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Chapter Text

The first recorded instance of a wizard’s magic completely disappearing was in the case of Ms. Enid McGrap, of 61 Neckwidge Lane, Ipswich, in late February of 1999. She never had a great deal of magic to begin with — in fact for some years when she was young it was feared she might be a squib, before she slipped on a piece of soap in the bathroom and accidentally turned her parents’ beautiful wrought-copper tub into a shapeless mass of rubber to break her fall — and, as a low-level HR record keeper in the Ministry of Magic, she had little need of magic professionally, and mainly used it to help clean her house and do odd chores. So she only noticed that her wand had stopped working when she tried to heat up a pot of tea early on a Sunday morning. She sat there, reading the Daily Prophet, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle, and waiting, and waiting… She continued reading, casting it increasingly annoyed looks, until she finally sighed in exasperation and went to check it. She was astonished to find it was completely cold.

She drew her wand and cast the warming charm, Focillo!, but still nothing happened. In desperation she tried again with Incendio!, but the kettle remained stone cold.

She stared in amazement at her wand and shook it desperately.

“Is this thing working?” she said. “Lumos!”

The wand remained as unresponsive as, well, as a stick of wood. She rapped it across her knuckles and even tapped it smartly on the table, as if the wand core were somehow stuck and just needed to be dislodged. “Lumos!” she cried desperately. “Lumos!”

She couldn’t make tea. She couldn’t make breakfast. Finally, sobbing and at her wit’s end, she tossed floo powder on the fire and called the Ministry of Magic’s Magical Accidents Hotline, crying that her wand had stopped working and she needed urgent assistance. The Ministry sent round doctors and investigators and found that her wand was just fine — in fact, several other wizards were able to cast simple cantrips with it. The problem, apparently, was with Ms McGrap. She was admitted to St Mungo’s for examination, and it was found that she was completely without magic. She had become a squib after all.

Ms McGrap was the first, but she was definitely not the last. There were a smattering of other cases, reported with gradually increasing frequency across England, France, America, and other places in the wizarding world. The first high-profile case was of Dr Furist Leach of St Mungo’s, who was “struck squib” (as the Prophet described it) in the midst of a complex operation to cure a construction worker who had become splinched with his lunchbox when Apparating to his lunch break. Dr Leach was one of the most talented and skilled doctors at St Mungo’s, and when his wand stopped working, three other doctors had to quickly step in to complete the operation. The construction worker was fine, and was sent home the following day; but Dr Leach remained at St Mungo’s under examination. The doctors were unable to find any trace of magical ability within him at all. The malady was officially named “Leach’s Syndrome” after the unfortunate patient, although the press and most other people continued to call it being “struck squib”.

And Leach’s Syndrome continued to spread. Workers found that they could not Apparate home at the end of the day. People on broomsticks suddenly found that they could not control their flight, and had to be gently caught and brought down by the police. Some physically disabled wizards, such as Silvanus Kettleburn, famous former Care of Magical Creatures Professor at Hogwarts, became unable to live their everyday lives without constant assistance. Ministry Police officers were struck squib in the midst of law enforcement operations, frequently endangering their lives.

At first there was speculation at the Ministry that the rapidly-spreading Syndrome was the work of dark wizards, but this theory was quickly put to rest when it became clear that dark wizards were just as likely to be afflicted. The most famous case, and the one which rapidly revealed the source of the epidemic, was of the Dark Wizard Gormanghast, whose magic abruptly disappeared in the early hours of the morning of August 9, 1999. With his repulsion charms and illusion spells stripped away, it was discovered that he had been living just three miles outside of London (not far from Bloomsbury) in a gigantic black monolithic castle perched atop a high mountain bluff. The castle, bluff, and mountain had all been hidden for almost a thousand years by Gormenghast’s dark magic, while Viking armies marched past, the British Empire rose and fell, Nazi bombers flew overhead, and London grew from a small riverside town to one of the largest metropolises in the world.

As soon as Gormenghast’s illusion spells were gone, the Ministry had to set them right up again. It wouldn’t do to let the Muggles know there’d been a mountain hiding in the suburbs of London all this time. As it was, the Ministry were completely caught off guard, and it took almost half an hour to restore the illusion. Fortunately it had happened early in the morning, when most muggles were asleep. Nevertheless the Ministry needed to get control of the situation as quickly as possible, and that meant sending their best people to investigate immediately.

Harry, Ron and Neville flew high over London on their broomsticks in late mid-morning, about six hours after Gormanghast Castle had appeared. It was a warm grey morning, with no rain, but a heavy blanket of slate clouds that only occasionally parted for a snatch of pale sun. There had been some argument over the best way to approach — Neville favored on foot, reasoning that they’d be less visible targets — but Harry and Ron disagreed, saying that it was more important to have a good view of the castle and grounds as they made their approach. The Ministry’s concealment spells were in full effect, but once they breached the magical perimeter they’d be able to see everything spread out below them.

“There’s something about that name,” said Neville. “Gormanghast. It seems familiar. Wasn’t that a book or something?”

“Hermione said it was a book, yeah,” said Ron. “Got made into a muggle movie or tv show or something, too. A fantasy novel. She said Gormanghast Castle was a massive thing, bigger than Hogwarts, with all these winding hallways and secret passages, and a family that had ruled there for thousands of years. There were hundreds of servants, and they all followed these super arcane and complicated rituals all the time. The author, I forget his name, he wrote three books about the place and then went mad.”

“Seriously?” said Harry. “That’s intense. Do you think he knew anything about this place? Or was it just coincidence?”

“She said the author apparently had actually accidentally found the castle, stumbled into it one day. Usually the Dark Wizard just killed whatever muggles made it inside, but this one, for some reason, he took pity on him or something — he just let him go. At least that’s what happened according to that house elf she questioned.”

The house elf had been captured by the Ministry while they were hurriedly re-establishing the castle’s concealment spells. The elf, a young female named Aftry, had been very reluctant to talk, but Hermione had a way with them and had gotten a lot of information out of her, including the number of house elves in the Castle (over ten dozen) and the name of the castle and the dark wizard himself.

“There it is,” said Harry. “I see it.”

The peaceful, green suburbs of London parted below them, and a huge mountain thrust up, seeming to push the landscape aside like a blackened stump ripping up through a picnic blanket. It rose maybe five hundred feet high, its sheer rocky sides spattered with shrubs and patches of ivy, and a flat top mounded over with a sprawling walled castle that looked like it was built of the same black rock as the mountain.

Neville whistled. “And he kept that secret for a thousand years?”

“He must have been crazy powerful,” said Harry. “Maybe the most powerful wizard ever. Remember, the elf said he’d been alive all that time, too. Immortal, I guess.”

“Did he have a Philosopher’s Stone?” asked Neville.

“Hermione said the elf didn’t know,” said Ron.

“So he just sat there in his castle all that time?” said Neville. “Just hiding?”

“I guess so,” said Harry. “Until he was struck squib.”

By unspoken agreement, they circled around the castle. Harry did his best to see any sign of activity in the jumble of turrets and roofs below. It looked kind of like a bunch of ramshackle old stone medieval buildings had been rounded up and roughly herded into the castle’s encircling wall. He couldn’t see anyone moving down there.

“So what do you think?” said Neville. “I don’t see anything.”

“Well,” said Harry, “I guess we could find somewhere to land and just, you know, knock on a door.”

“Sounds good,” said Neville.

“Dragon dung,” said Ron. “I’m going in. Cover me.” And without glancing at them, he dipped his broomstick down and plunged headlong towards the nearest building, fifty feet below.

“Ron, no!” cried Harry and Neville together, as they scrambled to follow, digging their wands out of their pockets.

“Dammit,” said Neville. “What is he thinking?”

“He’s been doing this more and more recently,” said Harry grimly. “He’s going to get himself hurt if he doesn’t —“

They were in time to see Ron disappear into a large window in the side of one of the larger towers. They heard a huge BOOM like an earthquake, and the whole tower seemed to shake. Harry was sure it was going to collapse on Ron before they had a chance to get him out of there. He plunged in, Neville right behind him.

They were in a large room, made completely of black stone on walls, floor, and ceiling, and draped with rotting, faded tapestries. Old crumbling wooden furniture lined the walls. The place smelled absolutely foul, thick with the stench of rotting garbage and the distinctive sharp sour scent of unwashed house-elf. It was dim, dusty, and difficult to see, but as Harry landed he could make out what looked like a pile of rocks in the middle of the room, and Ron in the middle of it, cursing struggling to free himself. It looked like his broomstick was broken.

“Lumos!” cried Neville, landing next to Harry.

At first it looked as though the spell hadn’t really worked; all the point of light on Neville’s wand seemed to do was illuminate clouds of dust. But then Harry started to pick out shapes in the shadows: house elves. Three… no, five… no, ten…nn“Neville,” hissed Harry, “go for backup!” He lit his wand as well.

“What?” said Neville

“Go get HELF!”

“Help?”

“No, HELF! Hermione’s elves!”

“Oh, the House Elf Liaison Force! Right, got it!” And he was off.

Harry took a few steps towards Ron. The house elves were slowly moving closer, muttering or chanting in low voices. Ron was just about free of the pile of rocks, but there were house elves already clambering up toward him. He brandished his wand. “Stand back!” he said.

“Get away from him!” shouted Harry. His mind raced. What could he do against house elves? They were very powerful, and unlike wizards, they didn’t use wands, so they couldn’t be disarmed. They were supposed to serve wizards; they wouldn’t hurt Ron directly, really, would they?

“Stupefy!” he cried. The hex blasted from his wand as he swept it in a curve, hitting all the elves on the rock pile — and, unfortunately, Ron as well. He’d managed to stand up on top of the rocks, so he avoided being knocked out, but the spell tripped him up, and he tumbled down the pile, falling in a heap on the floor.

Some of the elves on the pile staggered back, but most did not. Their eyes turned to Harry, glowing in the light of the open window behind him. One of them stepped forward towards him, raising its hands and baring its teeth. Harry noticed that its teeth were oddly sharp, and its hands had long, needle-like fingernails. It looked almost more like a goblin than an elf.

“Now you watch it,” he said. “I’m Harry Potter, from the Division of Magical Enforcement, and — “

“Gormenghast avaege acu,” hissed the elf, and blue-white energy swirled from its fingers. Harry tried to shout “Protego!” but it was too late; the energy wrapped itself around him in a tight embrace, locking his hands to his sides and forcing his mouth shut.

Ron tried to struggle to his feet, but the elf, still holding Harry motionless with one hand, reached out with its other and cast another blue-white energy net, binding him tight. Ron writhed and struggled on the ground.

Then Harry saw, at the other end of the room, a door opening. He hadn’t noticed it before because of the dim, smoky air, but there a red firelight came from behind the door as it opened, and a black, hunched figure came through it. The figure shuffled painfully forward towards Harry and Ron, and the house elves parted for it. Other elves, Harry could now see, were walking alongside it, supporting it, helping it along.

It tottered over to Ron, and as it came more into the light Harry could see that it was an incredibly old man, bent double with age, his waist-length beard so white it looked like thin curling strands of bone.

The old man lifted a wand with shaking hand, and pointed it at Ron.

“Het ye done this te me?” he creaked.

Ron tried to answer, desperately attempting to shake his head no, but like Harry he was bound too tight to move, and his mouth was closed shut.

“En Cruciate!” cried the old man, and Harry flinched — it wasn’t exactly the Cruciatus curse, but Harry could guess that maybe it was an older form of it, and it would probably have the same effect. Poor Ron…

But nothing happened. The old man shook his wand and cried out unintelligibly, but still, there was no effect at all. He’d been struck squib, all right.

Finally, he screamed incoherently at his house elves, and they obliged. Three of the twisted creatures stepped forward, and silently gestured at Ron in unison. Ron still couldn’t scream — his locked jaw wouldn’t let him — but he twisted and writhed, and emitted a high-pitched, shuddering, animal-like moan unlike anything Harry had ever heard before.

Then from behind him he heard Hermione scream, “Stupefy!” Her spell shot past him and struck one of the house elves, knocking it back into the other two and sending all three sprawling. Gormenghast collapsed. Now Hermione was landing next to him and hopping off her broomstick, casting more Stupefies in quick succession; and Neville was landing too, following suit; and now dozens of Ministry house elves were Apparating with a thunderous cacophony, casting attack spells of every kind. Gormenghast’s house elves quickly rallied, however, and battle was joined.

Harry’s bindings disappeared, and he crawled over to Ron, who appeared to have passed out. Lying next to him was Gormenghast, breathing hard, looking up at Harry with frightened watery eyes. Two of his house elves were fallen next to him, knocked out while desperately trying to fight off the assault.

“Call off your elves!” said Harry. He tried to point at Gormenghast with a steady hand. “Call them off!”

Gormenghast shook his head, apparently not understanding. Did he speak Old English or something? Harry wondered if even Hermione would know how to communicate with him…

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the dark wizard’s fallen house elves acting very strangely. It was lying next to Gormenghast as if knocked out, but it was slowly and stealthily reaching towards something hanging around its neck.

It was a Time Turner!

“Oh no you don’t!” cried Harry. “Immobulus! Immobulus!”

The elf stopped, its features frozen in a look of utter hatred and frustration. Harry breathed out in relief. With a Time Turner, the elf could have gone back and changed the past. Gormenghast’s elves wouldn’t have been caught by surprise this time.

But, in fact, had they been caught by surprise? After all, they’d arranged some kind of rock fall or ceiling collapse to happen right when Ron flew in the window. Maybe this wasn’t the first time that Time Turner had been turned…

Well, he’d stopped it this time. But they could still lose unless Harry managed to convince Gormenghast to surrender.

“Stop this!” Harry shouted at Gormenghast. “Give up! Surrender!” He racked his brains to come up with some other words that the dark wizard might understand. The wizard looked frightened; he would probably agree if only Harry could get the idea across to him. “Yield! Capitulate! Relent! Submit! Abdicate! Forswear! Concede!”

“Concedo,” muttered Gormenghast. “Concedo.” And then louder: “Concedus! Concedus! Ons geifan et off!”

And slowly, reluctantly, his house elves lowered their hands and bowed their heads in defeat.

Chapter Text

“The question is,” said Hermione, “where did you get it?”

She was holding the Time Turner up to the light. They were in the Ministry Infirmary’s High Security Devision, where sick and injured prisoners were brought. Gormanghast’s house elf, Trottie, lay on a hospital bed under bright lights, guarded by three house elves from Hermione’s House Elf Liaison Force (including Harry’s own house elf, Kreacher) and locked down with anti-Apparition shackles. Hermione had cast a Polytongue spell on her so that she could speak something approaching modern English. She was squinting up at Hermione, looking angry but defeated.

“Trottie shall not say,” said Trottie.

“We can make you talk,” said Ron, waggling his wand threateningly. He and Harry had just come over from the Care of Magical Items Department, where they’d repaired Ron’s wand. (It was the third time he’d had to ask them this month, and they were getting a little sarcastic about it.)

“Please, Ron,” said Hermione. “Threatening people is no way to establish trust.” She turned to Trottie. “Look, we’re on your side. We’re just trying to help you. We know you were only trying to protect your Master. No one blames you for that. But these Time Turners are very valuable and they’re a controlled magical item. We need to know how you got it.”

And how were you allowed to have one when you were a third year at Hogwarts? thought Harry. And weren’t all the Time Turners destroyed when Voldemort attacked the Ministry? But there was no time to get into that now.

Trottie closed her eyes, squeezed her lips shut, and shook her head firmly.

Hermione sighed. “All right. Why do you have this, then, Trottie? Why did you have a Time Turner?”

Trottie opened her eyes and looked around nervously. It seemed as though she wanted to answer, but wasn’t sure if she should.

“Answer the nice woman, Trottie,” said one of the HELF gently. “Gormanghast said all his elves should be nice and help the Ministry.”

“Is that true?” hissed Ron in Harry’s ear.

“Not sure,” whispered Harry. “I think when his magic gave out, he suddenly turned incredibly old. I’m pretty sure he’s almost dead. He’s not saying much.”

Trottie still looked uncertain, but apparently decided to chance it. “Trottie had herself to get the Hourwick, not so? Trottie had to. For the Master to save.”

“Hourwick?” said Ron

“It’s the older name of the Time Turners,” said Hermione. “They were invented about fifteen years ago by Chronotis Satyrn, an old eccentric wizard from over in Wales. He called them ‘hour wicks’, I’m not sure why. Everyone else calls them Time Turners. Of course there had been time travel experiments and spells before then, but Time Turners were the first magical devices. I read about that a few years ago when I — ”

“Thanks, Hermione,” interrupted Ron. Hermione scowled at him. “Trottie, did Gormenghast know this Satyrn guy?”

“Master Gormenghast knew of the Wizard Satyrn, ay,” said Trottie. “Gormenghast knew everything. He willed that he an Hourwick himself to have.”

“So he ordered you to get one?” asked Hermione.

“Oh ne, ne,” said Trottie. “Too dangerous should that be. Master Gormenghast would ne put his servants in danger. He had us ordered ne to get one, ne, ordered us ne to.”

“But you did anyway,” said Hermione. “Because you felt you had to. To save him?”

“Ay,” said Trottie, sighing. “We had ourselves to punish each other, most grievous.”

Hermione nodded. “Ok. What were you trying to save him from?”

Trottie’s eyes filled with tears. “Master Gormenghast would be his magic losing. We could feel it. We had him to save.”

“So you could tell he was going to be struck squib?” said Harry excitedly. “Really?” A thought struck him. “Can you tell when any wizard is going to be struck squib?”

Trottie didn’t look like she understood. The other house elves looked at each other and then looked at their feet.

“Wait a minute,” demanded Hermione. She looked round at the house elves accusingly. “You all can tell, can’t you? All of you house elves, you can tell when a wizard is going to get Leach’s Syndrome?”

They didn’t answer.

Harry rounded on Kreacher. “Kreacher! I order you to tell me if house elves can tell when a wizard is going to lose their magic!”

Kreacher looked miserable and wrung his hands and twisted his mouth up. “Aye, house elves can tell,” he said, sounding anguished.

“How?” demanded Ron.

Kreacher squinted his eyes shut and shook his head vigorously.

“Us have done it,” said Trottie sadly.

There was a short silence, and then in unison, Harry, Ron, and Hermione said, “What?!”

“Us have the magic taken,” said Trottie. She looked forlorn and guilty. “We have so bad, so sorry for the Masters, we felt us. But we had to, we had to. She said. So thus we did.”

“You’ve been taking magic from the wizards?” cried Hermione, flabbergasted. “How? Why?”

“She said,” said Trottie again. “So thus we did.”

“Who?” demanded Hermione. “Who is ‘she’?”

Trottie shook her head. “I mayn’t say,” she said.

“Kreacher!” cried Harry. “Did you know this? And you didn’t say?”

“Kreacher knew,” said Kreacher miserably. “But is secret, it is, Master! Kreacher was not allowed to tell! — And now Kreacher has told,” he muttered. “Has told, has told, he’ll have to be punished, yes he will.”

“Kreacher,” sighed Harry, “please don’t punish yourself. I’ve told you many, many times, you’re not allowed to do that.”

“Who told you not to tell?” said Ron.

“She did, of course,” said Kreacher.

“Who is ‘she’?” asked Harry. “Kreacher, I order you to tell me who she is!”

But Kreacher stopped up his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head frantically. “Mustn’t tell! Mustn’t tell!” he muttered.

“If the elves are the ones stealing magic,” mused Hermione, “that’s really bad news. Not all the wizards who’ve been struck squib have house elves, which means maybe they can take magic from anyone they like, no matter how far away they are. So arresting them, locking them up, might not do any good. And anyway, it’s not like we can just round them all up and imprison them. There must be, I don’t know, hundreds of thousands of them.”

Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut. If they couldn’t be stopped, and they couldn’t be convinced to stop, then what could be done? Harry could only think of one solution… a horrible one.

“This is getting us nowhere,” said Hermione briskly. “We need more information. Trottie, why did you get the Hourwick? For what purpose?”

Trottie licked her lips. “The Hourwick, it much much magic has,” she said. “So much magic. We thought — we thought we could magic from them take, instead of magic from the Master. The Hourwicks, we could them all destroy. And then maybe enough magic would be for the Master.”

“Ok,” said Hermione. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“But that would mean there’s only a limited amount of magic in the world,” said Harry. “Is that true?”

“Not as far as I know,” said Hermione. “I don’t think anyone knows for sure. But what’s important, really, is whether the house elves believe that. If they believe there’s only a limited amount of magic, then destroying powerful magical items, like Time Turners, might make sense.”

“But that means that the house elves are taking the magic and using it for something?” asked Harry. “For what?”

“I may na say,” said Trottie.

“I’m going to wring her little neck,” said Ron.

“Where did you get the Hourwick, Trottie?” demanded Hermione. “At least answer me that.”

“I may na say,” said Trottie. And as Ron lunged forward, hands outstretched, she squealed, “No, please! I may na say! I may na say!”

“Never mind, Ron,” said Hermione, holding him back. “We’ll figure it out. She must have stolen it from the Department of Mysteries.”

“So there are some left?” asked Harry.

“A few,” said Hermione. “They’re extremely well-guarded.”

“Even from house elves?” asked Harry. “They can Apparate in and out of plenty of places that wizards can’t.”

“Even from house elves,” said Hermione. “Kreacher here helped check the department’s defenses just a few months ago.”

Kreacher cleared his throat and looked at his feet. “Kreacher checked the defenses, yes, he did,” he said.

Something in his tone rang an alarm bell in Harry’s mind. “Kreacher, you checked them, but were they secure?”

“The defenses were secure, Master Harry,” said Kreacher, still not looking at him. “The defenses were just fine. Nothing wrong with them.”

“So the defenses were fine,” said Harry, “but did they work? Would those defenses keep House Elves out of the Department of Mysteries?”

Kreacher looked at his feet and said something inaudible.

They all looked at each other.

“We have to get over there,” said Hermione. “Now.”

Chapter Text

The Last Hourwicks

It was absolutely silent. Harry and the others crept down the long black-tiled corridor towards the round room of doors at the entrance of the Department of Mysteries.

It had actually taken them a few hours to arrive, because they’d quickly realized they needed to prepare properly. If there were a bunch of house elves down there trying to steal Time Turners, the wizards would need backup. They’d called Luna, since she was developing a real knack for dealing with magical creatures, and she’d insisted on bringing her mentor Silvanus Kettleburn (he was, she said, a world-renowned expert on house elves), even though he himself had been struck squib and, because of his various missing limbs, could only move about with Luna’s assistance. Kettleburn could no longer Apparate himself, so Luna asked Hagrid to bring him on a thestral; and that took quite some time. It was then decided that Hagrid should come along too (or more accurately, he refused to be left behind), and he had to be brought up to speed on everything. Then, when they had all been checked in and issued badges and assembled in the main hall of the Ministry, they (the six humans and six of Hermione’s HELF) had taken ten minutes or so to agree on a plan of assault. In the end there was really only one reasonable way to proceed: to take the elevator to the ninth level and enter the Time Room as quickly and quietly as possible, taking the house elves by surprise. Any other plan would be too dangerous or would alert the elves (if there were any down there) to their presence too soon.

Even this plan was insanely dangerous, and most likely any house elves down there would know they were coming very soon. Not only were house elves ridiculously powerful beings, but with Time Turners, who knows what they could do?

“The first thing to do,” said Kettleburn, “is to order them to give up.”

“Will that work?” asked Harry.

Kettleburn shrugged. “It’s worth a try. House elves, as you know, are extremely loyal. Whatever orders they have from Her — whoever She is — might be overwhelmed by the sight of six wizards ordering them to stand down.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

Kettleburn smiled wryly. “Let’s just hope that it works.”

“Why are Time Turners kept down here under lock and key?” Harry whispered to Hermione as they quietly tiptoed down the passage. (That is, they were all quiet except for Hagrid, who was shuffling uncomfortably in the tight corridor and occasionally loudly whispering “Sorry! Excuse me!” when he bumped into someone, and Kettleburn, whose homemade prosthetic limbs made unfortunate clicking and clanking noises as he walked, leaning heavily on Luna.) “They can’t be that dangerous. You were allowed to have one back in school.”

“Actually,” said Hermione, “that was a mistake. Remember, they were only invented about fifteen years ago. It wasn’t realized how powerful they were, or how much magic they used. Shortly after we had our little… adventure with Buckbeak, the Ministry found out more about them and decided they should be locked away forever. They won’t make any more.”

“They’re that powerful, huh?” said Harry.

“Yes. And they just get more magical. Every time one is used, the amount of magic they store doubles. No one really knows why.”

“Maybe that’s why Voldemort never tried to get one,” said Harry. “He was afraid if he had that much magic he’d be detected.”

Hermione shook her head. “When he was in charge of the Ministry, he didn’t really care about being detected,” she said. “I don’t think anyone knows why he didn’t use them. Maybe he knew something about them that we don’t.”

They arrived at the black room of spinning doors. Hermione called them all close together into a huddle.

“Ok,” she whispered. “Hopefully no one will be there. Or maybe they’ve already all been stolen.”

“We know Gormenghast’s elves stole one,” said Ron. “They’re probably all long gone.”

“Maybe,” said Kettleburn. “But from what I know about house elves, it wouldn’t be typical for them all to be planning some big operation and working together. Probably small groups of them, from the households of other wizards, are independently trying to destroy powerful magical items.”

“Or maybe Gormenghast’s elves are the only ones who thought of it,” said Luna.

“That’s not likely,” said Ron darkly. “It certainly seemed like Kreacher thought of it.”

“And you folks,” said Hermione, frowning at Kreacher and the other members of HELF, “are being awfully unhelpful.”

“We’re terribly sorry, Mistress Granger,” said one house elf. “We will help you in any way we can, with all our hearts, unless it goes against Her orders.”

“Whoever She is,” muttered Ron.

“Good,” said Hermione. “Because if there are other house elves in there, and they won’t give up quietly, we might need you to save our lives. …Are you ready?”

“Yes, Mistress Granger,” the house elves answered with their bright, eager voices, all in unison. Harry thought he had never been so creeped out by anything in his life.

“Then what are we waiting for!” cried Ron, and he jabbed his wand at the doors. “Apere Chronus!” he cried, and one of the doors on their left popped open.

“Wait, Ron, no!” cried Hermione.

A blast of blue-white light erupted from the door, hitting them all with concussive force. It was as if the air went solid and slammed into them. Harry caught a glimpse of half a dozen house elves inside the Time Room — completely normal-looking house elves, not Gormanghast’s weird half-goblins, with their hands up towards them — and he went sprawling on the slick polished black floor.

He struggled to get to his feet, but before he could properly stand, the house elves hit them with another air blast. He gave up trying to stand, and just rolled onto his stomach. That would have given him a good view of the elves in the Time Room, except that Hagrid, who had not fallen, was shouting incoherently and shaking his fists, right in his line of vision.

“Hagrid!” shouted Harry. “Move!”

He meant for Hagrid to just move out of the way, but Hagrid had other ideas. “Right you are, Harry,” he said, and lumbered forward toward the elves, hands outstretched.

“Watch out, Hagrid!” cried Hermione.

Harry couldn’t see much — Hagrid’s bulk was still blocking everything — but he saw the huge man silhouetted against a blaze of greenish light, and Hagrid staggered, stumbled, and fell.

Fortunately, somehow, he fell forward, straight through the door to the Time Room, where there were half a dozen house elves there to break his fall. There was a shuddering crash, a sound of snapping, smashing wood, high-pitched squeals of house elves and four thunderous claps, and then silence.

Harry finally managed to stand up. “Hagrid! Hagrid!” he cried. “Are you ok?”

Hagrid moaned. “Oh boy,” he said. From somewhere under him came other moans, much more high-pitched. “I’m fine,” he said. “Ow, what did they hit me with? Some kind of headache spell?”

The wizards rushed forward into the Time Room, Luna supporting Kettleburn. As Harry remembered from his last time here, it was filled with diamond-sparkling light, and its walls and bookcases were filled with clocks of every shape and description. The ticking of the clocks rattled in their ears. Two things were conspicuously missing: the glass-fronted case of Time Turners, and the crystal bell jar of Time. Hagrid had fallen on a table and smashed it, and under him were two house elves, struggling feebly under his weight.

“Hold them tight, Hagrid,” said Hermione, as he sat up. “Then they won’t be able to Apparate away without taking you with them, and I’m guessing they won’t want to do that.”

“Where are the Time Turners?” asked Ron.

“There,” said Hermione grimly, pointing with her wand. At the far end of the room was something new: a huge refrigerator-sized black safe, its door covered with a dozen different locks, bolts and fasteners of every description. The door was open, and inside were six small, innocent-looking Time Turners.

“Where’s the seventh?” said Hermione. “There should be seven!”

“Look at Hagrid!” cried Ron.

Hagrid had one house elf in each huge hand. One struggled limply, seeming half-dazed. The other, however, was desperately knocking its two scrawny hands together, as if trying to smash something in its palm.

“Stupefy!” cried Hermione, and her blast caused the house elf to immediately go limp. From its fingers fell a Time Turner, tumbling towards the floor. Harry and Ron both dove to try and catch it. Harry’s outstretched palm was right in place for him to clasp it — it was much easier than catching a Snitch, after all — but then Ron crashed into him, and they rolled together over and over on the floor and up against the wall.

“Dammit, Ron!” shouted Harry. He struggled to his feet. “What has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me?” cried Ron. “You’re the one acting crazy! You’re either rushing around getting in everyone’s way, or you’re just standing there like a dope when you should be doing something!”

“I had that Time Turner, Ron,” said Harry. “I was just about to catch it, and you knocked me away. And why on earth did you open the door to this room before we were ready? What was that crazy stunt about?”

