Sitting here in the past, I'm curious to know how the future will remember Pomona Sprout. Is the last Headmistress of Hogwarts seen as nothing more than a minor footnote? If that's the case, then you should go find the nearest historian and punch him or her in the face for me. Those idiots were so eager to give me credit for everything that they ignored the witch who got it all started. Without Pomona's experience and vast network of friends we would have scurried around like headless chickens for who knows how long.
After my recent trip to the Switzerland I lost all faith in the ICW. In fact I was so filled with rage at my fellow ambassadors' stupidity that I could've cast an Unforgivable Curse on the nearest puppy. I had to do something about the situation, but I had no idea what that something should be. My first instinct was to consult Hermione, but she deferred to Neville and his superior knowledge of agriculture.
"Are you saying you don't have any ideas?" I asked as I glanced around the Burrow. Hermione had Ron, the children, and an army of transfigured nutcracker soldiers packing everything in sight.
"Harry, during the last war I cast a Memory Charm on my own parents. After I found them in Australia I swore that I would never do anything like that again. That means right now my focus must be on protecting them and all the other members of my family—which is quite large when you include my aunts, uncles, and cousins."
"Are you planning on bringing them over the border to the magical world?"
"If things get bad enough out in the muggle world, that's exactly what I intend to do."
"Even if it means breaking the law?"
Hermione gave me a sly smile. "When has that ever stopped us before?"
"Where are you going to send this stuff when you're done packing? Are we moving to Hogwarts for the duration?"
"I think that is our best option. England alone has a population of over fifty million people, and one million of them live right here in Devon. It will be safer for us to hide in the remote Highlands of Scotland. You should really talk to Professor Longbottom, and see how things are going up there."
"You mean the ICW isn't going to do anything?" Neville asked when I found him twenty minutes later in one of the Hogwarts greenhouses. The place stank of dragon dung fertilizer, a smell I would soon come to love. "Didn't they listen to the speech Susan and Hermione wrote for you?"
"Surprisingly enough they did, but it will still take them weeks of pointless committee meetings before they actually decided to do anything. If they do anything at all," I explained. "We can't wait for them to act, but I'm not sure what we should do first. Do you have any ideas?"
Neville cleaned himself off with a Scouring Charm as he stalled for time. "Well, right now we're focused on preparing the castle and Hogsmeade for the extended winter."
"I not just talking about things here in Britain, I talking about the whole world. Aren't there any large-scale projects we should be planning and starting?"
"Harry, that's a complicated question."
"I know Professor Longbottom, that's why I'm asking you."
"Preparing Hogwarts is one thing, but feeding all the wizards and witches in world without any help from the muggles—"
"Wait a minute, we buy food from the muggles?"
Neville shrugged his shoulders. "It's easier and cheaper than growing it ourselves. That means we have to replace a certain percentage of our food, but I'm not sure about the exact numbers."
"What about the Ministry of Magic?" I asked. "Would they have the statistics we need?"
"I asked Susan that question yesterday, but she hasn't been able to find anything useful in the archives."
"So the Ministry knows how thick gold and silver and pewter cauldrons are suppose to be, but we don't know how much food we buy from the muggles. Why do I have the horrible feeling we're all going to die?"
"Don't say things like that, not even in private. Let's go see the Headmistress. If anyone has the statistics we need, it will be her or one of her friends."
So there you have the pathetic truth: Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom—the Heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts—were pretty much useless. The only idea we had was to go running to mummy. Luckily for us in this case mummy was a brilliant Herbologist and a Hufflepuff.
As we climbed the stairs to the Headmistress' office Neville pointed out the dozens of shallow water tanks being built by the house-elves throughout the castle. They were all connected by a network of pipes that ran from a central reservoir high in the Astronomy Tower all the way down to the Chamber of Secrets.
"Given the limited amount of time we have, the Headmistress and I decided that hydroponic tanks are the most practical design we could use," Neville explained. "We plan on laying downs mats of rock wool, and then pumping a stream of nutrient-rich water through them. The system should be ready for the first planting in about three or four weeks."
