Chapter 10: Agonised Parents
"Stop fidgeting!" Harry hissed at Ron, who had not stopped wriggling in his small plane seat since they had taken off, a mere two hours ago; the longest two hours of Harry's entire life.
"I would if they made these chairs big enough for the averaged sized human male!" Ron grumbled, before turning large puppy eyes on Harry, his hand inching towards his pocket. "Come on, please? Just one tiny spell and I won't bother you for the rest of the journey, I promise!"
"No! You're not making the seat bigger! If anything goes wrong, this plane comes down." It wasn't exactly true; to be fair, Harry had no idea what using magic on a plane would do, but he didn't really want to know. The lie did what he wanted it to, though, and Ron froze, turned back to face the back of the chair in front of him, clasped his hands in his lap, and shut up. Harry turned back to the muggle newspaper he had picked up from the airport with a slight grin, and silently began to count down to the moment when Ron started up his fidgeting again.
By six o'clock that night, neither Hermione nor Harry could handle it anymore. They were both tired, and had run out of reading material, and Ron would not shut up. He was attempting to cover up his nervousness by asking question upon question to them, mostly questions about Australia, which, having never been there before, they couldn't answer. A passing stewardess gave them a sympathetic look that someone might give the parents of a hyperactive child. Hermione, with the look of someone who'd played quidditch with a bunch of Cornish pixies for twelve hours, suddenly got up, saying she was going to get them all drinks of water. Harry shot her a pleading 'don't leave me alone with him!' look, but she just shook her head slightly at him, and strode down to the end of the plane.
"Are there any Quidditch teams in Australia?"
Harry sighed.
"Yeah, there are the Woollongong Warriors and the Thundelarra Thunderers... wait, you've read Quidditch Through The Ages! You know this!"
Ron paused, his brows knitted. "Oh yeah..."
Harry wanted to slap his hand to his forehead.
"Can we go see them play?"
"I don't know, maybe. But we can't go see the Thunderers in Perth."
"Why not?"
Harry wanted to beat Ron round the head with something. "Because the Thunderers are from Perth! Which is on the West Coast, while Sydney, where we're going, is on the East Coast."
"Oh."
Luckily, Hermione returned at that moment, and handed Ron a plastic cup of water, before sitting down and passing Harry one. She had a weird, almost mischievous expression on her face as she watched Ron down the drink, which became clear as his eyes flickered shut, and he slumped down in his seat.
"What...?" Harry began to ask, staring at his friend's unconscious form.
"Just sleeping pills I picked up in the pharmacy at the airport, plus a little... enhancement, to make them work faster. I thought they might come in handy."
"Thank you," Relief flooded his voice, "how long will he be out for?"
"At least twelve hours; I gave him three."
"Yikes. Could I have one? There's no way I'll be able to sleep in these seats."
"Sure." She chucked him the packet of pills. He popped one out, and downed it with some water.
"Let's hope they work, eh?" Harry mumbled, sleep already clouding his thoughts. His eyes slid shut, and unconsciousness took over.
Harry woke up to a bright sun outside the plane. Back in England it was around seven in the morning, but here, flying over Indonesia, it was about two in the afternoon. They would be landing in five hours. Harry groaned internally, and pulled a book out of his rucksack. At least Ron was still drooling into Hermione's shoulder.
They got off the plane in Sydney to bare trees, but it was warm compared to a British winter. The sky was almost cloudless, the stars above twinkling brightly. Ron had awoken mere minutes before, and upon realising what Hermione had done, was refusing to speak to either of them, though by his expression, his mood wouldn't last long; he was far too relieved to be off the plane, and was mildly happy he had slept through most of the journey.
As they walked out of the baggage claim, Harry spotted a man in a suit holding a sign that read "Potter, Weasley, Granger".
"Kingsley must have contacted the Australian Ministry," said Harry, mostly to himself.
They followed the man to a sleek black car parked outside, and clambered in. No one said anything as the car wound its way through Sydney's motorways and into the main city, heading right for the city centre. After about forty five minutes, they turned into a multi-story car park. The three exchanged bemused glances. Their driver wound down his window as they came up the ticket booth, and tipped his cap at the man attending it.
"Goodday, Steve?"
"Goodday. Who you got back there today, then?"
The Driver lowered his voice, and leaned slightly further out of the window. "The Golden trio," he hissed with about as much subtly as a bludger beating you around the head would have. Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione and Ron.
"Really? Wow. Anyway, don't want to hold them up. See you around!" Steve the Ticket Booth Attendant turned and flicked a switch that raised the barrier in front of them. They drove forwards into the car park, and the driver turned left, down to a lower floor, and then towards a space over the other side of the car park, that was marked with a disabled sign. Once he was parked in the spot, there was a loud thunk, and the car began to sink.
"What's going on?" Ron asked, suddenly talking to them again, and looking a little frantic.
"You didn't honestly expect the visitors' entrance to the ministry here to be the same as the one in London, did you?" Hermione asked, astonished. Ron closed his mouth, and his ears darkened in the orangey light of the car park.
The car-lift hit the floor of its destination with the same loud thunk, and the three climbed out. Once all their baggage was taken out of the trunk, the car rolled off and parked itself alongside four more cars identical to it. The driver escorted them through a door that looked rather too ornate to be used as an exit from a sub-basement garage.
Strangely, though the visitors' entrance was rather different to the London Ministry's one, the main hall of the one they stood in currently was rather the same. The walls were lined with fireplaces filled with glittering green flames, and the floor was white polished marble. Wizards and witches bustled to and fro in the same businesslike fashion Harry had seen so many times at the Ministry, and blue paper aeroplane memos flitted about. Harry even spotted a memo folded into the shape of a kangaroo hopping alone the ground, avoiding as best it could the many feet that threatened to trample it.
A sandy haired man only a few years older than them came up and greeted them, and the driver departed. They were led to a bank of lifts at the other end of the chamber, and followed the man into one, standing rather awkwardly as the lift descended. They hadn't yet been told where they were going, and were reluctant to ask. After what seemed like an age, the lift doors slid open to reveal a sort of waiting room. Opposite them, at the end of the room was another door, next to which was a desk so covered in blue memos that it was almost impossible to see the surface of the table beneath them. A frazzled looking witch was picking up each memo, checking it over, and scrawling something down on a piece of parchment before her. The sandy haired man indicated that they take a seat, and went over the witch. He muttered something to her, then strode back to the lift and left. The witch looked over her glasses at the three.
"The Minister will see you in a moment."
Sarah Macintosh was a tall woman, with long, dark hair hanging in curls round her shoulders. Her face was soft and friendly, but beneath her eyes were dark bags. She smiled warmly at the trio as they entered her office.
"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, and, I suppose, most importantly on this visit, Miss Granger. It's wonderful to meet you all. I have been informed of the reason for your trip, and have had certain officials from this Ministry track down your parents. It was honestly the least I could do for you. Voldemort's influence affected us even here, and we are greatly thankful for what you three have done. Now, I believe you're raring to be reunited with your family. You'll find them at this address."