Stranded (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 9: The Shelter

Godric’s Hollow, Devon, Britain, July 7th, 1996

Albus Dumbledore appeared at a familiar corner in Godric’s Hollow. Covered by a Muggle-Repelling Charm still anchored to the remains of the barn it had once protected, so long ago that not even Bathilda remembered a time it had been standing, it served as a common destination when travelling to the village by Apparition. Not too many did, of course - using the Floo Network was far easier and more comfortable. And more private, which was a good thing. While the muggle residents of the village weren’t particularly prying sorts, having long since grown used to the eccentricities of their neighbours - and Albus was certain that a few of them suspected or were aware of magic - gossip still set the tongues of both muggles and wizards wagging.

Nevertheless, Albus preferred Apparition to using the Floo Network. While he was in no danger of losing his skill at it, a little practice never hurt. And old habits died slowly, of course. Ambushes at fireplaces, or curses and other traps, had been common during both Grindelwald’s War and the Blood War. Not that he thought that there would be a trap or ambush at James and Lily’s, but with Harry having disappeared, it was better to be safe than sorry.

And he also liked taking a stroll through the village and showing off his muggle clothes. He smiled as he ran his hands over his tailored three-piece suit. He did cut a fine figure, even at his age. A distinguished gentleman. Although he had forgone the bowler hat - trusted sources had informed him that it was now considered old-fashioned amongst muggles.

He smiled as he walked along the main road of the village. It had changed since the time of his youth, yet had stayed the same where it counted, so to speak. Bathilda’s home still sported that overgrown patch in her garden where she once had spilt a growth potion. The grocer still had two display windows, one for the muggles and one for wizards and witches - although since they could see the muggle one as well, they effectively had two. And the Potters’ cottage still stood, barely changed since that fateful night almost fifteen years ago.

As he did so often when he visited, Albus stopped at the corner where the small road leading to the home of James and Lily branched off from the main street. Tom had walked up this road, to his death, that night. Guided by Peter, he had arrived at the same spot Albus had used a few minutes ago and had, as was his wont, headed straight for his target, arrogantly convinced nothing could threaten him and ready to murder a toddler over a frankly vague prophecy he had not even heard in full.

Albus sighed. Even after all the atrocities Tom had committed, Albus still felt regret at the sheer waste of potential. The things Tom could have accomplished, if only he had chosen a different path. If only Albus had handled his circumstances better…

He sighed once more. At the end of the day, Tom had made his choice, and Albus had made his own. And that was why a brave young wizard had risked not just his life, but also his soul, to lure Tom to his death. A braver wizard Albus had never met. Nor a more foolish one. Albus didn’t know what Peter had done to earn Tom’s trust. He had never asked, and the young wizard had never volunteered the information. Albus hoped that Peter had talked to his friends about it, but he hadn’t asked that question either.

He smiled, sighing again. Many people credited him with Tom’s death, even though the entire Order had been involved, some deceiving Tom’s followers so he thought Albus was busy in Diagon Alley, but many of them also facing Tom in that final battle. And while Albus had been the one to cast the spells that had taken down Tom’s defences - and the spells that had kept him from escaping - as well as the coup de grâce, it had been Peter, James and Lily who had made it possible. James and Lily by deciding to serve as bait for the trap, Peter by ensuring that Tom fell for it. And little Harry, by being born.

Granted, two others had also been crucial for Tom’s downfall, informing Albus of the threat to the Potters and delivering the key to defeating Tom for good, respectively, but both actions had been taken for very selfish reasons, by very selfish people. Albus rarely wasted a thought on the first, other than keeping an eye on him to confirm that the man was sticking to researching potions instead of the Dark Arts in his exile, and if not for the second man’s influence with the Wizengamot, and the fact that his son was at Hogwarts, he would bother with him even less.

Although with young Harry missing - and Miss Granger - Albus might have to revisit his stance, if only to check that Lucius Malfoy was not involved in this affair. Despite his apparent change in allegiance, the man had maintained his contacts in Knockturn Alley - and while Albus did not think he would be so foolish as to have a child kidnapped over a school rivalry, he could not entirely discount the possibility.

But first, he had to meet Harry’s parents.

Albus walked up the road, nodding at the muggle woman in her garden, to the Potters’ home. It was protected by new spells, recently cast, as a quick wave of his wand told him. Temporary defences, not proper wards, they would fade with time rather than grow in power, but for now, they made for a potent addition to the house’s defences. Even Albus would have some trouble breaking through them, though he would manage in time.

He lifted his wand, announcing his presence, and within a few seconds, Lily appeared at the door. “Albus! Please, come in!”

“Lily.” He nodded at her with a smile. She was dressed in casual muggle clothes as usual, and was smiling in a friendly manner, but he could tell she was distraught. Her hair had been hastily styled, and her eyes had a very slight red tint - she must not have slept much, if at all. Understandable, of course - who could sleep well with their child missing?

Inside the living room, he found Sirius, as expected, and Remus. And he had no doubt that Peter was on his way back to England already - the Marauders were closing ranks. “Sirius. Remus.” He nodded at them.

“Headmaster.” Remus still refused to call him Albus.

“Albus.” Sirius, of course, did. Though Albus knew the other wizard would likely do so even if he had not been invited to.

Albus looked around. “Peter has not yet arrived, then?”

Sirius snorted. “You would know better than we do where he is, wouldn’t you?”

Albus inclined his head. “I generally do not follow his steps very closely. Therefore, I am not aware of his exact circumstances when he received your message.”

Sirius chuckled. “Plausible deniability, huh?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Albus replied.

Lily snorted at his quote, though the two wizards looked a little lost. She quickly grew serious again, though. “Enough of that. Albus! As you know, Harry’s missing - taken by an unknown Portkey, together with Miss Granger. And our only lead has left the country.”

“Which makes this an international affair,” Albus replied. He suppressed a sigh. He might be the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, but the organisation’s remit was almost exclusively limited to the enforcement of the International Statute of Secrecy. Whenever an international issue arose that was not related to the Statute of Secrecy, the countries involved had to settle it themselves. Which could be - and usually was - quite tedious.

“Yes. And we don’t think that the Scandinavians will be very helpful,” Lily went on.

Albus nodded in agreement. “I concur. Especially after the latest attempt in the Wizengamot to tighten werewolf regulation.”

“The bill didn’t pass,” Sirius cut in. “Umbridge, as usual, failed to garner any support outside the bigots.”

He was correct, Albus knew. However… “Indeed. But the mere fact it was proposed and discussed rankled with the Scandinavians.”

“They do take werewolf rights very seriously,” Remus commented - showing his usual restraint when the matter was discussed in his presence.

If only Britain were more open towards those suffering from that curse, Remus would not have to hide his condition. But things were as they were. “I could put pressure on the Scandinavians,” Albus said - he was still one of the most powerful wizards in the world, after all. “However, I fear such a course of action might turn out to be counterproductive.” The Scandinavians would likely resort to malicious compliance.

“But it’s our only lead!” Lily protested.

“Indeed.” Albus smiled. “But I think another wizard is more suited to deal with the issue at hand. Of course, I will remain ready to help when needed, you can be assured of that.”

He was certain that Peter would be able to get results faster than political and diplomatic pressure would.

“Now, I have taken a look at the memories James just provided, and I think I have found the missing Portkey…”

*****​

Unknown Location, July 7th, 1996

Hermione Granger fumed as she transfigured more earth to stone in their makeshift underground shelter - they needed thick walls and an even thicker ceiling to keep the wyvern out, should it discover them.

As if Potter wouldn’t have used those Diarrhoea Drops on her! She still remembered the time she’d vomited slugs for half an hour. She shuddered, almost messing up her next spell. The sensation of slugs appearing in her mouth, slime coating her tongue, retching, only to have the next slug appear… She retched for a moment.

He didn’t have to act as if he were shocked that she’d anticipated his ploy, either - she’d been a victim of his ‘pranks’ too often to fall for one again. And, really, the worst she had done was to make him pee blue. That was a classic harmless prank!

She waved her wand, transfiguring more earth into stone. They would need wood, too, to prop up the structure. And reinforce it. Wood, transfigured into metal. Perhaps they could also create some furniture - makeshift stuff, but anything would be better than sleeping on robes stuffed with grass again.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Damn. She was planning for a longer stay. Like a wizarding Robinson Crusoe. But they wouldn’t have to stay that long. They couldn’t! Someone had to find them!

She took a deep breath and shook her head. She couldn’t panic now. Not with a man-eating monster around. Steeling herself, she continued to cast.

“Looks good.”

She gasped and whirled, her wand rising. Someone had sneaked up on her! Someone… Potter.

“Whoa!” Potter called out. “Watch it!”

“Don’t surprise me!” she snapped. She had almost cast a curse at him.

“What? Did you think I was the wyvern?” He scoffed.

“No. But you could have been a dark wizard.”

“We don’t know if this island is the lair of a dark wizard,” he said.

“Better safe than sorry,” she replied. What reason was there to hide an entire island? And not just from muggles. And the wyvern was obviously familiar with wizards. She shook her head. That was more than merely suspicious.

“Have you ever…” Potter trailed off.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Nothing? Yeah, right. “What is it?”

“I was just wondering why you think the worst of me.”

She blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

He couldn’t be serious! “Have you forgotten everything you’ve done to me?”

“Hey!” He frowned. “No, I haven’t - but you gave as good as you got. Often, you did worse! You escalated things.”

“In an attempt to discourage you from continuing this… feud.” And it hadn’t worked.

“You learned the Sandpaper Hex for that!”

“I haven’t cast it on you, have I? Really!” As if she’d cast that on someone! She wasn’t a monster! But using it on a piece of furniture to frighten Potter? That was different.

“Why would you learn a spell if you don’t plan to use it?”

“It could come in handy - as I’ve already explained.” They’d been over that not long ago.

He shook his head. “Well, I’m not going to make you shit your robes.”

“Good. And I’m not going to sandpaper you.”

“Good.” He nodded curtly.

They stared at each other for a moment. “We need wood to reinforce the shelter,” she told him. “Some struts or similar structures - earth transfigured into stone alone won’t be strong enough.”

“It looks solid to me.”

“It’s stone - it looks solid, but it probably isn’t. And we don’t want the stone ceiling to fall on us if the wyvern lands on it, do we?”

He paled a little. Hadn’t he considered the risks? “No, we really don’t,” he said. “I’ll fetch some.”

He turned and started to walk away, and she bit her lower lip. “Wait. You need me to watch your back.”

“What?”

She sighed. “I’ll stand watch and summon you back if there’s a monster coming for you.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “I thought I’d just stand in the entrance and cast a Cutting Curse at a tree.”

That would work as well - that was how they had gathered the wood for the fires, after all.

“I’ll help you, then,” she said.

They went outside, up the stairs they had created. “A few branches with foliage to hide the entrance would be good as well,” she commented.

He grunted in response. Typical.

She looked around. Was there a suitable small tree? They didn’t want to create an opening in the canopy above them.

“There,” Potter said, pointing to the side. “The small tree behind the shrub.”

She nodded. “Alright.”

*****​

A few Cutting Curses, and the small tree Harry Potter had aimed at, as well as the two smaller trees next to it, were lying on the ground. Granger had cut one of them, but he’d been quicker and got the second before she could shift her aim.

“Accio cut trees!” he called out, and the trunks flew towards them. With their branches and foliage still attached. Granger yelped and dodged behind him a moment before the trees arrived and buried the entrance to the shelter.

“That’s why I wanted to cut them down to more manageable sizes before summoning them,” she complained.

“I handled them,” he pointed out.

She sniffed. “I didn’t doubt that you could summon them wholesale - but, as should be obvious, they need to be cut down so that they’ll be able to fit through the entrance. Which we left narrow by design.”

Ah. He shrugged. “We can cut them more easily here. More precisely as well.”

She huffed but didn’t contradict him, which he took as acknowledgement that he was right.

“So, let’s cut off the branches - but keep the leaves on the smaller twigs,” he said. “We can use them for camouflage.”

“Only until they wilt,” she retorted. “Unless you know seventh-year preservation spells.”

He didn’t. “Do you?”

She grimaced. “No, I didn’t think they would be worth the effort this year.”

“Pity.” He shook his head.

Frowning, she added: “I didn’t exactly foresee that I’d end up stranded on a magically hidden island. If I’d known that would happen, I’d have learned far more spells.”

“Well, with your grades in Divination, no one expects you to foresee anything.”

“I got an E!” she snapped. “Both years!”

“Not in the practicals,” he told her with a grin. Oh, that had been fun, seeing Granger not being the best in class for once.

“I didn’t make up dreams and visions!” She glared at him.

He raised his hands. “You know what Trelawney said: Dreams can be visions, and we rarely remember dreams, so…” He grinned. “Who can say if we really didn’t have visions?”

“You need a special talent for Divination,” she told him.

He shrugged. It was an easy class.

She huffed again, then went back to cutting wood.

After a short while, they had the trees cut up and sorted the logs by length and width. “Alright,” Granger said. “Now let’s get them inside so we can set up a support structure for the ceiling.”

“And some sort of door,” he added.

“That’s a little complicated... we would need hinges. I could create some, I think, but it would take me a significant time. Although it might be worth it…” Granger frowned as she seemed to lose focus.

“I was thinking of placing a boulder there. We enlarge it to close the door and shrink it to open it,” Harry said.

“Oh. That’s… actually clever.” She pressed her lips together as if it pained her to say the words.

“Why, thank you! Sometimes, simple is better. We’re wizards, not muggles.”

“And yet, we use a lot of muggle tools and devices,” she retorted.

“Well, yeah. But we don’t have to as long as we have wands.”

“I think the proliferation of various enchanted items - many of them adaptations of muggle technology - disproves that claim,” Granger lectured him. “Too many wizards and witches can’t work enough magic to be self-sufficient.”

Mum said similar things. Harry pressed his lips together for a moment. If only she and Dad were here. And Rose - no, not Rose. This was far too dangerous for her.

“You disagree?”

Granger was glaring at him again. What for? He hadn’t said anything. “Not everyone can be good at everything,” he said. Well, Granger certainly gave it a try.

“But everyone could be proficient enough at magic to be self-sufficient,” she shot back. In a smaller voice, she added: “We would be in a much better position if we were.”

Ah. “We’ve been doing good so far,” he said. “We’re still alive.”

She snorted at that. “That’s a low bar. We’ve been here for barely a day.”

“Well, when you take the wyvern into account...” He grinned. “But we’ve got food, water and shelter. We’re doing well.”

“Our long-term prospects are still not very good,” she said. “We need a more diverse diet, or we’ll suffer malnutrition.”

“We can eat the wyvern once we kill it,” he told her.

Granger laughed at that. Not some weak chuckle, either - she threw her head back and laughed out loud. Which, Harry couldn’t help noticing, pushed her chest out. And emphasised how short her top was.

Gah. This was Granger. He really ended to get off this island.

*****​

Hermione Granger took a deep breath. She’d needed that laugh. Humour helped them deal with this sort of situation - all the books she’d read about such events agreed on that. Sometimes, Potter could actually be funny instead of an arse. “That was a good one,” she said, but her smile died when she noticed his frown. Was he offended that she laughed at his… oh. He had been serious? “You don’t really want to eat wyvern meat, do you? We don’t know if it’s toxic to humans. It could have parasites as well.” She didn’t remember reading anything about wyvern meat’s edibility or lack thereof.

“Don’t you have spells to check for that?”

Dear Lord, he was serious. “None I would trust for this. The spells I know detect poison, not parasites or inedible substances.” Which was a major weakness, but she trusted Madam Pomfrey to handle such things. Or St Mungo’s. Now, though, stranded on an island…

“That’ll make testing berries or fruits a pain,” he said.

He was right. “Yes. I’ve got a bezoar on me, but…”

“You’ve got a bezoar?” He stared at her.

“Of course I do!” she replied. Why did he have to interrupt her? “It’s cheap and can save lives. Especially if Neville botches his potions again but doesn’t notice before testing.”

“Slughorn would step in,” Potter told her.

“Slughorn isn’t around when Neville’s brewing in Gryffindor Tower,” she pointed out. “And we’re a fair way from the hospital wing.”

“Right. That’s why we’re not supposed to brew in the dorms.”

She scoffed. “I’ve told people that many times, but I don’t remember you supporting my attempt to enforce the rules.”

“You’re not a prefect,” he shot back.

“Our prefects are useless!” They hadn’t managed to stop Potter even once. Nor had they stopped her.

“Hey! Ron’s a good prefect!” Now he was glaring at her.

She cocked her head and stared at him. “He lets you do pranks. As a prefect.”

“So does Dunbar!”

“Firstly, I retaliate; I don’t ‘prank’. Secondly, Fay doesn’t ‘let’ me do anything - she just can’t stop me.” She huffed.

“Well, Ron doesn’t let me do anything either!”

“But he doesn’t really work too hard at trying to stop you, does he?” She raised her eyebrows.

“And Dunbar does?”

Not any more; the other witch had stopped trying to stop her. Hermione shrugged. “She tried.”

Potter snorted. “In any case, a bezoar won’t help us find food that’s safe to eat.”

“No, it won’t. But that’s not why I have one,” Hermione told him. “But we can ingest small quantities of fruits or berries and see if we get sick.” That would reduce the danger significantly.

“And if we get sick? Seriously sick?”

“The odds for that aren’t very high,” she said.

“That’s not exactly comforting - and I’m the one who plays Seeker in Quidditch,” he said with a toothy grin.

She pursed her lips. “Well, we don’t have to do it right now; we’ll be fine for some time.” She turned to look at the wood on the floor. “Now help me put up a supporting structure for our shelter!”

She didn’t wait for him to agree and started enlarging and cutting the wood into suitable shapes.

After a moment, he joined her. “What do you need?”

“We’ll need struts and beams.” She showed him the size. “It’s longer than neccessary, but we can cut off the excess length when we put them up.”

“How many do we need?”

She looked around, squinting as she calculated. “I’m no architect, nor do I have access to a CAD program or a static calculator program, but I think every two yards is the minimum.”

“Well, good thing the shelter isn’t that large,” he commented. “Or we’d be here for a long time.”

Really? She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he joking about their situation?

He blinked. “Oh. I didn’t mean it like that.”

She nodded, albeit curtly. Good. That really wouldn’t have been funny. She cast a Cutting Curse and then looked at the beam she had created. A Levitation Charm made it float and turn. Still a little too long. A second spell made it fit. “We can use this as a template for the beams,” she told Potter. “And this as a template for the struts.” She pointed at her other result.

“I’ll do the beams,” Potter said.

“Alright. You can switch to struts once you’re done with the beams. But let’s test these, first.” She levitated the second strut she’d finished.

Together, they managed to put up the struts, using Sticking Charms to anchor them to the walls - which took some time without a spirit level. And because Hermione hadn’t exactly done much Do-It-Yourself at home - and her parents weren’t the best at that, either. Floating the beam up and into place was comparatively easy.

And it looked solid. Hermione nodded. “Good. That should do - once I transfigure it into iron.”

“I’ll lock the door, then,” Potter said. “We’ll be here for a while.”

*****​

Harry Potter watched as Granger transfigured the last beam into iron.

“And done. We should be safe now. Relatively,” she said. “Depending on how durable its claws are, the wyvern could still pose a threat by digging us out, but we should have enough time to react.”

“Like digging an escape tunnel by vanishing the earth,” Harry agreed with a nod.

“After untransfiguring the rock.”

“Of course.” That was obvious. “Furniture now?”

She looked at him for a moment before nodding. “I guess so. This would be easier if we knew more Conjuration or Transfiguration spells.”

“We’ll make do.” He grabbed one of the enlarged coconuts and took a sip from the milk, then shrunk the rock blocking the door - the exit. Whatever.

“It seems we’ll have to.”

He turned. Granger hadn’t moved yet. And she sounded significantly less bossy than she had before. “What’s wrong?”

He could see her set her jaw. “Nothing. Let’s go get wood for a decent set of beds, two benches and a table.”

He was tempted to ask again, but she glared at him as she swept past him. Not a good moment to pry.

Another small tree was cut down, levitated towards them, then cut up. Harry put the foliage - enlarged - over their shelter. It still wasn’t perfectly camouflaged, but it was better than before. And hadn’t Sirius told him that he should never aim for perfection when trying to hide something since perfection stood out? Although that had been about cover stories and excuses…

He shrugged, checked the sky again - still nothing - and entered the shelter.

Granger had been busy - she had two planks the size of beds on the ground already and was now using Sticking Charms to form a frame around them. “We can use grass to fill it, then put our robes over it, sticking them to the frame, and we’ll have an adequate mattress. Or so I hope,” she told him.

He nodded. If it wasn’t adequate they’d find out, but the theory seemed to be sound.

Constructing benches was easy - just a plank and two smaller, thicker planks. But they were rough and full of splinters. “These need to be sandpapered,” he told Granger.

“As soon as I’m done here,” she replied, not looking up.

He started on the table, which was merely a bigger bench, and was almost done when Granger finished the beds and levitated them to different corners of the shelter. “We might want a partition,” he said. “For privacy.”

“Right.” She nodded emphatically. “We have enough wood left.”

“Not a stone wall?” he asked.

She shook her head. “We’d have to mould it from earth and then transfigure it… that’s a bit much for a mere partition.”

“Well, it would cut down on the snoring, a little,” he joked.

“I don’t snore.”

“You do. A little.”

She shook her head. “I checked in first year, when Parvati complained.”

He blinked. “Couldn’t you just cast a charm on her?”

“In first year?” She scoffed. “Besides, she didn’t trust us to wake her up in time - she suspected that we’d wake her last so we could use the bathroom first.”

“Ah.” Girl problems. “So… who did snore?”

“Lily Moon’s cat.”

He laughed at that, and she joined in. Briefly.

“I’ll get the grass,” he said once she cast the first Sandpaper Hex. The sound of wood getting sanded sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Outside, it was still sunny - well, not that he could see the sky through the trees’ canopy, but it wasn’t dim. And it would stay that way for a while.

He still kept looking up as he summoned grass. The wyvern was still out there. Wounded and looking for them.

The grass landed near his feet, splattering him with clumps of dirt and earth - apparently, he had summoned this batch with its roots. Oh. Smiling, he kept summoning more grass, then started covering the shelter’s roof with it. That would make for much better camouflage than drying foliage.

He was in the middle of covering the roof when Granger appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing? I’ve finished the furniture. Oh.” After a moment, she added: “Good idea. But you should’ve said something.”

“What, worried about me?” He grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes at him. “In light of your tendency to recklessly endanger yourself for fun, I think I’m justified in expecting the worst.”

“But that doesn’t tell me whether or not you were worried about me.”

“You’re obviously fine,” she said, flashing her teeth at him before turning away to gather the excess grass.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he told her.

“Of course you would,” she retorted.

“That’s not a denial.” He grinned.

“You’re in denial.” She entered the shelter again, a big bunch of grass floating behind her.

He counted that as a win.

*****​

Hermione Granger sighed. Potter just couldn’t be serious to save his life. Well, not quite - but it seemed it took an urgent threat for him to stop making stupid jokes and doing reckless things. Although his ‘last stand’ facing the wyvern at the pond had been extremely reckless. It was probably the fault of playing too much Quidditch.

She divided the grass into two equal piles, enlarged it and stuffed it into the bed frames. It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it would do. Enlarging her robes and mounting them on the frame - with one half loose to serve as a blanket - proved that. Tolerable, at least. And better than the sleeping bag she had created in the cave.

She looked round. Beds. Partition. Table. Benches. Enlarged coconut. She’d camped less comfortably. Almost like a vacation home. A cottage in the Alps, perhaps - one of the rustic ones for mountain climbers. All it lacked was some way to cook food, and if they needed that, they could probably mould a stove from earth, transfigure it to stone, and use coconut shells transfigured into metal as pots and dishes. With a bit of effort, they could stay here almost indefinitely. Like Robinson Crusoe.

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Staying here with Potter? Ugh. And there was the wyvern to deal with, still. Robinson Crusoe hadn’t had to hide from a man-eating flying monster, after all, and…

Potter entered, and she lost her train of thought. He was topless. Shirtless. And wet - water was running down his skin.

She stared, then blinked. “What did you do?” she blurted out, focusing on his face. Not on his chest or abs.

“What? I got sweaty camouflaging our shelter,” he told her with a frown. “So I decided to cool off with a Water-Making Spell.”

And he just had to strip down for it, didn’t he? She pressed her lips together. Focus! On anything! “How did you get sweaty? Didn’t you use a Levitation Charm?”

“That’s not exactly good for planting stuff,” he retorted. “And manoeuvring small pieces of sod is too much of a bother with a spell. We don’t do that in Herbology, either, do we?”

He was correct, but… “We won’t be graded on how precisely you covered the roof in grass. And it’s not a species of magical grass that needs special care.”

“Well, we might not get graded, but if the wyvern spots us, that’d be worse than failing a test, wouldn’t it?”

He still hadn’t covered up again. She snorted. “As smart as the creature has proved to be, I don’t know if the camouflage will fool it should it see through the canopy.”

“It certainly won’t hurt,” he replied. “And isn’t anything worth doing worth doing well?”

“Sometimes, perfect is the enemy of good,” she shot back.

“Well, it wasn’t as if I had anything else to do.” He shrugged, and she didn’t stare.

“Whatever. Let’s eat,” she said.

“Coconut, raw, right?” He grinned.

“Unless you want to risk your life going fishing?”

“I’ve already fulfilled my quota for today,” he said.

She snorted at his joke. At least he was self-aware. Sometimes. “However, we would do well to find some way to diversify our food. Fish would be good.”

“I don’t know if there’s a stream or pond nearby,” he said, finally putting his shirt back on. “We’ll have to explore the area. Tomorrow.”

“Carefully,” she told him as she enlarged the coconut and cut off portions for the both of them. “Wait,” she added as she put the shells down on their table.

“What?”

“I’m making us cutlery.” She took some spare wood, cut it to the right size and shape, then transfigured it into two sets of a knife, spoon and fork. All rather crude, unfortunately. “The knife probably needs sharpening,” she said as she handed Potter his set.

“It’ll do for a coconut. And probably for fish as well.”

She pressed her lips together. She was well aware that knives meant for fish weren’t at all sharp.

*****​

Harry Potter suppressed a sigh. Granger looked angry again, even though he had just complimented her. The cutlery wouldn’t win any design awards, but they worked well enough, though that probably wasn’t enough for Miss Perfect. Who had just argued that good enough would be good enough. Well, she should listen to herself.

He snorted at the thought.

“What’s so funny?” Granger asked at once.

“I just remembered a joke Uncle Sirius once told me,” he lied.

“Ah.” She nodded.

He stabbed the next bit of coconut meat. Still good. But a bit of actual meat, or some fish, wouldn’t go amiss.

“What was the joke?” Granger suddenly asked.

“Um...” He blinked. Think, quick. What joke could he tell her? Ah! “Do you know why Slytherin Aurors are so useful to the DMLE?”

“No?”

“Because you can arrest them without leaving the office!” He chuckled.

“Very funny,” she commented in a tone that made it clear she didn’t think it was.

“Hey! It’s black humour,” he defended himself - and Sirius. “Back in the war, most of the Death Eaters were Slytherins. And the rest supported them.”

“I sincerely doubt that an entire house supported Voldemort,” she retorted.

He shrugged. He had heard that argument before. “Enough did. And you know how the Slytherins treat muggleborns.”

She pursed her lips. Didn’t have an answer to that, did she? “Not every Slytherin is as disagreeable as Malfoy,” she said.

He chuckled. “They still laugh at his comments and cheer him on when he cheats at Quidditch.”

“Every house cheers their Quidditch team on,” she said. “Even McLaggen gets cheered on when he replaces a regular team member.”

Well, that was only natural, wasn’t it? It was Quidditch, after all. “McLaggen doesn’t cheat,” he pointed out.

“He’s too stupid to cheat,” she replied.

He laughed at that. “That he is. And he thinks he’s the best Quidditch player in the history of Hogwarts.”

“Why do you keep him on the team, anyway?”

“Because he’s a decent player who can substitute for any other player on the team well enough.” Otherwise, they’d have kicked the git off the team long ago. But Oliver had taught them that what mattered was winning the match.

She shook her head. “You’re crazy.”

He snorted in return. “Only for Quidditch.”

“That’s crazy enough.”

They finished their meal, and Granger stood and stretched. Harry didn’t stare. But he didn’t not see her either. “I think the sun’s setting,” she said, looking out of the door - the rock Harry had placed there only blocked three-quarters of it. “I’m taking first watch.”

“Let me do it,” he told her. She looked pretty exhausted.

“No. You did it last night.”

“So I’m used to it,” he replied, smiling at her.

She snorted. “Nice try. Both of us need to be well-rested tomorrow. We were very lucky today.”

He saw her shudder and resisted the sudden urge to go and hug her. She wouldn’t want that. “We’ll have to get rid of it, you know,” he said instead.

“The wyvern?”

“Yes. It hates us. I doubt that it’ll stop coming after us until it’s dead.” Or until it caught them.

She sighed. “I’m forced to agree with your assessment. It doesn’t act like a normal predator, which would be seeking easier prey by now.”

“Yes.”

“But how will we kill it?” she asked. “It won’t fall for the same trap again.”

“Then we’ll make a new trap!” Harry told her. “I’ve got an idea or two.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I hope none of them requires either of us to play bait.”

“Well, both of us would be safe…”

“Safe?” she interrupted him.

“As safe as possible. But if we want to lure it into a trap, we need the one bait we know it’ll come after.” He smiled, if a little weakly, at her.

She scoffed. “Good night.”

Well, she hadn’t contradicted him, at least.

*****​

 

Chapter 10: The Second Trap Part 1

Godric’s Hollow, Devon, Britain, July 7th, 1996

“Hello. I’m Pettigrew. Peter Pettigrew.” Peter Pettigrew smiled at the muggles.

That Mr and Mrs Granger didn’t laugh was understandable. But Lily didn’t chuckle, either. And she had always chuckled when he introduced himself like that. That, more than anything else, told him how desperate she was.

“You’re the specialist the Headmaster mentioned?” Mr Granger asked.

He nodded. “I’ve got some experience with handling such matters,” Peter replied.

“He’s Britain’s best spy,” Sirius cut in. His old friend wasn’t making a stupid joke either.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Peter protested. “The best spies are those no one knows are spies.” He forced himself to keep smiling.

“Bah!” Sirius scoffed. “Being known as the spy who brought down the Dark Lord hasn’t slowed you down any!”

Peter didn’t want to talk about that. Not at all. He shook his head, still smiling. “Let’s not talk about the past! We’ve got two children to save, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” Lily agreed. “Did you watch the memories in Albus’s Pensieve?”

“I did,” Peter told her. “It was a piece of rope.”

The Grangers looked dismayed. “A piece of rope? That doesn’t sound as if it’ll be easy to find,” Mr Granger said.

“Most Portkeys are ordinary items,” Lily informed them.

“Yes. What’s important is whether or not Cobblespun knew about the Portkey,” Peter said. “Or, at least, where he got it from before he sold it to Weatherby. And I bet he remembers that.” Or would, once they took his memories.

That set the two muggles at ease. Somewhat. Their smiles still looked desperate, but they had some hope. Peter could only hope that he wouldn’t disappoint them. As much as he projected a confident facade, he didn’t know if he could do anything. Cobblespun had left Britain over a day ago. He would’ve left Iceland a day ago. Not necessarily a cold trail, but… He cleared his throat. “So, I mainly came to check on you. I better leave - the sooner I’m in Iceland, the sooner I’ll get what we need.”

Both muggles nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

He forced himself to smile back. “It’s what I do.”

Lily escorted him to the door - she knew he only used the Floo Network while he was working when there was no other way. “Thank you, Peter,” she said in a low voice as she opened the door. “You’ve done so much for us, and now we’re asking for help again...”

He felt the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach. “Please, Lily - you know I would do anything for Harry. Or for you.”

“I know.” She sniffled once.

“Send James my regards - I’ll return as soon as I have Cobblespun.” He nodded before she could thank him again, and turned to walk outside the wards so he could apparate.

He reappeared near his home. His real home, not the decoy registered with the Ministry - under a fake name - to lure out any remaining Death Eaters who might want to avenge the Dark Lord. None had surfaced so far, but that didn’t mean anything - Peter knew better than most how extensive the Dark Lord’s network had been.

Merlin’s beard, he was thinking about it again. ‘The spy who brought down the Dark Lord’, indeed. He closed his eyes and sighed. If anyone knew the truth… He shook his head. He couldn’t dwell on his failures. He had a mission to carry out. Two children to save.

He checked if his protections had been disturbed, but could find no traces of any such attempts. He still went in and through his home with his wand drawn and a shield up. No protection was perfect; there was always someone who could find the weakness and exploit it. Something else he knew better than most.

But his home was clear. He sighed, reholstered his wand and started to prepare for his mission. He had a pilot to hire and also had to read up on Iceland.

*****​

Þingvellir, Magical Iceland, July 8th, 1996

Disillusioned and riding a broom painted black to blend into the night sky, Peter approached the capital of Magical Iceland - well, the regional capital; the island belonged to Magical Scandinavia. Technically. The Althing pretty much did what they wanted, but neither Scandinavia nor Iceland had pushed the issue so far.

Peter didn’t mind - it meant he wouldn’t have to deal with werewolves. The full moon had been a week ago, but even when they weren’t transformed, werewolves tended to have better noses and other senses than most wizards. Peter knew how to get around them from his long association with Remus, but it was still a complication he could do without.

He set down well away from the boundaries of the wizarding enclave, at the edge of the muggle national park, and pulled out his special Omnioculars. A quick twist of the dials, and he could clearly see the hidden building that housed the Althing. According to what he had read, it was built like a Viking longhouse, after the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect, to claim historical legitimacy. Peter didn’t really care. All he cared about was how to break into it. And he could see a number of weaknesses a wizard with his talents could use to get inside.

He lowered the Omnioculars and started to walk towards the building. The area was pretty open, and he had cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell, so he’d know if someone saw him. And despite his Owl-Repelling Charm - no spy wanted to be found by a Post Owl in the middle of a mission, especially not with a letter or package bearing their real name - he preferred not to travel in his rat form in owl country. The mere thought of an owl gliding silently towards him, claws extended, sent a cold shiver down his spine.

To be afraid of owls as a wizard… Peter shook his head. He couldn’t help it. He was a coward at heart. If his friends knew why he had been able to fool the Dark Lord when he had taken the Dark Mark, they would curse him. Literally. Although Dumbledore knew. The old wizard had never said anything, had never even hinted at it, had never treated Peter with anything other than the utmost courtesy and respect, but he had to know. He was Dumbledore. He had to know that at the moment Peter had taken the Dark Mark, he had been too afraid to even think of betraying the Dark Lord. That had come later. Much later.

He pushed the thought away and focused on the area ahead of him. It was shortly after midnight, so the guards wouldn’t be very attentive. And they would be watching the path leading to the building - if they were watching the outside at all; most wizards would enter and leave using the Floo Network, anyway, so most night guards just kept an eye on the fireplaces.

At least in his experience. Which was quite extensive. He might be a coward and a liar, but he was an experienced spy. As soon as he approached the wardline, he transformed and then carefully moved closer and closer. Even the nastiest wards usually didn’t have lethal defences against vermin - most people didn’t like dead rats, mice and other animals cluttering up their yard. The Althing building wasn’t an exception, as his spells had shown. They didn’t even have anti-vermin wards up. At least not ones that worked against an animagus.

After a few minutes of racing through grass which was suddenly too high, he was at the building proper. And no audible alert had sounded. No curse had blasted him across the field. Sloppy. Not that he was complaining. If this were a private residence, he would be worrying about silent alarms and traps, but this was the Althing, not a dark wizard’s home.

He scurried along the side wall, until he found the small nook from which heat had been leaking, as he had seen through his Omnioculars. As he’d thought, the rather shabby insulation, which consisted of dried moss and lichen, had been torn by an animal - a rat or mouse by the tooth marks. Perfect.

It was a little tight - he was a large rat - but Peter fit into the hole and was soon travelling through the walls of the building. According to the travel diary of a rather daft witch with an eye for unrelated and usually unimportant details, the records office was in the basement. And for a rat, it was easy to travel to the basement by burrowing a path through the moss serving as insulation.

It didn’t take him long to reach the basement. Finding the right office took longer, even with his knowledge of Elder Futhark.

But what took longest was actually finding the records he wanted. Whoever ran this office or archive had never even heard of a decent filing system. It seemed the Althing wasn’t necessarily being obstructive when they took weeks to answer information requests - they might be genuinely unable to find the requested information any sooner…

Well, Peter wasn’t inept. Ferreting out information was half of what he did for a living, after all. He might have had to look for an hour through misfiled sheets of parchment, always afraid that a guard would appear and he’d have to hide, but he finally found the information he wanted: Cobblespun had taken a Portkey back to France.

Peter grinned. Someone had tried to be a little too clever. Too bad for Cobblespun that Peter knew France very well - quite a number of wizards with questionable ties to Death Eaters had sought refuge there. And it was also too bad for him that the other half of Peter’s work consisted of tracking down fugitives.

