt the identity of her lover.

Gunter was cringing as she spoke, inching towards the door.

'It just went on and on, didn't it?' Hermione said brightly.

Gunter nodded, eyes downcast.

'Well… poor guy was probably at that soul-shrivelling stage with her… kind of hard to get beyond,' Draco sneered, dark-browed.

'Oh god, I forgot!' Hermione recoiled, swamped in peevish envy of Sylvestra's sleek limbs and perfect curves.

'So had I. Best left that way…'

'YOU'VE had SEX with that woman?' Gunter asked Draco, open-jawed.

Draco curled his lip in disgust. 'To my eternal shame... Anyway, we've more important things to talk about than Sylvestra's rotting soul. I had a call from Igor… Zoltan's dead. Hulda survived – just.' He looked particularly cross about this. 'And Ephraim's taken control at the Ministry – no fucking surprises there – but – and this IS a surprise - he meant what he said about an election. Flyers being posted to every wizarding household – not here, obviously.'

He swirled the teapot and poured tea into a line of mugs and grabbed milk from the fridge.

'And I've had Tim on the phone…' he gave Hermione a meaningful look, '…managed to push back a Muggle attack on Malfoy Manor for now.'

'You're in a very bad mood, Draco,' Hermione said with a fond smile. 'Come here.'

She delicately blended in the thick daubs of dittany that were smeared in congealing lumps all over his face. She'd fetched some from Wisteria Cottage this morning, popping to the kids' school on the walk back, blaming ongoing family crisis for their absence. She'd told Draco to rest, but that hadn't been possible. Henrik was noisily shuffling bags and boxes into the house, Bill was frantically setting-up wards and the children were running up and down the stairs screaming with laughter.

'Not improved by you and Gunter spending the morning at a fucking peepshow!' Draco muttered grumpily.

Gunter's stern face cracked into a grin. When he smiled he looked a different person, Hermione thought. 'I'll give the others a hand,' he said, slipping away.

'It was a very BORING peepshow,' Hermione said. He winced when she encircled him with her arms.

'Ribs...'

'You need to rest; get yourself better.'

His face softened and his hand slid to the small of her back and he pulled her flush against him. 'I'm not completely broken … Could do with some distraction from the inevitable descent of Weasley world on our beautiful sanctum…'

She flushed pink and glanced at the kitchen clock. 'Unfortunately, I'm going up the hill with Gunter to practice conjuration and that cool invisible thing they did last night.' She gently brushed a kiss against his swollen lips. 'And there's no way the Weasleys will be coming here… don't you worry.'

'As long as your fucking idiot-husband doesn't show up,' Draco growled, but she silenced him with another kiss.

XXX

Ron was almost the ONLY Weasley not at Folkvangr when Hermione returned from the hillside with Gunter – weary but exhilarated after three hours of practicing colour-magic.

She'd learned a lot. Gunter's voice: Focus and flow, focus and flow… rang in her ears. He'd recommended a few 'shortcuts' – adapting spells she was accustomed to. 'Helps give your magic a structure, a vocabulary… Niko's different. He's completely given to La Luz – a purist.'

Hermione and Gunter entered Folkvangr by the back gate that led straight from the fields passing The Burrow.

The children were giving Arthur a demonstration of Droscorpion Hugamus. Arthur was moving a little awkwardly after last night but doing his best not to show it.

Draco was beetling between the garden - answering Arthur's endless stream of questions about the robot - and Henrik and Harry were pretending to sketch a plan on a large sheet of paper on the dining table.

Fleur sauntered over and seized a pencil. 'Draco… tell me where to put everything.'

Draco explained to Hermione that Tim wanted an in-depth sketch of Malfoy Manor. 'I'm also trying to pinpoint where we had landscape paintings.'

This was a splendid distraction from Molly, George and Ginny – seated upright on the sofas, staring with glassy fixedness at Draco and the others. Parvati was perched uncomfortably on an Eames-style armchair.

At least Ron wasn't here…

'Milton visited,' Draco said. 'Scorpius was over the moon.'

Henrik shook his head in wonder. 'Wow… I mean, you folks are fucking weird enough, but that elf! Super-creepy but kind of cute...'

'He's a total bastard, actually,' Draco grinned. 'But he's been more of a Dad to Scorpius than I ever was.'

'Don't be silly,' Fleur chided kindly.

'Parvati – we need refreshments over here,' Henrik said.

'I'm not YOUR bloody house-elf, Henrik Thyssen,' she said prissily, though her eyes were smiling. 'Get them yourself.'

'Strange furniture,' Molly said in a choked-sounding croak to Hermione.

'Nice, though.'

Everyone nodded in silence.

'I'll – I'll get more tea… and biscuits?'

'I'll give you a hand,' said Harry. Draco watched enviously as they left the room.

'Why's everybody here?' Hermione asked Harry.

'Courtesy call?'

Hermione laughed nervously. 'Oh god, this is terrible…'

'It'll be fine.' Harry briskly popped the kettle on. Like herself, he slipped easily into Muggle ways. They were minimising magic to ensure electrical appliances and devices worked.

'I didn't have any more luck at the Ministry,' he said sourly. 'Neville's not allowed visitors.'

'HELL.'

'Ron's trying this afternoon… and Tana McLaughlin says she'll keep an eye on him for us.'

When they returned to the living-room, Ginny pointedly shuffled along one place on the sofa so Harry felt he had to sit down, facing Hermione. It was torture listening to the others having fun drawing Malfoy Manor behind her…

'Jesus, exactly how many bloody rooms were there in the west wing?' Draco said, scratching his head.

'Windows all fixed,' Bill declared, gambolling down the stairs. He squinted at the map. 'You must have spent your childhood getting lost, Draco.'

'In more ways than one…'

Arthur had come in from the garden and was watching. 'Did you each have your own drawing-room?'

'Well, this was – IS – my mother's. And this is the Garden Room – which overlooks the drive. And there's a queer little boudoir HERE,' Draco pointed to the diagram, 'though I've never known anyone to actually sit in it. And … and there was THIS one. But we stopped using it.' His voice dropped…

'But that's where the Wedding Breakfast was held,' Bill said.

'I don't think Ephraim knows its history.'

Hermione twisted around and momentarily caught Draco's eye…

Draco traced his finger along a higher floor. 'This wing was out of bounds because of my father's Gimlott's. Stuffed with old paintings I imagine, and over here…' he indicated the 'family' section of the house, 'there were some old paintings along the corridors, but not landscapes, mainly portraits.'

'What about the study?' Hermione asked.

'Snaggle-tooth Malfoys.'

'Oh yes,' she grinned.

'Anyway, Milton's doing an audit to fill in the blanks.'

'There's definitely a picture here,' Bill piped up indicating the Garden Room. 'I know this because I was lurking by the fireplace waiting for Ron at the wedding and the door was open–'

'Schmaltzy floral crap in there if I remember,' Draco grunted.

'Pink hell...' Bill grimaced. 'Didn't quite fit….'

'Did it have a fountain? And a statue of a lady?' Hermione asked in jocular tones, thinking about the picture from earlier.

Bill nodded hard. 'That's the one.'

Hermione hadn't expected him to say that…

'We were IN it this morning!' Gunter gawped.

Draco threw Hermione a confused look. 'But you didn't think it was Malfoy Manor.'

'It wasn't!'

Draco gave Hermione a hard stare. 'Do you think it's possible to PHYSICALLY enter the pictures and move around?'

Hermione pondered this a moment. 'You mean Sylvestra's taken a picture somewhere else?'

'Yes… so she can transit to her lover's house…'

Hermione stood up, thinking she should try.

'No!' Draco said, '… not until we know how it works.'

'Or IF it works,' Fleur said, 'there's no mention of that in Encantadas Asturianas.'

'Sounds rather frightening,' Molly said.

'It's not that different to Apparating,' Bill said with a shrug.

