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So far... The reborn Hermione launched the secret Cathesis League to fight corruption. Now at Hogwarts, the young girl formed CREST from the trusted members of the old D.A. After an exciting first year, the youngsters are back at school. Neville and Luna have gone missing in search of a mysterious gate into a dome of thorns in the Forest, and the others plan to rescue them. Now read on...
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Chapter 59
Gaining Entry
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Through, Over, or Around?
With Harry apprehended in the Entrance Hall by the Slytherin prefect, and Ron racing upstairs to warn Hermione and Olive, Ginny alone was left to search for Luna and Neville in the Forbidden Forest. She made her way round to the Quidditch stores in the dark with only starlight and guesswork to guide her. Where are you, Luna? Please be alive...
Not quite as proficient as the others, she struggled to cast a good enough unlocking charm on the supplies door. "Alohomora! Alohomora!" was her raised whisper as she whacked at the keyhole with her wand.
Wait, wait – cool it, Ginny. ... Deep breaths...
After steadying herself for a few moments, she tried again in a more controlled manner:
"Alohomora."
The lock clicked and the door opened.
In swept Ginny, her witch's robes streaming proudly behind her, then remembered to close the door against nosy prefects. She cast both a dim light and a knowledgeable eye over the school brooms. Few were any better than average, but she had the entire stock to select from with no other students fighting for dibs. She picked out a half-decent one, then surveyed the remainder, wondering if there was any chance her friends might not have returned to their dormitories but be making another attempt. She could save them some time here. From the stack she picked out a thick broom that looked reliable and steady for Hermione. Ron she knew would favour the swiftest. Finally, she chose a medium Keeper's mount for Olive that she felt would serve reasonably well no matter what her taste.
She placed them near the entrance, put out her light, then carefully opened the door – only to be hit by an unlocking charm which burst several laces on her underbodice. "Ron!"
"Ginny! We thought you'd run away!"
"Me? You're the one who bogged off!"
"I was trying to divert Farley and warn the others."
"Oh. Sorry. Who?"
"That prefect. Olive says her name is–"
"–definitely Gemma Farley if she's got short dark hair and an attitude to match," nodded Olive, moving forward with a frown. "Slytherin robes, didn't you say?"
Ron growled something unrepeatable.
"So, is Harry...?" Ginny briefly lifted herself on tiptoe to glance over their shoulders into the darkness, but sensed only Hermione anxiously trying to peer in through the entrance. Ginny stood aside to give them access, closed the door once more, then Hermione cast a wandlight.
Ron shook his head. "We heard knocking on McGonagall's door – Farley made Harry do it loudly on purpose so ol' stiff-lips'll be in a right mood to be gotten out of bed at this time of the morning. Come on, we need to get moving and it'll take us a while to find any decent brooms."
"I picked one out for you all just in case..." Ginny said, pointing at the stack.
"Good one, Ginny!" cried Ron, grabbing the fastest-looking one with fairly straight twigs.
"This is yours, Hermione," said Ginny.
Olive nodded approvingly as she took the remaining mount and examined it. Broomsticks didn't interest her in the least but she was a reasonably competent flier.
"So, what's the plan?" said Ginny. "Do we swing round, push through, or swoop over?"
"Definitely not through," said Ron. "It'd take much longer and the arrows of those Centaurs looked wicked sharp."
"Over, then?"
Hermione's mouth twisted about anxiously. "It'd be rather high, won't it? Some of those trees? Oh, and we're fairly sure that Luna and Neville would have gone around," she added quickly, "so we might spot clues or even find them in twenty minutes with uumm... a broken broom...?" The last was uttered in a kind of feeble, hopeful tone.
"You wish!" grinned Ron. "Come on. I'll lead the way high, and Olive and Ginny can steady you on your baby broom near the ground." Then he remembered his newly-forming manners. "Or Olive, you could lead if you prefer?"
""We'll take turns," she smiled back at him, yet somehow they both knew she'd not detract from his captaincy.
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Flight to the Unknown
The four youngsters, staffing with their broomsticks on the first leg of the journey, began walking north-northeast, well about the back of Hagrid's cabin and following a route that Hermione knew was virtually a blind spot to anyone watching from the castle. Little did she know that omnioculars were following their progress from observers already within the trees further south. Yet another, keener pair of eyes observed their approach from the bough of a stout beech tree on the fringe of the trees ahead. Of the four children, only Hermione could sense this 'watcher in the woods' for it was her good familiar, Aculus, the raven.
"Why come you this way, Mistress?" the bird whispered after alighting on her shoulder. "I sense your anxiety and it is affecting me."
