2. The surrounding sea

There must have been a shipwreck, he supposed. There had been no wreckage on the beach when he came to, no sign of the ship that must have brought him to the island, no memory even of the voyage itself. Still, he had felt no fear as he pulled himself up off the sand, salt on his lips and hair blowing in the keen wind.

A wind was always blowing there, bowing down the tall grasses that grew all over the island and making the trees stoop. A narrow ridge ran down its length like a protruding spine, dividing it into windward and leeward sides. The sky was often filled with grey clouds. Sometimes the wind whipped up to a gale, the clouds went black and storms crashed overhead. From his shelter, it felt as if the storm would tear the island out of the seabed and sink it like a ship.

At the northernmost point of the island stood a lighthouse, its stark concrete walls rising over the rocks. He regarded himself as its custodian, although the light worked automatically and seemed to require no maintenance. The lowest level was a circular room, roughly hewn in concrete, dimly lit by a pair of tiny windows. But there was something about its perfect roundness that made him shun it. He preferred a small wooden outbuilding that lay on lower ground, just below the base of the lighthouse. The building lay in a grassy hollow, sheltering it from the incessant winds passing overhead. A copse of bowed trees lay close to his shelter, their branches reaching out towards its timbered roof. Beneath the trees a cool spring gushed out of the rocks and ran away down towards the sea. On days with cool sunshine, when the clouds were smaller and chasing across the sky, he would sometimes lie beneath the trees, listening to the rushing of the water from the spring. When the storms came, he would lie on his back on his little bunk and look up the low wooden ceiling. His shelter was so small that it seemed to be crouching on the ground, gathered around him like a driftwood blanket.

The light rotated relentlessly from the lighthouse's uppermost floor, accessed by a spiral staircase. To the south, the narrow, green island spread out before him before dwindling to a rocky promontory that disappeared back into the sea. On clearer days, he thought he could make out another shoreline, which faded away into obscurity to east and west. To the north, he could see only empty sea. No boat ever docked in the bay below. But sometimes, from his vantage point by the light, a vessel seemed to pass in the distance, its lights shining bleakly through fog or night. Sometimes, when the vessel seemed nearer, he thought he could make out a small figure standing on the deck, looking out at him, or perhaps just looking to the light.

Harry Potter's eyes were open. They seemed to be surveying a distant point, far beyond the walls of the room he lay in and the hospital in which he was a patient. From time to time his head moved slightly, as if in response to some remote stimulus. Sometimes his lips moved, but no sound could be heard. Outside the window the late winter sun was shining weakly, and the trees in the hospital grounds were still bare.

A young woman sat at his bedside, holding his hand. As he seemed to be stirring, she got up quietly and leaned over him, pulling her mousy hair back so that it didn't hang down over his face. Through grey, mournful eyes she surveyed his face for any sign of movement. He was still again, but his green eyes continued to look beyond her into the distance.

A nurse entered the room. The mousy-haired woman let go of his hand, stood up quickly and stepped away from the bed, lingering by the wall while the nurse checked the machines to which he was connected. The nurse quickly finished her checks, giving the young woman a wistful smile before she left the room.

Once they were alone again, she returned to his side, clasping his hand in hers once again. Once again she looked into his eyes, scarcely blinking, searching out his pupils until they were locked onto hers.

Harry, are you there?

All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. But as she listened, she could also distinguish his breathing, somewhere deep below hers.

Harry, come up to the surface.

This time she could hear what sounded like indistinct words being spoken, deadened as if through murky water.

This is Serena speaking to you, she said. Serena Lynch. Maybe you're wondering why I'm here, and not Caius or Hermione. Well, things are still a bit of a mess out here, so they're having to keep a low profile. But they're working on how to make things better, so things will be ok when you wake up. Do you remember them, Harry?

I remember, came the response at last.

Won't you come to the surface? Serena repeated.

Not now.

Are you somewhere nice?

Yes, came the reply.

Describe it to me.

A warm breeze is blowing and the clouds are rushing overhead.

That sounds nice.

Whenever he spoke, it was always the same place that he described.

Are you by the sea?

The sea surrounds me.