*****​

Unknown Location, July 8th, 1996

Hermione Granger woke up to curses. Swearing, not dark spells. Who would be so…? She scoffed at herself. She was stranded on a deserted island, and there was only one other person with her.

And Potter had a mouth.

She rolled over, grabbed her wand and kicked her improvised blanket away. “What’s with all the noise?” If they were in danger, he would’ve already woken her, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t try to face an actual threat without her. At least, he’d better not have.

“I’ve caught breakfast. Or lunch. It was a slippery bugger, but I got it,” Potter replied. He sounded as if he were outside their shelter.

“Breakfast?” She used a spell to quickly put on her shoes. There wasn’t any urgency in Potter’s voice, but why would he have cursed so much earlier?

“Yes. A snake.”

A snake? Potter was standing in the entrance of their shelter, wand raised, and about a yard away from him, a small snake floated in the air, writhing and hissing.

“Do you know anything about butchering animals?” he asked. “I didn’t want to waste the blood, or I would’ve killed it already.”

Killing a snake? “No!” she yelled. “You can’t kill it!”

“What?” He stared at her.

“Snakes might be sapient. Intelligent,” she added when he continued to stare at her.

“It’s an animal. A rather dumb one.” He scoffed.

“It’s not just an animal,” she retorted. “Parselmouths can talk to snakes. And understand them.”

“So?”

Wasn’t it obvious? “They can talk to snakes as if they had human intelligence.” Well, not the smartest human, but probably as smart as Crabbe or Goyle, based upon what she had read.

“‘As if’, Granger,” he told her. “It’s just the effect of the magic. They are as smart as conjured animals are alive.”

She pressed her lips together. “That’s not the same. This is more like… a werewolf!” she blurted out.

“What?” He stared at her, then at the snake, which was still futilely trying to escape the grip of Potter’s Levitation Charm. “You think that’s an animagus?”

What? “No,” she told him. “But a werewolf is a beast for a few days per lunar cycle. You wouldn’t claim that they aren’t intelligent because of that, would you?”

“That’s different. Werewolves lose their intelligence temporarily due to their curse. Snakes aren’t intelligent and only gain an illusion of it due to magic. Questionable magic.”

“‘Questionable magic’? Really?” She scoffed. “I’ve researched Parseltongue. It’s not questionable. That’s just British prejudice.”

“It goes back to Slytherin, who was a bigot and a dark wizard,” Potter retorted.

“That doesn’t mean everyone who can talk to snakes is a dark wizard. Your ancestry doesn’t define you. Or I would be a dentist, not a witch!” She shook her head. Really!

“That’s not the same!”

“Even if we were to assume for the purposes of this discussion that Parselmouths were dark wizards, that wouldn’t change the fact that snakes are, depending on magic, sometimes sapient and sometimes not. Just like werewolves!”

“That’s…” He shook his head. “They aren’t the same. You might as well assume that conjured animals are sometimes alive and sometimes not.”

“Conjured animals vanish when the spell ends,” she pointed out.

“Transfiguration, then. Rocks transfigured into animals are still rocks and not really alive.”

“Actually, they are alive for as long as the spell lasts,” she objected. “They react and behave like normal animals most of the time.”

“The spellcaster can control them. That’s a significant difference.”

“They’re still alive, though,” she insisted.

“Temporarily.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

“All life is temporary,” she retorted. “In any case, we can’t kill the snake. Not when it could develop sapience at any moment, should a Parselmouth address it.”

“You’re serious.”

“Of course I am!” She scoffed once more. Did he think she would argue with him over the fate of a snake if she weren’t serious? While they were on a deserted island and would soon need every bit of food they could find?

He scowled and turned to glare at the hissing snake. “I bet it’s insulting me,” he muttered.

“Of course it is - you were trying to eat it!” she pointed out.

“So… like the wyvern tried to eat us?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yes.”

He shook his head, then flicked his wand, and the snake flew through the open door.

Hermione restrained herself from telling him to ensure that the snake was put down safely on the ground outside. It wasn’t flying very high.

Potter sighed. “All that effort for nought.”

Just how long had he hunted a mere snake? “If the snake managed to evade you for so long, that’s another argument for snakes being partially sapient. Unless you want to admit that a dumb animal stymied you,” she joked.

He snorted, but Hermione didn’t get the impression that he found it funny. “Are there any other animals we can’t eat without committing temporary cannibalism?”

Well, if it was another species, it wasn’t cannibalism. Technically. But if she told him that, he might then want to eat snakes again. “I wouldn’t eat a post owl,” she told him.

“Of course not!” he gasped. “Who would eat an owl? That would be…” he trailed off, glaring at her.

What was his problem now?

*****​

Harry Potter frowned. Was she trying to use Hedwig against him so he wouldn’t kill snakes? “You don’t have a post owl,” he said. “No one who had one would think of eating an owl. They’re part of the family.” And every family had a Post Owl. How would you keep in touch with your friends without one?

“Of course I don’t have a post owl,” she told him. “My parents are muggles, remember?”

As if she’d ever let him forget that. “So?”

She rolled her eyes. “Why would they get a post owl when I can use the owls at school to contact them? They don’t know any wizards.”

“You could use it to write to Lavender,” he told her.

“Her family has a post owl. And if I need to contact her urgently, I can travel to Diagon Alley and use the Floo Network. And soon I’ll be able to Apparate.” Granger scoffed. “We don’t need a post owl.”

“You might change your opinion once you’re no longer at Hogwarts.”

“Of course I will get a post owl then.” She grimaced as if he’d said something stupid. “But until then, I’m fine. I wouldn’t burden my parents with an owl, either.”

“They’re not burdens! You have a cat, don’t you?” The ugliest cat in the world.

“Crookshanks is a half-Kneazle!” Granger glared at him. “And he’s smarter than most wizards!”

Harry knew who she meant with that comment. “Really? All I see him doing is sleeping, eating and begging for treats.”

“See?” She bared her teeth at him. “He’s smarter than most wizards.”

“Ha ha ha.” He scoffed. “Very funny.”

“Why, thank you!”

Harry shook his head. “Anyway, with snake off the menu, it’s coconut for breakfast again.”

“Obviously.” After a moment, she added: “We could make a fire and heat up the milk.”

“Unless you have some powdered chocolate in your pocket, I’d rather not heat the milk,” he told her.

She frowned at him in response. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Have you?” he shot back.

“No. But I know you can drink it warm.”

“It’s already pretty warm out here.” And it would be hot soon.

“Well, we’re in the tropics.”

“Or in a magical enclave that magically feels like the tropics.” He smiled at her.

“Or that. We still need to determine the nature of this island.”

“We need to get rid of the wyvern first,” he told her.

“You’ve said that before. Have you come up with a decent plan yet?”

He nodded. “I have.” He grinned. “But it’ll require one of us to be bait.”

She pressed her lips together.

“I’ll tell you after breakfast.” Harry wondered how long Granger would hold out before she started badgering him with questions.

“We can discuss it over breakfast.” She huffed and put her hands on her hips.

“I’d rather not ruin your appetite,” he retorted.

“I doubt you’ll manage that.” She sneered. “Or are you making this plan of yours up as we’re speaking?”

“I’ve spent most of my watch planning,” he told her through clenched teeth.

“Well, tell me about your plan then!” She sniffed. “Enlighten me!”

“Have you seen Predator? The movie?” he asked.

Now she was frowning. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, it’s an action movie about a group of soldiers who get hunted by an alien monster in the jungle. It kills them off one by one, until the last soldier lures it into a trap.”

“An action movie.” She looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

He met her eyes. “With magic, we can make it work. Well, similar traps. We create a kill zone for the wyvern. Once it enters, we spring the traps and kill it. Or cripple it.”

“We already tried to trap it. I doubt that it’ll fall for that plan again,” Granger told him. “It’s not stupid.”

“It’s not - but it did chase us when we broke out of the cave,” he pointed out.

“And it barrelled into a dense tree formation,” she said. “That should make it more cautious.”

“Not if it wasn’t hurt by the impact. And we won’t use the same traps, of course.” That would be stupid.

“You aren’t suggesting that we try to have sharpened logs swing at it?” Granger all but sneered at the idea.

“I thought you hadn’t seen Predator.”

“I’ve seen Return of the Jedi,” she told him.

Ah. So the girl had seen a decent movie and not just BBC documentaries. “No, not quite that. We don’t need to, not with magic.” He grinned. “We’ll need Shrinking Charms and some twine.”

She blinked. Then her eyes widened. “That might work. If you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking.”

*****​

“Well, what are you thinking?”

Hermione Granger pursed her lips as Potter smirked at her. This could be a ploy to make her tell her idea first, then claim he had the same plan. On the other hand, Potter would’ve probably gone for something a little less obvious than ‘Shrinking Charms and twine’ if he had expected her to blurt out her own idea in the first place. And for all his faults - and he had a lot of them - he was clever when he wasn’t being an idiot. “Shrink a palm tree trunk. Bend it. Secure it with string. Plant it in a way so when it unshrinks, it’ll snap forward violently, smashing whatever is nearby.”

He blinked, then grinned. “Yes, only I don’t think we need to plant it - we can shrink a standing palm tree!”

“That’d be difficult. Both shrinking the entire tree and keeping it firmly planted with all its roots shrunk,” she pointed out. “It’s easier to cut up trees to get the trunks for shrinking.”

“You need to anchor them to the ground, then,” he retorted. “That’s difficult.”

“Have you tried it?” She looked at him and frowned.

“Not for a trap!” he quickly replied.

“For a ‘prank’ then.” She shook her head.

“Not a prank!” he protested.

“Really.”

He scowled. “I don’t spend all my time on pranks.”

“No, that would cut into your Quidditch time,” she retorted.

To her surprise, he laughed at that. “No, I just wanted to get in… over a wall, and there was a tree, so…”

“Instead of climbing it, you shrank it, then stood on top of it and dispelled the charm?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. He couldn’t have been so stupid!

“I’ve fallen from greater heights during Quidditch practice,” he said.

“The ground of the Quidditch pitch is covered with Cushion Charms.,” she pointed out.

“We don’t stick to the pitch during training,” he told her. “When the Slytherins booked the pitch one week straight before McGonagall sorted things out, we trained everywhere - over the lake, in the forest…”

Hermione shook her head. She had known that Oliver Wood was obsessed, but she hadn’t realised just how obsessed the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain had been. Or still was - he was playing Quidditch professionally, last she had heard. Overheard.

“It was hilarious. We barely got hurt,” he defended himself.

“‘We’?” Just who had been stupid enough to join Potter for such a venture? Weasley maybe, but he had shown better judgement lately. Certainly, no witch Hermione knew would have done that. Potter didn’t have a girlfriend, anyway.

“Me and my cousin.”

“Your muggle cousin.”

“Yes.”

“Who isn’t used to falling from great heights.”

“Everyone has to start someday.”

“That’s not how that works,” she told him, baring her teeth.

He laughed. “Dudley didn’t get hurt. Just a few scrapes from the wall - he was too heavy to get launched too high up. I landed on the roof, though.”

“Because you’re a lightweight?”

“Yes.” He blinked, then frowned. “Ha ha ha.”

She giggled. “You said it.”

“Bah.”

She shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t think it’s a good idea to shrink whole standing palm trees. We’d be less flexible with the location we choose - and the wyvern may notice missing trees.”

“That’s a good point,” he acknowledged. “So, we should make some strips of wood with the shrunken trees stuck to it, then anchor the sticks.”

“That might be harder to transport,” she told him.

He made a dismissive gesture. “We can always float it.”

“Let’s test it, first,” she said. “After breakfast.”

“After yet another coconut meal.” He shook his head.

Hermione bit her lower lip. Was Potter already sick of coconut meat? She had expected that he’d hold out a little longer. “It’ll keep us alive,” she said.

“Once the wyvern is dead, we’ll go fishing. In the sea.”

She didn’t call him an optimist, even though she doubted that their plan might kill the wyvern. It was very tough. Perhaps too tough even for tree traps with spikes. And it wasn’t as if they had anything better to do. “Yes,” she said. “But for now, it’s coconut meat and milk for breakfast.”

The face he made, coupled with a disgusted groan, made her giggle again. He reminded her of a grown-up Calvin.

She blinked. That would make herself - smart, proper and far more mature - Suzie.

She didn’t like what that implied. Not at all.

“Let’s eat,” she muttered, heading to their ‘pantry’.

*****​

Harry Potter eyed the piece of rope - the Portkey - that had brought them to the island with narrowed eyes.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Granger asked.

He glanced at her. She had her wand out and pointed at the rope. “Aren’t you an expert on Portkeys?”

“No, I’m not,” she spat, glaring at him. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Do I look like an expert?” He scoffed.

“I guess not. You didn’t even recognise the Portkey,” she told him.

“Neither did you.” He bared his teeth at her.

“I didn’t claim to be an expert.” That was a deep scowl, he noticed.

“Neither did I!” he retorted.

She sighed. “We’re going in circles. Neither of us has ever heard anything about a Portkey being dangerous after it was used.”

“But we don’t know whether or not it’s still an active Portkey,” he pointed out.

“We both touched it,” she said. “At the same time. I even wrapped one end around my arm, like in the shop. And tried it with both ends.”

“We did, yes.” They hadn’t wrestled beforehand, but if Harry had suggested that… His eyes wandered down, over her thin top and short shorts, before he could help himself. No, suggesting that they should recreate their scuffle from the shop wouldn’t be a good idea. Not at all.

“So, it should be safe.”

“Yes.”

Neither of them made a move towards the rope, though.

“It’s the best source of string we have,” she said. “Unless you’d like to use plant fibres and twist them into string.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he replied, focusing on her face.

“I’m just making sure that we both agree on this course of action,” she claimed. “No blaming anyone if it turns out to have been a mistake.”

“If something goes wrong, odds are we won’t be able to blame anyone at all,” he said.

“That’s very morbid,” she replied with a frown.

“But realistic. Portkey accidents are nasty.” He shuddered.

“I’ve never heard about Portkey accidents,” she said.

“Dad told me about one he had to investigate. It wasn’t like Splinching - people were mashed together.”

“Like a transporter accident in Star Trek?” She looked a little green. “That’s an American TV show.”

“I know,” he told her. “I’ve watched it.” Not too many episodes - Dudley wasn’t much of a fan.

“Ah.”

“I’m not an ignorant pureblood like Malfoy.” He scowled at her. Why did she keep treating him like one?

She pressed her lips together. “Sorry.”

She had actually apologised? He tried not to show his surprise. “Anyway, let’s cut it up.”

“Let’s cut off a small part at the end,” she corrected him. “About a foot should be enough.”

“I wasn’t thinking of cutting a foot off in the middle!”

“No need to get snippy,” she told him with a frown. “I’m just trying to help:”

“Yeah.” That was her problem. Part of her problem. He pointed the wand at the rope and cast a Cutting Charm. About a foot long piece of the rope was cut. “There.”

She glanced at him, then summoned the piece to her. “It’s going to take a while to unravel this.”

He bit down on a comment about expecting her to know an unravel charm. Or telling her about the Unravel Hex Sirius had mentioned.

Unlike Granger, who didn’t seem to mind wearing very little clothing, Harry wasn’t keen on having his robes fall off with all the seams gone and revealing his underwear. He watched her sit down cross-legged and start tugging at the strands of fibre making up the rope. Really, she must be doing this deliberately to unnerve him!

He blinked. Wait - she’d been wearing those clothes under her robes in Diagon Alley. Why? Had she been planning to meet someone? No, she had been with Lavender, and then she’d gone to a bookshop. No dates for her, then.

He nodded. That made sense. Of course she wouldn’t have a date. Not Granger. You’d have to be a fool to try anything with her.

*****​

“Alright.” He looked up. Still no sign of the wyvern. But they had heard it earlier. It wasn’t dead.

“Push it a little further down into the ground,” Granger told him.

“It should be enough,” he said. “It’s just a small tree, anyway.” And tiny now that it had been shrunk.

Granger huffed but didn’t push him again.

He took a piece of string and tied it around the top of the tiny trunk, then bent the trunk backward until he could fasten the string around a root sticking out of the ground. It held.

He grinned, and Granger huffed again.

“Let’s move a safe distance away,” she said.

“Of course.” Harry knew all about safe distances when trying out something new. “And let’s cast Shield Charms, too.”

“Of course.”

They moved about twenty yards closer to the entrance to their shelter - Harry still had to see the shrunken tree, after all, to undo the Shrinking Charm and cast their Shield Charms. “Ready?” Harry asked.

“Yes.”

“Finite!”

The tiny trunk, barely more than a twig, was immediately replaced by a full-size tree trunk. Which shot out of the ground and spun in the air, smashing against the other trees around. A few shards sent flying by the impact hit Harry’s shield and bounced off while the tree trunk still trashed on the ground.

“It didn’t actually hit the target area,” Granger commented. Harry could hear the ‘I told you’ in her voice.

“We’ll get an anchor next time,” he said with a frown.

“A big anchor. And it might still be better to lure the wyvern over the prepared trunks, not near them. But we’d have to build one single device so we can return both the anchor and the trunk to the actual size at the same time.”

That was true. “Oh.” He blinked. “We could just turn them into spikes and bury them, having them shoot out when the wyvern is above them.”

“That would require to target them somehow,” she retorted.

“Right.” And that would be difficult. Especially with the wyvern bearing down on you. He checked the sky again. It was easier - although not actually easy, to target twigs left above ground. And the power of a trunk growing back to size wasn’t quite as strong as a bent tree slamming into a wyvern from above. “This will be more difficult than planned.”

Granger rolled her eyes. Typical.

*****​

Hermione Granger looked at the finished trap - the finished prototype. The third finished prototype. Then she glanced up. No sign of the monster.

“It looks good,” Potter said.

“You said that before. Twice, to be exact,” she told him.

“This time, it looks really good.” He grinned. Obviously, the fact that it was already afternoon - with coconut meat for lunch - and they hadn’t managed to build a working trap hadn’t affected him. Or hadn’t registered.

On the other hand, it did look more feasible. More practical too. Instead of anchoring the trunks to a log and shrinking both, this was just a log stuck on the ground, stuck to two trees. And the shrunken, bent trunk was fixed on top of the log with another Sticking Charm. It should work better.

Then again, she had thought that of the attempt with a plate in the ground as well. At least they had a nice hole made already should they ever want to build a pool to bath in.

“So, let’s try it out?” Potter asked.

“Yes,” she agreed. Let’s get this over with. She glanced at the sky. Still clear. “You know,” she said as they walked back to the shelter, “once we’re back in England, we’ll have to learn not to constantly check the sky.” If they ever managed to get… She pressed her lips together. She couldn’t think like that - she had to remain optimistic. They would return home.

“Well, ‘they never look up’ certainly doesn’t apply to us,” Potter said, chuckling. Then he frowned. “Although that would be quite annoying in a match. I have to focus on the Snitch, not on a wyvern in the sky.”

“You and your Quidditch!” She shook her head. She was worried about developing agoraphobia, and he was worried about a stupid game! “There are many more important things to worry about than Quidditch.”

He frowned at her. “Not for me. I’m going to become a professional Seeker after school.”

“You’re going…” She managed not to continue with ‘...waste your talents on a game?’ and said: “...pro?”

“Of course! I’m the best Seeker McGonagall has seen in all her life!” he boasted.

“She told you that?” That didn’t sound like Professor McGonagall at all!

“No. She said that during a visit with my parents,” he replied.

She frowned. That meant… “You listened in on them?”

“I was curious,” he told her. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have listened in when a teacher visited.”

“Of course not!” She had been tempted, but it would’ve been a breach of trust. “I asked my parents afterwards what it was about.” The first time - afterwards, she already knew what the visits were about. And her parents told her about them anyway. In detail and in a slightly louder voice than normal.

He snorted. “Pull the other one! I know what you do when you think no one’s going to catch you!”

“There’s a difference between retaliating against an aggressor hiding behind school rules and breaking the trust of my parents,” she explained. That was perfectly logical.

“I’m not hiding behind anyone or anything!” he protested.

“Says the boy who set a prefect on me last year.” She looked up and checked the sky. Clear.

“It’s not my fault you got caught - that’s the risk of the game! Besides, you always tell on me!”

“That’s because if you get punished properly, I don’t need to retaliate. That’s how society works.” If the staff and especially the prefects were better at catching Potter, Hermione wouldn’t have had to take things into her own hands.

He snorted. “You’re not any better than I am. You just aren’t honest about it.” He leaned towards her. “You like pranking me. Admit it!”

“I like seeing justice done,” she replied.

“Call it what you want, but you’re not an innocent witch.”

“And whose fault is that?” She cocked her head at him.

He blinked, then grinned. “You mean I took your innocence?”

She gasped. That was… “Boys!” she spat. “Always thinking with your groin.” He actually blushed a little, and she narrowed her eyes at him. What was he thinking of?

He scoffed at her. “As if girls are any better! I have a sister, remember? I know what kind of books you read!”

“Textbooks?” She replied, smiling as sweetly as she could manage. Was he rifling through his sister’s things?

“No, robe-rippers!” He bared his teeth at her.

She felt her cheek heating up. “That’s a stereotype!” She hadn’t read more than a dozen of them. Last year. Just to make up her mind. And because Lavender loved them.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Did you read them, huh?” His grin widened.

“And what if I did? Those are books, not immature comments!”

“Oh, I’m sure those books are very, very mature.” He wagged his head like a child.

“Unlike you.” She sniffed. “Can we focus on our trap, now?”

He stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Sure.”

They walked back to the shelter’s entrance - the sky was still clear - and cast their Shield Charms. If this was like the second test, then splinters could hit them even at their distance.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Potter aimed his wand. “Finite!”

The twig stuck to the log suddenly turned into a tree trunk, ripping the string apart - and snapping forward, smashing into the ground. Hermione could almost feel the impact as clumps of earth and grass were thrown up.

“Yes!”

“Yes!”

It had worked. After two failures - three if you counted the first attempt without an anchor - they had succeeded! They could strike back at the wyvern now. She smiled widely at Potter, who smiled back at her.

*****​

 

I'd like to thank Balthazar23, Antar23, werewolfXZ, damadape, TheNarratingMan, WraithNX01, Vahktang, flixus, Lynix, TripsToTheRescue, fredfred, InquisitorCOC for betareading.

*****​

Chapter 11: The Second Trap Part 2

Outskirts of Brentwood, Essex, Britain, July 8th, 1996

“Lavender? We came as soon as we heard!”

That was Parvati. Lavender Brown forced herself to smile as the witch and her twin sister entered her room. “Hi Parvati, Padma.”

“So terrible!” Padma added. “Hermione kidnapped!” She picked one of Lavender’s chairs to sit down on.

“Yes! And Potter, too!” Parvati added as she sat down next to Lavender on the bed.

“They’re not sure if it was a kidnapping,” Lavender corrected them. “It might’ve been an accident.”

“Dad said it was a kidnapping - he spoke with an Auror!” Parvati told her. “And it happened in Knockturn Alley!” She shuddered.

“We’ve been in Knockturn Alley, Parvati,” Lavender told her.

“And I wouldn’t do it again after this!” her friend replied. “And we only ever were in the part right next to Diagon Alley.”

“That’s where this happened,” Lavender said.

Parvati paled. “Merlin’s beard! This could’ve been us!”

“See?” Padma shook her head. “That’s why you don’t walk into that alley!”

“I didn’t know!”

“Gryffindors!”

Lavender cleared her throat. “It might’ve been an accident, as far as we know. A Portkey was left on a shelf. Could’ve happened in any shop that sells odd stuff.”

“How do you know this?” Parvati asked.

“I was at the Potters when they heard,” Lavender admitted.

More gasping. “With Ron?” Parvati asked.

“Yes.” She sighed and explained before Parvati could ask: “I was with Hermione, and we met him and Potter in Diagon Alley.”

Both of the twins winced. And Parvati gasped once more. “You were with Hermione the day she was kidnapped?”

“We went to Fortescue’s,” Lavender said. “Then Hermione and Potter left. Separately.”

“They didn’t hex each other?” Padma looked sceptical.

“They’re not that bad,” Lavender told her. At least, not any more - they knew better than to make a spectacle in public outside Hogwarts. “Anyway, I heard about Potter going missing, and went to visit Hermione, where I found out that she’s missing as well, so we headed to the Potters. Ron was there.”

“Ah. That’s why you know what happened.” Padma nodded.

“I don’t know everything,” Lavender corrected her. “Just what I heard when I was there.”

“And are you going to visit again?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’m going to meet Ron later.”

“Oh! Can we come with you?” Parvati blurted out.

“Parvati!” her sister hissed.

“What? I’m sure they wouldn’t go on a date when their best friends are missing!”

Lavender wouldn’t do that, but she would like to spend time with Ron. Even if only to distract herself from worrying about what Hermione was going through. And Potter. She cleared her throat. “We’re not going on a date, no. But we are trying to… forget this for a moment.”

“Ah!” Parvati took her hand. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think how you’d feel about this!”

Her sister sighed. “You certainly didn’t think.”

“Padma! You wanted to know what happened as much as I did!” Parvati protested.

“I was merely curious. I’m not in their house.”

Well, it wasn’t as if Parvati was particularly close to Hermione, either. Lavender knew that she was the only reason the two got along. Sort of.

“Is it true that they fought?” Parvati asked. Padma glared at her sister but didn’t say anything.

“I don’t know,” Lavender lied. She knew there had been a scuffle. But if she told Parvati that, her friend would spread rumours.

“And is it true that no one knows where they are?” Padma’s curiosity had apparently gotten the better of her.

“We’ve heard that they are investigating Magical Scandinavia!” Parvati added. “Merlin’s beard! If they met werewolves!”

“They’d be fine,” Padma told them. “The full moon is on the 30th.”

“They have to find them before that! Or they’ll be bitten and cursed!” Parvati gasped once again.

“They don’t know where they are. They could be anywhere,” Lavender said. They had no clue at all. And they wouldn’t have any clue until Mr Pettigrew tracked down whoever had sold the Portkey to the shop.

“But if they were simply lost, they would’ve contacted someone by now, wouldn’t they?” Padma asked. “They’ve got their wands, Hermione is a muggleborn so she knows how to navigate the muggle world, and Potter…”

“...is the Boy Who Lived,” Parvati finished.

And Hermione could almost stand up to him in a duel.

But they hadn’t been able to call for help.

And Lavender didn’t want to think about what that meant. “They’re still alive,” she said in a low voice. “Dumbledore checked.”

“Ah.”

“But they haven’t been able to contact their families.” Padma wasn’t letting this go, it seemed. “Even though muggles can phone around the world.”

This time, Parvati hissed at her sister. Lavender ignored both and looked at the floor.

Alive but unable to contact anyone.

She shook her head and took a deep breath. She didn’t start crying until Parvati wrapped her arm around Lavender’s shoulders.

Poor Hermione. What must she be going through right now!

*****​

Unknown Location, July 8th, 1996

“Yes!” Harry Potter smiled. “We did it!” After hours of trying and working, they had managed to make their trap. He reached out to Granger before he realised it but managed to turn his gesture into a fist balled in triumph. Or something like that.

“I told you we needed a better anchor.”

He snorted. Granger just had to rub it in. “What matters is that now, we can prepare our trap.”

“We need to find a good location,” she said. “The wyvern is too smart for anything obvious.”

“I doubt that it will realise our trap.” If the creature knew about Shrinking Charms and was smart enough to anticipate such a trap… “We’d be dead already if it were smart enough to do that.”

“We can’t underestimate it,” Granger insisted.

He suppressed a sigh. “Then we’ll pick our trap location carefully.”

“Yes. It has to be visible from the air - and located so that the wyvern will come in from a fixed direction. And it can’t be just a clearing. Not after our barbed spike trap - the creature won’t dive down on us.”

“On me. I’ll be bait,” Harry told her.

She glared at him but didn’t protest. Good. He had the best chances to survive this - and she had proven that she could summon him to safety.

“But we’ll need the trap near our shelter,” she went on. “If it fails, we need the protection of it.”

“If we flee into the bunker, we’ll end up trapped inside,” he pointed out. “Stuck like we were in the cave.”

“That’s better than dead and eaten,” she retorted. “And we have plans to escape.”

She was right. But he didn’t have to say it out loud. “Anyway - then we should have the trap along a path to our shelter. So you can summon me, and I can trigger the trap. Close to the entrance, so the wyvern will end up in a killing zone.”

“You want to turn our entrance into a deadly trap?” She looked… not shocked. Surprised, though.

He grinned. “Without someone dispelling the Shrinking Charms, the worst that could happen is that a string snaps and a twig hits our shoes. It’s very much safe.”

“What if a wizard or witch detects us?”

“Then we have probably worse problems than our own trap,” he told her. “If they find us and we don’t notice, they would probably ambush us anyway.”

“We’ll have to keep a Human-presence-revealing spell cast,” she said.

“You aren’t keeping one cast all the time?” he joked.

“I forgot,” she replied as if she had taken him seriously. She waved her wand. “There. No more sneaking up on us.” Her eyes widened. “Which reminds me… go into the shelter!”

Why would…? Ah! “Testing?”

“Yes.”

He checked the sky, then entered the shelter. “Can you detect me?”

“Jump!”

He did.

“I caught a brief glimpse of the marker,” she told him when he stepped outside again. “As long as we don’t jump around, we should be fine.”

“Good.” That was a relief. A small one, compared to their problem with the wyvern, but still a relief. “I’ll see what I can do about the camouflage,” he told her. It was good, but it could be better. A human wouldn’t miss it if he walked up to it.

“We could thin out the trees a little. Make it more obvious, but not too obvious, for the wyvern where the best spot to swoop down and then fly at us would be,” Granger said.

“At me,” he corrected her again.

“I’ll be in the same line of attack,” she told him.

“But standing in the shelter’s entrance.”

“Yes,” she spat.

“Careful, Granger,” he said with a smile. “I might suspect that you care about me if you want to play bait instead of me.”

She glared at him. “As if! I merely want to make sure that we share the load here. I won’t have you claim that you saved me, and I did nothing!”

“Of course not.” He managed to suppress the urge to add ‘you cooked’ or something equally insulting. That would only make her mad.

*****​

Hermione Granger swallowed her retort. As if she wanted Potter to get hurt or killed! All she wanted was to be treated as an equal. Not as a… mudblood who should be grateful to be allowed to bask in the presence of the rich purebloods. And she wanted to be acknowledged for her own accomplishments - without some condescending ‘remarkable for a muggleborn’ remark tacked on.

She scoffed and pushed the thoughts away - she had to focus on the task at hand. On their survival. “Let’s start making more shrunken trunks, then. We can sort out where we place it tomorrow.” Even though the trap’s location had already been determined, the devil was, as usual, in the details.

They worked mostly in silence for the rest of the day, finishing two logs with five trunks stuck to them, each. They didn’t catch sight of the wyvern, but they heard it roar a few times. It wasn’t succumbing to infection, then.

“We need something else,” Potter said as they checked their work. “The trunks will hurt it - probably break a limb or so - but they won’t kill it unless we’re really lucky. And we haven’t been particularly lucky so far.”

“I would count the fact that we’re still alive after several encounters with the wyvern as being lucky,” she said.

He scowled. “It wasn’t just luck - and we had bad luck there as well! But we do need something else. Something to kill it.”

“We can’t stick spikes on the trunks - a single Dispelling Charm won’t affect them,” she told him. That was too bad. In theory, they could construct a spiked pole, but they would have to actually craft it, not merely use a Sticking Charm to glue it together, or the trunk would recover its natural size, but the spikes would not. Actual glue would work - but they didn’t have any.

“But we can stick spikes into the ground,” Potter said. “A pit trap!”

“A spiked pit trap?” Someone had played too much Dungeons and Dragons. “And what if we fall into it?”

“We weigh much less than the wyvern.” She looked up. The sky - what she could see of it, at least - was still clear.

“And we know exactly how tough a cover has to be so we can walk over it but the wyvern will fall through it?” She raised her eyebrows. She had no intention to trust her life to his - and hers - construction skills.

He frowned at her. “We can move around it, then. Just use a thin cover. And barbed spikes set in the ground - we need to trap it on the ground.”

That sounded… well, she still had her doubts, but it was more sensible. But… “I would have to summon you over that trap,” she pointed out.

He smiled at her. “I trust you. With my life.”

She almost gasped. What the…? That was a line straight out of some trashy novel. Was he mocking her? She felt her cheeks heat up from embarrassment or anger - she couldn’t tell. “I’ll have you sign a waiver then. Just in case I need to explain to the Ministry how you ended up falling into your own trap.”

He laughed at that - even though it wasn’t all that funny.

She sighed. The sun was setting already - they had to be in the tropics. And, judging by their watches, not too far from England. Unless the transport had taken longer than they had experienced. She really should’ve studied Portkeys even though she hadn’t expected to use one in the near future. “Let’s get dinner and then head to bed,” she said.

“Oh!” Potter grinned at her. He even waggled his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes in return. Very funny. As if she’d ever think of doing that with Potter. Well, as long as she was thinking clearly and not exhausted and in shock from a near-death experience and distracted by Potter’s… She clenched her teeth and forced the memory out of her mind. Potter was counting on that to mock her, she knew it.

“At least dinner is quick,” Potter said as they sat down at their table. “Fast food!”

She snorted at that. Gallows humour, of a sort. “It’s certainly healthier than fast food back home,” she said, before biting into her slice of coconut meat. “But we do need more variety in our diet. In case we’re not found before long.”

“Yes, you mentioned that already.” He looked around. “Though we will be found. Trust me. Dad is the Head Auror. He’ll crack this case.”

“Wouldn’t he be barred from investigating our disappearance since he’s personally involved?” she asked.

“Why?” He looked surprised. “He’s the Head Auror.”

“And investigating the disappearance of his son?” She tilted her head. Wasn’t it obvious that this was a bad idea?

“Yes? He’s the Head Auror.”

Dear Lord! She closed her eyes and groaned. “No wonder the Ministry is so… whatever.”

“What do you mean?”

“In Britain, your father wouldn’t be allowed to investigate a case involving his family. He wouldn’t be objective.”

“Well, things are done differently in Wizarding Britain. You can’t compare it to muggle Britain.”

“I doubt that magic changes the basic nature of people. I certainly haven’t been able to see any difference between wizards and muggles when it comes to their character.” She smiled sweetly at him, showing her teeth, so he’d know what she meant. “And it’s a fact that investigating when you’re too close to a case isn’t a good thing. Muggles have experience with that.”

“It’s also a fact that you wouldn’t be able to cut out Dad from the investigation. Even if he weren’t on the case, he’d just take time off and do it himself.”

That wouldn’t be very efficient. Not at all. “Let’s hope it works out,” she said.

“It will!” He nodded. Firmly.

She wanted to believe him. She didn’t want to stay longer on the island. The thought of spending months here, building a home as if this were a TV show or something… she shuddered.

She’d miss the train back to Hogwarts on September 1st!

*****​

Harry Potter shook his head. Really - as if anything would keep Dad from finding him. And Granger. His parents had stood up to Voldemort for him, after all.

He glanced at Granger. The sun was setting, but it was still bright enough outside so he didn’t have to cast a Wand-Lighting Charm to make out her frown. No, she wasn’t frowning - she looked rather forlorn, o. Or something. Didn’t she believe him?

Of course she didn’t. Granger had a chip on her shoulder about, well, everything. “Hey!” She looked up. He smiled at her. “We’ll kill the wyvern. And then we’ll get off this island.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “With a plank held up by a Levitation Charm?”

The light was fading. He cast a Wand-Lighting Charm. “No.” That wouldn’t work. “We’ll build a raft!”

“A raft.”

“Yes, you know - you stick several tree trunks together, lay some planks above it…”

“I know what a raft is,” she hissed.

Of course she did. He had known that - but she wasn’t looking sad anymore, but annoyed. They were back on familiar ground. “Good. So, we build a raft and leave the island!”

“And sail across the ocean?” She snorted. “We don’t know where we are. Odds are that we’re somewhere in the Atlantic, off the African Coast. But we can’t be sure. And if we misjudged it…”

“All we need to do is get out of the island’s protections,” he told her. “Then Mum and Dad will find us.”

“Unless they stopped sending out Patronus Messengers,” she pointed out.

“They won’t. They’ll keep trying.” They would never give up.

“But they won’t do it around the clock,” she said. “How long do we need to wait? And how will they find us in the middle of the ocean? If we get caught in a current, dragged out to the sea…”

“They’ll find us!” Really, couldn’t she trust his family? “They’ll ask Dumbledore to help them if they need to.”

She pursed her lips - she didn’t have an answer to that, did she? Everyone knew that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive!

“And what if a storm starts? Or if we encounter a sea monster?”

He snorted. “A sea monster? Really?” Granger was grasping at straws.

“We’re on an island with a wyvern. A man-eating wyvern. Who’s to say the sea’s not the habitat of sea serpents or a wild Giant Squid?” Granger doubled down.

“Well, we can test that with a dummy raft,” he said. “Or we can fly with the raft, only setting down to take a break - and switch to cast the next Charm.”