"It's only going to take you a month? That's incredible."
"Don't get too excited. Thanks to Helga Hufflepuff, the castle was the largest concentration of house-elves in Europe. Plus it's summer, so they don't have any other work to do. That will change once Hogwarts starts to fill up."
"What about the crops growing out in the fields. Will they be affected by the acid rain we've been hearing about?"
(Yes, acid rain. That was another lovely side-effect of the Lake Taupo eruption. A supervolcano releases a staggering amount of underground sulfur into the atmosphere, where it combines with oxygen to create sulfur dioxide. Mix sulfur dioxide with rainwater, and you get a weak acid falling from the sky. It isn't nearly strong enough to melt human flesh, but it does have a nasty habit of killing plants.)
"It will depend on the levels of acid in the atmosphere, and on the weather patterns in the coming weeks and months. So your guess is as good as mine," Neville replied.
The Headmistress was conferring with several house-elves when we reached her office. Pomona's hair had gone white and she was as wide at the waist as she was tall, but she still had the energy of a witch half her age. The Headmistress was sympathetic to my arguments when I laid them out, but only to a degree.
"Mr Potter... Harry, I wish I had a solution to the problems facing the world, but I don't. Instead we must focus our efforts here at Hogwarts and Hogsmeade where we can actually accomplish something meaningful."
Her words made me flinch, because she was right. But that didn't stop me from pushing on. "I know I sound like a foolish Gryffindor, but that's not the case this time. I swear. If we do nothing but stockpile food and hide, it will only be a matter of time until someone tries to take that food away from us."
"The wards of Hogwarts have protected us from the muggles for a thousand years," Pomona replied. "I hate the idea of fighting, but I will not let those under my protection starve."
"You don't understand. This volcanic winter is going to be worse than the Inquisition or the Black Death or even the Second World War. Seven billion muggles are facing possible death. Are you sure the wards of this castle will be able to protect us from a threat of that magnitude? Because I'm not."
"The boy does have a point."
Neville and I both groaned when we heard that distinctive voice coming from one of the portraits on the wall. Severus bloody Snape. I still don't know how it's possible to hate a wizard so much, but at the same time respect his memory. Snape had given Tom Riddle the prophecy which lead to the death of my parents, and he abused me for six years simply because I looked like his rival, James Potter. Yet he also saved my life several times at the risk of prolonged torture and death. The muggle Winston Churchill once described Russia as "a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma", and that's exactly how I viewed the late Severus Snape.
Pomona's eyes narrowed as she looked over at the portrait. Hufflepuffs were a friendly lot, but even they had their limits. "And what is that suppose to mean?"
"The muggles outnumber us by a hopeless degree," Snape replied in that sneering tone of his. "Only if the magical world comes together and acts as a cohesive unit during this crisis will we be able to resist them in any meaningful way."
"Harry has already been to the ICW," Pomona argued. "If there is going to be any world-wide unification amongst our people, it will have to come from them."
Snape rolled his eyes. "Albus, you explain to these dunderheads how the ICW really works."
From what I knew of Dumbledore, I expected him to chastise Snape for being so rude. Instead my former mentor launched into a detailed explanation of how the ICW had been expressly created to prevent the unification of the magical world. The individual governments around the world—which were controlled by corrupt pureblood aristocrats for the most part—had no wish to surrender their political and economic power to a bunch of unelected bureaucrats in Switzerland. It was a strange experience to hear Dumbledore be so cynical.
"Is that why all the major votes have to unanimous?" I asked after I thought about my experiences as a new ambassador.
"Of course," Dumbledore's portrait replied. "The founders of the ICW knew that it would be impossible for a Supreme Mugwump to gain any real power if he or she had to beg for votes from every single country on Earth to get anything done."
"But if the ICW is so useless, then why did you serve as an ambassador for all those years?"
"I have always enjoyed the company of intelligent wizards and witches. For me there was nothing better than trading political and social gossip with my peers over a glass of fine wine."