The door opened again and she looked away from him. After the darkness of his pupils, the hospital room seemed overly bright. Another nurse came in and gently told her that visiting time was over. She nodded and gathered up her coat and bag. When she reached the door, she turned back for a moment. Harry was quiet in his bed, his gaze distant again.

The door to his room was marked with the name Harry Swift. That was the name Caius had registered him under when he had brought him to the hospital, an innocent bystander hit by stray bullets in the Witch Riots, as the press had called them. The staff on the ward knew Serena as Harry's sister, who visited him every day. She didn't mind doing it; she had even volunteered. The Coven of the White Tooth was still operational; one of its most important tasks was keeping watch over Harry Potter. In the four months that had passed no witch-hunters had come calling.

She exited the hospital through a side entrance. In front of the hospital wing that housed Harry's ward there was a small grassy space dotted with sparse trees and the occasional bench. She scanned the area quickly, looking for any sign that someone might be on the watch for her, but she could make out only the occasional patient or visitor sitting on the benches, eating a sandwich or staring quietly into space. She probed deeper, but could detect no sense of watchfulness, no threat keeping itself out of sight. She crossed the green space quickly and went out through the tall metal gates.

Rings, earrings and expensive watches filled the display in the shop window. Just a woman looking at some jewellery, what could be more normal? Serena glanced over her shoulder, quickly scanning the pedestrians and the shop fronts on the other side of the street. Always check the shops on the other side of the street. Those had been Hermione's instructions to her, scribbled down on a piece of paper on the 23rd floor before she left. That's how I got caught, Hermione had written in brackets.

Serena could have used magic to look, but it would have been too powerful a charm. It would have been detected. In any case, she had a feeling that at that moment at least, no one was watching. But it was easy for her to sense a hostile mind if it was nearby. Like an undercurrent to my magic, that was how she had described it when Hermione had asked her, in the apartment in Paris overlooking the Montparnasse Cemetery. The apartment they had all wanted to get out of as quickly as possible. Unseen and undetectable: the Array had never yet detected her power when she used it. That was why she was the best person to keep watch over Harry. She could speak to him, reach him right down there on his island, without fear of discovery.

Satisfied that no one was watching, she stepped away from the window display, allowing herself one last look at a pair of silver earrings she rather liked the look of but couldn't afford. Next to the shop window was a narrow doorway, slightly shabby in comparison with the gleaming exterior of the jewellery shop. Mr Zurabian's new investment, Armin had called it. Armin was a nice guy, Serena reckoned. She had never seen this Mr Zurabian.

She took out a key that she kept shut in her purse and unlocked the door. Beyond it lay an alleyway open to the elements, which led through to a small, dingy rear courtyard surrounded by tall, soot-blackened walls. The only way out of the yard other than turning and going back down the alley was through the backdoor that presumably led into the back of the shop. Serena knocked at the door. At some point it had been given a bright red paint job, most likely in a previous decade. 'Who is it?' came a muffled male voice after a few moments. 'Serena,' Serena replied. The door opened and Armin Vlaminck ushered her inside.

Please keep an eye on Armin Vlaminck and his occult bookshop, Hermione had written on her instructions for Caius and his coven. Mr Morley knows it and saw me there once. And anyway, shops like Armin's will probably be targets from now on. Serena followed Armin up the stairs to the flat over the shop. The occult bookshop had closed down almost immediately after the raising of the Ministry of Magic, quickly replaced by the smart, expensive jewellery shop that also belonged to Mr Zurabian.

'Caius and Osian are here,' said Armin as they reached the top of the stairs. The landing was piled with boxes, the last traces of the old shop, ready to be shipped abroad.

There were more boxes and crates in the living room. Apparently the flat had always looked like that, but with Armin's move imminent, the clutter was greater than ever. But the biggest change was the addition of a huge and ever changing blueprint of the Ministry of Magic taking up an entire wall in the living room, sketched with all its myriad floors, wings, towers and shafts on a huge expanse of white paper. Every last detail that could be gleaned on the Ministry had been included. At one corner, Caius Hanmer was busy rubbing out a row of offices and pencilling in a blank wall in their place. Sitting cross-legged directly beneath the map was Osian Kendrick. Osian had ash blonde hair and a pallid look about him, as if he never saw the sunlight. He was scribbling furiously, adding a contorted appendage that snaked its way down King Street. Beyond the outer limits of the Ministry, the dense street network of central London faded away into what was left of the wallpaper. The main body of the Ministry was a mass of names, scribbled on every floor, marking every office. Inscribed next to each name was either a cross, indicating that the tenant of the office was at large, or an asterisk, indicating that the person remained incarcerated in the Ministry, 'at the Witchfinder's pleasure', as Caius called it.