She pursed her lips in that manner of hers that showed him that she really wanted to find fault with his plans but hadn’t found anything. “That still leaves us with the problem that we might be dragged away, encounter a storm, or run out of food before we get rescued. And we might not be able to pass through the island’s protections.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This could be an abandoned prison island,” she explained.

“Like Azkaban? We didn’t see any prison on the island.”

“We haven’t explored the whole island,” she told him. “And it might not have any structures on it - they might just have dumped prisoners on the shore.”

“Like we were dumped?” he asked with a frown.

“Yes.” She leaned forward. “Why would anyone create a Portkey to an empty beach on an island with a man-eating monster on it?”

He blinked and tried not to look down her shirt - it was showing a lot of cleavage from this angle. “Good question,” he admitted. “But they could’ve simply made a mistake. Or this is the usual area to arrive, and you’re supposed to Apparate to the final destination from the beach because the owners didn’t want anyone appearing straight in their home or something.”

“If there is anything like that on the island.” She shook her head. “In any case, we can’t just assume that the protections don’t do anything other than hiding the island.”

“The wyvern didn’t seem to have any trouble leaving the island and returning,” he said.

“We assume it went out on the sea to hunt,” she told him. “It’s not certain. And the wards could’ve been created to only affect humans.”

He wasn’t convinced. A prison island? In the tropics? With a man-eating wyvern? That sounded more like a complicated way to execute people. Although it might’ve served as a prison island and become abandoned. “Who would have used such an island?”

She shrugged. “Any of the former African Subsaharan Wizarding Nations? Since they were destroyed in the Great Intervention, information about them is scarce.”

“We haven’t covered that in History of Magic, yet.”

“Of course not! That’s a rather shameful chapter of Wizarding Britain.” She scoffed.

“They were endangering the Statute of Secrecy,” he retorted - he knew that much. “And they wouldn’t stop using magic against muggles.”

“Against muggle colonialists.” She scoffed again. “I’m certain that it was just a convenient coincidence that the ICW ‘s member nations could not only loot some of the richest countries of the Wizarding World but also impress on every other nation that they shouldn’t try to help their muggle counterparts.”

“Wizards getting involved in muggle wars is very dangerous,” he retorted. “Not only does it endanger the Statute of Secrecy, but imagine Fiendfyre set loose in cities, Dementors wiping out entire villages, werewolves rampaging...” he shook his head. There was a reason the Statute of Secrecy had been agreed upon by everyone.

“Didn’t most of that happen in the last war anyway?” She cocked her head at him.

“No.” He shook his head. “There were a few incidents, but not even the Death Eaters wanted to risk endangering the Statute of Secrecy.”

“That’s what your parents told you?”

“Yes.” And their friends. He looked at her, but she didn’t ask for more information.

*****​

Hermione Granger had to almost literally bite her tongue. She’d read up on the Blood War - who wouldn’t, seeing that it shaped Wizarding Britain and ended only ten years before she heard of it - but the books she had found were either very dry and refrained works or exaggerated ‘true stories’ that would’ve been rejected by tabloids. Potter, though, knew people who had fought in the war - had decided the war. She really wanted to ask him more questions. About the war, About Dumbledore. About the mysterious ‘order’ people had hinted at in some works.

But asking the boy who served as bait about these things… No. And he might pull her leg, anyway - Potter had a habit of ‘joking’ to avoid questions he didn’t want to answer. She was sure he wouldn’t answer this. Unless it was to brag about his parents… no. That would be manipulative.

“Anyway,” she said, “even if the Statute of Secrecy was threatened, this wouldn’t justify destroying entire nations. They could’ve stopped the colonialists, instead.” But that wouldn’t have lined Wizarding Britain’s coffers.

“That would’ve encouraged other wizards to use magic against muggles,” Potter retorted. “You don’t want that, do you?”

Of course not! She pressed her lips together. As if she would want to see wizards and witches oppress muggles with impunity. “There’s a difference between using magic to defend muggles and using magic to attack muggles.”

“Sorting out someone’s motive is hard,” he said. “Dad told me about it. They need to check for memory charms, Polyjuice Potion, the Imperius Curse…”

“Didn’t the Wizengamot state that the Imperius Curse wasn’t detectable?” She scoffed at the blatant lie. “Or didn’t they want to go through the trouble of sorting out who was a victim and who was a willing participant in the Death Eater’s atrocities?”

He snorted in return. “That was all politics, Uncle Sirius told me. As he said, the Ministry made a deal with Lucius Malfoy: Deliver the most dangerous and the most stupid Death Eaters, the hardcore followers, and let the rest claim they were victims of the Imperius Curse.”

She gasped. “That’s… a travesty of justice!” That was corruption! A crime! But… “Wasn’t Malfoy a spy for Dumbledore?” She had read that in numerous books. Had they been wrong?

“Oh, yes, he was.” Potter nodded. “But he was, well… As I heard the story, he wasn’t a spy from the start but turned very late in the war.”

She narrowed her eyes. Potter knew more about this.

He shrugged. “Anyway, they know that if they step out of line, Dumbledore will crush them.”

“Someone forgot to tell that to Malfoy,” she muttered.

Potter laughed. “The git probably was told to behave, but you know how stupid he is.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s competing for the Darwin Award.”

“The ‘Darwin Award’?”

Oh. He didn’t know about that? She grinned. “A muggle thing. It’s not a real award, just a collection of stories about people who removed themselves from the gene pool through their own stupidity.”

He blinked. “Ah. Darwin Award.”

“Yes.” And Malfoy certainly qualified. The idiot had almost gotten killed because he didn’t listen to the teachers - or anyone else - in both Herbology and Care for Magical Creatures. “In any case, I’m convinced that the ICW could’ve dealt with the African Subsaharan Wizarding Nations without destroying them or encouraging the abuse of muggles.”

“That’s easy to say from hindsight. But as you found out, Divination isn’t easy.” He grinned at her.

She clenched her teeth. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have the talent for this particular discipline. Or the enthusiasm Lavender had. She scoffed.

“Besides, who’s to say the African Wizarding Nations were innocent?” Potter went on. “They didn’t stop the slave trade, did they?”

“History is written by the victors. I’m certain that the ICW would have used any misdeeds of the African wizards to further justify their actions,” she retorted.

He frowned in return. “Probably,” he admitted. “But what if they wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with whatever they did? At least at the time?”

She could believe that, indeed. “It’s not as if they did anything against the Barbary Coast and Ottoman raiders.”

“Or do,” Potter added. “There are still raids in the Mediterranean and in the Balkans. ‘Pirates and bandits’ according to the Ottoman Empire.”

She had heard about that - it was the reason she hadn’t spent too much time in the magical parts of the Côte d’Azur when she had been on vacation in France with her parents. “That doesn’t make what was done to Africa any better,” she said. “We might be on an island that was depopulated during the Great Intervention.”

He blinked. “Bloody hell, that could… No. If the island had been conquered, the wards would’ve been taken down.”

“Unless they were restored afterwards.” She cocked her head. “Some wizards might not have been content with looting the treasures of the land and might have wanted to loot an entire island for themselves.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again and nodded.

*****​

Harry Potter had to admit that Granger had a point. If they were off the west coast of Africa - and the timing of the sunrise and sunset seemed to indicate that - then this could’ve been a magical island that had been taken over by some wizards during the Great Intervention. Sirius had told him some stories he had heard from his family about. Unlike other families, the Blacks hadn’t made their fortune looting Magical Africa, but only because they had been rich before. They hadn’t taken an entire island, though. Still, Granger’s theory wasn’t perfect.

“If the island was taken over, why was it abandoned afterwards?”

“We don’t know if it is abandoned,” Granger replied. “We’ve only explored a part of it. A small part.”

“The wyvern must have explored the entire island,” he pointed out. “And who would want such a creature on their island?”

“They might have built this as a sanctuary for wyverns.”

“For a single one?” He shook his head. “I’ve been to the dragon sanctuary in Romania; dozens of wizards from all over Europe are working there to keep the dragons fed and healthy. If a dragon had been wounded like the wyvern, Healers would’ve been all over it.” Charlie had told stories aplenty about what happened when dragons fought each other.

“That’s one way to run a sanctuary, but not the only one. If there’s only one wyvern, there won’t be any fights with another such creature,” Granger retorted.

“But they still would have someone monitoring its health. And checking up on accidental visitors,” he told her. Charlie had told stories about such incidents as well. Usually, they blamed bears if muggles were involved.

“Or they just wanted to let the wyvern live free, without anyone interfering. You know, like a muggle national park.” She sniffed.

“I’m pretty sure national parks have people looking after them,” he said.

“Not all of them. And even if they do, they rarely have the entire park under permanent observation.”

“But if they had a park for a wyvern, wouldn’t they keep it under observation?” Harry grinned at her frown.

“Unless they set it up and then died without telling anyone else.” She smiled, showing her teeth at him.

“You would have needed a lot more than a single wizard to do this,” he said. “And all of them dying without telling anyone?”

“Voldemort wiped out entire families, didn’t he?”

It was his turn to scowl. “He rarely went after the old pureblood families,” he said.

“Rarely, but he did come after some of them,” she said, looking at him.

“We’re not one of those families who would have a private island hidden somewhere,” he retorted. “If we had a private island, we’d go on vacation there!”

She snorted. “Be careful what you wish for.” She gestured at their surroundings. “Rustic bungalow. And guaranteed sightings of the local wildlife.”

He snorted in return. “If this were a vacation, I’d expect better service. And better entertainment. And better lodgings.”

“Well, we can improve the lodgings. The service, though…” She shook her head with a smile.

He wasn’t sure if she was trying to insult or tease him. Or just trying to make a joke. He chuckled, to play it safe. “In any case, we can safely assume that if the island isn’t abandoned, it’s not under observation.”

“Perhaps. Or someone is observing us but doesn’t feel like intervening.”

“That sounds like the plot of a b-movie. I think Dudley told me about something like that.” Harry shook his head.

“Reality is often stranger than fiction,” she retorted.

Of course she’d say that - she had been raised as a muggle. But Wizarding Britain wasn’t strange. Just different.

But Harry didn’t want to start another discussion. Talking about the Great Intervention had been bad enough. He knew it hadn’t been the heroic defence of the Statute of Secrecy some claimed it had been - Sirius’s stories had been enlightening in that regard - but it hadn’t been entirely unjustified either. You didn’t threaten the Statute of Secrecy. You just didn’t. Wizarding Wars were terrible even if you won - Harry knew that very well. Wizarding wars mixed with muggle wars?

No one sane wanted anything like that.

He stood up. “Well, time to head to bed. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

She nodded and stood up as well. A flick of her wand cleaned the plates and deposited them on the makeshift shelves on the wall. He chuckled. “It’s like putting away the silverware back home.”

Granger didn’t laugh - she stared at him as if he had cast a hex at her.

*****​

‘Like putting away the silverware back home’? Hermione Granger suppressed a shudder. This wasn’t supposed to feel like home. Not at all. Not even like camping. They were stranded; they weren’t here on vacation, much less settling. Not to mention settling with Potter… She suppressed another shudder. And something else she really didn’t want to think about. Certainly not right when she was about to go to bed. Hormones. Just hormones. Like she told Lavender when her friend had confided in her that she had a crush on Weasley.

Ugh. That was a bad comparison. Hermione didn’t have a crush on anyone, least of all on Potter. He was just somewhat attractive if one didn’t consider his personality.

“Is something wrong?” Potter interrupted her thoughts.

“No. I was just thinking of a stupid movie,” she replied before she could stop herself.

“What movie?”

“Swiss Family Robinson.”

He looked puzzled. “I never heard of that movie.”

“It’s like Robinson Crusoe, but with a family. And more Disney.”

“Oh.” He snorted. “Not really applicable, then.”

“Not at all,” she agreed. Not at all.

She stretched. “So… who’s taking the first watch?”

“It’s my turn again,” he told her after a moment. Had he had to consider it?

It didn’t matter - she didn’t want to argue. “Alright. I’m going to sleep then.” She nodded. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

But she took a longer time than usual to finally fall asleep.

*****​

“Oh, Hermione. I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice that you were using the bath!” Potter, wearing only a towel that left his abs and pecs bare, and barely covered his thigh and calves, stood there, in the entrance, looking guilty.

“That’s OK,” she told him, one hand across her chest. “Anyone could make that mistake.” She shifted a little in the bathtub formed out of an enlarged coconut as she looked him over.

He nodded, staring at her legs which were propped up on the tub’s rim. “I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t moved, she noticed. And he was still staring at her.

She licked her lips. “Well, if you want to make it up to me, then please hand me the towel,” she told him with a smile.

His eyes widened, then he smiled at her. “Of course! Anything for you!” He entered the bath and grabbed the fluffy towel she had created from coconut fibres with a remarkably clever transfiguration.

“Anything?” She raised her eyebrows as he stepped closer, then stood, pulling on the rope that led to the water tank above the bath and let the fresh water wash away the soap - made from coconut butter - before she reached out for the towel.

He hadn’t looked away, she noticed with a sly smile.

“Anything,” he told her, his voice husky, as his eyes burned into hers.

She felt her cheeks flush as she climbed out of the bath, taking a deep breath as she stepped into the towel. And into his arms. And felt...

“Wake up, Granger, it’s your turn!”

Hermione Granger gasped. What the…? Potter had stepped into the bathroom? And she had welcomed him as if she were…

She blinked. No! Potter was standing there, but he was yawning, not… She shook her head and checked the time. He hadn’t let her sleep longer than planned. Good.

“Alright,” she told him, then summoned her shorts and shoes to dress.

He hadn’t turned away, she realised. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Good night.”

“That’s my line,” she told him.

He chuckled, nodded and went into his bedroom - if you could call the area behind the divider a bedroom. Technically, it was. Probably.

She watched him go as she quickly dressed. He wasn’t wearing a towel, but his normal clothes. And he wasn’t acting like some handsome wizard straight out of a silly novel. And Hermione wasn’t acting like some silly witch pining for a handsome wizard, either.

Her teenage hormones were really acting up to have such stupid dreams, she knew. The stress from having to survive on an island shared with a man-eating wyvern didn’t help, of course. Quite the contrary. And not having a decent book - any book at all - to read. Normally, she’d never have such silly dreams. Certainly not involving Potter of all wizards!

She moved to the entrance of the shelter. Really, having erotic dreams about Potter? If she told Lavender that, her friend would never let her forget this!

Besides, it was obvious that this was a stupid fantasy - Potter would never act like that. He wasn’t suave like that. Although he certainly was arrogant enough for the part.

She closed her eyes. She was thinking of her stupid dream again. And she couldn’t - she was on watch now. She had to focus on that. Not on some steamy fantasy that belonged in romance novels. Cheap romance novels where the hero was perfect.

Besides, she didn’t fit the heroines of those novels. She didn’t need a wizard to protect her - she could do that herself! Better than most!

And, she added with a sigh as she redid her ponytail with her wand, she wasn’t the most beautiful witch, either. She was fit and had a good figure, and her face was certainly not ugly - but she didn’t turn the boys’ heads. Unlike others. Such as the Patil twins and Lavender.

She suppressed the sudden bout of jealousy she felt. Looks weren’t everything. Otherwise, Potter would have to fight off witches all day.

She blinked, then groaned. That stupid dream was affecting her, still.

This was really messed up.

*****​

 

I'd like to thank Balthazar23, Antar23, werewolfXZ, damadape, TheNarratingMan, WraithNX01, Vahktang, flixus, Lynix, TripsToTheRescue, fredfred, InquisitorCOC for betareading.

*****​

Chapter 12: The Second Trap Part 3

Ministry of Magic, London, July 9th, 1996

Cornelius Fudge hated coming in to work early. He also hated working late, but if given a choice, he’d rather work late than come in early. He liked sleeping in, and working late was also a good excuse if he didn’t feel like going home early. And if he never worked late, it wouldn’t be a good excuse.

But with the current crisis, he had to go to work early and work late. And it was all the fault of… well, that remained to be determined. But it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t been kidnapped by some forgotten Portkey. Nor had he started an investigation that was ruffling all sorts of feathers in the Wizengamot. And also in the ICW.

But he was the one who had to deal with all the problems this caused. The Scandinavians were stalling, France was protesting about an investigation involving the Scandinavians based upon a report from France, the press was speculating about the houngans kidnapping magical children as they used to, before Albus shut them down after the Grindelwald War… What had he done to deserve this?

“Mr Travers is here, sir,” his secretary told him.

“Thank you, Hilda. Please send him in.” Cornelius dropped his smile as soon as the witch turned around. It was never a good sign when Trevor Travers - TT for those who went to school with him, such as Cornelius himself - wanted to meet early. Even back at Hogwarts, the man had barely made it to breakfast in the mornings. But he was a respected member of the Wizengamot; had been so ever since the demise or incarceration of the entire main branch of the Travers family following the Dark Lord’s defeat.

Cornelius shuddered. He didn’t want to remember those times. The fear every time he went out, never knowing what he might find. The horrors he had seen...

“Cornelius!” TT greeted him with a wide and fake smile.

“TT! Have a seat!” Cornelius matched it with one of his own. “Good morning. What brings you to me so early in the day?” Best to get it over with. He had a lot of paperwork waiting for him.

“Straight to the point? That’s what I like about you!” TT lied. “So… it’s about an investigation.”

Cornelius suppressed a groan. Of course it was! TT knew that Amelia was responsible for the DMLE. The fact that the wizard was here meant one of two things: He had already bothered Amelia, and she had sent him packing, or he didn’t think she would honour his request.

Cornelius knew that that was very likely. Amelia wasn’t the sort of witch to bend the rules - not even for the Wizengamot. Or especially not for the Wizengamot. Her rigid adherence to the law made her a pain in the butt to work with sometimes - a lot of times, actually, given that politics required a lot of flexibility - but it also meant that Amelia would never have a majority in the Wizengamot, should she try to become Minister for Magic. The Wizengamot members knew her too well to ever make such a mistake. Imagining Amelia as Minister… They would lose half the Ministry in half a year. “An investigation by the DMLE?” He asked.

“Yes.” TT nodded. “I’ve heard that they are investigating Alfons Weatherby. A shop owner in Knockturn Alley.” TT sneered. “A fence, as I was given to understand. As you know, my manor was burgled fifteen years ago, and a number of family heirlooms were stolen.”

“Yes.” It hadn’t been TT’s manor at the time, but it would be impolite to point that out.

“That’s why I need an exact list of everything the man bought and sold from questionable sources since then.”

Ah. “Have you asked the DMLE about it? They are the ones carrying out the investigation.” If TT went to bother Amelia, he’d be out of Cornelius’s hair for the morning, at least.

“Amelia told me that she couldn’t say anything about an ongoing investigation.”

“Ah.”

“So, since you’re her superior…” TT smiled. “This is really important. Not just for my family, but for others.”

Ah, so that was TT’s game: He wanted to know what else might’ve been stolen and, most importantly, from whom. He was in the clear - he hadn’t owned the manor at the time, so any questionable objects that might reappear wouldn’t incriminate him. But some of his colleagues were in a different position.

Great. If he helped out TT - he could finagle such a list for himself by exercising his oversight powers - then a number of other Wizengamot members would pester him about it. At least Lucius wouldn’t be affected; he had been pardoned by Cornelius’s predecessor.

And if he didn’t help TT, he’d lose the man’s support. Which would mean a few bills he was counting on wouldn’t pass.

Great. He beamed at TT. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can make no promises - you know this involves James’s family.”

“So I’ve heard. Terrible what happened to his son.”

“Yes.” Cornelius nodded. “Albus is involved as well.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. And the international implications…” Cornelius titled his head and sighed. “It’s a mess.” Which was the truth, actually. Some countries saw this as an opportunity to settle old scores. Or at least make it known that they were still holding grudges.

“Well, do your best, please.”

“Of course,” Cornelius lied.

*****​

Unknown Location, July 9th, 1996

“Oh, Harry… That was such a great game! Despite the Slytherins using fouls and cheating to take out everyone on the team but you, you still beat them! I thought my heart stopped when you went into the Wronski Feint, only it wasn’t a Wronski Feint - you caught the Snitch just before they scored. A second later, and they would’ve tied!” She batted her eyes at him and ran a hand over her chest, emphasising the tight fit of her robes. “Another second later, and the Bludgers would’ve caught you! I screamed when they stopped inches from your face!”

He smiled confidently at her. “Oh, I just did what a good Seeker would do - I caught the Snitch or died trying.”

“You’re too modest! You’re the best Seeker in all of England! You’ll get us the cup as soon as you’re going pro!”

“I’ll do my best,” he told her, raising his chin a little. “Don’t worry, we’ll win the cup.” Just as Gryffindor had won the cup for four years straight - ever since he joined the team.

“But I need to take a shower now - beating the entire Slytherin team single-handedly tends to make you work up a sweat.”

“Oh, of course! But will you come back?”

“I will.” He beamed at her. “After visiting my friends in the Infirmary, of course.”

“Of course.”

He smiled at his admirer - a seventh year girl - and entered the locker room. None of the others was there - they were all in the infirmary - so he had the place and the showers to himself. No stealing glances at the Chasers, either, alas. But with the beauty waiting outside…

He grinned as he stripped and entered the showers. After turning them on, he stored his wand in his water-proof enchanted holster. You couldn’t be too cautious. Not with Slytherins trying everything to stop him from beating them.

The hot water on his head and neck felt very nice. He had sweated like a pig as he played the best game ever. One Seeker against an entire team. He closed his eyes and craned his neck, letting the water hit his face. Yes, he deserved this.

Then he felt something touch his back and froze. How the…? Then arms wrapped around his chest from behind, hands gliding over his muscles, and he heard a whisper next to his ear. “I think you deserve a reward.”

Oh. He swallowed, looking down. Soft, gentle hands caressed his chest. “Yes…?” he breathed more than he spoke.

“A very special reward.”

He shuddered. He could feel her against his back. Bare skin pressing against his own. That was… Merlin’s Beard! He wet his lips even though water was still pouring down on him. “Yes.” He swallowed, then turned around.

The girl took a step back, smiling at him. Her wild mane was wet, plastered to her head and shoulders. Her brown eyes shone, and she beamed at him, licking her lips, as she said…

“Wake up, Potter!”

What the…? Harry Potter gasped as he opened his eyes. Granger? He had such a dream with bloody Granger? What the hell was wrong with him? You didn’t have erotic dreams about Granger! “No!”

“You realise that if you respond, you prove that you’re awake?” Granger sounded amused as she shook her head. She turned away before he could think of a comeback and walked towards the living room of their shelter.

He glared at her back. This was her fault! If she hadn’t dressed in such revealing clothes - far too short shorts that almost disappeared under her shirt - he wouldn’t have… whatever.

He sighed and got up. They really needed to get off this island. If they were stuck here any longer, he’d probably forget what a real hot girl looked like.

He dressed and joined her at the table. “And you’re wrong. People can talk in their sleep.”

“You didn’t, though,” she replied with a grin. “Not then.”

He drew a short breath. Had he talked in his sleep? Had Granger listened? He should’ve asked Uncle Remus to teach him a privacy charm. If she overheard him moaning… Or, worse, if she heard him moan her name…

“Is something wrong?”

He noticed that she was staring at him.

“Nothing,” he quickly told her. “Just getting a little tired of coconut for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“Ah.” She nodded. “That was expected. But there’s not much that we can do about it.”

“Not until we take out the wyvern,” he agreed. And they would do that. “We’ll finish the trap today.”

She pursed her lips but nodded. “Breakfast first, though. You might not like it, but you need the calories.”

“I know,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

She sniffed and turned away to fetch more coconut while he sat down at the table. He briefly wondered if he should point out that she was serving him breakfast as if she was a stay at home witch. That would rile her up.

Which would be stupid, of course. Even though it might also get her to stop lecturing him. Not even Mum lectured him like that.

He closed his eyes for a moment. Back home, Mum would have made breakfast. A full English. Tea, hot chocolate for Rose, bacon, eggs, toast, baked beans, and she’d add orange juice and an apple so it would be healthy. They would sit down, try to get the Prophet before Dad arrived, and… He sighed.

“It’s all we have,” Granger said with a slight frown. “Moaning about it won’t change it into something else.”

Oh for…! “It’s not that,” he said. “I just remembered how we’d have breakfast at home.”

She frowned for a moment before her eyes widened. “Oh.” Then she seemed to hunch a little. “We’ll get off this island,” she said after a few seconds had passed. “One way or another.”

“Of course we will. Mum and Dad will come for us.” They had to.

“Or Dumbledore,” she added.

“Or Uncle Peter.” He was the best agent in Britain. An international wizard of mystery, Mum had called him.

“Or a task force from the Ministry,” Granger said.

He scoffed. The Ministry? He’d believe that… well, Dad might lead Aurors. That would count.

“You don’t have a high opinion of the Ministry, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Your father’s a high-ranking Ministry employee,” she pointed out. “A shoo-in for the next Department-head.”

“He’s an exception,” Harry told her. “As is Bones. But most of the Ministry employees are stupid.”

“And you would know that?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Dad and Mum said so. Sirius agrees - and he’s in the Wizengamot. And Ron’s Dad says the same. Even Percy complains about his co-workers.”

“That’s still a very small sample. The mere fact that the Ministry is still standing and providing essential services to Wizarding Britain shows that it cannot be as useless as you claim.”

“I didn’t say it’s useless,” he protested. “But it’s filled with idiots. If a few key people in every Department left, the whole thing would collapse. That almost happened during the war.” Only the people hadn’t left - they had been murdered.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Not Dad’s; he works harder than anyone else in the Auror Corps.” He glared at her - he knew what she had been about to say.

“Perhaps he should hire more capable wizards and witches, then.” She sniffed. “Last I heard, muggleborns are still woefully underrepresented amongst Ministry employees.”

“Not every muggleborn is cut out to be an Auror,” he retorted. “It takes talent, training and the will to persevere,” he quoted Dad.

“That sounds like the sort of excuse the Old Boys’ network likes to sprout when people ask why there are so few women in positions of power.”

She really sounded like Mum when she was like this. “That doesn’t make it untrue. Dad wouldn’t turn down a muggleborn, but not too many sign up.”

“And why would they? With the Ministry predominantly staffed with the same sort of bigot they had to deal with at Hogwarts for years?” She sniffed again.

“You mean the Slytherins?” he asked.

“They don’t have a monopoly on bigotry, but yes - they don’t hide the fact that they think they’re superior to anyone else by virtue of their blood. Not that the other houses don’t have their fair share of blood bigots.”

“Far fewer of them than when Mum and Dad were at Hogwarts,” he said.

“You mean they are more discreet and stick to sneering rather than cursing.” She scoffed. “Voldemort’s death at least made them refrain from violence. Most of them, in any case. But I’m sure that many of the bigots long for the times when they could teach ‘uppity mudbloods’ a lesson without getting punished for it.”

He scowled. “You can’t say that.”

She raised her eyebrows with a smirk. “Which word? Mudblood?”

“Yes!” he hissed. “Good people don’t use the word. Show some respect!”

She snorted. “I’m a muggleborn. If anyone has the right to use the word, it’s one of us.” She stared at him. “Isn’t it funny how people don’t say it anymore, yet think it all the same? There must be many Death Eaters around.”

“You can’t call every bigot a Death Eater.”

“If the shoe fits? If Voldemort had won the war, they’d happily help him murder people like me.” She scoffed again. “History taught us that.”

Well, there wasn’t much that he could say against that.

*****​

Hermione Granger shook her head. Potter really didn’t understand the problem. Preventing people from using the slur wouldn’t change anything. The bigots would just find other, probably more subtle terms to use. And keep hiring and promoting ‘the right sort’. That was how things worked - in Wizarding or muggle Britain. At least Wizarding Britain wasn’t nearly as sexist as her home country.

“Well, if you’re finished, we should start preparing the trap. And we need to consider how to bait the wyvern too.” She stood up.

“Didn’t we agree that I’d do it?”

She pursed her lips. It still felt wrong to have Potter risk his life like that. Even if he was the logical choice. “I meant how to make the wyvern see you. The canopy had worked well for hiding us from its eyes so far.”

“Ah.” He grinned. “Thinning the canopy shouldn’t be much of a problem with a few Cutting Curses, and then we can cast spells to attract its attention.”

“That would permanently reduce our cover,” she pointed out.

“As long as we get the wyvern, that’s fine. And we couldn’t stay anyway, should we fail again,” he retorted.

She refrained from rolling her eyes. “What about other potential threats? Such as whoever owns or lays claim to the island?” Hadn’t he thought about that?

“We don’t know if there are any others on this island.”

“And we won’t know until we explore the entire island,” she retorted. “But until then, removing our cover would be reckless.”

He pressed his lips together. “Alright. Then we’ll have to pull the branches back somehow and create holes in the canopy.”

“And using spells to attract it might also make it more cautious,” she added. “It knows that spells can hurt it.”

“That didn’t stop it from attacking us anyway, as soon as we were out of the cave.”

That was correct. Still… “It would be better if it thought it could surprise us.”

“That’s true,” he agreed, to her surprise. “But how long can we be ready for its attack? An hour? Two? If we use spells to draw its attention, we won’t have to wait overly long.”

It wasn’t as if she would fall asleep, but he had a point. Again. “Alright. Let’s hope the creature isn’t too smart. I don’t want to underestimate it again.”

“Of course not - I would loathe abandoning our cosy home here.” He grinned at her.

“It’s a shelter, not a home,” she snapped. They wouldn’t stay here!

He blinked. “Well, it’s better than the cave. More comfortable. We can spruce it up with a little effort, too. Once the wyvern’s dead.”

“We’ll see about that.” She wanted to get off the island, not make it her home. “Let’s go and dig the pit.”

He nodded.

*****​

Hermione Granger wiped the sweat from her brow and took a deep breath. Hot and humid - the island had a perfect tropical climate. She didn’t even have to exert herself to sweat. And she was exerting herself. A little, at least. Digging the pit hadn’t been hard at all - a few Vanishing Spells, and it was large enough to fit the wyvern. A waste of soil, but they weren’t looking to become farmers.

Fabricating and placing the barbed spikes, on the other hand… that had been exhausting. But the pit was now lined with barbed metal spikes, each of them a yard long. And safely stuck to the bedrock.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

Potter must be tiring as well, she thought as the boy rose out of the pit on a floating plank - he usually preferred to show off silent casting.

“Halfway done!” he said.

“And now comes the hard part,” she said. “The cover.”

He grinned. “That’s not hard. All we need is enlarged foliage stuck together.”

“And some soil and grass to cover it up,” she corrected him. “We can’t count on the wyvern falling for a badly disguised trap again.”

“It wasn’t badly disguised,” he protested.

“But the wyvern knows about it - and it might be suspicious of foliage covering a large patch on the ground. It wouldn’t look natural,” she pointed out.

“Then we will need a few poles to support the cover,” he said. “Thin so they’ll break under the wyvern’s weight.”

“Yes.” It would be a little tricky - large flying magical creatures were surprisingly light for their size.

“The opposite of our shelter!” He grinned again. “Well, I’ll collect palm tree fronds. You can prepare the planks and poles.”

She bit her lower lip to keep herself from snapping at his presumption to order her around. It was a sound suggestion, after all. She still nodded a little jerkily, not that he seemed to notice - he kept glancing at the sky while they talked. He’d done so the whole day.

Well, it was a good thing that he was taking the threat seriously. They really couldn’t afford to underestimate the wyvern.

*****​

Harry Potter smiled. The pit trap was - finally! - ready. And he had to admit, if only to himself, that Granger’s insistence on covering the trap with grass sod had worked out well. Once they had managed to get the damn stuff to stick to the foliage covering without ripping it apart. He resisted the urge to cast another cleaning charm on his face just to be sure he hadn’t dirt streaks on his skin any more. “So, all that’s left now is the bait.”

Granger sighed and looked up. “The pièce de résistance, in other words.”

He didn’t recognise the term, but he could guess the meaning. And he shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll reserve the right to tell you ‘I told you so’ once you find out that it’s not as easy as you think.”

He scoffed. “Watch me!” A flick of his wand summoned the plank, a swish had it float, and he sat down on it. “I’ll be done in a jiffy!”

He rose in the air before she could say anything. Hah!

He reached the lower branches forming the canopy and looked down. Hm. If he was to stay in the designated spot, then… with the angle of approach… and the line of sight.

A log floated into view - on the ground - then turned until it was standing tall. On the bait spot.

He didn’t need to look at Granger to know she was smiling at him. She was such a show-off. He’d already calculated the location he needed to clear - he was a Seeker; calculating vectors was what separated the good from the great Seekers.

He guided his plank a bit further and reached out for the thinner branches. All he had to do was to drag them back and stick them to the main branch or trunk.

Which, he quickly found out, turned out to be much more difficult than he had anticipated. The branches weren’t very pliable, and using magic to bend them tended to break them. So he had to push and pull, stuck to the branch for safety. Granger was across from him, on the other side of the pit, struggling even more.

He shook his head and guided his plank to her. “Let’s work together.”

She pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. It should be easier if we apply our strength together.”

He smiled and grabbed the branch she had been pulling back. “Together!” The branch bent easier with both of them pulling at it, and casting a Sticking Charm on the tip was also much easier with one holding in place.

A few minutes later, they were making progress at a decent rate.

But the two of them working closely together also had a disadvantage: They were literally working close together. And their robes were still back at the shelter, serving as mattresses. Which meant that when he touched her - which happened all the time when they pulled on particularly resistant branches - he couldn’t help touching her bare legs. Or arms. Or catching glimpses down her shirt when she leaned forward. He could’ve done without knowing how her bra looked. Or how her shorts showed off her butt when she bent over.

Which she was doing again. He quickly looked up at the sky. Checking for the wyvern. And not looking at Granger. “Sky’s clear,” he said.

“Good,” Granger replied. “We’re about halfway through, I’d say. Without flying down and checking from below.”

“Let’s do the other side, then.”

They flew around the pit, just in case, and started on the other trees there. The sun was sinking - it was late afternoon now. “Almost done,” Harry said after the next few branches.

“Good.” Granger wiped some sweat from her brow, and Harry didn’t stare at her sweat-soaked top that was clinging to her chest. Not much, at least.

“Anyway,” he started to say, “we can…”

The wyvern’s roar interrupted him.

Granger gasped. Both of them immediately started to search the sky for the creature.

“There!” Harry blurted out. “Over the top of the mountain.”

“It’s a hill,” Granger corrected him. “It might see us from there,” she added.

“If it has the same eyes as a dragon, yes,” he agreed. That meant… “Go to the shelter!” he snapped.

“What?”

“We need to finish this - but if we’re both caught up here…” He shook his head and stared at her.

He saw her clench her teeth for a moment, glaring at him. Then scoffed. “Alright. But don’t do anything stupid.”

“Me? Never!” he replied with far more confidence than he felt.

While she descended, he turned back to look at the beast. It was circling around the mountain top. He knew what it was doing - it was looking for them. He was a Seeker; he could recognise search patterns easily.

Damn. He felt his heart beating faster.

This would be tricky.

He grabbed the next branch and pulled, keeping his eyes on the wyvern in the sky. Then, he swung his leg over the bent branch to keep it in place so he could cast a Sticking Charm - but by the time he had his wand pointed at it, the branch had moved just enough so it wasn’t touching the base of the branch any more.

Clenching his teeth, he squeezed his thighs together, using his free hand to pull as well. There! He quickly cast the Sticking Charm, then let his breath out as he could finally relax his legs. One branch down, about six more left to be sure. Now, where was…

He looked up and froze. He couldn’t see the wyvern any more. It wasn’t circling the top of the hill. Where was it?

He looked around frantically. Where was it? Had it landed? Or… He turned his head and squinted, looking southwest, close to the…

Cursing, he flicked his wand and cast a Levitation Charm on the plank stuck to the branch. He had to get down. If the wyvern was coming at him with the sun at its back…

It was. He felt his heart skip a beat as a shadow suddenly covered the sun - the wyvern had spread its wings as it bore down on him.

Harry jumped off the still stuck plank, aiming for a lower branch. He felt the air move as the wyvern’s claws barely missed him, his wand moving to cast a Cushioning Charm...

He hit the branch before he could finish casting the spell and barely managed to twist to move his wand away to keep it from being broken by the impact. Instead, he hit it with his thigh and bounced off, straight down - straight towards the covered pit….

He waved his wand, despite knowing even a Cushioning Charm wouldn’t save him. But he...

“Accio Potter’s clothes!” someone screamed.

And Harry was pulled to the side, towards the shelter. But he was still falling, still on course to hit the centre of the pit trap.

He twisted, pointed his wand at his chest, and cast a Banishing Charm at himself. He lost his wand as he was blown away, towards the shelter, but he managed to clear the pit trap before he hit the ground and slid several yards, rolling and tumbling over sod and roots and smaller stones.

“Potter!” Granger screamed again.

“My wand! Summon my wand!” he yelled, blinking. He wasn’t quite sure where up and down was, but he knew he needed his wand. “Summon it!”

A moment passed. He was on his back, on the ground, he realised. In front of the shelter. And he was hurting all over.

“Accio Potter’s wand!”

And there came his wand, flying towards him. He started to smile.

Until he saw the wyvern swoop down behind it, flying straight towards him and Granger.

