CHAPTER TWO
Nearly an hour had gone by when the train came to a halt. Dean was attempting to surmise their location by gazing out the window, appraising the surroundings.
"Nothing but countryside," he observed. "I haven't the faintest clue where we are."
"I suppose that'd be the idea, yeah?" Wood quipped as he stood, slinging his duffel bag over one shoulder. "Not supposed to have the foggiest."
"All right there, Smith?" Dean pressed, looking upon an ashen-faced Zacharias.
Zacharias nodded fervently, gulping. "Super."
"Where do you think we'll be heading?" Ron inquired. A small signal of panic was rising gradually in his chest as he began to grasp the gravity of what he had committed to. "Do you think it will be dangerous?"
"Nah," Dean said dismissively as he began opening the compartment door. "The war's over. Can't be much left in the way of danger."
Though Ron wanted to believe him, he knew that Dean's comment was brimming with naiveté. Danger lurked around every corner in the Wizarding World – whether it be mid-war or not. There were always going to be certain wizards who were displeased with the way of things.
As they began making their way down the passage, they came in line with Harry and his fellow passengers. Ron took note of the exasperation on Harry's face and jerked his chin pointedly to Malfoy's figure behind them.
"Rough ride?" he chastised cheekily.
"Shut up," Harry muttered in response.
"Hullo, Ron!" Neville chirped excitedly. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
"Yeah, Neville," Ron agreed distractedly. "Gorgeous."
"I can't wait to find out where we'll be assigned," Neville continued, oblivious to Ron's disinterest. "I heard a rumor that Sweden needs intervention."
"Mm," Ron said noncommittally. He was too busy turning over the possibilities in his own brain to be excited about the prospects. What if it were something more dangerous than they had anticipated? Would their lives be at risk?
His heart bled at the thought of Hermione, and her tear-stained face as they said their good-byes. The last thing he would ever want to do is break the promise he had made…
The hike up the rugged countryside to the Portkey had felt like an eternity, though it had only been a few mere minutes. The 20 Aurors-in-training came to a halt before their superiors, looking onward at a set of rusty pipes lying in the grass. Ron took note of the familiar faces in the crowd. He recognized people such as Seamus and Justin Finch-Fletchley talking animatedly towards the front of the ranks, as well as a handful of others he did not to his left. The undertaking was proving to be larger than he had expected.
"At attention, please!" Kingsley commanded. The students immediately formed a semi-circle formation around him and his colleagues and fell silent.
"It is a great honor to have you all stand before me, ready to brave the unknown," Kingsley continued. "Through many toils and despairs, the Second Wizarding War has now come to a close."
A brief round of cheering echoed through the ranks. It was Malfoy, alone, who stood perfectly still, stone-faced in protest. After a moment of celebration, Kingsley raised his hand authoritatively, and they fell silent once more.
"We have been asked by our brethren to the West to assist in dealing with the aftermath of an uprising."
"The West, eh?" Wood mused in undertones. "I think we're going to America, mates!"
"Though the primary locus of the war took place in England, The Dark Lord's support also ran rampant in our peripherals," Kingsley went on. "A number of high-security prisoners have been detained overseas, and our fellow wizards have not the capacity or manpower to maintain control without assistance."
A multitude of anxious whispering began cycling through the crowd. Kingsley did not falter.
"These prisoners are being held at what American Muggles deem to be an abandoned fortress named Alcatraz," Kingsley announced. "It, much like Azkaban, is located offshore on a secluded island."
Ron turned this over in his mind. Guarding prisoners…that didn't seem so bad. He chanced a glance to Harry at his left, who looked on impassively.
"I implore you to remember the nature of caution as we depart. You are not to speak of your location to your families, friends, or loved ones. Worry not – your post will find its way."
Ron stifled a grimace. The high security standards somehow nixed any semblance of comfort he had had.