Hermione dropped back behind the others, pretending to examine something in her bag before replying in a low murmur, "Aculus, have you seen anything of my two other friends, Luna with the long blonde hair, and Neville? And other searchers? Anyone else up early?"
"Your friends passed this way yesterday and proceeded inside the perimeter wall. They carried broomsticks as do you. Two others I've glimpsed further south better prepared to travel into these woods with backpacks, broom staffs, and maps. Tell me, are you all headed into danger?"
Hermione sighed and closed her bag. "Come along if you will, Aculus. We are aiming for a folly: a blue light, a bronze gate, and an obstruction of thorns on the far side – do you know of such?"
"I keep well away from those gloomy trees for there is nowhere to perch, nothing to eat, and naught but fetid warmth and doubt in the air."
"Decay? I see. Well, stay behind if you're afraid, we can manage." Hermione's wink twisted the left corner of her mouth into a lopsided grin.
"Hmpf! There is nowhere my mistress may go that I will not follow."
"Bless you, Aculus, I knew you would. Let it so be!"
She caught up with the others, and Ginny, who had heard her muffled mutterings, gave her a funny look. "Everything okay?" she whispered.
A tiny nod and an expression touched with new hope was Hermione's only reply.
"Ron?" she called in a low voice, and he paused in his stride to look back. When she caught up, Hermione said, "Did you or Olive smell anything odd when you were at the big bronze gate?"
"Not really," said Ron. "Our sense of smell and taste wasn't very good then though."
Olive shook her head as she wrinkled up her nose. "There might have been a faint odour, but the woods are full of both dead and living things so that's no surprise."
Living? Dead? Hermione's thoughts became filled with visions of a different kind of afterlife to the one Madam Pince had implied – the one place where you didn't want to end up.
As they approached the north wall nearest to the Forest edge, Ron turned to squint back through the failing grip of night. "We're out of sight of the castle. Time to mount up."
Ginny eyed the stout stone buttresses and tried to imagine Luna and Neville cuddling up there during the previous Christmas. A sigh escaped her lips as she swung a leg over her broomstick.
"Having second thoughts about the risks? You don't have to do this," said Hermione, quite kindly, as she remembered Ginny was still only eleven – for a few more months anyway.
The off-guard Weasley glared back at her. "No! I was just..."
She kicked off the ground to race after Ron, then slowed down as Ginny noticed Olive waiting for herself and Hermione. She did her duty – despite feeling slightly aggrieved that her courage seemed to have been in question – to help Olive support Hermione as they sped along with the imposing stone wall on their left and the Forest on their right. Within half an hour the pale daylight was silhouetting the treetops ahead of them, bluing the blackness above, and lifting Ginny's spirits, so soon the girls were chatting excitedly together as they chased her brother.
Hermione, breathing heavily at the pace set, gasped out, "Tell me again about this prefect – the one who caught Harry."
"I didn't get that good a look at her," said Ginny, "but she must be blind as a bat bogey to have missed Ron. Even I could see him in her wandlight."
"So how'd she find Harry so easily?"
"Probably heard him closing the annexe door."
"Did you? Hear him?"
Ginny frowned and Hermione clutched her broom handle tighter to risk glancing sideways at her expression.
Olive leaned in to steady a sudden wobble in Hermione's flight, and said, "From the way Ron described her, it could only be Gemma Farley. She's a sixth-former but still something of a tomboy. Crops her hair. Hangs around with the lads more, if you get my meaning."
"Was that the girl we saw with Draco in the library?"
"Could have been. I didn't really take much notice of them."
"We never mentioned the Forest to Madam Pince, but Malfoy might have guessed Harry would try to find Neville and Luna. Draco never misses an opportunity to get him in trouble."
"Why?" said Ginny. "Malfoy's a git but he's always behaved reasonably with Harry and us. Oh, you mean–?" She found herself unable to continue as Hermione's Fidelia charm held her tongue concerning the smart witch's former life. "HOW FAR, RON!" she shouted, changing the subject quickly.
"FAR? ARE YOU CRACKERS, GIN? IT'S HOURS YET!" came from high up ahead of them.
He was right. Midday was approaching with the sun flooding the light grey stone of the wall when he finally swooped down, but it wasn't to end their journey:
"STUPEFY!"
Wands came out in support, but no one else could see an enemy. "Ron?" called Hermione to the boy who was circling low over something on the ground.
"It's a Grump Grouse. They're good eating if you don't mind the grumbles. I thought we might light a fire and... you know..."
Hermione released a low growl of frustration. "There's no time for cooking! Save it for later when we celebrate our return." Hermione was first off her broomstick, and even before Ron could open his mouth, it was she who was suggesting they snack quickly on their packed brunch. But the way she slumped down onto the grass and leaned back against the comforting solidity of the sun-warmed stone blocks told them she was glad to be on terra firma once more.