"Funny, I thought he spent all that time in Switzerland gathering allies for the war against Tom Riddle," Neville whispered to me.
"Yeah, that's what I thought too."
A new voice suddenly entered the conversation. "Why are you wasting your time with those two fools? If you wanted to know how to transfigure a wet turd into a butterfly, or how to brew a potion to get rid of crotch rot my two colleagues might be of some use. But their so-called expertise isn't what you need right now."
Those biting comments came from the portrait of Phyllida Spore, a Headmistress from the late fourteenth century. How did a dunderhead like me recognize her? Because the witch was a legendary Herbologist, and her masterpiece One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi was still in use by the students of Hogwarts six-hundred years after her death.
As for her colorful tone? First of all she was from the fourteenth century, which was a very colorful age. Secondly she was a Herbologist, and they tended to have chips on their shoulders. While the great Transfiguration and Potions masters were hailed as artists, and the Arithmancy and Ancient Runes professors were considered brilliant intellectuals, Herbologist were seen as lowly tradesmen by many in the magical world. In my opinion this social stigma was nonsense, but it existed nevertheless.
"What you really need is a group of top-notched Herbologists to solve this problem of yours," Headmistress Spore continued. "After all, that is why the Four Founders created Hogwarts. So witches and wizards could come together in peace, and share their magical knowledge for the betterment of the entire world."
"That sounds like a great idea," I said.
Pomona shook her head. "All the Herbologists I know will be busy working on the same logistical problems we are. Why would they leave their homes in such dangerous times to travel here to Hogwarts?"
For some reason my mind was cast back to my fifth year. Right in that office Dumbledore had escaped from Minister Fudge and the Aurors who were trying to arrest him on some trumped-up charge of conspiracy. He had slipped through of their fingers... with a little help from his familiar.
"Maybe your colleagues just need to be asked in the right way," I said with more confidence than I felt. "Fawkes!"
To my relief Dumbledore's phoenix did make an appearance. To my amazement he was joined by a number of other phoenixes. In a few seconds there was so many fireballs popping into existence all around the office that I had to cast a Cooling Charm. All told, forty-nine phoenixes answered my desperate call for help that day.
At the center of this magnificent flock were two birds I recognized on sight. The first was Fawkes himself. The other phoenix had a distinct combination of red-and-gold feathers that I had seen many times before in Ron's Quidditch magazines. It was poor Sparky, the mascot of the New Zealand Quidditch team.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I told the phoenix.
Apparently Sparky wasn't looking for sympathy, because he bit my hand when I tried to stroke his plumage. Thus began our rocky relationship as master and familiar. And in case you had any doubts, Sparky was the master and I was the familiar. What can I say? He's smarter than I am.
"I had no idea there were this many of phoenixes in the world," Pomona whispered.
"What are they all doing here?" Neville asked.
"They are offering to carry your invitations," Dumbledore's portrait explained. "Headmistress Sprout, I trust you know a number of Herbologists who would be willing to visit Hogwarts for a few hours to discuss our current crisis."
Of course she did—she was a Hufflepuff. Over the next hour Pomona and Neville came up with a list of the forty-nine most talented Herbologists in the world, and wrote out forty-nine invitations. Trying those invitations to the legs of the temperamental birds was an ordeal. The phoenixes made it clear to us that they considered carrying mail (and passengers) beneath their dignity, and that they was only cooperating with us because of the tragic loss of Sparky's homeland. But that didn't stop them from clawing and biting at our hands.
(How does a voiceless phoenix communicate with a wizard? After eighty years of living with Sparky I still don't have a clue. But that ignorance doesn't stop me from understanding his many insults and complaints.)
One by one the phoenixes disappeared from the office in bursts of flames. And one by one they reappeared only a few minutes later carrying witches and wizards from around the world, some of whom were still in their nightgowns.
Pomona made the proper introductions in over twenty different languages, and everyone agreed this impromptu conference was a sensible idea. They also agreed that the Headmistress of Hogwarts would serve as the chief moderator. She was the first Herbologist to be selected as the leader of a major magical school in over a hundred years, and they all respected her. Neville was also a popular figure thanks to his heroic stand against Tom Riddle, an act which was already the stuff of legends in the magical greenhouses around the world.