'How is he?' said Caius, turning to greet Serena. Osian gave Serena a quick nod and continued with his work.

'Down on the island,' replied Serena softly.

'Did he speak?'

'For a little bit, until the nurse came in. He wasn't too far down today. I reached him quite easily.'

'That's good,' said Caius.

'Is he any closer to waking up?' Armin asked. 'Or no difference?'

'Sometimes he's closer, other times he's farther away. I don't want to say that any day now he's going to wake up, but I don't think he's going to fade away either.'

'That's something,' said Caius, running his hand through his matted dark hair.

'How long has it been now?' asked Armin.

'Three months, three weeks and six days.'

'It'll be spring soon,' Caius murmured, half-glancing out of the back window, where he could see the bare branches of a tree splaying out of a neighbouring yard. 'What will he be like if he does wake up?'

'He's strong,' replied Serena. 'One of these days he'll be up and walking again. We shouldn't lose hope. Tell Hermione not to lose hope.'

Caius nodded.

'I'll tell her,' he said after a short pause. 'I'm just not sure I'll get a reply.'

He walked to the front window and looked out over Exmouth Market below. She doesn't go by the name Hermione. The last time he had seen her, she had sat opposite him for half an hour in a train station restaurant halfway up the West Coast Line, delivering very precise information on the layout of various sections of the Ministry while he added them to a miniature version of his map. Her tone had been offhand, the expression on her face one of studied boredom. She even managed to chew gum through the first ten minutes. At almost no point did she let down her disguise. The air of vacuous insularity was virtually impenetrable. He would hardly have recognised the girl sitting in front of him if it hadn't been for two very expressive looks that made it through the thick layer of make-up, one a fierce scolding look in response to his flippant and slightly overloud remark 'You're some method actor', and a second, sadder look that accompanied the question 'How is he?' He remembered looking more than once at her immaculately sculpted fingernails, thinking how strange they looked on her, and the sad eyes scrutinising him through the mascara and eye shadow.

'I'm leaving for Garmon's tomorrow,' he said as he turned from the window. 'So is Osian.' Serena nodded anaemically. Armin had his laptop balanced on his knees and was peering at the screen. Osian didn't look up from his work.

'Who's coming down to replace you?' Serena asked.

'Elijah and Elen,' Caius replied.

That was the schedule: Serena stayed permanently in London, while the others came down in shifts to work on the map of the Ministry and do low-key surveillance work. Caius was putting up most of them at his parents' house, plus an overspill at his sister's farm in the hills. One day in January there had been a scare that the witch-hunters were on their way to Garmon's, forcing them all to decamp to Braith's farm, but it had been a false alarm. They had no clear plan: it was all preparation for the day when an opportunity presented itself to change things.

'Come and have a look at this,' said Armin, looking up from his computer screen. Caius and Serena came and looked over his shoulder. On the screen was an internet news article. The headline read: No progress on emptying Sorcery Square. Sorcery Square was what people called the vast square that had formed when the Ministry of Magic rose to the surface. The name had since attached itself to the Ministry building itself. Hundreds of wizards were still kept inside, those who had refused to be 'regularised'. That was the main concern of the authorities: registering all the wizards and witches and getting them to sign a sworn statement not to use magic. Some wizards had agreed, others had refused, and so they were being kept inside the Ministry until someone figured out what to do with them. And so the Ministry building had become a kind of giant detention centre, placed under the control of a hastily established official body, the Agency for Magical Affairs, AMA for short. The problem, as Caius, Serena and the rest of the Coven knew only too well, was that Robert Marchelow, Stephen Morley's second-in-command, had somehow been appointed as the Deputy Director of the Agency and was directly in charge of overseeing the wizards incarcerated in Sorcery Square. And while the regular police guarded the exterior of the building, the interior was the domain of Mr Marchelow and the 'safe wizards' who served as wardens.