'Mum and I are moving over to this Blue House tomorrow,' George suddenly said to Hermione, catching her off-guard. It was the first time he'd actually looked at her. Ginny was still unable to bring herself to and had sat straight-backed and uncharacteristically taciturn throughout.

'Oh! Well, that's probably for the best… in the circumstances.'

Molly's face puckered and for a moment she looked like she might cry.

'Dad's staying here,' Ginny said. She'd ALMOST looked at her then, Hermione thought, but her mouth was tight as a gin-trap.

'Not HERE, but The Burrow – although I might stop here occasionally, if that's okay?' Arthur said, exchanging a look with Draco that Hermione wished she understood.

'It's Beltane on Wednesday,' Molly said crisply. 'So we'll have our Beltane dinner at this Blue Place.'

There was a silence… broken by Ginny: 'I'll be bringing James, Albus and Lily of course.' Even her voice! It was weirdly FORMAL, Hermione thought.

Hermione chanced a look at Harry, who looked like he wanted to fall down the back of the sofa.

'Harry… what's the camera like on your phone?' Draco was trying to take a picture of the plan.

'Damn sight better than yours,' Harry said, dashing to the table. They discussed the merits of different phones until Molly turned to Arthur, a desperate look in her eye. 'We're just a pair of stupid, old wizards, aren't we?' she sighed.

'Everyone's making a cake,' Ginny suddenly said to Hermione.

Hermione blushed to her ears. 'What for?' She could sense the dining-table smiling behind her…

'Beltane!' Ginny snapped.

'Oh.' Hermione sighed. As much as it would bother her not being invited to Beltane, she didn't actually want to go… 'What sort of cake do you want?'

Ginny thought a moment. 'Bitter lemon?'

Hermione nodded mutely.

'Your friend Gwen will be there,' Molly said.

'My cousin… Yes. She lives there.'

'Are we ALL invited?' Parvati asked, tilting her head as she asked.

Molly flushed. 'You're more than welcome.'

'Don't panic, Mrs Weasley,' Draco said, staring at his phone as he sent a photo. 'I won't be coming.'

'Yes you will!' Fleur shrilled. 'It's not just a family dinner. It's ALL of us. And you deserve to see how well the children you helped rescue are doing…'

'And you can't leave Scorpius out,' Parvati said. 'That'd be horrible.'

Hermione looked out of the window where the kids were falling about laughing, making Droscorpion Hugamus lift his arms up and down.

'Of course you're coming,' Bill muttered to Draco, shaking his head.

'But Ron might be there,' Molly said, her mouth tight.

'He won't,' Harry said. 'He's taking Krenzel to Auror HQ in Paris and briefing Francoise. Should be away a few days.'

A few days? But that took the kids past the six-day limit, Hermione thought with a pang of alarm.

Draco's phone was ringing. 'Ziff,' he murmured, heading outside…

Hermione watched as Hugo, bursting with excitement, tried to drag Draco over to the robot. Draco was trying to look enthusiastic but his face was conflicted. Something he was listening to was upsetting him.

'We came to tell you that we're not going to make a big deal of this … this THING you've done, Hermione,' Molly said in clipped tones with a sharp look at her husband. 'Not with everything else going on at the moment.'

'Sorry?' Hermione asked, dazedly, dragging her eyes from the garden.

Molly looked around the room. 'It's probably better we talk in private.'

Hermione nodded. 'Sure.' But neither women made a move.

Parvati sighed and moved to the dining table.

'Do – do you mean NOW?' Hermione asked, face glowing scarlet.

'We have questions,' Ginny said tersely.

'What kind of questions can you possibly have?' Henrik interjected, his voice ringing out across the room. 'It's what IS… best not to know or you just stir yourselves up further.'

'It's okay, Henrik,' Hermione said, biting her lip in frustration.

'But he's right,' Parvati said. 'You've so much else to worry about … we all have!'

George grunted wearily. 'There was a man I was kept prisoner with… They cut out his tongue so we couldn't talk. I never knew who he was…' The room fell silent. 'And a woman, too. She cried and cried. All the time... I never saw her face.'

'And you've no idea where you were?' Gunter asked, an inquisitive look on his face.

George looked a little unnerved to be addressed directly by Gunter. 'No idea... Fields. Flat fields. Nothing for miles…'

Draco came back into the living-room, still talking to Ziff. 'Okay… He's just here… I'll ask…' He removed the phone from his ear. 'Harry… can you get Ziff? There's been a very serious Dark Flux attack in Egypt. He wants to give us the details.'

Harry immediately headed outside.

'He'll be with you in a moment…' Draco continued, sinking onto the sofa next to Hermione. His hand unconsciously sought hers; large, warm, thumb tenderly stroking. Hermione instantly froze, aware that Molly and Ginny's eyes – identical hard brown chips – were watching.

'Okay... sure… Oh, Hello…. Yeah, we're good.' His voice momentarily lifted, but his mood hadn't. Your Mum, he mouthed at Hermione. 'And you? Good. Yes. Any time… Sure…' His voice dropped an octave and there was a long pause. 'She's right here if you want a word?… Okay... Will do… Take care.'

'What was Ziff saying?' Hermione asked. Should she move her hand?

'A market-place.' Draco's face darkened. 'Wipe-out.' His eyes suddenly glistened and he looked down at his hand on hers. 'They think it was a kid.'

'A kid?' Hermione cried, aghast.

Henrik crossed the room. 'What? Like – like a suicide bomber?'

Draco's hand went to his forehead and he stared at Hermione and Henrik. 'God, I hope not…'

'So this Ephraim Golowitz – he's one of those terror people?' Arthur asked tentatively.

'A TERRORIST? Yeah… Pretty much,' Henrik said.

'More like the main backer. The money. The frontman…' Hermione said. 'There's a sort of MILITANT wing, too.'

Gunter was at the back door. 'I'll go tell the others. We need to go there.'

'There's a travel ban… And Egypt's off-limits to magical folk,' Bill said.

'But why EGYPT?' Parvati asked. 'That's not Right to Exist stuff!'

'Good point,' Draco said. He looked at Hermione. 'Trialling new toys?'

XXX

'I'm heading to Paris tonight with Niko and Ginny. Ron's gone ahead,' Harry told Hermione and Draco that evening. After the Weasleys and Ziff had left, he'd headed to Shell Cottage for a meeting with Troyanda13.

'How will you travel?' Draco asked.

'Illegal portkey… and I'm faking a Black Ghost operation – that's Auror HQ lingo for covert ops – to get Niko and I out to Egypt.'

'Please be careful out there, Harry,' Hermione said.

'Oh... and one other thing!' Harry broke into a smile. 'Dennis Creevey wants to run for Minister for Magic!'

'DENNIS CREEVEY!' Draco exploded.

'Good on him,' Hermione said. 'Ephraim needs to be held to account.'

'But Ephraim has to LOSE!'

'Dennis thinks he should stand because he's Muggle-born,' Harry said, giving Hermione a regretful look. 'Someone needs to expose all this monstrous Family Act stuff.'

But Hermione thought back to Ron's conversation at Shell Cottage. 'The thing is, Muggle-borns are… what? Twenty percent of the wizarding population? Probably less, actually. Most people won't give a crap.'

'It's not just the Muggle-born bullshit though, is it?' Draco said. 'There's the other nasty tacked-on divorce laws.'

'And the rampant homophobia…' Harry said, his eyes boring into Hermione's face, 'and the rewards system for producing children, and the graded marriages by blood-status… it's all very, very damning.'

'Well, it can't be me, Harry, if that's what you're thinking,' Hermione said, folding her arms. 'I'm an adulteress having a torrid love affair with a married man - and we're shacked-up in a Muggle house… I wouldn't get past the first hustings.'

Harry smiled. 'Put like that, no. It can't be you… Any other Muggle-borns we can think of?'

They looked at each other blankly.

'So that's a NO, then,' Harry said.