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Life After Death
They picnicked in moderately silent mood except for inconsequentials, aware that they could not dally long, but fortifying themselves against what was to come. Hermione noticed Olive sat nudging elbows with Ron and wondered how much of that was still the craving for physical contact with the world of people.
"So, Ron..." began Olive, as she began nibbling on another ham sandwich, "those Grump Grouses don't really hop around grumbling, do they?"
"No, only while you cook them."
"RON!" Olive stared at him, trying to sense if he was joking or not. The other two girls kept a straight face.
"Look, corn makes a popping sound, and sausages sizzle and bang, right? When you fry up a Grump Grouse the skin makes a kind of growling, grumbling sound – it's because it's so thin, I think. That's why they're nice and crispy." He looked at her face. "You didn't think we cooked them live, did you!"
Ginny and Hermione burst out laughing at Olive's expression.
"Technically, Ron," said Hermione, "the cells of a freshly-killed animal remain alive for a while and are then taken over by other living organisms so they–"
Olive stopped eating, her eyes wide upon her sandwich.
Hermione grinned. "Don't worry, Olive, your ham was dry-cured by the Hogwarts house-elves. It's been lifeless for months.
Putting down her sandwich, Olive forced the talk onto their objective. "So you glimpsed the thorn trees in the distance, Ron?"
"Can't miss them really, and they're not so far now. The tops of the trees are darker a bit further on. If most of it is that dome-lantern thing, then the back of it might even extend as far as this wall."
"So we need only follow the thorn boundaries inwards until we find the gates again?"
Ron nodded. "Or we could try flying over to see if there really is an opening up there – you can bet that's what Luna would do."
Hermione shook her head. "I'd like to see those gates – purely for research if nothing else, you understand."
They all knew why she was in no hurry to get on her broomstick again, especially to fly so high.
She stood up, brushing crumbs off her school robes, then said briskly, "Might as well walk from here. Don't want to miss any clues." She took out a notebook and a Muggle ballpoint pen and pretended to write something.
Ginny exchanged grins with Olive.
On they trekked, each carrying a small pack and employing their inverted broomsticks as walking staffs again. Mostly, they gazed into the Forest – for that would be where any danger might come from.
The first stunted thorn tree came into view within ten minutes, and only a few paces inside the treeline. Hermione waded in through the undergrowth and studied the spiky bark but there was nothing much to learn. "It's not so big. They're unclimbable?"
"That's just a baby compared to the others further on," said Ron. "Apart from the spines, there's nothing to cling to and those clumps pull away easily – they won't stand anyone's weight."
She squeezed a hand between the thorns and felt the scaly bole. Her head recoiled slightly and a puzzled look crossed her brow.
"What?" said Ginny.
"I feel a tiny drain on my magic. Something's not right..."
Ginny tried but wasn't sure.
"We never noticed anything before," said Olive.
Ron pursed his lips. "Yeah, but we couldn't really feel much of our magic anyway, could we?"
As they proceeded – remaining just inside the Forest edge now – and the thorn trees became bigger and more prevalent, they all began to feel a slight but worrying loss of their powers. Weakening of magic is akin to a Muggle losing a limb or being trapped underwater – they all became very uneasy at feeling so vulnerable.
"I'm going back," said Hermione.
"What!" cried Ginny. "You can't! Luna needs you!"
"Just away from most of these thorns. "I need to be certain this weakness is not permanent."
"It wasn't for me and Olive when we were here before," said Ron.
"That's right... that's right..." muttered Hermione, hesitating with a step back and forth then agonisingly frozen in the middle. She knew the world might depend on her decision. Horrible thoughts plagued her mind, 'The Greater Good' being the name of one of them. How much easier it is to choose the few you know rather than the many whose faces you may never see.
"I'll run and come back," she said finally, not even certain herself if she would return.
She did. Within a minute she was back, panting but showing a rueful smile. It had been obvious her magic was increasing as soon as the thickest of the thorn patches was behind her. Nobody said anything but she sensed the criticism in the air. Hermione sniffed. Then paused again.
"There is an odour..."
"Oh... sorry," said Ron, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
"Ron, you daft beggar!" Hermione's grin was weak, but she was grateful for his humour. "I meant the decay. Let's crack on."
The four strode onwards then with more purpose until it was clear the thorns were now impenetrable.
"That's it? Your dome?" flapped Hermione. "That's not even a wall, that's just a dense thicket!"
Ron looked upwards. "You can't really sense the height or the curve from here, we're too close. Wait till you see it from the clearing where the gates are." Ron's confidence was displayed in his stride as he lead them deeper into the woodland. There was no risk of losing their way so long as they kept the barrier of thorns immediately to their left. Ten minutes ... almost fifteen ...