*****​

Hermione Granger froze for a moment, her heart skipping a beat. The wyvern was headed straight for her and Potter, wings flaring to stop it from crashing into the ground, then pulling in so it could swoop at them. So fast. Too fast.

The shelter entrance was behind her. If she turned and ran, she’d make it. But Potter was on the ground. Hurt. Wandless.

She stepped over him and cast a Shield Charm, then laid down on top of him, closing her eyes.

A moment later, her shield shattered under the impact of the wyvern’s claws. The force of it threw her off Potter and into the sod-covered front of the shelter. She felt the air being knocked out of her lungs as she hit it and heard the wyvern roar as it flew overhead, clearing the shelter by inches before crashing into the trees behind it. Her chest hurt. Her leg hurt. But she had to move. She had her wand. Potter had lost his. They had to get to the shelter. She had to…

Potter was moving - away from her! The damned idiot was running towards the pit. No, towards his wand on the ground!

She groaned and cursed as she got up. The wyvern would be turning around for another run. They had to get in the shelter! “Potter!”

He picked up his wand, raised - cast. Shield Charm, she realised. Then he grinned at her, blood running down his face. “Summon me from the ground!”

“What?” she screamed back.

But he was already running. Towards the pit. And the wyvern was roaring - swooping down. And she understood his plan.

And wanted to curse the bloody fool for it!

*****​

Harry Potter glanced over his shoulder as he ran - as fast as his battered body could manage - towards the pit trap. The edge of the pit trap. The wyvern was tucking its wings in, drawing its head back and its chest up to bring its claws to bear.

He had to time this exactly right, or Granger wouldn’t summon anything but bits of him. He glanced ahead. Ten yards left. Back. The wyvern was clearing the shelter - Granger was ducking. Six yards. If he misjudged the distance, he’d fall into the pit. Couldn’t look forward. The wyvern’s claws were spreading. Two yards.

He threw himself down onto the ground, sideways. He rolled towards the edge of the pit, ending on his back, staring at the claws bearing down on him. Oh my…

The claws hit his shield, sliding over it as they shattered it - and launched him forward, over the pit.

And something pulled him back. Granger. The wyvern’s claws came down as the creature tried to grab him - but it missed, the claws closing around empty air inches from his chest as he was dragged back towards the shelter.

Then something hit him, clipped his shoulder, and he smashed into the ground, bouncing worse than after a failed Wronski Feint. The wyvern’s tail!

He rolled, pain flaring up in his shoulder, and the tail with its stinger stabbed into the ground before his eyes, narrowly missing his head.

Then the stinger was ripped out of the ground as the wyvern crashed into the ground. Into the pit - he saw the sod covering the pit shatter as the huge creature hit it and impaled itself on the spikes below.

The monster roared, wings thrashing - it wasn’t dead. It wasn’t dead.

Harry coughed as he got up, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder. And his side.

The wyvern was beating its wings, trying to lift itself out of the pit. And shrieking so loud, Harry’s ears rang. He could see where a spike had ripped through a wing, but he couldn’t see the belly of the beast. Just its back - and the wildly thrashing stinger.

“Finite!”

Granger at his side, casting. And one of the shrunk palm tree trunks snapped back to its original size - and slammed into the beast’s side.

Right. He raised his wand, aiming at the other strip of shrunken trunks. There, the little stick… “Finite!” he yelled.

Another tree trunk shot through the air, growing as it flipped over itself and landed on top of the wyvern.

“Finite!” Granger again.

He tuned her out and focused on the next trunk. “Finite!”

This time, the tree trunk slammed into the wyvern at the perfect angle, pushing it further down, onto the spikes. It roared so loud, his ears hurt. Granger stumbled next to him.

“Finite!” And another snapped back to its size perfectly, but missed the beast, sliding off its wing.

They had half a dozen of them ready on each side. He pointed his wand at the third on his side. “Finite!”

The tree trunk smashed into the creature’s head. But the monster kept roaring. Its tail lashed out, the stinger cutting through the torn grass in front of him.

“Finite!” Granger’s next trunk missed again - the wyvern hadn’t fallen into the centre of the pit.

His turn. “Finite!”

A body blow, but a glancing one.

“Finite!” Granger’s next trunk flipped over and landed on the wyvern’s back. It threw its head back - was that blood flowing out of its mouth?

He pointed at the second to last trunk on his side. “Finite!”

Another hit to the wyvern’s head. Still not enough to knock it out, much less kill it.

“Finite!” Granger screamed her spell. Her tree trunk seemed to appear in mid-air, flipping over - and landing on the left wing, pushing it down into another spike.

“Finite!” Harry’s last trunk flipped like a catapult and cracked down on the beast’s back.

They had used up their trap. And the monster was still alive. No.

But it wasn’t moving as much as it had before. It still was trying to free itself, though.

“No.” He realised he had spoken out loud and scoffed. “You won’t get out of this!”

He pointed his wand and cast a sticking charm on the spike he could see piercing the wing.

“Oh, clever!” Granger copied him, aiming for the body of the beast.

“We need to get to the other side,” he snapped. “Its head is vulnerable!”

They had to give the pit a wide berth - despite several spells, they didn’t manage to stick the tail to anything - so they had to push through thick underbrush and over rougher ground. Moving hurt, but Harry did his best to ignore the pain he felt every time something touched his shoulder or he stumbled. They had to kill the wyvern now. Before it recovered. Finish this once and for all.

They reached the other side of the pit. And Harry could see the wyvern’s head. Its wounded side hadn’t healed, and fresh blood was dripping out of its mouth. One of its fangs had splintered, but otherwise, it wasn’t hurt.

As soon as it saw them emerge from the underbrush, it tried to bite them, the head shooting towards them, but not even the long neck of the creature was enough to reach them.

He stuck it to the ground, but it ripped the topsoil and sod off when it recoiled, screeching at them. The stench of rot and pus was almost enough to make him puke. How to kill it…

He pointed his wand at the trunk that had failed to even touch the beast. “Accio trunk!”

“What are we doing?” Granger asked as the trunk landed on the ground next to them - they had to take a step back to avoid it rolling over their feet.

“Banish splinters at it until it dies,” he told her.

“That didn’t work before,” she protested. “We need something bigger.”

He looked at the trunk, then at the wyvern. And then at Granger.

She nodded at him.

He cast a few cutting curses, sharpening one end of the trunk.

“I’ve stuck another spike to its belly, but I don’t know if it’ll hold it,” Granger told him as she transfigured the wood into metal.

He grunted an answer as he lined the trunk up. “Hey! You ugly monster!” he yelled. But the wyvern was ignoring him, trying to tear itself free. He wouldn’t be able to hit its mouth with the wyvern shaking its head like that.

“I’ll be bait. You banish the trunk.”

“No!”

He ignored her protests and took a step forward. Then another. “Hey!”

“Potter, you idiot!”

He chuckled. “Hey, you ugly beast!” Another step, and he was right at the edge of the dent the beast’s head had made before.

And this time, it noticed him. It froze for a moment, then roared and snapped at him. He jumped back and to the side, and something flew past him - into the maw of the beast.

Yes! He flicked his wand and stuck the spike to the maw.

The monster roared again, shaking its head, trying to dislodge the trunk. Then it bit down on it. But the trunk was solid metal.

And the attempt made the beast hold still enough for Harry to hit the spike with an Engorgement Charm.

A moment later, the spike tore through the wyvern’s head, ripping an eye out. The beast’s roars cut off, and its head fell down - onto another spike. More blood ran out of its torn mouth, down the spike. And it stopped moving.

And breathing.

He stared at the body. It wasn’t moving. It wasn’t breathing.

“The blood’s still flowing,” Granger mumbled, next to him. “That means the heart’s still beating. Unless it’s simple gravity at work…”

“It’s not really squirting or something,” he pointed out.

“No, it isn’t. And it seems to be stopping.” Granger chuckled. Once. Then again. Then she flicked her wand, and a Stinging Hex hit the wyvern’s remaining eye.

It didn’t even twitch.

“It’s dead,” Granger said.

“It’s finally dead,” Harry agreed.

“It’s dead!” Granger started panting. “We did it!”

They had done it. Harry felt his mouth twist into a smile. They had done it - they had killed the wyvern! “We did it! We did it!”

He reached out and hugged her.

Then he kissed her.

*****​

 

Chapter 13: The Clean-Up

Godric’s Hollow, Devon, Britain, July 9th, 1996

Sirius Black jumped up when someone knocked at the door of his best friend’s home. The war had been over for almost fifteen years, but old habits died hard. And with Harry kidnapped by someone who was able to hide from Dumbledore, pretty much anything was possible.

He drew his wand and cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell before stepping to the side to get a better angle at the door. Just in case.

James did the same on the other side.

Lily looked at them, then turned and approached the door - with her own wand drawn. “Yes?”

“It’s me.”

Peter! That was Peter’s voice!

He didn’t lower his wand, though. No matter how much he wanted to know what Peter had found out.

Lily opened the door and let their friend enter.

“Hi, everyone,” Peter nodded at them. He didn’t look wounded or cursed, Sirius noted. He quickly changed to smell him. Same scent. A little ratty, and oh so interesting traces of strange smells. Exotic ones. And food.

“Padfoot, stop slobbering over Peter,” Lily snapped.

Oh, right. He changed back.

“Did you find Cobblespun?” James asked in a tight voice.

Usually, Lily would chide James for such a lack of manners, Sirius knew. But with their child missing…

“Hello, Peter,” Sirius returned the greeting. “Have a seat.”

“Yes, of course,” Lily quickly added. “Have you eaten already?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Peter replied.

“That means he hasn’t,” Sirius said, snorting. “You’re in luck - we haven’t eaten dinner yet, either.”

“Really…”

“Oh, please.” James shook his head. “Now…?”

Peter nodded. “I’ve found Cobblespun’s location in France.”

Sirius frowned. The way Peter worded it… “But not him.”

His friend grimaced. “I couldn’t get him.” He sighed and pulled out a map from his plain, very plain robes. “He’s hiding in the Magical Quarter of Paris. In La Folie de Morgane.”

James and Lily looked lost, but Sirius knew the name. “The best hotel in Paris. And the oldest.” His family wouldn’t have used any other hotel on the rare occasions they visited France.

“And one of the most secure,” Peter added. “I could sneak in and verify his presence, but I didn’t see a way to get him.”

“But if he’s staying there, he must have more money than expected,” James said, frowning. “Or someone’s protecting him. Perhaps someone he sold stolen loot to.”

“They would be killing him instead,” Sirius pointed out.

“He might’ve taken precautions,” Peter told them. “A dead man’s switch, maybe.”

“From what we know of him, he doesn’t strike me as a particularly clever criminal,” James said.

“But not a particularly dumb one, either,” Peter retorted. “He’s slippery.”

“Can we send the French after him?” Lily asked.

James scoffed. “The bastards won’t lift a finger for us. Not after Dumbledore’s latest disagreement with the Duc over their treatment of muggleborns.”

Sirius nodded. In hindsight, that had been unfortunate timing. Not that the bastard didn’t deserve it - his ‘concerns about the loyalty of muggleborns’ were just a pretext to keep the French purebloods in power. Though, to be fair, the French muggleborns were pretty rowdy, so to speak - they didn’t like living in an absolute monarchy.

“Anyway, I need some help to extract Cobblespun,” Peter said.

“We’ll help!” James said. “Let’s go!” he blinked. “I mean, let’s go after dinner!”

Sirius raised his finger. “I don’t think the Head Auror should go and kidnap someone in France. They might blame our Ministry for it - if they find out.”

James bared his teeth at him. “I don’t care.”

And Lily didn’t look like she cared, either. Great. Sirius sighed. “But you should.”

“If they won’t help us, then I don’t care what they think!” James scoffed.

“But they could rile up more countries against us,” Sirius pointed out.

“And the more trouble they make for Britain, the busier Dumbledore will be,” Peter added.

That, at last, made James hesitate.

Sirius quickly told him: “And Malfoy and his ilk will try to use this against you. Try to force you to resign. Right when Harry needs you in the Ministry.”

James glared at him, but Lily placed a hand on his shoulder. “James… we’ll go. We’re not working for the Ministry.”

“Everyone knows Peter works for Dumbledore.”

Peter grinned. “But in a private capacity.”

“So, I’ll have to stay back while everyone else goes to France?” James clenched his teeth.

“Not everyone. Remus would cause a scandal as well,” Sirius said. France’s stance on werewolves was… well, drastic.

“The Scandinavians would like it, though,” Peter snorted.

“And you? You’re a member of the Wizengamot!” James told Sirius.

“Which isn’t a part of the Ministry,” Sirius countered. “And as a Black, my name carries some weight.”

“Everyone knows where you stand with regards to muggleborns,” Lily pointed out.

“Oh, yes, they do,” Sirius agreed. “But I’m still a Black.” His family had a reputation, after all. A well-deserved one, which meant it would be harder to pin whatever he did on the Ministry.

Not that Sirius was planning to get caught, anyway.

*****​

Unknown Location, July 9th, 1996

They had killed the wyvern! A huge, dragon-like creature, and they had managed to kill it. They were finally safe! They didn’t have to hide in a bunker any more, afraid to go out! No more looking at the sky in fear, either! Their hard work had finally paid off! Together, they had done it! Yes!

Hermione Granger tilted her head a little, shifting her stance and moving one hand up to grip his hair as she kissed back. This was like in the books, only better. She was...

She blinked. She was kissing Potter!

Gasping, she pulled back and stared at him. What the…? She felt her cheeks heat up - she was blushing.

He blinked, then his eyes widened, and he gaped at her. “Merlin’s balls! I… we...” He trailed off, obviously at a loss for words, shaking his head with his mouth open.

Why was he shocked? He had started this! Or was he… And they were still holding each other, she realised. Stiffening, she took a step back, releasing him, and took a deep breath. “We kissed. In the heat of the moment.” She nodded at her own, clipped words. “After days of stress and near-death experiences, such a reaction is quite normal. It doesn’t mean anything.” It better not mean anything.

He nodded in return, taking a shaking breath. “Right. Just the heat of the moment.”

“Right.” She nodded sharply and suppressed the sudden feeling of anger and... whatever. This was just some emotional outbreak due to stress and relief. He was Potter, for Heaven’s sake! She pressed her lips together before clearing her throat. “So… we need to deal with the corpse,” she explained. “It’ll attract scavengers and, once it starts decaying, a huge amount of insects. And it will present a sanitary risk in short order.” Focusing on the next task would help get over this… lapse in judgement.

“Well, it was a sanitary risk before,” he replied, pointing at the stinger, which had stopped twitching but was leaking a clear liquid.

The muscles controlling the venom gland must have relaxed in death, releasing the venom. “If we had a secure container, we could catch some of it, but since we don’t, we probably should just vanish the venom.”

“Right.” He nodded and pointed his wand at the patch of grass under the tip of the stinger. “Evanesco.”

The grass and part of the soil vanished. Not the stinger, though. Of course, that was part of the carcass - which was far too big to be vanished.

“Oh. We should cut the stinger off - it’ll make a good trophy!” Potter said.

“A trophy?”

He grinned at her. “Of course! Otherwise, who would believe that we’ve killed a wyvern?”

He was worried about bragging? She shook her head. “We could’ve found the stinger.”

He narrowed his eyes as if he was thinking about this. “Do you know any spells to preserve meat?”

“No. Nor any spells to cure leather.” And she wasn’t about to try and cure the wyvern’s leather the muggle way. No, thank you. Even though it would be a lot of leather, and the things they could do… No.

“Damn. But we’ll keep the skull, too. And the claws. Probably the bones as well,” Potter went on.

“You want to strip the skin and flesh off the bones?” She raised her eyebrows. The creature was huge.

“Uh…” He grimaced. “Well, we can cut the head and claws off, and then…” He blinked. “Are you sure there isn’t a way to find out if wyvern meat is edible?”

“None that we have access to, except for trying it and hoping to not die from it,” she told him. “We could attempt to eat small pieces, but with magical creatures, even that could prove fatal. And I would rather save my bezoar for an actual emergency.”

“So, no wyvern steaks, then.” He nodded. “So, let’s cut off the head and stinger, then start vanishing the spikes and… bury the thing in the pit or cut it into pieces and vanish them?”

“We’d need more earth to cover the carcass, so vanishing it would be easier,” she pointed out. Marginally easier - they would have to cast a lot of Cutting Curses to dismember the body.

“You’re right. Too bad about all the leather… we could have used it as a sail for a raft.”

“You’re already planning to build a raft?”

He shrugged with a wide grin. “I’m thinking ahead.”

“Skipping ahead is more likely,” she corrected him. “We have to deal with the corpse here, first, and then we should explore the island before we try building a raft.”

“Do you honestly expect people to live on the same island as a man-eating wyvern?” He raised his eyebrows at her.

She frowned in return. “No. But there could be the remains of a settlement.” She pointed her wand at the wyvern’s body. “Let’s start. After treating your wounds.” The way he moved, they couldn’t really be serious, but they had to make sure.

“Right.”

He didn’t look happy, she noticed. Well, this would be dirty and exhausting work. At least he didn’t insist that he was fine.

*****​

Harry Potter sighed and shook his head. The sun was setting soon, and they were still dealing with the wyvern’s corpse. Half of it was gone, at least. Gone to where things went when vanished. But half of it was still there. And it smelt. Would have, at least, if he hadn’t cast a Bubble-Head Charm. “I didn’t think it would be this bad,” he said.

“What? The offal that is dripping out of the pierced intestines? Or the swarms of flies covering it? Or the ichor in its face?”

“Everything,” he told her. And his shoulder still hurt a little, but he wouldn’t whine about that.

“You’ve never visited a slaughterhouse, have you?” Granger asked him, using her wand to restore her ponytail.

“Have you?”

“Yes.” She pursed her lips. “We were on a school trip.”

“You went to a slaughterhouse? On a school trip?” He gaped at her. Before Hogwarts - she must have been… well, little.

“My teacher wanted to show us where meat came from.” She shrugged. “It was very educational, but not all parents shared that view. There was quite a scandal of sorts.”

He could very well imagine little Granger standing next to a butcher and pestering them with question after question. “Well, I doubt that there were as many flies as we’ve got here.” The slaughterhouse would’ve been shut down by the police otherwise. At least he hoped so - he wouldn’t be able to eat in any muggle restaurant any more, otherwise.

“No, there weren’t as many flies,” she confirmed before vanishing a cut part of the beast’s stomach. “Though are you certain that you want a trophy?”

“Yes!” It would impress everyone. He vanished the remains of the left wing.

“Then leave me out of it,” she told him.

“What?” That made no sense. Granger was a glory hound, always seeking praise from the teachers. And Flitwick would be so impressed by their plans! Why wouldn’t Granger want some recognition?

“Luna and Professor Hagrid won’t be happy. We’ve talked about this, remember?”

He winced. Yes, they had talked about it. Damn. Yes, Luna and Hagrid would be devastated. They might accept that they didn’t have any choice but to kill the wyvern, but to take a trophy… He could imagine them looking at him with that hurt expression, Luna sniffling and acting as if he had just killed a kitten, and Hagrid would be outright crying.

Harry clenched his teeth and frowned at her.

She shrugged. “I assume that you’ll have to be content with being the youngest Seeker in a century as your most important claim to fame.”

He scoffed. “We’ll tell our parents the truth, at least.” That would impress them.

“Of course. And the Ministry. I assume that the authorities will be most interested in an abandoned magical isle.” She nodded, then vanished the next part of the wyvern’s guts.

“I doubt that the Ministry will take possession of it. Not unless Dumbledore intervenes personally,” he told her.

“Or the Minister figures out a way to sell the island and pocket the profit.”

He laughed at that. “Hidden island, slightly used.”

She chuckled in return and bent to levitate more of the intestines out of the corpse.

He followed her example. They had to use as much daylight as they could - working with just one Wand-Lighting Charm would be a pain in the butt. And Harry really didn’t want to sleep next to the island’s biggest carrion buffet. Sure, the odds of another big predator being around weren’t good - but a swarm of smaller creatures might be even more dangerous if they surprised them.

He cast a series of Cutting Curses at the main body of the beast, aiming for the spots where the skin had been torn by spikes. That would allow them to vanish the different pieces. Once they were small enough.

*****​

“I really want a shower,” Granger complained as they finally entered their shelter.

“You cast a dozen cleaning charms,” Harry pointed out.

“It’s psychological. I don’t really feel clean,” she told him.

“Ah.” He nodded.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t tell me that you feel clean already.”

He didn’t, actually - there was a reason Quidditch lockers had showers, after all. Even though any decent player would be able to cast cleaning charm in their sleep, what with all the robes in need of cleaning. But he wasn’t going to complain like she was doing. He could fantasise in private about… He remembered his dream. The one in the Quidditch locker room. With Granger.

And she was running her fingers through her hair as if she was in a bathroom. Bloody hell!

He clenched his teeth. This was just hormones. And stress. And the heat. And the exhaustion.

And Granger’s fault for showing off her legs.

“Dinner?” he asked.

She blinked. “Right.” Nodding, she added: “We can build a shower tomorrow. It shouldn’t be hard to create a tank to hold water. Although creating a seal for the showerhead… maybe a bathtub would be better. We can easily fill it with water, though it would be cold, I think. Relatively.”

That might be pretty refreshing in this heat. On the other hand, bathing in cold water wouldn’t be very comfortable. He chuckled - the thought of Granger sitting in a bathtub full of cold water… And now he wished he had a bathtub full of cold water. Or at least a cold shower. Damn.

Granger hadn’t noticed, at least. “I guess we could use the sun to warm the water up, but that would increase the risk of detection.”

“Transfigure it to metal and use a fire,” he suggested.

“That would work, I guess. A little primitive, and not good for indoors, but we will be able to have hot baths.” Granger seemed oddly happy about that.

“Both mixed bathing, I hope,” he commented.

She blushed a little. “I’m talking about a bathtub, not a swimming pool.”

“Yes?” He didn’t know why he said this. Or why he grinned.

She stared at him with her mouth half-open for a moment. “Ha ha ha,” she said with a scowl.

He was almost relieved at the familiar expression on her face. Even though it looked sort of hot, too, her lips pursed like that - they were soft, too, he remembered...

Damn.

*****​

What was wrong with Potter? Hermione Granger couldn’t understand the boy. They had finally, and at great risk, killed the wyvern. As much as she disliked admitting it, Potter had shown great courage and skill during the fight. He’d been almost noble - a far cry from his usual, puerile behaviour.

And now he was making off-colour jokes about ‘mixed bathing’. Really! It was perfectly natural that she wanted a bath or at least a shower! Cleaning charms just weren’t enough to feel clean. That was no reason to make fun of her.

“Let’s eat dinner,” she said.

“Yes. I think we’ll have coconut today?” He grinned.

She snorted. He could be funny. Sometimes, at least. Hell, if he weren’t such an entitled arse most of the time, he’d be quite nice. And he wasn’t bad looking…

She pressed her lips together and focused on carving up and enlarging their dinner. She wasn’t going to dwell on this. Or on her lapse after killing the wyvern.

“Here,” she said, levitating the coconut slices to the table.

“Thank you.”

She nodded as she sat down. “You’re welcome.”

Coconut did get old after a few days of eating it exclusively. She still ate until she didn’t feel hungry any more. “We need to make plans,” she said, sipping coconut milk.

“Plans?”

“To explore the island,” she explained, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. If Potter could be civil, then so could she.

“We pick a direction, clockwise or counter-clockwise, and start walking?” He shrugged. “Though we need a way to find our way back to this place, I guess.”

“Yes.” She nodded. They were in the middle of the jungle - finding this place again wouldn’t be easy, it wasn’t as if they were too close to the beach. “We could leave a marker in the trees above, but…”

“...others could spot it as well.”

“Yes. Though that is the case with any marker or sign,” she said. They could create another shelter, of course. But she didn’t want to go through everything again. Though if they had to search for days for this place, then that would waste even more time...

“That’s true.” He leaned forward. “So, what do you have in mind?”

She blinked, surprised. “How did you know that?”

“The way you’re outlining the problem. Like Flitwick.” He grinned again.

She narrowed her eyes. This comparison might sound flattering at first glance, but Potter had teased her about lecturing others too often to take him at face value. On the other hand, they needed to plan. “Yes. We’ll make a compass.”

“A compass?” He blinked.

“Do you know the Four-Point Spell?” She tilted her head. “It always points the caster north. We can use that and a carefully cut piece of wood to make a compass. That way, we can navigate the island without leaving markers.” In theory. She remembered reading a book about scouts, back when her parents had tried to get her to go outside more often instead of reading books.

“Ah.”

“So, do you know it?”

“No.” He shrugged. “Never saw a reason to learn it.”

“I’ll teach you, then,” she said. If they were ever separated, he’d need it to find his way back so they could meet up again.

“Why did you learn it?” he asked.

Because she had hoped that she could modify it into pointing at specific people and things, once she knew enough Arithmancy. Of course she hadn’t known that that wouldn’t work. “It seemed to be an interesting spell,” she half-lied.

“Ah.”

“And a useful spell in case you end up lost in the wilderness,” she added. “Like now.”

“Apparition would’ve been more useful,” he replied.

“Unless the island is covered by Anti-Apparition Jinxes.”

He shook his head. “It’s too large for that. And we don’t know if it’s an island.”

He was right. In theory. “I think we would’ve seen at least a glimpse of the rest of the coast if it were a peninsula. It would have to be a very particular and very narrow peninsula.”

“Right.” He grinned. “Just pointing out that we don’t know if we’re on an island. You know, since you didn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. That wasn’t nearly as funny as Potter thought it was. Not at all, actually. “Yes. Now, let’s teach you the spell.”

“Right now?”

“So we have the whole day tomorrow for our exploration,” she explained with a grin. “Provided you can learn the spell quickly enough.”

He frowned in return but then matched her grin. “If I don’t, then it’ll be the fault of the teacher.”

She glared at him, but he only smiled at her. Great.

She sighed, then raised her wand. “Now, watch my movements…”

*****​

“Point Me!” Harry Potter all but yelled the incantation. Sure, everyone said that saying it louder didn’t help, but he felt better yelling it.

And he - finally! - also felt the tug on his wand as it was pulled towards a certain direction.

“Hah!” He smiled widely.

“About time,” Granger commented.

He rolled his eyes. “How long did it take you to learn the spell?”

“An hour. Without a teacher,” she told him, smiling widely.

He frowned. He had taken two hours. “That must have made the difference,” he said.

She gaped at him for a moment, then pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Typical!” she muttered.

“I was joking,” he defended himself, though he didn’t know why.

“Right.”

He swallowed his retort. He had been joking, after all. It wasn’t his fault that Granger didn’t believe him. Well, it was his fault, but only a little - Granger shouldn’t take everything so seriously. “Thanks.”

She narrowed her eyes, then nodded. “My pleasure.” Very polite and with as much warmth as a glacier.

Somehow, that felt worse than a heated insult. “I’m sorry,” he added.

She frowned again, then nodded, more slowly. “We’ve been - we are - under a lot of stress.”

He nodded as well. That was as good an excuse as anything else. “So,” he said after a moment, “How are we going to do it tomorrow? Hike around the island along the beach? Fly up to the mountaintop?”

“Levitate,” she corrected him. “And that would expose us to anyone observing the island.”

“Not if we stick to the ground. Mostly,” he retorted. “We’d have to fly under the canopy, but once we hit the slopes?” It was hard to spot a broom flying close to the ground from afar.

“Right. And we would be able to look around from the top.” She nodded again. “But we’d also be close to the wyvern’s lair.”

“It’s empty now,” he pointed out.

“Yes, But if this is - was - a sanctuary, then whoever owns or controls it might have left spells on the lair to check on the creature,” she told him. “If the spells don’t register the wyvern coming and going regularly, they would have a reason to check.”

That sounded reasonable. But… “It’s just an assumption.”

“But not an unreasonable one,” she countered. “And we don’t have to enter the lair. If we even find it.”

“Right. And we’ll be able to confirm if we’re on an island or not.” Not that Harry doubted that.

“And whether or not the island has a settlement. Or had one - we might also be able to spot ruins since a settlement would’ve been built at the coast.”

“Yes.” He checked his watch. It was getting late. No, it was late. He stifled a yawn, then caught Granger yawning. “I think we should head to bed.”

“You go to bed,” she told him. “I’ll take the first watch. It’s my turn.”

“You’re more tired than I am.”

“I won’t fall asleep,” she said.

He wanted to argue - she looked like she’d fall asleep as soon as she sat down - but her expression stopped him.

Well, even if she fell asleep, they had killed the wyvern and should be safe enough for one night. And if she fell asleep and failed to wake him up, he had something to hold over her for the next argument over who got to sleep first.

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

*****​

Unknown Location, July 10th, 1996

She was showering. He could hear it. Could hear the water hit her before dropping on the ground. Could hear her moan softly, obviously enjoying it. And if he closed his eyes, he could imagine how she looked, standing under the falling water, running her hands over…

He shivered and opened his eyes. He was standing guard, after all. He couldn’t close his eyes. And he couldn’t look away, either - what if something or someone approached from behind the flimsy partition that separated the shower from his guard post?

He looked at her. Her thick mane was plastered to her head and shoulders. He could see her calves, slick with water, and her feet on the polished stones forming the floor of their shower. Everything between her shoulders and her knees was hidden by the divider.

Then she raised her arms over her head, adjusting the shower, and he looked away. This was… torture. He took a few deep breaths. She was so close, so… Damn. And Hot. It was hot. He felt hot.

He realised that the shower had stopped and blinked. She was done? Already?

He turned to ask and froze. She had stepped around the divider and was walking towards him. She didn’t have a towel.

He stared. “Ah…”

She didn’t say anything - she just kept walking until she stood in front of him. Then she hugged him, and their lips met, and… and…

“Wake up, Potter. It’s your turn.”

He woke up with a gasp.

Granger was staring at him. Then she yawned. “Wake me in the morning.”

She turned and headed to her bed without further words. Had he talked in his sleep? Had she heard anything… He didn’t remember saying anything in his dream, but… it was a little fuzzy.

And… well, he was still covered by his blanket. Good.

But a shower - a cold shower - would be really handy right now. He snorted. Who would have thought that thoughts of Granger would do that to him?

*****​

She moaned. A hot bath - a luxury she had gone without for far too long. She stretched her legs, shifting a little in the huge tub, then raised one out of the water so she could rub a sponge over it, sighing as the spells on it cleaned her skin and pores. A copy of her first sponge - a birthday present from Lavender, she remembered. It came with a set of refilling special shampoo. Not that her hair needed it - it was thick and lustrous with just one charm. Which was good since she didn’t have her shampoo with her.

She ran her free hand through it, flicking her mane back. Perfectly styled for a bath. Or for anything.

She lowered her leg, then raised the other, running her sponge over it. It had taken a lot of effort to duplicate the sponge, but it was worth it.

And the same went for the bath, of course. But what decent home wouldn’t have a bath?

“Hermione?”

Ah. “I’m in the bath!” she called out.

“There you are!”

And there he was. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that cocky, handsome smile on his face, his bare chest still wet with sweat, his hair tousled by the wind… Dear Lord, he was sexy!

And he thought the same of her - she could feel his eyes roaming over her.

Smiling, she licked her lips. “You look like you could use a bath,” she told him.

“I feel like I could use a bath,” he replied, pushing off from the frame and stepping into the bathroom.

“Fortunately, I’ve prepared a bath already,” she said.

“How thoughtful.” He nodded and started stripping.

She wet her lips again as she watched his toned, muscular body move as he shimmied out of his tight pants, then turned to face her.

Yes.

“And I can help wash your back,” she added when he reached the tub.

“How kind of you.” He smiled as he climbed into the tub, and she sat up to better…

“You know me, Potter. You know me so well…”

“Wake up, Granger.”

She blinked. Another dream. Another of those dreams. And with Potter. She glared at him, and he recoiled.

“It’s morning,” he said. “You wanted to get up early, remember?”

Right. She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.” She smiled at him.

He blinked, then shook his head. “I’m going to prepare breakfast.”

“Coconut?” she asked, tilting her head as he turned away.

He snorted. “That’s my line.”

She snorted in return. But as soon as he had left her bedroom, she sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. What was wrong with her? Sure, Potter was reasonably handsome and not completely insufferable as long as he could keep his tongue in check, but there were far more handsome boys and men she could dream of, weren’t there? And she had a very good imagination.

It was the stress and their isolation. It had to be.

She shook her head as she moved to their table, then cast a hairstyling charm to tame her mane. Potter had breakfast ready. Not that it took much preparation - just a few spells to enlarge and cut the coconut and place it onto their improvised plates. “Thank you,” she said anyway.

“It’s my pleasure to serve you, Miss,” he replied, giving her a quick bow. “I’m sorry for the lack of alternatives, but we’re faced with a slight shortage of other food.”

She snorted. “Your waiter’s impression needs some work.”

“That was my gentleman’s impression,” he told her.

“You sounded more like a butler,” she retorted.

“Who would be a gentleman’s gentleman, right?” He grinned at her.

She pursed her lips. He was technically correct. Technically. She took a bite from her slices of coconut meat before saying: “For a gentleman, you’re not very courteous towards a lady.”

“You’re a lady?” He gaped at her and put his hand on his heart. “I had no idea!”

She glared at him. “What exactly did you think I was instead?”

“A witch?”

“Witches can be ladies, as you would know if you had paid attention in History of Magic.”

He snorted. “Binns isn’t a teacher but a verbal sleeping pill.”

“Yes? It’s not for the weak.” She grinned.

He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I don’t think we should head for the hilltop straight away. Instead, we should explore the area around us. I would prefer to know that there’s nothing dangerous nearby - and we’ll be able to find the shelter again more easily even if we misjudge the distance travelled.”

That was good thinking. With the Four-Point Spell, they would be able to navigate the island - but judging distances wouldn’t be as easy. And the spell wouldn’t be overly precise, either. So, there would be a rather significant margin of error when they were navigating. She nodded. “I agree. We don’t really know much about this area.” They hadn’t had time to explore. And even if they had the time, it would’ve been too dangerous with the wyvern still hunting them. If the creature had caught one of them a few hundred yards from the shelter...

Potter seemed surprised. Had he expected her to disagree with a perfectly logical suggestion? “Right. So, we’ll slowly widen our perimeter until we know the nearby area.”

“It’ll also serve as a good way to train casting the Four-Point Spell,” she told him.

He grumbled a little at that as he put the ‘plates’ away - as if he didn’t need the exercise; successfully casting a spell was a long way from actually mastering it. “Let’s go then.”

“Yes.” She stood and cast another cleaning charm at herself. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find a pond nearby.”

Now why was he looking at her like that?

*****​

Harry Potter suppressed the vivid memories of his weird dream. They were too far from the hill for a waterfall or anything like it, anyway. “So… going south first?” he asked as he stepped outside the shelter.

“I think we should head first to the shore. Knowing the way to and from the ocean will allow us to find our way back faster, should we have to,” Granger told him. She took a deep breath, then stretched and rolled her shoulders as soon as she was next to him. “We might want to excavate a small air shaft in the back, to improve the airflow.”

He nodded after a moment. “Both sound good.”

She tilted her head and glanced at him. “That sounds like you expect me to do the excavating.”

He grinned. “Well, if you need help, I would certainly lend you my assistance.”

“No, I can do it,” she replied with a half-frown. “So… shore?”

He nodded and pointed west. “That would be this direction. West.”

She cast her spell, then nodded. “Now… let’s go slowly and look for any sort of landmarks.” And backtrack often, so we don’t get lost.”

They’d already gone over that. He rolled his eyes when she walked past him, peering at the jungle in front of them. “And we have to watch that we don’t get separated.”

“If we do, I’ll just summon you,” she said with a grin.

“You mean you’ll summon my clothes,” he corrected her.

She blushed for a moment, then frowned at him. “You know what I mean.” With a huff, she walked past him into the jungle.

He made a noncommittal sound as he followed her. Teasing her was fun.

Then he blinked. What? Teasing Granger hadn’t been really fun for years.

“Are you coming?” She looked over her shoulder at him.

“Yes. I was just thinking about navigating the jungle,” he lied.

*****​

“Alright… we’ve explored our immediate surroundings,” Granger said.

“For hours,” Harry added.

She frowned at him. “We took two tries to find our way back to the shelter from our first landmark,” she reminded him.

“That was our first try. We’ve gotten better,” he retorted.

“We’ve become more familiar with this area.”

“Which was our goal.” He grinned. “So, let’s go further and reach the shore.” He pointed at a palm tree nearby. “We can eat lunch on the way.”

Granger sighed but nodded. “Too bad there was no pond. We might’ve been able to fish.”

“Oh, yes… grilled fish…” Just the memory made his mouth water a little. He was sick of coconuts. “That’s another reason to reach the shore.”

“I’m aware,” she said. She cast a spell, then turned. “West is this direction.”

“Alright.”

They slowly walked on, looking back and trying to memorise the path. Which was harder than it sounded, what with there not actually being any path. “We should leave marks,” he said. That would speed up things. A few cuts every few trees...

“That would lead others towards our shelter,” she replied.

“We haven’t seen any sign of humans on the island,” he told her.

“We haven’t explored the island - we haven’t even verified that it is an island.”