“It was me who was about to catch it!” said Ron. “But you’re too busy thinking about what you’re doing to pay attention to anyone else — “

“Ron! Harry!” said Hermione. “Stop it! We’ve got more important problems! Where has Kettleburn gone?”

Harry looked around desperately. There was no sign of him.

“Kettleburn?” asked Ron. “Kettleburn who?”

“Silvanus Kettleburn!” said Luna. “The world-famous Magizoologist! He was right here!”

“Wait,” said Hermione. “Was he? Now I seem to remember he wasn’t…”

“I definitely remember him,” said Harry, but then suddenly doubted himself. He did remember seeing Kettleburn there — in fact he could remember it quite vividly, at least at first… but the more he probed his memory, the more it seemed to slip away, as if he were only a dream. The memories faded faster than he could grab hold of them.

They all stood there, silently trying to remember.

“I don’t know,” said Harry at last. “Now all I can remember is that I did remember him, a moment ago. But I don’t even think I know what he looks like anymore.”

“The past was changed,” whispered Kreacher. “Changed it was, yes. When the Time Turner was destroyed.”

“What?” whispered Hermione.

“The witch didn’t know,” muttered Kreacher to himself. “She didn’t know. They didn’t tell her.”

“Very secretive,” said another elf, nodding. “The Ministry. Very secretive.”

“Explain this,” demanded Hermione. “When a Time Turner is destroyed, the past changes?”

“They are very dangerous,” said Kreacher. “Kreacher will explain. The Time Turner lets you change the past, but only as long as that Time Turner exists. If it is destroyed, the past changes back.”

Harry’s skin began to crawl. He didn’t know where Kreacher’s explanation was going, but he felt like it could not be good.

“It is like a river, yes?” said Kreacher. “Time is a river. The Time Turner puts a rock in the river, changes the river’s flow. The river goes somewhere new. And then, if the Time Turner is destroyed, the river goes back to its old flow.”

“Oh my god,” said Hermione. Her face was frozen in horrified shock. She sat down heavily, staring straight ahead.

“But that would mean…” said Ron.

“Every time the Time Turner is used,” said Kreacher, “another rock is put in the river. The flow changes again. And every time the Time Turner is used, it uses more magic to keep the rocks in place.”

“All the times I used that Time Turner in school,” breathed Hermione.

Harry’s veins flowed with ice.

“I would be dead now,” he said. “Without that Time Turner, Sirius and I would have been killed by those Dementors.”

“So if that particular Time Turner is destroyed,” said Hermione, “then Harry will die?”

Kreacher looked from Harry to Hermione and back, then nodded and lowered his eyes.

Chapter Text

Ungitink

Harry looked at the six innocent-looking Time Turners remaining in the vault. “The one that’s keeping me alive must be one of those,” he said.

Hermione nodded. “Not just you,” she said. “Everyone you’ve helped. Everyone you’ve saved. Without you, who would have trained Dumbledore’s Army? Who would have killed Voldemort? That Time Turner is more valuable than anything else in the world.”

“That’s why they’re so dangerous,” said Harry. “Why the ones that are left have to be guarded so carefully. Even Voldemort didn’t dare use them. If he’d used one, and then that Time Turner was destroyed, anything he’d done would be undone.”

Hermione nodded. She stepped over to the safe and gently picked one up. “They’ve all been labeled,” she said. “Here it is, Harry. Sixth of June, 1994. That was the last time this one was used. The night we visited the Shrieking Shack.”

“Is… is Kettleburn still alive?” asked Luna hesitantly. “I don’t remember him being here anymore either. But I also don’t remember him dying.”

“Memories of the other past fade,” said Kreacher. “The true memories replace them.”

“I remember…” said Luna. “I thought about asking Kettleburn to come, but he was too ill. He’d been badly burned in that fire at Hogwarts — you know, the one that happened a few years before we started there.”

They all nodded, remembering. The fire had started in the Great Hall (hardly surprising, considering all those hundreds of floating candles) and spread quickly along rugs and tapestries throughout half the castle before it was controlled. No one had been permanently injured other than Kettleburn (who had been badly hurt nobly fighting the flames that were threatening his collection of Ambulatory Gurdyroots), but dozens of priceless books and scrolls had been lost when the fire reached the library.

“Do you suppose,” said Hermione, “that someone used a Time Turner to go back and prevent that fire? And then that house elf destroyed it?”

“Then Kettleburn wouldn’t have been hurt, and he could have come with us today,” said Luna, nodding. “Makes sense.”

“So we have to defend these Time Turners at all costs,” said Harry. “But how? If all the house elves want to destroy them for their magic, it’s only a matter of time before they break through these defenses again. How on earth can we defend them?”

For a moment they all looked at each other silently, hopelessly.

“Kreacher,” said Harry at last, and he knelt down next to the ancient house elf. “We have been friends a long time, haven’t we?”

“Friends,” said Kreacher, his voice shaking. He blinked, and his weary old eyes teared up a bit.

“Kreacher, we have to save those Time Turners, don’t we? Otherwise I will die, and Voldemort will be back. That would be terrible, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?”

Kreacher nodded. “Terrible,” he whispered.

“Then help us, Kreacher, please,” said Harry. “What should we do? What can we do?”

Kreacher shook his head. “Kreacher does not know,” he said, and a single tear dropped down his cheek. “All Kreacher knows is that we have orders… from Her.”

“So because of these orders,” said Hermione, “more Time Turners must be destroyed. And more wizards will become squibs. Is that right, Kreacher?”

Kreacher nodded, his eyes squeezed shut tight, his body shaken by massive sobs.

“Mistress,” said another of the HELF elves, “we do not know much of this. But maybe you should ask him.” And the elf pointed at one of the house elves in Hagrid’s massive hands.

The elf who had been trying to smash the Time Turner was still knocked out, having just taken the full force of Hermione’s Stupefy, but the other was shaking his head and coming round. His thin, papery skin showed he was extremely old — perhaps even older than Kreacher — but, unlike Kreacher, he clearly cared a great deal for his appearance: the wisps of hair on his head were dyed black and carefully combed, and he had tiny gold earrings and a small goatee. Even his fingernails were painted wine-red.

“Hold tight to him, Hagrid,” warned Hermione.

“Right you are, Hermione,” growled Hagrid. “He won’t go anywhere without taking me with him.”

“You!” said Harry, pointing his wand at the blinking elf. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The old elf focused his eyes on Harry, and then appeared to recognize him. “It is Harry Potter!” he whispered in surprise. He writhed in Hagrid’s grip, and squeaked a bit when he found himself tightly gripped.

“Answer me!” demanded Harry.

“Mustn’t,” said the elf. He looked away, not meeting Harry’s gaze. “Ungitink must not answer. She would be angry.”

“Well, SHE isn’t here!” cried Ron. “But I am, and I’ve about had it with you elves!”

“Actually, he did answer one question,” said Hermione. “His name is Ungitink.”

“It’s a strange name for a house-elf,” said Luna. “And did you notice his accent? I don’t think he’s from England.”

“Where are you from?” said Harry.

Ungitink looked uncertain, looking back and forth from one to another.

“Ungitink,” said Luna gently, “did someone give you explicit orders not to answer questions?”

Ungitink slowly shook his head no.

“Well then,” said Luna brightly, “that probably means you can answer us. After all, for all you know, we might want to help you. Maybe we’re on your side. You are here to destroy Time Turners, aren’t you?”

“We’re bloody well not —“ muttered Ron, but Harry shushed him.

“Yes,” said Ungitink uncertainly. “She ordered us to come, to destroy them. To get the magic.” Now that he was paying attention, Harry could tell that Ungitink definitely had a strong accent, but he couldn’t place it. It definitely wasn’t Scottish or American… maybe Australian?

“Where are you from?” asked Luna.

“We are from the Kingdom of Rinkitink,” said Ungitink proudly. He lifted his chin, folded his arms, and looked as haughty as he could, considering that Hagrid was holding him five feet above the ground. “Ungitink is the High Grending of the Elves of Rinkitink. Ungitink serves the King himself.”

“What’s a ‘Grending’?” whispered Ron. “And where is the Kingdom of Rinkitink?”

“No clue,” whispered Harry back.

“I have never heard of Rinkitink,” said Luna. “What can you tell us about it?”

“It is a mighty kingdom,” said Ungitink. “Peaceful and prosperous. It lies between the Nonestic Ocean and the Land of Ev. The King rules from his palace in the capital, Gilgad.”

“And did the King order you to come here?” asked Luna.

Ungitink looked a little uncertain. “No,” he admitted. “The King does not know our mission. The orders came from… from Her.”

“And who is ‘She’?” asked Luna.

Ungitink shook his head. “Ungitink may not tell,” he said.

Ron threw up his hands in exasperation. “Back to that again!” he said. “How can we figure out who She is? Would Veritaserum work?”

“Probably not,” mused Hermione. “House elves have immunity to many human-made potions. But maybe we can figure this out. There are lots of other threads we can pull… — Ungitink, tell us more about your kingdom. If the King had known of your mission, would he have tried to stop you?”

Ungitink nodded unhappily.

“Is She under the command of the King?”

“No,” said Ungitink, taken aback. “She rules her own kingdom. He rules his.”

“Aha,” said Hermione. “And what kingdom does she rule?”

Ungitink blinked. “Ungitink… Ungitink should not tell.”

“But Ungitink,” said Hermione, “She only told you not to reveal her identity, didn’t she? She didn’t say anything about revealing her kingdom, isn’t that right?”

Ungitink looked uncertain. “Perhaps,” he said.

“Let me ask you this then,” said Hermione. “Does Her kingdom border Rinkitink?”

“No,” said Ungitink. “Rinkitink is bordered by the ocean and the Land of Ev.”

“Very well,” said Hermione. “Does Her kingdom border the Land of Ev?”

“No,” said Ungitink. “Her kingdom is separated from the Land of Ev by the Deadly Desert.”

“The Deadly Desert?” cried Luna, her eyes lighting up. “That rings a bell… What does it remind me of?”

“And what country lies across the Deadly Desert from the Land of Ev?” said Hermione doggedly.

Ungitink’s eyes shifted. “The Winkie Country,” he said.

“The Winkie Country!” cried Luna. “Yes! Which is one of the four countries — the Munchkin Country, the Quadling Country, the Gillikin Country, the Winkie Country! — ‘She’ must be Princess Ozma! Princess Ozma of Oz!”

“What?” cried Hermione.

“Wait,” said Harry. “Isn’t Oz just a story? Like Alice in Wonderland or something?”

“Oh, everyone knows Oz is real,” said Luna. “It’s protected by secrecy and invisibility spells, of course. But it’s on a small continent near Australia.”

“That’s ridiculous!” said Hermione. “No one could hide something like that from all the wizards.”

“Gormenghast hid a mountain,” said Luna matter-of-factly. “In the middle of London.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Hermione. “It’s nonsense. He’s lying. He’s feeding us lies.”

“House elves are terrible liars,” said Luna. “They can keep secrets, sometimes, but they’re awful at coming up with things that aren’t true.”

“What about it, Kreacher?” said Harry. “Is She Ozma of Oz? Did your orders come from her?”

“Kreacher does not know,” said Kreacher miserably.

Harry rounded on Ungitink again. “Why?” he demanded. “Why does she need more magic?”

Ungitink looked tired, guilty, and sad. “It is a terrible thing. She is weakening. Her power is spread too thin; she is fading away. She needs strength. She needs more magic. She is very distressed. Our poor mistress.”

“Our poor mistress,” said all the other elves in unison. Harry felt another shiver go up his spine.

“So the house elves are destroying time turners and making wizards go squib?” said Ron. “Just because of this Oz person?”

“You wizards do not understand,” said Ungitink. “She is not just getting weaker. She is dying! Dying!”

“Dying,” sighed all the house elves together, their high-pitched voices falling together like a flock of wretched whistles.

“And if she dies,” said Ungitink, “we will all die too. Oh yes, all of us.”

“What?” said Hermione. “Seriously?”

“Ungitink is very serious,” said Ungitink. “She is our Queen. We love her dearly. Without her, our hearts would break.”

“What, really break?” asked Ron. “As in, break break? Or just, you know, be really sad?”

“Break break,” said Ungitink, scowling at him.

Hermione looked concerned, and squatted down next to Kreacher. “Kreacher,” she said, “is any of this right? Please tell us.”

Kreacher’s watery eyes looked up at her. “Kreacher does not know much,” he said softly. “But he knows there is a Queen. And he knows that if the Queen dies, then all the house elves will die. All of them.”

Hermione looked at him carefully a moment. “I believe he’s telling the truth,” she said softly. “But that can’t be right! Oz is a story, from a book written by an American Muggle author, what was his name? L. Frank Baum. It’s not real. It’s a book. And a movie.”

“Gormenghast is also a book and a movie, I think you’ll find,” said Luna. “Maybe the author of Gormenghast wasn’t the only Muggle to be inspired by actual wizarding things.”

“Well, ok,” said Ron, “but how much of that is real? I mean, Ginny used to really love those books. Talking scarecrows and people made of tin and whatnot. That’s just fantasy.”

“It’s a fairy country,” said Luna authoritatively. “Magic saturates everything there. Just about anything can happen.”

“How do you know so much about it?” demanded Hermione.

“It was all in a series of exposé articles my father did about ten years back,” said Luna. “The Duplicitous Wizards and Oz. He thought at first it was related to the Rotfang Conspiracy, but it turned out it wasn’t really a conspiracy. It was just that the fairies are rather dangerous, and they don’t like to be disturbed, so the Ministry and other wizarding governments hide them away and keep them off the maps.”

“But that’s crazy,” said Ron. “If this is true, it means that if we stop the house elves, then they’ll all die. And if we don’t stop it…”

“Then wizards will keep being struck squib,” said Harry. “And Voldemort will win after all. …And …I’ll die.”

There was a silence. They stared at the ground, thinking. Hagrid sniffed — he had been crying — and wiped his nose on his sleeve, lifting Ungitink awkwardly up high over his head in the process.

At last Hermione looked up and folded her arms firmly. “Then I guess we know what we have to do,” she said. “We have to help the house elves.”

“What?” cried Ron. “Are you mental?”

“We have no choice, Ron,” said Hermione; but her voice was shaking and she couldn’t look him in the eye. “We can’t let all those house elves die. There are hundreds of thousands of them, Ron. Maybe millions!”

“But Harry —“ said Ron.

“Millions, Ron,” said Hermione. “Are you seriously telling me that you could live with yourself, knowing that you’d caused the deaths of millions of people?”

“People?” said Ron.

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Hermione’s eyes widened and she silently turned her back on him.

“I mean, of course they’re people!” said Ron angrily. “But they’re house elves! And we’re talking about Harry’s life! — And You-Know-Who coming back! You really want that to happen?”

“Of course not, Ron!” said Hermione. She turned back around, and her eyes were wet. “But what choice do we have?”

“There is another option,” said Harry. “I’m going to go to Oz. I’ll find this Princess Ozma. And I’ll see what she has to say for herself.”

Chapter Text

Rinkitink

The next morning dawned unseasonably cold and foggy. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood wearing muggle clothing in an abandoned corner of Hyde Park with Hagrid, Luna, Neville, and Ginny. Fortunately the fog was quite thick, rolling in off the Thames in great billowing curtains, so that unless a muggle came quite close indeed, Hagrid’s bulk would appear to be nothing more than a large boulder or bush.

The house elves with them were completely hidden in the shadows and mist. Kreacher was there, along with Coddie, another member of HELF; and nearby was Ungitink and his companion Kelebrink. When Harry had declared his intention to find Ozma and work out a solution, they had readily agreed to help the wizards travel with them to Rinkitink.

“We do not know why our Queen is dying,” said Ungitink. “But if you can find a way to help her, we will be forever in your debt. And it will be very easy to bring you back to Rinkitink with us. We have a Portkey placed in Hyde Park.”

After arranging for a dozen Ministry agents to be placed permanently on guard at the Time Room to do what they could to prevent other house elves from trying to destroy the Hourwicks, and making sure that Ungitink and his companion were under careful watch for the night, the wizards had hastily grabbed a few hours of sleep and a quick bite to eat before reconvening.

Harry was a bit nervous, but mostly excited. He’d told Ginny about everything that had happened, not sure how much she would believe, and she had immediately demanded to come along.

“I used to love the Oz books so much!” she said. “I had no idea they might be real. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“I don’t really know much about them,” said Harry. “The Dursleys weren’t really much for reading and didn’t have a lot of books around. I might have seen the movie once, a long time ago. It’s the one with the scarecrow and the tin man?”

“I never saw the movie either,” said Ginny. “I’ve only ever seen one or two muggle movies. The people in them can’t talk with you, or hear you, can they? They just ignore you?”

“Right,” said Harry. “It’s just, you know, a recording of actors.”

“But I read the books,” said Ginny. “The Scarecrow and the Tin Man, Nick Chopper. And the Cowardly Lion, and Dorothy and Toto, and Glinda and the Wicked Witch and Ozma and the Nome King…”

“Those are some really odd names,” said Harry. “What’s a Toto?”

“Toto is Dorothy’s perfectly ordinary little black dog,” said Ginny. “Honestly, I loved the scenes of Kansas just as much as the ones of Oz. Both places seemed so strange and alien to me. And yeah, they were weird. I loved them though. When you’re young, there aren’t as many books with female protagonists as you might think. At least, there weren’t when we were growing up. Dorothy and Alice and Hortunia, that was mostly it.”

“Alice? Alice in Wonderland? I know that one. Who’s Hortunia?”

“Hortunia the Wee Witch? I guess you wouldn’t have known about it, it was a wizard’s book. Hortunia was a completely normal witch but never grew more than an inch tall. Loads of adventures with mice and worms and butterflies and such. — Anyway, you clearly need an Oz expert on this expedition. I’m coming.”

Harry was not inclined to argue; there was no question that having an expert on Oz would be a huge help. Ginny pulled a dozen old hardback books out of a chest and pored over them for the next hour, refreshing her memory and occasionally squealing with excitement.

When he and Ginny had arrived at the park that morning, silently Apparating next to the others, she had a sizable pack on her back, stuffed with four or five books for reference, and wearing a huge grin.

“All right,” said Hermione. “I think we’re ready. We’ve got our provisions and our broomsticks, right? Ok. Where’s this Portkey, Ungitink?”

The little old elf bowed slightly, took his walking stick, and carefully poked around in a bush. After a moment he raised the stick out, and on its end was a tarnished old watch on a chain.

“This will take us to the central square in Gilgad,” said Ungitink. “Then we can go to the palace and seek an audience with the King.”

“Sounds good,” said Ron. His teeth were chattering. “This is the coldest August morning ever. Let’s get going. Warm in Gilgad, is it?”

“In Gilgad,” said Ungitink proudly, “the sun is always shining, the sea breezes are always comfortable, song fills the air, and the people are always filled with gladness.”

“…Okay,” said Hermione, sounding very uncertain.

“I’m not sure I like the sound of it,” said Neville. “I mean, I guess that’s all fine, but does the sun shine all the time? Like, it never rains at all? And what is everyone so glad about? …And are we going to have to sing?”

“Agreed,” said Harry. “Sounds dangerous. Wands ready, everyone.”

“Just so long as it’s warm, I’m in,” said Ron. “Let’s go.”

Harry had never undergone a Portkey journey like this one. The swirling and rushing and discomfort was completely normal, and the sensation of being dragged bodily by his navel was absolutely expected, but it just went on, and on, and on. Seconds passed, and then minutes, and still Harry was buffeted and hurled about, getting dizzier and dizzier. He tried to shout out, but his breath was blown from his lungs.

Finally, and very abruptly, it was over, and they were rolling over and over and crashing into each other on a hard cobblestone ground. Harry made sure his wand was whole, then got up on all fours and tried to look around quickly.

It didn’t work: he was far too dizzy. The ground spun under him and he fell flat on his face. He wasn’t the only one having trouble; the others were moaning and grumbling as well. After a moment or so he tried again, and this time made it all the way too his feet, although he was still very unsteady.

It was indeed warm, with a wonderful sea breeze, but the sun was down, and it would have been quite dark if not for the hundreds of lights and lanterns surrounding them on the square. Shops and restaurants were lit, and brightly dressed people were everywhere; apparently it was shortly after dusk on this side of the world. Harry had been expecting a city of house elves much like Ungitink, but instead most of the people he saw were just… people, as far as he could tell. To be sure, they did vary a great deal in height, and they were uniformly healthy and handsome, and they wore outfits that looked like one-piece polka-dot pajamas with knee-high boots… but otherwise, just people.

“Invaders!” cried a man, pointing in horror. “See how they come without warning!”

“Warriors!” cried a woman. “See their terrible stick weapons!”

“Wait, hold on,” said Harry.

“Giants!” cried a child, pointing in Hagrid with unbridled glee. The child was quickly hushed and hustled away.

“We’re not warriors,” said Harry quickly.

“Well, we are Aurors,” muttered Ron.

“Call the guard! Call the guard!” cried the people. The shout was quickly taken up and carried through the crowd.

“Good people! Good people!” cried Ungitink, his high voice carrying easily over the shouting. “We are not attacking you! It is only Ungitink, the High Grending of the Elves! With friends from the other side of the world!”

“Ungitink!” shouted a man. “It is Ungitink! The traitor Ungitink! He’s returned with an army!”

“Traitor?!” cried Hermione. “Is there something you needed to tell us, Ungitink?”

“Ungitink does not know,” said Ungitink, sounding completely confused. “Ungitink is not a traitor, Ungitink only — “

“Seize them!” cried a loud, deep voice, and before the wizards could react, burly guards emerged from the crowd, each of them at least Hagrid’s size, wearing brightly shining silver armor, reaching for them with massive hands. Harry managed to shout Expelliarmus!, but the guard wasn’t carrying a weapon. Bare-handed, he snatched the wand and broomstick from Harry’s fingers, and grappled Harry into a vice-like grip, pinning his arms to his sides.

“Well, that could have gone better,” said Ron, as they were carried off to the dungeons.

Chapter Text

The King's Wrath

“These dungeons aren’t that bad, really,” said Ron, munching on a sweet roll. He had chosen one of the lemon custard ones. Harry’d had one with chocolate and cherry filling, as had Neville and Ginny. Luna had taken one of both. Hermione was too wound up to eat. Hagrid was still working on finishing up the rest of the platter. There was also milk and cream, fruit juice (Harry couldn’t figure out what fruit it was — a mix of mango / strawberry / kiwi maybe?), sausages, eggs, and some kind of fried bread.

What with the full continental breakfast, the ample seating (three simple couches that were really quite comfortable), the brightly painted wood paneled walls, and the large windows that allowed a wonderful view of the city and the Nonestic Ocean beyond it, they probably wouldn’t have known they were in a dungeon at all, if the guard captain had not shouted “Here is the dungeon! Here you will stay until the King, in his mercy, grants you an audience and judges your punishment!” and pushed them in roughly.

They had naturally immediately tried to find a way out. There was no means of illuminating the room (all their wands had been taken) but the large window let in plenty of moon and starlight, and the city of Gilgad spread out below them was aglow with golden lights, and the very ocean itself seemed to be faintly luminescent.

“If we had our broomsticks,” said Hermione, “we could open this window and fly out.”

“They took my motorcycle, too,” said Hagrid. “I had it shrunk down in my pocket, but they rifled through everything and took it away.”

So there was no way out, except the brightly painted large thick locked and bolted door, which appeared to be sealed by magic as well, for it could not be opened, even by the elves.

It had been clear that nothing more was going to happen until morning, so they talked together in low voices, trying to figure out what was going on, and to make some kind of plan. Ungitink could think of no reason he’d been accused of treason. It was true that he hadn’t been entirely forthcoming with the King about the nature of his mission, but that wasn’t treason.

“Maybe he found out about it,” said Ron. “And maybe he doesn’t want you to save the Queen. Maybe he thinks saving the Queen is treason. I mean, suppose he got struck squib accidentally? He could be pretty upset, I’d imagine.”

Ungitink looked horrified. “The King could never be struck squib, surely! He is not a human wizard. He is a fairy, like Ungitink.”

“He’s a house elf?” asked Harry.

“No, no. Elves are a kind of fairy, but not all fairies are elves. There are many other kinds of fairies.”

“And there are no fairy squibs?” asked Luna. “No house elves are ever born without magic?”

“Not that Ungitink ever heard of,” said Ungitink. Luna looked over at the other house elves, and they nodded as well.

“That’s very curious,” said Luna. “I wonder why that is?”

“Whether or not fairies can be born squibs is a separate issue from whether the King might lose his magic,” said Hermione. “If elves are stealing magic from people, they might be stealing from both human wizards and other magical creatures.”

Ungitink looked horrified. “Surely not!”

“Anyway,” sighed Hermione, “what is the King likely to do with us?”

Ungitink shook his head. “This must be some misunderstanding,” he said. “The King is quick to anger, however, and he may dispense some terrible punishment on us. Already he has cast us into this terrible dungeon.”

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. If the terrible punishment was much like this terrible dungeon, it might be something they could put up with.

Eventually they spread out on the couches and tried to get a bit more sleep. It was extremely difficult, however, because their bodies were still on London time. If they’d had their wands they could have gotten to sleep with magic, but as it was they tossed and turned and were finally starting to feel a bit tired when dawn began to light the roofs of the houses below.

When breakfast was delivered, with all its cakes and pastries and treats, Harry and Ron began to be quite certain that the King’s wrath would be nothing much to worry about. They were even more certain when the King himself arrived.

He was a round, fat man, wearing pajamas just like his subjects (although his had no polka dots; it was just a solid bright red from his neck to his high black boots). He had no beard or other hair, except a thin rim of white hair around his head. His expression was full of concern. He was not walking — indeed, he was so fat and round, and his legs so short and stubby, that it was clear that walking would be uncomfortable for him. Instead he rode an adorable little white donkey with pink eyes and a pink ribbon tied into its silver mane.

When the King’s attendants opened the door and ushered him in, he rode his little donkey right into the room.

“Oh my!” said the King. “Oh my goodness! This is terrible, it really is. I am really quite distraught. And Rodbag is too, aren’t you Rodbag?” This he addressed to the donkey, who did not look distraught, but was looking rather bored and munching contentedly on half a carrot. “I cannot believe that my dear trusted Ungitink has fallen to this low level, I really can’t. Filigol, bring me one of those pastries, if you would; I need to calm my nerves.”

“Certainly, my King,” said one of his attendants, a tall thin one with a sharp nose and black and gold polka dotted pajamas. He brought him one of the pastries Hagrid hadn’t consumed yet.

“Your majesty,” said Ungitink, “this has all been a terrible mistake. Ungitink has committed no crime, your majesty. No treason.”

“Treason!” cried the King. “Treason! You’ve been accused of treason, too? My goodness! Filigol, why didn’t you tell me?”

“We did tell you, your majesty,” said Filigol, bowing. “Last night, when you had your evening snack.”

“Oh, perhaps so,” said the King. “But Filigol, you know I can never concentrate on much during my evening snack. I thought he was just accused of the theft.”

“The theft of what, your majesty?” asked Filigol.

“Why, my hot water bottle cover,” said the King. “The special one knitted by my friend, Queen Zixi of Ix.” He turned to the wizards. “She really is a great sorceress, you know,” he said, as if he were sharing a delightful secret between friends. “And a wonderful knitter. She also knitted me a blanket, it is wonderfully soft and is enchanted to always give pleasant dreams to someone sleeping under it.”

“Your majesty must have wonderful dreams every night,” said Hermione. She looked as though she was trying hard not to laugh.

“Oh, dear me, no!” said the King. “I mean, I sleep perfectly well, I have nothing to complain of, my dear. No, it would be selfish to keep such a wonderful thing to myself. I lend it out every night to one of the children in my kingdom, whichever one has been having difficult dreams. — But the hot water bottle cover! It isn’t magical, so far as I know, but it does keep my hot water bottle nice and warm, and it has a pleasant red and white pattern that goes well with my royal pajamas. Ungitink, why would you steal such a thing?”

“Ungitink did not, your majesty,” protested Ungitink.

“He did not, your majesty,” agreed Filigol. “It was lost under your bed yesterday evening, if you remember. We discovered it just after your snack.”

“Oh, so we did, so we did!” cried the King. “Oh, I’m so glad. I was so worried, you know. All during my snack I kept reaching for it, you know, because it sometimes does get chilly at night, and I always keep it right there by my chair by the fire, but — “

“Your majesty,” said Filigol, sounding a bit exasperated, “Ungitink traveled a few days ago to the Forest of Burzee, to visit with the other elves there, or so he said. When he came back, he refused to answer questions about it and I thought he looked rather… evasive. Then he disappeared. I feared he might be plotting against your life, your majesty; so I ordered that if anyone found him, he should be brought in on suspicion of treason. Then, yesterday evening, Ungitink and these other elves and humans appeared without warning in the middle of Gilgad Square, armed with wands and broomsticks. The people called the guard immediately, and they were taken here and thrown in the dungeon.”

“Excellent!” said the King. “Thank you, Filigol, you have explained it all very clearly. I congratulate you. And the guards acted very well in acting so promptly and efficiently in the face of great danger, for it seems clear that all of these elves and humans could be quite frightening, if they were intent on invasion.”

“But your majesty, we assure you —“ began Ungitink.

“Please, my good elf,” said the King, his eyebrows knotting into a slight frown, “do not interrupt! It is quite rude.”

“A thousand pardons, your majesty,” said Ungitink, bowing.

“There’s a good fellow. — And it is also quite clear to me that the people in the square, my most excellent subjects, did very well in raising the alarm and calling for the guards. For you had warned them, had you not, Filigol, that Ungitink was a traitor? And strangers suddenly appearing somewhere, armed, as you say, with wands, could be quite unsettling. Yes, my most excellent subjects did very well. In fact, let us have a holiday tomorrow, to thank them, and celebrate how well everyone has acted in this situation.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” said Filigol, bowing. “I shall put out the order.”