We soon made our way down to the Great Hall for some extra space and refreshments. During the long hours that followed I just sat quietly in a corner as Sparky pecked at me with his sharp beak. Meanwhile Pomona, Neville, and their fellow Herbologists hammered out the agricultural protocols we would follow for the next several years. Even though I had been a gardener for most of my life, the technical jargon flew straight over my head. However I did manage to pick-out a few bits of information, and I didn't like the sound of any of it.
First of all we were going vegan.
Producing beef, pork, and chicken means you must first feed the cows, pigs, and chickens for several months. This process takes an enormous amount of grain that we couldn't afford to waste. As a result a majority of our livestock would have to be slaughtered immediately. Only small number would be kept alive for future breeding purposes.
Another unpleasant surprise: we would mostly be eating food I had never heard of before. Things like quinoa, amaranth, spelt, bulgur, and hemp seeds. And then there were the foods I had heard of before, but hated with a passion. Things like soybeans, lentils, and beans. Sweet Merlin, we ate so many poorly-cooked beans that I thought the epidemic of farts would never end.
This new diet was necessary because those plants were high in protein, which a body needs in order to stay healthy. Normally you get your protein from meat, eggs, and dairy products like cheese and yogurt. Sadly none of that would be available during the Long Winter, as it came to be known.
Another unpleasant fact: we would be eating that dreadful food without the benefit of any herbs or spices. Basil, chives, dill, fennel, garlic, mustard, nutmeg, oregano, paprika, pepper, rosemary, sorrel, thyme, and wasabi... those wonderful flavors came from plants we couldn't afford to grow. All we were left with was plain old salt.
And washing that tasteless food down with anything but water? Forget about it. Butterbear: sorry, no butter or barley. Pumpkin juice: no pumpkins either. Wine: we would be eating the precious grapes, not making wine with them. Tea or coffee: those tropical plants need several years to reach maturity, and we didn't have years to waste. The Englishman inside of me wept as I contemplated a life without tea.
But the greatest blow was the loss of most desserts. Chocolate: nope. Vanilla: nope. Anything with sugar in it: nope. Puddings and custards: the few cows left alive would be using their milk to feed their young, not us. My beloved treacle tart: completely out of the picture until the climate had returned to normal.
Despite my disappointment with this spartan diet, the conference itself was a success. The Herbologists knew exactly what it would take to feed our global population of about a million witches, wizards, and squibs. Their hundred page manifesto/textbook—in a flight of fancy someone gave it the title The Long Winter Garden—was finished when we greeted dawn the next morning. Soon a thousand copies were printed and distributed free of charge.
Only five days after the eruption of Lake Taupo the first domino fell when the muggles of North Korea invaded the muggles of South Korea. From their point of view I suppose it was a rational decision. The news blackout about the threat of mass starvation was starting to fall apart thanks to the chat rooms, blogs, and emails of the muggle internet. To survive in its current form, the North Korean government was going to require the food and resources of South Korea, so they decided to take them by military force.
The war started off with a sustained rocket and artillery barrage that caused a horrific loss of life in the South Korea, and from there things got worse. The muggles... let's just say they are talented at killing each other, and leave it at that.
Unfortunately in the midst of this new war millions of innocent lives were lost in the crossfire. A random rocket or artillery shell has no trouble killing an unprepared wizard or witch, and most died as they slept in their beds. The magical deaths in New Zealand numbered less than one hundred, but after only a few days of fighting the magical deaths in South Korea top one thousand. The local Ministry of Magic ordered an evacuation of the magical districts near the Demilitarized Zone, but even that wasn't enough to stop the carnage.
And this was just the first muggle war. It was clear to everyone that there was worse to come. Much worse if the muggles started using their stockpile of nuclear and chemical weapons to secure the resources of other countries. That possibility had the ICW in a panic when we reconvened one week after the eruption.