He snorted. She just had to be contrarian. Shaking his head, he used his wand to cut a low-hanging branch, then pushed past a bush…

...and stopped at the sight in front of him.

“What? Trouble?” Granger asked from behind him.

“Maybe,” he replied, pointing ahead. “There’s a hut.”

“A hut?” she whispered. A moment later, she was at his side, peering through the dense foliage. “It looks like the remains of a hut,” she said.

He nodded. The basic structure seemed intact, but the roof had caved in, and parts of the walls were missing. And it was partially overgrown. “I don’t see anyone nearby.”

“Me neither,” she replied in a low voice.

“I’ll go check it out - cover me,” he told her.

“Alright.”

He slowly approached the ruins. No sign of anyone living there - the grass was unperturbed, no tracks, nothing. But… The canopy above was lighter. And he could see broken branches if he squinted.

Then he reached the hut and saw the claw marks on the tree near it. Wyvern claws. Old marks. And the hut… He tilted his head, looked at the hut, then at the trees, then up.

It looked like the hut had been caved in by the wyvern.

Suddenly, Harry was dreading what he might find inside it.

*****​

 

Chapter 14: The Hut

Quartier Magique, Paris, France, July 10th, 1996

Paris smelt incredible! Padfoot wagged his tail as he walked along the main street in the Magical Quarter in Paris. So many exotic scents and smells! And no trace of a hag’s stench, or a vampire’s, unlike in Knockturn Alley. But the best scents were the food! So many different, delightful, deliciously smelling dishes!

He approached a food stall selling skewers, tongue lolling out of his mouth. The owner, a pretty witch, glared at him but didn’t aim her wand at him. Which meant he had already won.

Padfoot sat down and looked at her with bright eyes. She narrowed her eyes, then went back to cooking a skewer full of delicious meat. Lesser dogs would’ve been fooled by this, but Padfoot wasn’t a common dog. He stayed and waited.

There! She was glancing at him. Padfoot kept looking at her without reacting. That was key - you couldn’t be too eager.

She returned to cooking, then glanced at him again. He remained seated, his tails slowly moving back and forth. Just a good dog.

When she sighed, he knew he had her.

“Vraiment…” she shook her head as she grabbed some meat from a bowl, put it on a paper plate and floated it towards him. “Bon appétit, mon grand!”

He barked his thanks and scarfed the meat down. Delicious!

Then he barked again and trotted off. There were many other stalls and shops to check. Wormtail had told him so. And Wormtail was always far too nervous, but he knew more than anyone else, apart from Dumbledore. And he knew where their prey was. Roughly.

Wormtail needed Padfoot’s fine nose to find out in which building their prey was hiding. The wizard they were hunting was a coward and good at hiding, but everyone needed to eat. And the man loved his treats.

Then again, who didn’t love treats? Padfoot certainly did! And he would be getting many treats during his stroll down the main street here. Many delicious treats.

Case in point, he approached the next stall. Unlike the first, this was built into a house, with a big window open to the street. Padfoot took a deep breath. Oh, yes - spiced lamb! His tongue was lolling again. Also, no scent of the prey, but Padfoot would be endangering his cover if he skipped such a fine stall. No good dog worth their fur would do that! Not when…

He wrinkled his nose as the unmistakable scent of cat penetrated his nose. How had he missed that particular odour so far? And so close. Where was it? He looked around, then spotted the cat on the shelf behind the stall’s cook.

They let a cat into the kitchen?

The cat stared at him, lips drawn back to reveal puny teeth. Padfoot softly growled in return.

Then the clerk noticed him. “À qui appartient ce chien?”

The customers waiting in line turned, and one after another, shook their heads.

The cat jumped on the counter and hissed at Padfoot. And no one said anything?

Padfoot made a gagging noise and left the premises. Even with a cleaning charm on the entire kitchen - and that would explain why he hadn’t smelt the foul creature - he wouldn’t eat from that stall. A dog had his pride.

But there was another stall ahead. One selling dessert! Tartes! He didn’t slobber - people didn’t like dogs slobbering. Especially not near food. But the thought of some tarte with whipped cream and some ice cream on top… He could already smell all the different flavours. Certainly not as great as Fortescue’s, but still...

He froze. That scent… it matched the one from the bedsheet Prongs had given him before he had left for France.

Cobblespun. Their prey was here. Had been here. Padfoot suppressed a growl - he had to be nice now, or the people would try to hex him. Just a nice dog begging for some treats.

And looking for the trail of their prey. Yes, the man had spent some time at this stall. Padfoot sniffed twice. An older and a fresher scent.

The man had visited at least twice. That meant he’d visit a third time! All Padfoot had to do was to wait here.

And convince the witch running the stall that he was a good dog, so she wouldn’t drive him away.

He sat down on the road, at the wall of the closest house, and dropped his head on his front paws. Just a tired, hungry dog trying to avoid getting hexed while he rested for a while…

The kind witch was feeding him ice cream before an hour had passed.

*****​

Unknown Location, July 10th, 1996

Harry Potter knew his… not fears; his reservations… were baseless. He knew how big the wyvern was - had been. If it attacked a human, it would swallow them whole. There wouldn’t be a skeleton left in the hut, the remains of a human being killed by a monster.

Yet he still held his breath when he approached the hut and peered through the hole in its side.

No skeleton. Or, no skeleton he could see - grass covered the ground inside the hut, having grown rather tall. Not dense enough to hide a body, though. A body would’ve been bad, but a snake or other venomous creature hiding inside would be worse.

“What are you doing?” Granger asked. “Is it safe?”

He frowned, though she wouldn’t see it, with him behind the hut. Although the area seemed safe. “Checking for snakes,” he replied.

“Snakes?”

Right, she had a thing about snakes being were-sapients or whatever. “I didn’t see any. But the inside is pretty overgrown.”

“Then we need to be careful clearing it,” she told him.

That had sounded closer… He looked round the corner and saw that she was walking towards him.

“The wyvern tore it up,” he told her.

“Any sign of a battle? I mean, a sign that someone fought back?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. So far.”

She nodded. “So, let’s clear the grass. A few Severing Charms should do it.” She waved her wand without waiting for an answer, and the grass started to get trimmed.

Suppressing the urge to scoff, he used his wand to let a gentle breeze gather the cut grass in the corner of the hut.

And clenched his teeth when that revealed the skeletal remains of a hand. A hand with a wand. “Someone did fight back, it seems,” he commented, trying to sound far more composed than he felt.

He heard her gasp, and she sounded a little shaky when she replied: “I assume we know where the rest of the body was taken.” Then she stepped inside the hut, climbing over the broken remains of the torn wall, and knelt down next to the bones. “Yes. It looks like the wyvern bit clean through the arm.”

Harry joined her. “It would’ve gone for the main body mass - head and chest - and bitten down. Must have cut the arm right off. But where are the legs?” Or the lower body, depending on how much the wyvern’s maw would’ve closed on.

Granger took a deep breath. “They would’ve been much bigger than a torn hand - the wyvern wouldn’t have left them.”

“So, we know it killed a wizard or witch,” Harry summed up.

“At least one,” Granger said. “Although it’s hard to tell how long ago this happened.”

Harry looked at the wand without touching it. You didn’t just grab someone else’s wand without permission. “The wand looks pretty good for having been dropped in a jungle for at least months or years. The protective charms on the wand should still be active, then.”

“It has been some time - the wood is rotten,” Granger said, pointing at the broken board.

“That can happen quickly in a tropical climate,” Harry told her.

“Yes, but not instantly. And the bones here… that would’ve taken some time as well. Especially if the charms on the wand kept insects at bay.”

“Right.” He touched the wand with his index finger - of his left hand. Nothing happened.

“What are you doing?” Granger asked.

“It might be protected against others touching it,” he said.

“Really?” She sounded doubtful.

He shrugged. “It’s not uncommon. It’s not allowed for students since teachers might have to take our wands, and not many wizards want their family cursed for touching their wands, but some do it.”

“And you thought touching it was a good way to test it?” Granger shook her head and muttered something he didn’t catch under his breath.

“Well, someone had to. We can’t leave a spare wand laying here,” he shot back. “And most protections are just jolts or something, not actual curses.”

“‘Most’,” she replied. “Well, it seems safe.”

“Yes.” He still waited a moment before gingerly picking it up and looking at it closely. “Doesn’t look like it’s one of Ollivander’s.”

Granger nodded in agreement, peering at it herself. “The style doesn’t fit. The rune on the grip is Arabian.”

“An Arab wizard - or witch - stranded on the island, creating a shelter, only to be eaten by the wyvern.” Harry nodded. That sounded plausible. He carefully put the wand down again.

“One thing doesn’t fit, though,” Granger said. “Why would they have created a hut in the middle of the jungle instead of at the shore?”

Right. “They tried to hide - from the wyvern.”

Granger nodded. “That would fit. And they didn’t succeed.”

“And they didn’t leave anything else that we might be able to…” Harry trailed off when he saw the carving on the intact wall. Those were letters!

*****​

“That’s French,” Hermione Granger said, peering at the letters carved into the wood.

“I told you that,” Potter said.

“Trust, but verify,” she shot back.

“Oh, you trust me?”

She rolled her eyes. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder at him to know he was grinning at her. “Within reason. Very, very limited reason.”

“You don’t trust me to recognise French?” He gasped theatrically.

“Unless it concerns Quidditch, no,” she told him with a sniff.

He laughed at that. “So, what does it mean? Apart from the name?”

“It’s the name of the witch, Amélie Besson,” she told him.

“I do recognise names.” He sounded a little annoyed.

She ignored him as she traced the letters, reading them out loud - and feeling her stomach sink. “Amélie Besson. Marseille. Enlevée le douze juin mille neuf cent quatre-vingt-onze.”

“What does ‘enlevée” mean?” Potter asked.

“It means kidnapped.”

“What?”

“The witch - Besson - was kidnapped a bit over five years ago,” she told him. “According to this message.”

“Kidnapped.”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“Échappée le quatre juillet,” she went on. “Escaped on the fourth of July.” She shook her head, feeling sick. “So, she was kidnapped, escaped, and then was killed by the wyvern.” She looked at Potter. “It doesn’t say who kidnapped her. Or how she ended up on this island.”

“Or why she didn’t leave,” Potter said with a grim expression.

“I would think that that was because of the wyvern - she was hiding from it in the jungle,” Hermione told him. Only Besson hadn’t been as successful at hiding as they had been. On the other hand, they didn’t know how long Besson had survived before the wyvern found her. “She must have been a student like us. Otherwise, she would’ve cast a Disillusionment Charm. Or apparated.”

Potter didn’t look like he agreed. “Not many wizards or witches would be able to cast a Disillusionment Charm. As for Apparition… do you know how many Splinching cases St Mungo’s gets in a year?”

“No, I don’t,” she replied. “How many cases are admitted to St Mungo’s?”

“Enough to hire two Healers specialised on de-splinching patients.”

She wasn’t certain whether ‘de-splinching’ was a real word or not, but she was certain that Potter didn’t know the numbers either. “Wouldn’t the Disillusionment Charm be on the curriculum at Beauxbatons?” It was on Hogwarts’ curriculum, after all.

He shrugged. “So?”

“What ‘so’? Every student is supposed to learn the spell!” That dated back to the signing of the Statute of Secrecy, she had learned - every wizard or witch was supposed to be able to hide from muggles.

“‘Supposed to’, yes. That doesn’t mean everyone, or even the majority learn the spell - and those who do might forget it after they finish school.” Potter grinned. “Unless you’re an Auror or Duellist, you might never cast it again in your life.”

She pursed her lips. How could you forget such a spell? Or any spell? You never knew when you might need it! Some people were simply too lazy! “So, we don’t know much other than her name and her fate,” she said. Not a very satisfying result of their investigation.

“Well, we know that she didn’t expect to survive,” Potter said.

She cocked her head at him. “Why do you think this is the case?”

“People don’t tend to leave such messages if they expect to survive.” Potter shook his head.

“And you’re an expert on this subject?” She raised her eyebrows. She doubted that - it wasn’t Quidditch.

“Dad told us stories,” he replied.

Ah. Marginally more trustworthy, then. “Stories.”

“Yes. True stories from work.”

She sniffed. “I see.” She could see Potter’s father using sensitive information to entertain his family - not that Wizarding Britain might have a problem with that, anyway.

“Anyway, we also don’t know who kidnapped her,” Potter went on. “Some dark wizard feeding the wyvern?”

“Then why would she have written that she escaped?” That didn’t make much sense. And why kidnap people to feed a wyvern if you could steal cows and sheep instead?

“She could’ve been fooled - she thought she was escaping, say by Portkey, and played into their hands.”

“That sounds very convoluted. Are you familiar with Occam’s razor?” She looked at him.

“When humans are involved, the most simple explanation might not be the most plausible one,” he retorted.

“I would say the same about the most paranoid explanation.” And Potter’s theory sounded like a conspiracy fantasy.

“You should meet Mad-Eye Moody. He would show you what counts as paranoid.” Potter was smiling again in that smug manner of his.

She clenched her teeth. It wasn’t her fault that she hadn’t grown up in the magical world and didn’t know any famous - or infamous - wizards and witches. But this wasn’t the time or place to discuss this. “We should mark this spot. And we have to gather her remains.”

Potter looked surprised but nodded quickly. “Once we’re back in Britain, we can return them and her wand to her family.”

“Yes.” That was obvious, after all.

*****​

Harry Potter tried not to wince when Granger started gathering the bones - the finger bones - of the dead French witch. How could she just… pick them up like that, without any reaction? Wasn’t she feeling queasy about handling the remains of dead people?

That had been a witch, eaten alive - probably. Her hand bitten off. Merlin’s balls, if they had been a little slower, or more stupid, this might’ve been them. He felt a shudder run down his spine at the thought.

Then Granger picked up the witch’s wand. Again, no sign that she felt conflicted about it. It was as if she was picking up a twig and not another witch’s wand. If Malfoy saw this, he’d run his foul mouth off about muggleborns. And if Moody saw how Granger stuck the wand into her back pocket...

“Alright. We need a container for this - a stone urn would be appropriate but tricky to make and harder to transport. But we can make a wooden box. It doesn’t have to be airtight since there aren’t any ashes, just bones and bone fragments,” Granger said, looking around. “Or we could grab a coconut and hollow it out.”

“That sounds a little nuts,” he joked, forcing himself to smile. He couldn’t show any uneasiness in front of Granger.

She chuckled. “It’s just for keeping the bones together until we leave - we won’t have to tell her family that detail.”

“Right. Coconut? I could do with some milk.” He looked at the closest palm tree, then raised his wand and cast a cutting curse.

A single coconut fell down, and he summoned it before it touched the ground. Hah!

Even Granger looked impressed. A little, at least.

He cut off the top of the nut and drank his fill from the milk inside, then handed it over to Granger.

“How gallant of you,” she said as she took it.

“I was taste-testing for you,” he replied with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, then took a few sips herself. “I didn’t expect to miss fizzy drinks so much,” she said with a snort.

“Hogwarts must be hell for you, then,” he commented.

“Not really. We’ve got tea on demand. And I can buy fizzy drinks in Hogsmeade.” She took another sip. Probably just to avoid wasting the liquid.

“I think the twins also sell them,” he told her.

She shook her head in return, scowling. “Their prices are too high.”

“Well, they do take risks smuggling the stuff in.” He shrugged. “Or you can have your parents send you a package.”

Her frown deepened. “My parents are dentists. They wouldn’t send me fizzy drinks if I asked.”

He chuckled - she looked just too cute with that scowling pout. Then he blinked. He meant too funny, not too cute, of course.

“It’s not very funny,” she told him, still pouting. “I never had as many sweets as other children, either.”

“Be glad,” he said. “My cousin’s overweight since my aunt and uncle let him eat whatever sweets he wanted.” At least that was what Mum had told him. Dudley claimed it was genes.

“That’s irresponsible!” She looked aghast.

He shrugged. “Half the time, he’s on a diet.”

She frowned. “That only leads to a yoyo-effect. You need to permanently change your dietary habits, or you’ll gain weight as soon as you end your diet.”

Harry shrugged. That would explain why Dudley didn’t really lose weight. Although he might also cheat on his diet - he certainly had the money to go and buy whatever food he wanted.

She finished the last of the milk, then cast her anti-diarrhoea spell on her and him. “Now the coconut meat.” She looked at the coconut, then cut it in half with a Severing Charm and handed him half of it. “Bon appetit.”

He laughed at her joke, then started to carve the meat off the shell with a few charms, chewing on a larger piece. He was getting sick of the taste.

A little later, Granger had restored the nut with a Sticking Charm and dropped the bones into it. “Do you want to carry the wand?” She drew it from her pocket and held it out to him.

“It’s fine. You can keep it.”

She snorted as she looked at her shorts. “I guess I can stick it to my forearm. That seems to be the safest way to carry it.”

“Until you rip it away with part of your skin,” he pointed out.

This time, she grimaced - and handed the wand to him. “Stick it to your sleeve then. We can mend that.”

He took the wand, once more hiding his reluctance. A spare wand is good, he told himself. Especially for two students stranded on a desert island. But still… it felt a little like touching someone without having their permission.

He forced the thought away when he stuck it to his left sleeve. They needed it. Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“So,” he said, standing up. “To the beach now?”

“Yes. But we should be a little more cautious,” Granger replied.

He nodded. They hadn’t seen any sign of potential kidnappers, but then - they hadn’t explored much of the island yet.

*****​

It was late in the afternoon - the sun was quite low in the sky - when they reached the shore. The beach, as it turned out. Not the beach on which they had been dropped by the Portkey, Hermione Granger quickly realised. But still a beach that wouldn’t feel out of place as a poster in a travel agency.

She glanced up.

“There’s no wyvern in the sky,” Potter commented. “I just checked.”

“And broom riders?” she asked. “Or, in this area, flying carpets?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t spot any of those, either - but they could be disillusioned. They probably would be if they know about the wyvern, but not that it’s dead. Though flying carpets aren’t really good for spotting anything on the ground since they block your view.”

“Have you flown one?” she asked.

“Not in Britain,” he replied at once with that grin that told her that he was lying. “They’re banned.”

“I’m aware of that.” The broom makers must have lobbied hard to push such a ban through.

“Did you ever fly on a flying carpet?”

“No.” She pressed her lips together. Not everyone could travel all over the Magical World. Or afford to buy a flying carpet in Paris.

“Ah. It’s not really all that,” he said. “Not as fast or agile as a broom, and steering it is clumsy. The only advantage is that you can sit or lay down on one - and you can more easily transport passengers.”

“I see.” Damn, could Potter be less condescending? Trying to make her feel better about not being able to afford a flying carpet… So transparent! “We shouldn’t linger for too long here,” she said. “We’re exposed.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed.

His tone felt a little off - and she caught him looking at her when she glanced at him. “We should at least check for fish.” They would have to cook it thoroughly to avoid ingesting parasites and to kill off bacteria, of course.

“Oh, yes!” He beamed at her. “I’m so sick of bloody coconuts!”

“Well, so much for fish in coconut sauce.” She sighed.

He stared at her. “Don’t tell me that you actually know such a recipe!”

She snorted. “No.” Then she tilted her head and frowned. “Although it shouldn’t be too hard to recreate it. Which reminds me: We’ll need salt as well, for seasoning and to replace what we sweat. We’ll have to find a way to evaporate seawater and gain salt.”

“Oh.” He rubbed his chin - he was getting quite the stubble, she realised. Didn’t he know a shaving charm? “So… we make a pot and boil the seawater in it?”

She nodded. “Yes. I thought about using the sun and large basins, but…”

“...those would be visible from afar,” he finished for her.

“Exactly. And probably not as hygienic as boiling the water. Though we’ll have to use a charm - or a lot of firewood, which would run the risk of producing a lot of smoke.”

He nodded. “Like in the cave. Do you know a Heating Charm?”

“Yes.” It was much safer - and better - than an open flame when brewing potions. “You do too, I presume.”

“Of course.”

‘Of course’. She fought the urge to shake her head. “So, then let’s see if we can start on that with a transfigured coconut pot and then we can look for fish.”

“Right.” He turned, flicked his wand, and another coconut flew towards them.

She didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking impressed. Even though it was impressive - and annoying - how easy he made such feats look.

But it helped. She looked at the sun, then checked the time. “I think we should be able to get one batch.”

“Good. And we can use the coconut meat as bait.”

“Good idea.”

Cutting the coconut in two and stripping it of any meat and milk didn’t take long. Hermione cast a few cleaning charms, then transfigured the two halves into metal and enlarged them. She used a Levitation Charm to dip them into the sea to fill them, then floated them back to the beach.

And tried to hide how much that took out of her.

But finally, the two pots were heating and boiling the water.

“I’m going to look for fish,” she said, kicking her shoes off.

“Catch some,” Potter replied, watching the pots with his wand pointed at them.

“That’s the idea,” she said, gathering some coconut meat before stepping into the water.

It was cool. Refreshing.

She couldn’t resist. She stuck her wand into the sand, dropped the meat next to it, and ran into the surf.

*****​

“Granger!” Harry Potter half-gasped half-yelled when he saw the girl run into the sea. “What are you doing?” She couldn’t...

She could. While he was watching, the girl launched herself forward, diving into the sea as if she were at a pool. Or a beach. Well, a beach for tourists.

He held his breath, clenching his teeth - and then she resurfaced. And stood there, in the shallow water, throwing her head back and running her fingers through her hair. As if this was one of the movies he had watched with Dudley.

At least she hadn’t stripped down. That would’ve been… distracting.

He trailed off as Granger turned towards him and waved. With her top all wet and… What the hell had gotten into her? “What are you doing?” he yelled.

“Swimming, of course. What does it look like?” she yelled back, laughing.

Harry figured it was best to not tell her what it looked like. At least to him. “It looks like you’re trying to hunt fish with your bare hands!”

She laughed even more at that, then let herself fall backwards, disappearing underwater again. He clenched his teeth. She was having fun, and he was stuck boiling water. How was that fair?

She resurfaced again but didn’t stand up. Instead, she kept swimming. Yes, she was having fun. And completely ignoring the danger she was in - they were on a magically hidden island where at least one witch had been killed already! This wasn’t some… tourist resort!

And how long was Granger going to take in the water? He scoffed as he watched her swim about two dozen yards out. The sun would soon set, too.

Finally, she walked out of the water, shaking her hair. And smiling widely. “Dear Lord, I missed that!” she exclaimed. “It’s been ages!”

“You took a swim in the pond, remember?” Harry told her.

She snorted. “I was under attack by a man-eating monster at the time. It’s not quite the same.”

“And what if you were attacked by a monster in the water?”

She frowned at him as she picked up her wand and started casting a Drying Charm on her clothes. “A sea monster?”

“You mentioned them when we discussed building a raft, didn’t you?” He smirked. And tried not to look at her body. Damn, this was worse than if she had worn a bikini.

“So close to the shore? I think not. I could see very far, too - and the water’s shallow, quite far out.” Then she smiled at him. “Besides, you would’ve summoned me to you if I had been in danger, wouldn’t you?”

Well, that was true, of course, but still! “It was still dangerous,” he said. He was smiling, though, he noticed.

“So, you don’t want to go swimming while I watch over you?” She tilted her head, then drew her hair back into a ponytail with a flick of her wand.

“I think I’ll go fishing instead,” he told her.

“Oh, no need for that.” She turned, raised her wand, and said: “Accio big grey fish!”

A big grey fish flew out of the sea and towards her. Big enough for several meals, he realised when it flopped in the sand before Granger literally froze it with a charm. “I was looking for fish.” She smirked at him. “You didn’t think I would ignore my task, did you?”

He snorted in return. He should point out how reckless she had been, but she had gotten a fish. “How do we cook it?” he asked instead.

“I think grilling would be safest,” she said. “Or boiling? Fish soup?”

“Have you ever made fish soup?” he asked. Her frown told him enough. “Let’s grill it.” That was easy and would add flavour. Not that he needed it - after days of nothing but coconut meals, he would eat raw fish for a change.

“So, do you want to take a dip before we head back?” she asked, before turning her wand on herself and… casting a Cleaning Charm on herself? “I don’t want to get salt crusts,” she explained.

Right. He nodded. Then he looked at the water. It looked cool. Fresh. Clean. Straight out of a travel ad. And he felt sweaty and dirty. “I think I’ll do it,” he told her.

Then he pulled off his shirt, shoes and trousers before sticking his wand into the sand like Granger had. “Keep your eyes on me in case a Kraken tries to eat me,” he told her.

“Ah… of course!” she replied. She sounded a little off, but when he looked at her, she nodded at him with her usual expression.

“Good.” He nodded at her, then went swimming for a bit himself.

And, damn, did the water feel good! No wonder Granger had reacted like that - even a girl like her would cut loose a little after days in the jungle.

*****​

Hermione Granger only watched Potter closely while he was swimming because someone had to keep an eye out for dangers, and he had done the same for her before. That was all. Besides, the distance from the shore, where the last of the seawater in the coconut-pots was evaporating, to where the boy was swimming was too far to get a look at his body, anyway.

Though she would have to tell him that he couldn’t just go swimming in his underwear - it might not be sturdy enough to drag him along when summoned. And that would leave him literally naked in the face of danger.

She pressed her lips together and pushed the inappropriate thoughts that conjured in her mind away. They really needed to get off this island and back to civilisation. Back to where she wasn’t alone with one boy and her hormones. Back to her books, too - she was really missing reading. Books, magazines, newspapers - anything. Even the tabloids were starting to look appealing to her.

She snorted. And didn’t that explain why Potter was starting to look attractive? Together with his unquestionably impressive physical appearance. For a boy, at least. If he didn’t let himself go as soon as he quit Hogwarts, he would cut a dashing figure in a few years. Quidditch fangirls would be swarming him.

She clenched her teeth at the thought, suddenly angry. To think self-respecting women would fawn over someone purely because they were famous, physically attractive and rich! Well, well-off - the Potters weren’t hurting for money, but they weren’t close to what the purebloods considered rich. Families like the Malfoys and the Blacks.

Of course, Sirius Black was Potter’s godfather, as Potter had told Malfoy several times when the two had clashed, and Malfoy had boasted about his family’s money and influence. And Black had no children - yet.

She shook her head and sighed. Life wasn’t fair. If it were, she wouldn’t be on this island. There was no point in dwelling on this.

A few minutes later, Potter returned to the shore. “You were right - this is great!” he announced with a smile.

She hadn’t actually said that - but the meaning had been clear. She nodded, then looked at the salt crust remaining inside the make-shift pots. Instead of at Potter when he dried off. “We’ll have to scratch the salt off and make another container,” she commented as she cut a piece of wood into a crude scraper, then cast a cleaning charm on it.

“We’re starting a new trend: coconut cutlery!”

“It would be coconut silverware,” she corrected him.

“That doesn’t sound as catchy,” he retorted.

“But it’s incorrect and misleading,” she pointed out.

“That’s advertising in a nutshell, isn’t it?”

That was a terrible pun! She turned her head to tell him off… Oh. He was hosing himself down with water. She took a deep breath and shook her head. “You’re still no future comedian.”

“Good thing I’m planning to become a professional Quidditch player, then.”

“Well, you could start a Quidditch clown career.”

He blinked and stopped pulling his shirt back on for a moment. “Quidditch clown?”

“You know, like rodeo clowns.”

“Rodeo clowns?”

“The people who entertain the crowd at rodeos,” she explained.

“People don’t come to Quidditch matches to watch clowns,” he retorted. “Rodeos must be boring if they need clowns to entertain the audience.” He scoffed. Then he grinned. “You’re not going to be a comedian either.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not planning to become one,” she told him.

He looked at her for a moment. Then he slipped his shirt back on and asked. “What are you planning to do after Hogwarts?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she told him.

“Really?” He looked surprised. “I would have thought you had planned your life in second year.”

“I like to keep my options open,” she told him. What options she realistically had, of course - unlike a pureblood, who could count on family connections, she was a muggleborn. She would have to succeed entirely with talent. And from what she had heard, the Ministry, Britain’s biggest employer, was riddled with nepotism. A muggleborn had to be much more qualified than a pureblood to be promoted in such an environment.

Fortunately, she was much more qualified than most purebloods. Unfortunately, at the higher level, qualifications didn’t count as much any more than politics did. And politics were a pureblood game.

“That’s sensible. But you must have picked some options over others.” Potter pulled his shoes on as she finished scraping the salt - less than she expected, to be honest - into another coconut container. “I can’t see you as a saleswitch, for example. Unless it’s a bookshop.”

She snorted at that. “The most obvious fields are the Ministry and private research.” And the latter meant working for a pureblood family, having them reap all the benefits of her work, or try to strike out on her own.

“Ah.” He nodded, apparently satisfied. Typical.

“Let’s head back,” she said. “And take the pots with us.” They were a little too visible to leave at the beach. “We might have to extract the salt at night,” she added. “Or at least under cover.”

“Yes.” He frowned as he shrunk the two pots. “We didn’t think this through.”

“Yes. But transporting seawater back to our shelter would be a pain. We probably can set up closer to the shore under the trees here,” she pointed out.

“Might need to clear an area,” he replied. “Though we’ll have to be exposed to fish.”

“And to bathe,” she added. “Unless you want to build a bathhouse.”

She saw him tense up at that. Was that such a challenge? “It wouldn’t be too hard,” she explained. “The main issue would be draining the water afterwards, and we can vanish it in a pinch. Or we can set up an outdoor shower. Making a valve might be a little tricky, but if we make the tank big enough, we wouldn’t need it.”

“Right,” he said - rather curtly. “But let’s head back - I really want to eat something other than coconut.”

“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Definitely.”

*****​

“Hmmm.” Sitting on the log next to the fire, Hermione Granger closed her eyes and sighed. The grilled fish might not have been up to restaurant standards - or even the standards of her parents, neither of whom were the best cooks - but after days of coconuts, it tasted heavenly. Even the burnt parts.

“Oh, yes!” Nex to her, Potter was digging in. Even in the dimming light of the fire, he looked like he was barely restraining himself from just grabbing the grilled fish and eating it, she noticed with amusement.

“Too bad we don’t have side dishes,” she said. “But we could look for bird nests and see if we can gather some eggs.”

“What are the odds that they would be freshly laid?” he asked. “I’m not sure scrambled birds would be very tasty.”

She grimaced, then took another bite out of her fish. “Never mind.”

They quickly finished their fish - Hermione didn’t remember eating so much fish in one sitting, ever - but stayed sitting at their improvised campfire. “Dried seaweed, maybe,” she said.

“Seaweed?”

Potter didn’t have to stare at her like that. “It’s eaten in both Wales and Japan,” she told him.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I researched the matter in school.”

“You researched seaweed?” He shook his head.

“We were told to research important women - scientists,” she explained. “Kathleen Mary Drew-Baker was amongst them.”

“And she researched seaweed?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. And saved that part of the Japanese food industry. They have a festival celebrating her.” At least, she was pretty sure - she might be mixing up things. Not that it mattered overly much. “Although I don’t know what kind of seaweed is edible.”

“Ah.” He sighed, then leaned back.

“Looking at the canopy?” she asked.

“Can’t see the stars, so the leaves have to do.”

She snorted at that. But she looked at the canopy herself. “Tomorrow, we can explore the hill.” Now that they would be able to find their way back.

“And then we’ll know if we’re on an island,” he agreed. “And if it’s inhabited.”

“Technically, it’s inhabited by us,” she pointed out. “We’ve got a house. Of sorts.”

She saw him shake his head. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes.” She grinned herself.

“You just like correcting people.”

“I like correcting you,” she corrected him.

He laughed at that.

She joined in.

The wyvern was dead, they’d finally had a decent meal, and Potter wasn’t being an arse.

Things were looking up.

Then she caught herself before she leaned into his side and mentally added that things were looking up except for her hormones acting up.

*****​

 

Chapter 15: The Hill

Quartier Magique, Paris, France, July 10th, 1996

Sirius Black studied the house across the street from his perch high up on a broom with the help of his cutting-edge Omnioculars. Cutting edge - he loved the muggle expression. Almost as much as he loved using such expressions to tweak his bigoted ‘colleagues’ in the Wizengamot. Too bad he couldn’t tell them that he was about to break into a French house - while his use of muggle slang annoyed them, a number of them would be horrified if they knew this.

He was disillusioned and too high to be in the range of any Human-presence-revealing Spell cast on the ground or on the roof, but that didn’t mean he was completely safe. The French Gendarmes Magiques might not be up to the standards of the British Aurors - at least not when it came to investigations - but they certainly weren’t pushovers or layabouts. That was why they had waited for the evening patrol to pass before taking to the sky and taking a closer look at the house Padfoot had discovered.

It did look rather bland from afar. Not any taller than its neighbours, nor built in a different style. Almost perfectly average except for the decorative turret at the corner. It barely topped the roof, but it made the house stand out just enough not to look suspiciously normal.

At least that was what Peter had called it. Sirius wasn’t an Auror or a spy, so he would have to defer to his friend’s expertise in this area. Just as Peter had had to defer to Sirius’s talents - his friend hadn’t been happy to find out that Cobblespun wasn’t actually staying in La Folie de Morgane, the best wizarding hotel in Paris, but in this rather plain building, but Padfoot’s nose didn’t make mistakes.

Sirius, on the other hand, did make mistakes. Many. But not when it counted. Not so far. But he was distracting himself. He focused on the house below again. The turret with its big windows was an obvious weak spot. Windows were generally easier to break through than walls. Generally - some reinforced their windows and doors so much, the walls were the weakest part of the building. But this house didn’t look like this would be the case - the protections on it weren’t new, but not really old. His dear unlamented mother would’ve sneered at the mere thought of calling them old.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he heard Peter whisper in his ear thanks to the charm on Sirius’s collar.

“Standard protections,” Sirius replied. He wasn’t a Curse-Breaker, but, during the war, he had dealt with enough wards to be able to tell that. And he had paid attention when he had hired a Curse-Breaker to strengthen his home’s defences. “Shouldn’t take you long to get through them.” Sirius could break them, of course - but not without alerting anyone inside.

“I wanted to avoid doing that,” Peter complained. “But the house is warded against rats.”

Sirius smiled - not that Peter would be able to see it. That meant he would join his friend going in. “I’m coming down,” he said.

“Check the windows on the way down,” Peter told him. “Just in case.”

Sirius rolled his eyes but looked at the windows as he guided his broom down to the ground. Nothing, not even with his Omnicoulars’ spells. “Don’t see anyone, asleep or not,” he whispered when he stepped up to Peter, who was hiding behind a corner.

“That was to be expected,” his friend replied. “Someone willing to pay for a room in La Folie de Morgane just to lead pursuers astray wouldn’t make a beginner’s mistake and present himself at the window of his bedroom.”

Sirius shrugged. “It doesn’t change anything. Once we’re inside, I’ll sniff him out.”

“Yes.” Peter sighed. “I’ll start on the wards, then.”

“Just finish before the sun goes up,” Sirius told him. He’d rather not deal with witnesses if things went sideways and they had to blast their way out of the house.

“No promises,” Peter said. “I can’t rush this - I’m no Curse-Breaker.”

Sirius snorted. Peter always said that - but he always came through. His friend was too modest for his own good. No wonder he hadn’t found a good witch yet. And not because he was living the life of a muggle spy with a girl every other mission - Sirius had checked.

Perhaps after they’d recovered Harry and Miss Granger, Sirius could do something about that. His friend deserved better than to live alone, after all. At the very least, he could drag Peter with him when he went on a pub crawl in muggle London.

*****​

“I’m through,” Peter announced.

Sirius smiled. No Curse-breaker’ indeed! “So, let’s go and get Mr Cobblespun!”

“Careful,” Peter replied. “He won’t be helpless, Guards, traps, beasts - he’ll have something up his sleeve.”

“I know!” Sirius grinned. He wasn’t new to this. Perhaps a little rusty compared to his friend, but he did keep in shape with duelling. He had to so he could keep up with James in their sparring matches. And so that he could teach Harry.

Peter, though, sighed.

Sirius shook his head. “Oh, ye of such little faith!”

“Call it experience,” Peter shot back. “Let’s go. Floor by floor, stick close.”

“Yes, sir!” Sirius saluted, just like he’d seen it on the telly.

Peter sighed again. “Wrong country.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Let’s go.”

They disillusioned themselves and dashed across the street, then alongside the building, to the back. The door there opened into a back alley without any lights other than the stars and the moon - and it was so narrow, the shadows cast by the neighbouring buildings hid almost everything in darkness.

Sirius could still see the marker floating above Peter approach the door, though, to pick the lock while Sirius played lookout. Or bodyguard. Bodyguard sounded better. More spy-like. He looked round but didn’t spot anyone. Nor did Padfoot smell anyone, as a brief transformation told Sirius.

“Alright,” Peter whispered. “It’s open.”

They entered the house. Peter went first - his marker went low. He was crouching to look at the floor. “No traps. Let’s search the floor.”

Sirius scoffed. A moment later, Padfoot knew that Cobblespun was upstairs. He barked, not loudly, then started up the stairs.

“Padfoot! Oh, for the love of…” Silly Wormtail followed him. “If you get cursed, I’ll never let you forget it.”