“Everyone except you, Filigol,” said the King, frowning at him and crossing his arms. “I have always said, Filigol, that you are always seeing plots and conspiracies against me when you have no cause to, and now you have accused a perfectly innocent elf of treason! It is quite clear that Ungitink was not plotting anything. He simply went to the Forest of Burzee to see his relatives about some private matter, and now he has returned with friends to help him attend to that. Isn’t that right, Ungitink?”

“Yes, yes, your majesty!” cried Ungitink with relief. “Yes, I was going to see my friends and relatives because — “

“Again, good Ungitink,” said the King, frowning, “please do not interrupt! I did ask you a question, that is fair enough, but it was only a yes or no question, I did not need further explanation! In any case this matter of yours is clearly private and is really none of our business. I must insist you tell me nothing of it. — In any case, Filigol, I have to say, in general you are an excellent First Minister and you take care of things for me exceedingly well, but this matter of paranoia, of seeing plots and schemes and conspiracies everywhere, it really is bothersome. Why, just last week you accused the poor cook of trying to poison me!”

“Your majesty’s birthday cake tasted of old boots, your majesty!” protested Filigol.

“Oh, I grant you that,” said the King. “It is true, she is a terrible cook. But it was not poisoned, my dear man. Just inedible.”

“Yes, your majesty,” said Filigol, bowing. “I apologize, your majesty.”

“Oh, it is all right,” said the King. “You do your best, I know that. But you really should apologize to these poor people, who have been kept here against their will all night.” He turned to them all. “I hope you were not too uncomfortable? I really am very embarrassed.”

“Um, we were fine, your majesty,” said Hermione. “In fact I think this is probably the nicest dungeon we have ever been in.”

“My goodness!” said the King. “Well, that really is delightful to hear. Isn’t she nice, Filigol? So polite. You know, now that I look at you all more closely,” said the King, squinting at them and looking from one to another, “you really are a remarkable collection of people. Ungitink and Kelebrink I know, of course, but these other elves I do not recognize, and they really are dressed rather strangely, don’t you think, Filigol? And these mortals! I have only met one or two humans in my time, but it is always a pleasure, always a pleasure. And you, sir, are you a giant?”

This last question was of course addressed to Hagrid, who had been trying to disappear into the shadows in the corner of the room. He cleared his throat and looked embarrassed.

“No, sire, your majesty, sire,” he mumbled in his booming voice. “I’m just, well, I’m just, I’m a teacher, sire, I teach Care of Magical Creatures at the school.”

“I see!” said the King. “Teaching is one of the noblest of professions, I believe. Well, again, I must apologize for holding you here against your will, but I wonder if you’d be so kind as to join me for brunch? It would be wonderful to hear whatever stories of yourselves you’re willing to tell. I have a delightful kingdom, as I’m sure you can see, with all my people quite happy and prosperous, but if it has a fault it is just frightfully boring sometimes. Why, once I ran away, can you believe that? It was so boring I simply ran away to have adventures. Wonderful adventures! My people came and found me and brought me back, of course, and they were quite right to do so, a King can’t simply run away any time he likes. Still, they were wonderful adventures. What was I saying?”

“I shall arrange the prisoners to have brunch with your majesty,” said Faligol, bowing.

“Brunch! Yes! But they are not prisoners, Faligol, they are my guests. Get that through your head. They are free to have brunch with me or not, it’s entirely up to them. Come, Rodbag.” And with that the King gently turned his donkey around and rode it out of the room.

Faligol bowed to them. “I do apologize,” he said. “I hope you are not too angry? I will have your wands and broomsticks and other items returned to you immediately. And I hope you will join our King for brunch. He would be most disappointed otherwise. He is ridiculous and foolish, and talks far too much, but he is also tremendously kind-hearted and wise. I do not know your errand here in Gilgad, but if you wish for any assistance at all, whether in guidance, food, or other supplies, I am certain if you tell him at brunch, he will do all he can to help you.”

“But we just ate,” said Hermione, at the same time as Harry and Ron said in unison, “That would be excellent, thanks!”

Chapter Text

The Three Pearls

Filigol bowed himself out, and the wizards turned to each other in amazement.

“He’s an interesting one, isn’t he?” said Hermione.

“He’s round the twist,” said Ron. “This whole place is. It’s amazing.”

“Ginny,” said Harry, “do you know anything about this King? Is he likely to really be helpful to us?”

“Maybe,” said Ginny. “There’s a whole book about him — Rinkitink in Oz. He’s just like the book describes, except the book has him riding a little goat instead of a donkey. Although, come to think of it, the goat gets turned into a prince at the end of the book, so maybe the king just found a substitute?… Anyway, he is very kind-hearted, but also silly. I don’t know how powerful he is, though, magically speaking. I mean, if our goal is to get to the Land of Oz, I don’t know how much help he can be. Oz is really hard to get to, because of the Deadly Desert. Even most powerful fairies can’t get across it.”

“So he’s never been to Oz?” asked Harry.

“Oh, I think he did go,” said Ginny. “I don’t exactly remember the end of the book, but I think Dorothy comes and saves them from the Nome King or something? And then maybe she transports them to Oz using her magic belt? I don’t remember.”

“But if he’s friends with Oz people, maybe he can get a message to them,” said Hermione. “Ask them directly to speak with us.”

“But how much can we trust him?” asked Harry. “How much can we tell him? If we just say, hey, Ozma is stealing our magic, we want to go have a talk with her, can you help us… what would he say?”

“I don’t know,” said Ginny.

Ungitink shook his head sadly. “Ungitink should not have told you,” he muttered. “Secret, all of this should be secret. Do not tell the King! If Ozma wanted him to know, she would have told him herself!”

“Well, I’m sorry, Ungitink,” said Hermione. “If Ozma didn’t want us telling her secrets, maybe she shouldn’t have stolen our magic. — I think we should tell him. From what we’ve seen so far, he might be kind of wacky, but he seems like he might at least be able to advise us or point us in the right direction.”

The brunch was excellent. As a seaside kingdom, Rinkitink’s cuisine naturally tended towards fish, oysters, crabs, and other kinds of seafood; but it was also a fairy kingdom, and the Nonestic Ocean’s waters were not of the normal sort. The wizards had never eaten anything like it. The crabs had golden carapaces, the oyster shells gleamed with luminous pearl that seemed as if moonlight had been caught in glass, and there were so many different colors and sizes of glittering fish that it seemed like the platters had been covered with jewels. At first Hagrid refused to eat, saying it was all just too beautiful, but before long hunger overcame him and in due course they had to bring out an additional platter for him.

The King arrived slightly late to the meal, explaining that he was unavoidably delayed trying to decide on an appropriate outfit for the occasion, having never brunched with so many mortals before; but he’d ended up picking the same outfit as always, since he was most comfortable with it.

For a short while they talked about the food and the kingdom of Rinkitink, and the king’s favorite dishes and favorite stretches of beach to walk along. “Of course,” he said, “I don’t actually walk; I ride my good albino donkey Rodbag. Rodbag is an excellent donkey, although not of course a real replacement for the goat I used to have, Bilbil. But he got turned into a prince — that is to say, he was always a prince, he had just been turned into a goat for a while — and that’s clearly all to the good, so I mustn’t grumble.”

“Your majesty,” said Neville, “you mentioned before that you wished to know if there were anything you could do to assist us. I wonder if we could tell you our errand?”

“Yes, please!” said the King. “I adore stories, my dear man.”

So they told him about how so many wizards were being struck squib — and this took some time, because the King had never heard of squibs, or England for that matter, and knew very little of wizards, so there was quite a bit of ground to cover. House elves and Time Turners were a bit easier to explain, although there were aspects that puzzled the King greatly.

“So house elves serve you all, doing domestic chores?” said the King. “They serve your families?”

“Most of the wealthier families, your majesty,” said Hermione.

“But why?” said the King. “Elves are very powerful beings. And, I do not mean to be rude, but it does not seem that wizards are very powerful. Once we took your wands, you had practically no magic at all. Why do they serve you? How did you enslave them?”

“Well, they just sort of, like to be servants,” said Neville. “It’s hard to explain.”

“And if you give them a piece of clothing, they are set free? — But they don’t want to be free? So they avoid trying to pick up clothing?”

“That’s right,” said Hermione, who remembered all too well the year she had tried to free all the house elves in Hogwarts. “Except for some of them, like one of our friends, Dobby.”

“Can you explain this?” asked the King, turning to Ungitink, Kreacher, and the other elves at the table.

“It is our way, your majesty,” said Ungitink. “For those of our families who are selected to serve the wizards, it is their way of life. It is a life of service and honor and they are proud to do it. It is shameful to accept freedom or be cast out of service.”

“But you do not serve a wizard family, Ungitink,” said the King.

“No, your majesty,” said Ungitink. “Ungitink is an elf, but not a house elf. Ungitink’s family was not selected.”

“But if a wizard family came to you,” mused the King, “and said, why, won’t you please come do our washing up, you would agree?”

Ungitink actually stood up on his chair and bowed. “Of course. It would be an honor.”

The King shook his head. “I confess it is beyond my understanding. But Ungitink, my dear fellow, what is all this about stealing magic, and wizards being struck skip or whatever it was? You have to admit this is no good at all, what Ozma is doing. Surely you see that.”

“The Queen is dying, your majesty,” said Ungitink softly.

The King shook his head. “I have never been very good at solving problems cleverly,” he said. “I do know right from wrong, however. It is wrong that the Queen should die, but it is also wrong that magic be stolen away, and wrong that these Hourwicks be destroyed. They sound like wonderful treasures. If you, my friends, can travel to Oz and find a solution that will save the Queen and save your magic and yourselves, that would be wonderful. And I think — yes, I am quite sure — that I have something that can help you get to Oz.”

He gestured to Filigol. “If you would be so kind,” he said, “please bring me the little present that Prince Inga gave me.”

“Which one, your majesty?” asked Filigol.

“All of them,” said the King.

“All of them?!” cried Filigol.

“Of course!” said the King. “I certainly have no need of them here. I’ve barely looked at them in the half century I’ve had them. Someone should be making use of them. Be quick, now!”

Filigol bowed out, and the King busied himself with the roast crab while he was gone. Harry and the others looked at each other and shrugged.

A few minutes later Filigol reappeared with a small golden box, and handed it to the King. The King smiled broadly and dusted it off fondly.

“Ah, here they are!” he cried. “So many wonderful memories in this box. You see, they were given to me by Prince Inga in memory of the wonderful adventures we had together. I helped him regain his kingdom, so he was naturally very grateful.” The King handed the box to Ginny, who happened to be sitting next to him. “Go on, my dear,” he said. “Open it!”

Ginny’s mouth dropped open as she did so, and she carefully reached in and pulled out a tiny blue pearl. “The three pearls!” she whispered. One by one she drew out two more: one pink, and the other white.

“Oh, you’ve heard of them?” cried the King, immensely pleased. He clapped his hands together in delight. “That’s wonderful! Where did you hear of them?”

“It was in a book I read when I was a child,” said Ginny. “There was a muggle — a mortal author, who wrote a book called Rinkitink in Oz, and —“

“Why, that’s me!” cried the King.

“Yes, your majesty,” said Ginny. “It was all about your adventures with Bilbil and Prince Inga, and the three pearls. It was one of my favorite books.”

“Goodness heavens!” cried the King. “Who could this mortal author have been? I have only met a few mortals in all my life, and none of them were authors.”

“I can only imagine he heard the story from someone else, your majesty,” said Ginny.

“That’s a most sensible suggestion,” said the King. “I do tell the story of my adventures to anyone who will listen.”

“That is certainly true, your majesty,” said Filigol.

“And you should know that more than anyone, shouldn’t you?” said the King, laughing. “I’ve told them all to you at least once a week since then!” For some reason this struck the King as ridiculously funny, and he went on laughing for at least a full minute, until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “Oh my goodness!” he said. “It’s been too long since I laughed like that. In any case, let me explain these pearls to you. You may already know all about them, my dear,” he said to Ginny, “but since I am King, I am allowed to explain what I like.”

“Of course, your majesty,” said Ginny.

The King took the box gently from Ginny, and held up the blue pearl. “This pearl,” he said, “confers tremendous strength. The strength of a giant. Even if you’re just a small child, if you hold this pearl, or have it on your person, in your pocket or what have you, you can perform feats of great strength. Lift and throw boulders, burst through doors, rip trees from the ground, and so on. My friend Prince Inga once wrestled and threw a giant who had been sent to kill him by the Nome King.”

“Whoa,” breathed Ron.

The King held up the pink pearl. “This pearl,” he said, “protects you from all harm. Whether it’s fire, water, or cold steel, it doesn’t matter, this pearl will keep you completely safe. The Nome King once tried to kill me by filling the room with magical rotating knives, but I was utterly unharmed.”

“Wow,” said Harry.

The King held up the last pearl, the white pearl. “And this pearl,” he said, “confers the greatest gift of all: wise counsel. You have but to hold it to your ear, and it will advise you on what to do. It once said, ‘Never question the truth of what you fail to understand, for the world is filled with wonders.’ And through its wise advice Prince Inga was able devise a trick to escape from a deadly cavern of lava in which the Nome King had trapped him.”

“Oh wow,” said Hermione. “Does it have advice for us now?”

“Let us see!” said the King. He held the white pearl up to his ear. He blinked, and his eyebrows went up. “My goodness!” he said, and put the pearl back in the box, and handed the box back to Ginny. “My friends,” he said, “the pearl advises you to start at once. The situation has become quite grave. You must travel to the realm of the Nome King, and from there to the Land of Oz, as quickly as possible.”

“Why?” asked Hermione. “What did the pearl say?”

“Exactly what I just told you,” said the King. “So you should get started. Filigol!” he cried.

“Yes, your majesty?” asked Filigol.

“Please have this breakfast packed up for our friends and give them some additional traveling provisions. And then lend them some horses to carry them to the Land of Ev.”

“There’s no need of that, your majesty,” said Ginny. “None of us can really ride horses, anyway. We ride broomsticks.”

“Broomsticks?!” cried the King. “Then you are witches? No, never mind, there is no time! You must start at once. Filigol, see to it please. And make sure they know the way, also — how embarrassing that would be, if you got lost! Oh my friends, it has been so wonderful to have you. I apologize again for our unfortunate confusion when you first arrived. I wish you the best of luck in your journey, and every happiness thereafter.”

Chapter Text

The Wheelers

The sun was warm and the high breezes cold as their broomsticks (and Hagrid’s flying motorcycle) carried them up and over Gilgad, heading east into the late morning. The kingdom of Rinkitink was long and thin, huddled close by the Nonestic Ocean, and completely surrounded by high fir-fringed mountains. They could hear rushing rivers and waterfalls below as their broomsticks climbed up towards the peaks.

Ungitink and Kelebrink were staying behind to relay news to the other elves of Rinkitink and the nearby countries; so nine remained in the party — the six wizards on broomsticks, Hagrid on his motorcycle, and Kreacher and Coddie riding alongside him. For safety, they’d divided the three pearls between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with Harry carrying the pink pearl, Ron the blue one, and Hermione the white. Filigol had given them detailed instructions.

“Fly north and east over the mountains into the Land of Ev,” he said, “and then fly over the Wheeler Waste and land at the feet of the Nomic Mountains. You do not want to land among the Wheelers, for they are a fearsome and vicious people. But you must walk into the Nomic Mountains, for anyone that flies over them may be attacked by the Fire Lizards. Follow the main road into the mountains and you will reach the Nome King’s dominion.”

“Wheelers, Fire Lizards, gnomes, and whatnot,” grumbled Ron. “I feel like it’s going to be one long Care of Magical Creatures exam.”

“What’s that, Ron?” boomed Hagrid. Ron hastily pretended that he had a terrible cough.

Once they were up over the mountains, which only took an hour or so, the Land of Ev was spread out below them, and they turned north and east. To their left was a broad, flat, pale brown rocky country, the Wheeler Waste; and beyond that was the ocean. To their right the countryside became greener, with rolling hills and little rivers and woodland, which disappeared into the distance. Up ahead was a wall of high black rock: the Nomic Mountains.

Hermione pointed at a spot near the feet of the mountains, where a path wound up from the green country into the hills. “Head for that!” she said. “We’ll land there!”

After another half hour of flying, they landed (Hagrid shrinking the motorcycle and putting it back in his pocket) and looked around. It was a beautiful area, and they quickly found some low scrubby trees under which they could drink some water and recover from their flight before starting their walk up into the mountains. The sun was still climbing up to their left. Ahead of them, as they looked back over the valley they’d just flown over, the path wound down into the green country of Ev, although here it was still rocky and dry. The ground was curiously hard packed. To their right, the near slopes of the mountains were strewn with boulders of the same pale brown color as the ground itself. Across the valley were the purple mountains that ringed Rinkitink; they too were dry and rocky on this side. Behind the travelers, the mountains of the Nome King rose up, and now that they were closer, they could see that their black color was caused by millions of flecks of volcanic obsidian in the stone.

“It certainly is a gorgeous country,” said Neville. “I wonder why the ground is so hard? It’s not rock, it’s packed dust. Like something has really compressed it.”

“What’s that noise?” asked Luna suddenly. They listened, and all could hear it: a low rumble like a continuous thunder. They looked around, but could see nothing. The rumbling grew louder; within a few minutes, it seemed to be rattling their bones and the very earth under them.

“Wands out!” cried Harry.

Then they began to see flickers of movement over to the right. At first they had no idea what the movement was, but then they saw that some kind of beings or creatures, apparently on all fours but with unsettlingly long legs, were darting to and fro between the boulders, moving from hiding place to hiding place; and what’s more, they were getting closer.

“Ginny!” whispered Harry. “Any ideas what these are?”

“They said this is the Wheeler Waste,” said Ginny. “I have a vague memory of Wheelers being scary, but — “

Suddenly, there was a long, wailing cry, a human voice, but one filled with anguish and hunger. The voice was joined by dozens of others, and the mountainside echoed with the wails and thunderous noise.

“This keeps up, I’m going to need a change of robes,” said Ron.

“Hold firm,” said Harry. “Wait for them to show themselves.”

“Nuts to that!” said Ron. “I’ve had enough. I’m going after them.”

“What?” said Harry. “Ron, don’t do anything stupid —“

Too late. Ron let out a bellow, and, holding his wand high, ran charging at the boulders, covering the ground remarkably quickly. The wailing and thundering reached a crescendo, and suddenly dozens of Wheelers appeared: man-sized or larger, on all fours, because all four limbs ended in wheels instead of hands or feet. They were dressed in gaudy ragged clothing, their heads wrapped in bright multicolored cloths, and their wailing mouths opened unnaturally wide, as if their jaws could unhinge like snakes. They moved with amazing speed over the hard-packed earth, zipping and darting here and there with remarkable agility, and in a moment Ron’s figure was lost among them as they circled and swirled around him. Harry heard him screaming and shouting.

“Dammit,” said Harry. “Hold on Ron, we’re coming! Stupefy!”

They ran forward, casting as they came. The Wheelers immediately pivoted toward them, rushing forward with mouths wide and wheels thundering. Harry knocked a couple of them over with spells before the mass of them reached him, and he managed to dodge the first that came after him, but then a Wheeler crashed into him like a freight train, and the creature’s teeth locked onto his arm. It lifted him up with surprising strength and flung him up and over, so that he was thrown back up away from the group and landed hard on the ground.

He gasped for breath for a moment — the breath had been knocked out of him. Otherwise, however, he was completely unhurt. Did the pink pearl protect him from harm? He rolled over and up onto his feet, trying to quickly see how the battle was going. Ron was standing in the middle of a crowd of Wheelers, and he’d picked up one by the legs and was swinging it in a circle around him, knocking others back and over like wheeled bowling pins. The blue pearl was giving him amazing strength, all right — he wasn’t sure Hagrid would have been able to do that! The huge man seemed to be doing ok, though, by simply grabbing them and shoving them over, off their wheels. They seemed to have a lot of trouble getting back up once they’d fallen. Hermione had a pile of stunned Wheelers around her, as did Neville. Luna was crumpled on the ground, but Ginny was standing over her, fireballs going in all directions.

Suddenly it was over. The Wheelers’ wails turned to screeches and screams, and as if that were a signal, they all immediately turned and fled back towards the boulders. Within a few moments, all the Wheelers had completely disappeared, except for the dozen or so lying stunned around them, and the one Ron was holding by the legs, who also wasn’t feeling well.

Harry rushed over to help Ginny with Luna.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Luna. They helped her sit up, and saw she had a nasty gash on her head. “One of them bashed me in the head with its wheel. Or hand, or whatever. Are you ok, Harry? You got thrown pretty far.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Harry. “I think the pink pearl protected me.”

Ginny waved her wand and fixed up Luna’s head, and she stood up.

“I remember more about these Wheelers now,” said Ginny. “From the third book, Ozma of Oz. Probably my favorite Oz book, actually. Anyway, they’re really not that dangerous. I mean, other than smacking you with their wheels, and biting a little, there’s not much they can do to you. They’re not magical, and they can’t hold weapons. They realize this, so they do their best to scare you out of their territory. If you stand up to them, they run away.”

“Well that’s great then,” said Ron. He dropped his hold on his Wheeler, and it scrambled to its wheels, shot them a dirty look, and dejectedly rolled away. “Let’s get on, then.”

“Agreed,” said Harry. “But we can rest a moment first. And Ron, can I talk to you for a second?”

Ron frowned, but followed Harry over behind a one of the scrubby trees.

“What is going on with you, Ron?” asked Harry.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve just been charging into every single battle without stopping to think. You flew right into Gormenghast’s castle before we were ready. You blasted open the door to the Time Room and nearly got us killed by a bunch of house elves. And now you’ve charged into a pack of Wheelers without knowing anything about them. So come on. What’s up?”

“Nothing’s up, Harry,” said Ron, although Harry could clearly see from Ron’s angry expression that he wasn’t being completely truthful. “I mean, I’m just attacking when I think we’re ready. And we won all those battles, didn’t we?”

“Yeah we did,” said Harry, “but it was a near thing a couple of times. I mean, that Gormenghast guy would have probably killed you if he hadn’t been struck squib; and if you’d just waited a minute or two for us to come up with a proper plan, there wouldn’t have been any danger at all.”

“I did have a proper plan,” said Ron defiantly. “If we wait around all day for you to come up with something, and for us to discuss it and discuss it, nothing will get done. People are losing their magic, Harry; and we’re trying to keep You-Know-Who from coming back, and to save your life, remember? We need to move quickly. We’re strong, we’re quick, we’re not kids anymore. We don’t always have to have everything worked out to the last detail before we move in. And if you don’t understand that, maybe someone else needs to be in charge.”

“What?” said Harry. “What do you mean? I’m not in charge, I just — “

“That’s right, mate, you’re not,” said Ron, and he turned away and went back to the others.

Harry felt himself flushing with embarrassment and anger. Was Ron accusing him of trying to order everyone around? But Harry wasn’t in charge. He just gave his opinion, just like everyone else. Right? And was Ron right about Harry being too cautious? It was true that, so far at least, everything had worked out pretty well, considering. And if they hadn’t rushed in so quickly to the Time Room, maybe the elves would have destroyed more than just that one Time Turner.

Harry didn’t know. And he didn’t know what, if anything, he should do about it. Maybe Ron was right; maybe it wasn’t the end of the world if they were a little less prepared for each battle.

Well, they’d soon see. He drew a deep breath and looked back towards the others. Ron had already started trudging up the path towards the Nomic Mountains, and the others were starting to follow him. Harry sighed. It was going to be a long, hard climb.

Chapter Text

Tiktok

For the rest of the morning the path led them higher and higher into the mountains, Hagrid carrying the elves so that they could easily keep up. The path at first switchbacked over open country, but then plunged into a sort of canyon with a dry riverbed at the bottom of it, and walls of rock rose up on both sides. The rocks were gray, dusty, and lifeless, and the path was extremely stony, so much so that within half an hour all their feet were sore.

“Forget this,” said Ron. “I know that they said Fire Lizards would attack anyone who tried to fly over the mountains, but they also warned us against the Wheelers, and we handled those pretty well. I say we at least try it.”

“Ok, Ron,” said Hermione. “Just be careful.”

Ron hopped on his broom and rose a few feet into the air. There were no sign of any lizards, fire or flying or otherwise, so he tried going a bit higher. Still things seemed safe.

“Seems ok,” Harry heard him call out. “I’m going to try and poke my head over the edge of the ravine…”

There was a few seconds of silence. Then, “Oh, cripes!”

Harry couldn’t see what was wrong; as far as he could tell, Ron was alone up there. But he started screaming and waving his arms over his head, as if trying to bat away something invisible.

“What is it, Ron?” cried Harry. “Get back down here!”

But Ron didn’t seem to hear him. He and the others were on their brooms in a moment (except for Hagrid, who stayed down with the elves) and rising up towards Ron. As soon as they were up over the edge of the ravine, Harry saw the others start shouting and waving their arms too. Harry couldn’t see anything wrong at all, and felt nothing, although there did seem to be some kind of haze or cloud up here that he couldn’t quite focus on. He was the first to reach Ron.

“Ron, I’m here!” said Harry. “Are you ok?”

“It’s these little — faugh! They’re bugs or something — they fly into my mouth when I try to — agh!”

Now Harry could see them: less than an inch long, they were tiny little flying lizards, darting around them like a swarm of insects. They were all over Ron, crawling over every inch of his skin, hair, and robes, and Harry could see little bursts of flame coming from their mouths. They were tiny flying dragons!

“Come on,” said Harry. “They’re leaving me alone — probably because of the pink pearl. I’ll grab your broom, guide you down. Shut your eyes and mouth as tight as you can.”

Ron did it, and clamped his hand over his nostrils too. It took just a few seconds for Harry to get Ron down into the ravine again, and as soon as they did, the flying lizards jumped off him.

“They must not like it here in this ravine for some reason,” said Harry. “Are you ok to fly the rest of the way down? I’ve got to go back for the others.”

Ron nodded. His face was swollen with dozens of tiny burns and bites, and he could barely open his eyes. He headed down, and Harry headed up.

Hermione and Ginny had managed to come down on their own, and Ginny had even gone back up to help Luna, so they were ok. Neville had tried to fly away from the lizards, so he was some distance off; but he’d given up and was huddled on his broomstick with his robes up over his head. Harry guided him down to the others in the ravine.

The wounds were, fortunately, not magical, and could be quickly healed. By the time Harry got back, the wizards had patched themselves up.

“Well, now we know what these flying lizards are about,” said Harry. “Nasty, aren’t they?”

“At least we don’t actually have to walk,” said Hermione. “As long as we fly along inside the ravine, we should be ok.”

They made much faster progress after that. The path climbed up and up for a long while, and they saw no other sign of plant, animal, or any other being. Finally, when the sun was almost at noon, they rounded a corner, and began to hear a strange rhythmic pounding far off.

“It’s like a metronome,” said Neville. “A really slow one.” There was a pound every ten seconds or so.

“I think I know what this must be,” said Ginny. “In Ozma of Oz they — yes, look there!”

Looming over the ravine was a massive iron giant. It was very crude in shape, with cylindrical legs, arms, and torso, and a head that was simplistic and round. It stood several stories high, and it was swinging a gigantic hammer. Every ten seconds or so it pounded the earth right where the path went through a narrow part of the ravine, so that it would be impossible to pass without coming into the arc of the descending hammer. When the hammer head struck, the earth shook, and the echoes of the strike reverberated throughout the mountains like a clap of thunder. By the time the echoes died, the hammer had risen over the giant’s head, started down, and was already about to strike again.

“Let’s land here and figure out what to do,” said Harry, but Ron was already flying up towards the giant.

“What on earth is he going to do now?” asked Hermione, sounding exasperated. Harry was a little relieved to hear he wasn’t the only one who thought Ron was being foolhardy.

“Going to Apparate past it,” Ron shouted back at them.

“Be careful!” cried Hermione. Harry gripped his broomstick nervously. Apparating had never been Ron’s strongest suit. It should be possible, though — the path beyond the giant was perfectly visible.

He watched Ron for a few moments, but he didn’t Disapparate; his broomstick just kept carrying him forward. Ron seemed to be having difficulty. He even took out his wand and tried waving it, but nothing continued to happen. At last Ron turned away from the giant and flew back towards them.

“Didn’t work!” he said.

“I’ll try,” said Hermione.

“It’s not going to work, I tell you,” said Ron grumpily, and sure enough, it didn’t. Hermione tried, closing her eyes to concentrate and flinching against the expected squeezing pressure of Apparating, but she failed as well.

“Is there some kind of anti-Apparating Jinx cast around here?” asked Neville.

“I suppose that would make sense,” said Harry grimly.

“Perhaps one of the elves could Apparate over there?” said Hermione. “They aren’t affected by anti-Apparating Jinxes.”

“Won’t do the rest of us much good,” said Ron.

“They could bring us over side-along, maybe,” said Harry. “Kreacher! Can you Apparate over to the other side of that giant?”

Kreacher squinted at the giant from his perch on Hagrid’s flying motorcycle, blinked a few times, looked surprised, blinked a few more times, and at last said, “No, Master! Kreacher can’t Apparate at all, it seems.”

“That’s weird!” said Luna. “I wonder why not?”

“Is there anything in the Oz books about people not being able to Apparate?” said Harry to Ginny.

“Well, they are Muggle books,” said Ginny, “so, not really. But come to think of it, I don’t remember anyone in the Oz books being able to Apparate. Even the most powerful sorcerers, like Glinda, have to travel using magical chariots and so on. Maybe Apparating isn’t possible in fairy countries?”

“Why would that be?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow. “I thought magic was more powerful here, if anything.”

But none of them knew the answer to that.

“We’ll have to figure out something else,” said Harry.

Ron snapped his fingers, and headed back up towards the giant.

“Now what?” cried Harry, exasperated.

