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Thankyou to my reviewers.
Chapter Two – A New Country
The morning after receiving Dumbledore's letter, Harry was found sitting at the bottom of the stairs beside Hedwig in her cage, in a pair of Dudley's old raggly jeans and a plain shirt, his trunk lying next to him, and his wand in his waistband. It was eleven thirty and there was still no sign of Dumbledore. The Dursleys were agitated and nervous, particularly Dudley as he had been on the receiving end of a wizard's spell twice now. Just last summer when the Weasley's had come to collect Harry, Fred and George had found it amusing to feed Dudley some sweets from their new stock of joke products. Dudley's tongue had managed to grow several purple metres before Uncle Vernon allowed Mr. Weasely to perform the counter charm.
The Dursleys hadn't been too pleased when Harry informed them his headmaster was coming to collect him. They had been even less pleased when Harry told them he didn't know what specific time his headmaster would come, but that he was certain he'd come some time in the morning.
The Dursleys were now scrunched up in the lounge watching the fireplace. Uncle Vernon had asked Harry how the headmaster would come. He had gone purple with suppressed anger when Harry told him he didn't know. Privately, Harry thought Dumbledore would come by floo, as Harry was too young to apparate and there was no other way to go, except by portkey, but they had to be registered at the ministry and Harry had a feeling that Dumbledore wasn't too keen on the Ministry monitoring the boy-who-lived's progress, so Harry was certain they wouldn't be travelling by portkey. So that only left floo powder.
But where was he?
The morning had almost passed, and Harry was becoming a bit anxious. Perhaps Dumbledore had forgotten? Perhaps he was so busy with Voldemort problems, that it had simply slipped his mind that he had to collect the boy-who-lived from his horrible relatives house? Or perhaps he'd just made a detour at a muggle sweet shop to get a packet of sherbet lemons? Harry snorted at the image of Dumbledore in his wizardly robes counting out some muggle money while asking the pimply shop employee what the little bits of green paper were.
Harry got up to go wait for Dumbledore by the fireplace but before he even reached the bottom of the stairs there was a sharp crack followed by a shrill screech. Harry rushed as fast as he could to the lounge, whipping out his wand as he ran . . . and stopped at the scene before him.
'Well, at least it isn't as worse as last summer,' Harry thought dimly
Dumbledore, looking decidedly perplexed and out of place in his long maroon robes in the Dursely's orderly living room, was standing near the window with his wand in his hand. Uncle Vernon was helping Aunt Petunia off of the ground, who, Harry assumed, had fallen off of the couch in her shock at seeing Dumbledore appear out of thin air. Uncle Vernon was cursing and waving his beefy fist at Dumbledore as he stood in front of a still shrieking Aunt Petunia, and Dudley was fast waddling out of the room, knocking into Harry's shoulder in his haste to get away from the old wizard.
Uncle Vernon was still shouting.
"How dare you threaten my family? How dare you wave that stick about? I'll have none of your freakishness in my house!"
Dumbledore ignored Uncle Vernon and turned to Harry, still looking a bit confused.
"Good morning Harry. How has your summer been?"
Harry nodded.
"Good. Good. Do you have your things packed?"
"Hang on," Harry began, suddenly suspicious. "How do I know your really Dumbledore?"
The old wizard offered Harry a small smile, his eyes twinkling.
"Your Patronus is prongs."
Harry relaxed his wand arm. "How are you professor?" he asked.
"I'm very well Harry. And I must commend you on your vigilance. Alastor Moody will be most pleased when I inform him of it. Now, have you got your things? I'm anxious to get going. Still have stuff to buy."
Harry nodded and went to get his trunk and Hedwig, briefly wondering if he hadn't been on to something with that whole sherbet lemon idea.
Harry walked back to the lounge, his trunk dragging behind him. The Dursleys had gone. Harry assumed they'd scarped off to the kitchen to wait out Dumbledore's visit.
Dumbledore had now moved next to the mantelpiece over the fireplace.
"Very hospitable family you have Harry."
Harry grinned. He found he couldn't really stay angry with the old wizard.
"Where are we going exactly sir?" he asked. Dumbledore was now examining the unmoving photographs on the Dursley's walls, not even looking up at Harry as he answered.
"All in good time Harry. All in good time."
"Well, how are we getting there?"