Well, Padfoot wouldn’t forget it, either, if he were cursed.

The first floor was, well, not empty, but no Cobblespun. Padfoot went up the next stairs.

“Stop! Padfoot!”

He stopped, paw frozen in the air. Wormtail wasn’t kidding if he used that voice.

“There’s a trap.”

A trap? Who would be as mad as to lay down a trap in a home? Unless it was for a prank. Or it wasn’t your home.

Wormtail moved past him and started casting something. “I’ve dispelt it.”

Good. Padfoot moved ahead again, nose on the floor. The smell was stronger here. And it didn’t lead upstairs again - but forward! He trotted over the soft carpet, then had to stop - his nose itched, It was dusty, and he… he…

He sneezed. And sneezed again. And once more. And… he heard a curse from the room ahead. And the room behind it.

Oops.

“Padfoot!” Wormtail hissed.

But Sirius had already changed back, wand pointed ahead as he shifted in a classic duelling stance, presenting the narrowest target to the enemy. Then he cast a Shield Charm.

The closer door was pulled open, and he stepped to the side. A moment later, a wand appeared in the gap, and a brownish spell flew down the middle of the corridor.

Sirius sent a Reductor Curse at the door, blowing it into splinters and dust, then dropped into a crouch and flicked his wand, casting a Frog-Tongue Charm.

A tongue erupted from the tip of his wand and shot through the dust cloud into the room. Sirius felt it wrap itself around the other wizard and pulled.

And ended up with a chair in the corridor. Another curse, this one yellow, hit the chair and turned it into a puddle on the floor. Which started to eat through the floor.

That didn’t look like a spell Cobblespun would know how to cast. “Get the other door,” Sirius hissed, then moved to the edge of the blown door frame.

Peter’s marker dipped low, almost touching the ground - he must have changed - and then shot down the corridor. Good.

Sirius took a deep breath and pulled out a ‘Snape Special’ from his robes’ pocket. He threw it around the corner, into the room, then withdrew and cast a Mending Charm on the remains of the door still hanging from its hinges before any of the green mist the vial released could escape.

He heard some coughing, then heavy breathing - the wizard must have cast a Bubble-Head Charm - followed by the sound of someone falling over.

He grinned. As if they would come up with something easily countered by a single spell. Too bad they never got to use it against Snape.

“Got him,” he said.

“Got him as well,” Peter replied as his marker floated back into the corridor, trailing a bound and unconscious man after him. “Check him.”

Padfoot sniffed the man, then barked before changing back. “Smells the same, and the clothes are his.” But they couldn’t rule out Polyjuice Potion.

But they could outwait it.

“Let’s go,” Peter said. “Hideout.”

Sirius heard someone moving below them, but they were already at the window, and outside, disapparating, before anyone reached their floor.

*****​

Unknown Location, July 11th, 1996

The sun was barely up when Harry Potter approached Granger’s bed. The girl was sleeping silently, now. No more speaking in her sleep. Or groaning. She was lying on her side, half her ‘blanket’ kicked off and entangled with her legs. Well, it was warm enough, even at night, so they didn’t need a blanket.

He cleared his throat, then hesitated. Granger looked quite peaceful, like that. Bushy hair splayed around her head like a mane, lips slightly parted, one hand stuck under her makeshift pillow - she was sleeping with her wand under her pillow, he realised. Moody would like her. Of course, that was useless right now - if he wanted to, he could prank her to his heart’s content.

He didn’t want to, though. That would be stupid - they needed each other to survive on this island. The fight with the wyvern had proved that.

Also, if he pranked her, she’d be angry and hurt. And that was… He scoffed at the thought, then looked at her.

Asleep, she looked nothing like the girl he knew from Hogwarts. She looked peaceful and relaxed, not annoyed and angry - usually at him. Hell, no one who didn’t know her and saw her like this would believe that she could be such a… shrew. That was Shakespeare, right? Like ‘Hermione’, as she had informed him in her lecturing manner in first year, when she had lost her temper just because he had said her name was old-fashioned. Well, he had added ‘old-fashioned enough for a Slytherin’, but still. She had completely overreacted to a harmless joke.

He blinked. He should wake her up instead of woolgathering. They had a long day ahead of them. He cleared his throat again, but she shifted in her sleep, kicking the blanket completely off with her… long, bare legs. He’d seen them before, but today, they looked, well… different.

He wet his lips. Granger looked very different. And with her lying on her back now, one arm under her pillow, the other draped over her bare belly, her chest slowly rising and falling, he could easily see that…

Blushing, he looked away, then clenched his teeth together. It wasn’t his fault that Granger had decided to sleep almost in the nude. It wasn’t that hot or humid, anyway. Not that she’d see it the same way, of course. She’d probably accuse him of trying to prank her, or peep on her, or something.

Damn it, he wouldn’t deal with this. He walked back to the edge of the divider, cleared his throat for the third time and yelled: “Granger! Wake up!”

He heard her gasp, then saw her roll on her bed, waving her wand around, and ducked behind the divider. Not that she had a chance in hell of hitting him, anyway. “Are you awake now?” he yelled.

“That’s a stupid question. Why did you yell like that?” she yelled back.

“To wake you up, duh!” he told her, rounding the corner again to look at her.

“And you couldn’t have chosen a less disturbing method?” she shot back as she sat up in her bed. “You’ve managed before.”

Damn. “I didn’t feel like getting closer and letting you hex me in your sleep,” he lied.

“I don’t hex people in my sleep! Who do you think I am?”

“What about Parkinson?” he asked. That had been quite a memorable incident in third year. Pomfrey had spent an hour fixing the Slytherin. And Granger had been banned from the library for a week.

“She startled me; I wasn’t asleep - I was expecting you.”

He blinked. “Well, if it had been me, you wouldn’t have hit me.”

“Really?” She sniffed. “That’s why you didn’t want to walk up to my bed and wake me up like a normal person?”

“Anyone can get lucky,” he replied.

She shook her head, then spent a few spells dealing with her hair. “Well, I’m awake now.”

“See? It worked!” He grinned at her. “And I didn’t have to cast a Water-Making Charm!”

She rolled her eyes. “That was a subtle clue that I would like some privacy so I can dress. I’ll make a note to be more blunt in the future.”

“More blunt?” He shook his head. Granger was already more blunt than any other girl he knew.

“I’ve always wanted to try out the Bludgeoning Curse.” She flashed her teeth at him in a feral smile, then held out her wand, and her bra flew into her hand, followed by her shorts. And she kept looking at him as if she dared Harry to stay and watch.

Harry turned and stepped outside. She was such… whatever!

*****​

Hermione Granger was still annoyed when she finished casting cleaning charms on herself and her clothes and dressed. Her hormone-driven subconscious was still influencing her dreams! Although she had to admit that those dreams were preferable than nightmares about being literally eaten by a wyvern. Still, she hoped that her hormones would take a hint after seeing Potter this morning, and she’d start dreaming about Hugh Grant or another celebrity. Potter might be attractive, but he was a boy, not a man. How was she supposed to reach for the stars if she didn’t even dream big?

She shook her head as she stepped out of their shelter, then casually restored her ponytail. “Good morning.”

Potter, fully dressed and not showing off his bare chest, was sitting at the ashes left from their campfire. “Morning. Calmed down?”

She rolled her eyes. As if she hadn’t been calm the whole time! She hadn’t hexed him for yelling at her, had she? “Have you gotten it out of your system so we can tackle our next step without the distraction of pointless, puerile antics?”

He frowned at her. “You’re complaining about distractions?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head. “I certainly didn’t distract you while I was asleep, did I?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, which was a rather curious reaction. Then he smirked. “Well, sometimes you make the cutest noises in your sleep.” Then he blinked.

“The cutest noises?” She glared at him, even though she felt herself blushing. Had she talked in her sleep? While she had been dreaming? Oh, no! She felt her heart skip a beat. If Potter had heard her moaning his name, he would never let her forget it.

“I was being polite,” he said. “You snore, actually.”

Relief was quickly replaced by annoyance. “I already told you, I don’t snore,” she corrected him.

“Maybe you forgot to cast an anti-snoring charm.”

“There is such a charm?” she blurted out before she could help herself. Then she frowned - she should have investigated that, instead of considering the matter settled after their testing revealed Lily Moon’s cat as the culprit.

“Of course,” Potter replied as if that should’ve been obvious. “It has saved more lives than any Healing Charm, or so Uncle Sirius likes to claim.” He grinned at his own joke, then added: “Because people have an alternative to killing their snoring partner, you know?”

“I am perfectly able to understand the joke,” she told him in a flat tone. “It’s just not particularly funny, so I didn’t feel the need to laugh.” She smiled sweetly at him.

“It’s considered polite to laugh at jokes.” He matched her smile. “Where are your manners, Miss Granger?”

“They were left behind when you tackled me onto a Portkey,” she told him.

He laughed in return. And it didn’t look as if he was just being polite. Not that he would know how to be polite, anyway, in her opinion. “So… breakfast, then we go mountain climbing?”

“Climbing? We’ll fly!” Potter, predictably, objected.

“Technically, we’ll be using Levitation Charms,” she pointed out. “That’s not exactly flying.”

“That’s what brooms use. It’s flying.”

“Brooms use a number of spells to achieve flight. The levitation charm is merely one part of a complex pattern of charms.” She knew she was being facetious, but anything to take down Potter’s unholy love for flying and Quidditch down a peg or two.

“The Levitation Charm is the heart of any broom’s enchantment. Without it, the whole thing wouldn’t be anything more than a self-propelled plough you can ride. For a very short time, until you crash against the closest obstacle.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. That sounded practised. “How often did you argue this?”

He blushed a little. “As often as needed to win the argument.”

“It’s still not flying,” she told him with a scoff. “We learned the Levitation Charm in first year. If it counted as flying, flying without a broom wouldn’t be held in such esteem in the lore.”

He scoffed in return. “Flying without a broom is only for show. You’re slower, less maneuverable, and you can’t really do anything else while keeping yourself from falling to your death.”

“That sounds like a good description of our first flying lesson.”

He laughed again while she snorted. “Don’t tell me you were scared, Granger.”

“Scared?” She scoffed once more. “But I was quite aware of the risks.”

“There were no risks. The pitch has Cushioning Charms cast on it, remember?” He grinned at her.

She returned the grin with more teeth. “That won’t help you if Wood banishes you from it because he thinks forty hours a week aren’t enough training.”

“Oliver wouldn’t have done that!” he protested. “Well, not to Gryffindors - he would never accidentally scare away potential recruits.”

“And if they made it clear that they won’t ever play Quidditch because they think it’s a silly game?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

He actually looked shocked. “You told Oliver that?”

“Do I look suicidal?” she shot back.

“Do you want the honest or the polite answer?”

They both laughed at that.

*****​

After another coconut breakfast - Merlin’s beard, what wouldn’t Harry Potter give for a piece of toast! - they were finally ready to head for the hilltop. Though Granger insisted on walking towards the hill, first: “We can explore the area between the shelter and the foot of the hill that way.”

“Alright. But we’re not going to go back and forth,” Harry told her.

For a moment, she looked as if she’d contest that. Then she nodded - though with that pouty frown of hers. Well, Harry was taking his victories where he could.

They set out - carrying another coconut in a sling made from a palm frond for lunch - and started to make their way through the jungle. Fortunately, the underbrush wasn’t dense nearby, though the less dense the canopy above them became, the worse the underbrush got. By the time they reached the foot of the hill, they had to cut their way through some of the foliage.

“We wouldn’t have had to do that if we had flown,” Harry told her when they took a short rest under one of the last trees before the hillside.

“We’d be too exposed. And we would’ve levitated, not flown,” she replied, whipping some sweat from her brow before following up with a Water-Making Spell.

He frowned. Did she have to play ‘wet t-shirt competition’ every time things got a little hot? “You’ll damage the fabric,” he told her when she cast a Drying Charm.

“That’s why I always cast a Mending Charm at the end,” she replied with a sniff. “Didn’t your parents teach you how to use those charms?”

“Of course they did!” he replied. “But they also taught me not to cast spells for every little thing.”

“Heatstroke isn’t a little thing,” she shot back.

“The Drying Charm must’ve countered any cooling effect you got from the Water-Making Charm,” he retorted.

She glared at him, then cast a brief Water-Making Spell on herself that left her bushy hair soaked and plastered against her head, as if she had taken a shower but hadn’t yet blow-dried it. Like out of some of the movies Harry had watched with Dudley. And she cast another Water-Making Spell to drink. Messily.

She must be doing this just to mess with him. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting. “Are you done?” he asked in the most bored tone he could use.

“Yes,” she replied with a frown.

“Then let’s levitate to the hilltop.” He grinned and enlarged the small plank he had carried with him.

“Yes.” After a moment, she asked: “Do you want to levitate us?”

“I think it’s better if you do it,” he replied. That had worked well when they had fled from the wyvern, hadn’t it?

She nodded and cast a Levitation Charm on the plank before mounting it.

He climbed on it behind her, wrapping one arm around her belly. And frowned when her wet hair ended up between them, causing his shirt to soak up some water. Great.

Then Granger started flying up the slope.

“Keep us close to the ground,” he told her. “Less exposure.”

“As we talked about,” she replied.

“Never hurts to make sure,” he told her.

She didn’t have an answer to that, but he felt her growing tense in return. She really didn’t like not having the last word. It was almost cute.

No, it wasn’t cute. It was annoying.

Harry kept an eye out as they slowly - for a flight - rose, following a creek with a small stream in it. That would hide them from sight, at least somewhat. There were even some small trees growing here - not quite a jungle. No palm trees, though.

And then they reached a small saddle before the top, and Granger put the plank down. Harry didn’t have to ask why - he could see the cave ahead. And the claw marks around its entrance. “The wyvern’s lair.”

“Yes.”

“We need to check if there are… young wyvern or something. Or eggs,” he said.

She nodded. Very slowly. “I suppose so. I doubt there are any, though. We would’ve noticed them flying. So, it shouldn’t be too dangerous.”

She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. Well, Harry could use some convincing himself, if he was honest. If there were young wyverns inside, and if they had a similar resistance to spells as young dragons had…

But they had to know, or they would risk getting attacked by more monsters when they least expected it. “Let’s go and check it out,” he said.

As they approached - he was carrying the plank in his free hand - the wind turned a little - and Harry felt a foul stench fill his nostrils. “Ugh.”

“That’s… Do wyverns use secretions to mark their territory?” Granger asked.

“It’s not rotting meat, at least,” Harry said. He resisted making a quip about Granger not knowing everything. This wasn’t the time. “We can ask Hagrid once we’re back at Hogwarts.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him about the wyvern,” she replied.

“Right.” Lying about the wyvern would be bad. Not mentioning the whole thing… well, it wasn’t quite as bad. Just a little white omission, if that was a word.

They reached the entrance, wands drawn and aimed. The stench was even stronger now. “Bubble-Head Charms,” Harry said, already moving his wand.

“Yes.”

*****​

Hermione Granger cast a Bubble-Head Charm, almost as fast as Potter, though he’d had a head start. Instantly, the stench - and she couldn’t call the smell anything else - vanished. Mostly. She was sure her hair and clothes had already caught some of it and had to resist the urge to cast a Cleaning Charm on herself. It would be pointless with them about to enter the cave.

She took a deep breath and tried not to show how nervous she was. They were literally entering the lair of the beast. The lion’s den. We’ve killed the monster, she told herself, which helped.

The chance that there was another monster hiding inside was slim but not zero. If wyvern reproduction had one half of the pair go out and hunt while the other stayed in the lair with the eggs or young… Not the first time she wished she’d read up on wyvern. If she died because of missing critical information…

“Let’s go,” Potter said.

She nodded and followed him into the cave. She felt bad for letting him go first, but not bad enough to make an issue out of it. It would be stupid and dangerous, anyway, to argue at the entrance of the cave - and she knew Potter would argue. He always did when she tried to keep him from endangering himself.

She shook her head and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. They had to investigate the cave. The lair. She cast a Wand-Lighting Charm after a few steps into the cave, just in case.

“Ugh,” Potter muttered and stopped walking.

“What?” she whispered, taking a step to the side so they would have a better field of fire.

“Bones.”

She glanced at the ground. There were bones, indeed. She moved her wand over the heap to see them more clearly. “Those are quite large,” she commented, pointing at what looked like half of a femur.

“Human-sized,” Potter said.

“Yes.” And, though it was hard to tell, with most of the bones have been crushed or cracked, they could be human bones. Then again, she wasn’t a biologist by any means. Another area she should’ve studied. “I don’t see any skulls or skull fragments.”

“They would’ve survived, right? Skulls are the hardest bones, aren’t they?” Potter asked.

“Probably,” she replied. She wasn’t certain.

“Uh… if the bones are here, did the wyvern, ah, shit here?”

She grimaced. “I don’t see any faecal matter.” And she wasn’t about to end her charm to smell the air to check. “It might just be a place where the wyvern stashed the remains after cracking the bones for the marrow, but then again, given the size difference, I doubt that it could’ve sucked out the marrow.”

“But a smaller wyvern could’ve done it, couldn’t it?”

Damn. “Yes,” she whispered, clenching her teeth.

“Let’s check the rest of the cave.” Potter moved ahead again.

She followed him, keeping an eye on the ceiling and the walls. There were no stalactites, but there were enough nooks and crannies for something small to hide inside or behind.

But they reached the end of the cave without anything attacking them. And without Hermione casting spells at shadows - though she came close, once.

“More bones,” Potter said. “A whole damn lot of them.” Indeed, the ground was covered with bones - she couldn’t see the stone beneath it in this part of the cave. Then she heard him gasp. “There’s a skull.”

She didn’t have to ask if it was a human skull - she could see it at once. “This might be the witch whose arm we found,” she said, kneeling down next to the skull.

Then she saw the other skull fragments.

“Or not,” Potter commented.

She silently cursed again. “There are enough skulls and fragments for… multiple people. Amongst other bones.” Which looked like… there was at least one dolphin’s skull. Or perhaps it was a smaller whale. So, the wyvern had eaten mostly sea mammals. And probably fish as well.

“You don’t want us to sift through the whole heap and puzzle them together, do you?”

She turned her head to glare at the boy. “Of course not!” Not here, at least. “But we’ll take them with us.” At least the bones that looked human. Mostly the skulls and skull fragments.

“Yes.”

She started casting Shrinking Charms on the selected bones while Potter created another container from a summoned coconut. Neither of them spoke a word until they had left the cave.

Hermione took a deep breath. She hadn’t dispelled her Bubble-Head Charm, but just being outside, feeling the sun on her skin, helped a lot.

“We should clean up before we drop the spells,” Potter said next to her.

“Yes. But not here.” The whole area smelt. Or stank. “Let’s go this way.” She pointed to the side. “We should get a good view of the east from there.”

“Right.”

They mounted their plank - Hermione wouldn’t call it a broom just as they weren’t really flying - and left the cave entrance. After a short distance, they found a small stream.

And a small waterfall.

Yes!

She stopped the plank and dismounted. “This is perfect!”

“Are you going to take a shower?”

She frowned at Potter. Why did he sound as if that was a bad thing?

*****​

A shower. In the middle of their... exploration trip. Harry Potter shook his head. “Did you forget how to cast a cleaning charm?”

“Of course not! But as you undoubtedly know - we’ve talked about this before, didn’t we? - taking an actual shower just feels much better than merely casting a charm.” She glared at him, then continued in a lower voice. “And I certainly need to feel clean after that cave.”

And I don’t need to see you taking a shower, Harry thought. His dreams were already weird enough. Not that he’d tell her that - she’d never let him forget it. She’d mock him for it. “Whatever,” he said, “I’ll keep an eye out while you go and get yourself feeling clean.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “This isn’t a mocking matter! And it’s not as if we’re under a time constraint.”

“We don’t know that,” he shot back.

“Then we shouldn’t waste more time pointlessly arguing!” She huffed, sat down on a rock near the stream, and started to pull her shoes off.

Harry clenched his teeth and turned away, looking anywhere but at her. How typical of Granger! Scoffing, he started casting cleaning charms on himself. Unlike Granger, he didn’t need to get wet to feel better… He blinked, then groaned. Merlin’s Beard, what was his subconsciousness doing to him?

But at least he was clean. And he felt clean. He dispelled his Bubble-Head Charm and sniffed the air. Yes, he also smelt clean. “Oh, yes!”

He turned before he realised what he was doing and froze seeing Granger stepping out from under the small waterfall. She wasn’t naked, but that didn’t help much. She was staring straight at him, frozen as well, then huffed and continued walking towards her clothes. And he turned away.

Damn.

A few minutes later, he heard her walk towards him and turned around again. “Are you done?” he asked.

“No, I put my clothes on so I could take a second shower,” she replied with an eye-roll.

He snorted. “I wouldn’t put it past you - perhaps you won’t feel as if you were wearing clean clothes until they’ve been properly washed as well.”

“I consider it the same as dry cleaning,” she shot back.

“Dry cleaning?” That sounded… weird.

“Cleaning clothes without using water as a solvent.” She sounded like a professor.

“So, with magic?” He cocked his head and frowned at her.

Another eye-roll. “It’s a muggle term, not a wizarding word. Usually, chemical solutions are used.”

“So, it’s not really dry, then,” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes once more. “I said I consider it the same as dry cleaning, not that it was the same. Although the definition technically fits. But do you really want to waste more time literally arguing semantics here?”

“As long as you don’t want to hop into every pond we find on the way, sure.”

“Really, Potter,” she said, “if I hadn’t seen you swimming - and enjoying it - I would suspect you were afraid of water.”

“There’s a time and place for such things,” he retorted. “And it’s not in the middle of exploring a deserted island.”

“I beg to differ.”

“That’s obvious.” As were a few other things.

She shook her head. “Anyway, let’s go on.”

“I’ve been saying that for some time,” he told her.

“You actually didn’t say that.”

“I implied it.” He bared his teeth at her.

“Which isn’t the same.” She matched him.

He scoffed, annoyed at her and himself. “If we keep arguing semantics, we’ll never get off this hill, much less the island.”

“Then let’s go.”

“You just have to have the last word, do you?” So typically Granger.

“You wouldn’t care about that if you didn’t want to have the last word yourself.”

He pressed his lips together, forced himself to smile, and gestured towards her.

Seeing her clench her teeth and glare at him lifted his mood.

Until he realised that if they mounted their makeshift broom again, he’d have to wrap his hands around her waist once more.

Damn.

*****​

Hermione Granger hated it when Potter got one over on her. But she couldn’t reply to his insinuation that she wanted to have the last word without proving him correct. Which was very vexing. Almost as vexing as him silently staring at her when she stepped out from under the waterfall.

“Let’s walk,” Potter interrupted her thoughts. “We’re less likely to miss something, and we’ll be able to keep an eye out for threats.

And they would have to climb the hill, well, the last third or so. But complaining about that would make her look weak. So she nodded. “Good idea.”

They went a bit more towards the east, to clear the small cliff forming the waterfall, then went straight up. Fortunately, they didn’t have to literally climb - the slope here wasn’t steep enough for that. But in the heat - it was now close to noon - it was exhausting. “Let’s take a break. A short break,” she said once they were halfway to the top.

“Alright.” Potter nodded as if he didn’t need a break himself - he was quite red in the face, and it wasn’t sunburn since they had cast charms against that. A Water-Making Spell later, Hermione felt better. Except for her knees, which still felt as if she were ninety years old and had just gone up the Eiffel Tower on foot.

To distract herself, she said: “I wonder where the humans the wyvern killed came from. And if they all were kidnapped.” That would be… disturbing. Very disturbing.

“Probably,” Potter replied. “What are the odds they were shipwrecked?”

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Possible, but unlikely. What are the odds that they were dragged here by a hidden Portkey?”

He cursed, which was answer enough. “If someone was feeding the wyvern...”

“...then they’ll notice we didn’t play along,” she finished for him. As they had discussed before. “Let’s go on.”

They slowly and silently climbed to the top of the hill.

They were on an island, Hermione realised at once. Decently sized, but far from the coast - she couldn’t see even a hint of a landmass or another island. Jungle covered most of the island, except for the beaches and the hill. And…

“There’s a village!” Potter exclaimed.

She whirled. “Where?”

“There, half-hidden in that cove there, next to the rocky mini-peninsula.”

She took a closer look at where he was pointing at. Then she drew a sharp breath. There was a settlement, yes. Buildings. And… “There’s a ship,” she realised.

*****​

 

Chapter 16: The Village Part 1

Godric’s Hollow, Devon, Britain, July 11th, 1996

Lily Potter almost dropped the book she was reading - or trying to read in an attempt to distract herself - when the doorbell rang. It was almost noon, but James would use the Floo network. As would most of their friends. That meant… Someone who didn’t want their trip to be logged by the Floo Network Authority. Which officially didn’t happen, though Lily knew it could easily happen if you knew how to circumvent the safeguards. Or had the authority to do so.

She drew her wand and approached the door. The wards hadn’t been triggered, which was a good sign - anyone who managed to slip through the protections wouldn’t need to stoop to cheap tricks like ringing the doorbell. On the other hand, that would be so obvious, people might try it anyway.

She peered at the small mirror that showed the outside. Sirius and Peter! She gasped. They were expected, although… She shook her head. Paranoia wouldn’t help anyone, no matter what Moody thought.

She still kept her wand ready as she opened the door. “Sirius! Peter!”

“Lily! We return, not quite triumphant, but with results!” Sirius said, grinning.

“What the lout means is that we completed our mission,” Peter explained with a frown aimed at Sirius’s back.

“Yes, yes.”

“Come in!” she told them. As soon as the door closed, she asked: “Did you find Cobblespun?”

“We found, captured and interrogated him!” Sirius announced. “He was clever, but not clever enough to fool my nose!”

Lily looked at Peter. She loved Sirius, if not as much as James did, but she didn’t like his sense of theatrics. Most of the time, at least - he had his moments.

“He wasn’t in the hotel; that was a decoy,” Peter told her. “He was hiding in another building, but Padfoot found him, and we took him last night.”

“We would’ve returned at once, but we encountered some trouble with the French,” Sirius said. “Nothing serious, but it slightly delayed our departure from our neighbouring country’s shores.”

“They shouldn’t have identified either of us, though they’ll suspect us, of course,” Peter explained. “We didn’t hurt them, or anyone other than Cobblespun, so the French shouldn’t be too angry.”

“They can’t prove anything anyway.” Sirius grinned. “Two can play their silly games.”

“You wouldn’t consider it a silly game if they decided to send some ‘deniable assets’ after you,” Peter commented.

“They can try,” Sirius’s grin widened. “But we have a Dumbledore, and they don’t.”

Not for the first time, Lily wanted to ask whether Sirius mangled famous quotes intentionally or just got lucky. But she wouldn’t ask - if he was doing it intentionally, he would be waiting for such a reaction. And she had Harry to worry about. “So, where’s Harry?” she asked.

Sirius sighed, and she pressed her lips together as her heart sank. “We don’t actually know that,” her friend said. “Cobblespun doesn’t know, either.”

“You’ve used Veritaserum?” They would have, of course. But she had to ask.

“We did. We thoroughly interrogated him. Which contributed to our troubles with the French,” Peter said.

“We didn’t want to do anything illegal on British soil, so we did it on French soil,” Sirius said. “But the buggers must have had some way to track him.”

“Or we made a mistake setting up the safe house; happens to the best of us,” Peter said.

Of course, Peter would take the blame; their friend was much too hard on himself. Lily shook her head. “None of you were hurt, which is what’s most important.”

“And that we got Cobblespun,” Sirius added. “He doesn’t know where Harry is - but he knows where he got the Portkey from.” He bared his teeth. “As we expected, Cobblespun hadn’t inherited it - he stole it.”

Lily had expected that indeed. But… “No one claimed to have lost it, though.” And, given the coverage in the Prophet and the gossip in the Ministry, she was certain that almost everyone in Wizarding Britain had heard what had happened - and how it had happened.”

“Of course they wouldn’t have come forward - the Portkey was part of a pirate’s estate.” Sirius scoffed. “Can you imagine how embarrassing it is for an honourable pureblood family to have such a scoundrel in their family tree? Not embarrassing enough to get rid of the loot they brought home, of course! Abandoning gold, no matter how bloody? Perish the thought!”

“Which family is it?” Lily asked, clenching her teeth.

“The Averys. Slytherins to the core, of course.”

Oh. Severus’s friend.

*****​

Unknown Island, July 11th, 1996

“A ship?” Harry Potter, now mostly hidden behind a rock, took a closer look. Yes, there was something in the parts of the sea - the bay - he could see through. “A sailing ship?”

“It looks like a sailing ship,” Granger agreed. “I can’t make out any details, though.” She looked at him as if he would do any better.

So he shrugged. “I can see a white sail, nothing more.”

“So much for your ‘Seeker eyes’.”

He frowned at her. “That’s not the same.” He was an excellent Seeker, but he didn’t have hawk eyes.

“And you don’t know any charms that would allow you to make out things further away.”

“Such charms would disqualify me in Quidditch:”

She gave him a look as if he had said something stupid, then turned to look at the settlement again. “If there hadn’t been a ship, I would have expected the settlement to have been abandoned. Why else would they tolerate a wyvern hunting people?”

“The ship might have just arrived, to check up on the wyvern,” he speculated.

She muttered a curse under her breath. “We can’t let them see us until we’ve determined who they are and what intentions they have.”

“Yes.” That was obvious.

“But if they’re here for the wyvern, they’ll be searching the island for it - they’ll check its lair,” Granger went on. “They might find our traces!” She looked back at the other side of the hill. “

“Nothing we can do about it,” he said. “And they’ll suspect our presence anyway, once they find out that the wyvern’s dead.”

“Still… they might have wondered whether the wyvern was killed by a whale or something. But once they find our tracks, they’ll know we did it.” Granger shook her head. “This was a stupid mistake. I should’ve thought of this possibility!”

“I didn’t think of it, either,” he told her. It wouldn’t help them if she beat herself up over this.

Instead of being grateful for his attempt to console her, she looked at him as if she had expected him to make such a mistake. “We can’t change it any more - but we need to cover our tracks from now on.”

“That’ll make fishing and getting salt harder.”

“More difficult but not impossible,” she said. “But we need to find out who those people are. And what their intentions are.”

“You mean, we need to find out whether or not they’ll mean us harm.”

“Yes.” She let out her breath. “They might belong to a wizarding authority investigating the island.”

He snorted. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“It would be too much of a coincidence,” she admitted. “No, I think these people have a reason to hide the island.”

“And not a good one - not for us.” He nodded and pressed his lips together. “Getting close without being detected will be dangerous.” And exhausting - they would have to travel through the jungle to keep hidden.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath - he could see her chest heave. “But we don’t have a choice. We need to know what we’re facing if we want to escape from the island.”

“Right.” He nodded again. “They would probably spot a raft, even if there weren’t spells alerting them - or stopping us.”

“Can they do this?” she asked.

“They hid the entire island,” he told her.

“But that could’ve been by… No. A Fidelius Charm would still affect us, wouldn’t it?”

He frowned. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t asked Mum and Dad about it - they didn’t like talking about the war. “But Azkaban is covered with spells which prevent people from escaping the island even if they manage to escape their cells.”

“But Azkaban is smaller than this island. By a lot. And we know the spells have an even bigger range since the wyvern hunted in the sea.”

“You studied Azkaban? Afraid you’d end up there?” He forced himself to chuckle at his joke.

“So I wouldn’t get lost visiting you in prison,” she shot back.

“You’d come to visit me?”

“To taunt you, of course.”

“I’m touched!”

They both chuckled - but not for long.

“So, back to the shelter?” he asked.

“Let’s study the lay of the island a little longer. We need to plan how to proceed. Maybe make a crude map…” Granger squinted at the village, then looked at the rest of the island. “You wouldn’t be able to conjure a pen, would you?”

“No. You can conjure parchment?”

“Yes.”

“Makes sense. You would have bankrupted your family otherwise, with the length of your essays.”

She snorted, but her expression wasn’t amused. Not really. But before he could ask what was wrong - it had been a harmless joke, after all - she gasped. “I’m so stupid! Lead!”

“Lead? Oh. Lead!”

“Yes. It’s not the most healthy method - not at all, actually - but I should be able to write and sketch with a piece of lead. We need some wood to transfigure into lead.”

Harry raised his wand. “No problem.”

*****​

Hermione Granger frowned at the parchment she had conjured. It was crude, rough, far from the quality of the parchment Hogwarts used. On the other hand, rough as it was, it might work better with a lead pencil. “I wish we’d learned a spell to create graphite,” she muttered.

“Or ink,” Potter commented.

“Yes. Although I guess either would lead to problems if someone dispelled it,” she replied. Like a certain boy messing with her homework.

“That’s an idea. You wouldn’t need to use invisible ink then!” Potter grinned.

She glared at him. “Do you think it’s funny to destroy hours of someone’s work?”

He looked taken aback for a moment, then shrugged. “Not hours. But making someone rewrite their sappy letter home? That’s funny.”

“For you, maybe.” She sniffed.

“You’d find it funny as well if you’d had to listen to someone compose the letter out loud,” Potter retorted.

“I would tell them off long before I contemplated destroying their work,” she shot back.

“And if they don’t listen?”

“There’s always the Silencing Charm,” she replied.

“That’s not exactly nice,” he said.

“But better than ruining their work. I certainly would prefer to be temporarily rendered mute than to lose half my work.”

He chuckled. “Really? I’d thought not being able to talk would be a fate worse than death for you.”

She scoffed. “I can always dispel the charm, for one.”

He laughed at that, and she joined in for a moment - she knew that she had a slight tendency to tell off people. Only those who deserved it, though. Mostly.

“Well, what about making them think they lost their work? Like with a Switching Spell? And see them freak out before you give them their letter back?”

She frowned for a moment. “That would actually be funny.” Especially if done to the sort of people who made fun of her homework.

“Good idea, then!” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Anyway, Let’s cast Bubble-Head Charms.” She did so right away.

“Bubble-Head Charms?”

“Yes. And cleaning charms afterwards. We don’t want to inhale or ingest lead,” she explained. After all, there was a reason unleaded petrol had replaced leaded one. The damage that stupid decision had done to people over decades...

He stared at the transfigured lead pencils in his hands. “Right.”

She took one from him and handed him a sheet of parchment. “Let’s sketch the island. We can compare and combine our work afterwards.”

Sketching the island was more difficult than she had anticipated. She had to guess the angle of her field of view to estimate the distance from the hilltop to the village, and it wouldn’t be very precise. On the other hand, the only really important part was the coastline - the jungle covered the rest of the island, and while the hill stuck out of the jungle, they had already explored it.

After fifteen minutes, she was done. Mostly. Neither an art teacher nor a cartographer would praise her work, but it should serve as some guide and help.

She glanced at Potter’s attempt and frowned. And clenched her teeth. His sketch looked… much better than hers, as much as it pained her to admit it. Perhaps not as precise, she’d guess - she was more or less certain that she had the actual distances more correct - but his coastline looked better than hers. More detailed and recognisable.

And it also looked less like a primary school project.

“I think you’ve got the bay there wrong. And the cove is a little larger, isn’t it?”

She forced herself not to glare at him. “We can compare notes once we’re back in our shelter.”

“What? It’s better to compare our sketches here where we can easily check.”

She swallowed her retort. Potter was right, damn it! “Alright,” she managed to say without growling. “Let’s take a look at the maps.”

*****​

Granger couldn’t draw to save her life, Harry Potter realised. Even his little sister had done better work before Hogwarts - and she was about as talented in drawing as she was in potions. But at least she had admitted it - even though it must have cost her half her tooth enamel. Now if only she would stop trying to correct his distances…

“This has to be larger - our angle of view means it only appears shorter,” she told him for the third time.

“Fine,” he said. “Then draw it.”

She glared at him, took the third sheet of parchment from him, then quickly marked down a spot. “Draw the coastline to this spot!”

He glared at her, but it was obvious that she wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, he completed the coastline there. “Happy?”

“Yes.” She flashed her teeth at him. “Now let’s get back to the shelter before it gets dark.”

“Right.”

Using the compass - or the navigational help, as Granger called it - they managed to find the shelter in a reasonable amount of time. However, they had to go to the beach, ultimately, to reorient themselves. And to get another fish, even though Granger worried far too much about being spotted while in the water. They didn’t have the time to get some salt, but Harry managed to get a coconut full of saltwater.

An hour before sunset, they were in front of the bunker, going over the map while eating a few leftover pieces of grilled fish with the help of roughly-made toothpicks.

“The approach through the jungle would offer the best cover, but it’s also the most obvious,” Granger said, pointing at the edge of the jungle on the map.

“Never do what they expect,” he told her. That had held true his whole life - being unpredictable didn’t mean he never got caught, but it certainly helped a lot. “And this isn’t a situation where doing the most obvious thing will be the last thing they expect - they’ll have the jungle covered. If only to keep out predators.”

“Like the wyvern.”

“They must have charms to repel it.” Not that they would be needed any more. “And they will probably have traps and worse around the village.”

“But if we can’t go through the jungle, that leaves the beach - or the sea. Neither offers much cover, if any at all,” she objected before taking another piece of fish.