“Going to try Immobulus,” Ron shouted back at them.

“Ron, be careful,” shouted Ginny. “It’s not just a big machine, it’s magical!”

But Ron either didn’t hear them, or didn’t care. He flew as close as he dared to the giant hammer, taking care not to rise up above the top of the ravine, and stopped in midair, brandishing his wand.

“Immobulus!” he cried.

It didn’t work. The spell bolted from his wand and ricocheted off the giant’s body, glancing off the giant’s arm and speeding right back at Ron. He tried to duck his own spell and only barely got out of the way in time.

“Cripes,” said Ron. “Now what?”

“I suppose you could try the pearls,” said Luna. She had to speak loudly over the booming of the hammer. “Ron, with the blue pearl, are you strong enough to stop the giant’s hammer?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron. “But it’s grabbing hold of it that’s the trick. I don’t want to stand under it and try and grab it — I’m not suicidal.”

“Suppose you took the blue pearl and the pink pearl?” asked Harry. “Then you’d know the hammer couldn’t hurt you, and you might be strong enough to grab it and stop it.”

Ron looked panicked for a second. “What, me?” he said. But then he mastered himself. “Yeah, absolutely,” he said. “That’ll totally work. Give me the pink pearl, Harry.”

Harry handed him the pearl, but Hermione slapped his hand so that he almost dropped it.

“Are you nuts?” she said. “The King said the blue pearl made you strong as a giant, not stronger than a giant. And even if you were stronger, how can you get leverage? You might grab the hammer, and then what? You’ll just be carried up into the air and thrown a hundred miles away. Assuming the pink pearl doesn’t fly out of your pocket, and you aren’t crushed by the fall, you’ll be lost forever in these mountains.”

“Well what’s your clever idea, Hermione?” said Ron, sounding a little bitter, because he knew she was right.

“We’ll use the white pearl,” she said primly. She took it from her pocket and held it up to her ear for a moment.

“It says,’Seek a friend nearby,’” she said. She looked around the ravine, as if expecting to spot an old friend standing right there among the bare rocks.

“I don’t know what that means,” said Harry. “There’s obviously no one else here. There isn’t anywhere a mouse could hide in these rocks.”

Nevertheless they looked around for a few minutes, climbing up some of the rocky sides of the canyon and flying around a bit as well. Suddenly Ginny cried out, “Oh my goodness! Come look at this!”

“What is it?” asked Harry.

It was another mechanical man, this one much smaller — man-sized — and hidden away in a niche in the rocks. He was made of metal also, and he was rusted and grayed with age, so that he was the same color as the stone around him. He had a perfectly round body and a round head with a little bowler hat and a metal mustache, and his arms and legs were thin. His arms hung limply, and his legs had long since collapsed under him, so that his round body rested on the ground. He was completely inert.

“It’s Tiktok!” said Ginny excitedly. “It’s Tiktok, I know it is!”

“What’s Tiktok?” asked Harry.

“He’s like a — like a robot,” said Ginny. “A mechanical man, but much more sophisticated than the iron giant there. He can walk, and talk, and think. He’s clockwork.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s in great shape,” said Harry.

“That’s an understatement,” said Ron. “He looks like he’s been sitting rusting there for a hundred years.”

“I think a Reparo should fix him up,” said Ginny. “He’s mechanical, after all. Magical too, though, so it might not be enough to completely get him to work.”

“Do you think he really might be the ‘friend’ that the white pearl mentioned?” asked Hermione.

“Definitely,” said Ginny. “He was in Ozma of Oz as well. Dorothy rescued him by winding him up — there’s a key on a chain around his neck, you see? — and then he helped her defeat the Wheelers and the Nome King. And later on he got his own book, Tiktok of Oz.”

“So what do you suppose he’s doing here?” asked Neville.

“Let’s ask him,” said Ginny. She stood back a few paces, leveled her wand at the inert pile of metal, and cried, “Reparo!”

Harry whipped his wand out too, in case this mechanical man was not as friendly as Ginny assumed. Her magic swirled around the robot, causing a breeze that lifted ages of dust and rust off the form. Then, as if they were watching a time-lapse reverse of the process of decomposition, the metal began to brighten and take on a coppery sheen. The metal legs shifted, gently at first, and then clicked together, gathered under the body, and lifted it up to a standing position. There were clicks and clunks from within the man’s body and head, and a couple of springs and sproingggs, and then there he was, standing completely upright and gleaming golden-copper in the afternoon sun.

“All right,” said Ginny. She swallowed. “Tiktok! Is that you?”

The mechanical man stood there, completely silent and still.

“Oh, I’m an idiot,” said Ginny. “I’ve got to wind him up.”

She stepped boldly up and took the shining key from the man’s neck. The keyhole, it appeared, was on his back, and his back was to the rock, so she had to slide in next to him and reach around awkwardly.

“There’s a little plaque on his back,” she said. “It reads: Smith & Tinker's Patent Double-Action Extra-Responsive
MECHANICAL MAN. Fitted With Our Special Clock-Work Attachment. Thinks, Speaks, Acts and Does Everything But Live. Manufactured Only at Our Works at Evna, Land of Ev. All Infringements Will Be Promptly Prosecuted According to Law.”
“What on earth does all that mean?” asked Ron.
“Advertisement and legal protections,” said Hermione. “But it sounds like something from the nineteenth century.”
“There are three keyholes actually,” said Ginny. “One for his thoughts, one for his speech, and one for his action, his movements. I’ll do his thoughts first.”
She started winding, and she turned and turned for about a minute. There was a gentle ticking and humming coming from the mechanical man now, just audible over the pounding of the giant’s hammer.

“There we go,” she said.

“He looks the same,” said Hagrid.

“Well, I guess he’s just thinking now,” said Ginny.

“I wonder what he’s thinking about?” asked Luna.

“I’ll wind up his speech, and he can tell us,” said Ginny. She started turning the key again, and the ticking and humming from within the man grew louder.

“All set,” she said.

“Ma-ny thanks!” said the mechanical man. His teeth moved without any other part of him moving at all, and there was no inflection in his voice: he spoke in a complete monotone. “You are ve-ry kind to wind me up, mad-am. I am Tik-tok. Who are you?”

“Well, I’m Ginny,” said Ginny. “I’m a witch, a human witch, not from around here. And these are my friends,” and she pointed out and named them each in turn.

“I am ve-ry pleased to meet all of you,” said Tiktok. “Thank you for wind-ing me up a-gain. It is good to be a-wake and a-live and see the sun.”

“How long were you there?” asked Ginny. “You were all rusted and fallen apart.”

“It must have been a ve-ry long time in-deed,” said Tiktok. “But I do not know how long it was, since I wound down and could not wind my-self up a-gain. How did you come to find me here?”

“We are journeying to the land of the Nome King,” said Ginny. “We were advised that it was the best way to reach the Land of Oz. We are going there to speak to Ozma, and to ask her to stop stealing magic from the wizards of our country.”

“I can-not be-lieve that Oz-ma would ever steal mag-ic,” said Tiktok. “First-ly, I do not think she knows how to do so. I have never seen her per-form such a feat. Sec-ond-ly, I do not think she would ev-er do such a thing. That would be steal-ing, and Oz-ma is a very kind prin-cess and would nev-er steal an-y-thing.”

“Nevertheless,” said Hermione, “the witches and wizards of our country are losing their magic, and we are told that Ozma is the one giving the orders. So we wish to speak with her.”

“I can-not help you get to Oz,” said Tiktok. “It lies a-cross the Dead-ly Des-ert, and the sands of that des-ert will turn an-y liv-ing thing to dust. I could walk a-cross it my-self, and per-haps car-ry one or two of the small-er mem-bers of your comp-an-y, but the rest of you would die in-stant-ly. Al-so, there are blow-ing sands and dust storms so that ev-en that at-tempt would be ver-y dang-er-ous. — How-ev-er, I can help you reach the realm of the Nome King. You are ver-y close. If you wish to speak to him, you have on-ly to get past this gi-ant with the ham-mer. The Nome King will then im-med-i-ate-ly cap-ture you and you can eas-i-ly speak with him. How-ev-er, he will al-so not help you get to Oz. He will hold you pris-o-ner for-ev-er.”

Harry and the others looked at each other. “All we know,” said Harry, “is that the white pearl, which we were told always gives good advice, told us to go to the realm of the Nome King, and from there to Oz.”

“If you are speak-ing of the white pearl of Prince In-ga,” said Tiktok, “then I would ad-vise you to take its ad-vice. It has nev-er been wrong. My brains are clock-work and ver-y good ones I be-lieve, but I have been wrong some-times. But I have heard of the white pearl of Prince In-ga and if it says you should go to the land of the Nome King, then I would ad-vise you to do so.”

“It was the white pearl that told us to find you,” said Hermione. “Can you help us get past the giant?”

“I can try,” said Tiktok. “It used to be that one could get past the gi-ant by walk-ing right up to the place where the ham-mer falls, and then, when the ham-mer ris-es, step-ping quick-ly und-er it. How-ev-er, the Nome King has ver-y clev-er en-gin-eers, and they were ab-le to speed up the gi-ant’s ham-mer. It is still pos-sib-le to get und-er it by walk-ing, but you must be ver-y quick in-deed.”

“Is there another way?” asked Ginny.

“I am not sure. It is too bad that none of you are birds, for then it would be ver-y eas-y to ad-vise you what to do.”

“Well, we’re not birds,” said Ron, “but we can fly. We’ve got broomsticks. The problem is the flying lizards.”

“You can fly as witch-es do, on broom-sticks? Then it is sim-ple,” said Tiktok. “If you will wind up my ac-tion, Gin-ny, then I can help you.”

So Ginny turned and turned the key in his back, and Tiktok clicked and whirred and lurched out of his niche. He took a couple of steps and almost fell, for his body was round and very heavy and his legs quite thin, but he managed to balance himself. Then he carefully bowed very low.

“I must be un-used to walk-ing,” he said. “But my joints all ap-pear to be in ver-y good work-ing or-der. You have done an ex-cel-lent job of re-pair-ing me.”

“It was just a spell,” said Ginny. “A repair spell.”

“Ah!” said Tiktok. “I some-times wish I could do mag-ic as witch-es and wiz-ards do. It must be ver-y hand-y in-deed. Still, I have my clock-work which works ver-y well. I can-not com-plain. — Now, to get past the gi-ant, you must fly; but in or-der to fly, you must get past the fly-ing liz-ards. This is not dif-fi-cult once you know how. Is there some-one a-mong you who is good at in-sult-ing peo-ple?”

“What?” said Hermione.

“The liz-ards are quick to take of-fense,” said Tiktok. “If one of you stands to one side and shouts in-sults at them, they will swarm and at-tack them. The rest of you can then quick-ly fly to the oth-er side of the gi-ant with the ham-mer. Then, one of you on the oth-er side can start in-sult-ing the li-zards. While they swarm that per-son, then the one left be-hind can fly a-cross.”

Ron started laughing, then stopped when no one else joined in.

“What?” he said. “It wasn’t a joke?”

“I am sor-ry to say that I can-not joke,” said Tiktok. “My mak-ers, Smith and Tin-ker, were mar-vel-ous in-vent-ors, but they did not give me hum-or-ous clock-work.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Luna. “Not unlike the Uifrimin of Scotland. They’re a kind of pixie, I believe. You can attract them with cakes, whisky, or insults. Insults work best.”

“But the person shouting the insults is going to get completely swarmed,” said Ron.

“That is a dis-ad-vantage,” said Tiktok. “I would of-fer to do that my-self, since their bites and fire can-not harm my cop-per bod-y bad-ly, but while they are dis-trac-ted I will be gath-er-ing their eggs.”

“What? Why?” asked Neville.

“To help you es-cape the Nome King,” said Tiktok. “Eggs are poi-son-ous to Nomes. They are un-der-ground creat-ures, creat-ures of dark-ness and life-less-ness, and an egg con-tains more life than an-y-thing else I know. A sin-gle egg con-tains mil-lions of gen-er-a-tions of liv-ing things. It is a shame you do not have a chick-en, for chick-en eggs are most poi-son-ous of all to them.”

“Well, it’s ok,” said Harry. “I have the pink pearl, so the lizards can’t harm me.”

“It is ver-y good that you have the pink pearl,” said Tiktok. “The Nome King will not be a-ble to harm you. How-ev-er, he can still im-pris-on you for-ev-er.”

“We know,” said Harry grimly. “We’ll just have to figure that out when we get there.”

“Then we will use your plan to get past the giant,” said Hermione. “But Tiktok, will you come with us? You seem like someone who would be very helpful to have on our journey. You’re tough and strong and you know so much.”

“Also, he won’t eat our provisions,” said Ron approvingly.

“That is true,” said Tiktok. “I am ve-ry use-ful on ad-ven-tures be-cause my mak-ers, Smith and Tink-er, did an ex-cel-lent job. I am strong and loy-al and I do not need to sleep or eat, and I will run for-ev-er, as long as I am kept wound up. How-ev-er, I must stay here. I need to help my broth-er.”

“Your brother?” said Ginny. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“The gi-ant with the ham-mer,” said Tiktok, gesturing. “He was al-so made by Smith and Tink-er. He was not made with the same clock-work steel brains as my-self, and he can-not speak, and he thinks very lit-tle, and he can-not move, ex-cept to swing his ham-mer. He has a hard life, stand-ing here in this waste a-lone. Years ago, I was liv-ing in the Em-er-ald Ci-ty of Oz, and I lived in a pal-ace; and I had man-y friends and I went on man-y ad-ven-tures. My life was very good in-deed. And I thought to my-self that my broth-er should not be den-ied these things sim-ply be-cause he can-not think or talk or move as well as I can. So I came to this place to try to speak with him, to teach him to talk and may-be help him es-cape this slav-er-y.”

“Crikey,” said Ron. “That’s amazing. Did you make any headway?”

“Sad-ly, no,” said Tiktok. “I spoke with him until my speech ran down, then I walked a-round him un-til my ac-tion ran down, and then I stood and thought a-bout how I could help him un-til my thoughts ran down. But he is not made to talk or think or move a-round; it is not in his nature.”

“I’ve never heard anything so sad before in my life,” said Luna.

“Perhaps you could find Smith and Tinker?” asked Hermione. “Maybe they could… change his nature?”

“A-las, they are dead, or mis-sing,” said Tiktok. “Smith, who was a bril-liant art-ist, once paint-ed a riv-er that was so re-a-lis-tic that he fell in-to it and drowned. And Tink-er con-struct-ed a lad-der long e-nough to reach the moon, and climbed up, and pulled it up aft-er him-self. And I do not know if there ex-ists an-y-one clev-er e-nough to give the gi-ant speech and teach him to think a-bout an-y-thing but ham-mers.”

Harry noticed that Hagrid was sitting on the ground nearby, sobbing gently. He went over and put a hand on the big man’s arm.

“Are you ok, Hagrid?” he asked.

“Oh sure,” said Hagrid. “I’m fine really. Sorry, Harry. I was just thinking — you know, just thinking about old Grawp.”

“He’s ok, isn’t he?” asked Harry. “Isn’t he living in that house you helped him build at the edge of the forest?”

“Oh sure,” said Hagrid, wiping his eyes. “He’s doing great. It took a long time, you know, for him to learn, but he’s fine and it’s wonderful to have a brother. But I feel like I know what Tiktok is going through.”

“I wonder if he feels emotions?” asked Harry. “It seems like he’s just a robot.”

“It don’t matter if he feels the emotions,” said Hagrid. “It’s a sad situation, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully and turned back to the others.

“But whoever carries the pink pearl is impervious to the lizards as well,” Hermione was saying. “Harry, for example, could insult them and draw them away, instead of you. And then you could gather the eggs.”

“I be-lieve that would work,” said Tiktok.

“But don’t the flying lizards need those eggs?” said Luna. “That’s a bit cruel, isn’t it? I mean, with chicken eggs, they aren’t fertilized unless there’s a rooster around, so it doesn’t matter, but here you could really disrupt their population.”

“The fly-ing liz-ards were brought here man-y years a-go by the Nome King, to help pro-tect his king-dom,” said Tiktok. “They have no pre-da-tors in the a-re-a and in fact they would die out if the ser-vants of the Nome King did not come out and feed them reg-u-lar-ly. Look a-round: these moun-tains are life-less. There is no-thing for them to eat here. And be-sides, you will on-ly need a few eggs to scare the Nomes; and the fly-ing liz-ards lay thou-sands in their nests.”

“All right,” said Luna. “I’m sold. Let’s do this.”

“Harry,” whispered Hagrid, “do you think you might ask Mr Tiktok to gather me a few extra eggs?”

“Hagrid!” said Harry. “You’re not thinking of taking some home?”

“Oh, but they’d be very educational for the students,” said Hagrid. “You can’t deny that, Harry. I’m sure they’d be no trouble.”

“I’ll ask,” said Harry.

Under Tiktok’s direction, the wizards and elves got ready. Harry positioned himself on his broom hovering just below the edge of the cliff top. The rest of the wizards gathered in the ravine not far from where the giant’s hammer fell, ready to zip up and around it. Tiktok began carefully clambering up the rocks on the opposite side of the ravine from Harry, toward a cut in the rocks where the nest he was after was hidden.

Harry carefully watched Tiktok, waiting until the mechanical man was almost at the top, and then he launched himself up over the edge of the ravine.

Once again, he could see the flying lizards swarming around him — with some difficulty, since they were so small — but they didn’t harm him at all. He gritted his teeth and, feeling a bit ridiculous, tried to think of a terrible insult.

“Hey you!” he shouted. “You flying lizards! You’re a bunch of… a bunch of idiots! Um.” This was trickier than he’d thought. “You know,” he shouted, “uh… I was told you were really dangerous! Really scary! But it turns out you’re nothing! I can barely even see you!”

He paused, trying to see if there was any effect. Was the cloud around him getting a little thicker? He thought he could hear them, too, a slight buzzing. It was hard to tell over the pounding of the giant’s hammer.

“I mean, you’re nothing but a bunch of insects! I bet a hive of bees could just, you know, wipe you all out! Um. I bet a single bee could! I mean, at least they know how to use their stingers!”

Was he making any sense at all? He felt like such an idiot.

“Keep going, Harry!” shouted Neville from below. “You’re doing great!”

Hermione shushed him immediately — they were not to call attention to themselves. But Harry was grateful for the encouragement.

“You know,” said Harry, “there’s only one thing more pathetic than you, and that’s a flobberworm! You’re all basically flying flobberworms! I should catch some of you and use you as fishing bait!”

It was definitely having an effect. He seemed to be surrounded by a shimmering haze, with little black specks that darted everywhere, making his eyes water; and the humming was getting loud enough to fill his ears.

“Uh,” he said. “And another thing! Uh. You know what? I bet you’re not even good enough to use as bait! I bet any fish stupid enough to try and eat you would just spit you right out again!”

That was a terrible insult, he thought to himself. Terrible, as in, not very insulting at all. But it had definitely worked. He could no longer see anything but the haze in front of him. He thought he could hear some distant shouting, but mostly all he could hear was the swarm of lizards and the pounding of the hammer.

Now, the next part of the plan was for him to fly around the giant and land in the ravine on the other side. But… he couldn’t see anything. How was he going to fly back?

He began to panic, just a little.

Experimentally, he tried moving the broom forward. It seemed to work, as far as he could tell — it felt like he was moving — but he couldn’t see anything but the cloud of lizards; there was no way to be sure.

“Help!” he shouted. “I can’t see anything!”

He thought maybe he heard some shouting in reply, but he wasn’t sure.

None of them could fly up and help him, because of the lizards. Tiktok wouldn’t be hurt by the lizards, but he couldn’t fly. He’d have to figure this out himself.

Maybe the lizards would just… give up after a while?

But Harry didn’t think he could afford to wait that long. He racked his brains trying to think of a spell that would get him out of this. Incendio might work — it wouldn’t get all of them but maybe it would scare some of them off?

“Incendio!” he cried, and cast it directly in front of him. The jet of fire seemed to zip right through the cloud of lizards with almost no effect. If anything, the cloud became thicker, and the buzzing louder.

Ok, this was ridiculous, he thought. Think about it rationally. Ok. I have the pink pearl. Nothing can harm me, right? So even if I fly straight into a mountain, or crash into the ground, or run right into that giant’s hammer, I’ll be ok.

Although maybe my broomstick might get smashed.

So, ok, he’d avoid the hammer (surely he’d be able to hear if he got too close to that) and fly slowly enough so that even if he did hit the ground, the broomstick would probably be ok. He should just try to fly blind, to bring him around the giant and land him in the ravine. He just had to trust his sense of direction.

Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward, slowly moving the broomstick at what he hoped was a slow walking pace. Gradually, the sound of the hammer moved, starting ahead of him on the right, moving past him on the right, and after a long time, behind him to his right. Ok. Now he just needed to make it to the ravine. He angled the broomstick down and to the right, going even more slowly. He wasn’t sure where the ground was — it might have been rising on the other side of the giant, he wasn’t sure — and he stuck his legs out under him, hoping his feet would stop him before he hurt his broomstick. And hoping that the pink pearl would keep him from breaking his legs.

Abruptly the cloud of lizards disappeared, and he was in the ravine, dropping faster than he’d thought. He released his breath (he hadn’t realized he’d been holding it) and headed for the path below.

Where were the others?

He was definitely past the giant; he could see it just a couple of hundred yards back down the ravine, its back towards him, the hammer pounding relentlessly. But there was no sign of any of his friends, or Tiktok for that matter.

Were they still back there on the other side of the giant? Why? Hadn’t the plan worked?

He hopped back on his broomstick and started flying low through the ravine back towards the giant. That is, he tried to hop back on his broomstick, but something was stuck to his leg — he couldn’t lift it off the ground. He looked down and saw that one of the rocks seemed to have grown a hand and was gripping his ankle, gently but firmly.

He couldn’t help it: he screamed. And suddenly the rocks around him seemed to shift and swirl, and there were dozens of hands coming out of the rocks, reaching for him. Many of the rocks grew faces and eyes and mouths: distorted, uncanny faces, with misshapen features and horrible teeth.

Harry’s wand was out. “Incendio!” he cried without thinking. Of course, fire had no effect on stones. “Immobulus!” That seemed to work on one or two of them, but then it was too late: he was pulled down. Rock-hard, cold hands covered his mouth and eyes, the earth seemed to open up under him, and then there was nothing but darkness.

Chapter Text

The Nome King

Harry came to, his head pounding, his body shaking and shivering. He was lying face down on cold stone. He opened his eyes and it was dark — not utterly black, but far too dim to make out anything other than the floor he was lying on. He could hear low voices muttering and occasional hearty, high-pitched laughter. He tried to sit up, but the pounding in his head grew much worse, and dizziness struck him, and he fell back again.

“The Boy Who Lived has woken up!” cried the high-pitched voice. For a terrible moment Harry wondered if that were Voldemort’s voice… but no, it was actually too high, too fluting. It was almost childlike, and actually sounded quite pleasant and good-natured. Was it a house elf? He tried to look again, and found that his eyes were starting to adjust, but he couldn’t see much other than a few hazy figures standing nearby, and some kind of ruddy, fire-like glow a little further off. The voices were echoing slightly, as if they were in a large cavern.

“The famous Harry Potter!” cried the voice, and Harry was conscious of someone standing over him. “Such a pleasure, such an honor to meet you, young sir! And of course your very extraordinary companions. It really was terribly kind of you to come and visit.”

“What,” said Harry. He had tried to say “what did you do to me” but he ran out of breath.

“I must apologize for the rudeness with which you were brought to our caverns,” said the voice. “Allow me to help you up. Would you like some water?”

Harry felt a small hand grasp his firmly and gently lift him up to his knees. He shook his head to try and clear it, and blinked and looked around. He was holding the hand of a small, round elf, almost perfectly rotund, with twinkling eyes and a great flowing white beard. He was wearing a simple grey outfit, the color of granite, and had a long flowing white beard. His eyes were twinkling in the semidarkness, and he was holding a long, intricately carved stone pipe. It was as if he were confronted by the house elf version of Santa.

“Water would be good,” said Harry. He released the elf’s hand and stood up carefully. His feet seemed somewhat steadier now. “Where are my friends?”

The elf gestured expansively over to one side, where Harry could make out Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and the others sitting together on various pillows and blankets. They waved, but it was too dark to see their expressions.

“Are you ok, Harry?” asked Hermione, sounding worried.

“I’m ok,” said Harry. He came over and sat next to them. He could see now that they were indeed in the middle of a large cavern, and what little light there was was coming from some sort of large ball-like sculpture nearby, which glowed softly and redly, as if it were made of forge-hot iron. In the shadows around them he saw half-glimpsed figures and furtive motions; it was clear that there were many other elves — or Nomes — around them.

“Are you guys ok?” he asked.

“We’re all right,” said Ron. “The Nome King here gave us hot cocoa and biscuits, and he’s apologized for kidnapping us and whatnot.”

“You’re the Nome King?” asked Harry, turning to the round Nome again.

“I am,” said the Nome. “And this is my kingdom. And if you are all comfortable and somewhat rested and ready to talk, I would be most interested to hear what brings you here, and if there is anything I can do to make you happy.”

His smile was so pleasant and genuine Harry felt a surge of hope. Tiktok had warned them against the Nome King, and King Rinkitink had listed any number of terrible things the Nome King had tried to do to him and his friends, and the Nome King clearly was some kind of fairy or elf… But who knows? Maybe the Nome King just disliked Tiktok and Rinkitink for some reason. That didn’t mean that he would automatically be Harry’s enemy.

But it might not be wise to tell him the whole truth… Harry tried to think quickly.

“We are from a faraway country called Britain,” he said. “Our country is… suffering from a… curse. A curse. And we think Ozma of Oz may be responsible. We are trying to reach Oz and talk to her about this.”

The Nome King listened intently, nodded, then sighed and shook his head sadly.

“I wish I could tell you that such behavior would be out of character for Princess Ozma,” he said. “Unfortunately, she is well known for meddling in the affairs of other nations. Why, the very first time I ever met her, she marched an army into my kingdom and demanded that I give her some of my greatest treasures! And she attacked us with terrible weapons. I ended up giving her the tribute she demanded, and I barely escaped with my life.”

“She wasn’t demanding tribute!” said Ginny. “Those were —“ But Hermione shushed her.

“Ah, my dear young lady,” said the Nome King. “No doubt you have already heard Ozma’s side of the story. But I assure you I am speaking only the truth. The second time I encountered her, she cast a terrible spell of forgetfulness upon me, so that I was rendered as ignorant as a baby, and could not remember my family or even my own name. I had to relearn everything over the course of many years. Can there be any more terrible fate?”

“That does sound a bit like being struck squib,” whispered Luna. “Like forgetting how to use magic?”

“It’s lies,” said Ginny firmly. “I mean, technically it’s true, but — “

“So you will help us reach Oz?” asked Harry.

“Perhaps,” said the Nome King. “Any foe of Ozma’s is a friend of mine, I believe. If you truly intend to confront her and defeat her, then I am happy to help you in any way I can. But I have two worries. Well, not worries, perhaps — concerns, really.”

“And what are those?” asked Harry.

“Firstly, how do you intend to defeat Ozma? You must have some terribly strong magic at your disposal. You understand: she is probably the most powerful fairy in the world.”

Harry looked at the others. He, Ron, Hermione, and the others did have a lot of power between them. They had defeated Voldemort, hadn’t they? But they were only half a dozen wizards and house-elves, when you got right down to it. And Ozma was the ruler of an entire nation of fairies… who knew what she could do? For all they knew, they could arrive in Oz, and she would just wave a finger and strike them all squib at once.

“We know very little about her,” he admitted. “So first we will try to persuade her to stop what she is doing. But if she refuses, and we cannot defeat her by ourselves, we will return home and get more help.”

“We’ll come back with an army if we have to,” said Ron. “She can’t just go on striking people squib. That’s war, that is.”

The Nome King studied their faces and nodded slowly. “It might be wisest for you to save time and simply go back for your army now,” he said. “But who knows, my dears? Maybe you can convince her to leave you alone. But that brings me to my second concern. It seems to me that you have the means to go to Oz immediately, if you so chose. And yet you do not. Why?”

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione.

The Nome King gestured towards the Kreacher and Coddie. “Are these not subjects of Ozma? They are fairies, surely.”

Kreacher and Coddie looked at each other, and then looked at their feet.

“What do you mean?” asked Harry.

The Nome King’s eyes twinkled. “I believe that there are some things your friends have not been telling you,” he said. “Ask them if they have been in contact with Princess Ozma.”

“What?” said Harry.

Hermione rounded on Kreacher. “Have you been in contact with Ozma? Is this true?”

Kreacher’s face wrenched up into a terrible picture of guilt and shame. He shuffled his feet. “Kreacher hasn’t,” he said. “Hasn’t not.”

“Kreacher hasn’t not?” said Ron. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kreacher mumbled something inaudible. Coddie just stared at her feet, shaking.

“How have you been contacting her? What have you told her?” demanded Hermione. “And why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” cried Harry.

Kreacher dropped to his knees, raising his hands in entreaty. “Please, please, Kreacher meant no harm,” he wailed. “Harry Potter please forgive Kreacher. Ozma is his Princess, is everyone’s Princess. Of course we have to do as she says. Of course we have to tell her.”

“How did you contact her?” asked Hermione.

“Ozma’s Magic Picture,” said Kreacher miserably.

“Ah yes, the Magic Picture,” said the Nome King. He sighed, shook his head, and smiled ruefully. “She can see anything in the world, just by wishing it. One of the most powerful magical objects on Earth, or under it.”

“So she has known,” whispered Neville. “She has known everything. She knew we were coming, she knew that Rinkitink helped us, she knew everything.”