Dumbledore turned from perusing a particularly nasty picture of an eleven-year-old Dudley on his new racing bike. Harry had never been able to see the bike in the picture, due to the fact that Dudley's bulk was overlapping it.
"We will be using this." Dumbledore produced an empty chocolate frog packet from under his robes.
"Er . . . I thought portkeys had to be registered with the ministry?"
"They do." Dumbledore said cheerfully. "But I made my own. Right now! This will activate in exactly (he checked the watch on his wrist) twenty-nine seconds. Best to touch it now. Make sure your holding on to your trunk. I'll take Hedwig." He lifted the cage. "And three . . . two . . . one . . ."
Harry felt the uncomfortable, yet familiar jerk in his navel and the nauseating spin following after, dimly registering that the last time he felt this way he had just escaped Voldemort and his Death Eaters while clutching a dead Cedric to his body.
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Harry landed painfully on his bottom, his trunk spilling out of his hand and toppling over beside him. He could hear Hedwig squawk and flap in the cage Dumbledore was holding. A gnarled hand appeared in front of his face and Harry took it, pulling himself up and brushing the sand from his jeans. He turned and gazed open-mouthed at his surroundings.
They had landed in the middle of a small sandy beach. It was deserted. Most likely because it was night time, which led Harry to believe they were on the other side of the world. The sea looked big and black and oddly mystical in the night and under the glare of the full moon. The waves crashing on the shore and the weather-bitten rocks sent salty spray spattering in all directions, and Harry could taste it on his lips. On Harry's direct right there was a rough, hazardous cliff face and on Harry's far left there was another one, but it appeared to be less rocky and more green. He could just make out a muggle lighthouse plopped on it in the distance. Behind them were sand dunes that Harry felt could topple over at any minute and suffocate them in a grisly, un-breathable mesh.
Harry was in awe. He had never had time to appreciate the beauty of the sea.
"Where are we sir?"
Dumbledore appeared to be searching for something important in his robes because he didn't look up from his task as he answered Harry.
"We are in Australia. About a twenty minute broom-flight from Sydney."
"Australia." Harry repeated. He'd never even been out of the UK and now he was on the largest island on earth.
"Yes, Australia. There is a small wizarding community just over these cliffs." He pointed to Harry's right with one hand, the other was still rummaging through his robes. "There is a muggle city a little further inland over those dunes which is called Newcastle, I believe. We will be visiting Wrigadoogong, the wizarding settlement that is, as soon as I find . . . "
"What are we doing here sir?" Harry asked Dumbledore who was now muttering.
"I was sure I put it in the third pocket on the right, or was that the left? What?" He looked up at Harry. "Forgive me Harry. Yes. What are we doing here? It's a surprise. But first we have to get settled in before anything is revealed. And while I'm searching for my broom, why don't you take that lovely Firebolt from out of your trunk? And while you're at it you'd best put on your robe, you're looking a might chilly. It is winter here after all." Then he went back to poking around in his robes.
It was only then that Harry noticed he had developed goose pimples from the cold.
Harry opened his trunk and found his school robe scrunched between a half eaten box of Hagrid's rock cakes and a potions essay he hadn't finished yet. He nestled into his robe, feeling the coldness evaporate almost instantly. Then he digged through his stuff and pulled out his Firebolt, which was on the bottom. He also released Hedwig from her cage. He watched her stretch her wings for a while until she flew over the cliff and out of sight.
"Here we are!"
Harry turned in time to see Dumbledore pull out a miniature broomstick from out of his left boot. He gave it a tap with his wand and it grew to normal-size. It was very raggedy. The bristles stuck out at odd angles and it looked as though it would snap in half if Dumbledore sat on it. Harry thought that the headmaster must have nicked one of the school's old brooms from out of the shed. The image that inspired had him snorting, which he hastily turned into a cough at the last second.
Dumbledore mounted the broomstick and looked over at Harry.
"Ready Harry?" he asked.
Harry nodded and threw a leg over his Firebolt. Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry's trunk and Hedwig's cage and they shrunk to golf ball-size. Harry picked them up and pocketed them.
"Off we go then!" said Dumbledore, and he hovered unsteadily a moment before lifting gently into the sky.
It was a strange sight for Harry to see Dumbledore on a broom. Somehow it didn't entirely fit the venerable old wizard. It seemed a bit undignified for someone like Dumbledore to travel via a ratty tatty broomstick. It was certainly something Harry would never forget.