Hermione kept testing her decreasing magic, eventually having to use her wand.
"There! What did I tell you!" Ron cried, pointing to the faint blue glow perceptible through the prickly route before them. "And the warmth? Feel it?"
"No," pouted Hermione, then sighed her acceptance, "but I'm sure I soon will."
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Rite of Passage
As they emerged into the bristly glade, she staggered back into Ginny behind her, all eyes staring up at the majestic bronze work. "My God..." murmured Hermione, in awe at the scale of the gates which seemed to tower up and away forever into misty blue.
"Yeah?" grinned Ron, then again, "Yeah?"
"Ron, this is so much more than I thought it would be..." whispered Hermione.
Above was a patch of blue sky but not much of it, for the thorny maze hemmed it in on all sides. The view through the gates was gloomy, relieved only by a blue haze as she tried to peer between the metal fretwork. The smell of decay was stronger now and she looked around for Aculus, sensing him trying, without success, to find a place to perch. Furtively she pointed to her shoulder again, and the raven whispered his gratitude in her ear.
"The blue light seemed brighter at night," said Ron, "but it's much warmer today."
Olive said, "We didn't feel hot and cold so much then, remember?" Perspiration was forming on her brow. "And it's almost summer now."
"Any idea how we might unlock it and get inside, Hermione?" asked Ron. "They must be rusted shut after centuries, I suppose."
"Bronze doesn't rust, Ron, but... well, I'm surprised it's not corroded more over the centuries. Could be this environment, or perhaps it's magically protected in some way."
Ginny strode forward and gave the gates a big push. Very slowly – tantalisingly so – the enormous mass of the gates swung from her touch on silent, well-balanced hinges. She gasped at what she saw. Everyone did.
The dark blue mud that Ron had observed on his first trip was sliding away from the entrance, almost as if being swept clear by the gates yet several paces beyond them, leaving a semi-circle of rock slabs and dark brown earth much like without but sloping down within, suggesting a vast basin of mud that would be quite deep further inside the dome. Despite being the middle of the afternoon, the sky through the gates was a mostly dark silhouette of thorns extending far forward into the haze.
With this new perspective, Hermione noticed the runic lettering atop the gates and scrabbled for her notebook. There was a tearing sound, but it wasn't a torn page; Ron had come to an abrupt halt as he tried to step cautiously through the gateway and wave away the haze. "My sleeve!" he cried, stepping back. "Something's ripped my robe!"
The sleeve of his robe was indeed pushed back past his elbow and hung in tatters. "Mum'll kill me!"
Olive soothed him. "Ron, Ron, the house-elves will fix it for you and no harm done."
"But it tingled on my skin! The blue light I think ... or something." His staring into the azure gloom was akin to watching the descent of night once more.
"I think they're swinging shut again," he added. Ron was right; almost imperceptibly the gates were rotating back to them.
"Let's think this through before we go in," said Hermione, frowning as she jotted down the ancient script atop the gates. "Makes no sense to me..."
But Ginny, who was mopping her brow with her handkerchief, had pulled up her sleeve and reached out past the gateposts to confirm the sensation that Ron had experienced. She examined her hand. "Tickles but no damage."
"Except to my bloody school robes!" grumbled Ron with a swift kick at the edge of the nearest gate. "Aaagh!"
"What now, Ron?" Hermione cried in exasperation. "Why didn't you wait before blundering in? We might learn something first."
"But my shoe!" He pointed. The toes of his right foot were exposed and the leather of his school shoe was burst open and splayed around them. "My sock too!"
"Oh, Merlin's mucky pants! Your sock needs darning!" cried Ginny in mock horror. "We'd better give up immediately then. I mean, your sock!"
By now, the gates were half-shut again. She balled up her hankie and threw it forward between them. The cloth appeared to hit an invisible wall at the threshold and fluttered down at her feet. "It's not ripped though," she said curiously, picking it up to examine it. "I think we have to creep through slowly then we'll be alright..."
"Ginny...!" Hermione looked up from her scribblings.
But Ginny had already stepped slowly forward – then stopped. "I can't."
"Can't what?" said Hermione.
"Can't move forward."
"The gateway's stopping you?"
"No. ... My robes."
"Oh come on!" Hermione moved closer to her to see but took care not to step beyond the gateposts. Carefully she leant her head forward a few inches to look sideways at Ginny. "It's like you're pressed against invisible glass and – ouch!"
Olive pulled Hermione back. "One of your hairgrips came out." She picked it handed it over.