“Surprise,” said the Nome King, “was your only hope. One time I tried to gather some allies, to go to Oz to recapture some of the tribute she stole from me. I nearly succeeded, but only because I managed to keep our attack a secret. As soon as she found out about it, she defeated us easily. You, my friends, never had the element of surprise, because of these spies among you. I fear your journey is in vain.”

“But you said we had the means to travel to Oz already?” said Hermione. Her voice was shaking with fury. “Kreacher, is this true also?”

Kreacher dared not look at her; he groveled at her feet, whimpering. “It is true, it is true,” he said. “Please be not angry. It wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t do any good.”

“Explain!” said Hermione.

“Ozma’s Magic Belt,” said Kreacher.

“My Magic Belt, in fact, I think you’ll find,” said the Nome King. “Ozma stole it from me. The most powerful magical object in my possession. She threatened me with terrible weapons and removed it from my body as I lay helpless on the ground. As I said, I barely escaped with my life.”

“Those ‘terrible weapons’ were eggs!” cried Ginny. “Just eggs! Just hen’s eggs! She didn’t even bring them on purpose! And you were threatening to kill her and all her friends — “

“She marched an army into my kingdom!” said the Nome King.

“There were only twenty people in that army, and only one of them had a gun, and it didn’t even work right — “

“Not to mention that hen and that beastly mechanical man!” cried the Nome King, turning red with anger.

“Shut up!” said Hermione. “Kreacher! Explain!”

“Ozma’s Magic Belt,” said Kreacher, “can Apparate anyone or anything from one place to another, quick as a flash. Ozma could bring us all to Oz at any time. But Mistress, what good would that do? She would only capture you! We did not want that to happen.”

“It sounds like she could capture us at any time, if she wished,” said Neville.

“We are trying to get to Oz,” said Hermione. “We are trying to get to Oz to talk to Ozma. Don’t you understand that? That’s what this is all about.”

Kreacher lay on the ground sobbing. Coddie stood next to him, eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Look,” said Hermione coldly, “I just don’t understand at all. You can’t just go along with us, for days, spying on us and telling Ozma all about us, and not telling us anything. You need to pick a side. Either tell us everything you know, or just… just… just go away.”

The house elves just went on sobbing.

After a few minutes, Neville reached out and took Kreacher by the hand. “I don’t understand either,” he said, “but I know you’re doing the best you can.”

The expression of kindness made Kreacher sob even harder. He gripped Neville’s robes with his tiny bony fingers, buried his face in them, and wept with great wracking heaves.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, “but I agree with Hermione. If you guys are giving information to Ozma, we can’t have you with us. You’re going to have to leave us.”

“Kreacher can’t leave,” whimpered the house elf, his voice muffled by Neville’s robes. “Kreacher can’t leave master.”

“You’re going to have to,” said Harry firmly.

“But where can we go?” asked Coddie miserably.

“Go somewhere safe,” said Ginny. “Find somewhere safe. Do you understand me? And wait for us.”

Coddie looked up at her, blinking her wet eyes slowly. She nodded.

“Come, Kreacher,” said Coddie, tapping Kreacher on the shoulder. Kreacher slowly composed himself, assisted by Neville gently stroking his old head. After a few minutes, he straightened up to something like attention, and bowed to them all.

“Kreacher and Coddie will go,” he said. “We will wait for you. Someplace safe.”

Coddie then looked up and away, seeming to see something invisible to the rest of them. She lifted one hand and crossed her fingers in an odd way. And the and Kreacher vanished away, with no warning, so sound, and no flash of light. One moment they were there; the next they were gone.

“I thought they couldn’t Apparate?” said Ron.

“My guess,” said the Nome King, “is that they have simply been rescued by the Princess Ozma, using my Magic Belt. No doubt they are even now being welcomed to the Emerald City.”

Hermione shook her head. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “I trusted them. I believed in them. And they were spying on us the whole time. Telling Ozma all about us.”

“I do believe they were doing the best they could,” said Neville loyally. “You could tell how sad they were.”

“If they were so sad about it, why not just, you know, not do what Ozma said?” said Ron. “Why are they so loyal to her?”

“So she can see everything we’re doing?” said Hermione. “And just Apparate people wherever she wants? How can you fight against someone like that?”

“We’re not trying to fight Ozma,” said Ginny firmly. “We need to talk to her. We need to see why she’s doing this. She’s not an evil person. She’s powerful, but not evil. She must have some reason.”

“Then why doesn’t she just come here and tell us?” asked Ron. “Good people don’t just steal peoples’ magical powers, without any warning. Without at least, you know, a note or a card or something.”

“Right!” said Hermione. “Even the utility company gives you a month’s notice before they shut off your power.”

“What are you on about?” said Ron. “Is that a Muggle thing? Muggles have powers that can be shut off?”

“I’ll explain later,” said Hermione.

The Nome King shook his head sadly. “It is clear that you humans have much to learn about fairies,” he said. “And the Princess Ozma is a very, very powerful and dangerous enemy, as I have often discovered. In fact, it was foolhardy of Rinkitink to give you aid and advice, for he may have made himself a target of Ozma’s wrath. I myself may be in danger if I help you any further. Nevertheless, I may be able to give you some small assistance.”

“How?” asked Hermione.

“I dare not say anything further here. But follow me.”

He gestured to a few of his servants to accompany him, and the wizards gathered themselves up from the floor and followed them to a large opening at the edge of the cavern. They went into a wide tunnel sloping gently downward. Here it became even darker, with only the occasional dim glowing ember embedded in the walls to light their way.

“Where are we going?” asked Harry, but the Nome King did not answer. He led them in silence for many minutes, through many twists and turns in the passage, turning left or right at various intersections, until he arrived at a dead end. There was a large metal door here, with a huge wheel in the center of it. Three of the Nome King’s servants took hold of the wheel and, with evident effort, turned it slowly, and they could hear clicks and thumps as locks and tumblers unlatched themselves. Then the door swung open, revealing an utterly black area beyond. The air from within was cold, and seemed stale and dusty and dry, like a tomb.

Wordlessly, the Nome King gestured for them to follow him in. Two of his servants brought glowing embers with them for light, and a couple of wizards lit their wands for good measure. Then the servants closed the door behind them.

At last the Nome King spoke. “I believe this tunnel is safe from Ozma’s Magic Picture,” he said. “I have worked for many decades to develop magic to counteract hers, and I think I have succeeded. There is no way to be sure, of course. But I think we are safe here from being overheard.”

He smiled and tapped the tunnel wall, looking proud of his handiwork. “Over the course of many months, my loyal Nomes dug this tunnel out of the bedrock under my kingdom. The tunnel leads under the Deadly Desert, under the Land of Oz, directly to the Emerald City itself. In fact, it emerges under the garden outside Ozma’s Palace. I had it dug so that we — the Nomes and our powerful allies — could march into Oz and have our vengeance on Ozma for the tribute and treasure she stole from us.”

“When will you attack?” asked Ron. “Are you ready now?”

The Nome King laughed bitterly. “No, we attacked nearly one hundred years ago,” he said. “Thousands of Nomes, and thousands of our allies, the Whimsies, the Growleywogs, and the Phanfasms, all marched through this tunnel, and would have easily conquered Oz; but Ozma was too wily for us. She filled this tunnel with dust, so that we were incredibly thirsty when we arrived. And so when we emerged from the ground, we drank immediately from the nearest palace fountain. That fountain, unfortunately, was the Fountain of Oblivion. As I mentioned to you before, I forgot everything I had ever known. I was easily tricked into ordering all our armies back home again, and she blocked the tunnel.”

“That’s horrible,” said Hermione.

“Well, at least you weren’t destroyed,” said Luna. “It sounds like her magic is incredibly powerful. She might have killed you all.”

“Well, no,” said the Nome King. “We are immortal beings; we cannot be killed. It really was the easiest way for her to be rid of us. I’m sure she would have killed us all if she could have. But the important thing, my friends,” he said, “is that this tunnel still exists. It goes exactly where you need to go. It takes you safely under the Deadly Desert, directly to the heart of Ozma’s realm. It remains dusty, for it is a magical dust that cannot be dispelled; but I can of course provide you with water and provisions for the trip. It should only take a few days. And if my magic works as I think it will, you will be invisible from Ozma’s Magic Picture, so you will arrive undetected. You will only need to crack through the blocked opening, and you will take the Princess completely by surprise.”

Harry looked at the others. They seemed uncertain, but also excited and determined.

“Sounds perfect,” said Harry. He gripped his wand firmly. “Let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

The Deadly Dust

They did not know what time it was, underground in the darkness, and the Nome King had no idea either. But they were feeling rather tired, so they decided to rest a bit and eat before continuing on in the tunnel.

The Nome King gave them small hard cakes of mashed nuts and fruits and plenty of good clean water. It was simple food, but it would keep them going for days. Then the King shook hands with them all, and wished them the very best of luck.

“I am afraid I will have to lock the door behind you,” said the Nome King. “Otherwise the spell that protects you from the Magic Picture will not work. But if you need assistance, simply knock and my servants will be happy to let you out.”

Then he bowed deeply to them. “If you defeat the Princess Ozma,” he said, “I and my Nomes will be forever in your debt.”

He then marched out. His Nomes followed, leaving them alone in the tunnel. When the door closed and locked, the noise of it resounded down the tunnel, echoing far into the hollow darkness ahead.

It was like being locked in a tomb.

“I don’t feel really great about this,” said Neville.

“Hermione,” said Harry, “could you ask the white pearl if this is what we should be doing?”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it, mate?” asked Ron.

“I didn’t want to mention the pearls where the Nome King could hear us,” said Harry. “Hopefully, if we need to get out again, the white pearl can advise us on what to do.”

Hermione nodded and took the pearl from her pocket. “What should we do now?” she asked, and then held the pearl to her ear. She listened, then nodded. “We should go through the tunnel,” she said simply. “I guess we’re on the right track.”

So they did their best to put their misgivings out of their heads. They needed to rest and recuperate, and then march to Oz as quickly as possible.

It was going to be rough. Even sitting on the tunnel floor, resting and sipping the water, the dust in the air was pervasive and irritating, and scratched continually at their throats and eyes. Fortunately, they were probably going to be able to fly along the tunnel: it was quite wide and tall, obviously built to allow the passage of a mighty army.

“Maybe, if we can fly fast enough, it will only take a couple of days,” said Hermione.

“It’ll still be brutal,” said Ron. “I feel like I’m breathing sandpaper.” He was continually blinking and coughing and sniffling.

“I wish we really knew how far we could trust the Nome King,” said Luna. “Does this tunnel really go to the Emerald City?”

“According to the books,” said Ginny, “the King really did build the tunnel, and he tried to march on Oz, just as he said. The difference, of course, was that he was trying to conquer Oz because Ozma had freed his slaves.”

“His slaves?”

“Yes, that ‘tribute and treasure’ he kept going on about were slaves. The Queen of Ev, and her children. Ozma had demanded that he give them up. In fact, she offered to pay him for their freedom. He refused, and tried to enslave Ozma in turn. Ozma only escaped because Dorothy had brought along a hen…”

“You realize this sounds mental,” said Ron.

“Well, those are the facts,” said Ginny.

“As recorded by an American children’s book author a hundred years ago,” said Hermione. “It’s hard to know what to believe.”

“If half of what we’ve been told is true,” said Neville, “we’re up against some amazingly powerful magic. Filling a whole tunnel with dust? Making someone forget everything, even their own name? Transporting people from anywhere in the world?”

“And Ozma isn’t even the most powerful Sorceress in Oz,” said Ginny. “There’s Glinda, and the Wizard…”

“The Wizard of Oz?” asked Hermione. “Isn’t he a harmless old man?”

“At first,” said Ginny. “But in later books he returns to Oz, and starts learning real magic. By the last books he’s nearly as powerful as Glinda, and can do magic no one else can.”

“That’s great,” said Ron. “Just great. We are so screwed.”

“We just need to talk to Ozma,” insisted Ginny. “I’m still not sure this isn’t all just some terrible misunderstanding.”

They fell silent, eating and trying to rest. Hagrid kept looking around nervously, and his breath came in quick gasps. But he insisted he was fine. “Just a touch of claustrophobia,” he said. “It feels like the walls are… they… Never mind. I’ll be ok once we start moving.”

“Right, let’s go,” said Harry. “I can’t just sit here anymore.”

It was difficult, but not impossible. It was very hard to breathe at broomstick speeds, and their eyes watered up quickly, but they were able to cast Protego as a permanent shield ahead of them as they flew. They also cast Lumos, although there wasn’t much to see except the walls.

They went on in silence for a few hours, then stopped to take a break and drink some water.

“It’s exhausting,” said Neville. “It’s not hard, but it wears you down.” Everyone nodded silently, and sipped water. The Protego charms were protecting them from the dust, but the air was still terribly dry.

As they flew on, Harry kept turning over in his mind the argument with the house elves. He had to agree with Neville: they really seemed remorseful, and torn between their loyalty to the wizards and their loyalty to Ozma. But why were they loyal to Ozma at all? Harry just couldn’t understand it. He was from England, and was a subject of the Queen, he supposed, but he wouldn’t spy on his friends or feed information to the Queen if she were striking them squib. It just didn’t make any sense. But for that matter, the loyalty that house elves showed to wizarding families didn’t make much sense. Was it something genetic, maybe? Were they indoctrinated from birth? He realized he knew almost nothing about house elf family life or education. Did they have their own schools? Was there a house-elf Hogwarts somewhere?…

…Was the dust getting worse? Or was he just getting tired? … No, the dust was definitely getting worse. The illumination of his wand, pointing ahead of him like a car headlight, was thick with glittering dust particles. And now, looking far ahead, it seemed that he could make out a dim white light. Could that be the end of the tunnel? Surely not — they couldn’t be more than halfway through it yet, and anyway the Nome King had said that the end of the tunnel had been covered over and blocked by Ozma.

He considered calling a halt, but decided to cautiously fly on a bit further first. There was no point in stopping until it was clearer what they were in for. The light grew slowly brighter for a while, and then suddenly started getting a lot brighter. It was as if there were a bright star at the end of the tunnel, getting closer and closer, as the dust got worse and worse.

Then everything resolved in Harry’s head. That had to be sunlight. Which meant that either the tunnel emerged up there, or there was some kind of hole in the ceiling or something. And they couldn’t be at the end of the tunnel yet. Which meant they were probably still under the Deadly Desert. Which would mean the dust they were flying through was actually desert sand that had fallen or blown into the tunnel.

“Stop!” he called out. “Everyone stop! But keep your shields up!”

They landed. Harry cast another Protego over them all, to make sure as little of the sand as possible reached them. Tiktok had said that anyone who touched the sands would turn instantly to dust…

“Everyone here?” he asked worriedly.

They were. “What d’you suppose that light is, Harry?” asked Hagrid.

“I think the tunnel has collapsed,” said Harry. “And I think the sands of the Deadly Desert are coming through and mixing with the dust in the tunnel. Ginny, is it true what Tiktok said? That anyone who touches the sand will turn to dust?”

Ginny frowned in thought. “Maybe,” she said. “The later books definitely say that in some places. On the other hand, in earlier books, people go out on the sand and don’t get hurt. So it’s hard to know which to believe.”

“Tiktok has actually crossed the desert,” pointed out Ron. “Maybe we’d best believe him.”

“We shouldn’t take any chances,” said Harry. “We’ve got to keep these shield charms going.”

“But what happens when we get to the tunnel collapse?” asked Neville.

“We’ll have to fly over the desert,” said Harry grimly. “Unless anyone has any better ideas.”

“I think that’s a terrible idea,” said Hermione. “Without the tunnel to guide us, how will we know where to go?”

“We need to just keep going in a straight line,” said Ginny. “According to the maps, the tunnel was completely straight.”

“That will be harder than you think,” said Hermione.

“We only have to make it to Oz itself,” said Ginny. “Once we’re across the desert, pretty much anyone we meet will be happy to guide us to the Emerald City. That’s what happens in the books.”

“And dust storms,” said Luna. “Remember, Tiktok said dust storms.”

“We’ll fly as high as we can,” said Harry. “That will hopefully give us better visibility anyway.”

“But the tunnel was the only thing protecting us from Ozma’s Magic Picture,” said Neville. “She’ll be able to see us.”

They looked at each other. No one said anything.

“She’s known about us this whole time,” said Harry. “She hasn’t tried to stop us. I don’t know why not. All we can do is keep trying to get to her.”

They nodded grimly.

“All right,” said Harry. “Everybody ready? Stay close!”

It felt like a very long time, but was probably only thirty minutes or so, before the steadily brightening sunlight surged to the brilliance of a summer’s day, and they could clearly make out the gaping hole in the top of the ceiling, and the wall of stone, rubble, and sand blocking the tunnel underneath. The sand, swirling and twisting in the sunlight from above, seemed almost alive, like ghostly tendrils or tentacles, reaching blindly out for them.

Harry ignored them. He had no choice but to trust Protego and the pink pearl. If those were not powerful enough — if he were about to be turned to dust — there was nothing he could do, except hope that it wouldn’t be painful.

Without slowing a bit — he wanted to get them all through the hole and gain altitude as quickly as he could — he guided the broomstick in a broad arc, swooping up over the rubble, through the hole, and popped out into blazing heat of the desert noon sun. All around him in every direction was utterly flat, yellow desert, like a concrete floor thickly dusted with dried mustard and cinnamon. The sky was a washed-out blue, almost white; and the horizon was crisp and sharp in the completely dry air. The landscape stretched out below like a bleached bone.

He risked a glance behind him. The hole was a completely black, jagged oval in the midst of the yellow and cinnamon sea. One by one each of the wizards popped out of the hole, Hagrid last on his motorcycle. They’d all made it.

He kept his broomstick climbing. It seemed to him, as he rose, that the sky became somewhat bluer. He took that as a hopeful sign that perhaps they were rising above the lower layers of sand and dust, up into the clearer air.

After a few minutes, just as he was starting to get quite cold, he saw the edge of the desert. It was indeed straight on in the direction of their travel, and appeared as a very dark line along the eastern horizon.

“There it is!” he cried. “I can see Oz! Follow me everybody!”

Of course they couldn’t hear him over the rushing of the thin air, but they could see him waving maniacally and they could follow him. He thought he could hear them cheering as they spotted it for themselves.

He didn’t pause, but headed straight for the dark line. The sun was just a bit past noon, best he could judge, so he guessed there was a good chance they might reach Oz by nightfall. He urged his broom faster, glancing behind him occasionally to make sure everyone was keeping up.

At first, of course, there was no change in the landscape as they flew (except that the black hole they’d emerged from was left far behind). The air remained dry and cold, and Harry was exhausted, but he was so glad to be out in the open with a goal in sight that he barely noticed it. Then, gradually, it seemed to Harry that the dark line was getting thicker and darker. Perhaps it was a line of very tall trees?

Suddenly he noticed there was another dark line on the horizon, this time off to his left, to the north. Had that been there the whole time? Certainly not, he would have noticed it before. Why would a new line appear on the horizon?

He watched it for a minute or two, and it was also clearly getting darker and thicker. Much more quickly than the other one. What could it be?

He heard Hermione shouting something indistinct, and turned to look. She was pointing at to the north and shouting. He couldn’t understand what she was saying…

And then he made it out. Dust storm.

A wall of dust, larger than nations and taller than mountains, was headed right for them.

Even if Protego kept them safe from the magical sand, kept them safe from being turned to dust or sand-blasted into skeletons, it couldn’t protect them from the wind. Would they be blown out of the sky? Knocked from their brooms, to fall hundreds of feet to their deaths? Would their charms be overwhelmed?

Could they make it back to the tunnel in time? — No. The storm was coming too fast.

Could they maybe fly over it? He had no idea how high broomsticks would go… But it might be their only chance.

“Up! Up!” he screamed, waving at the rest of them madly. They nodded; they understood. He banked up, still heading east, but trying to urge his stick higher and higher.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Up and up they went. But the storm seemed to increase its speed as it came. It was now quite clearly a wall: a boiling black and brown mass of churning sand, thousands of feet high, rolling towards them inexorably. He thought he could see lightning flashing in its depths. He could hear it, now, too: a roaring and hissing that shook the air.

He had no idea what else to do. There was no way to make a plan, no way to take cover. All they could do was keep flying up, and hope.

Almost instinctively, the seven of them clustered together. He glanced at the other’s faces, and saw fear and determination. “Keep your shields strong!” he shouted at them. “Don’t get knocked from your broom! Use the Gripping Charm to make sure you hold on! We’ll make it!”

Ten more minutes passed. The wall drew up above them like a great wave; its hissing and roaring filled the world.

Then it struck.

Chapter Text

The Silent Beast

Ron woke up first. He was lying on something prickly; it felt rather like a pile of hay. He opened his eyes and got up on all fours. It wasn’t hay; it was some kind of yellow-leafed bush. He shook his head to clear it and looked around.

He was in a thick shrub in the midst of an extremely yellow countryside. All around him, as far as he could see, were yellow fields of grass, with just the occasional shrub or tree to break up the yellow monotony. His personal shrub was somewhat flattened, and he imagined that must have been from when he plowed into it at high speeds. And there were the pieces of his broomstick, splinters half-buried in the branches. That figured.

He dug in his robes for his wand. Just his luck it would be broken too… no, thankfully it was fine. There was nothing more humiliating than asking Hermione to fix his wand again.

Amazing, really, that it had survived. The dust storm had been a whirling, spinning, yanking, bone-rattling ride, and he didn’t remember most of it. Perhaps he’d been knocked out by the force of the winds? But he didn’t seem to have been turned to dust by the desert’s sands, or indeed to have suffered much other damage, so the Protego spell must have held. He certainly didn’t remember landing — or rather, crashing — into this bush.

“Reparo,” he said, and his broomstick reassembled itself.

He looked around again. There was no sign of anyone else. He felt a jab of ice in his heart. What if they were all completely separated? How could he find them again?

He tried to stand up in the branches. “Hey!” he shouted. “Hey Harry! Ginny! Hermione! Hagrid!… Neville! Luna! Anyone there?”

He waited, but there was no answer. He tried calling out a few more times. It was amazing how quiet it was. There weren’t even any birds.

Finally he figured he’d hop on his broomstick and do a search pattern. Spiraling out from this bush, he could cover a lot of ground pretty quickly. They couldn’t have been scattered too far apart, could they?…

He found Hagrid pretty quickly. He was lying flat-out, spread-eagled, next to another bush. The motorcycle was lying in several pieces nearby. From above, Ron could see several deep gouges in the earth where the motorcycle and the huge man had struck, bounced, and scraped their way along the ground for a hundred yards before coming to rest.

“Hagrid! Hagrid!” he cried, landing and trying desperately to wake him up. He seemed to be mostly in one piece, but one leg was twisted under him in a bad way, and he was covered with scrapes and scratches. Hagrid made no response, except to moan like a dying hippo.

“Just a second, Hagrid, I’ll fix you up,” said Ron. Years ago he might have doubted his ability to heal injuries, even regular non-magical ones like these, but he’d had plenty of practice in his years as an Auror. With a great heave — but with barely any effort, since he still had the blue pearl to help him — he straightened out Hagrid’s leg, causing Hagrid to bellow in pain. Then, with a flick of his wand, Ron healed him right up. Another quick spell cleared up the scrapes and scratches. Hagrid took a deep breath and sat up.

“That was a good job,” he said. “You’ve gotten real good at those healing spells, Ron. Many thanks to ye.”

“Do you know where the others are?” asked Ron. “You’re the only one I’ve seen.”

“Nope,” said Hagrid, getting to his feet. “All I remember is hitting that storm, and then hitting the ground. Do you suppose we’re in Oz?”

“Must be,” said Ron. “Unless we got blown somewhere else entirely. We seem to be in the middle of nowhere. Just grassland.”

Hagrid looked sadly at his motorcycle. “Do you think you can do anything with this?” he said.

“Probably,” said Ron. “I mean, if Reparo can fix a broomstick, it can fix a flying motorbike, right?”

Hagrid looked doubtful, but Ron flicked his wand at the pieces and they immediately started joining up. Within a few seconds the bike had reassembled itself. The engine roared to life, and Hagrid jumped on it to turn it off.

When he did so, the silence dropped on them again, and they could hear someone screaming.

“Shut up! Shut up!” said the voice. “I’m trying to sleep! You’re giving me a headache! — Ow!”

It was Luna. Ron and Hagrid were able to quickly follow the sounds of the screams to a nearby bush, where she, like Ron, had also somehow managed to land; and her broomstick was in good shape. But she had a nasty bruise on her forehead and was clearly dizzy and not thinking straight. Fortunately it was just as easy for Ron to fix her up as it had been to help Hagrid.

“We haven’t been able to find the others,” said Ron. “But hopefully they’re nearby.”

“I don’t think so,” said Luna doubtfully. “They got separated from us pretty quickly.”

“How d’you know that?” asked Hagrid.

“I was awake for most of the storm,” she said. “I’d rubbed some of the Torquinia oil into the handle of my broomstick, do you remember?”

Ron and Hagrid shook their heads blankly.

“I specifically remember telling you as we were leaving Rinkitink,” she said, sounding a bit exasperated. “The Torquinia is an extremely rare insect from Anglesey. They always fly in such a way that their bodies move in a corkscrew fashion, but their heads remain perfectly still. It’s some kind of gyroscope thing. They can be ground up into an oil and it helps keep your broomstick steady. You don’t remember this at all?”

“I wish I’d been paying attention, that’s for sure,” said Ron. “So you weren’t tossed around by the storm?”

“Well, I was blown around, but not really tossed,” she said. “I was definitely kept upright. And I was able to keep track of everyone, for the most part. At least at first. And then there was this huge gust that separated you two from the others, and no one else saw, so I thought I should try to follow you and make sure you were ok.”

Ron was a bit rankled at the idea that he needed looking after by Luna, but he held his tongue.

“I was mostly able to stay close to you,” she said. “The storm carried us up to the edge of the desert and then sort of dumped us there. We were all out of control, though, and even though the dust was gone, the winds were still really strong. You two were tumbling over and over and falling towards the ground. I tried to catch up with you and cast Wingardium Leviosa, and I think I managed to guide your broom into that bush, Ron, but I couldn’t do anything for you, Hagrid — I think your motorcycle was too heavy. And then I wasn’t paying attention, and the wind caught me, and I think I yanked the broomstick or something… something hit my head, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Many thanks for trying, Luna,” said Hagrid. “I landed real close to that bush. And Ron was able to find me pretty quick and fix me up. Between the two of you, I’m sure you saved my life.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Ron. He tried not to feel bitter about it. Being saved by Luna! The sooner that was forgotten, the better. “Well, hopefully it won’t take too long to find the others. Do you have any idea where they might be?”

Luna shook her head and frowned. “No idea. I lost track of them. I’m pretty sure they escaped the storm, but other than that they could be anywhere.”

“If we had the white pearl,” said Hagrid, “we could just ask it.”

“Well, we don’t have it,” said Ron. “Anyway, I found you both by just flying a search pattern. I guess we should just keep doing that. But the three of us working together should be able to cover a lot more ground.”

“We have to make sure we don’t get separated, though,” said Luna. “We don’t have Ginny here, and we’re in Oz, the most powerful fairy country in the world. We have no idea what we’re liable to run into.”

Ron couldn’t argue with that. They worked out a modified spiral search pattern with the three of them flying in parallel about a hundred yards apart, well in sight and shouting distance. Ron figured they ought to be able to cover several square miles in every direction by nightfall.

It was a long, wearying ride, and as the sun began to set, they had seen no sign of any of the wizards, or indeed anything at all other than the endless grassland. Every once in a long while they saw an outcropping of rock, or one or two lonely trees huddled together against the wind, but otherwise it was utterly silent and empty. The size and silence of the landscape was stupefying.

As the sun was setting, they landed together not far from a cluster of stones. Ron had picked the spot because it was a little bit higher than the surrounding landscape, giving them a bit of a view of the countryside. As Luna unpacked and set up the tent, and Hagrid started a small cook fire, Ron used omnioculars to scan the horizon in every direction.

“There’s no sign of them at all,” he said at last. “They must have been blown miles and miles away. They could be anywhere.”

“Maybe it would be best to just start heading for the Emerald City,” said Luna. “We know that’s where we’re headed, anyway. We can just meet up with them there.”

“My father said that the muggles are developing some new kind of telephone,” said Ron. “One that you can carry in your pocket and talk with anyone in the world. Sure would be handy to have something like that now.”

Hagrid scoffed. “Sounds like magic to me,” he said. “The muggles’d never be that clever.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate them,” said Luna. “After all, they flew to the moon in 1969.”

“Oh, Luna, everyone knows that was a hoax,” said Ron. “They can’t even get broomsticks to fly. How could they get to the moon?”

Luna just rolled her eyes. “Never mind,” she said. “We obviously can’t get any further tonight. Let’s get some rest.”

They were just the usual Ministry-standard tents, nothing special. They joined Hagrid in his tent for dinner, since it was the largest, and Hagrid brewed up some foul black tea and a served them a surprisingly good potato and sausage pie. After dinner Ron tossed and turned a bit, worrying about Harry and Hermione and the others and running over the various ways he’d been embarrassed today, before finally falling asleep.

He didn’t sleep long. It was somehow too quiet. Shortly after dawn he got up and dressed and sat with a cup of tea at the door of his tent, watching the sunrise, waiting for the others to wake up. From the slight rise where they’d camped, he could see a long distance over the dry, nearly featureless yellow prairie. In the far distance it seemed that perhaps he could make out one or two bright points of light, like glints of metal. Could it be the Emerald City? That would be east of here…

Luna poked her head out of the tent, blinking blearily in the dawn light, and Ron nodded a greeting. She looked about to say something, but then she stopped, her mouth dropping open, staring past Ron with slowly widening eyes.

“What’s wrong?” asked Ron.

“Look in the rocks behind you,” she whispered.