The Boy-Who-Lived watched amusedly as the headmaster's beard split in two and streamed behind him, mangling with his hair as they whizzed over the cliff. His twinkling violet cloak flapped around his long dragon-hide boots in a wavy formation that looked rather dashing, surprisingly. His purple wizards hat had long absconded off his head and was currently floating somewhere in the pacific. As he joined the old wizard's side, Harry also noticed, with a start, that Dumbledore was wearing goggles. The kind Harry had seen in all those muggle airplane movies from the forties.
Thinking that the Headmaster was, in actual fact, even battier than he'd first assumed, Harry turned his attention to the view before him. Coupled with the smells of the sea and the cool, refreshing wind on his face, the sight below him was enough to make him gasp.
He could see what appeared to be many holes carved into a sheer and very great cliff face that hung precariously over the sea. As they dipped closer to the formation Harry could see that the holes were actually tunnels, extending deep into the cliff face. They were emitting a faint pale, bluish light, that, Harry realised as they arrived at the cliff, were actually millions of phosphorescent lichen that appeared to be attached to the ceilings of the caves. Harry could make out people and what appeared to be furniture in the tunnels. Then he understood; they were houses.
Harry had no doubt that this was the Australian equivalent of Hogsmede. It was the most magnificent scene he had ever come across in the wizarding world. Just looking at it made Harry feel as though he were in a surreal environment. Then he reminded himself that the wizarding world was just that at times.
Dumbledore turned downwards on his broom and Harry followed. They travelled down along the cliff face, (which was very high) down passed the many levels, which the wizarding settlement seemed to be made up of. Harry caught glimpses of what appeared to be a bustling market place taking up an entire level on its own just above the sea. Harry assumed Dumbledore would stop here because there was nowhere else to go, but he continued on, and for one blind moment Harry felt as though they were going to crash into the water, but Dumbledore jerked to a stop just before they did, Harry following suit.
He was just about to ask Dumbledore what they were going to do next, when the wizard shot off like an exploding cork, entering (what Harry could see) another lichen-infested tunnel hidden in an enclave just below the market place. The sea had already flooded most of it, so that it only appeared as a half tunnel.
Harry nervously followed Dumbledore into the tunnel, eyeing the ravenous water below him with narrowed eyes. Still, he had to appreciate the scene. The lichen also appeared to be growing at the bottom of the tunnel, and the eerie light shone through the water in patches (rather like Aunt Petunia's garden), revealing the many sea-creatures residing there, one of which appeared to be a shark (Harry hastily flew a little upwards at this realisation) others were of the likes Harry had never seen before; wizardly creatures, he assumed.
They had been flying for a full five minutes in the cave when Dumbledore finally stopped, landing on a small outcrop of rock that jutted out of the water like a large stepping stone, enough to fit ten people. Harry landed next to him, staring apprehensively at the water in case there were any sharks lurking about.
"Now Harry, make sure you have your footing. There are worse things than Carcharhiniformes in the Pond of Wrigadoogong."
"Carcharhini . . .?" Harry asked, now completely convinced that Dumbledore had acquired Old-Cootness Syndrome.
"A muggle word for a type of shark." Dumbledore explained after giving Harry's perplexed face a thorough look at.
Harry continued to stare into the headmaster's twinkling eyes. This wasn't the first time he'd got the impression that Dumbledore knew everything.
"We'll be going up there," he continued, pointing straight above them to a narrow tunnel in the ceiling that was almost vertical. It, too, was infested with lichens. "In case you are wondering, we just used the side entrance to get to the wizarding settlement."
"Side entrance?" asked Harry in puzzlement. "You mean there are more?"
"Certainly, certainly. There is also the back entrance which we will be using tomorrow." He pointed straight ahead of them where the tunnel extended even further into the darkness. "The front entrance is where you just use your broom to fly in through the tunnels in the cliff face. No doubt you saw them as we were up in the air? And before you ask, yes we could have used that route, but we would have had to pay something like, ten galleons I think, to pass through. And I don't especially fancy having to search through my robes to collect all the excess money, do you?"
"Er . . ." said Harry.
"Right!" said Dumbledore
"Sorry sir, I just have a question," Harry began.
Dumbledore looked expectantly at him.
"Has there ever been any accidents where people fell out of the tunnels?"