Scrutinising it closely, she considered it had been slightly bent, but apart from the tingling sensations she'd felt, her face appeared uninjured. What is different between my face and socks and hairgrips and...
"We're alive," said Olive, quite solemnly, almost as if she knew what Hermione was thinking. "only true life..." she murmured half to herself
"What did you say?" Hermione felt Olive's words resonating in her mind and knew she'd heard them before.
Olive's eyes had lit up with wonder and she cried, "Hermione, don't you remember what Irma told us? The gods built a heavenly portal through which only true life could pass?"
Hermione shook her head, and little beads of sweat trickled down her face. "Oh, Olive..."
"Must be!" cried Olive. "Look!" Very slowly she tried to push her broomstick, bristles first, through between the closing gates. The twigs splayed out as if pressed against a wall. "Now me!" Olive dropped the broom then rolled her sleeve up almost to her shoulder before reaching carefully forward. "See! My arm goes through because I'm alive and the broomstick's not! But think what heavenly life has passed through this portal! Nothing dead or corrupt or primitive can go through, they said! What wonders lie ahead! We may ascend into glory!"
"Olive, I think you're reading too much into this..." said Hermione, looking down again at her rough copy of the runes and wishing she could interpret them.
"You're wasting your time making notes," said Olive. "You must have heard the expression, 'You can't take it with you.' You won't be able to take them nor anything else, just you, just your life."
Hermione stared at the girl, her jaw slack with the realisation that she must be right. "Ron! Your chicken!"
"I am not! But if you think–"
"–No, your Grump Grouse! You only Stupefied it right? Give it here!"
"Erm... it was heavy so I stuffed it in your bag when you weren't looking, Hermione," he said, wiping sweat off his face with the back of his good sleeve as he turned sheepishly away.
"You what!" She opened her beaded bag, rummaged inside, then pulled out the stunned bird. "You did realise it wasn't dead, didn't you? Leastways, it wasn't."
"One way to find out," urged Olive, holding out her bare arm to Hermione.
Hermione gave her a studied look, then handed over the limp fowl. Olive took a couple of steps to line up once more with the gateposts then carefully held out the bird. It passed over the threshold without harm. "It's alive," affirmed Olive as she placed it back in Hermione's hands. "Now what?"
"Avada Kedavra!" The wand of Hermione flashed through the air as she tossed the bird then caught it again.
Ron and Ginny gasped but Olive screamed in astonishment. "You cast an Unforgivable! How could you...? They're illegal even for adults, but you're only twelve! How could you possibly even master such a curse at your age? And I can scarcely cast a spark here in this place!" The girl was shaking, and Ron went over to put an arm around her shoulder.
"Thirteen," correct Hermione, "and I'm almost fourteen. Should I have knocked dinner on the head with a rock ... or cut its throat with a knife? The result is the same. But I admit I reacted impulsively and hope you can keep this to yourself, Olive. I know my friends will." She looked at Ron. Ginny was pale, but perhaps it was the blue light counteracting her natural complexion. They both nodded.
"The killing curse is more humane than using an axe; it's when and how you use it that matters," said Hermione as her wand blasted a slab clear of earth underfoot and she laid the bird upon it. With a more domestic spell she rapidly flayed the bird amidst a flurry of feathers, then carried the dripping skin to the gate. They were now almost closed and Hermione gave them another push.
After rolling up one of her own sleeves, she carefully, and very slowly, held it out successfully through the gateway. "The cells of this are still alive. I'm hoping it won't disintegrate if it dies inside the dome – after all, there is earth and stone in there already, so it's just the passing through which blocks dead matter."
She cast a Hot-Air charm to dry the skin then laid it down just inside the gate straight away in case too many cells died before they were ready to enter themselves.
Olive said quite seriously, "You'll have nothing to write with in there."
Hermione looked thoughtful. "Perhaps I can make charcoal..."
She summoned a large clump of thorns from a nearby tree then pushed them through the gateway before releasing them. "Incendio." Hermione frowned and aimed more carefully. "INCENDIO!" A jet of orange and red flame shot from her wand but dissipated at the boundary of the gate. Growling to herself, she tried to gently push her wand through but was blocked. Finally, she pushed her arm through and drew on all her reserves to cast the spell wandlessly. "INCENDIO!"
Nothing.
"Oh, no... there's absolutely no magic working in there at all. I was relying on that."
Ginny groaned. "Then what about Luna? And Neville? How could their broomsticks fly down?" She winced as she looked at her brother's tattered sleeve and shoe, and visualised Luna flying down into that non-magical hell.
Ron tried to console her. "If it's this blue sludge that's stopping magic, then maybe they could have flown down near the ground and–"
"–crash-landed!" cried Ginny. "Hermione?"