Ron turned. Behind him, crouched there partially hidden by the stones, and utterly silent, was a beast as large as an elephant. It looked like a massive fox with golden-yellow and white fur, glassy black eyes, a stubby snout, and huge pointed ears; but instead of front legs it had giant leathery bat-wings. It was a giant golden fox-bat.

Ron screamed and his wand came up instinctively. “Immobilus!” he cried.

The creature blinked its huge eyes, and then opened its mouth wide as if it were going to scream back. But no sound came out. Instead Ron felt a wave of fear and horror come over him. It was the most terrible sensation of creeping terror he’d ever felt — as if someone were watching him from behind, and ants were crawling all over his back and his neck. He bellowed and turned to see who was watching him, but no one was there except, of course, Luna — and Hagrid, who had quickly staggered up out of his tent when he heard the scream. But Hagrid was on his knees with his hands over his ears, and Luna had fallen back, staring up at the fox-bat in terror. Ron could still feel the ants on his back, so he instinctively threw himself down and rolled in the grass.

For a minute or so Ron frantically turned around and around on the ground, trying to squish everything that he felt crawling on him. That seemed to help. Finally he stopped, breathing hard, and looked up at the fox-bat. Its mouth was closed and it was looking at him again. He couldn’t tell if it was about to attack or not.

What had happened? Ron had the feeling that it had used some kind of sonic attack — that it had made a noise so high, or so low, that it echoed in his body instead of his ears. It was a sound that could drive someone mad. It was not a creature to mess with, especially if regular magic didn’t work against it. But it hadn’t actually attacked yet, had it? Was it dangerous, or just defending itself?

Then it opened its mouth wide again, and this time its long needle-like teeth were dripping with saliva. That made its intentions pretty clear.

“Poor girl’s hungry,” Hagrid muttered. “No wonder, is it, nothing much to eat out here is there? Now what do bats eat?…”

Ron, frozen in fear, unable to take his eyes off the fox-bat’s teeth, heard Hagrid rummaging in a pack. “I know I packed some snacks…”

“Brilliant, Hagrid,” whispered Luna. Ron wanted to shout, “No, Hagrid! It’s probably a vampire bat! Look at those teeth! It wants fresh meat — us! Run! Attack!” But he still couldn’t move. It was as if his Immobilus spell had struck him instead.

“Here we are,” said Hagrid. “Fruit is what you big bats eat, ain’t it? Lucky I thought to bring some along. What d’you think of watermelon, eh?” Ron heard a soft thump that sounded like Hagrid had tossed a watermelon onto the stones in front of the fox-bat. The fox-bat cocked its head, and its huge ears twitched.

“An’ I’ve got a bunch of apples,” said Hagrid. “And these bananas. They’re kind of squished, I think I put ‘em down under the raw meat by accident, but they should taste fine…”

“Raw meat?” whispered Luna.

“Yeah, and roots and fungi,” said Hagrid. “I thought we might run into goblins, and need to win their trust. It’s what Griphook always liked to eat. Plus I had some lying around and I didn’t want to let it go bad while I was away.”

“Sure,” said Luna. “Makes perfect sense.” Ron couldn’t tell if she was serious. He was still shaking with fear, and couldn’t speak. What use was it to have the blue pearl if he was too afraid, or stunned or whatever, to move?

As they spoke, the fox-bat had leaned its head down — keeping its huge bat-wings wide open — and sniffed at the fruit. Then it began eating hungrily. At least, from where Ron was lying, it looked as though it was eating hungrily, based on what he could see of its head. But it still made no sound at all.

Ron squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again, took a deep breath, and gathered himself together. He couldn’t just lie on the ground being afraid all day. He stood up. Sure enough, the fox-bat had eaten all the fruit Hagrid had offered. It looked at Hagrid hungrily.

“More?” said Hagrid. “I think I’ve got some raisins. Trail mix. You like that? — Here, you want to eat it out of me hand?”

“Nope, nope, nope,” said Ron. “Stop that, stop that right there. That’s fine. Just — just put it on the ground there.”

“Aw, she’s just a big snuggly sweetheart,” said Hagrid. “Look at her, look at her big eyes.”

“Each eye is as big as my head, Hagrid,” Luna pointed out.

“She’s just a bit hungry is all,” said Hagrid. “Aren’t you, girl?”

“Yes,” said the bat-fox, in a whisper that was at once very quiet and yet seemed to permeate the air around them, vibrating at some deep level that made their bones shiver. It was the first audible sound it had made at all.

“You can talk?” said Luna.

“Yes,” said the beast, “although it has been many, many years since I have done so. I had almost forgotten how. I had to sit and think for a while before I was able to bring the memory of speech into my mind. I must thank you for the food you have offered me. I am indeed very hungry.”

“You like fruit, then?” asked Hagrid.

“Yes indeed,” said the fox-bat. “I will eat other things if I must, of course, and I was afraid I would have to eat you, since I have not had a meal for weeks and weeks, and I dislike killing things. It makes me feel terribly guilty. Fortunately the fruit you have given me will suffice for a little while.”

“How long?” asked Ron.

“At least a few hours,” said the fox-bat.

“Good, good,” said Ron. “Because” — and he screwed up his courage to speak boldly — “if you had attacked us, we might have been forced to kill you. And we dislike killing things.”

“It makes us feel guilty also,” said Luna.

“Then we are both fortunate,” said the fox-bat. Was that a twitch of a smile around the corners of its mouth? “Do you have any more fruit?” it said. “Otherwise, in a few hours, we will have to test our strengths, and each of us will be dead or ashamed.”

“I don’t think I have any more fruit,” said Hagrid, looking through his bags.

“Maybe we can find another solution,” said Luna. “We are on our way to the Emerald City, which lies to the east of here. I have heard they have a great deal of food there, and gardens which might be full of fruit. If you will fly with us there, we could give you some.”

“Really?” said the fox-bat. “And this food, this fruit, in the Emerald City, it all belongs to you?”

“Well,” said Luna, “not yet. But we are going to go and do battle with its current owner, Ozma of Oz. If you help us defeat her, then we can give you the fruit.”

Ron looked at Luna in amazement. That kind of solution would never have occurred to him. Or if it had, he would never have dared suggest it.

The fox-bat seemed to consider this. It licked its lips. “I believe I have heard of this young Ozma,” it said. “I would of course feel terrible if we had to hurt her. But perhaps, if we simply threaten her, she will give up her fruit without a fight.”

“It’s possible,” said Luna.

The fox-bat thought about this. “I am inclined to agree,” it said at last. “But before I do, perhaps you could tell me a bit more about yourselves and why you are trying to defeat Ozma? In return, I will tell you a bit about myself.”

“Certainly,” said Luna, and she launched immediately into a summary of who they were (mortal, non-fairy wizards), where they were from (“a rainy island on the other side of the world”), and how wizards had begun losing their powers, and they’d followed the hints of the house elves to deduce that Ozma was behind it.

“That all seems clear,” said the fox-bat. “If Ozma is responsible for this unprovoked attack, it’s clear you must confront her. Thank you. For my part, my name is Conca. I am a Hrerefus, which in your language would be a Thunderfox. Many years ago I lived in the far north of the world. My hearing is extremely good; I usually am awakened in the morning by the sound of the sun rising. I can also, by hearing, distinguish lies from the truth, because hollow, syrupy lies sound different from the clear bell of the truth. So I know that you have told me the truth, for which I thank you.”

“Of course,” said Luna.

“If you are from the far north,” said Ron, “what are you doing here? We are in the southern hemisphere, aren’t we?”

“I left the north many years ago, in search of a mate, for I was the last of my kind. I wandered all over the world, hoping that another Thunderfox would hear my calls. At last I was caught by a terrible storm and dropped here in this vast grassy wasteland. I was tired and had little to eat, and I didn’t know which way to go, and I was discouraged, so I remained here. I have not spoken to anyone in two hundred years.”

Conca spoke all this in the same deep, air-shaking, bone-humming whisper as before, slowly and almost emotionlessly. But when she finished, Hagrid wiped a tear from his eye.

“It’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard,” he said.

“Definitely up there,” said Ron.

“Your sympathy touches my heart,” said Conca. “You are beings of great compassion. Especially you, largest one: Hagrid was your name, yes? Your name and face remind me of my childhood in the far north. I will come with you to the Emerald City; and I will earnestly try all other alternatives before I am forced to eat you.”

“You’re all heart,” said Ron. “I feel super safe, super super safe.”

“I can hear that you are lying,” said Conca. “But I assure you, I will not eat you unless it is absolutely necessary. You have no reason to be afraid.”

“Great,” said Ron. “Let’s just get going.”

Chapter Text

The Emperor of the Winkies

      As the sun slowly rose up the sky ahead of them, they flew on and on to the east over the flat yellow landscape. Ron and Luna led the way, side by side on their broomsticks. Behind them, Hagrid powered forward on his motorcycle. And behind him came silent Conca, her huge bat wings beating with inexorable power.

They had no idea how long it would take. Without Ginny or the house elves or any other guides, they only knew the direction: east. So they flew towards the rising sun.

Gradually the landscape under them changed. Ron began seeing small canyons with running water and, along their banks, clusters of short trees with bright yellowish-green leaves. Somewhat later he saw cows, mostly white or pale beige, gathered under the trees to protect themselves from the heat. Then there were footpaths and narrow straight roads, and, around midmorning, he spotted the first farmhouse. At first he wasn’t sure what it was: it was more like a little rounded hill than a house, a perfect little yellowish-brown hemisphere, like a ball half-buried in sand. But as they flew over it he saw the line of windows around the outside, the doors, the kitchen gardens around it, and the children playing outside, pointing up at them in surprise. Within a few seconds they had left it far behind.

“Are we getting closer to the city?” asked Conca. She didn’t shout; she just spoke in that same low bone-shivering voice, and somehow it echoed clearly in their eardrums.

“No idea!” Ron shouted back. He had to shout over the rush of cold wind around them. “I hope so! All we can do is keep going!”

“I am getting somewhat hungry,” said Conca.

“Understood,” shouted Ron. He exchanged a meaningful grace with Luna, and they leaned forward, urging their broomsticks faster.

The farm houses came more and more frequently; and the land between them was no longer pasture, but planted with great swaths of golden grain and corn. The roads grew wider and better-traveled, with carts and wagons and people walking. No horses, Ron noticed. That was odd.

“What’s that?” cried Luna, pointing up ahead.

Ron squinted: it was difficult to see because the sun, though higher in the sky than it had been, was still right in their faces. But directly ahead there was something huge and glittering, a tall thin silver building rising up from the golden farmland, like a knitting needle plunged upright into a yellow quilt. Unlike the other buildings in this country, which were all one story tall, this was at least three or four stories, and as it resolved somewhat they could see it was a castle — a tall towering castle, with turrets and steeples and walls, all made out of the same glittering silver metal. It was surrounded by gardens and parkland, all beautifully laid out and organized in a very pleasing manner. It was still a few minutes away, but they would be right over it soon.

“Do you suppose it’s the Emerald City?” asked Luna.

“Maybe,” said Ron. “But isn’t the Emerald City supposed to be… green?”

“Do they have anything to eat?” asked Conca.

“Let’s land and find out,” said Ron. “Maybe they’ll at least be willing to part with some snacks. There’s a good place to set down right over there in that lawn near the entrance.”

They circled once or twice, losing altitude and slowing themselves, before dropping down into the grass. By the time they’d landed, they’d been spotted, and there were, of course, guards were running towards them. Ron hopped off the broomstick, made sure his wand was ready, and assessed his companions. Luna was next to him, wand out, ready to go; Hagrid was folding up his motorcycle; and Conca, the last to land, was holding her wings half-extended in a way that made her claws quite prominent, and her mouth was open, showing her sharp teeth.

The guards did not look particularly eager to engage them in battle, but slowed to a stop some distance away, spreading out to encircle them on the green. They were tall, strapping-looking men, dressed in what looked like steel armor, with steel swords and spears, wearing tall helmets with bright yellow plumes. Each soldier had a bright red badge pinned to their chests, right over their hearts.

After a moment of silence, Ron called out. “Hello there!” he said. “We are weary travelers, on our way to the Emerald City. We come in peace. We seek food and a place to rest before we continue our journey.”

“Nice, Ron,” said Luna, sounding genuinely impressed.

“What do you mean?” asked Ron.

“Well, a few years ago you might have just said, ‘Hi, I’m Ron, who’re you?’” she said. “You’ve gotten quite good at diplomacy.”

Ron was about to snap back a reply when one of the guards stepped forward to answer him. The guard bowed slightly.

“Welcome, travelers,” he said. “You have arrived at the Imperial Palace of his most brilliant highness, the Emperor of the Winkies. The Emperor will be delighted to see you and will help you in any way he can, for he welcomes all those who pass by. Please follow me into the castle, where you will be granted an audience shortly. — Pardon me for asking, but your companion — the…” The guard gestured at Conca.

“Conca is her name,” said Luna. “She’s a Thunderfox.”

“I fear she is too big to come into the castle,” said the guard. “But if she wishes, she is welcome to come round to the stable yard and enjoy whatever refreshment we can provide.”

“That will be very good,” thrummed Conca. She suffered herself to be led back around behind the castle out of sight, while Ron, Luna and Hagrid followed the guards towards the castle’s main entrance.

“So far they seem trustworthy,” whispered Ron to Luna and Hagrid. “But be on the lookout.”

The castle was remarkable: everything seemed to be made of chrome, steel, or silver. The floors were polished such that they might have been slippery, but soft unobtrusive straw woven rugs were laid out for them to walk on. The walls were of gleamingly polished silver, seeming to glow as if they were frozen moonlight. There were small steel statues along the hallway, and bas-relief sculptures set along the walls. The statues and sculptures showed many different versions of two or three characters: a lion, a farmer, some sort of robot man, and a little girl.

“It’s very kind of the Emperor to help us out,” said Ron.

“The Emperor is exceptionally kind-hearted,” said a guard. “In fact, he has the greatest, kindest heart of anyone in Oz.”

“Is that so?” said Ron.

“Yes, indeed,” said the guard. “It was made by the great Wizard of Oz himself. — Ah! Here we are!”

The guard threw back a curtain, and they entered a brilliantly shining throne room. High windows near the ceiling allowed sunlight to fall on the walls and floor, warming what might have been a cold, metallic room into a space that gleamed gold and silver. The room was long and decorated with silver and white tapestries, laced and edged with yellow, orange, and gold. A golden carpet led from their feet to the chrome steps of a dais, upon which was perched a tall silver throne. The effect was magnificent.

But not as magnificent as the Emperor himself, who was of course instantly recognizable. And as soon as he saw him, Ron was certain that all the silver, chrome and steel he had been seeing everywhere was, in fact, highly polished tin.

“Welcome! Welcome!” cried the Tin Woodman, rising from the throne and throwing his arms open in an expansive gesture. His body, limbs, and head were of course made entirely of tin, and he wore no clothes; instead, the tin of his body had been shaped to give the impression of clothing, with tin buttons down his front and his feet shaped into tin boots. His arms and legs were uncommonly thin, and his body was a perfectly round cylinder. His face was handsomely shaped from thin sheets of tin, and on his head was an ornate tin crown.

“I am always delighted to meet travelers. Travelers always have stories, and besides, they always need food, rest, and assistance. Nothing makes my heart gladder than to help people in need. Isn’t that so, friend Scarecrow?”

As he spoke, the Tin Woodman turned to his right, where, Ron now saw, another person was sitting in a small wooden chair a step or two down from the throne. It was a scarecrow: just a scarecrow in a simple blue farmer’s overalls with a blue and white checkered shirt and floppy farmer’s hat; and its face was a painted sack. For a moment it was motionless, and Ron thought it really might be just a scarecrow. But then it moved, rising awkwardly to its feet, its arms and legs wobbling and seeming to be barely under its control, and it spoke.

“Very true, Nick,” said the Scarecrow. “And although I do not have a heart myself, it also gives me great pleasure to assist travelers, for they are almost always in need of advice and wise counsel, which I am especially qualified to provide.”

“Oh my god,” said Luna. From the expression on her face, it seemed like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“My dear young lady,” cried the Tin Woodman, and before Ron could react, he leapt from the dais down the steps to Luna, grasping her hand. “Are you well? You seem quite distraught.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” said Luna, but she seemed to reflexively recoil from the metallic man, and her eyes were fixed on his hands touching her skin — fixed in horror? Fascination?

“Here, be careful,” said Ron, moving to come between them.

“My apologies,” said the Tin Woodman, taking a step back. “I intended no harm, I assure you.”

“It’s ok,” said Luna. “I was, you know, startled, is all. I’ve never met a tin — a tin — ”

“Is it some kind of robot?” asked Hagrid, examining the tin man and scratching his beard. “Like Tiktok?”

“Certainly not,” said the Tin Woodman proudly. He thrust out his cylindrical chest. “I am alive. Tiktok is just a machine. As he would be the first to tell you.”

“He did go on about that,” said Ron.

“Wait, you have seen Tiktok?” cried the Scarecrow. He was trying to come down the stairs, but they were rather slippery and his progress was slow with his wobbly legs. “When did you see him? Where?”

“Near the realm of the Nome King,” said Luna. “He was almost rusted away.”

“Alas!” cried the Tin Woodman. “How my heart goes out to him, the poor fellow! Do you remember, friend Scarecrow? How he left us, decades ago, to find his brother?”

“Yes, I remember, Nick Chopper,” said the Scarecrow. “I was here when he told us goodbye, in this very chamber. Give me a hand, please?”

“Certainly, my friend,” said the Tin Woodman, assisting him down the last steps. “I thought my heart would break when he left us, though of course I completely understood his mission of mercy, to free the giant with the hammer. Had I a brother bound forever as a slave, I would have gone after him as well.”

“As would I, I hope,” said the Scarecrow. “But I told Tiktok it would be very hard to free his brother, because his brother didn’t have enough brains. He only knows how to stand and pound the ground; and he has no ability to learn or speak. How could he do anything else? I asked the Wizard of Oz if he would make brains for Tiktok’s brother, just as he had for me, but he said he did not have the skill.”

Hagrid blew his nose into his handkerchief. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have a brother myself. I know Tiktok’s brother would appreciate what you tried to do. It’s very kind of you, it really is.”

“And was the giant still there?” asked the Tin Woodman. “Or was Tiktok able to free him?”

“If my brains do not fail me,” said the Scarecrow, “I suspect he was not able to. Otherwise surely Tiktok would not have stayed near the realm of the Nome King. He would have brought the giant home to the Emerald City.”

“You’re right,” said Luna. “The giant and Tiktok are still both there.”

“Oh, it is too much!” cried the Tin Woodman. “I fear I will cry. Excuse me please.” He took a kerchief from his own pocket and dabbed his eyes. “I must take care,” he explained. “If I cry too much, the tears roll down my cheeks and rust my jaw closed. — Oh, poor Tiktok! Rusted away, standing there alone. I know very well how he must feel. I myself was rusted solid once — caught in a rainstorm. I stood there completely frozen for days — months — years!”

“Yes, it was Dorothy and I who saved you,” said the Scarecrow.

“My friend,” said the Tin Woodman to the Scarecrow, “you saved my life. And just as you saved me then, we and must go at once and save our friend Tiktok. At once! Where is my axe?”

“That’s not necessary,” said Luna. “We already saved him. The white pearl led us to him, and we saw he was broken and rusted, so we fixed him up. And he told us his story, and then helped us get past the giant with the hammer.”

“The pearl? What?” said the Tin Woodman.

“Just a minute, Nick,” said the Scarecrow. There was an odd, quizzical look on the scarecrow’s sackcloth face. He took a couple of uncertain steps toward Luna, examining her closely. Luna peered back at him curiously, in that open, innocent way she had.

“There is more to these people than meet the eye,” said the Scarecrow slowly. “Did you notice, Nick, that they are carrying broomsticks?”

“I did,” said the Tin Woodman, sounding a bit confused. “I wondered if they had been on a journey to clean something? Wandering janitors?”

“Possible,” admitted the Scarecrow, “but unlikely, I think. See, also, the robes they wear? And the wands they carry?”

“Yes,” said the Tin Woodman uncertainly. “What of it?”

“And you say you repaired Tiktok?” said the Scarecrow to Luna. “When he was completely broken and rusted?”

“Well, yes,” said Luna. She glanced at Ron, and then back at the Scarecrow.

“My friend,” said the Scarecrow to the Tin Woodman, “I’m afraid there’s no question in my mind. She is a witch.”

“Well, yeah,” said Luna. “We’d have told you, if you’d given us a chance to explain.”

“A good witch? Or a bad witch?” asked the Scarecrow.

“A good witch, of course,” snapped Luna. “What a rude question to ask!”

“If she did repair friend Tiktok,” said the Tin Woodman, “surely she is a good witch.”

The Scarecrow turned away from Luna and put his hand to his forehead. “I am sorry,” he said. “I have excellent brains, but sometimes, in order to operate most efficiently, it is best that I hear everything in just the order that it happened. Could you explain who you are, where you are from, and how you came to find and help Tiktok? And what you are doing here?”

So Luna gave them the whole story again, going into a bit more detail than she had with Conca. The Scarecrow asked a great many questions, and seemed to already know a lot about Rinkitink, the Nome King, and the elves. When she mentioned that Kreacher and Coddie had teleported away, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman exchanged a meaningful glance. Ron thought he knew what that meant, but decided not to mention anything just yet.

 When Luna finished, the Scarecrow walked back and forth, his face deeply furrowed in thought. “It’s very perplexing,” he said. “All the evidence suggests, as you have said, that the Princess Ozma is stealing magic away from your witches and wizards. But Ozma is a wise, gracious, and merciful ruler. It is difficult for me to imagine that she would do such a thing.”

“Do you remember,” said the Tin Woodman to the Scarecrow, “when the Munchkin lad, Ojo, was found guilty of picking a six-leaved clover? A terrible crime. And yet his punishment was simply to stay with the jailor, a wonderfully kind woman named Tollydiggle, for an evening. And Ozma forgave him in the morning.”

“Picking a six-leaved clover is a crime?” said Ron.

“Oh yes,” said the Scarecrow. “It is a potent ingredient in many magical potions, and so it is illegal to pick it or have it on your person. But Ojo did not know this, and so Ozma quickly forgave him.”

“Is it illegal to make potions?” asked Neville.

“It is indeed,” said the Scarecrow. “In fact, by order of Ozma of Oz, magic is completely illegal in this country. Except for that practiced by Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz.”

“All magic is illegal!” cried Ron.

“That is correct,” said the Scarecrow. “You must understand: magic is extremely potent in this country. Oz has been plagued by wicked and witches throughout its history — especially during the time that Ozma was imprisoned as a child by a wicked witch. And ever since Ozma instituted this law, we have been at peace. It is sometimes inconvenient, but in general the policy has been very popular.”

“But you’re magical beings yourselves,” said Luna. “Aren’t you illegal?”

“Of course not!” snorted the Scarecrow. “I can’t help the way we’re made. And it was a wicked witch that enchanted Nick’s axe in the first place. No, Ozma enforces the law very fairly.”

“But we are wizards,” said Ron. “We can’t just not do magic.”

“I’m afraid you must refrain, while you are in Oz,” said the Scarecrow. “Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Have you already used magic within our borders?”

“I guess,” said Ron. “But it was just heal injuries, and find my friends, and have a sheltered place to sleep…”

“Perfectly reasonable!” said the Tin Woodman.

“No doubt Ozma will forgive you, just as she forgave Ojo,” said the Scarecrow. “Now, it is true that when magical persons or beings act badly, Ozma does often punish them by removing their magical power. Remember Ugu the Shoemaker? And Co-ee-oh, the Queen of the Skeezers?”

“I do,” admitted the Tin Woodman, “although I also remember that they ended up being turned into a dove and a swan respectively. And the Wicked Witch of the West was melted, of course.”

“But the Wicked Witch was defeated by Dorothy, not Ozma,” pointed out the Scarecrow. “Ozma would not have melted the witch unless it were absolutely necessary. And she wouldn’t just randomly remove magic from people, especially not without warning.”

“Didn’t she lead an army against the Nome King to steal his treasure?” asked Ron.

The Scarecrow and Tin Woodman looked horrified. “Of course not!” cried the Scarecrow. “Is that what the Nome King claimed? No. The Nome King had enslaved the Queen of Ev and all her children, and turned them into ornaments in his underground palace. Princess Ozma marched her army to confront him, and offered to buy the Queen and her children from him. He refused. Ozma’s army consisted of only one private, and he was swiftly defeated by the Nome King’s army of thousands of Nomes. Ozma was able to free the Queen and her children by outwitting the Nome King and winning them in a game of chance — it is a long story — and even then, the Nome King might have captured us all and enslaved us as well, but fortunately we had brought some hen’s eggs with us, and were able to use them to escape.”

“It’s mad,” said Ron. “It all sounds mad. Do you hear yourself, mate?”

“Now, when the Nome King, seeking revenge, marched through the tunnel to conquer Oz, Ozma was able to trick him into drinking from the Fountain of Oblivion,” said the Tin Woodman. “And that removed his ability to do magic.”

“Yes, that was one of my cleverer ideas,” said the Scarecrow, obviously very proud. “It was I who suggested filling the tunnel with dust, to make the armies thirsty. But note, friend Nick, that the fountain did not actually remove the Nome King’s ability to do magic. He simply forgot how. He was quickly able to re-learn his skills.”

“Also, he was not turned into a bird,” mused the tin man.

“True,” said the Scarecrow. “But, just in case — tell me, Luna, Ron, Hagrid, have any of your people been turned into fowl of any kind?”

“Not that I know of,” admitted Ron.

“And are you susceptible to being melted by water?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“Of course not,” said Luna. “I had a shower in my tent this morning.”

“I really cannot help but think there must be some terrible misunderstanding,” said the Scarecrow. “We will accompany you to the Emerald City immediately, and ask Ozma directly. I am certain that she is not responsible for this. And what is more, I am certain that she will want to do everything she can to assist you. — Nick, you and I require no sleep or food, so we are ready to leave immediately. But I am sure these travelers, being made of meat, would prefer a short rest and some food before they resume travel.”

“Of course!” cried the Tin Woodman. “How thoughtless of me to let you stand there talking all this time!” He clapped his tin hands together, and they rang like bells. “Please bring food for these travelers!” he said. “Whatever I have is yours, my friends. And while you eat, I will visit your friend, Conca the Thunderfox, and make sure she is well cared-for.”

The meal was simple but delicious, containing a number of different breads, a cornmeal dish, fresh vegetables, and fruit juices. It was not standard British fare, but Ron stomached it ok. Afterwards the wizards, Conca, the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman gathered on the green lawn to organize the journey.

“How are you feeling, eh?” Hagrid asked Conca. “All fed and rested?”

“I am doing very well,” said Conca. When she finished speaking, the metal cylindrical torso of the Tin Woodman seemed to ring softly, as if harmonizing with her quiet voice. The tin man hastily placed his hands on his body to stop the sound. Conca leaned over and nuzzled against Hagrid, who laughed and reached up to scratch her huge ears.

“Does this mean you’ll be going back home to your… rocks?” said Ron.

“No indeed,” said Conca. “I only stayed in that waste because I was too weak to fly elsewhere. Your kindness has released me from that prison. I will now continue to search for a mate. If you are willing, I would like to continue with you.”

“Of course you can come with us!” said Hagrid immediately. Ron and Luna looked at each other and sighed.

“Unfortunately, the Scarecrow and I have no way of flying,” said the Tin Woodman. “And your broomsticks look too small to carry us comfortably behind you. But one of us might ride on that mechanical cart.”

“It’s a motorcycle,” said Hagrid. “And I’m happy to carry whoever’ll fit.”

“What about Conca’s back?” asked the Scarecrow.

“I am willing to carry one of you,” said Conca.

“I am by far the lighter burden,” said the Scarecrow. “I will ride Conca.”

So he climbed up onto her back, and several of the Winkie servants bound him tightly to her back with ropes so that he wouldn’t blow away, because his flimsy white straw-stuffed gloves weren’t much good for gripping. The Tin Woodman clambered up behind Hagrid, and they all took off.

The Tin Woodman knew exactly how to get to the Emerald City, so he and Hagrid flew in the lead, followed by Ron and Luna, with Conca and the Scarecrow again following behind. They followed a wide river that gently wound its way through the flat countryside, over vast fields of grain, wheat, corn, and bright yellow flowers.

The journey was uneventful, and continued for many hours. Ron often found his mind wandering, thinking about the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. What would it be like to be such a strangely-constructed person? Never having to eat or sleep? He wondered if the Scarecrow remembered being actually constructed, or if he was already put together when he was brought to life. He vaguely remembered the origin story of the Tin Woodman — that he had once been a flesh-and-blood man, but when his axe had been enchanted by the wicked witch, it had chopped off different parts of his body one by one; and he’d replaced each part with a tin fabrication, until at last he was entirely made of tin.

There was no kind of wizard magic that he’d ever heard of that could do something as amazing as that. The magic in this fairy country was much more powerful than anything he’d ever heard of before. He began to desperately hope that Ozma would indeed be on their side. But if magic was completely illegal in Oz, how likely was that to be the case?

Chapter Text

At the Emerald Gates

At last, as the sun began to set behind them, they spotted another gleaming star on the horizon ahead. This one had a definite greenish tinge. It had to be the Emerald City.

He saw that the Tin Woodman, riding up ahead behind Hagrid, was gesturing that they should land. Below them, the farmland had become less expansive and more like a crazy-quilt woven by a master of jigsaw puzzles, with small, irregularly-shaped farms clustered together, bordered by a mix of trees standing by little brooks. The farm houses were still shaped like half-buried balls, but there was now a mix of yellow, orange, forest green, and other earth tones. The great river they had been following was now very wide and slow, with many small boats and rafts plying it. The Tin Woodman was gesturing towards one particularly round orange house.

