A Fire Needs Fuel

'Please stand back.'

As the woman's voice in the dark room dies out, Harry and Ron feel themselves swirl as they touch the big copper ring that evaporates them. Travelling by Portkey is not Harry's favourite way of travelling, but it's quick – and costs no considerable time and effort.

Light met darkness and within a few seconds Ron and Harry felt themselves in a solid form again.

'Still very unpleasant sometimes, mate,' Ron said.

Harry nodded. 'I know.'

A door in the room appeared and swung open. A man entered, open his arm very wide and smiled.

'Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Welcome!'

'Minister?' said Harry.

'That's correct,' the Minister for Magic replied. 'Minister Treefman.' Ron raised an eyebrow while looking at him. The Minister maintained a bright smile.

'Is there anything, Mr Weasley?' he said suddenly. Ron's face fell.

'No, nothing.'

'Ah, perfect,' Treefman added coolly. 'Now, follow me.' He gestured to walk behind him. Harry and Ron followed him suit and whilst walking the Minister slowed his pace to talk to his guests.

'I didn't expect such a high guest to ever visit us,' Treefman said as they came at the end of a corridor. Its only purpose seemed to be to accommodate other exits from Portkey rooms, but it turned out to be false. At the end of the corridor was a small, but colourful oak wooden door.

'Come in,' he added to Harry and Ron. As they entered, the vast room became apparent to them. It was a beautiful old hall. The arch-shaped roof was made from material that countered the sunlight coming in from the big windows in the walls. As they walked in, numerous portraits welcomed them. Sometimes in Dutch, but mostly in English.

'Nice.' Ron's reaction to the breeze was as dry as the tuna on his sandwiches.

The Minister smiled. 'You're famous. Very famous.' He walked to one side of the giant room, where a desk and two guest chairs stood. As the trio sat down, a ghost entered through the wall and took the courtesy of requesting whether Ron and Harry would like to have any drinks. As they were accommodated and had exchanged the usual generalities, Harry cut to the chase.

'My colleague and I are here with a request, Mr Treefman. Strange occurrences have been happening in the past days which have left us with questions. We were told that your Ministry might possess some answers.'

'Yes, yes, odd things, I was notified of it,' the Minister replied, sipping his morning tea. 'We have someone who knows a lot about white women. There's a problem, however.'

A silence followed.

Ron cleared his throat. 'Which is?'

The Minister stared intently at Ron.

'The white women have not been seen for 150 years.'

Ron shot a look at Harry. 'Pity.'

Harry didn't smile back. Instead, he focused his attention back on Treefman.

'What can we do about this?'

The Minister put down his tea and raised his hands in the air. 'I … don't know really. Of course, there some people who've seen them, but they're old, almost ancient.'

'This 'someone' you have. Is he or she ancient, too?'

Treefman chuckled. 'No, it's a he, and he is not ancient, nor very young.'

'Interesting, though, that he's so interested in this,' Ron noted.

The Minister glanced at Ron. 'Indeed. Some persons are just interested in these matters. Just like we have enough young witches and wizards who're obsessed with England in general.' He winked.

'What?' said Ron, but Treefman stood up and snapped his fingers. A map appeared in the air, outlining the country of the Netherlands. As he tapped his wand twice to make it a pointing stick, The Minister began explaining the country, a little bit of its Muggle history and made a shortcut to the white women.

'White women are special beings. They're said to appear from the mist. We think they're guarding old spots of ancient magical power.' He pointed at the eastern border of the country with Germany. 'They're mainly located here. We don't know what these spots are nor what they possess – the knowledge has been lost over the years, our archive got burned down by Fiendfyre not twice but thrice. The damage to many of our books was irreversible.'

'So, we rely on hearsay.' Harry's word echoed through the hall. Treefman was silently staring at the map, eventually turned his head and nodded.

'For now,' he added. He levitated his teacup in his hands and drank from it. 'You know, in time, when you're able to contact them, you have a primary source.' He smiled.

'Right,' said Harry. 'Can we meet our contact?'

'Of course, of course,' The Minister answered. He stood up and stepped through the wall, leaving Harry and Ron confused.

'I didn't really expect it, to be honest,' Ron shrugged as they walked past pine and oak trees. They were in near the border with Germany, where Treefman had suggested they had to go to find white women. The area was peaceful and reminded Harry of little towns near the coast, south of 'his' Surrey. He wasn't sure what Ronald was thinking of this – all he could talk about for now was the magic trick the Minister of Magic had performed in front of their eyes. Rudolph Antich, their contact, had joined them in their search, and listened quietly to Ron's observations.