'Well, if Dennis wants to run against Ephraim, he gets my full support,' Hermione said.

'He'll fucking need it,' Draco said, shaking his head.

XXX

In the middle of the night, Draco nudged her awake…

'What is it?' she asked sleepily.

'I've been thinking… Dennis doesn't actually need to win.'

Hermione curled up close and snorted with laughter against his chest. 'You woke me up to say THAT?'

But she could sense that Draco was very much awake.

'We're looking at this all wrong… It doesn't matter who wins – as long as Ephraim doesn't! And, assuming the Muggles don't blow him to smithereens first, an election hustings is now our best chance to take Ephraim on in a public forum,' Draco continued, 'because even though I'd love Ephraim to just fuck off and die, his ideas, his lies need to be discredited, too.'

Hermione's eyes snapped open. He was right… George's return meant there wasn't going to be a silly anti-Jeroboam trial anymore… Ephraim clearly didn't need it.

'We could stage an intervention on behalf of Dennis – the Sub Rosa candidate.'

'Exactly…' Draco lapsed into uneasy silence. 'I'm sorry this has happened like this, Hermione. I know you've always wanted to be Minister for Magic. And you'd be great. Better than Dennis fucking Creevey.'

'There's other things I can do with my life.'

'But you wanted it,' Draco said, drawing her into a tight embrace.

'Not now… It's too soon… I'd have to be smart and respectable and looking very married to Ron, when I want to be married to you…' she stopped short, realising what she'd just said… 'What I mean is… well, you know…'

He was grinning. 'I DO know,' he said, kissing her softly on the mouth, 'because I VERY MUCH want to be married to you one of these days…' She kissed him back, moving her leg across his body to get as close as possible. 'As far as I'm concerned, Hermione,' Draco smiled, 'we're in a fight here to rid the world of evil AND for the Right to Divorce…'

Hermione spluttered with laughter. 'I'm not sure we should recommend that to Dennis as a campaign slogan!'

But then a muddle of darker, anxious thoughts threaded through her. 'Though, truth is, Draco, you – we - should hold off on making promises we might not be able to keep to each other, because one day Katya might be back… and you don't know how you'll feel.'

'Yes I do,' he said fiercely. 'I'll be in love with YOU. And if you don't want me, well, I'll just – fucking run off and die somewhere.'

'God, you're Such a DIVA!' she laughed. 'And I'm not going anywhere,' she added, staring down at him. 'The sex is far too good…'

'Oh. You just want me for my body, is that it?'

'Well… even when it's a bit battered and very bruised… It's a thing of beauty,' she breathed, slowly easing a hand up his chest. His skin was firm and warm. She lay half across him, wary of his bruised ribs, and teased her hands into his hair and nuzzled his neck; his stubble chafed her skin but she didn't care. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast…

She swept her lips across his. He tried to capture her mouth with his own but she was trailing her lips across his jawline and softly nipping his ear as she slid a hand down his body, over his hips…further… She lingered over the softer skin of his inner thigh before taking hold of him. He felt burning, silky, and jerked in response to her touch.

'Do you want to practice colour-magic?' she asked in teasing tones.

He eased his fingers into her wild, bushy hair, chaotic from sleeping, and bent her face closer to his. 'You can do whatever the fuck you want with me, beautiful. Any fucking thing at all…' His breath gusted in sharp, hot pants onto her face.

She gently straddled him, holding herself upright, avoiding pressure on his ribs, and rubbed herself slowly and deliberately against his erection…

'God,' he choked, gazing up at her body, pale in the dim light. His hands caressed the sweep of her breasts, her hips, her thighs… 'Please, please say you're going to fuck me.'

She grinned at him. 'This first,' she said, swooping down closer and holding his head in her hands. 'Close your eyes.' She focused hard, summoning a memory: Making love… hard and sweaty… Draco thrusting powerfully into her from behind as she clawed the bedsheets, crying out, pushing back forcefully to meet his body with her own.

'Jesus fuck!' Draco gasped. His whiteness was scorching, combustible. 'That really, really fucking… oh god, it's working too well… stop, stop it…' he said desperately. She quickly cleared her mind… aware that both their hearts were racing in the darkness.

'I almost came,' he moaned.

She waited for him to calm down a little, then reared up and drove herself onto him, suppressing a blissful groan.

His hands were on her hips and he was trembling. 'Hermione… Bit of a heads up,' he said, swallowing hard, 'I feel I might fucking burst here… '

'Not yet…' she said. She clenched herself tightly, trying to stop herself from pounding down repeatedly… and focused hard, pushing more memories inside his head… Thrashing against each other on the hillside above Hogsmeade, followed by his mouth on her body as she rocked against him in the opera box, followed by sweet, slow strokes and their panting breaths ringing in their ears, followed by…

'NO...' he said, cutting her off, grabbing her hips. 'You're moving… don't move…'

He was panting hard, trying to contain himself. She could feel his mind desperately screwing itself tighter and tighter, trying to fend her off.

'And… as fucking amazing and incredibly sexy as this colour-magic thing is, Hermione,' Draco said, his voice quavering, yet earnest, 'I want to make new memories with you. Lots and lots of brand-new beautiful memories.'

She bent forwards, her hair falling around their faces – a warm, veiled space. 'I agree… and we will.'

His hands stroked her side and back and he sighed. 'And please. Promise me something … never share those with ANYONE else… what's ours is ours. All ours.'

For some unfathomable reason, the image of a pure, gleaming, vibrant sunflower, standing proud and tall, burst into her mind…

'Did you do that?' she asked.

'Yes… I don't know why... do you promise?' he asked in ardent tones.

She smiled. 'Of course.'

'I can't share you … not ever. I honestly think it'd kill me.'

'Has it ever occurred to you, Draco, that the women who've loved you felt like that too?'

She didn't know why she said it, but she could sense he was thunderstruck, falling into grey, swirling panic. 'Oh god, Hermione. Please don't do that to me… I know I've been a cunt and I probably deserve it. But please, please don't.'

He moved his hands to her face and he held her still. His eyes were wide and staring. 'I'm all in here, beautiful... And I think I'd be all out - out for the count, basically.'

She felt a surge of emotion roll through her; it was so strong she felt her head spin and her stomach tumble and every pore of her body was bursting with white heat… for a moment she felt like crying.

'So would I,' she said, kissing him tenderly. She deepened the kiss, quickly lost in the taste of him, his wet warmth… and their bodies closed around each other, joined in rapture, falling into ecstasy, making love with an urgency and a passion that she realised could never truly be shared or repeated… because the substance and weight of reality was so much greater – would always be greater - than the fleeting flotsam of light.

XXX

'Hmmm. And it was definitely NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM you wanted to see?' The duty clerk at the Wizengamot dungeons thumbed through a wad of parchments, a pince-nez perched on the end of her nose.

Panic fluttered in Hermione's chest. 'Yes. He was arrested on Sunday.'

'Neville Longbottom…' the duty clerk repeated as though these were the strangest two words in the English language.

'Surely you know who he is?' Hermione said acerbically. She remembered the duty clerk from Hogwarts… Slytherin.

The Slytherin duty clerk glared at her. 'Of course I know who he is, Mrs Weasley! He teaches my son!' But this was followed by a nonchalant shrug. 'But there's no record of him. Maybe he was moved?'

MOVED? This could only mean one thing… he'd been shipped to Azkaban.

'But surely you spoke to Harry yesterday? Harry Potter? Neville was DEFINITELY here.'

The duty clerk pursed her lips; her lipstick shrunk to a purple point. 'I was off.'

Hermione gazed at the long, lonely corridors to her left and right… fewer people than usual. Staff clocking off early for Beltane…

She spotted a copy of today's Daily Prophet on a neighbouring desk, featuring an incongruously large portrait picture of Ephraim, alongside a smaller photo of deceased Minister Witchell.