Harry pointed at the map. “We could approach from the sea and use the rocky ridge here as cover.”

“Wouldn’t that be too obvious?”

She was right. He frowned and looked at the map again, trying to picture the cove in his mind. “If they’ve covered all the rocks and both sides of the bay there, then we have to stay in the water - underwater!”

“Underwater?”

“Bubble-Head Charms,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t what I meant. We won’t see anything from underwater.”

Well, they would be able to scout the seabed, but mentioning that wouldn’t help their planning… unless… He grinned. “We’ll be able to slip into the cove underwater, then stick our heads out and look around.”

“And if they detect us?” Granger asked. “We’d be trapped in the water in the middle of the settlement - next to the ship. And what if they have protected the cove from the sea? With nets or similar means?”

That was a possibility, but… “We would spot the nets.”

“Unless they are disillusioned.”

“Now that’s paranoid,” he told her, then ate the last piece of grilled fish.

“They tolerated a huge man-eating wyvern,” she retorted.

“We don’t know that,” he objected. “The ship could have arrived just recently, and the village could be abandoned. That’s part of what we need to find out.”

“And you think it’s worth the risk.”

“Yes.” He was a Gryffindor, anyway. “And you can stay back and summon me if things go bad.”

“Do you honestly think that would help us? If they are hostile and the village isn’t abandoned, they would hunt us down in that case.” She crossed her arms.

“It’s better than getting captured right away.” Or killed, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t have to.

“Any spot from which I could summon you would be even more exposed,” she said.

“Well… I guess that means you either stay back here or come swimming with me.” He grinned at her with far more confidence than he felt. She was right that this was dangerous - but they couldn’t risk building a raft, or doing much of anything, until they knew more about the ship.

She clenched her teeth and scowled but nodded. “Yes.”

“Great!”

*****​

This was reckless. Stupid. Far too dangerous. Hermione Granger should know better than this. She did know better than this. But she also knew that they couldn’t just hide and hope to be saved. If the Ministry or Potter’s family hadn’t found them so far, odds were that they wouldn’t find them, ever. That meant they needed to escape the island on their own - and they needed to know what the village was. Without more information, they couldn’t plan their escape.

And so she had to join Potter on this foolhardy adventure. Great. “We’ll have to give the shore a wide berth,” she told him. “Just in case there are guards or spells on the rocks there.”

“Can you swim that far?”

She scoffed. “Can you?”

“Of course!” he replied, though she couldn’t help feeling he silently added ‘how hard can it be?’ to his claim.

Well, they would see about that. If things didn’t work out, he wouldn’t drown, at least, and she could summon him out of the water.

*****​

Unknown Island, July 12th, 1996

She really needed to step up her cardio, Hermione Granger thought as she stopped for another break - thinly disguised as a ‘navigation check’. That Potter was in better shape than she was was unacceptable. Especially when it went beyond sitting on a broom and playing Quidditch. Wood had been obsessed about training indeed.

She recovered her breath - without being obvious about it - and cast the Four-Point Spell. Once her wand stopped pulling on her hand, she aligned the crude compass they had fashioned and consulted her - their - map. “We’re more or less where we should be,” she stated, glancing at the beach visible to their left. “That’s the prominent rock on the map.”

Potter peered at the map as well - he leaned in so close, he almost touched her, and he smelt quite nicely, she noted - before he nodded. “Halfway there,” he commented.

“Only as the crow flies,” she corrected him. “And we’ll have to swim the last part.”

“Yes.” He snorted for some reason. “Let’s go on.”

“Yes.” She stashed the compass in her shirt. In the jungle, their line of sight was too limited to navigate by picking a landmark, and they were following the coast anyway.

It really was just a cover for taking a break - of which Potter had to be aware. At least he wasn’t rubbing it in.

She flicked her wand to wipe some sweat from her face, then cast a hairstyling charm to redo her ponytail. “I’ll have to readjust once we’re home,” she muttered.

“What?” Potter, a few steps ahead, turned to look at her.

“I’ll have to remember not to cast so many cleaning and hairstyling charms,” she told him. “Once we’re back home.”

“Ah.” He nodded, then frowned. “Why, though?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, of course.” She bared her teeth at him. “As a muggleborn, I can’t cast spells at home and have them ‘mistaken’ as cast by my parents’.”

“Right.” He nodded again. “But that’s only for two more months, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said. “But that doesn’t change how unfair it is.”

“Well, kids showing off is a threat to the Statute.”

“That goes for others as well. The Weasleys live in a muggle village.”

“Not exactly in the village,” he corrected her.

“Close enough to visit it,” she said.

“And if they work magic there, it’ll be recorded.” He shrugged.

“But I can’t even work magic at home without breaking the law! Unlike purebloods.”

He shrugged. “It’s also to protect you - well, probably not you, but other muggleborns. If they make a mistake with a spell, who’s going to call St Mungo’s?”

That was a good point. But it was still unfair. She said so and walked on.

He snorted and overtook her again. Which was also unfair.

An hour later, they were close to the cove according to their map and her calculations. Close enough to stop. “We’re here,” she said, pointing at the map.”

“Right. Swimming time.”

“Yes.” After a short break. “We’ll have to clear the peninsula there - if you can call it a peninsula.” It was small, after all.

“Works for me,” he said. “But we’ll have to give it a wide berth.”

“I know.” They had talked about it before, hadn’t they? She took a deep breath.

“We could wait a little longer,” Potter said.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “We know what we want to do. And I can swim the distance. There and back.” She swam more when she went to the pool over the holidays. “Can you make it?”

“Of course!” Potter told her.

She narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t flinch.

Well, he better not be lying.

She nodded. “Let’s go - we have cover here until the water.” Rocks formed a little bay here - far smaller than the cover they needed to enter but sufficient to hide them from view from the village. And even from the air if they stuck close to the rock formation.

She stripped out of her top, shorts and shoes, then shrank them and put them in the makeshift pouch stuck on her hips. It wasn’t watertight, but that didn’t matter. The map, though, she hid by burying it in the sand - they could always summon it if they didn’t find it again. But that would keep it dry. Then she cast a Bubble-Head Charm.

He did likewise. When he took the first steps towards the water, she stopped him. “Wait. Sunblock, please.” They would be in the sun for some time, after all.

“Oh, right.”

Two spells later, they quickly dashed over the sandy beach and threw themselves into the surf, then dived as deep as they managed.

*****​

Harry Potter took a deep breath when they finally hit the water and could dive. He had cast a Bubble-Head Charm, and he was sure he had cast it correctly, but still… some instincts you just couldn’t shake. And one such instinct was to take a deep breath before diving. Even though it made it harder to dive.

Granger didn’t seem to have any trouble, though - she was ahead of him; he could see her kicking her legs as she skimmed the surface of the seabed. Her hair had escaped her ponytail and was trailing behind like... well, he couldn’t think of a good comparison, actually.

And he shouldn’t be thinking of her hair, anyway. Or her legs. Or body. He had to focus on their goal. Which was to sneak into the cove and find out what ship was there - and what village. And he shouldn’t let Granger lead the way. He was in better shape than she was, and he was faster with his wand.

Well, she was in shape, so to speak, especially seen from behind…

He gritted his teeth and pushed himself a little to swim faster, past Granger. He gave her a thumbs-up as he passed her, then blinked. They needed a better way to communicate. Perhaps… He pointed at his head, then at hers, then made a talking motion with his hand.

She frowned at him, then pointed at her ear.

Well, she must have realised what he meant. He swam to her and grabbed her head, then pulled her towards him until their two bubbles of air touched. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes, obviously - if we can breathe air, we can also speak.” She sounded a little stilted. He could smell her breath - she must have cast a charm that made it smell like mint. Or a tooth-cleaning charm scented like mint. Not a bad idea, actually - he was going to breathe his own air for a long time.

“Good. So we can talk to each other in a pinch - if we stick close.” That might not always be possible, of course. “And we can use hand signs if we can’t talk.”

“Yes. We should’ve agreed on a few specific hand signs beforehand,” she said.

“Well, up, down, back forward…” He shrugged. “What else do we need?”

“Danger?”

“I think our expressions will make that obvious. We aren’t wearing diving masks and breathers, after all.” He grinned.

“Right.” She frowned, and his grin widened. “Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can stop hugging me, and we can continue our dive.”

Right. He was sort of hugging her, wasn’t he? Well, they weren’t touching, but he kept her head close to his. Which was a little… well, intimate. Or would be if it weren’t Granger.

He released her and turned to swim along, parallel to the rocks on his right. They still had a way to go, after all. And the water wasn’t cold, but not particularly warm, either.

It took them quite some time to round the rocky not-peninsula. Granger had kept up just fine, though - Harry had regularly checked if she was still behind him. That was what diving buddies did, or so Dudley had explained after his vacation to Greece. Though muggle diving was much more dangerous than using a Bubble-Head Charm, they were about to enter a potentially dangerous area. If those wizards on board the ship were hostile…

He froze. That was a shadow moving in the water, further out. He turned to Granger, then grimaced as soon as she made eye contact, pointed ahead and made swimming motions with his hands.

For a moment, she didn’t look like she understood, but then, she swam towards him and looked in the same direction.

And he saw the shark swimming towards them. Bloody hell! Harry drew his wand out of his pants, cast a quick Shield Charm with it and then pointed it at the huge fish coming towards them. It was… almost as big as Harry was. Which was a lot bigger than it sounded.

Granger was at his side, with her wand out as well.

A stunner would probably take the shark out - but what if it made it float at the surface? That would draw attention. And if the wizards on the ship realised the shark had been cursed…

Granger had cast a Shield Charm as well, he noticed.

And then the shark reached them - and bumped into Harry’s Shield Charm. Which bumped Harry back. It hadn’t tried to bite him, though, he realised as he frantically kicked his legs to return to Granger. Who was bumped around as well when the shark circled around her and hit her with his tailfin.

She took a little longer to return, not that Harry blamed her. But the shark didn’t bump into them again and didn’t try to bite them. It circled them a few times, though, before finally swimming away.

“Probably just wanted to play,” Harry muttered. Granger didn’t react - of course not, she couldn’t have heard him.

He looked at her, then pointed ahead, towards the cove.

She nodded.

*****​

Hermione Granger was still shivering a little when Potter signalled to continue towards the cove. Even though she had been protected by a Shield Charm - and a solid one - a shark slapping her around wasn’t something to shrug off. And those teeth… Nothing on a wyvern, though.

Potter had shrugged it off easily, so she would do the same. Besides, they had killed a wyvern - a man-sized shark wasn’t in the same league. Although she much preferred to fight on solid ground, not underwater. Or close to an unknown ship with a crew whose motives were equally unknown, but probably suspect given their location.

Potter was already ahead of her, so she sped up to catch up to him. She hadn’t actually been scuba diving - yet - but she had read up on it enough to know that you had to stick with your diving partner so you could communicate and help each other. If they lost sight of each other, they would have a hell of a time trying to find each other again. Even summoning might not help - Potter’s pants had looked very tight, but not very solid, and she knew her own underwear might not hold up as well as her jeans either, should Potter try to summon her with her clothes.

Another mistake - an oversight - she should’ve caught before diving. She could only hope Potter would realise it as well and wouldn’t trust that she could summon him out of danger again.

She snorted. Hope? Trust, but verify. She overtook Potter - he wasn’t as good a swimmer as she was, she noted - and grabbed his head to make their air bubbles overlap. “Potter.”

“Yes?” He looked surprised.

“I’m just checking that you’re aware that summoning each other has to be a last resort. Our current attire isn’t as sturdy as our normal clothes,” she told him.

He blinked, then glanced down. “Right. That would be embarrassing.”

Very embarrassing. “And potentially fatal,” she retorted. If he tried this on her for a lark, she’d… well, she wouldn’t kill him. But he’d wish she would have.

“Well, yes, but we’d still try it if it was the only way to escape. Even a slim chance is better than none at all, right?”

“Of course. I said it was a last resort, didn’t I?” she replied.

“Yeah.”

“Also, we shouldn’t be deep enough to worry about decompression when we resurface, but it would be safer to take a break of a few minutes when we’re going up. Just to be safe.” Hermione could be wrong, after all, and a mistake here could be fatal.

“Decompression?”

“The bends - divers can die if they return too quickly to the surface,” she explained.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t mention that when we were planning.”

She suppressed a frown. Yes, she should have. “I didn’t think we’d have to worry about it. Not so close to the shore. But better safe than sorry.”

“Alright.”

She nodded and released his shoulders, then pushed away with a kick of her legs, twisting to propel herself towards the cove. They were almost around the peninsular. Or mole - though it was a natural formation. A natural harbour - that would’ve attracted people in the past, hence the village.

Potter overtook her again, but she saw he was pushing himself to do so, so she slowed down a little. He might be in better shape than she was, but it wouldn’t help anyone if he tired himself out trying to upstage her.

Then they entered the cove - she could see how they turned by the way the angle towards the sun shifted. She swallowed. If she squinted, she could already see the hull of the ship ahead - or a shadow where it would likely be. She swam forward, touching Potter’s legs.

He stopped and turned. She closed the distance again. “We could swim to the shore,” she said, “instead of to the ship.”

“Too risky,” he replied. “The crew will likely look at the shore, not straight down.”

“They could look down.” People did that, leaning on the railing, looking down at the water.

“Even odds then, but the ship provides better cover. And we don’t know what the village looks like.”

He sounded confident, so she nodded. Even though she had her doubts. But they would stick with the plan.

Potter took the lead again, and she easily followed him, staring up at the surface, hoping they were deep enough to avoid notice until they were directly under the ship.

The water was growing a little murky, she noticed, which would only help them. But was that the result of sediments being washed into the sea by a small stream or something else? They hadn’t seen a stream from the hill, but a small one could be covered entirely by the tree canopy. And, historically, settlements were founded at rivers and other sources of freshwater, even though spells could compensate.

They reached the ship before she could make up her mind, and she felt relieved when they were shielded by the hull above them. Although… That wasn’t a modern steel or carbon hull. That was a wooden hull, she noticed as she looked at the keel. And one which had attracted some fouling - she could see plants and some clams stuck to the planks forming the hull. Not too much, but still… No copper covering the hull, either.

Potter swam over to her and leaned in until their bubbles merged and their faces were almost touching each other. “It’s pretty big. That’s no yacht.” He was whispering despite being underwater.

She agreed. “It’s also old. Or old-fashioned.” This wasn’t the time to mention the Ship of Theseus. “Look at the rudder.”

“So… An old sailing ship. Wizards, then.”

“Likely,” she said. “But we need to take a closer look to find out more.”

He nodded. “Let’s use the eastern side - we’ll be in the shadows there when we surface.”

Not much of a cover, but better than nothing. She pushed back, then took a deep breath and started to swim upwards, towards the surface. She stuck close to the hull, but not too close - she couldn’t risk getting cut by clams or anything else stuck to the hull; the blood would attract sharks even if she healed it at once.

She hoped Potter was as careful.

Then she reached the surface and looked around. And gasped softly.

The village wasn’t abandoned - she could see a dozen people, easily, walking around or working on something in front of the houses. And the houses… Mediterranean for sure. White or sandy colours, flat roofs with awnings… but those ornaments. Oriental.

Someone touched her arm, and she almost gasped again. Potter!

He pointed up. She tilted her head back, and her eyes widened.

Those were cannons sticking out of the rump there. Old cannons - those had gone out of style a hundred and fifty years ago! For a moment, she wondered if they had been thrown back in time somehow, before she noticed the very modern-looking anchor array.

Still… who would use cannons in this day and age? And old ones? Reenactors? But they wouldn’t have used a modern anchor. She squinted her eyes. Those barrels, what she could see of them, were covered in... runes? What kind of wizard would use a cannon when a blasting curse would do as well or better?

“Pirates,” Potter whispered next to her ear. “Barbary Coast pirates.”

*****​

 

Chapter 17: The Village Part 2

Godric’s Hollow, Devon, Britain, July 12th, 1996

“There are no records in the Ministry about any Avery having engaged in piracy.” James Potter sighed and sank into his favourite seat in the living room. Not that there would be any records after a few centuries - enough gold would see embarrassing files vanished. “Also, as we expected, the theft was never reported to the Ministry.” And he had been diligent in his search.

“Of course not. Imagine the scandal if it were revealed that a distinguished pureblood family owed their fortune to a pirate’s estate,” Sirius said, grinning. “Even worse - to a famous muggle pirate’s estate! Well, what was left of it. Henry Avery made a fortune as a pirate shortly after the Statute of Secrecy went into effect and then disappeared. Despite a huge bounty on his head, he was never caught. And neither was his treasure found.”

“You’ve done your research, I see,” James said. Which was a surprise.

Remus snorted. “If you can call walking into a muggle bookshop and asking for ‘books about the pirate Avery’ ‘doing research’.”

Sirius frowned - pouted - at them. “Hey! I got results. And as Peter will confirm, results are all that matters.”

James glanced at Peter, who nodded in his usual, quiet manner. “It fits. They must have hidden the pirate.”

“Hidden the body, I would say. You know the Averys.” Sirius scoffed. “They wouldn’t have let him live a moment longer than what was needed to get all the gold he took from the Mughal Empire’s ships. No loose ends to tarnish the family’s already less than perfect reputation, either.” He shrugged in that nonchalant manner of his that James had never mastered. It was probably a Black thing. “My family would’ve done the same, of course - but our fortune was earned by wizards, not muggles.”

“The question is,” Lily reminded them, “not how they made their fortune, but how we can get them to tell us where the Portkey led to.”

“We could try blackmail,” Sirius suggested. “I doubt they would risk attacking us.”

“But they could tell on us,” Remus pointed out. “Trying to blackmail an Old Family wouldn’t look good, either.”

“We could claim that we were merely trying to be discreet for their own sake,” James said. That was done far too often for real, anyway.

“Would they do it? Would they refuse to help us find Harry?” Lily asked. “Wouldn’t that see them crucified by the Prophet?”

“The Prophet’s been covering the kidnapping extensively,” Remus said. “And everyone knows Dumbledore is helping us. The Averys would face some backlash if they didn’t help us.”

“They could claim they have no idea,” Peter pointed out. “And if we present proof, our operation in France will be revealed - officially revealed, that is. And that will cause trouble for the Ministry and Dumbledore.”

Trouble they couldn’t afford with Harry missing.

“They could easily avoid any trouble by coming forward, blaming everything on the Death Eaters in the family, and earning favours by helping us,” Sirius said. “After three hundred years, most of my esteemed peers in the Wizengamot wouldn’t care overly much about some muggle pirate - especially if they got him killed to keep their name clear. Many would think this was sort of like taking care of a squib, actually.”

James clenched his teeth. He didn’t like where this was going. “They haven’t contacted us. And they must have recognised the stolen loot - the Prophet might not have listed it, but the Wizengamot got everything.”

Lily spoke up: “They might not have known. If this was stolen from a Death Eater - or another family member who got killed in the war - then the current family might not have been aware of it.”

Sirius snorted. “They would’ve been aware of it. If a low-life like Cobblespun could steal it, then it wasn’t hidden from the family. At least not the core members, so to speak. Especially during the war, they wouldn’t have risked losing crucial knowledge through death.”

James cleared his throat. “So, that means they have more to hide than an embarrassing muggle family member.”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “Cynthia Avery isn’t the brightest witch in Britain, but she’s smart enough to see the opportunity here. If she didn’t take it, it means revealing the origin of the Portkey would reveal more secrets they don’t want to be revealed.”

James sighed. “That means asking them wouldn’t help.”

“No.” Sirius shook his head.

“Sorry.” Peter shrugged.

“I don’t think so,” Remus agreed.

“And if we kidnap one of them and interrogate them, they’d know we were behind it,” James said. And that sort of action wouldn’t be tolerated by the Wizengamot. No family would want to risk such a thing happening to them.

Lily took a deep breath. “Then I think there’s one option left.”

James clenched his teeth together. He hated this. Really hated this.

“I’ll have to ask Severus to help us.”

*****​

Unknown Island, July 12th, 1996

Harry Potter was certain: Those people had to be Barbary Coast pirates. Everything fit: The ship, the houses and the people.

Granger, though, didn’t seem to share his opinion. “We’re in the tropics,” she whispered. “Quite far from the Barbary Coast. Morocco would be closest, but that’s still over a thousand miles from here.”

“Yeah?” He scoffed - softly; he couldn’t risk anyone overhearing them. “Someone forgot to tell them that.”

She scoffed in return. “You can’t just assume that people are pirates just because they conform to stereotypes.”

“Well, they’ve got a ship armed with runic cannons, they have a magically hidden port, and they apparently kidnap people. In France.” The conclusion was clear as day!

“We need more information to determine if they are actually pirates. They might be descendants of pirates,” Granger argued.

“We can’t swim closer,” he whispered. “The risk’s too high.” Pirates would be alert - and would be quite experienced in fighting. Probably. In any case, they couldn’t risk being seen. Not unless they were certain that the villagers weren’t pirates. He hoped Granger didn’t have a romanticised view of pirates - Harry had no illusions that those people would help two shipwrecked teenagers. The best they could hope for would be ransomed back to Britain. The worst...

He clenched his teeth and studied the waterfront and the rest of the small village again. He couldn’t see many nets being worked on, nor many boats that might serve fishermen - and those he could see were very securely tied up.

“It doesn’t look like a fishing village. And it isn’t a trade port,” Granger whispered.

Of course not - you didn’t hide trade ports. And… He narrowed his eyes. “See the building there at the end of the waterfront?”

“Barred windows,” Granger replied. “That would be a hugely oversized prison for such a small village.”

“Yes.” The island might serve or have served as a prison island, of course, though that was unlikely. In light of the dead witch’s last message, another conclusion was much more likely: This island had served as a slaver base. And might still be in use.

“Damn!” he heard Granger hiss - she must have come to the same conclusion. Finally!

“Well, we won’t find out anything else by staying here,” he whispered. “Let’s swim back and return to our shelter.” Before they were spotted and hunted down.

“Yes.”

They slowly sank down, below the ship’s keel, before swimming towards the open sea again. Granger was holding up better than he had expected - she could swim, at least, even if she sucked on a broom.

They didn’t encounter any sharks on the way around the peninsula, either. Harry was very grateful for that. A Shield Charm would repel a shark, but it was still unnerving to see such a huge fish trying to nibble on you - and if the shark managed to push one of them to the surface...

But nothing happened, and they reached the beach from which they had started without trouble. He held up his hand, though, to stop Granger from rushing out of the water. He wanted to take a look first. Though he couldn’t see anyone waiting in ambush. “Did you cast your Human-presence-revealing Charm?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. Let’s rush to the treeline. Yell if you spot anyone.”

“Of course.”

He went in first, dashing out of the water, then sprinting over the beach. As soon as he reached the trees, he ducked behind one, let Granger pass him, then conjured a breeze to wipe out their tracks. At least those in the sand - the ones underwater would have to be wiped by the waves.

Granger didn’t comment, for a change - she was recovering their map.

“Wipe out all of our tracks, as well as you can,” he told her.

“I wasn’t planning to leave an arrow pointing at our shelter,” she shot back.

“Better safe than sorry,” he quoted her own words back at her.

Judging by her glare, she still didn’t like that. But that was a good thing. As long as she was annoyed, she wasn’t panicking.

Then she pulled her shrunken clothes out of her makeshift pouch and started drying them. But that would take a while. And Harry really didn’t want to stay so close to the pirates.

“We could fly back and dry them at the shelter,” he suggested.

She frowned at him. “Travel through the jungle in our underwear?”

Harry felt himself blushing. He hadn’t thought of that. “Never mind.” He pulled his own clothes out.

And tried not to look at her as he dried his shrunken clothes and his pants.

*****​

Hermione Granger felt relieved when they finally reached their shelter - but she couldn’t help worrying. Before, the threat of discovery had been theoretical. Even after spotting the village from the hill, she hadn’t really thought that they were in danger. Intellectually, yes, but emotionally, no.

But now… She sighed and sat down on ‘her’ bench at their table. A couch would’ve been great right now.

“So…” Potter sat down on the bench across the table. “We’re on a pirate island.”

“Or on a former pirate or slaver island,” she corrected him.

“You don’t believe that, do you?” He leaned forward, both elbows on the table.

She gritted her teeth. “We can’t discount the possibility, but we can’t afford to be too optimistic.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Potter said, smirking. Only briefly, though.

She suppressed a huff. “Assuming that this is a pirate village, why didn’t they get rid of the wyvern? If we managed to kill it, a group of pirates certainly would’ve managed.”

“They didn’t want to get rid of it,” Potter said at once. “Cover their village - and, perhaps, the area around it - with some wyvern repelling charms or something like it and leave wyvern to patrol the rest of the island.”

But any invaders ready to attack a pirate ship or village wouldn’t have trouble with a… “You mean they wanted it to hunt down fugitives?” She felt sick in her stomach.

“Perhaps they used it to scare any captives so they wouldn’t try to escape.” Potter shrugged. “They could’ve pointed at it when it was flying around.”

She pressed her lips together and took a hissing breath. “Then we’re in trouble. Deeper trouble, I mean. They will notice that the wyvern isn’t flying around any more.”

“We’ll have to hope that they won’t notice right away and that they won’t want to check out its lair.” Potter bit into a slice of coconut meat. “Even with a Disillusionment Charm and proper brooms, it would be dangerous to disturb the wyvern in its lair if it’s just feeling ill for a bit.”

She nodded. “But we can’t count on such a delay lasting forever. Sooner or later, they’ll realise someone’s on the island.”

“We’ve buried the wyvern’s carcass. They might think it attacked the wrong sea monster and was killed at sea.”

She pursed her lips. “Do you think we’ll be so lucky?”

He grimaced. “No. We’ll have to plan according to the worst case.”

“Active pirates and slavers,” she summed up.

“Not that there’s much of a difference between the two, at least where Barbary Coast pirates are concerned. Dad told me about them.” He sighed.

“I’ve read about them in History of Magic,” she told him.

“We didn’t cover them,” he said, frowning. Then he snorted. “You’ve read ahead, of course.”

“They were mentioned when we were learning about the early Ottoman Empire,” she corrected him.

“Ah.” He shrugged. “In any case, they’re still active. Not as much as before Grindelwald’s War…”

“Dumbledore’s Intervention afterwards, you mean,” she corrected him. “Dumbledore and his allies from the war forced the Ottomans to abandon slave raids and the slave trade - which flourished during Grindelwald’s War with most of the European forces involved in the war.”

He frowned at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, the raids are still going on, just not as frequently any more, and, officially, they’re the work of ‘criminals’ - unsanctioned pirates. But it’s an open secret that the Ottomans don’t really try to shut down the pirates.”

She snorted. Typical. But her stomach felt like it was dropping. Barbary Coast pirates. She’d read the book. She remembered what they did before the war. “They didn’t change at all, did they?” She hadn’t read any articles about them in the Prophet, but she had only a sample size of five years, and Britain wasn’t a target for the pirates.

Potter blinked, seemingly confused for a moment. Then he looked grim. “They cut down on the raids, but…” He sighed again. “They’re still kidnapping people. Wizards and witches. For ransom or for the Janissaries. Or the harems.”

He was glancing at her without directly looking at her, she noticed. “Harems are merely the women’s quarters in an Ottoman household. Not what the fantasies of the Orientalists made them out to be,” she said.

Was he blushing? In the dim light inside the shelter - none of them had lit their wand - it was hard to tell. “Women’s quarters or whatever, kidnapped witches often end up enslaved in those. Dad and Mum were very clear about that when they told Rose and me. And the Beauxbatons students last year confirmed it.”

She hadn’t asked their visitors about that. An oversight, in hindsight. So, that disgusting practice hadn’t changed, either. Witches, deprived of their wands to make them easier to control, kept as status symbols for the rich and powerful… She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that. “As far as I know, only children get sent to the Janissaries.” Children young enough to be raised as loyal slaves trusted with wands to fight for the Sultan.

“Yes. Some Ottomans keep enslaved wizards and witches to work for them, but it takes a lot of effort to keep them under control and let them use wands,” Potter explained. “That cuts into profits.”

She clenched her teeth, then forced herself to relax. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to know. “So… did your parents also explain to you what we can expect, should we get kidnapped?”

He winced. “Probably a ransom for me. Dad’s prominent and well-off.”

And her parents were neither. She pressed her lips together.

“So, we can’t get caught,” he told her.

She looked at him. He would probably get ransomed, wouldn’t he? But he met her eyes with a determined expression.

Hermione nodded and felt a little better.

*****​

Harry Potter saw that Granger was apparently impressed by his declaration. She was smiling weakly at him. And he clenched his teeth, suddenly guilty. It wasn’t as if he was lying, but… “Also, if we get caught, and they find out who I am...”

“Which is needed so you can get ransomed,” she interrupted him.

He frowned. “Yes. But if they find out who I am, they might decide to make us disappear instead, to prevent Dumbledore from finding out about them and coming after them.”

“Oh.” For a moment, she looked very vulnerable: Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, not moving. Then she pursed her lips. “That only means we won’t have anything to lose.”

Great. Granger was overreacting again. “I said there’s a chance that they might kill us and vanish the bodies. They might ransom us back instead. Claim they saved us.”

“And obliviate us?”

He nodded. “Only way that would work.” And they would be wondering for a long time about what kind of memories they had lost. What had happened to them. What had been done to them. He ground his teeth.

“Would Dumbledore be deceived by such a transparent lie?” Granger asked,

“I doubt it. But he probably wouldn’t want to start a war or another Intervention over it - if we’re returned safely and unharmed.” Harry’s parents had told him that the Headmaster loathed war and killing.

“That would mean these slavers would escape justice.” Granger shook her head, baring her teeth.

“Are you convinced of their guilt already?” he asked. “You wanted more proof, didn’t you?”

She pressed her lips together and glared at him. “I said we should plan for the worst case.”

“Write our last will?”

She actually chuckled at his dark humour. “Yes. So, if anything happens, others might find out afterwards. It would give our families closure. And we might get justice posthumously.”

“I’d rather escape and forego justice - if I had to choose,” Harry told her.

“Let’s hope we won’t have to choose,” she replied. “We owe the dead French witch. Without her warning, we might have stumbled into the pirates - the possible pirates. And they might’ve been able to fool us if they’re pirates.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he shared Granger’s views - they wouldn’t have simply walked into the village, would they?- but he nodded anyway. After a moment of looking at each other, Harry sighed. “So, what do we do? I wanted to build a raft to leave the island, get out of the range of whatever spell blocks Patronus Messengers and let my parents find me.”

“Or get to the west coast of Africa and call home,” she added.

“Yes.” But that was a very long shot. They didn’t know how far they were from the west coast. Granger had measured the shadows but hadn’t been able to determine their latitude more precisely than ‘definitely the tropics’. “But now… They must have protections in place that keep ships from finding them - or escaping.”

“Any spell able to keep a ship out won’t have any trouble with a raft,” she agreed. “We’d bounce off like…”

“...like a fly on a Shield Charm in a Wronski Feint?”

She huffed. “Not everything’s about Quidditch, Potter.”

He frowned in return. “You know, we’ve saved each other’s life a few times now.”

“Yes?”

“Shouldn’t we be on a first-name basis?” He tilted his head a little. “I mean…” He trailed off with a shrug.

She pondered the question for a moment - her eyes lost focus, and she relaxed a little. “Do you want to?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

He shrugged again. “Do you?” How should he know? It just felt a little… weird to call her Granger. And hear her call him Potter as if she were a stranger.

She stared at him without saying anything for a few moments longer. “Answering a question with another question? That’s usually the refuge of those who can’t or won’t answer the first question.”

“Really?” He glared at her,

“Yes.” She bared her teeth again.

She had him there. Not that he’d admit it - he’d show her! “Yes, I want to… Hermione.” He almost spat the name out.

“Alright… Harry!” She replied with a sneer that would’ve made Malfoy feel jealous.

Once more, they stared silently at each other until he snorted, followed by her.

“So, what do we do now? If we can’t build a raft?” Granger asked. “Levitating a plank as a makeshift broom won’t work either.”

He nodded. “They’ve got a ship, so they’re able to leave the island. We need to find out how they do it - or we need to stow away.”

*****​

“Stow away?” Hermione Granger shook her head in disbelief. “You want to sneak on their ship and hide, even though we don’t have any idea about her layout or the defences the pirates will have cast?”

Potter pouted. “We would observe them beforehand and find out.”

“And we could easily avoid getting caught while we snoop around, I suppose,” she commented with as much sarcasm as she could manage.

“Obviously, we have to be very careful.” His frown deepened. “Do you have a better idea?”

She bit her lower lip. That was a transparent ploy. “At the very least, we need more information before we make any plan.” She cocked her head to the side. “I’ll remind you that we didn’t manage to kill the wyvern with our first attempt - and, assuming that we are facing pirates, we are unlikely to get a second attempt to fool them if we fail our first.”

“That’s why I said we need to find out how they defend the ship and their village - and the island.” Potter shook his head. “But unless you’ve been taking lessons from a Curse-Breaker on the side, I don’t think we have many chances to defeat the island’s protections and escape on our own.”

“We don’t know what kind of protections they have - other than the fact that it’s magically hidden,” she countered.

“We know that it’s warded even against Patronus Messengers and Dumbledore’s best spells,” he pointed out. “And we know that a kidnapped witch couldn’t escape even though she had her wand. That means apparition must be blocked as well.”

He was correct. “Portkeys work, but that won’t help us,” she added, for completion’s sake. “Though there might be a fireplace connected to a Floo Network in the village.”

“I doubt they would leave such a weakness when they went to such lengths to hide the village,” he retorted.

She shook her head. “You never know - laziness and desire for convenience are amongst the biggest weaknesses of humans everywhere.” Muggles and wizards alike.

He frowned for a moment. “We can’t rely on our enemies making such a mistake, though. And we wouldn’t know the names of any connected places, either.”

“Yes. I think our best bet remains to escape by water - according to what we know so far,” she amended.

“And stowing away seems to be better than testing the defences of the island on a raft,” he said.

“We don’t know that yet. They might rely on defences that we can deal with. If they used the wyvern as a deterrent against escape attempts, then they might trust other magical creatures to stop unauthorised travel.” Hermione grabbed a slice of coconut without thinking. Ugh. She was fed up with coconut. But to put it back or vanish would make her look weak or spoiled, so she forced herself to eat it.

“Creatures which are likely more dangerous than a wyvern.” Potter shook his head.

“That depends on their capability. Water-bound creatures could be foiled by levitation, for example,” she pointed out.

“And how would we test for that? Send a raft out and see what happens?” He shook his head. “We would alert them to our presence that way. Even if we had a second raft ready, we would have trouble escaping.”

She had to agree - she had seen the cannons, after all. And no raft would be faster than an enchanted sailing ship. “That still leaves us with the need to find a way to safely gather information about the village and the ship.”

“Well, obviously, we can enter the village from the sea - we did that. It would be weird if they warded the landside but didn’t do anything to secure the shore,” Potter explained.

“Unless the spells go back to a time where few people could swim,” Hermione told him. “They might predate the Bubble-Head Charm.”

“They would’ve adjusted the defences since then.” Potter shook his head. “But we don’t have to risk sneaking through the jungle if we can use the sea. Which we can.”

Great. Another underwater trip. “And if we’re in the harbour, what then?” She looked straight at him. “We need a way to hide from detection.” And that was quite difficult - especially since neither Hermione nor Potter could cast a Disillusionment Charm.

“Well, if we sneak in during the night, we should be able to reach the shore without being detected,” Potter said.

“And we won’t be able to see much, either,” she pointed out.

“That’s why we need to find a hideout in the village where we can stay during the day.” He grinned.

She stared at him. That was… dangerous. Foolhardy. Very difficult. But it might be their best chance to spy on the village. Not that that meant much.

But it was something. And that was better than waiting until the pirates - if they were pirates, she reminded herself - discovered that the wyvern was missing and started a manhunt.

“Alright,” she said, almost against her will.

*****​

Granger - Hermione, he reminded himself - had agreed with his plan! Yes! Harry Potter grinned.

“And how will we find a hideout without exposing ourselves?” she asked.

“Ah.” His grin didn’t falter. Sirius had taught him that being confident was half the success.. “We’ll sneak in at night and look for one.”

“And if we don’t find one?”

“Then we sneak out again and try again the next night.” That was obvious, wasn’t it?

“We don’t know spells to see in the darkness,” she said. “It’ll be very difficult to find a suitable hideout like that - we might find out that what we thought was the perfect spot is rather exposed come morning.”

He frowned for a moment. “That’s why we’ll have to be very careful.”

“We’ll have to be very quiet as well. That will hamper communication,” she went on.

His frown deepened. Why did she agree with his plan only to keep trying to prove it wasn’t feasible. “Nothing we can’t work around,” he said. “If we arrive after midnight, most of the pirates should be asleep.”

“They’ll have guards up. At least on the ship. And at the prison, if they have captives,” she pointed out.

“Yes, but they won’t see us.” He smiled. “We’ll stay away from there. And I know how to avoid their guards - we’ll shrink ourselves!”

Granger blinked before her eyes widened. “You want to shrink us?”