The session started with a rousing speech by the Argentinian Ambassador calling for a war against the muggles. And not just against the muggles of North Korea. No, the witch wanted to declare war against all of the muggle. At the end of her speech she received a standing ovation that lasted for minutes.
That's when I walked out of the ICW, never to return.
It has become a tired cliché to call this the moment when the Boy-Who-Lived became the Great Seeker. Let me tell you something in all honesty: that cliché is a load of shite. My rash decision was driven by anger and a healthy dose of fear. It was in no way the act of a political genius. I was going on instinct, and the larger ramifications of my gesture never once entered my mind.
And no, I did not give a rousing speech of my own damning the ICW to hell before I left Switzerland. That is also pure fiction.
In fact no one noticed as I left the ancient marble building, and if they had noticed they wouldn't have cared. Not in the least. I was a dirty halfblood of no real importance. The purebloods had controlled the destiny of the magical world for a millennia, and they believed that would never change. And to be perfectly honest, so did I.
To me any further political maneuvering at ICW was a dead-end, so I figured hopping around the world by portkey was one area where I could make a useful contribution.
"So where am I going?" I asked Hermione and Percy the next day.
The pair were natural bureaucrats, and they were handling the paperwork as we searched for suitable caves where we could grow more crops. Percy had commandeered one of the last empty classrooms at Hogwarts as an office. The castle was already overcrowded, and getting more so with each passing hour thanks to the disaster in South Korea.
"Luna wants you to visit her in Antarctica," Hermione replied.
"She wants me to look at the caves the Yeti occupy down there?"
"According to her they might be useful."
"Do you believe that?" I asked.
"I find it hard to believe anything I hear from Rolf or Luna," Hermione admitted. "But it's still worth a look."
"Why? Isn't Antarctica really cold?"
"It's the coldest place on Earth, but theoretically that won't be a problem if the caves are far enough underground. Are you taking Sparky with you?"
My new phoenix fascinated everyone. If they only knew the truth. "That decision is entirely up to Sparky."
"Here is a pair of omnioculars with no recordings on them," Percy said as he handed me a large Mokeskin pouch. "Remember to have someone stand in the foreground so Headmistress Sprout can accurately judge the size of the cave. And Neville wants you to gather temperature readings, humidity readings, and as many soil samples as you can before you freeze to death. The pouch also as a parka, a hat, gloves, and boots that are all enchanted with Heating Charms. Here is the portkey Luna and Rolf sent us. You will have to make one for the return trip to Hogwarts. Good hunting."
"Ignatius, you're suppose to wish him good luck," Hermione chided. "He is traveling to the bottom of the world on the recommendation of the Rolf and Luna Scamander."
Percy rolled his eyes. "Good luck, Harry."
"I"m going to need it," I muttered. I loved Luna dearly, but I really didn't trust her judgement when it came to the subject of magical creatures.
After getting dressed in all that winter gear I activated the portkey. In case you were wondering, transporting yourself eighteen-thousand kilometers in a few seconds is a terrible idea. It's even worse when you slam into a floor carved from solid rock. I didn't break any bones, but I was covered with bruises for days.
"Welcome to the Mountains of Madness," Rolf said as he and Luna helped me to my feet.
Surrounding us were a large group of Yeti. Have you ever met one in person? It's an unnerving experience. The three meter height, the shaggy white hair, the long fangs, the huge claws... all that I could handle. It was their glowing blue eyes that freaked me out. My green eyes are notorious the world over, but the blue eyes of a Yeti are worse. Bioluminescence as an evolutionary adaption, Luna explained.
As I tried to shake off the pain of my rough landing, I glanced around the sizable cave. The light was gloomy, but I could see a dome ceiling about ten meters above my head. Various structures that looked like huts were cut directly into the walls, and there were many simple tents scattered around the floor. It looked like a village right out of the Stone Age. It smelled like one too. Yeti don't exactly stink, but they do have a strong musky odor.
"Before we get started with the tour, I curious to know why your friends are willing to share their homes with us."