But her eyes were drawn to the small picture of Neville, tucked into the bottom corner of the front page: 'Foreign Spy Suspect Missing.'

MISSING?

Hermione glanced through the report… Professor Goertner claimed he hadn't been seen at Hogwarts for almost two weeks. 'Because you sacked him you invidious toad!' she snarled, blinking back tears… And no mention of his arrest!

Something terrible had happened…

Hermione whisked away from the dungeons towards the lift station, boiling over with fearful fury.

She impatiently jabbed the button for the main atrium and moved to the back of the lift.

She leaned her forehead against the wall of the lift and tightly closed her eyes.

The doors swung shut behind her.

She summoned her purple… a soft, soothing shade. Desperate to calm down… But tears were streaming down her cheeks.

How could she tell the others? How could she break the news to Hannah?

After a few moments, she realised the lift wasn't moving.

Instead, there was an eerie quiet, like an expectant hush - except for the occasional clunk and whoosh of lifts surging up and down alongside her. She became aware of the rushing sound of her own blood, circling round and round.

I'm such a fool, she thought coldly.

She could sense him now. A foot, possibly less, directly behind her. A wall of vivid blue…

'Hermione. Look at me,' Ephraim said.

'No…' She kept her face to the wall. Her cheeks were tear-stained. She didn't want him to see that!

She could feel heat irradiating off him; a ferocious, cloying, ultramarine heat – searing, scalding.

His hand reached down and felt for hers and he thrust a note into her palm.

'Once you find him, hide him.'

Hermione spun around, shocked to find Ephraim's face was inches from her own.

'WHO?'

Ephraim's eyes widened in surprise. 'Your friend! Longbottom… you came here to speak to him.'

Hermione manically wiped her face, twisting away from Ephraim, putting space between them. 'I don't understand.'

'Consider it an early Beltane present! Now that the Minister for Magic is dead, the Wizengamot has declared an amnesty for those awaiting trial… those without forthcoming witnesses.'

'But… but that's unconstitutional!' Hermione spluttered, in spite of herself. She should just accept this and run!

Ephraim clearly thought so, too… He knitted his brow, bemused. 'Would you rather Longbottom was still in custody?'

'NO! No. Of course not…'

'Good.' Ephraim smiled smugly. There were voices beyond the closed lift door. His hand snaked out, slamming a button – keeping the door closed from newcomers. 'I hope this makes you happy, my love. And it makes me happy too, because – your debt to me, Hermione, is GROWING.'

'That's ridiculous…' she scoffed, looking away. Shit. Shit…

His blue eyes glittered. 'You'd better go and pick up your friend before he gets himself into more trouble.'

'Ephraim?' Hermione asked. 'Why Rose? Why did you want Rose?'

He looked, at first, like he wanted to brush off what she was saying, but a serious frown slipped onto his face. 'To keep her safe… it's rare for a child to have her abilities. She would be much-prized… it was the same with Sylvestra.'

'What – what sort of abilities?'

'Oh, come on… you must have noticed? Have FELT it?' Hermione didn't dare betray any emotion on her face. 'She's like US, Hermione… though, naturally our gifts tend in different directions… Must say, I'm amazed at Draco! I thought the boy was all bark and no bite.'

'What do you specialise in?' Hermione demanded.

'Oh. Getting what I want. I ALWAYS get what I want… in the end.' He seized her hand and pressed it to his lips, kissing it, and then smashed the lift-button with his fist. The door swung open and he stepped out of view.

XXX

Neville was sitting on a swing – head bowed, disconsolate - in a small scruffy playground, wedged between two main roads at a busy London intersection. Broken glass and litter was strewn across the grass and a tramp was sleeping under nearby dusty bushes, shielded by battered cardboard boxes – a makeshift shelter – and a collection of random plastic bags.

'Neville?' Hermione called out.

His head shot up and she ran to him.

'I was told someone would come and get me,' he said. 'I suspect we're being watched.'

Hermione was more worried he'd been tagged in some way.

'Our best bet is to go somewhere you can be… processed.' He looked grey, eyes drooping with fatigue. 'Are you okay?'

Neville folded his arms tightly. 'Don't get why I'm out…' He screwed up his face. 'I mean, I'm guilty of everything they accused me of.'

'A Beltane Bonanza, apparently… Amnesty.' Hermione didn't quite believe it herself. 'We need to hide you overseas.' Her voice dropped to a whisper.

'But I want to be useful.'

'Maybe you can be? The Minister died on Sunday – all very suspect – and Ephraim's announced an election. Dennis wants to run! He'll need a clever campaign strategist,' she smiled.

Neville's eyebrows shot up. 'Cool idea! Though YOU should run, actually.'

'No way—'

'Hermione… the only person I've seen these past few days is Ephraim Golowitz! And all he talks about is YOU… He'd fall apart if you stood against him!'

XXX

Hermione stepped deeper into the bedroom, stooping so she didn't hit her head on low-hanging beams. The floorboards creaked underfoot and the walls were white-washed, tinged with grey. Roughly-hewn bunkbeds lined the walls.

Hermione's eyes were drawn to the view from the gabled window. Soft, hazy sunlight danced on a broad band of clear blue sea in the distance, prefaced by a long sandy beach and a forest of reeds criss-crossed by wooden walkways.

'It's peaceful here,' she murmured - despite the festive atmosphere, prompted by Neville's arrival, that could be heard drifting up the stairs.

'Although we're getting crowded,' said Gwen.

'Do you want us to take you back to England later to see your Dad?'

Gwen blushed. 'It's okay. I'm cadging a lift tomorrow with one of our guards, Oleg…' Gwen's blush deepened to a burning glow. 'He's very kind.'

There was the sound of a football being hoofed up the garden… Draco had arrived with the Folksvangr faction… The children had dashed outside to play.

Teatime was a full-spread in the garden, courtesy of Arlene and Angelina – already vying for household supremacy with Molly Weasley.

Hermione had a chance to meet Oleg properly. He was a lanky Russian with a dimpled chin, rumpled hair and thick, dark-rimmed boxy glasses. He reminded her of Harry… but was loud and affable, prone to telling jokes – not very good ones – although Gwen laughed uproariously.

Dennis Creevey stood up after tea – his diminutive frame shook with excitement as he announced that he'd formally registered as a candidate in the upcoming election. 'And Ernie's agreed to be my campaign manager!'

Everybody clapped and cheered and Ernie's teeth sparkled in the evening sun.

'Hufflepuff douche,' whispered Seamus Finnigan, who'd parked himself next to Hermione. He was a world-weary soul; his face pitted and lined, the scars of a life lived less well than hoped. His hand shook when he raised a glass of whiskey to his lips. Maybe his offer of this crumbling, slate-blue house with its long lawns and high stone walls was a silent plea for redemption, Hermione thought?

The air was awash with the fresh, tangy smell of sea-breezes. Far out to sea, thin slices of burnt orange fought the long, navy shadow of the distant horizon as the sun set.

'I think Hermione should stand,' Neville said suddenly.

'No,' Draco said with a brisk shake of the head. 'She'd be too exposed… there's too many other things to be getting on with.'

'She wouldn't need to DO anything,' Neville remonstrated. 'I'd handle it all!'

But Draco continued to shake his head.

'You don't OWN her,' Angelina said, eyes blazing. 'If she wants to stand, let her stand!'

'If Hermione rocks up to hustings, Ephraim will definitely attend,' Neville insisted. 'And she'd destroy him!'

'He'll turn up for Dennis, too!' Draco retorted. 'Because he's an attention-seeking, narcissistic wanker.'

'Hermione would unnerve him more. He's bordering on obsessional, Draco!'

'I agree,' Arthur commented, a rueful look on his face.

Hermione cringed, embarrassed. 'Stop it! Ephraim's just mad.'

'Just because he's in love with you, Hermione, doesn't make him mad,' Draco said, 'quite the contrary.'