He'd been wondering this ever since he saw them.
"Ah," said Dumbledore in that ready-to-lecture mode. "That's one of the wonders of magic. You see the reason why we would have had to pay ten galleons each is because there is an invisible barrier that covers the tunnels. You pay the money, or rather, you place the money in a special slot next to the tunnel, which than lifts the barrier so you can pass through. If you ask me it's a bit of a . . . how do young people say it nowadays? Ah yes, a bit of a rip off."
Harry grinned.
"So, no, there have not been any unfortunate mishaps. Oh, almost forgot! There is also a bottom entrance." He glanced down at his feet.
"Bottom entrance?" Harry prodded.
"Well, you are standing on it." Dumbledore chuckled.
Harry looked down at the rock.
"Well, it's not technically an entrance to the settlement," Dumbledore continued, moving his foot experimentally on the rock. "It's only an entrance to a motel, you see. A kind of underwater resort for people like us; tourists, I mean. That is where we will be staying tonight after I gather my ingredients. So off to The Wormhole then?"
Dumbledore hopped back on his broom, Harry following. As they floated gently in the air,
Harry asked: "The Wormhole?"
"A marketplace on the floor above. You most likely saw it."
"Yea." Harry replied, thinking about the huge bustling shopping area that extended the entire bottom of the cliff.
"Right then, off we go!"
Dumbledore flew up first, Harry following after. It wasn't a tight squeeze, but at the same time it was enough to make people who were claustrophobic start panicking a bit.
It was a short flight. They'd entered a sort of holding area where an elevator sat on their right to take people from level to level; and The Wormhole was situated right in front. In fact the name "Wormholes" might have been a more accurate description of the area. About ten different tunnels were squashed into the place. All huge and smoothly sanded with the beautiful lichen light gently illuminating the area, except for one.
There was a dark, dank, smelly, jagged, and in all other words frankly evil tunnel that sat directly to their left. It certainly gave Knockturn Alley a run for its nastiness. Harry could not see the contents of the tunnel, but didn't particularly have any desire to do so anyway as he was convinced it was a place where Dark Arts worshippers went for afternoon tea.
"Harry. It would be prudent for you to wait out here or perhaps explore The Wormhole while I gather the ingredients I need." Dumbledore motioned to the dark tunnel. "I do not believe it would be wise for you to follow either?" He made it sound like a question.
Harry nodded, glad that he was being given a choice.
And so, for half an hour Harry explored The Wormhole. The items and products on display weren't at all different from the ones available at Diagon Alley, except perhaps the pets. When Harry entered a small stall made entirely of leather and shaped like an igloo he found himself in a large pet store. There weren't any owls Harry was familiar with; instead there were only a few small owls, which Harry assumed to be native to Australia. To make up for the owls, there were birds of a different variety.
Cockatoo's, cockatiels, parrots, and magpies of different sizes and colours stared down at Harry from their perches near the ceiling. Harry quickly ran out from under them, in case the birds decided he'd make a good toilet.
The store also played host to many snakes, and all of different breeds. Most of them were grumbling about the poor accommodations. Harry supposed he wouldn't like to be stuck in a squashy glass box with no room to manoeuvre if he'd been a snake. Harry quickly bypassed the serpents because some had been trying to get his attention, and he didn't want the shopkeeper to throw him out if he saw that Harry was a Parselmouth.
Harry had read in Not So Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: The Fifth Addition, that Australia was home to literally millions of snakes out in the wild, so it only stood to reason that wizarding Australia would think nothing of keeping them as pets. They probably saw snakes in their own back yards everyday.
Also available to buy was a furry, calf-high creature called a Bunyip. It was oval-shaped and came in blue, green, brown, or black colours with antennas sticking out of its head. Harry leaned in closer to the sign under a particularly shaggy Bunyip's cage.