“Exactly. Like we shrunk the tree trunks for our trap.” The pirates wouldn’t be ready for that, he was sure.

“That’s dangerous! Almost as dangerous as self-transfiguration,” she snapped. “If you don’t cast the spell perfectly, you might leave your wand or clothes behind.”

“We can watch out for each other,” he told her. “If one of us makes a mistake, the other can dispel the charm.” Not that he would make a mistake.

“Even if that works out, we would have to stay shrunk for an entire day,” she said. “What if we get attacked by animals?”

“We can deal with animals,” he said. They couldn’t work magic, after all.

She didn’t seem to believe him. “Relative to us, a cat would be as big as the wyvern.”

“But it wouldn’t be as hard to curse as the wyvern was,” he pointed out. “And it can’t fly.”

“Birds of prey can fly, though. Owls could hunt us. And depending on where we hide, we might have to deal with snakes and vermin,” Granger said. “Giant snakes. And who knows if the pirates have some magical animals around to deal with vermin - or if they are prepared for their victims trying to escape by shrinking themselves?”

He pressed his lips together. No plan was without any risk, and they were already in danger anyway. “We can create a safe hideout here - like a miniature shelter - and take it with us, then hide in there. A coconut, stuck to a roof, would be pretty safe from any vermin.”

She frowned. “That might work - though anyone spotting it will probably try to pick it up.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to find a hiding spot for a coconut,” he said, grinning again.

“Unless they have spells that deal with shrunken people. If we can think of it, others can. If they have some variant of an early anti-vermin spell that targets any animal below a certain size…”

He couldn’t help wincing. Anti-vermin charms were usually very specific, so any pets were exempt. But few wizards had pets as small as they would be. And Uncle Peter had told him stories about having to deal with Anti-Vermin Charms that targeted rats.

Granger wasn’t finished. “I think we have to assume that the ship will be protected against such an intrusion. Historically, rats were a big problem for sailing ships, so they’ll have spells warding the ship against rats. Probably insects as well.”

“But if they ward the ship against all small life forms, they won’t be able to fish,” he objected. And sailors would want to fish.

“Unless they have a spell that stuns or kills vermin. That wouldn’t impede fishing at all,” Granger said.

That was true, of course. Still… “How likely would that be?”

“Likely enough so we can’t risk it.” Granger stared at him.

“Not without testing for it.” He grinned. “You can conjure your birds. See if they make it.”

She slowly nodded. “That might work. They might still have spells specifically against shrunken people, but…”

“...they won’t have them set to kill an intruder, I think,” he said, smiling. “That would kill a valuable hostage. And if one of us is stunned, the other can revive them.”

“If our assumptions are correct.” She was looking rather dour, he noticed. “They did let the wyvern eat at least one fugitive, after all.”

“Yes.” Harry managed to avoid wincing at the reminder. “We’ll have to test for such spells first thing once we’re in the port again.”

She nodded.

*****​

Another trip to the pirate port - the potential pirate port, Hermione Granger reminded herself. This could still turn out to be a simple mistake. A former pirate base, the spells that kept it hidden still going on, a former pirate ship used for trade - there was no need to change any spells on it or remove the cannons, not with Extension Charms enlarging the hold - and the community too small and too traditional to deal with the wyvern… She suppressed a sigh. Yeah, right. It wasn’t very likely. Not at all.

She sighed. “So, if we plan to shrink ourselves” - she suppressed a shudder at the thought - “then we better ensure that we can do that before we sneak into the village.”

“Ah, right.” Potter looked a little less confident, she noted. He looked like he usually did when McGonagall announced that they would have to write a longer than usual essay.

She looked at him. “How skilled are you at reversing Transfigurations?”

“McGonagall didn’t find any fault during my exams,” Potter said. “And I’m pretty sure I did well in my O.W.L.s.”

“So you didn’t receive any special training.” Hermione pursed her lips. She had hoped Potter would have had more experience undoing various hexes and jinxes.

“No.”

“We’ve never learned how to reverse miscast Shrinking Charms,” she pointed out.

“We’ve learned the basic principles,” he retorted.

“I think we both know that that’s not enough.” She shook her head. If they managed to partially shrink a body part… She shuddered at the possible consequences.

“It has to be good enough,” he told her. “What are the alternatives?”

“To reversing a Transfiguration mishap? Or to shrinking us to observe the village?” She cocked her head.

“The latter,” he replied. “As to the former, we just have to be extra-careful when casting.”

“We could take some driftwood and create a sort of… floating observation post,” she suggested. “It would hide our heads while we’re in the water, observing the village.”

“We wouldn’t be able to get close enough to observe them in detail,” he retorted. “We have to be in the village to find out how they run things. And what they do.”

“Before we risk shrinking ourselves, we could sneak into the village at night to see what we can find out.”

“You think that’s less dangerous?” He stared at her.

“Compared to shrinking your head by mistake? Or your legs? Yes.” She nodded firmly. “We will check their defences tomorrow night. See if they repel small animals, for one.” She could conjure a flock of birds for that.

“And we can check if the prison holds anyone,” Potter said.

“Yes.” She nodded again. If there were captives, and they could get them wands - they had a spare wand already, didn’t they? - then that would change the entire situation.

Potter snorted. “You know, I’d have thought you’d consider this far more reckless than shrinking us.”

She sniffed in return. “I’ve had to rely on Matron Pomfrey far too often to trust my own skills at undoing a miscast spell.” And most of that had been his fault.

He had the grace to blush. A little. Then he stared at her. “Really? And you didn’t make an effort to change that?”

“I studied counter-curses to common hexes and jinxes, mostly.” And some actual curses.

“I guess I should’ve used more Transfiguration in our spats.”

Spats. She pressed her lips together, then smirked. “I would’ve retaliated with similar means.”

“Ah.” He looked a little queasy, for some reason. Perhaps he finally realised the true dangers of shrinking yourself. “Well, we can still train the Shrinking Charm tomorrow, on your conjured birds, for example.”

“And attempt to deliberately miscast it?”

“Exactly!” His usually cocky grin reappeared. “Just in case we need to hide in the village anyway.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. And it wasn’t as if they had much else to do tomorrow. “Then we should go to sleep early,” she said. “We’ll have to be well-rested tomorrow, so we need to sleep longer than usual.”

“Right.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and she felt herself wetting her lips. “Good night,” she said.

“Ah, right. I’ve got the first watch. Good night.”

*****​

Unknown Island, July 13th, 1996

Hermione Granger yawned. It was… well, it wasn’t too early. The sun had gone up a few hours ago. But Potter - Harry, she reminded herself - had needed more sleep. Otherwise, he’d be too tired to be careful later today. When they would be sneaking into the pirate village. And he was barely cautious enough when he wasn’t tired.

She stood and stretched, then walked over to wake up Potter. He was sprawled on his bed, only wearing his pants. He must have kicked his blanket - well, his robe turned half-blanket - off. Sleeping like that, he looked almost… well, he was attractive. Aesthetically, at least. No baby fat left in his face and not much on the rest of his body. He wasn’t overly muscular like some of those bodybuilders in the action movies, but still nicely toned. A hint of abs, defined biceps and his legs… Well, he had to have muscles to fight all the g-forces while trying to plant his broom into the ground despite all the safety charms. And without his smirk, his face looked nice as well. His hair… well, she was the last person with any right to complain about wild hair.

All in all, quite a nice sight, indeed. No wonder she was having weird dreams about him. If only his personality matched his looks! Well, then he’d have a girlfriend already, so, in a way, that was…

She blinked and stifled a gasp with her hand. What was she thinking? She was mooning over Harry - over Potter! And he was the boy who had done his best - or worst - to make her years at Hogwarts a pain! Sure, he had saved her life, but so had she his in return. And anyone could be a decent person with enough motivation. Such as being stranded on a desert island. Or a not so desert island.

That was the whole reason for her uncharacteristic thoughts: The stress, the danger and the isolation. Even if something happened, nothing would come of this - once they were back in Britain, things would go back to normal. Well, not exactly as before, but without being forced to stay together, they would return to their own social circles.

Which, she reminded herself, were connected due to their best friends being a couple. What a mess. She really didn’t want to hear about Potter getting a girlfriend.

She blinked again, then buried that thought and shook her head.

“Hey! Wake up! Harry! Wake up!”

He didn’t react.

She sighed and bent down to shake his shoulder. “Wake up!”

He opened his eyes, and before she could pull back, his hand was on her cheek, and he smiled at her. “Hey!”

She felt herself blushing. What was he doing?

Then he blinked. “Oh.”

“You need your glasses,” she said, in the driest voice she could manage. “I think you mistook me for someone else.”

“Uh, right.”

She nodded and left. And refrained from touching her cheek.

*****​

 

Chapter 18: The Prison

Godric’s Hollow, Devon, Britain, July 13th, 1996

“Alright. I’m going,” Lily Potter said.

James growled something in return. Which was a remarkable show of restraint on his part - she knew that he really, really loathed what she was about to do - as much as he loathed the man she was visiting, in fact.

“Don’t forget to cast another Patronus Messenger,” she told him.

“I won’t.”

She nodded. It was a faint hope, but… Harry was a clever boy, and the girl he had disappeared with was reported to be the brightest witch since, well, Lily herself had attended Hogwarts. If they were stuck behind some old protections, they might find a way out. And then the spell would find them.

But it was a faint hope. Today marked a week since Harry had disappeared. A week! If they had been trapped in some old prison or fortress, without food and water… No! They had to be alive. They had to.

She took a deep breath to calm herself and opened the door. Then she blinked and turned back to the living room, where James was sulking. “I better not catch any of our friends following me,” she told him.

He jerked. Just a little, but it was enough. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “James…”

“I want you to be safe. He’s a Death Eater.”

“Former Death Eater,” she corrected him. “And I’ve met him before.” Not often, to be honest.

“Things are different now, with Harry missing.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows at him. “How so?”

“We still don’t know for sure if this isn’t part of an attack on us,” he replied, glancing at her.

“Really. According to all we’ve found out so far, this was an accident.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Are you really worried that Severus would attack me?” Sev had betrayed Voldemort for her. For her alone, she knew - she was under no illusion that her old friend was a good man.

James sighed. “Better safe than sorry.”

“And you don’t think having two or three of his old rivals around might put him off helping us?”

“If he is so petty as to let old grudges keep him from saving Harry…”

She rolled her eyes again. “He’s not the only one carrying grudges.”

“We didn’t join Voldemort,” James spat. “Well, not for real,” he added.

“And he spied on Voldemort as well. Albus vouched for him.” Lily wasn’t blind to the fact that Sev had willingly joined before - but everyone deserved a second chance. After making up for what they had done, of course - if that was still possible. She shook her head. “Call them back. I’m not going to risk losing our best way to the Averys over a decades-old grudge.”

She wasn’t a pureblood, after all.

*****​

Cokeworth, Midlands, Britain, July 13th, 1996

He was waiting, as she had known, in the old playground. That was their place - they had met for the first time here, near their childhood homes. Here, in the bushes, she had found out that magic was real. And that she was a witch. And that her sister wasn’t a witch. And that the Snape boy was a wizard.

Sev wasn’t sitting on the swings, at least - he was sitting on the bench, his dark clothes - turtleneck, despite the weather, and black slacks - a stark contrast with the clothes of two women and one man who were sitting on the next bench, watching their kids play on the swings.

She walked up to him, knowing he had been watching her since she had set foot into the playground. “Hello, Sev.”

“Lily.” His voice sounded a little hoarse.

She sat down next to him - not too close, though. “You didn’t scare off the others so we’d have a bench for us, did you?” She was only half-joking; she knew how caustic Sev could be, and age hadn’t made him mellow out.

He snorted. “I didn’t have to.” He nodded towards the older woman of the two. “That’s Bess Cartwright.”

Lily blinked, then took a second look at the woman. “That’s Bess?” The last time Lily had seen the woman, she had been wearing leathers and working on a motorbike. And screaming at her parents. Now she was wearing a sundress and a hat. And a few pounds more on her waistline.

Sev shrugged. “Yes. And she remembered me.”

“Ah.” Lily nodded. “And she didn’t want to be reminded of her… wild phase?”

“Probably?” Sev shrugged again. “We were both outcasts, but we never… you know.”

“I know.”

He nodded. “I’ve heard about Harry.”

“Yes.” She had expected that.

“You think I can help you find him?”

Straight and to the point. She hadn’t expected that. But she could run with it. “Yes. Or rather, one of your old friends.”

He tensed. “I only have one old friend.”

Her. Always her.

She forced herself to smile. “Really, Sev? And are your ‘acquaintances’ aware of that?”

He scoffed - but with some amusement. “If anyone amongst my acquaintances and colleagues should mistake our relationship for friendship, then they most certainly are too much of a dunderhead to be considered as a friend.”

Lily shook her head. “Sev…” She cut herself off. Severus wouldn’t change. He hadn’t in close to twenty years now. “What about Avery?”

“A dunderhead. Not as much of a dunderhead as others of her circle.” He sneered, then looked at her. “Is she behind the kidnapping?” He spoke almost casually - as if he were asking after the weather. But she knew him. Better than anyone else. Better than Dumbledore, Lily was sure. He was keeping his temper in check with an effort.

“I doubt it. But the Portkey which took Harry and Miss Granger away was stolen from Avery’s attic. Years ago.”

“Really?” Severus chuckled. Once. “So much for the vaunted security of her ‘ancestral manor’.” He spat the last words.

Lily shrugged. “It wasn’t hers at the time, I believe.”

“Oh, she already considered it hers. That her father was still alive was merely a technicality for her.”

“I thought she wasn’t…” She bit her lower lip as she trailed off.

“She wasn’t a Death Eater. But she almost joined - when it looked as if the Dark Lord would be winning. But she dithered too much, afraid to cast her lot until it was a sure deal. Unlike others of her family.”

She nodded. Avery hadn’t been the only one, of course. Lily knew that many purebloods still sneered at her ancestry. Not in public, of course - that wouldn’t do at all, not after Voldemort had been killed by Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix. But she overheard enough comments at social gatherings - people really shouldn’t trust the old privacy charms when Lily had crafted better ones. And people, some of them her friends, some seeking James’ favour - or Dumbledore’s, indirectly - relayed similar gossip to her. But she couldn’t dwell on that. “It served her well, though, didn’t it?” Cynthia Avery’s father had been a Death Eater.

“Yes.”

“And you vouched for her,” Lily went on.

“Something I’ve come to regret,” Severus replied. “If I had lied about her non-involvement, she wouldn’t have mistaken my honesty for fondness.”

The witch had pursued Sev? Lily refrained from showing her surprise. “You’ve never mentioned this,” she said.

He sniffed. “It was of no consequence. A delusion on her part.”

“Ah.” There was more to that, of course. But Lily wouldn’t touch it. Neither would Sev, of course. “You remained… acquaintances, though.” At least as far as she knew.

“Her family is in the Potions business,” Severus replied. “And I’m the leading Potioneer in Britain. Our interests overlap.”

She nodded.

“You want me to act as a go-between? To persuade Cynthia to cooperate with the Aurors?” Once more, his tone was utterly casual.

Lily shook her head. “All I want is information. Who made the Portkey? Where did it lead to? When was it made?”

“You. Not the Aurors.”

Lily nodded. “Harry is all that matters.”

Severus nodded. “I suppose Albus is working on it as well.”

“Yes.”

“Discretion will help with getting Cynthia’s cooperation, but it is by no means a guarantee. My acquaintance isn’t always acting as rationally and pragmatically as she should,” Sev said.

Great. “If she wants gold or a favour for this…” Lily started.

Severus shook his head. “She might harbour grudges. Irrational grudges.”

Lily was confused. She didn’t remember doing anything to Cynthia Avery. And… “Mad-Eye killed her father.”

“Oh, she doesn’t hold a grudge over that. If she hadn’t been forced to maintain the facade of a dutiful daughter, she wouldn’t even have come to his funeral.” Sev scoffed, and Lily saw his lips twist into a… hint of a grimace? “No, she might have the mistaken impression that she’s a rival of yours.”

“A rival?” But Avery wasn’t a spellcrafter, nor was she much of anything other than a member of the Wizengamot. So what…? No. Lily stared at her friend.

Severus had the grace to wince. Or what passed as a wince for him. “Yes. As I said, delusional.”

Lily sighed. Their best lead to finding Harry thought Lily was her romantic rival?

“I will correct this - and I’ll do my best to persuade her to share the information you need,” Severus said.

“Thank you, Sev.” Lily smiled. She should ask him not to break the law for her - but she wouldn’t. Harry was too important.

*****​

Unknown Island, July 13th, 1996

“I’m glad you didn’t try that on me.”

Harry Potter gritted his teeth. Granger didn’t have to comment - he could see himself that that hadn’t been his most successful attempt. At least the bird was still alive. Although… in its current state, that might actually not be a good thing. He flicked his wand and dispelled the entire thing, ending the wheezing noise it made, trying to breathe with lungs that weren’t quite the right size anymore. Or something. “Well, you deliberately miscast the spell. You wouldn’t do that with you or me.”

“I deliberately miscast it so we can learn how to Untransfigure such mishaps,” she retorted. “And, obviously, we need more training.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That was an exception. Most of the time, I managed just fine.”

“So did I - but we both had failures. And if we can’t fix a miscast spell when we’re training, how can we expect to do so when we’re in a stressful situation?”

“I, at least, work better under pressure,” he told her. Granger wasn’t as good at thinking on her feet as he was.

She frowned at him. “Leaving aside the veracity of that claim, that doesn’t mean it’s good enough to be used for real.”

“If we don’t have any other choice, it’s still good enough - better than taking our chances with the pirates.”

“Probable pirates,” she said.

He scoffed. Softly. “And we only need to do this if we make a mistake with our Shrinking Charms in the first place.” And they had those down pat. Granted, they hadn’t actually shrunk themselves, but anything else worked like a charm.

“Which we aren’t planning to use other than in an emergency, either,” she said. She sighed and sat down on the log near them. “I don’t like relying on… on spells that I haven’t mastered.” She stared at the ground and moved her wand between her fingers.

Oh. He cleared his throat. “Sometimes, you have to work with what you have, not what you want to have.”

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “I would prefer not to do that when my life is at stake.”

He shrugged and sat down next to her. Not so close that their thighs would touch, of course. “Well, I’d prefer that myself, but we may not have a choice.”

“We could wait until we’re certain that we can cast the charm perfectly under pressure,” she bit out.

“We’ll never be certain of that,” he countered. At least Hermione wouldn’t - she was a perfectionist. “Besides, we’re not planning to shrink ourselves.” Not today.

“And if our current plan doesn’t work out? What if we don’t find anything useful?” She brushed a stray lock of her hair out of her face.

He blinked, momentarily distracted by her face. “Then we make another plan.”

“Like shrinking ourselves and hiding in a coconut bunker?”

He smiled. “It sounds crazy if you describe it like that.”

“Like out of a cartoon,” she agreed.

“Yes. Or that movie. Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.”

“Oh, yes.” She shook her head. “I was so disappointed when my parents took me to watch it.”

“Oh?” Harry thought it had been an OK movie. Nothing great, but OK.

She snorted. “I found it so… unrealistic. The square cube-law wasn’t used correctly. And the entire plot… I gave my parents an earful on the way home.”

“A lecture?” He wanted to bite his tongue as soon as he had said it. That was…

She froze for a moment, then sighed and nodded with a rueful smile. “Yes, a lecture. They got me back when we were told magic was real, and I discovered the Shrinking Charm.”

“Ah.” He could imagine that. Growing up with her… well, raising her, in this case.

“You seem to have watched a lot of movies.”

He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Did she think he was an ignorant pureblood? “I visit my cousin often.”

“Ah.” She hesitated a moment - he saw her bite her lower lip - then went on: “I’ve heard that that’s a little unusual.”

“For purebloods,” he replied with a frown. “My mum’s a muggleborn.”

She looked at him. “That’s the reason?”

“She doesn’t want us to lose contact with my aunt and her family,” he explained.

“I thought only the immediate family were allowed to know about magic.”

“Siblings qualify,” he said. “And that includes their family.” At least that was one interpretation.

“Ah. But your cousin won’t be allowed to tell his family, should he marry?”

He pressed his lips together. She was correct - well, she would’ve read the laws. But this wasn’t something anyone in the Potter or Dursley family liked to talk about.

After a moment, she cleared her throat and stood. “Let’s train a bit more.”

He stood as well. “OK.”

*****​

The waiting was the worst. Hermione Granger could stomach swimming - at night - through waters that were infested by sharks. Well, at least one shark. She had done it before, and she’d do it again - no matter how much she… disliked the prospect. Sharks couldn’t hurt her through a well-cast Shield Charm, anyway. And as dangerous as sneaking into a pirate village - suspected pirate village, she reminded herself - was, she could do it as well. They had taken steps to minimise the danger, after all. After midnight, there shouldn’t be many, if any, villagers still awake. And she certainly wouldn’t shy away from any necessary task in front of Potter - Harry. She’d rather… well, no, she wouldn’t rather die. But she would brave any reasonable danger before she let him do it by himself. He’d be insufferable.

But waiting? That was torture. Sitting in a bush, waiting until the sun had set, not even a book to read, with a dangerous trip waiting for her...That she couldn’t stand. She wanted to do something - anything - to prepare for the night.

“Calm down, Gr-Hermione,” Potter suddenly said. “It’s still a few hours until sunset.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that,” she shot back. As if she hadn’t memorised it!

“Then rest. Nap. Sleep. You can’t do anything productive right now.”

She pursed her lips. She could go over the route in her mind. Again.

“Look, it’ll be fine. Just a dip in the sea, then we go for a stroll and send up a few birds. Easy.”

“You shouldn’t assume that our opponents are idiots.” Underestimating your enemy was a recipe for disaster.

“I don’t. But I also don’t assume that they have thought of everything and are already preparing an ambush for us.” Potter grinned. And “who dares wins.”

“You aren’t in the Special Air Service,” she told him.

He blinked, then snorted. “Figures you’d know about that.”

“Of course I do.” Really - it was one of the most famous regiments of the British Army, after all. Back during the Gulf War, the newspapers had been full of speculation about what the SAS was doing in Iraq.

He shook his head. “I bet it must annoy you a very great deal when you encounter something you don’t know.”

“I know my limits.” And her weaknesses.

He shrugged again. “Just sleep. You need to be rested later. Tired people make mistakes.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“So, why can’t you take a nap?” He sounded honestly concerned.

But he had sounded honestly concerned before, in front of McGonagall, after he had cast that Tongue-Tying Hex on her. Still… She clenched her teeth, then took a deep breath. “I hate waiting. I’m not the most patient person.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “And you always study right until the test starts.”

Of course he would be aware of that. “Yes.”

“Well, we did all we could. And now we need to sleep. Just pretend it’s the evening before the O.W.L.s.”

“I studied halfway through the night,” she told him.

“Oh.”

She rolled her eyes. Really, it was nothing special.

“The whole two weeks?” He sounded incredulous.

“Yes.”

“No wonder I got you so easily afterwards.”

“A small price to pay for good O.W.L.s. Not everyone can count on family connections,” she shot back.

“My family would never do that!” he retorted. “Besides, that’s not how it works in Quidditch!”

She rolled her eyes. Potter and Quidditch! “Just because there’s one venue for muggleborns to advance without having to fight bigotry doesn’t mean everything’s fine. For a decent career, I have to outdo all the purebloods by a wide margin.” She clenched her teeth. Even that arrogant numbskull Malfoy would have a much easier time than her.

“Well, you’re outdoing almost all the purebloods by a wide margin, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Because I cram until the last moment.”

“Well, this is different. This is more… think of it as sports. You need to be well-rested and limbered to give your best.”

She glared at him, but she didn’t have a retort handy. Not before he grinned at her. “See? Just need to look at it differently.”

She scoffed. But he had a point. If she considered this as a physical challenge - which, to a great degree, it was - she should be able to convince her subconsciousness to let her rest.

Probably.

“One of us will still have to keep watch,” she said. “We’re close to the village.”

“Right. I’ll do it. I’ve been resting enough already.”

She wanted to dispute that as well, but he was right. Again. This was going to become a habit.

But she did manage to rest with him on guard.

*****​

Swimming through the darkness was the worst, Hermione Granger thought. She couldn’t see the ground - so close to the new moon, she could barely see the rocky peninsula in the dim starlight. And if she didn’t follow very closely, she would lose sight of Harry - it wasn’t as if his dark hair was easy to spot above the water. They should’ve taken some string to link them, she thought - trusting a Summoning Charm aimed at the cords around their wrists to let them find each other had sounded fine on the beach, but now, in the dark sea…

Had something moved ahead of them, in the water? She couldn’t see anything, certainly not a fin, but that didn’t mean anything. Sharks didn’t have to swim near the surface for an attack. And in the darkness below her, anything could be hiding.

She had cast a Shield Charm. There was nothing in the water that could hurt her. Not a shark, not a jellyfish, not a snake or crocodile. Not that there should be crocodiles in the ocean west of Africa, nor sea snakes. Then again, this was a magically hidden island - who knew what kind of bestiary the founders of this village had brought along? They had a wyvern after, all. Not any more, she reminded herself, baring her teeth for a moment.

Whatever lurked below the sea here, Harry and she would deal with it if it got in their way. They would have to.

She told herself that a few more times as they rounded the peninsula shielding the pirate village from view.

She stopped swimming when she laid eyes on the houses. They were lit up quite brightly. Shouldn’t they have seen the light from the jungle? This complicated things.

She saw Harry was pulling ahead and sped up until she could touch his leg.

*****​

Harry Potter felt something grip his ankle and jerked, whirling around, hand going to his wand, before he realised it was Hermione. Clenching his teeth at his own reaction, she quickly closed with her. “What is it?” he asked in a whisper.

“The village is illuminated,” she replied.

Of course it was - he could see just fine; his glasses were not only covered with an Impervius charm but also under a Bubble-Head Charm. “Yes?”

“We can’t just sneak into the village like that,” she snapped.

“We won’t,” he replied. “It’s still before midnight; they might dim the lights in a few.”

“And if they don’t?”

He grinned, even though she couldn’t see it. “Then we’ll use that against them. They won’t be able to see anything in the darkness.”

“Everything we want to investigate is illuminated, though,” she pointed out.

“We’ll find out once we get there.” It wasn’t as if they had a better plan, and turning back wasn’t an option.

She huffed but didn’t say anything else, so he turned and continued to swim towards the village - though now he was aiming at the edge of the lit area, where the peninsula began.

They gave the ship anchored in the middle of the cove a wide berth - there would be a watch on board, or should, as far as he knew - and after some struggle with the currents - probably the tides - they reached the rocky beach.

They dashed through the surf, bent over, and hid behind a rock there. Harry forced himself to breathe slowly and calmly - he had to lead by example. Hermione was already nervous enough. “So… let’s take a look,” he said with a smile.

“A careful look,” she whispered.

He slowly rose until he could look over the rock. From this close - barely outside the cone of light cast by the spell at the waterfront - the large prison building looked even more imposing. Definitely not fit for a fishing village. He couldn’t see a guard outside, but… someone was moving inside; he could see the shadows on the ceiling of the first floor from this angle.

“Not many are on the street,” Hermione whispered. “But that building there seems to be a tavern. Third from the right.”

He took a look. The building was a little larger than the other houses in the village, and if he listened closely… “Yes. I think I can hear some laughter and some singing, too.”

“From that direction, at least,” Hermione said.

“Yes. But we can see people moving inside. And it’s more brightly lit than the rest.” He snorted. “I wonder if they’re drinking alcohol. Drunk pirates would be easier to avoid - or deal with - than sober ones.” And while Caribbean pirates were usually portrayed as heavy drinkers in movies, he wasn’t quite sure if that applied to Barbary Coast pirates.

“I don’t see a mosque,” Hermione replied. “That doesn’t have to mean anything. Given the village’s size and age, and the size of the buildings, they could’ve afforded one easily - but then again, they might have a mosque and just didn’t bother with a minaret. Or they belong to the wizards who converted to another faith following the Statute of Secrecy.”

“In short, we have no way to tell,” Harry summed up. He cocked his head. “Then again, they do sound drunk.”

“They do sound remarkably like the Gryffindor common room during a victory party,” she commented.

He snorted. “Right.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.” He snorted again and heard her sigh.

*****​

Hermione Granger took a few deep breaths. They were in the village. Hiding behind a rock at the beach - and would need to wipe out the tracks they’d left in the sand, once they moved. But it didn’t look as if the villagers had posted any guards. And they were close to the prison.

But were there wards on the building? And what kind? It was possible that only those with a key - an amulet, for example - could enter or leave the building. That would be a very safe way to handle things - but it would also be a hassle for moving captives. And people, be they wizards and witches or muggles, preferred solutions that made things more convenient for them. And one witch at least had managed to escape, though since she had managed to get a wand, she might also have managed to acquire a key. On the other hand, replacing a key would require a Curse-Breaker familiar with the wards.

Assuming the villagers didn’t have spells protecting the prison that required a key, what spells would they have cast? Detection and alarm spells, most likely. Anyone leaving a cell would trigger an alarm. That would be easy to implement. It would require guards, though. And it wouldn’t protect the building itself. Spells that reinforced the walls and locking spells on the windows and doors would be easy as well. “We need to check the grass and growth around the building,” she whispered.

“For a wardline? Yes.” Harry nodded.

If there were spells on the building reaching further than the walls, the villagers would avoid coming close - and that would be reflected by the grass and other plants inside the wards growing more than those outside. But they couldn’t check that from here. “Yes.” She wet her lips. “We need to get closer.” But not too close.

“I don’t see any guard or anyone else looking our way,” Harry said. “And there’s a tree and a bush ahead.”

It looked like a decent hiding spot - as long as no one managed to get behind them. And close enough for a better view of the prison building. “Wipe out our traces in the sand here, first,” she whispered.

Harry flicked his wand, mumbling the spell, and she saw a gust of wind sweep over the beach towards the surf. Good enough.

A last check to see if anyone was around - the windows in the building that were facing them were dark - and they sprinted across the sand, then across rockier ground until they could crouch down behind the tree and the bush. But up close, Hermione realised at once that the foliage wasn’t quite as dense as it had looked for further away. It wouldn’t hide them from the building.

She was panting, both from the dash as well as the stress, she realised. But they could waste time - she got down on the ground and crawled through the bush until she could look at the area near the building. Harry did the same on the other side of the tree.

The grass - scarce as it was - looked the same close to the building and further away. “I don’t see any hint of a wardline,” she whispered.

“Me neither,” he replied. “It looks like they stuck to spells on the building.”

“Yes.” That was a fairly common way of protecting your house, after all - if you didn’t care about the yard or garden. Or the park, for some manors - not that she had seen any pureblood manor herself except for pictures in the Prophet. “So, we should be fine as long as we don’t try to break in.”

“Yes. Let’s look through the windows!”

She turned her head to glance at him, and he flashed his cocky grin. Typical. “Carefully,” she replied.

“Always.” His grin didn’t falter. “Let’s crawl - they might spot movement.”

They would be exposed for longer, but he was right - crawling would let them use the shadows cast by the taller grass and some roots - the only light illuminating the building was at the front, above the door. As they had seen from afar.

But crawling over the ground was both tiresome and left them covered in dirt. Additional camouflage, Potter would probably call it.

But they reached the walls, and Hermione breathed more easily. And listened.

“I don’t hear anyone,” Harry said. “No one’s snoring, at least.”

That didn’t mean anything, of course. But it was enough to risk peering through the windows of the ground floor. She rose, keeping close to the wall, and, having to stand on her tiptoes, glanced through the barred window - which lacked a glass panel - closest to them.

It was a cell. Bars forming the wall opposite the window, empty except for a cot and a bucket. She hesitated, then ended her Bubble-Head Charm and sniffed the air.

And grimaced. The air stank. Like a locker room that hadn’t been cleaned for a while. Or the room of a sick person who had spent a week in bed without taking a shower. She pushed those memories away. She couldn’t see much of the rest of the building - just more cells across on the other side.

She dropped into a crouch and whispered: “It’s a cell. Empty. But according to the smell, it wasn’t abandoned years or decades ago.” She recast the Bubble-Head Charm.

Potter, of course, had to take a look himself - and smell the air - before he agreed. “Yes. Let’s check the other cells we can reach on this side.”

“Yes.”

They quickly checked the rest of the cells - five of them, facing the peninsula, with the building shielding them from view from the rest of the village. All looked and smelt the same. There were other cells, but they were facing the village or the sea - both exposed and partially illuminated.

“We could check the first floor,” Harry suggested. “You can climb on my shoulders.”

She bit her lower lip. They could levitate instead - if they had a plank. “Alright,” she whispered. He was already forming a step for her with his hands. She put her foot on it and grabbed his head to steady herself. That put her very close to him, she noticed as their eyes met for a moment. Then he looked away and lifted her up.

She stopped on his shoulder, having to put her hands on the wall to keep her balance, then took a deep breath and looked up. The windowsill was too far away. “Lift me higher,” she whispered.

She heard him grunt in response, then felt his hands near her feet, trying to slide under them.

It took some effort - she heard him grunt again, louder - but he managed to push her up high enough so she could grab the windowsill and pull herself up so she could peer through the window.

All for nothing - the cell was empty as well.

Frustrated, she was about to climb down - well, to let Harry know he could lower her down and hope she wouldn’t lose her balance and end up falling - when she heard a noise. A grunt. Or a moan. Someone was on this floor.

She almost called out before she realised that it might be a guard. Some prisons had live-in guards. If this was a pirate… Hermione clenched her teeth, angry at her own stupidity. She’d almost risked Harry and her freedom, possibly their lives!

Speaking of Harry… she felt the hands holding her up becoming a little unsteady.

“Oi! You’re kind of heavy!” she heard him whisper.

She gripped the bars more tightly and pulled her feet up a few inches, then glanced down. Harry had moved so he wasn’t directly below her any more. Good.

She put her feet against the wall, then released the bars and pushed off. She didn’t quite stand the landing, tumbling into the grass, but a quick check confirmed that she hadn’t hurt herself.

“So, what caught your attention?” Harry asked.

“There’s someone sleeping on the upper floor,” she whispered as she stood, dusting sand and dirt clumps off her legs and rump.

He froze.

*****​

“Someone’s in a cell up there?” Harry Potter asked. A prisoner. Or captive. Or hostage. Damn.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied in a whisper. “I only heard them make a noise, presumably in their sleep. It could be a guard as well.”

“Oh.” Yes, that was a distinct possibility, as Dumbledore would say. “We need to check.”

“Are you strong enough to lift me up to every window?” She retorted.

Of course he was strong enough! Although… she wasn’t quite as lithe as Ginny. Ron’s sister would be Gryffindor’s best Seeker if not for Harry since she was light as a feather and could make her broom exploit that. “Which direction did you hear the noises from?”

She pointed towards the peninsula. “That direction.”

“Ah.” He moved to the corner and took a quick glance around it. “That window here should be facing the whole hallway.”

“And in order to peer through it, we’ll have to expose ourselves to the ship tied up in the bay.”

“I don’t see any light on the ship,” he retorted.

“That doesn’t mean they won’t have a watch,” she told him. “Their night vision would be better without a light.”

“So’s ours, and I didn’t see anyone on deck or in the rigging,” he pointed out. “And they have no reason to hide,” he added. “Quite the contrary - they wouldn’t want the rest of the crew on shore to think they were slacking off.”

She pursed her lips and didn’t say anything, which meant she was agreeing with his reasoning. “I guess we’ll have to risk it.”

“Yes.” Besides, she was tanned and only wearing a bra and pants. So she shouldn’t catch the eye when put in front of the sand-coloured building. At least not without a spotlight on her. “Let’s go, then!”

They rounded the corner, and he pressed himself against the wall, then helped her climb on his shoulders, then on his hands. And she was heavy. He was no Beater - he was a Seeker. Precision, not brute strength. But he’d rather bite his tongue than admit that to her; Calling her fat while showing a weakness was a recipe for suicide.

He grunted anyway while he kept his trembling arms pointed straight up.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “I need to listen.”

Oh, for…!

“Oh. That can’t… those monsters!”

He felt her weight vanish - she must have pulled herself up - and quickly darted to the side. A moment later, Hermione hit the ground, feet first, and he managed to grab her hand before she fell down again. “Steady.”

She scoffed, looking as angry - no, angrier, far angrier - than she had when he managed to colour her hair bright pink on the train home in third year, with no one around to fix it. Harry almost took a step back.

“I’ve seen their captive,” she hissed. “It’s a little girl!”

Oh damn. “A little girl?”

“Let’s get behind the building,” she snapped, rounding the corner again.

He followed her. “They’ve kidnapped a little girl?”

“Yes. I can’t determine how old she is - I didn’t see enough of her face - but she’s too small to be a teenager.” She was still seething.

Well, so was Harry.

“We have to save her,” she spat.

She was standing there in her underwear, sand and dirt on her legs, her hair a wet mess. A girl who had just passed her O.W.L.s. Yet, Harry didn’t doubt that she would do everything she could to save the girl.

She was also looking bloody hot.

And staring at him, he noticed. Belatedly, he nodded. “Yes, we’ll save her.”

Even though he had no idea how. Yet.

*****​