A handsome, olive-skinned woman tripped across the lawn and urgently beckoned Arlene inside.

'Was that Leila?' Hermione whispered to Gwen on her left.

Gwen nodded. 'Joyana's not doing so well.'

'I don't understand why you've given up on wanting to become Minister for Magic,' Bill said, watching Hermione over the brim of his glass of beer.

'Because… I'm not exactly Minister material anymore, am I?' she said.

'I'm glad you can see that, Hermione,' Molly said in tart, though not unkind, tones. 'You have a good heart and a good brain… But the older generation – MY generation – would never vote for a woman who'd left her husband and children and was living in sin. It's a question of RESPECTABILITY.'

'She HASN'T left her children,' Arthur said in firm tones.

Hermione gave Draco a desperate look…

'I don't see why Hermione has to muscle in on this at all!' Ernie said… his face was florid after a couple too many glasses of butterbeer. 'Dennis will be an excellent candidate!'

'Please to speak?' Tuyen said from the furthest end of the table. 'Is there reason why BOTH can't stand for Minister? Is it law in your country?'

Ernie blinked rapidly. 'No… in fact, we've already caught wind of another candidate. Julius Merriman.'

'I'd have no problem if Hermione stood,' Dennis said, affecting nonchalance.

'Well I think Hermione SHOULD stand!' Tansy Pintucket exclaimed. 'Three men and no women! That's a scandal!'

'I don't want to,' Hermione said quietly.

'But you'd get a free pass to show this bozo up for the cad he is, Hermione,' Kai said in her broad New Zealand accent.

'Dennis could do that too! He's also Muggle-born.'

'But not in your position,' Parvati said bluntly. 'The New Family Act strips away your rights to be a mother to your own children… that's plain evil.'

Hermione suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on her… and she could see Molly staring at the table, a mournful look on her face.

She looked over at the children. They were playing amongst the trees at the fringe of the property. Henrik was hovering, a vigilant watch-dog, cradling baby Hoang in his arms, chatting to Fleur… He'd make a wonderful father, she thought. She'd rather hoped his crush on Gwen would lead somewhere – but he'd lost out to the handsome Russian.

The children were playing football. The Cambodian child, Vithu, was displaying some rather impressive dribbling skills – much to the other boys' dismay, as they were barely able to get a foot in edgeways.

A stumpy chap with a tufty, ginger curl of a beard tottered through the trees towards them… They yelped in fright.

Draco jumped up from his seat. 'Shit. It's Niko!... Where the fuck's Harry?'

XXX

Hermione momentarily tuned out; listening to the distant sound of waves echoing out of the darkness and the occasional thrum of a car engine on the coast road below.

The Blue House was alive with lights and movement… candles perched on window-sills, large, glass lanterns lighting up the porch.

'Niko says Ziff gave them coordinates for the recently vacated Gilgad site,' Gunter said, snapping her attention back to the emergency meeting. 'But they then heard of an even OLDER site called Qalb Min Hijr. There's rumours that children are being held there in a medical facility. They were heading to where they thought this site was when Harry disappeared…' He tapped a big cross on the Egypt map, deep into the desert by Abu Simbel at the foot of the country. 'HERE.'

'In the middle of fucking NOWHERE,' Elizaveta said dismally.

'Heading into the Sahara Desert's a fool's errand without incontrovertible proof Harry's there,' Arthur said. 'That ginger lad's got heat exhaustion… He might be mixed-up.'

Draco's mouth twisted anxiously. 'Thing is, we can't verify anything. His phone's dead and we can't even send a Patronus! Could put him in a very awkward position.'

'Even worse, Draco, the fact magic's banned in Egypt means we can't go and find him,' Thelonious pointed out. 'Or these kids...'

'This lake here – it's a border, isn't it?' Neville said, pointing to a large stretch of water south of Aswan.

Bill nodded. 'The Sudan. There's a fuck-load of shit going on there, too… And you'd be stuck in the desert; too hot to move after mid-morning.'

'We'd end up in the desert anyhow,' Hermione said soberly. A wave of deep depression washed over her.

'Travel at night,' Elizaveta suggested. Her shiny metal teeth glinted in the gathering gloom.

'But unless we leave very soon – unlikely without a way to actually get there – that'd mean waiting until tomorrow night,' Draco argued. 'Too late.'

'Why don't we ask Percy to sanction some kind of Inter-Ministry transfer?' Arthur suggested.

'But that'd be official,' Bill muttered.

'Can't we use the Gringott's network?' Hermione asked.

'Well… we don't run transporters to Egypt anymore. But maybe I could arrange a one-off favour from Athens?'

'What sort of transporter?' Neville asked.

'Traditional treasure chests… a tight squeeze.'

'Well, we'll just have to breath in,' said Draco.

XXX

Eight of them set off just before dawn. Hermione, Draco, Neville and Thelonious and three of Troyanda13: Gunter, Maurice - a small, dark-haired Belgian - and his partner, Ottiline. To Hermione's frustration, Henrik defied Leila's medical advice and insisted on coming too.

Gringott's International Transporter Centre was housed in a disused hangar at Glyfada Airport. The treasure chests being dispatched to multiple foreign destinations were rolled along a conveyor belt and fed through a thick black curtain by a trio of sturdy goblins clad in chain-metal cloaks.

Draco approached them, brandishing a piece of parchment, embossed with the Gringott's crest and instructions written in Gobbledygook.

The goblins crowded around Draco and appeared to sniff him.

'Our goblins don't do that, do they?' Neville muttered.

'These chaps seem more feral,' Thelonious said in stately tones, studying them with academic froideur.

Draco passed the sniff test and they were herded into an antechamber. A row of wooden treasure chests awaited them.

'But they're tiny!' Hermione gasped.

Henrik turned a sickly green. 'I'm big and beefy. I'll be crushed to a pulp.'

Maurice and Ottiline gave them withering glances and promptly tucked themselves into a box. Gunter folded himself down neatly and the goblins hammered the lid shut with small, silver hammers. The conveyor belt sprang into life and he was whisked out of sight.

XXX

Hermione's chest was compressed so tightly she could hardly breathe. An odd weighty pressure was bearing down on every pore of her body and she felt her brain might burst through her skull.

She was on the point of passing out when she ground to a sudden halt amidst a raucous, splintering sound. A fierce-looking goblin with a thick bushy mono-brow was staring down at her. He extended a wiry hand and levered her effortlessly from her confinement.

A wave of dry heat instantly engulfed her. She felt winded, dazed.

'Where are we?' she asked Thelonious, who was shaking sand from his robes. 'I thought we were going to Luxor?'

Luxor was a large, bustling town on the banks of the River Nile, but they'd landed in a parched white, rolling landscape of gravelly hills, dominated by a cloudless, azure blue sky. A bus was chugging along a road in the distance, sending up clouds of dust.

Four goblins pointed to a battered pick-up truck.

'Can anyone drive?' Gunter asked.

A goblin pressed the keys into Henrik's hand and they Disapparated.

'But this isn't Luxor!' Hermione repeated, this time to everyone.

'As good as,' Gunter said. 'We're in the Valley of the Queens.'

'Don't you mean Kings?' Neville corrected him.

'No – Queens,' Gunter said in definitive tones. 'Luxor is due East.'

'I had my licence revoked in Denmark,' Henrik said to Draco under his breath. He looked crumpled and sore from the journey.

'I'll drive,' Draco said.

'No need!' Maurice said. 'There's a magical transportation office in the city.'

But Draco disagreed. 'It's… what? Three hours to drive to Aswan? By the time we've got to Luxor, faffed about trying to negotiate a ride while avoiding the Muggle Police, we'd have probably tracked down this Qalb Min Hijr already.'

'Actually, the drive's more like five hours,' Maurice said haughtily.

'It's easier we just fly ahead and find a Portkey station,' said Ottiline.

'You can! But we're not animagi,' Neville whinged, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.