'Look here,' said Armin, pointing at the screen.

'According to Stephen Morley, the Head of the Safe Magic Campaign, consensus on the legal status of the so-called Sorcery Square and the wizards inside it was still some way off. Only once consensus is reached will AMA, together with the Safe Magic Campaign and other interested parties, begin discussions on how to go about releasing the imprisoned wizards into the community. 'Our priority is ensuring that these people are treated as humanely as possible in the meantime,' Mr Morley stressed.'

'I bet it is,' Caius remarked.

'On that point there is complete agreement with AMA and I have every confidence in the agency to ensure that this happens. 'However,' Mr Morley added, 'quite another problem is how to regularise the unknown numbers of wizards and witches still at large.'

The main concern is what will happen when the wizards are finally released into the community. How will the authorities manage to prevent a repeat of the violence and vigilantism that erupted last November?'

'You mean the violence stirred up by the Witchfinder and his friends,' Caius added. You never know who might be about to accuse you of looking like a wizard. It's worse in the small towns. Like where Hermione lives. Instinctively he raised his hand and touched his chest. Through the material of his jacket he could just make out the outline of his wand. He looked out of the back window again, above the line of buildings and up at the sky. As impassive and empty as it seemed, he had only to take out the wand and perform some little act of magic, and his position would be recorded by the Array. And then, sooner or later, someone would accost him on the street, push him into a car or a building and he would be taken in for questioning. It had happened often in the days and weeks after the raising of the Ministry, a mundane occurrence until the wizards and witches still at large learned to do without magic.

'Armin,' Serena suddenly said. 'Go and look out of the window. See if you can see someone in the street checking out this place.'

Armin put down his laptop and crossed to the window. He lifted the grey net curtain for a moment and peered out for a few seconds. Then he let the curtain drop and stepped away from the window.

'There's a girl standing in a doorway on the other side of the street,' he said. 'I think I might have seen her before.'

'She's a witch,' said Serena in a cold voice, not moving from her seat.

'One of Morley and Marchelow's safe wizards, you mean,' said Caius.

'Yes. The one good thing is that she wasn't here when I arrived. I would have sensed her.'

'Any idea when you think you saw her?' said Caius, looking at Armin.

'Not really. A week ago, maybe.'

'If you're right that might be in our favour,' said Caius. 'It might mean that she has more than one place to do surveillance on.'

Armin sat down heavily on the sofa and folded his arms.

'I can't leave this place soon enough,' he muttered. 'After all these years …'

'Harry will be pissed off when he wakes up,' said Caius.

Armin looked up at him and smiled grimly.

'He probably will. Sorry to be kicking you out too,'

'It was only ever a temporary place for us,' Caius replied. 'We'll find somewhere else, eh Osian?'

Osian had got up from the map of the Ministry and was leaning against the back wall.

'We'll have to be careful getting this out of here,' he replied, jabbing his finger in the direction of the map.

'We'll sort something out,' said Caius. 'It'll probably have to go back to my parents' house. And I think we'd better start doing some surveillance on her,' he added, with a nod towards the street window.

'I'll go and take a look, shall I?' said Osian.

'Yeah, a quick one.'

'That's all I need.'

That was true. As well as being very good at drawing, Osian had a photographic memory. Without magic, skills like that had become very valuable.

'I've had a look at her,' said Osian, returning from the window.

'You'll leave a sketch for Elijah and Elen, yeah?'

Osian nodded silently.

'They can't have detected us doing magic,' he added.

'No, quite,' said Caius. But the odd tiny bit of magic has been done. You couldn't help it slipping out sometimes. 'Unless the Array's getting more powerful.'

'Isaac would have told us if it had,' said Osian.

'If he knows,' added Serena.

No one had ever seen the Array, knew what the device looked like or even where it was kept, though it was suspected to be kept somewhere inside the Ministry of Magic. The various attempts at mapping the Ministry all included a notional blank space marking where the Array might be. 'For all we know, it could be the size of a CD player, or a matchbox even,' Isaac Edwards had told them back in Muirton Tower. If it could be found and decommissioned, the magical community could begin to regroup and rebuild. Until then, they were in limbo.