'Crazy,' Ron eventually concluded, 'I just didn't know ghost looked so real.'

Antich smiled and glanced to his side, where Harry was walking.

'I don't know, Ron,' he said, 'but they surely got an appointment for a lifetime there.'

Antich chuckled. 'Maybe.' He coughed and stopped. As he pointed to the right, he said, 'this is a very old place. That barn is centuries old. Many Muggles report strange feelings there.' He walked on.

'Is it a place where white women often come?' Ron said.

'No,' said Antich sharply, 'it's a Portkey spot for Dutch wizards and witches who want to enjoy the countryside. The strange feelings Muggles report is because Portkeys inherently have a safety mechanism against their discovery, making Muggles confused and dull.

'I've never noticed,' Ron spoke.

'That's because you're a wizard,' countered Antich. 'We're nearly there,' he added, gesturing at the forest ahead of him. Between the pine trees there appeared to be an open space.

'What is that?' Harry said.

'I believe you English call it "heath",' said Antich, 'and coincidentally, it's the primary spot to look for white women.'

'How do you know?' said Ron. 'I thought they weren't seen for over a hundred years of so.'

Antich snorted. 'The oddity is that I can neither confirm nor deny. All the reports about white women we get… are sent to us by the Dutch Muggle Ministry.'

Harry looked at Antich in disbelief.

'They're reported by Muggles,' Antich added.

As the clouds were slowly drifting into the sunset, the setting sun erased all the warmth Harry and Ron felt shining on their face. As they conjured a warm coat on themselves which they had packed for their trip, Antich remained focussing on a spot in the distance. When Harry mimicked his view and directed his eyes in the same angle, he saw a lonely tree in the heath itself.

Antich stopped. He pointed at the tree.

'That's our focus for tonight,' he said, buttoning up as they approached a bush. Antich kneeled behind it, conjured a blanket and took off his backpack. As Harry and Ron sat down on the comfortable, wool-woven cover, they shared in the food Antich had brought, enjoying Dutch sandwiches. Meanwhile, the night fell, and the heath became silent. Harry, Ron and Antich didn't share much words.

'Have you casted a Silence and Invisible Spell upon us?' Ron asked suddenly. He became visibly irritated by having to sit still in silence for a long period of time.

Antich turned his head to Ron. 'I have,' he said. 'It's needed. We're waiting.'

Ron shrugged his shoulders. 'For what, actually?' whispered.

Antich had focused his attention back to the tree. He shortly glanced to Ron before answering his question.

'Muggles.'

'Muggles?'

Ron's repetition evoked no response of Antich, who, Harry figured, most probably knew that it was best to not clarify anything further. The absence of sound remained for a short time before Harry, who had gone off daydreaming about Ginny, was touched on the arm by Antich.

'Look!' he said. Ron, who had also dozed off, came closer to the two. Together, they watched the tree.

From the darkness, a light appeared to come closer. It moved elegantly, as if it was delightfully enjoying a night stroll. As their surroundings were black, only the moonshine gave them light. The trio didn't dare to cast Lumos as it would give away their position. What the light luminous dot in front of them was remained unclear.

Suddenly, there was sound.

A hiss. A low, unnerving hiss could be distinguished from the sound of the wind, the whistling of the leaves and occasional deer passer-by's. Harry glanced at Antich. His face was tense and as his eyes remained fixated on the tree, Harry felt a feeling of anguish. Not fear but upset. Something was off.

The light moved closer to the tree and extinguished. The hiss became softer and softer, and abruptly two girls were walking towards the tree. Chattering and clamouring, they approached the chunk of wood in the illusion that they'd be alone. They stopped, looked at each other and dozed off.

Rapidly, the two girls levitated towards Antich, Ron and Harry, again, screaming, their faces bright white, their eyes red. With their hands forward they seemed to leap towards the trio.

'Get out!' Ron shouted. Harry obliged, took out his wand and shot a spell at the oncoming entities.

A cry followed, the darkness swiftly ensued and the clamouring and chatting disappeared. Harry, who had fallen on the sand, adjusted his glasses but did not twitch a single nerve. He had no idea where Ron was. He had no idea where Antich was. For all he knew, these, well … ghosts, they could be behind him. As he tried to concentrate to see in the dark, he heard Antich moaning.

Harry made a split-decision and got up. He limped towards the source of the sound, trying to get what was going on, maybe catch up with Ron or Antich, who had run away – only to be knocked on his back by a big swoosh. Calmness and dizziness at the same time engulfed him, his vision became blurry, the darkness became thicker and blacker, and swiftly he entered the realm of the deep. The last thing to enter his consciousness was a long, soft girl's laugh, only for Harry to drift away.