'There won't be Portkeys, Ottiline. And we won't all fit in that truck,' Gunter said. His bony features were gaunt and stern, brooking no challenge to his authority. He surveyed the bleak landscape. 'So WE'LL fly and you should set off. It's going to get hotter.'

'I can't get much hotter,' Neville grumbled, used to the cool climes of Scotland.

Draco studied his phone. 'It's three hours if we take the Western Desert Road… That way we avoid getting snarled up in traffic through town.'

Maurice gave him a beady glare. 'Tourists aren't supposed to travel West of the river. There'll be checkpoints.'

'Hopefully we'll be lucky,' Draco said in cool tones. 'And this cuts the trip by two hours.'

Thelonious was investigating the pick-up truck. 'Bit tatty.' He glanced inside. 'Full tank of fuel, though. And – that's nice – there's big bottles of water.'

'Which means the goblins knew we were better off driving than fruitlessly looking for a magic carpet or something hugely illegal,' Hermione said, ignoring the light that flared momentarily in Draco's eyes at the mention of a magic carpet.

Maurice shook his head. 'You're fools! The army might be mobilised.'

'Perhaps… but if things get hairy we'll find another way,' Draco said. He held Maurice's gaze, unflinching.

'Okay… we'll meet in Aswan - or this Qalb Min Hijr,' Gunter said. 'We all have our phones.'

And with that he turned to Ottiline and Maurice and raised his arms upwards. The air swirled, enveloping them in a flurry of fine white dust that made Hermione cough and rub her eyes. Moments later, three large, black crows were winging East…

'Well, that's them gone,' said Henrik. 'Draco - can you really drive? I'm too nervous to try without ID. At least if we get stopped, you can hypnotise the soldiers with some dizzle-dazzle abracadabra.'

'YOU can drive?' Neville asked Draco, mouth open in surprise.

'Get in,' Draco said abruptly. 'We need two in the back … we'll swap people around when it gets too hot.' He glanced at Hermione. 'You're up front with me.'

'That's just favouritism,' Henrik bellyached.

'Driver's prerogative,' Draco said with a smug smirk.

XXX

'You're enjoying this,' Hermione said, watching Draco as he overtook yet another slow agricultural vehicle, whipping up a whirl of dust behind him.

He grinned. 'I'm trying not to. Speeding probably isn't a good idea.' He weaved around a chugging, decrepit saloon car. The road veered between broad and sandy, bordered by miles of flat desert, the colour of vellum, and the occasional stretch of scrub-lined dirt track. At the outset of the journey, the sleek shine of the River Nile had occasionally winked into view behind sprawling villages and farms, but their route had long since diverged.

Henrik was snoozing, his head lolling against the hot glass of the passenger seat window. Hermione leant against his warm bulk. He was a useful cushion when the track encountered the occasional bump.

'Have we heard anything from the others?' Draco asked. He had his window down and was leaning his left arm against the sill and steering with his right hand.

Hermione checked their phones. 'Nothing yet.'

'They should have found transport by now…' He sucked his lip thoughtfully. 'I'm thinking about that Gilgad site … A manufacturing plant would need a water supply, wouldn't it?'

'In an area like this? Certainly.'

'The main body of water south of Aswan is Lake Nasser.'

'Which fits with the Abu Simbel connection… The monument looks out onto the lake. I've seen photos.'

Draco looked at her. His eyes were glowing and the wind had fluffed his hair into a scruffy, silver halo. He suited hot climates, she thought. 'Yeah, but it's a resort. Lots of tourists. Posh cruises. Hotels… the whole works.'

'Too many people.' The Argentine site was very remote. And by a lake. The site at Wanaka was tucked away in mountains … yet near to a reliable water supply.

'Have we still got service on our phones?' Draco asked.

'Sometimes.'

'Okay. When we next hit civilisation, I wonder if it's worth us contacting Ziff to ask if there's any other bodies of water in that area?'

Hermione glanced at the narrow, letterbox window facing out to the back of the truck. Thelonious was sprawled on his back, basking in the blazing sun. But Neville was red-faced and gabbling what she suspected were cooling charms.

'The guys in the back deserve a break,' she said. 'Hold on. Looks like they're stopping cars up there…'

A bashed-up blue Cortina had been directed onto a sandy verge by two officials and another truck was easing to a halt.

'Damn,' Draco said. There was a turning on their right, heading deeper into the desert. 'Looks like the scary detour...'

'But we could end up in Libya or something!' Hermione said, aghast at the barren landscape that greeted them.

Draco seemed irritatingly calm. 'I feel we need to move inland anyhow… Don't know why.'

'Well, let's hope that feeling coincides with decent roads and a petrol station.'

XXX

'Where the hell are we?' Neville asked, wiping sand from his eyes. He looked wretched, worn-out and unutterably relieved to be taking refuge inside the cabin.

They'd paused in the shade of a crop of palm trees on the outskirts of a remote oasis featuring little more than a clutch of crumbling, stone houses and a closed mini-mart. The roads were coated in sand.

The sky overhead remained a cloudless, deep searing blue – the sun was riding high now, a throbbing silver disc. A long bank of curvy, grey hills was ranged in the distance and the land as far as the eye could see was undulating, in motion – moving from glaring white to deep golden ochre to slate grey, even the occasional flash of rich, terracotta red.

Draco got out of the car and walked ahead of them; phone pressed to his ear.

'What's he doing?' Neville asked.

'Calling Ziff. He thinks the Gilgad site might be somewhere else entirely.'

'Where?'

'Somewhere easier to hide.'

Neville gave her a long, appraising look. 'I can't get my head around this… this thing you have going on here.'

Hermione blushed hotly and reached for a bottle of water to avoid looking at her old friend. 'Do you want some?' she asked.

'Thanks…' He glugged it greedily. 'Nice bit of distraction, that, Hermione.'

'Where did Henrik and Thelonious head to?' she asked.

'Comfort break… Your mate Henrik's a decent chap, isn't he? Where did you meet him?'

She eyed their surroundings. 'Argentina. In a place as unlike here as you could possibly imagine.'

Hermione could feel Neville's eyes on her. 'So is this a BIG thing or a passing phase?'

Hermione eased out a sigh. 'Big. But flawed.'

'A passing fancy then… ultimately.'

'No,' Hermione said sharply, aggravated by Neville's flippancy. 'It's the circumstances...'

Neville was looking out of the open window towards the oasis. 'Maybe the shop was open after all?' he murmured. He returned his attention to Hermione. 'I hope you don't mind me saying this, Hermione, but I don't think this will work between you two… He's not the same twat from school and there's clearly a physical connection - but he's different to us.'

Hermione felt a deep shadow descend on her. 'Not especially… And over-blowing historic differences shouldn't be our priority at the moment.'

'Guess I'm stuck in the old Hogwarts groove of thinking Gryffindors and Slytherins are fundamentally different species?' Neville said, almost whimsically.

'Perhaps,' Hermione said warmly.

'It's just… YOU guys - Harry, Ron – even me – we kind of defined Gryffindor. And Draco was the archetypal Slytherin.'

'Harry was nearly a Slytherin, actually.'

'Oh, I can see that,' Neville said. 'He used to be all huff, puff and reckless valour. But NOW. More Slytherin than not I'd say.'

Hermione was rendered speechless.

'Ron, on the other hand - a true Gryffindor.'

Hermione sighed. 'Frankly, Neville, all this house-crap… who cares? I don't want to be a lifelong member of some stupid tribe because we supposedly share some personality traits. It's a bit like bloody star signs...'

She was relieved to see Draco heading back to the car. Neville looked as though he wanted to say something to her but thought better of it.

Draco leant against the open car window. 'Right, there's another body of water between Aswan and Abu Simbel. The Toshka Lakes. Man-made and fed by canals. Ziff studied online maps and there are abandoned buildings…' He looked at Hermione, trying to gauge her response. 'What do you think?'