"We will travel to the bay via Portkey before taking a ferry to the island," Kingsley explained. "The island's security is strict, and does not allow for any form of magical arrival."
"Not even Floo Network, sir?" Seamus inquired.
"Not even Floo Network," Kingsley confirmed. "Additional instruction shall be given to you when we arrive on base. Are their any immediate questions or concerns?"
The crowd was deafeningly silent. The sound of early-morning wildlife echoed in the distance.
"Very well. Then we shall proceed as scheduled." Kingsley approached the left-most pipe. "Compartments one and two, please step forward."
The ranks broke apart, members of the early alphabet doing as told.
"Compartments three and four," Kingsley continued, indicating the center Portkey.
"Guess the next one is us, mate," Ron muttered to Harry.
Kingsley walked toward the right-most pipe now. "And five and six will step over here."
The last of the crowd followed orders, looking down upon the item that would take them halfway across the globe. Ron felt a knot settle in the pit of his stomach. He had never been so far away from home before…
"At the ready," Kingsley bellowed. Ron, Harry, Neville, Malfoy, Dean, Oliver, Zacharias, and the Spanish girl all hovered expectantly over their Portkey.
"Hands to yourself, Longbottom!" Malfoy growled, struggling for elbow room.
"On my count," Kingsley called. "Three…two…one!"
All at once, they grabbed hold, the familiar feeling of a hook circling round their navels. Ron glanced briefly at Harry as their group was being transported through a variety of blurry countryside. Harry's expression still remained neutral. Ron envied his ability to suppress all anxiousness in the face of danger.
The ferry ride had been most unpleasant. Oliver Wood had muttered anxiously under his breath the entire time, insisting that the prospect of deep water terrified him. Malfoy, as was to be expected, rolled his eyes and responded with disapproving disdain.
"If you don't want to be here, go home," Dean had said at last, growling in annoyance at Malfoy's attitude.
"That's the plan, Thomas," Malfoy had replied with no objection.
Alcatraz loomed on the horizon, a massive fortress that, according to Muggle eyes, lay dormant in the Pacific. Looking on, Ron felt suddenly quite small. It was reminiscent of the first time he had approached Hogwarts by boat; only this time, he was much older and should have been much less terrified.
Upon arriving on land, Kingsley led them to a set of tents that sat quietly on the northern shoreline, looking quite out-of-place. They were organized in a neat row, giving Ron the distinct impression that these would be their living quarters.
"Dormitories have been assigned on the basis of job description," Kingsley announced, confirming Ron's suspicions. With a flick of his wand, a piece of parchment hovered before him and unfurled itself. "Please stand by for assignments and approach when you are called," Kingsley announced.
Harry glanced at Ron and held crossed fingers over his left shoulder, a gesture which baffled Ron. As if noticing his bemused expression, Harry muttered, "It's for luck."
"Oh, right," Ron agreed vaguely, mimicking Harry's actions. He could not easily imagine living with anyone but him over the course of the next four months…
"Natalia Peréz and Katie Bell."
The two girls stepped forward and offered shy smiles to one another, following one of Kingsley's assistants to their assigned quarters.
"Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan."
"Bloody fantastic luck!" Seamus gushed, punching Dean light-heartedly in the shoulder.
"Oliver Wood and Justin Finch-Fletchley."
The two dispersed.
"Viktor Krum and Steven Burbage."
Ron's heart skipped a beat. He glowered in Krum's general direction. "Didn't expect to see him here…" he muttered to Harry.
"A lot of people want to help, Ron," Harry chastised in return. Ron pulled a face of distaste nonetheless.
"Stellan Diggory and Billy Ireland."
"Diggory?" Harry demanded in shock.
"Cedric's cousin," Ron quipped. "He graduated with Charlie."
Harry appeared suddenly uncomfortable. Ron felt a pang of sympathy for him; Harry had still not quite gotten over being unable to prevent Cedric's death.