Hermione was crouched low and reaching to the clump of thorns she'd place beyond the gateway. Detaching one thorn, she pricked her finger quite viciously then began to scribble her blood onto the grouse skin. She worked quickly, glancing up repeatedly to inspect the runes worked into the metal lattice at the top of the open gates, then copying them as best she could onto the makeshift parchment. The others winced as she had to repeatedly jab herself, but she'd braced herself against the sting by the need for haste.
"That will have to do," she said finally, holding up the bloody skin and careful not to pull it back over the boundary.
"This is all very well," said Ron, but I still don't see how we can ever get through the–"
"–Oh, Ron! Use your common sense!" cried Ginny. "We'll have to strip!"
The notion had vaguely occurred to all of them, of course, but they'd pushed it to the back of their minds as absurd. Now that Ginny's words forced them to share the obvious truth, each was affected differently. Ginny herself flushed a pale pink and turned her face away to examine her handkerchief again. Ron blustered and spluttered incoherently and his ears turned red. Olive was the most perturbed; she was a forties' child, and even the mention of nakedness was acutely embarrassing.
Hermione had no such reservations. "I'll go alone. You three wait here and guard my things." She put down her beaded bag and began to remove her clothing.
"Hermione!" cried Ron. "Give me a chance to turn my back at least!" He walked off aways to the first bend in the thorn labyrinth around which they'd originally come.
"But Luna's my friend..." said Ginny. She was visibly squirming – not for long. "I'm coming with you."
"Ginny, you don't need to," said Hermione.
"Yes, I do," said Ginny, slowly loosening her robe while glancing around to make sure Ron was still facing away from them. She bit her lip, hesitated, then began to undress.
Olive, meanwhile, was in a state of misery and began to cry, muttering and blubbering, "I wanted so much to..." She stared in through the gates, in an agony over what she might be giving up if she forwent this opportunity.
Packing away wand, broom, and the last shred of clothing into her beaded bag, Hermione walked over to try to comfort the girl. "Probably it's nothing like you imagine, Olive..."
In her peripheral vision, Olive glimpsed Hermione's nakedness and cringed away. Wailing, she took a couple of steps to one side.
Ginny called out, "Can I put my pack in your bag, Hermione?"
"Sure. Ask Ron to take care of it while – on second thoughts, I'll ask him."
"NO!" cried Olive, running around in a wide circle to avert her gaze. "You can't let him see you like that! And what if he looks inside your bag? He'll see your undies!"
Hermione sighed. "It's him, isn't it? Because he's a boy?" She turned to shout to the lad in question. "Ron, go round the corner for Heaven's sake! When we're inside we'll call you, then come back and guard my bag!"
Ron's head half-turned to listen but Olive squealed so he yelled, "Okay!" and vanished round the corner.
"Now will you come, Olive? Last chance to discover paradise..." coaxed Hermione. She gestured to the gates which had almost closed again.
Wringing her hands, Olive made a brave effort. "You go in then, while I get undressed."
Hermione turned to Ginny and rolled her eyes. "Ready?"
Ginny nodded and, for some reason, the two held hands as they walked forward, pushed open the gates one more time, then stepped through.
"Wooo, tingles all over," said Ginny, rubbing her forearms. At least we're nice and warm, but wooo... that is so tickly."
"Probably dead skin cells flaking away," mused Hermione. She glanced back; Olive was half-turned away, waiting for them to go behind the gates but trying not to look at them directly.
Hermione whispered, "Oh, for Goodness sake, come on, Ginny."
She picked up the grouse skin and a handful of thorns, then they cautiously moved beyond the gates to one side. The dark blue mud was a little slippery and warm but felt safe to walk upon if one was careful. They waited. Occasionally Hermione glanced at her empty wrist, wondering what the time was. She was just about to check on Olive when the girl appeared, face scarlet, arms folded tight across her chest.
"RON! WE'RE GOING!" shouted Hermione, and Olive scurried aside out of the gateway's line of sight. Ginny had to share a smile with Hermione. She was getting used to her exposure but poor Olive was suffering – though not as badly as Ron...
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Unwelcome Visitors
Ron had accepted the dishonour of not even attempting to volunteer for a potentially dangerous mission – he'd rather fight Voldemort than bare himself before three girls – but he now had a terrible guilt. When Hermione had ordered him – yes, ordered him, he fumed – out of sight, the dismissal seemed to cut deep into his manliness, while Olive's subsequent girly squeal evoked it. The conflict was extreme. He imagined Olive as he'd never seen her during their time together, and the temptation to peek through the prickly corner of thorns was overwhelming. He fought to master the sensation, of course, and fought well. Minutes passed and he'd assumed his success, when Hermione called again that they were leaving.