'How far out of our way?'

'Well, that's the thing. We're talking another two hours.'

'Have we got enough fuel?'

'And food, we need food,' Neville cut in.

Draco looked towards the township. 'I'll check this place out. Don't know when we'll next stop.'

But fortunately, Henrik and Thelonious re-appeared carrying boxes. Henrik was also lugging a large can.

'You fucking stars,' Draco grinned broadly. 'Right, let's get this show on the road.' He eased his wand across the windscreen to scourgify the accumulated layer of dust and splattered insects. 'Can one of you dole out some goodies to keep us going?'

'It's my turn to go in the back,' Hermione said. 'Which one of you lucky guys is taking my spot?' she said to Thelonious and Henrik.

'I'd say it'll be more refreshing in the open-air,' Draco remarked. 'I can pick up more speed now…'

'Oh. I'll stay in the back then,' Thelonious said.

'Sounds good,' Henrik concurred, hoisting himself up.

Draco smiled at Hermione.

'Still a Slytherin…' Neville muttered, but at least he was smiling.

XXX

Hermione woke up a couple of hours later. She'd fallen against Draco as he drove. His right arm was over her shoulder while he navigated with his left hand.

'You okay, beautiful?' he said as she blinked her eyes open.

'Don't know what came over me,' she yawned, feeling she'd failed him by not staying awake. She glanced to her right and was surprised to see Henrik rather than Neville. 'When did you stop?'

'About an hour ago. Spoke to Gunter. They were hoping to "catch a thermal" – hopefully we arrive at these lakes around the same time.'

'How much further?' Hermione looked ahead at the blank, sand landscape…

Draco pointed to a lumpen, grey smudge. 'Round the back of those hills.'

Henrik passed her a bottle of water. 'Freshen up. You look crap.'

'What's that?' Draco asked, peering ahead into the horizon. There was a twirling vortex of sand gyrating at high speed across the desert, kicking up a fierce cloud of dust in its wake.

'Dust devil,' Henrik said. 'Like a mini tornado.' He glanced upwards. The sky above them was still a bright, dazzling blue, but a few streaks of cloud had begun to coalesce to their right and a larger, purplish mass was hovering in their wake. 'Draco. We need to pick up a bit of speed, mate.'

'I'm already flat out.' He was keeping an eye on the clouds' approach as he drove and had to swerve to avoid a pair of scraggly-looking camels that had chosen to step out onto the road – although it was more a sandy trail now.

'I hope you're right about this place,' Hermione said. But she could sense a clear, bright certainty about him.

'I'm more worried about Gunter,' Draco said. 'We can weather a sandstorm – it'd be a tight squeeze with us all stuck in the cabin, but at least we'd be sheltered.' He cast a desultory eye at the skies. They were darkening rapidly…

They soon rounded the grey granite hills that had felt so far away just a short time ago… the truck was grunting and bouncing along a rutted track and Hermione pitied Thelonious and Neville in the back. A spray of harsh, gravelly sand peppered the windscreen as the winds picked up.

Draco screeched the truck to a halt. 'Got to get the others inside…' He jumped out of the cab and then Henrik's door swung open, creaking on its hinges against the wind.

'Room for a couple of little ones?' Neville joked. His face was brown with dust. Despite that, he looked oddly invigorated by the brisk winds battening the truck. Draco slid back into the driver's seat. 'Okay, everyone in?'

Hermione crushed up against him. She was keenly aware that the gearstick was now between her legs and Draco's hand kept bumping up against her.

Thelonious collapsed into full-blown giggles as he was now perched on Neville's lap, his long frame bent double, butting the ceiling with the side of his head and neck. He gave Hermione a desperate, toothy smile, physically unable to look away.

'Look!' Henrik said, glee in his voice. Four vast expanses of water swung into view, fed by a long, straight, glistening channel, which receded into the horizon. The road was more clearly marked and the rough ride smoothed to sand-covered asphalt. The truck's tyres made a sticky hissing sound as they glided along the tarmac. The road veered left, passing the lakes on their right.

A grey-block building was set back from the road, hemmed in by a tall, wire fence and abutted by a settlement of white cuboid rectangular plots.

To their right was a surreal landscape: huge, circular patches of land, stretching for miles. The terrain was a multitude of colours; greens, greys, brick-reds, maroons, rich Prussian blue. Each circle had a tall metal structure standing erect at its centre with a long spindly arm reaching across its radius.

'They're trying to green the desert,' Neville remarked.

'Then it's not going well,' Draco said wryly. The lake was bordered by a thick skein of white, quartz-like sand and the water levels were low.

The buildings they'd seen from afar were miserable and abandoned close up: windows smashed or missing, doors hanging off.

Draco dropped his speed and the truck slunk slowly into a car park and ground to a halt.

The truck was immediately attacked by strong winds, rocking them with unnerving, relentless force. The sound of sand scratching the windows punctuated the roaring thud of thunder looming overhead.

Draco turned to Hermione. 'Do you think Harry's here?

She looked at the desolate building, its walls bleached from the intense sun. She shivered involuntarily.

'I doubt it,' she said sombrely. 'But someone is…' She had an unerring sensation that they were being watched.

'Do we go and look?' Henrik asked, his voice rising uncertainly.

'Well, we've come all this way.' Draco grabbed his wand from the footwell and muttered an Imperturbable Charm to fend off the worst of the winds. His door was almost blown flat against the bonnet as he stepped out of the truck. Hermione swung her leg over the gearstick, casting a similar charm on herself, and followed, the others close behind.

They circled the Gilgad building – there was no sign of life - and Henrik, Neville and Draco moved inside, Draco holding his wand aloft to light the way. Thelonious had sand in his eye, so Hermione sheltered him behind a concrete buttress and cast a quick Tergeo followed by a gentle, healing charm.

'Hope we have enough petrol to get to Aswan,' Hermione mumbled, voicing a niggling concern.

'We're closer to Abu Simbel,' Thelonious said. 'Strictly speaking, this is Nubia, not Egypt. The land of my ancestors.'

The others returned and Draco shook his head. 'Just junk.'

'But there's footprints in the dust…' Henrik observed. 'Recent.'

Draco nodded but his attention was drawn to the settlement of breeze-block buildings a few hundred metres away, behind the fenced perimeter. 'We've got company…' He stepped back into the shadow of the open doorway behind them.

Hermione squinted through the swirling eddies of dust… the storm was getting closer. There was a distinct shape moving stealthily between the abandoned buildings. She craned her head to glimpse towards the back of the enclosure.

'Hermione!' Draco hissed, pulling her back.

'Look, the medical facility Niko mentioned. It ISN'T here,' she reasoned. 'If someone's out there, they might know where it is.'

'She's right,' Neville said.

'These buildings were probably constructed to house workers. Someone might have stayed,' Henrik said. 'Why don't we split up to investigate and meet in the middle?'

'No, best we stay together,' Hermione said testily.

Draco gazed at the rapidly darkening sky. 'Where are those blasted crows?'

They moved in close formation towards the deserted village. A large metal sign featuring a scrawl of Arabic writing had fallen to the ground.

'Qalb Min Hijr,' Thelonious announced.

'You read Arabic?' Hermione asked, impressed.

'Can't speak it, though.'

'What's it mean?' Draco asked.

'Heart of Stone.'

'A warm, friendly kind of place then,' Draco mumbled, crossing the perimeter fence towards the first line of decrepit buildings.

Draco and Hermione moved hovel-to-hovel, while the others stood guard. Everything had been stripped out, even doors and windows.

Sad, hollow shells.

'Hey, guys!' Henrik called from the doorway…'Just saw someone - a kid I think.'

They cautiously moved between the buildings, heading deeper into the complex. There was a flicker of movement out of the corner of Hermione's eye – a small, dark shape weaving between the boxy, white bungalows that comprised the corner plot of the compound.