The Bunyip is a nocturnal creature that likes to make its home in hollow trees or logs. Its favourite pastime is stealing Easter eggs to keep in stock for winter hibernation. Bunyip males are blue and green, while the females are brown or black. Occasionally there is an exception to this rule and a pink Bunyip is born, but a Bunyip this colour hasn't been seen in almost sixty years. Bunyips are generally extremely fast and agile, can jump to sixteen metres high, and can borrow through hard rock. They are very intelligent and can understand human speech, even if they cannot speak it themselves. A live Bunyip's antenna can be cut off and used as a wand core. (Though, this practice was considered too cruel to perform in recent years, as a Bunyip would be very disadvantaged to lose one of its defence mechanisms, as they don't grow back.) A dead Bunyip's corpse can be harvested and the claws, antennae, and tongue can be used in various restorative potions, while the fur can be used to make attractive hats or coats. It is, in fact, for this very reason that Bunyips are considered endangered species, because vain witches and wizards hunted them nearly to extinction in the last century until a decree was passed in 1905 that outlawed the right to hunt Bunyips for their fur. Bunyips make extremely faithful pets.
Harry was interested; he'd never met such an exotic creature before, even in the wizarding world. He looked up at the Bunyip before him. It was quite small and cuddly looking; like a particularly wonky teddy bear.
"Hey little girl." Harry addressed the sleeping black Bunyip in the cage before him. It yawned exposing polished white teeth, then opened its eyes revealing a spectacular sapphire blue colour. It rubbed its eyes a bit before spotting Harry. It gave a little squeal, and Harry jumped back, afraid he had upset it. But that was not the case because the Bunyip was now jumping up and down excitedly and clapping its hands, making a noise like an inebriated sheep. It was a deep and muffled sound that Harry could only describe as being cute.
Harry walked closer to it, watching as it rattled the bars of the cage. It extended one furry arm through the cage at Harry, staring at him with imploring eyes that he just couldn't resist. He stroked its hand and it started purring.
"I think she likes you."
Harry jumped three feet and whirled around. The shopkeeper, a middle aged man with greying hair and nose to rival Snape's, stood smiling before him.
"Sorry about that mate, didn't mean to scare ya!"
"No, it's alright!" Harry eyed the man, who was currently staring at his head.
"Struth!" he exclaimed, and Harry jumped again, remembering to flatten his fringe.
He waited for the usual gaping-mouth, pointed finger and the cry of "Harry Potter?" that would surely draw the attention of all the shoppers in the area.
"Bugger that!" said the man. "That's quite an ornament you got there! Must be a pain in the arse. Looks old, though. Does it still hurt ya?"
Harry could only gape at the man. Didn't he recognise him?
"Er . . . it only twinges occasionally," he managed, still staring nervously at the shopkeeper.
"Well, that's a pain," he said. "So, you interested?"
"What?"
"Are you interested in purchasing that Bunyip? She seems quite attached to you already. You'd probably leave her heartbroken if you go off now," he implored to Harry, who was sure this was only a sales technique said in order to get him to spend his money.
"I'm not sure we would suit," he told the shopkeeper, who looked a bit disappointed. "You see I'm from England. I'm not sure she would adapt to the climate."
The shopkeeper laughed; a belly rumbling sound that reverberated through the entire shop. "Oh don't worry about that! They're very capable of adapting. Why do ya think they have fur?" He chuckled.
"Well, I'm not really sure . . ."
The shopkeeper developed a pensive look on his face. "Tell ya what!" he said. "How 'bout you come back when you decide? I won't sell her to no one 'till then."
Harry thought about this. If he agreed, it would get the persistent shopkeeper off his back, and also provide him with an opportunity to think about buying the Bunyip, which he wasn't certain he wanted to do just yet.
"Okay," he agreed, finally.
"Great! Be seeing ya!" said the shopkeeper with much enthusiasm. Then he bustled off to attend a customer who just walked through the door.
Harry shook his head bemusedly and turned towards the Bunyip. "I'll probably come back soon," he told her.
She tightened the death grip she had on the cage and made a small noise of protest.
"It'll be alright. We'll see each other again."
The Bunyip shook her head. Her eyes filled. She blinked once and the tears spilled down her furry cheeks.
"No-no. Shh. Don't cry!"
The Bunyip started hiccuping. Harry was becoming alarmed. He hadn't meant to upset her.
"I promise I'll come back soon," he told her.
She sniffled and rubbed her eyes before making a small noise of what Harry thought was agreement. Then she did something completely bizarre, something Harry only associated with humans. She kissed her hand and blew into it. Harry came out of his amazed stupor, and feeling a bit foolish, did the same. This seemed to excite her, as she jumped about in the cage.
"Goodbye," he said, and gave her arm a final pat of farewell. As he walked out of the shop, Harry saw the Bunyip's tiny arm poke out of the cage and gesture in what was an unmistakable wave.
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