One of the Yeti roared in a complex fashion, which Luna quickly translated: "Pabodie and his sleuth—"
"Sleuth?"
"A group of Yeti is called a sleuth," Rolf explained.
"—are willing to let us stay here as guests if we help them expand their network of caves," Luna continued. "Of course once things are back to normal they expect us to leave."
"That price sounds fair enough to me," I said as studied the towering creatures. "By the way, where are we? You called this place the Mountains of Madness?"
"That's a bit of Lovecraftian humor," Rolf replied. "These caves are located in the Queen Maud Mountains, which is another name for the middle section of the Transantarctic Mountain Range."
That meant nothing to me. But I didn't want to look like an idiot in front of Luna, so I nodded my head. "Are there any muggles here?"
"There are about five thousand scientists on the continent during the summer months, but none of them live nearby, especially now during the darkness of late winter," Rolf explained.
The orangish light of the cave was very unusual, so I kept looking around to see how it was produced. To my astonishment I saw a glowing light bulb, and then another. Now that I knew what to look for, I saw them everywhere.
"Wait a second, are those muggle light bulbs?" I asked.
"They are called sodium-vapor lamps, to be precise," Luna said. "The design was copied from the muggles, but the Yeti make them here in one of their mining complexes."
"How do they make a sodium-vapor lamp in the middle of Antarctica, and where to they get the electricity to run them?"
"Do you know anything about the Yeti?" Rolf asked.
"No, not really."
"Let's start the tour, and we'll explain everything as we walk."
We three humans left the Yeti village behind, and made our way to a large round door at the edge of the cave. This door lead to a second door and then a third one. Finally we entered a tunnel which was shaped like a long barrel vault. The ceiling was about five meters high, but that wasn't surprising considering the height of the Yeti. It was only ten meters wide, but it stretched on for at least two or three hundred meters. Alongside the narrow central pathway were two long beds filled with soil and an odd assortment of plants. Above these beds were stings of those odd orange light bulbs.
"The Yeti like the cold weather and lack of muggles here in Antarctica, but there isn't much to eat besides penguins and fish," Luna explained. "So they started excavating these side tunnels to grow fruits and vegetables. They might look like carnivores, but they are suckers for a good salad."
I soon noticed the drastic change in temperature. Back in the Yeti village it was so cold that I had been able to see my breath, but in these narrow tunnels it was warm and humid. So much so that I began sweating under my parka.
"How do they control the temperature in the different caves and tunnels?" I asked as I started making recordings with the omnioculars Percy gave me.
"The sodium-vapor lamps provide the heat," Luna told me. "In truth they provide too much heat. The Yeti had to dig small ventilation shafts to the surface. Opening and closing the shafts allows the hot air to rise, and the cold air from the surface to descend. After years of experimentation they have worked out a system that maintains a constant temperature year round."
"When did they start work on all this?"
Rather than answer my question directly, Luna began explaining the history of the Yeti as we walked down the long tunnel. Like their cousins the Giants, the magic of a Yeti is mostly concentrated in their skin and muscles. The were invulnerable to all but the deadliest of spells, and they were capable of lifting tons of weight with their powerful arms.
However unlike the Giants they are highly intelligent. When the population of the muggles began to explode in the last two centuries, the Yeti realized they needed a new and safer home. So the fled the Arctic by traveling down the spine of the Rocky and Andes Mountains. After a rough trip across the Drake Passage they reached Antarctica in the 1920s, and started work on this mountain.
After a few minutes we came to a four-way intersection, and I was surprised to see three more tunnels stretching off into the distance. "Just how big is this place?"
"The Yeti have spread their caves throughout this entire mountain and parts of two others," Rolf explained. "They also have mines in several more mountains."
"Have they run out of space yet?"
Luna laughed. "Harry, the Transantarctic Mountains are over 3,500 kilometers long. It will take them a million years to run out of space."
"That's good to hear. Now what about the electricity?"
"The Yeti have three small power stations that run on coal."