Kingsley continued to read down the list, the crowd growing smaller and smaller as he went. Ron was beginning to get nervous now, desperate to just hear the words 'Potter and Weasley' within the same sentence.
Then it came down the last four standing. Ron, Harry, Draco, and Neville remained. Harry was beginning to look perplexed as well.
"I've done the math and it doesn't make sense," he said hastily. "There's only one tent left…"
"Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter."
"Oh, bloody hell," Ron groaned. Harry shot him a sympathetic look before following Neville to their assigned quarters.
"You're kidding," Malfoy spat disdainfully, sneering in Ron's general direction.
"Malfoy – Weasley – follow me," Kingsley commanded.
"Sir?" Ron asked feebly as they fell into step behind him. "Sir, where are we going?"
"Private quarters, just down the shoreline."
"What for?" Malfoy demanded.
"You see," Kingsley began, swiftly making his way past the camp, "there is a very high security prisoner here. His name is Sven Olanofsky. A dangerous Death Eather from Russia who migrated here to join the rebellion."
"What's that got to do with the price of Gobstones?" Malfoy questioned impatiently.
"The problem is that nobody that currently serves here can go within a safe distance of him," Kingsley continued, as though not hearing Malfoy. Ron saw that they were quickly approaching a secluded tent, half a kilometer or so from the others.
"Why is that, Sir?" he asked.
Kingsley stopped abruptly. Ron and Malfoy nearly collided with his backside. He turned to face them.
"Olanofsky has Donkey Pox."
"Foul," Malfoy muttered, pulling a face.
"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," Kingsley agreed. "A very nasty, very contagious disease. Olanofsky has been in solitary confinement, quarantined from the rest of the prisoners."
"I remember when I had Donkey Pox," Ron quipped. "Mum made me stay with my Aunt Muriel until they passed, so nobody else would get them. Aunt Muriel already had them before and couldn't catch them again."
"Precisely," Kingsley noted. "Upon thorough background research, only two wizards on this entire island have ever undergone the misfortune of having Donkey Pox."
Ron and Malfoy looked at one another suspiciously.
"As it is, the two of you will be in charge of overseeing Mr. Olanofsky's care."
"What?" Malfoy cried.
"Sir, please," Ron implored, "I can't work with him."
"It has already been decided," Kingsley insisted. "And, as it stands, you two will be staying down here, away from the others. Though you have had Donkey Pox before, being around it still leaves you susceptible to being involuntary carriers. We have a healer on staff that will have to regularly detoxify you before you can be safe to interact with the others."
"Excuse me?" Ron sputtered. As if the idea of bunking and working with Malfoy were not bad enough, he shuddered to think that he would also be his primary source of human interaction.
"I'm sorry if the arrangement does not suit you," Kingsley stated. "But safety regulations must be considered." With that, he had begun to head back towards the main camp. "Please report at five o'clock for dinner."
"Shacklebolt – Shacklebolt, wait!" Malfoy called, jogging to catch up with him. "I need to speak with you – this is all a mistake - "
Ron grumbled irritably to himself as he entered through the tent's opening. As was custom, the inside was considerably larger than one would have assumed. It was quite cozy, really, and provided a full-scale set of everything they could possibly need.
"Good thing," Ron muttered as he considered the black hangings on the four-poster. "Since we'll have to fend for ourselves…"
He flopped down onto the sofa impatiently, crossing his arms. 'I'm sorry if the arrangement does not suit you,' Kingsley had said. No. No! It bloody didn't!
Pig hooted softly from his cage across the room. Ron was momentarily surprised to find that he had gotten here before himself. He stood up and made his way to him, sighing resignedly. He poked his fingers through the cage, allowing Pig to nip playfully at his hand.
"I guess we'll have to make the best of it," Ron said, more to himself than to Pig. Pig began to preen his feathers, hooting softly as he did so.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Pig…Easy for you to say."
CONTINUED