His limbs moved of their own volition. Ancient instincts took over. One glimpse by accident could not be a crime, could it? And, of course, the girls were leaving so he needed to confirm they'd gone, he told himself. Framed in the tiny gaps in the prickly hedge he saw Olive fleeing. One second of astonishment. Then the flood of unworthiness and anguish took him.
Poor Ron. His head hung low and he slumped down to sit on the ground. Even the barbed spikes at his back merely reminded him that he still wore robes that now seemed thick as an elephant's hide compared to the girls' exposure to the unknown. Head in hands, he considered himself less than filth. Olive was the sweetest girl he'd ever met. So dependent had they been on each other, that never a moment's conflict or mistrust had arisen between them. He could not endure his betrayal of her friendship nor her innocence. Silent as the grave, he was wishing the earth would swallow him up, when a distant sound caught his attention: voices!
Hagrid! Dumbledore! Snape! Ten thousand prefects – all would be rummaging through the underclothing, laughing drunkenly, and he himself would be scorned for not leading his helpless team of girls safely and manfully through fearful terrain to rescue and return with the lost children.
Nothing less could have roused him from his stupor. Up he leapt and raced back to the gates: they had already closed as silently as they'd opened. Where were the girls' robes and undergarments? Where? Frantically he looked around. There was Hermione's bag! Of course, they'd put everything neatly in there! Seizing it, he sprinted for the only exit from the clearing – the same way he'd just entered – only to hear the voices approaching. Where to hide within this empty glade? Where to go?
Tugging away clumps of thorns from the farthest, darkest corner, he squeezed into a gap, then dragged what twisted clusters he could after him, spots of blood mixing with sweat, and pain mixing with relief.
Just in time! Two figures entered, both employing broomsticks as walking staffs, one also clutching a map which he absently folded up as he stared across the clearing in astonishment at the huge gates barring the way forward through the thorns.
"This is it, Farley! Look, bare footprints in the dirt! They've already entered!"
The older girl nodded, and they both peered through the bronze latticework of the gates. "They can't be far ahead. Get yourself ready, Malfoy. This might be the only chance to redeem yourself."
With a vicious glare at his companion, Draco let his broom fall, put down his pack, and stowed away his map. "I told you it wasn't my fault! That sickening hag ruined everything."
"I doubt they see it that way."
Malfoy began hoisting up his robes.
"Want me to wait outside?" smirked Farley. Her close-cropped hair only flickered briefly as she attempted to cast what Ron thought might be a cooling charm upon herself – without much success.
"What do I care?" came Draco's muffled voice as he pulled the robe over his head. "Whew!" He blew out air and fanned his face with one hand. "That's better actually. They never said how warm it would be." He gave Farley a funny look as he sat down on his pack and wriggled out of his trousers. "You'll be sweltering before I get out. Perhaps you ought to–"
"–You wish!"
"Erm... no, I don't actually." Quite unconsciously he stripped off his underpants and turned his backside to Farley as he bent over to stuff everything into his pack and retrieve something else. Ron couldn't help wondering if he'd meant to insult the girl or simply didn't care about being naked in front of her. Or perhaps he was trying to hide something? Ron was too far away to see through the gaps in his thorny covering.
Whatever it was, Draco wasn't concealing it any longer. Again he sat down on his pack and began to struggle into what looked to Ron like elasticated fisherman's leggings, for Draco pulled the top almost up to his chest. Ron had seen his brother Charlie wear something similar but more baggy to wade while casting for trout in the river Otter near home. Charlie's waders had been of brown rubber and needed shoulder straps to hold them up, whereas Draco's were so snug fitting, no other support was needed.
"Did they tell you to keep them inside out?" scoffed Farley. "What are they for, anyway?"
"Don't know exactly. They never tell us anything, do they? Must be charmed. They warned me anyone going in there couldn't survive without protective covering."
Ron stiffened for flight, his mouth open in a gape.
Farley said, "Sheesh! And you trust them? Why?"
Draco stood up, flagrantly adjusting the bulge at his crotch. "I know what they want."
Farley cringed at the sight. "What? And did you really need to do that?"
"None of your business – you shouldn't ask. And dunno about drogs like you, but real men have to–"
"–I'm not a... what you said!" shouted Farley, then added limply, "I do... like boys, it's just that–"
Malfoy, who had walked to the gate, laughed. "–it's just that you don't like them pushing you around, right? Farley, I really don't care what you are so long as you're not a Mudblood like that fucking bitch Granger. Once she's out of the way... Merlin's Curse! Are you crying?"
"Course not!"
Farley shielded her eyes with her hands, pretending she was getting a better view through the dense thorn wall, but she wasn't fooling Draco one bit. "Little Gemmy's cwying..."