That stopped me dead in my tracks. "They built power stations here in Antarctica? How is that possible?"
"We told you before that they are intelligent," Luna said. "Besides the design of a muggle power station isn't that complicated. You burn coal, the coal turns water into steam, the steam turns a turbine, the turbine turns the generator, and the generator generates the electricity for the sodium-vapor lamps. The muggles can be very clever at times."
"The muggle are also very violent at times. Haven't they noticed the Yeti stealing their coal?"
Rolf look over at me with a bemused smile on his face. (Can I tell you again how much I hated him?) "Do you know anything about the history of Antarctica?"
I decided to swallow my pride for the greater good. "No, I don't anything about the history of Antarctica."
The smug wanker took out his pipe, slowly lit the bowl with his wand, and then began to lecture to me as if I were a schoolboy.
It seems that back in the 20th century most parts of Antarctica had been claimed by Norway, Chile, Argentina, France, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand. These countries had sliced the continent up into several pie-shaped wedges with the South Pole at the exact center.
"Well, I guess New Zealand won't be problem for the Yeti anymore."
The second that thoughtless and horrible comment left my lips, Sparky flamed into view. He then began violently peaking at me.
"I'm sorry," I told the angry phoenix. "But I have a lot on my mind at the moment."
Luna managed to stop Sparky before he killed me. "Harry, I think your new friend expects better behavior from you in the future."
"Whatever," I muttered as I tended to my new wounds. "You were telling me about the territorial claims the muggle governments made during the last century."
"Yes, the muggles seized almost all the land in Antarctica, but they left one wedge-shaped section unclaimed," Rolf continued. "It's called Marie Byrd Land, and that's where this part of the Queen Maud Mountains are located."
"So no individual muggle or muggle country owns these mountains?"
"The legal term is terra nullius."
"How big is this Marie Byrd Land?" I asked.
"Just over one and a half million square kilometers."
"That can't be right. The total size of Britain is only 240,000 square kilometers. Someone must have claimed all this land before now."
"To the muggles it's just a remote and frozen wasteland," Luna explained. "But that's not the case for the Yeti. They have been able to settle here, and they have found natural resources they need in order to build a thriving community."
"Natural resources like coal."
"Exactly. They have also discovered sizable despots of phosphorite and potash, which they use to make fertilizer. Plus they mine iron to make steel, and copper to make wires."
"And it's all perfectly legal," I mused.
"It would also be legal for the Yeti to claim the New Zealand territory," Luna added as she gently petted Sparky. "It sits right next to Marie Byrd Land, and it would give them another half a million square kilometers to work with."
"Can you take me up to the surface? I would like to take a look around before I return to Hogwarts."
Walking from the warm vegetation tunnels to the colder Yeti village was a shock. But walking up a long flight of stairs from the village into the dark Antarctic winter was a nightmare. Even the Warming Charms on my heavy clothes couldn't protect me from the brutal Katabatic winds that came roaring down off the East Antarctic Ice Sheet.
"How long until the sun comes up?" I yelled over the wind.
"In another month or so!" Luna yelled back.
I cast another Warming Charm on myself, and looked out over the landscape. Only the rocky tips of the mountains were visible in the pale starlight. Everything else was blanketed with pure white snow. Even the worst winter in the Highlands couldn't compare to this.
"How deep does the snow go?"
"In some spots it's over four kilometers deep!" Rolf yelled.
Living in such a terrible environment was a high price to pay for safety, but what other choice did we have? The muggles were already slaughtering each other, and thanks to the stupidity of the ICW they would soon be at our throats as well. It made me sick to admit it, but hiding in a deep hole really was our best option if we wanted to survive. And the "Mountains of Madness" provided us with deepest and most remote hole on Earth.
Once we were safely back underground I turned to Rolf and Luna. "Tell your friends the Yeti that we will accept their offer of hospitality. If they let us stay here, we will help them build as many new caves and tunnels as we can."
Author's Notes: The Antarctic Treaty of 1959 and its effects on Harry's plans will be discussed in future chapters.