They landed in a pumpkin patch right by the house. Ron almost fell off his broom in surprise: the house was, in fact, a giant pumpkin, about the size of a one-room home. There were windows carved into it about halfway up, and a nicely made wooden door. In the doorway stood an extraordinary man — by far the most extraordinary man Ron had ever seen, and Ron had not exactly lived a sheltered life.

“Jack Pumpkinhead!” cried the Scarecrow, as the Tin Woodman worked to untie the ropes lashing him to Conca. “It is wonderful to see you! And how is your head today?”

“Quite well, thank you, your Majesty,” said the man. “It is quite fresh and I believe it has a good quantity of seeds, so I am feeling quite alert these days.”

The man was extremely tall and thin, dressed flamboyantly in purple and yellow. His head was a carved pumpkin, with the requisite triangular eyes and broad, jagged, permanent smile. As he approached, Ron could see that his body was made of carved wood, with long, twiggy fingers. As he walked he creaked and clicked with the sound of wood scraping and creaking.

“Thank you so much for visiting, your Majesty!” said Jack, shaking the Scarecrow’s hand. He turned his broad smile on each of them in turn. “And of course I recognize his Excellency, the Emperor of the Winkies. Who are these other new friends? Have I met them before? Sometimes my memory fails me when I have to change heads.”

“Jack calls me ‘your Majesty’ because I was King of Oz when we first met,” explained the Scarecrow. “That was before Ozma’s time. It’s a long story. In any case, Jack, this is Luna and Ron and Hagrid, mortal wizards who have traveled from the other side of the world to see Ozma. And their friend Conca, a Thunderfox.”

Jack bowed extremely low. “It is an honor to welcome such remarkable guests to my home!” he said.

Unfortunately he bowed too far, for his head slid gently off his neck — which was just a sharpened stick — and fell to the ground. Jack immediately stood up, hands waving madly, and began staggering around as if blind. Meanwhile his head, upside down on the ground, cried out, “My head! My head! Someone please help!”

Ron was closest and reacted quickest, and he picked up the pumpkin. Its eyes looked up at him and the mouth moved. “Is my head bruised or damaged? Please put my head back on!” it said, and Ron almost dropped it in shock. But he managed to hold onto it.

“Your head seems fine,” he said. “But you’ll need to stop running around if I’m going to give this back to you…”

The body promptly stopped and stood still, and Ron walked over and carefully stuck the head back on the man’s neck. Jack immediately reached up and adjusted his head slightly.

“Oh, that is a relief,” said Jack. “I am so grateful to you! I apologize for my awkward construction. But none of us can help the way we’re made.”

“How were you made, if I may ask?” said Luna. “I’ve never met anyone so… remarkably put together.”

“Yes, I believe I am unique,” said Jack, clearly proud of this distinction. “I was made by the Princess Ozma. She is my father.”

“Your… father?” asked Ron.

“Yes indeed. She made me when she was a young boy. You see, when she was a baby, she was stolen away by an evil witch and transformed into a boy so that she would be hidden. She was the rightful ruler of Oz, you see, but the Wizard had her hidden away so that he could rule. And while Ozma was a boy, he constructed me in order to scare the witch, as a prank. He fashioned me out of wood, dressed me, carved my first pumpkin head, and used the Powder of Life to bring me to life. After the Wizard left and the evil witch was defeated, he was transformed back into a Princess. But she will always be my father.”

Ron was staggered. He’d never heard of such powerful magic. Changing people’s sex? For years and years? He had never heard of a spell or potion that could do that. There was polyjuice potion, of course, but that changed you into a completely different person, and wore off quickly. And bringing something like Jack to life — again, permanently! — It was astounding. And very worrying. If it did come to a fight with this Ozma, and whatever other witches and wizards she had on her side… it would clearly be hopeless.

“How many heads have you had?” asked Luna.

“One thousand, seven hundred and thirty three,” said Jack. “I was made almost one hundred years ago, and I have to change them every three or four weeks, you see. They spoil. — Which is why I grow my own, in this pumpkin patch. I am never far from my next head.”

Ron looked round the pumpkin patch in horror. He felt as though he were standing in a garden of faceless heads.

“Friend Jack,” said the Scarecrow, “we are nearly at the Emerald City now, but we have been flying all day and our mortal friends are quite hungry, I am sure. Could you provide them with some dinner before we resume our journey?”

Jack was delighted to help out. “I do not eat, of course,” he said, “but I do keep some food on hand for visitors.” He invited them in and offered them pumpkin bread, pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, and pumpkin juice. He also happened to have some apple jam and butter that had been left by a neighbor, and it was excellent on the pumpkin bread. Conca contented herself with sitting in the pumpkin patch, munching away.

“Jack, you are welcome to join us on our mission,” said the Scarecrow.

“It would be wonderful to visit with my father,” said Jack, “but I prefer not to travel much unless it is quite necessary. I am not very… sturdily constructed; and I have found that there are many, many things in the world which tend to spoil pumpkins rather quickly. But I wish you every success.”

“We do not have far to go,” said the Tin Woodman. “No more than another hour. It will be dark when we arrive, so I do not know if Ozma will see us immediately, since she sleeps, like other meat people. But no doubt she will provide accommodation for us for the night, and we will have audience with her in the morning.”

“We are hoping to meet up with our other friends in the Emerald City,” said Luna. “We don’t know if they will be there, but we hope so. It would be great if we located them as soon as possible.”

“Agreed,” said the Scarecrow. “When we arrive at the Emerald City, that will be our first priority.”

It didn’t take long before everyone was refreshed and ready to go again. They resumed their mounts, waved goodbye to the friendly pumpkinhead, and launched into the air.

It was much different, of course, flying over Oz in the dark. The many colors of the landscape were gone, and the ground was largely black, with only a few scattered lights from farmhouses and other buildings. The sky above was more brilliant with stars than Ron thought he’d ever seen before in his life, even at Hogwarts (which, at the best of times, was half covered with clouds and mist). It was somewhat difficult to see Hagrid ahead of them, but the sound of his motorcycle was easy to follow.

One thing that was very easy to see now was the Emerald City itself. It gleamed like a great pile of emeralds, glowing from within with a viridescent sheen, flooded with lights from the streets and buildings, with clusters of towers and turrets reaching near-skyscraper heights. Surrounding all of it was a tall green wall. As they drew closer, he could see that there were just a few large gates in the wall, with huge highways leading up to them.

It would be possible for them to fly right over the wall and into the city, but would that be wise? And wouldn’t it be most likely that Harry and the others would be waiting by the gates (assuming they were here)?

Suddenly he saw a burst of red sparks shooting up from the nearest gate. There was no mistaking it: Periculum, the wizards’ signal flare. The fire went up hundreds of feet, well above the height of their flight, and hovered above the spot. Ron saw Hagrid’s motorcycle turn and head down towards the gate, and he and Luna followed.

Periculum, a completely harmless spell, thought Ron. But someone had cast it right outside Ozma’s gates. Were the others being arrested even now?

But there they were: Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny, standing by the road that led up to gate, huge grins on their faces. It was so good to see them! Ron barely made it off his broom before Hermione had run up to give him a huge hug, and Harry was close behind her. Of course Neville and Ginny also needed to be hugged, and then Ron stood aside as Luna and Hagrid were greeted.

“Took you long enough!” said Harry.

“We ran into some folks,” said Ron. “Including some people you probably recognize…”

“The Scarecrow! And the Tin Woodman!” cried Ginny. She rushed forward as if to embrace them as well, and then, abruptly shy, hung back. Those two eminent personages bowed respectfully, removing their hats. They then shook hands all round.

“And this is Conca,” said Hagrid, gesturing to the silent Thunderfox. “She’s quiet but she’s a dear, once you get to know her.”

“How did you find us?” asked Ron.

“Well, we’ve got the white pearl, haven’t we?” said Hermione. “After we were separated, it said to simply go to the Emerald City and wait for you there.”

“And Ginny is an excellent guide,” said Neville. “She could tell we were in the yellow Winkie country and that we just needed to head east. It was a quiet, uneventful journey.”

“We’ve been waiting about half a day,” said Harry. “The pearl said you’d be here by nightfall.”

“That pearl is extremely handy,” said Ron. He looked up at the great gates, which were tall, surrounded by pillars decorated with sculpted ivy and climbing myrtle, and appeared to be made of some kind of green marble.

“What pearl is that?” asked the Scarecrow.

“The white pearl,” said Hermione. “It was given to us by King Rinkitink. He also gave us a blue and pink pearl. They have magical powers…”

“Yes, I have heard of them,” said the Scarecrow. “That was an extraordinary gift! The King must have thought very highly of you.”

“I think we’re about to need the white pearl again,” said Harry. “We’ve got a decision to make.”

“What’s that?” asked Ron.

“Well, are we just going to knock on the door? Ask politely to see Ozma? Or are we going to try and take her by surprise? Because, from what we’ve seen, if we expect to win in battle against her and her allies, surprise is the only hope we have.”

“You got that right,” said Ron. “Did you see that pumpkin-headed man she made? And she used to be a boy, did you know that?”

“What do you mean, she used to be a boy?” asked Hermione.

“Someone changed her permanently into a boy when she was a baby,” said Ron. “And then, years later, changed her back. She spent her whole childhood as a boy. I mean, what kind of magic can do that?”

“Wicked witch magic,” said Ginny. “That was Mombi, the Wicked Witch of the North. She’s not on Ozma’s side now.”

“What happened to her?”

“Glinda, the Good Witch of the South, made her drink a potion that removed all her magical powers.”

“Removed all her magical powers!” cried Hermione. “You mean made her into a squib! Just like what’s happening to the wizards in our country!”

“Well, yeah,” said Ginny doubtfully. “But Glinda is Good. I mean, it’s right there in her name.”

“Of course Ozma thinks she’s good,” said Harry. “That doesn’t mean she’ll be good to us.”

“And Ozma has outlawed all magic in Oz,” said Ron. “Did you know that?”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” said Ginny. “Yeah, I think she does that in the sixth book? She just had too many problems with wicked witches and wizards.”

“So any spell we cast breaks the law?” demanded Harry.

“Surely it is simple enough to not use magic,” said the Scarecrow. “You would only need it to defend yourself, and you are in no danger here.”

“I just cast a spell to show you where we were,” said Harry. “The flying sparks. Did you see it? Pretty handy, wasn’t it?”

“Nevertheless,” said the Scarecrow, but Ron interrupted him.

“That settles it,” said Ron. “We have to attack now and attack fast, before they take away all our powers.”

“Absolutely not,” declared the Tin Woodman. “Ozma is a good, sweet, and wise princess. And it is my duty, as Emperor of the Winkies, to defend her and her kingdom. If you make an enemy of her, you make an enemy of me.”

“And me!” cried the Scarecrow.

“And what magic do you have?” asked Neville.

“Well, none, to be completely truthful,” said the Tin Woodman. “But my axe is very sharp and quick.”

Neville flicked his wand. The Tin Woodman’s axe flew from his hands and landed harmlessly some distance away in the grass.

“Ah,” said the Tin Woodman, looking embarrassed.

“And you?” said Neville to the Scarecrow.

The Scarecrow looked chagrined. “My brains are widely admired,” he said, “but they are, I admit, not otherwise magical.”

“Hold on, hold on,” said Harry. “Let’s ask the white pearl, ok? I mean, it’s possible Ozma will be completely friendly and want to help us. There’s no reason to attack unless we have to.”

“Right,” said Hermione. “Hold on.”

She dug the pearl out of her bag and lifted it to her ear for a moment.

She frowned. “It says we should submit to Ozma,” she said.

“Submit? Submit?” cried Ron. “What does that mean?”

“If she’s going to ask us to submit, it doesn’t sound very friendly,” said Neville.

“It does not,” said Harry. “But let’s think this through. We can’t just —“

“The hell we can’t,” said Ron. Red rage was rising inside him. “Remember how the house elves betrayed us? Remember how the Wheelers tried to scare us? We’ve got to get them by surprise. We’ve got to show them we’re tough. Enough arguing, Harry!”

“No!” cried Ginny.

But Ron whirled toward the great gates. “Alohomora!” he cried, jabbing his wand at them. A green bolt erupted from his wand and there was a tremendous boom as the gates began to move. Inch by inch they swung out towards the travelers, and they were forced to take several steps back to give them room. Beyond them was a brilliant pastel green light that made it difficult to see, but it appeared that several people were standing there.

Ron’s eyes adjusted after a moment or two, and he could see the people clearly. There was a tall, thin young woman with long red hair, wearing a white dress, and holding a golden wand. Next to her was a shorter young woman, perhaps a girl, with black hair, also wearing a white dress, but bearing a scepter topped with a circle, with a “Z” inside it — a symbol of Oz. On the other side of the tall woman was a short old man in a black suit, wearing a black top hat, and carrying a small bag.

The young girl stepped forward and pointed her scepter at them.

“Mortals,” she said, and her voice was youthful and beautiful, but clearly used to command. “Welcome to the Emerald City. I am Princess Ozma of Oz. I regret to tell you that you must be taken into custody and held until tomorrow, when your fate will be decided. Submit now, or my subjects, Glinda the Good and the Wizard of Oz, will capture you by force.”

“I don’t think so!” cried Ron. “Expelliarmus!”

Ozma’s scepter flew from her hand and clattered on the ground. At once Glinda lifted her arms, flicking her own wand, and Ron found himself hurled backward, falling with such force that he skidded back along the ground for several feet. His wand went flying and was lost somewhere in the dark behind him.

Battle was joined.

Chapter Text

The Magic of Oz

Harry ran to Ron. “Are you ok?” he cried.

“I’m good, I’m good,” said Ron, staggering to his feet. “Don’t worry about me! Watch yourself!”

Harry turned back to the three Ozites, and lifted his wand, shouting “Stupefy!” Neville, Luna, and Ginny joined him, and Harry saw the spells zipping towards Glinda, but she seemed to dismiss them all with an imperious flick of her wand; the spells fizzled out in midair.

“Protego!” cried Hermione, and Harry saw her defensive shield come up between the wizards and their opponents. Hopefully that would give them a little time to figure out what to do…

Then Ron was picked up into the air by some invisible force, dangled there for a moment or so, and dropped. He lay there, motionless. Harry desperately looked to see who had cast the spell: apparently the short little old man. He was still waving his wand in Ron’s direction.

“Expelliarmus!” cried Harry. The little man was not as good at defending himself as Glinda: his wand flew back out of his hands, and his little black bag dropped and rolled away. He desperately ran after them.

Ozma, for her part, had picked up her scepter and was surveying the scene, not attacking yet. Glinda was still easily defending herself from the wizards’ spells. Harry tried to think of some way to get past her defenses. Ron was trying to get back to his feet.

Suddenly the Tin Woodman, appearing out of the darkness behind them, grabbed Neville and tried to pin his arms. “You must stop!” he said. “This is no way to resolve differences! We need to discuss this!”

Neville struggled but could not escape from the tin man’s firm grasp. Luna and Ginny stopped their attacks on Glinda, trying to help, but he was far too strong for them. Harry desperately tried another Expelliarmus on Glinda, hoping she would be too distracted to defend herself, but she seemed to deflect it without a thought, instead concentrating on using her wand to weave some kind of golden thread in the air. What on earth was that?

“Release them,” said Conca, her quiet voice cutting through all the noise of shouting and hissing of magic. With easy strength, she pulled the Tin Woodman off of Neville, and gently but firmly held him to the ground. Harry could see that Conca was holding the feebly struggling Scarecrow with her other claw. Hagrid was whispering in her ear, stroking her fur.

Neville was free. Ron was on his feet. The others were ready. Glinda was still preoccupied by spinning her golden thread, the little man was still crawling around after his wand, and Ozma had her eyes closed, muttering something to herself.

It was the perfect time to attack. Harry raised his wand, and then Glinda turned, and with her hand she seemed to strike the air, down, across, and then up again.

“Stupefy!” cried Harry desperately.

But even if his spell had worked, it came too late. There was a tremendous flash of light, and an eardrum-rattling wail, like a siren or dying animal, that went on and on. For Harry it was loud, but not unpleasantly so; but he could tell that for the others it was horrible. All of them fell to their knees or rolled on the ground, covering their ears and moaning. Conca was particularly affected: she released the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, and twisted and writhed, as if trying to escape the noise. After a few moments she desperately flew up into the night sky to escape.

“Stupefy! Expelliarmus!” Harry cried again, frantically hoping to disrupt her spell. But Glinda only smiled at him.

“Your pink pearl protects you,” she said, and her low, melodious voice somehow reached his ears through the siren’s wail. “But it does not allow you to harm me. And now my magic rope will ensure that you and your friends will not be able to harm anyone with magic again.”

She waved her wand again, and pointed at Ron. The golden thread spun out of the air and descended on him, winding itself around him in a binding coil. Ron struggled feebly, but he was too weak, especially with the siren screaming in his ears.

“No!” screamed Harry. Was that golden thread going to steal their magic? To make them squibs?

He ran forward to try to pull the rope off Ron, but Ozma was too quick for him. “Do not be afraid,” she said. “Your friend will not be harmed,” and with a twitch of her scepter an invisible barrier rose around Harry. It was as if he were encased in a glass jar. He hurled himself at it, trying to break through to help Ron, but he bounced against the barrier and landed on the ground.

Helplessly he watched as Glinda used her wand to direct the golden thread from Ron to Hermione, from Hermione to Neville, and on until they were all bound tightly.

Desperately Harry tried to think of some spell that would free him from his glass-like prison. “Finite!” he cried, but the general counter-spell apparently wasn’t strong enough. He hurled himself against the wall uselessly.

…Wait. Of course!

“Expecto Patronum!” he cried triumphantly.

His silvery-white stag-shaped Patronus exploded from the tip of his wand, and it had no trouble getting through the magical barrier surrounding him. It reared high, front hooves pawing at the air. Ozma, Glinda, and the little old man looked on in amazement, apparently shocked. At Harry’s direction, the stag ran over to where Ron was lying, feebly struggling, on the ground, and leaned down. It appeared to sniff a moment at Ron’s body, and then tilted its head in order to snag Glinda’s golden thread in its antlers. With a mighty yank, it snapped the thread.

Although Ron was still snared in the other coils of the thread, the snap seemed to bring him back to life, and he roared and began yanking and tearing at it. Whether the thread was weakened by the Patronus, or Ron was given greater strength by the blue pearl, or both, Harry didn’t know; but as he watched, Ron tore the thread to shreds and rolled over and was on his feet. He paused just a moment to gather more rope into his hands, and then he charged at Glinda.

Glinda the Good was still standing almost motionlessly, apparently transfixed with surprise. Ron, charging like a rhino, arms out with the thread stretched between them, barreled into her at full speed, wrapping her own thread around her and falling on top of her on the ground. At once the thread stopped glowing, and Harry heard gasps and moans from the other wizards as they were released from Glinda’s magic. The terrible siren noise ended, too, and the silence that followed was so loud that Harry thought his own breath in his ears sounded like a hurricane.

Gathering his wits, Harry tried to rush forward, but he was still trapped by Ozma’s magic. He hammered fruitlessly on the barrier. Meanwhile, though, the other wizards got to their feet, readying their wands.

Now Ron had Glinda firmly pinned. That left only Ozma and… where was the little old man?

There he was. He still had his top hat on, but he was wearing some kind of grotesque face covering with huge glass eyes and a bulge over his mouth and nose. And in his hands he had little balls about the size and shape of oranges, but they were black.

“Protego!” said Hermione. Harry desperately hoped that, whatever the little man had planned, that protection spell would be enough.

The Wizard reared back and pitched one of the little black balls at the ground right near where the wizards were standing. It bounced off Hermione’s shield spell and rolled away into the grass behind them.

Then it exploded with frightful concussive force. It blasted through Hermione’s spell, hurling them all back onto the ground. Even Ozma fell down. The little man himself almost fell, but apparently because he was expecting it, he just staggered back a few steps. So strong was the blast that all the grass was flattened down. Harry still kept his footing, perhaps because of the pink pearl, but his brain felt like it had been rattled in his skull, making him very dizzy.

Desperately Harry tried to cast Stupefy, but he was too late: the little old man had already thrown his other three black balls. One was another concussive blast that shook the earth and knocked Harry to his knees. The other two, landing on the ground between the fallen wizards, began releasing some kind of yellowish smoke. Magical knockout gas? Or worse?

Harry tried to remember the spell for conjuring wind, but his felt like his mind had been shaken to jelly by the concussive blasts. All he could think of was “Stupefy!”, but he was so shaken that, even if he did manage to cast it, the spell must have missed, because it seemed to have no effect at all. Dizzily, he sat on the ground.

The gas continued to pour thickly around him and the others. The wizards closed their eyes. Ron started snoring, lying next to Glinda and Ozma, who were also motionless. Hagrid lasted the longest, desperately trying to stay awake and standing up, but at last he collapsed, asleep.

As Harry watched helplessly, the little old man walked over to the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman, who did not appear to be affected.

“Once again,” said the little old man from behind his mask, “you are immune to the frailties of the flesh, my friends.”

“My excellent brain has deduced that you used a knockout gas,” said the Scarecrow. “Which, of course, would not affect myself and friend Nick, since we do not breathe. But how did you yourself escape?”

“Well deducted,” said the little old man. “I am wearing a gas mask.” He walked over to where Harry was sitting dazed on the ground, and plucked his wand from his hand.

“You appear to still be awake,” said the little old man, sounding tired but kindly. “I’m guessing that you are the one with the pink pearl?”

Harry tried to nod, but this made him dizzy, so he stopped.

“Please come along quietly. I promise you will not be harmed.”

Harry nodded (more gently this time) and allowed the little man to help him to stand.

“Who are you?” he said.

“Me? Why, I am the Wizard of Oz,” said the man.

“Your wizardry appears to be even greater than Glinda’s,” said the Tin Woodman. “I am very thankful indeed to be immune to its effects.”

“I just got lucky, your highness,” said the Wizard. “These young wizards are very powerful and clever. I hope that when we discuss matters in the morning, we can reach an agreement on what should be done. But in the meantime, can I ask for your help in carrying the prisoners to the house of the jailor? And Ozma and Glinda to the palace? They will wake in an hour or so. And friend Scarecrow, please help guide this young man to the jail as well.”

The Scarecrow reached out with soft, straw-filled fingers, and Harry, still barely able to stand, allowed himself to be gently led up into the pale green light of the city.

Chapter Text

The Water of Truth

Harry woke up feeling remarkably refreshed. He was in a wonderfully soft bed with sheets that smelled vaguely of lavender and rosemary, and the window next to him was open, letting in scents from a fresh-cut lawn and the humming of bees. His room was small and decorated simply, but pleasantly, with bright curtains and floral wallpaper.

He lay there a moment before getting up, gathering his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was being led through the city by the Scarecrow, with the Tin Woodman and the Wizard of Oz and other citizens of the Emerald City — mostly rather short individuals, with simple outfits colored various shades of green — carrying the other wizards and Hagrid on stretchers. It had been less than a mile from the great gates to the jailor’s house. The jailor was a rather worried-looking young woman with a kindly face. She took Harry’s hand, sat him down by a fire, and asked him if he would like some tea or biscuits.

“This doesn’t look much like a jail,” he’d said. The room was decorated simply, but felt wholesome and comfortable. The couch she led him to was deep and soft.

“It’s the only jail in Oz,” said the jailor, smiling. “And the only one I’ve ever seen. Although I’ve been told that jails in other countries are not… as nice.” She brought him some tea, and then helped make sure the other wizards were carried to different rooms to sleep off the effects of the Wizard’s gas.

“They may have headaches when they wake up,” said the Wizard to the jailor, as he took his leave. “Please make sure they get plenty of fluids and a hearty breakfast. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” He then turned to Harry. “It’s a great honor to make your acquaintance,” he said. “The Scarecrow has informed me that you are Harry Potter. I have of course heard of your exploits, but only in the Muggle publications. I am sure they do not do justice to the truth.”

Harry had heard about some of the story of the Wizarding War being published in the Muggle world as “fiction”, but hadn’t read any of it.

“I’ve heard of you, too,” said Harry. “I mean, everyone has. But I thought you really were fiction.”

The little Wizard laughed pleasantly. “I sometimes think so myself,” he said. “My life is so improbable, so full of amazing things, it’s hard to believe it actually happened to me. How could a simple circus man from Nebraska end up a wizard in a fairy country? Yet here I am.” His eyes twinkled. “Well, I should let you rest. Please speak to Tollydiggle — that’s the jailor here — if you need anything. It’s her job to make sure you’re comfortable. I will see you tomorrow.”

Tollydiggle sent him to bed shortly afterward, and he slept soundly until morning.

What was in store for them today? It was clear that defeating Ozma and her subjects in battle would be very difficult, if not impossible. But it was also clear that Ozma didn’t intend to hurt them — at least, not yet. And the white pearl had very clearly said to submit to her.

It occurred to him that if it was Ozma’s plan to steal all their magic, she’d had the opportunity to do so overnight. Had she done so? Had Harry and all his friends been struck squib?

He got out of bed, and saw that his robes had been washed and pressed and laid out on the side table. Next to them was his wand and other traveling supplies.

He picked up his wand. “Lumos,” he said. The soft glow at the wand’s tip was immensely reassuring.

He got dressed, gathered up his things, and wandered out of his room. He heard voices down the hall — Ron’s voice, laughing, and asking for someone to pass the maple syrup. He suddenly felt very hungry indeed.

Tollydiggle had made them all pancakes, eggs, bacon, and trifle, with juice and tea and very fine coffee. It was an extraordinary amount of food for one woman to make, but necessary, for Hagrid was shoveling pancakes down two at a time. Luna and Neville had already finished and were helping with the washing up, while Ron, Hermione and Ginny compared notes from their journeys across the Winkie country.

Harry sat down gratefully to eat. Everyone seemed healthy and happy, and all agreed that it seemed they were safe for now, but they should be on their guard; it was still impossible to know what Ozma’s intentions were. Tollydiggle assured them that Ozma would never hurt any of them under any circumstances, and she was sure that it was all some kind of misunderstanding, and everything would be cleared up when the Soldier with the Green Whiskers arrived to lead them to the palace at ten o’clock. But she had no more information than that.

“Where’s Conca?” Harry asked Hagrid.

“Tollydiggle says she was brought to the palace stables last night,” said Hagrid. “She says she’ll be well cared for, and that she’ll be meeting us at the palace this morning. If they mistreat her…”

He let the sentence trail off, and his expression looked quite fierce, despite the pancakes and cream in his beard.

When ten o’clock arrived, there was a knock at the door, and Tollydiggle opened it to an extremely tall, thin man wearing a green soldier’s uniform, and sporting an extremely tall, thin green beard that reached nearly to his knees. He had a very tall, thin rifle as well, although it looked remarkably old, rusty, and disused.

“Princess Ozma has asked that I escort you to her audience chamber,” said the Soldier with the Green Whiskers.

Harry and the others were ready, so they tramped out. The city was, Harry had to admit, beautiful. The houses were well-spaced, with green gardens and tall trees everywhere, and the streets were well laid-out and appeared in places to be cobbled with great emeralds. There were also jewels along the edges of doorways and windows, up and down sidewalks, and embedded in the clothes and hair of all the citizens, even the children. Harry wondered if all those jewels were real, or if they were just colored glass.

Then the road they were following curved and went up a low rise, and Harry saw the Royal Palace of Oz. Surrounded by gardens and orchards, the palace was constructed of marble, jade, and mirrored glass, and was about four stories high. They passed through the gardens, which were full of ivy and vines and every kind of flower, and into the palace itself, which was opulent beyond anything Harry had ever imagined. Some walls were hung with mirrors; others had luxurious curtains and draperies, oil paintings, or bookshelves. In nooks and niches and along the walls were golden clocks, small statues, jeweled eggs, porcelain figurines, small scented fountains, and thousands of emeralds. Great glittering chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and the floors were covered with a green carpet so thick and soft it felt like walking on clouds.

The Soldier with the Green Whiskers led them down a long carpeted hallway and into a wide open chamber. It was so rich and beautifully decorated, and conveyed such a sense of power and magnificence, Harry had to assume it was the throne room. The ceiling was high and arched, and emeralds set in the walls. At the top of the ceiling was a great white light. At the end of the room was a pedestal of green marble, and on top of the pedestal was a lush, high-backed throne. On the throne sat Ozma of Oz, looking the same as she had the previous evening, holding again her scepter. Her expression was serious, but not angry or aggrieved. Next to her on either side stood the Wizard of Oz and Glinda the Good. Next to her throne, one or two steps down the pedestal, was another throne, this one much simpler but still beautiful, and another young girl sat on it; but she had short blond hair and a much more severe expression. At the base of the pedestal were two great beasts: a massive tiger and even larger lion. Both of these animals appeared at ease, and watched the wizards calmly but carefully.

Next to the lion stood the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman. They said nothing, but nodded to the wizards as they were led in. Their expressions, being made of tin and painted sackcloth, were difficult to read.

Sitting on the steps near the blond-headed girl were two others they recognized: Kreacher and Coddie. They looked extremely uncomfortable, and mainly looked at their feet, only occasionally glancing nervously up at the wizards.

Conca had already arrived. She sitting near the base of the pedestal, and licking herself rather like a cat. She also nodded at them as they came in, and then returned to her grooming, seeming quite unconcerned.

“If your highness pleases,” said the Soldier with the Green Whiskers, “here are the prisoners.”

Ozma stood up and smiled. “Allow me to welcome you to Oz again,” she said. “I am sorry for the inconvenience and troubles of yesterday evening. I had hoped to welcome you as guests, but I was advised that you might be dangerous, and I thought it wise to keep you under close observation until morning, when we could talk comfortably. I trust you have slept and eaten well?”

“We have, your highness,” said Harry.

“Then, as you are visitors here,” she said, “I would ask you to state your purpose in coming to Oz.”