"Shut up, Malfoy!" The bigger girl turned on Draco and she was suddenly all claws and teeth, and thrusting the biggest wand Ron had ever seen at Draco. "How about I rip out your loathsome tongue!"
Malfoy backed off, wide-eyed with fear and palms held up in defensive surrender. His voice was hoarse when he choked out anything he could, true or false. "They'll kill you – worse than kill you if I don't succeed!" He gathered courage as he gained a few backward steps of distance. "Frilly pink frocks and pigtails and a gang of bullies with prods – your worst nightmare! They know all your weaknesses! Snakes! Pits of worms! They'd do it!"
Farley had dropped her wand and was hugging herself and shaking. "I h-hate you!"
Her wand was in Malfoy's hand now and rage creased his features. "Don't ever threaten me again, you little baby! I'm far better connected than you, and don't you forget it!"
His eyes suddenly focused on the length of the wand. "Rather overcompensating, aren't you?" He spat at her feet and threw the wand across the clearing. "You're pathetic, you know that? A pathetic little girly girl. The most babyish baby dolly ever. Even Granger's got more balls than you, and she's just filth with buck teeth and a lisp. Her thick head might have been made into a kitchen mop one day though – if she'd lived."
He stared back at the gates then walked over to look through the gaps in the wrought bronze. "What a horrible, sickening death..." he muttered. "Better make your mind up, Farley. Do as you're told or face the frilly-willies. What's it to be?"
When he turned around, she seemed shrunken, and he knew he'd won. "Get over here. You do remember what you have to do, don't you? Or were the instructions too complicated for your little baby brain?"
She shook her head submissively as she shuffled forward.
"Well? Repeat your orders!"
Rolling her eyes, Farley said, "I have to open the gates." She pushed and they began to swing away.
"That's not what I meant, and you–" Draco stared through the opening gap at the dark, slithering mud. His shudder was visible even to Ron. Draco ran back to his pack and returned with his own wand and the map, which he studied for half a minute before attempting to push the wand forward between the gateposts. When he found he couldn't, he nodded to himself then stepped back a couple of paces. "Point me." When the wand only twitched he tried again more forcefully. "POINT ME!" The wand swung like a dowsing rod.
Satisfied, he thrust map and wand at Farley then glared a warning at her before trotting off through the gates. He hesitated only once, at the boundary to where the blue mud had been pushed back, then he was gone.
Immediately Ron rushed out from his hidey-hole, left hand balled into an angry fist, right gripping his wand. But his weakened stupefying charm was scarcely needed: Farley had curled up on the floor clutching and sobbing into her pack. The emotional girl sagged limply, as though she'd fallen asleep instead of being stunned, and Ron seized the moment.
Rapidly removing his clothing, he thrust everything into Hermione's bag, and buried it behind his thorn camouflage. He took off after Malfoy like a bat out of hell intent on keeping the Slytherin's footprints in sight during the chase, but he could see they were already fading fast as the sloppy mud oozed back to claim its former smoothness.
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—oOo—
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Author's Notes
'drog' is my invented slang word (to avoid modern slang) derived from androgyne to imply ambiguous sexual orientation. In fact, I'm trying to convey that Farley is actually feminine and for whatever reason is embarrassed by it, so cropped her hair and acts tough and boyish when really she's not (similar to how boys hide their emotions.) For what it's worth, my take on the Potterverse is that there's little or no racism, sexism, or homophobia because physicality is far less important where magic is power whatever the skin colour (blood equates to superior magical power in the bigoted minds of pure-bloods.) I think that's the whole point of what JKR is trying to convey – all such prejudice is absurd seen in a different context.
Part of my inspiration for the Gates themselves may have been (I think) unconsciously drawn from Jerry Sohl's sci-fi novel: Costigan's Needle which I enjoyed as a youngster, and in which a needle-shaped portal was created but only living things could pass through. Or maybe I made the connection afterwards, I don't know.
In a Chapter 56 review, Mad Elf asked if I was deliberately writing Hermione as a massive prude and man-hater (presumably this was in reference to the Rodney Dunn scene.) Not at all. I've previously shown Dunn as preying on young girls (using love potions – see Chapter 30) and Imogene seemed particularly vulnerable, having only three years experience of life and very little knowledge of the real world. Hermione felt responsible for her welfare as well as Dunn's possible future victims. Perhaps I didn't make Dunn's intentions clear enough. No, wait, perhaps you mean Hermione's reaction to Imogene's nakedness in the preceding chapter? That was mostly shock, I think. Same I think in Chapter 57 at the Zabini's – it's the context.
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
– Hippothestrowl
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