'Over there!' she cried, tripping after the retreating figure.

She could hear a thin, fluting voice floating through the raging whoosh of the winds. Her heart beat a little faster… a child.

'Wait!' Draco yelled. She briefly turned to look at him. His face was as stormy as the clouds swishing and tossing in the sky above. There was a distinct gleaming flash on the horizon and the low, rumbling roar of thunder drawing nearer.

A cacophonous series of cracks suddenly erupted to his left and a volley of red and green shots was being fired.

A line of dark-clad wizards wearing raggedy bandanas as face masks and thick, dark goggles were Apparating into the enclosure.

Draco and Neville fired back and then ducked back into the gully between the houses, joined by Henrik, but Thelonious sprinted across the divide between the rows of deserted buildings crashing into Hermione. They flattened themselves against the wall, panting heavily.

'Shit,' she muttered. 'We must have triggered some kind of alarm.'

'There he is!' Thelonious cried, pointing to the small shape of a little boy. He couldn't be more than three years old, Hermione thought with a pang of concern. He'd stopped and his head was turned towards them. He seemed to sniff the air.

'Poor kid's blind,' Thelonious said, hurrying towards him.

'Careful!' Hermione screeched as a flash of red speared the gloom, missing Thelonious by a whisker.

It was suddenly very dark. A mountainous bank of dark orange dust was barrelling speedily towards them, glinting forks of lightening crackling within its depths.

A vast haboob – at least a mile long – rolling with ominous intent… there would be no escaping it, Hermione thought, if they stayed in this place.

She peeked out from behind the house she was hiding behind. It was difficult to see anything through the gathering murk. The sound of shots being fired – including gunshots – was muffled by the eerie groan of the storm and the rushing wind.

Hermione took a deep breath and plunged into the alley between the houses, only exhaling once she was behind a solid wall yet again… Two figures – one small, the other long and rangy – were scurrying through a further passageway before dipping left and out of view. Hermione chased after them, choking now on the squally sand being scooted high into the sky by the surging winds.

'Hermione!' Thelonious called out from a dark, open doorway… she skidded to a halt and followed his voice.

She blinked in the dense darkness. Thelonious was kneeling behind an old woman, cradling her in his arms. Her mouth was flopped open and her headscarf had slipped to reveal a mop of scraggly, grey hair.

Hermione heard a shuffle to her left and was relieved to see the child – small and trembling – carrying a jug of water. But the jug was cracked and liquid was slipping through his hands. Was this water why he'd broken cover in the first place?

Thelonious tried to speak in poor, halting Arabic, but the old lady held his face away with her hand.

Hermione knelt beside her.

'I'm sorry we don't speak your language,' she apologised. The old woman inched her eyes open. Her face was a mess of sores and scabs, fighting for space amidst a dense web of deeply-etched wrinkles.

'Hakim?' the old lady said in a reedy, quavering voice. She beckoned the child close. She was clearly struggling to breath.

Hermione could now see that the child – Hakim – had a thick, greasy film over his eyes… not completely blind then, not yet. Hermione felt her temper rise hotly inside of her.

'Take,' the woman said, concentrating hard to summon the necessary words. 'Father, Hassan Aktari, with Wahdah… in Sahrah'… Sadagh.'

Hermione looked at Thelonious with pleading eyes, silently praying he understood what she was saying. The child began weeping. He felt for the old lady's hand and clasped it tightly to his cheek.

'Go – Khatar! Here... Khatar … Danger!'

'Have you seen a man? With glasses?' Hermione tried to mime Harry's glasses.

The old woman nodded emphatically. 'With children… Alaydaa take… Akhr Makan. Alaydaa… big danger. Aleuyan…' She imitated Hermione's mime – but Thelonious shook his head. 'She means Eyes…' he explained.

The old lady agreed. 'Eyes. Eyes of Alsharika…' She fell into a prolonged bout of phlegmy coughing. 'Go. Go,' and she brushed her hand against the weeping child's face, speaking Arabic, and twisted to face the wall.

The child fell into a loud, plaintive wail that pierced the sound of the thunderous clouds above them and the creak and snap of the corrugated iron roof being lifted upwards by the snarling wind. The sound of whizzing stunners and the occasional pop of a gun drew inexorably closer and suddenly there was a rushing rampage and voices flooding past their door.

Hermione leapt to the doorway and saw a black hooded figure chasing someone down the alleyway. She couldn't discern who was being chased but had no doubt the hooded figure was intent on killing them.

Hermione raised her wand and yelled 'Stupefy!'

She looked back to Thelonious. He was delicately stroking the old woman's cheek. He looked at Hermione with sad, soft eyes and shook his head.

'We have to help the others,' she said.

Thelonious scooped the protesting child into his arms and followed her into the dusty darkness. They stepped over the prone figure at the exit to the alley and saw a number of shadowy figures dueling in what was now a thick, brown fog.

The flash of red that assailed Hermione's senses alerted her to the welcome realisation that Gunter had arrived and joined them in battle.

They cowered against the wall, then slid around the corner of a building and ran into open space. The wall of dust was almost upon them…

The dark figure Hermione had stupefied had revived and was lumbering with obvious intent towards them.

Hermione could sense he was staring at her through large, bug-eye goggles.

He raised his wand-arm as though set to strike - but retreated into an alley.

A stream of figures was sprinting away from the compound. Hermione made out Henrik's blonde hair at the rear, shooting with deadly accuracy at a chasing pack of dark-clad Alaydaa.

A small, dark figure - Maurice – was skirting the far reaches of the perimeter fence. There was a sudden, huge explosion and a mass of rocks, rubble and earth mushroomed high into the air… Maurice had disappeared.

'A minefield…' squeaked Thelonious. 'Tread carefully.'

Hermione gave him cover as he ran towards Henrik, carrying the small boy in his arms.

'Hermione!' Draco shouted, grabbing her from behind. 'Where the fuck were you?'

She melted with relief, but then a dark figure – the Alaydaa – charged at Draco, wand outstretched... He flicked his wrist and shouted…

'NO!' Hermione screeched, elbowing Draco aside… A shot of fierce blue light exploded from her wand and the shadowy figure flew high into the sky, limbs flailing, consumed by flames - before dropping like a stone.

She'd killed him... She'd gone too strong... Oh god… I'm a killer… A killer... She felt clammy, heady, overtaken by panic… She stared at Draco, mouth contorted in horror.

'It's okay,' Draco soothed, grasping her hand tightly, 'you're okay … Let's get out of here!'

Henrik was waiting in the driver's seat and the truck was fired up, ready to go.

'Get a move on!' he squawked through the open window.

A green flash jumped off the truck's bonnet followed by a screaming red spell which whistled past Hermione's ear. A column of flame raged behind them.

Draco threw her into the back of the pickup and almost somersaulted on top of her, sending her crashing into the far side.

'Drive!' he bellowed. And the truck rocketed forwards. The truck circled a bend at such speed it pitched rightwards, almost spilling them to the ground.

Hermione clung to Draco, watching the Alaydaa being swallowed up into the cloud of dust churned into the air behind them. Henrik crunched through the gears and the truck spun along the road, away from the Gilgad site.

Neville was lying next to them, groaning and holding his elbow.

'You okay?' Hermione gasped.

'I'll live,' he breathed. He was squashed up against Ottiline who was lying flat on her back, her mouth wide open like a parched fish. She was gasping for air. A gaping wound had been ripped into her side.

'Got her out just in time,' Neville said.

'Where's Gunter?'

Hermione looked ahead at the towering wall of orange dust blotting out the sky for as far as she could see.

There was no escaping their fate. They were driving straight into it…

XXX

CHAPTER TRACKS:

"PARADIS" by ALEXIA GREDY

"VIOLENCE" by GRIMES

"CEMALIM" by ALTIN GÜN

"PROFESSIONAL GRIEFERS" by DEADMAU5 (ft. GERARD WAY)

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.