“But we already know, Ozma,” said the blond-headed girl. “Kreacher and Coddie told us. And we’ve been watching them in the Magic Picture. They’re here because so many of them are losing their magic.”

“Of course, Dorothy,” said Ozma, smiling. “But I would like to hear it in their own words.”

Dorothy? Was that little blond girl the Dorothy? Wouldn’t she be over a hundred years old by now?…

The wizards glanced at each other. Hermione looked at Harry and shrugged.

“All right, I’ll tell it,” said Harry. He wasn’t sure how much back story and context he should give, but he knew that Ozma probably already knew the main facts; so he tried to concentrate on how little the wizards knew about what was going on, and why they’d made the choices they’d made. Ozma might know the facts of what happened, but it was unlikely that Kreacher or Coddie could give clear explanations of why they’d done what they’d done. He tried to emphasize how horrible it was when wizards lost their magic — such as the case of Dr Leach of St. Mungo’s — and how Harry and the others were just trying to figure out what was going on, and if there was any way to stop it.

Ozma listened carefully, and when Harry had finished, she nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure you’re thirsty after that long story.” She clapped her hands, and the green-haired maid appeared with a platter of fruit and juices. Harry drank some coconut juice gratefully. He felt he’d done the best he could, but Ozma’s face was difficult to read. He couldn’t tell if she were sympathetic or not.

“Now it is my turn to tell a tale,” said Ozma. “It is not my tale, but the tale of my ancestor, Lurline, the mighty Fairy Queen. Thousands of years ago, the Fairy Queen came to Oz and enchanted it and all the other realms on this continent, filling it with fairy magic; and she left one of her servants — also named Ozma — here to rule over it. I am descended from her: for all of Oz’s history, its kings and queens have been named Oz or Ozma. But Lurline is the Queen of all the fairies in the world, and always will be. It is to she that your friends, Kreacher and Coddie, owe their allegiance. And I owe my allegiance to her also.”

“So, wait,” said Hermione. “I thought you were the fairy queen. The fairy queen who was stealing the magic from the wizards.”

“No,” said Ozma. “I am her servant, and I sometimes pass her orders on to others, but Lurline is the Fairy Queen. And she is not taking your magic either.”

“But I thought Ungitink said that she was?” said Hermione.

“If not her, then who?” asked Harry.

“And how can we be sure you’re telling the truth?” demanded Ron.

Ozma nodded. “That is a very fair question. Let us be sure that we are being truthful with one another. First: Conca.” She turned to the Thunderfox. Conca calmly looked up from her grooming.

“Is it true that you can hear falsehood?” asked Ozma.

“It is true,” rumbled Conca. “Lies are hollow and syrupy. Truth is a clear bell.”

“Have I told a lie yet today?”

“You have not, your highness,” said Conca.

“How reliable is she, Ron?” asked Harry.

“Oh, she can tell, all right,” said Ron. “She caught me out bluffing when we first met.”

“But what if Conca is lying?” whispered Harry to Ron.

Ron shook his head. “Why should she? She herself said that we saved her from that desert waste.”

“All the same, I wish we had some Veritaserum,” muttered Harry.

“We have something better than Veritaserum,” said Ozma. “Glinda, did you create the Water of Truth as I asked?”

“I did, your highness,” said Glinda. The sorceress made a sign with her fingers, and another attendant appeared, this one a young woman dressed in a smart red uniform. She was carrying a platter with small glasses and one large pitcher. The green-haired servant put a small table in front of the wizards, and the uniformed woman put the platter on the table.

“The Water of Truth,” said Glinda, “is a diluted form of the water from the Truth Pond, which is a magical pond in the far west of the Winkie Country. Whoever drinks from that pond is forever afterwards compelled to tell the truth; and any enchantments or illusions cast upon them are dispelled. This diluted form I have created compels the drinker to tell the truth for one day.”

“I suggest we all drink from this water,” said Ozma. “Then we can all be sure that our negotiations are in earnest, and we know that we can trust one another.”

Harry looked at the others. He saw a lot of uncertainty, doubt, and confusion. He felt a lot of that himself.

“How do we know the Water of Truth will work?” asked Hermione.

“How do we know it isn’t poison?” demanded Ron.

“Conca, have I told a lie?” asked Ozma.

“You have not, your highness,” said Conca. “Neither has Glinda.”

“And I will drink first of the water,” said Ozma. She got up from the throne and stepped lightly down the stairs, her gown billowing gently around her as if she were walking through water. At the table, she poured herself a small glass of water and gravely drank it.

She waited a moment or two, smiling slightly, and said, “There we are. I am noticing no ill effects.”

“Your highness,” said Hermione, “may I cast a spell to detect what enchantments may be on this water?”

“Of course,” said Ozma.

Hermione muttered “Specialis revelio” under her breath and waved her wand. The water glowed a very bright, pale blue.

“Well, it’s magical,” said Hermione. “And powerful. But shouldn’t be too harmful.”

“May as well try it,” said Harry. He stepped forward, poured himself a glass, and tipped the liquid into his mouth.

It was clear and cool, and tasted just like wholesome, fresh water. He swallowed. He looked around and blinked. He felt… slightly more awake, perhaps, but otherwise the same.

“Try to tell a lie,” said Hermione.

“Um,” said Harry. He tried to think of an obvious lie. “We are in England,” he tried to say, but he got as far as “we are…” before he felt choked up. It was just too ridiculous. His mind would barely even go there.

“I don’t think I can,” said Harry.

“Really?” said Ron. “Who’s cuter, then — Hermione or Luna?”

Harry glanced at Ginny, who raised her eyebrows. Harry grinned. “I don’t have to answer you,” said Harry. “I just can’t lie.”

“This is true,” said Glinda. “The potion greatly increases the desire to be truthful and forthcoming, but the drinker can refuse to answer questions.”

“What about lies of omission?” said Hermione. “Or misleading answers? If you asked me, for example, which of my friends was the tallest, I might truthfully say, ‘Ron is of above average height’, and you might assume that the answer must be Ron. But Hagrid is actually the tallest.”

Glinda shook her head. “The potion will not permit you to mislead. It will allow you to be silent, or tell the full truth. That is all.”

“That feels right,” said Harry.

“Very well,” said Ozma. “Anyone who wishes may drink of the Water of Truth. And then we will all know that we are speaking in good faith. And Conca, as an additional safeguard, I ask you to listen carefully, and alert us immediately if you hear any falsehood.”

Conca agreed. The Wizard, Dorothy, and Glinda all drank, and so did all the wizards.

 When they had finished, Ozma said, “Now that I have drunk the Water of Truth, I repeat what I said earlier: Lurline, the Fairy Queen, is not taking your magic.”

“Then who is?” demanded Hermione. “The house elves said it was the Fairy Queen. That’s why they were trying to destroy the Time Turners.”

Ozma nodded. “I will continue with my story, and you will understand. — After Lurline founded the Land of Oz and set my ancestor to rule here, she traveled all over the world. And one day, over a thousand years ago, she was in a deep, dark forest, taking a rest. She thought she was safe and alone, attended only by two or three of her closest servants, as she rested. But in fact she had been observed by two mortal human men. These two brothers, who were named Arnust and Audo Kopfbergan, were smiths, ironworkers; and as you know, iron has a particular power over fairies. They somehow — I do not know how — lured the Fairy Queen into a ring of iron, and there they imprisoned her.”

“Why?” asked Hermione.

Ozma sighed. “I do not know,” she said. “Perhaps just for amusement. Perhaps they wished to hurt her. Do not mortal human men do many evil things? For money, for power? For amusement? Or just to show that they can? — In any case, once they had captured her, they took her crown and hid it away. And they forced her to do their bidding. She granted them eternal life. She gave them great magical power. And she gave those same gifts to their descendants.”

“I’ve never heard of these men,” said Hermione. “I would think a story like this, if it were true, would figure pretty prominently in the history books.”

“I’ve heard of them,” whispered Luna. “In a… a story my father said he heard from a traveler from Germany. From the Black Forest. It was so horrible, and so unbelievable, that my father refused to put it in his magazine.”

Chapter Text

The First Wizards

     The man — a simple woodcutter named Noah — met Luna’s father, Xenophilius, at a library in Calais, France, where Xenophilius was researching the secret society known as the Illuminati (near the beginning of a long trail of evidence that would lead him eventually to the Deathly Hallows). The Illuminati were said to have deep knowledge of alchemy and the mystic rites of Greek and Hebraic magicians, and to have passed down the knowledge of the greatest Egyptian wizard, Hermes Trismegistus. Xenophilius was, frankly, skeptical; most of the writings he found were written by muggles who clearly had no idea what they were talking about. He was just closing a particularly ridiculous tome about something called a “chemical wedding”, which supposedly could turn lead into gold, when he was approached by an old, haggard-looking man.

“Researching the chemical wedding, eh?” said the old man in heavily-accented French. “It’s ordures, that is. Rubbish.”

“Indeed?” asked Xenophilius. “And how do you know this?”

“Met him,” said the old man. “The writer. Met him in Strasbourg. Years ago. He told me, said he wrote it. Said it was rubbish.”

“You met the writer?” said Xenophilius.

“Oui.”

“This book was written in 1616,” Xenophilius pointed out. “It’s over three hundred years old. And the events in the book are supposed to have happened in 1459.”

“Oui,” said the old man. “He was an old man, right enough. Looked young, though. Younger than me. Younger than you. But he was vieux, old, old. Showed me, he did.”

“What do you mean?”

The old man looked at him narrowly. “What are you researching for?”

“I’m a journalist,” said Xenophilius. “I seek the truth. And then I publish it.”

“I’ll tell you this,” said the old man. “It’s all true, every word. And it’s a histoire incroyable, a ripping yarn. On the condition that you publish it. Do you vow you’ll publish it?”

Xenophilius made the promise. It was a promise he broke.

The old man, Noah Haussen, had been a woodcutter in the Black Forest of Germany, living alone in a small cottage for many years, making what money he could by selling wood and other things he gathered from the forest. The Black Forest is a large area, with many small villages and roads running through it; but the area where he lived was deep in the south, in the highest mountains, near the border of Switzerland, where few people ever went. He would go days without seeing another man, having only the birds, the squirrels, and the ruins of abandoned cottages and castles for company.

One day, going particularly high into the hills in search of rare herbs, he heard high-pitched voices up ahead among the trees. He was an accomplished hunter, and was able to creep softly and quickly up on the creatures who were speaking. They were elves — house elves — arguing in an unknown language. He had never seen such things before, and he stumbled backward in surprise, making a loud noise.

At once the house elves were upon him, and had captured him and bound him tightly with ropes. One of them took out a knife and was about to kill him, and Noah was certain his life was to end right there and then, when he heard a voice — a much louder, deeper voice call out. The elves immediately stopped, and striding from the trees came a wizard.

Noah had never seen such a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with long brown hair, and a well-trimmed beard. He looked perhaps thirty years old, and he moved and spoke with careless ease and mastery. He carried a broadsword and wore beautiful chain mail that gently swung and chimed as he walked, as if he were draped silver fabric. Across his chest was a sash decorated with red and gold spirals. Noah assumed he must be a local lord or king, dressed up for a historical play. He barked commands at the elves, still in the same language that Noah did not understand. The elves picked up Noah, put him on their backs, and carried him away deeper into the forest.

For the next year, Noah Haussen lived in the fairy castle in the forest. At first he was mostly just held captive in the castle, although the lord of the castle would sometimes bring him out to have dinner with him. The lord would always dine with beautiful young women, and they would speak to Noah in their language, which Noah did not understand at all. After a month, however, at one of their dinners, the man gave him a potion that allowed him to understand his language.

“There,” said the man, when the potion had taken effect. “Now you can speak a civilized tongue. You must have many questions for me.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Noah, his voice creaking from a month of disuse.

“Well, ask away then,” said the man, lounging back in his chair and gesturing for a young woman to serve him wine.

“Who are you?” asked Noah. “And why have you taken me here?”

“I am Lord Heliand of Kopfbergan,” said the man. “These lands are mine, and this castle. I am a sorcerer. And you are here because I wish to experiment upon you.”

“I… I don’t understand,” said Noah.

Lord Heliand shrugged. “What is there to understand? I know a great deal of magic, but I wish to know more. You see, I am over one thousand years old. I have read every magical text; I have spoken to every magical being. All the wisdom of the ages is here in my mind. But there are some things that have not been tried, and I wish to try them. For example, what happens if Colloportus, which is usually used to lock doors, is used on a man’s mouth? How many times may Confundo be used upon a man before he goes mad? What are the physical limits of Engorgio? What happens if Levicorpus and Descendio are both cast upon one man — will he move up or down? Both at once? Will he be split apart? Where, exactly?… Can Obliviate be used to remove all memories of a man, even including his memory of his childhood, his native tongue? His very name?… Can a man be made into a Portkey? How many Horcruxes may a man have?”

“I do not understand these words,” said Noah, his voice shaking with fear.

“Indeed,” said Lord Heliand. He chuckled, and there was a hint of madness in his laughter. “But you shall.”

Then the wizard gave him wine, and they drank, and Lord Heliand appeared to relax and chat easily with him. Lord Heliand of Kopfbergan, Noah learned, was indeed terribly ancient, and terribly powerful. He had been born during the reign of Charlemagne in the 800’s AD, and had been lord of the castle ever since his father died, three hundred years after that. He had been married over twenty times, he said, to mortal women; they had all died of disease or old age, while he remained healthy and deathless. It had been centuries since he had taken a wife, but he continued to sometimes seduce young women, to have one, two, or three nights of passion, and then release them and never speak to them again. He had no idea how many children he had — thousands, he suspected.

His father, Hrodulf, was also a magical researcher, he said, and had died in a magical accident. He had the unfortunate habit of experimenting on himself. And Hrodulf’s father was Arnust, who had been born a simple ironworker here in the Black Forest.

“Arnust, my grandfather,” said Lord Heliand, “was one of the first two human wizards. The story of how he and his brother Audo became wizards is quite entertaining. Would you like to hear it?”

Of course Noah could not refuse. Lord Heliand said that the two brothers Arnust and Audo had been walking in the Black Forest, gathering wood for their forge, when they discovered a beautiful fairy queen bathing in a pool, with only two of her servants nearby. Thinking quickly, they recalled stories that said that fairies could be controlled with iron. They had recently forged an extremely long and strong iron chain, and had been using it to drag their wood. Together they crept around the pool, laying the iron chain in a circle around the fairies. And the fairies were indeed trapped within.

The Queen begged to be let go. The brothers refused. They did agree to let her servants go, in exchange for a terrible price. The brothers would be granted eternal life. And the brothers would be given magical powers — they would become what are now known as wizards. All of the Queen’s servants and subjects would obey the wizards forever. And all their descendants would have these same powers and privileges. The Queen would never be let go; she would always be a prisoner, and she and all her subjects would always be their slaves. And to symbolize this servitude, the Queen would surrender her crown to them.

What choice did the Queen have? She agreed. They took her crown and hid it away where it could never be found. The fairies and elves were forced to obey the human wizards, and serve them. And even now, the Queen remains enslaved. The Lord laughed, as if this were the funniest thing in the world.

“Did Arnust and Audo gain eternal life, then?” asked Noah. “Are they still alive?"

The Lord shook his head. “Arnust died when he was only in his thirties,” he said wistfully. “Killed when his horse threw him. A freak accident. And Audo lived for hundreds of years, but was finally killed when he was poisoned by my uncle, Ricohard.”

“So the Queen’s promise was broken,” said Noah. “Neither of them lived forever.”

Lord Heliand shrugged. “They were not careful with their long lives, and lost them. I have been careful.”

“And where is the Queen now?” asked Noah.

“She remains a prisoner,” said the Lord. He began to seem bored by the conversation. “I am her Keeper, along with my cousins Lossa and Blafroua. We are the eldest wizards.”

“And are all your descendants wizards? And immortals?”

“We are all wizards,” said Lord Heliand. “But we are not immortal. The Queen’s power, it appears, is not infinite. I and my closest relatives are immortal. My children… they are long-lived, but they do not live forever. I have had thousands of children. Most of them have lived hundreds of years. The same goes for my tens of thousands of grandchildren, and hundreds of thousands of great-grandchildren. There are now millions of wizards in the world, and they are all descended from myself and my cousins. Most of them only live a hundred years or so, I believe. And I suspect their magic is growing weaker. But that is of little concern to me.”

“Why have I not heard of these wizards?” asked Noah.

“We used to live openly,” he said. “But a statute of secrecy was adopted recently — a couple of hundred years ago. In any case, we have always worked to confuse and obfuscate our powers. For example, here is one of my favorite projects.” He gestured to one of the house elves. “You! Bring me the Chemical Wedding.”

It was the chemical wedding — “The Chemical Wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz”. The Lord showed him page after page of mystical rites. “I wrote this almost four hundred years ago,” he said. “I’m immensely proud of it. Any non-magical person reading this will think it is a carefully encoded description of how to alchemically create gold from lead. But any true wizard will know it is nonsense. It is through manuscripts like this that we keep the non-magical people confused, and keeps us secret. — And now I grow bored, and am ready for bed. Tomorrow we will begin the experiments.”

And they did. For the next three seasons, Noah was Lord Heliand’s test subject. Every day, Noah would be brought from his cell by the Lord’s elven servants and given a hearty breakfast. And then the Lord would experiment on him. He was shrunk to tiny size and fed to a frog. He was turned into a spider, crushed, and revived to life again. He was transported to distant lands in an instant, and brought back. His legs were turned back to front. His tongue was made so long and prehensile, he could no longer fit it in his mouth. His body was twisted, turned, ripped, or combined grotesquely with other beings. His made stupid; he was made a genius. He was struck dumb; he was made to speak every thought he had, as soon as it entered his mind. He was made into a child; he was made into an old man. He was turned to liquid, mixed into a potion, and fed to the Lord’s elven slaves. He was controlled by magic, unable to rule his own actions or thoughts, and forced to do horrific things. And many more terrible things were done to him, things he would not tell Xenophilius. And in the evening he would be returned to his normal form, given dinner with the Lord and his guests, and sent to his cell to sleep until the morrow.

Finally, one morning, he woke back in his humble cottage in the woods. There was no trace of Lord Heiland or his elves, but he knew that the experience had not been a dream, for his cottage had been unattended for a year, and the roof had half-collapsed, everything was damp and moldy, and all his stores of food and supplies had rotted. He immediately packed up what few things he could carry and left that place. He knew that if he remained anywhere in the Black Forest, the Lord or his cousins might come for him again.

He traveled north to Stuttgart, and took a job on a river boat, and worked up and down the Rhine for a few years, trying to forget what had happened to him. But there would be no peace again for him in this life. Every night he dreamed he returned to that terrible castle, and dined with the Lord. And some grotesque transformation was visited on him.

But more than that: some side effect of the wizard’s experiments had left him able to see magical people and objects; and everywhere he went, it seemed, he saw the Lord’s millions of descendants. Almost every day, as he traveled up and down the Rhine visiting the great cities of western Germany, he saw at least one wizard. He engaged some in conversation, and learned in this way that the wizards had no idea that they were all descended from one mad family, or that their magical power came from the imprisoned Queen of the Fairies. They just thought they were some kind of superior sub-species of humanity, that they had always been this way, and that the house elves obeyed them because they just liked to work.

“Write it,” Noah said to Xenophilius. “Write it, and publish it, so that all of your foul people will know the truth of it.”

“You are saying that all wizards are descended from this… this Lord Heliand and his family?” said Xenophilius. He struggled to wrap his mind around it.

“Why else is magic héréditaire?” asked Noah.

“And that our magic actually comes from this… captive Fairy Queen?”

“It is not your magic. It is hers. And this is why the house elves serve you. They do not serve you. They serve their Queen. And she tells them to serve you.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Xenophilius.

“It is true, I tell you.”

“Do you have any evidence? Any proof?”

The haggard old man stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“How can I publish this ridiculous story?” demanded Xenophilius.

“You must publish!” demanded Noah. “You must! You promised!”

Xenophilius stood up. “I did promise,” he said, feeling himself grow flushed with anger. “But I have a higher loyalty. I cannot defraud my readers. I cannot betray their trust. When I promised, sir, I thought I was speaking to a man who was telling me the truth. It is no crime to break a promise to a liar.”

Xenophilius turned and walked out of the library. He heard the old man screaming after him, “Parjure! Parjure!”

Chapter Text

Ozma's Plea

“But that can’t be true, can it?” asked Ron. “I mean, we would know, wouldn’t we?… I mean…”

“I just can’t believe it,” said Neville.

Luna shook her head. “I don’t know anymore,” she said. “My father didn’t believe it. But it did make him wonder. It would explain why magic is passed down from parents to children. It would explain why wizards live so much longer than Muggles. And it would explain so much about house elves…”

Hermione looked thunderstruck, unable to speak.

“House elves,” said Ozma softly, “are, of all the fairy races, the most closely related to our Queen, and the most devoted to her. They love her like a child loves her mother. They serve human wizards because she asked them to. They serve you for her sake.”

“You’re saying that when a house elf serves a wizard, it’s not really because of the wizard,” said Neville. “It’s because of their loyalty to the Queen.”

“So when Dobby…” whispered Harry. “When he was freed… and the other elves were disgusted with him… it was because they thought he was betraying the Queen.”

“I need to sit down,” said Hermione. She cast around for a seat, and didn’t see one. Dorothy jumped up, picked up her own chair, and carried it down the steps to her.

“Thanks,” said Hermione. She looked dazed and stricken.

“This is true, Kreacher?” said Harry. “This is all true?”

Kreacher and Coddie had been standing up near Ozma’s throne, trying to hide behind each other throughout the conversation. At Harry’s question, Kreacher swallowed nervously and nodded sadly.

“House elves love our Queen,” said Kreacher. “Kreacher loves her. Coddie loves her. She asks us to serve the wizards, and we do.” Kreacher wiped his huge nose with a handkerchief. “But Kreacher loves Harry Potter as well, master,” he said. “Kreacher is proud to serve Harry Potter and is glad to do it, even if the Queen didn’t ask.”

“Coddie too,” said Coddie, nodding furiously.

“House elves are good and loyal friends,” said Ozma, smiling at them.

Hermione put her head in her hands. “So all the time I was trying to free the house elves… Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“The Queen is secret,” said Kreacher.

“Of course the first wizards, the brothers Audo and Arnust, wanted to keep the Queen secret,” said Ozma. “They were holding her captive, after all. So the house elves were forbidden to speak of her.”

“But others must have known,” said Neville. “The centaurs. The goblins. The other magical creatures. They must have known that the Queen of the Fairies had been taken captive by… by a couple of outlaws! Why didn’t they do anything to try and free her?”

“They did,” said Ozma sadly. “Perhaps you know that there have been many wars between the goblins and the wizards over the centuries. The centaurs, of course, are peaceful creatures and will not willingly go to war. Even today, the relationship between wizards and other magical creatures is very strained. But no attempt to free the Queen could ever succeed, because we lack two essential pieces of information, without which any attack would be useless. First, we do not know where she is; and second, we do not know where her crown is.”

“Her crown?” asked Harry.

“The crown is the symbol of the Queen’s sovereignty; but more than that, it is part of her very self,” said Ozma. “It is called the Crown of Life, and it is one of her primary links to the earth. Without it, she is not fully herself. She is still herself, but… less so. It is difficult to explain. She feels tired, scattered, ungrounded.”

“Like if I haven’t slept well, and haven’t had my morning tea,” said Luna.

“Perhaps,” said Ozma, smiling. “But this is why house elves do not wear clothing, and refuse gifts of it. How can they accept clothing when their own Queen is deprived of her very crown? It would be shameful. Accepting clothing would mean that their Queen’s disgrace and slavery means nothing to them.”

Harry thought of Dobby. How the other elves must have distrusted him! Dobby’s loyalty to Harry was even greater than Harry’d realized. He felt sick to his stomach.

Ron went over to Hermione, knelt down, and put his arm around her. She was sobbing silently into her hands.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, his voice breaking. “I had no idea.”

Ozma nodded. “How could you know?” she said. “The Queen herself has ordered all to keep her secret.”

“Why is it that you can tell us, then?” asked Neville. “Don’t you owe her your allegiance also?”

Ozma shook her head. “I do not know,” she admitted. “For some reason, I am not bound by that command. But I am the only fairy here who could tell you the story. Glinda, for example, although she is much more powerful than I am, could not.” And Glinda bowed, acknowledging this.

“And the Queen is still imprisoned?” said Luna. “These wizards are still stealing her power?”

“Of course,” said Ozma. “Otherwise you yourself would be unable to do magic.”

“So all of us — all of us? — We’re all descended from these brothers? How can that be?”

“As Luna said,” said Ozma. “They were very long-lived, and had many descendants. The brothers themselves and their sons and daughters are dead — killed, or died in accidents, I think — but their grandchildren are still alive, one thousand years later.”

“If you do the math,” said the Wizard, “it checks out. Suppose two brothers had four children, and eight grandchildren, and so on, with a generation every twenty five years, starting in 800 AD, for a thousand years. If the population doubled every generation, then by the time William the Conqueror invaded England in 1066, there were over two thousand wizards. By the time Christopher Columbus arrived in the New World in 1492, there could have been over five hundred million… Now, that is at least four times as much as the actual population of Europe at the time. Clearly many of them died of disease, or magical maladies, or were killed by dragons or giants, or were caught and burned as witches, or simply didn’t have children… and so on. But yes, all modern human wizards are descended from those two brothers. And the Fairy Queen provides us all with magical power.”

Us? thought Harry. Does that mean that the Wizard of Oz himself was… a wizard? Of course he was. How could he do magic otherwise?

“But that can’t be right,” said Ron. “I mean, what about squibs? And Muggle-borns?”

“The Queen tries to ensure that all descendants of the two brothers have magical power,” said Ozma. “But she does not always succeed. Some humans are so… human that she simply cannot give magic to them. In that case, she tries to give it to their children. It may take generations for magic to reappear in the family. The ones you call squibs are the ones she tries to give magic to, but fails. The ones you call Muggle-borns are also descendants of wizards, but it may have been generations ago. But she does try to give all the children of the two brothers the magic that she promised.”

“Wow,” said Ron. “That’s… she must be very powerful.”

“Nevertheless, she is failing,” said Ozma. “And here we come to the heart of the matter.”

“Failing?” asked Ron. “What does that mean?”

“You must understand,” said Ozma. “The Queen is under tremendous stress at all times. She is held captive in a ring of iron, locked away from her children and her subjects and the forests that refresh and renew her. She is slowly growing weaker. And on top of that, the population of wizards keeps growing. However much she tries, she simply cannot provide magic to all the wizards. This is why you are losing your magic. Not because she is stealing it; but because she cannot give it to you any longer.”

Harry could barely process the shock. It had been stunning enough when he was eleven, and found out that magic was real, and that he was a wizard. He simply couldn’t wrap his head around it all being taken away again. Go back to being a Muggle? He couldn’t conceive of it.

“Wait,” said Ron. “Are you saying all the wizards are going to lose their magic?”

“That is up to you,” said Ozma, very solemnly. “The Queen will keep providing as many of you with magic as she can, as long as she is held captive. She agreed to do so and she keeps her promises. But she will grow weaker. More and more wizards will lose their magic. Sooner or later, if the pain and stress she is under do not abate, she may… disappear.”

“Disappear?”

“I do not say ‘die’,” said Ozma. “Fairies do not die. But she may fade away, and disperse back to the earth, as a spring rain seeps into the forest soil. If that happens, all wizards will lose their magic permanently.”

Ozma paused and sighed. “But also, my friends, you must ask yourselves: is this how you wish things to be? Do you wish the Fairy Queen to be imprisoned against her will? Do you wish to keep this magic, now that you know the terrible cost? The pain that the fairies, the house elves, and the Queen are undergoing? Or will you join with me, and try to free her?”

There was a long pause, during which none of the wizards said anything. Harry’s head was spinning; he didn’t trust himself to think straight, much less say anything coherent.

At last Hermione spoke. “When I was a child,” she said, her voice breaking through the tears, “I didn’t think magic was real. I thought I was just a normal girl. And I was fine with that. And then… I found out about magic. It was like finding a doorway into a whole new world. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. But I guess…”

She paused a long time before continuing, and finally said, “I guess part of me always thought, you know, this is just too good to be true. The magic might get taken away again. And now it has.”

“Well I don’t believe it,” said Ron. He too had tears streaming down his face, but his expression was defiant. “And I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because I was raised a wizard, but I just can’t imagine a world without magic. You know? It’s part of everything. It’d be like… turning off the sun. Or telling me I have to give up being English and become French. You know? I just don’t know how to be that person. It must be a lie. It can’t be true.”

“Haven’t we all drunk the Water of Truth?” asked Ozma. “And Conca, you will vouch for this, won’t you?”

“I will vouch that you believe what you are saying,” said Conca. “Although it is possible that you are mistaken in what you believe.”

“It would certainly explain a lot,” said Harry. “And part of me… I’m sorry, Ron, but I feel like it’s true. I really do. Still… Still, I would feel better if I could see some evidence of it with my own eyes.”

Ozma nodded. “I understand.” She frowned in thought for a moment. “Very well. I suggest the following. Help us to find the Queen of the Fairies, and find her crown. See for yourself. At that point, if you wish to help us free her from the ring of iron — as I believe you will, since you have good and courageous hearts — then we will work together to defeat the evil wizards.”

There was silence as they considered this.

“Suppose that we go and see this Queen,” said Ron. “And it turns out you’ve been lying? Or maybe she is captured, but she’s actually evil or something, and we don’t want to help you free her?”

Ozma shook her head sadly. “Then you can simply return home,” she said. “I will not force you to do anything. I will not even force you to stay. I am only begging for your help.”

She stepped over to Harry and Hermione and took their hands. Her fine, delicate fingers gripped them desperately, and she looked up at them with pleading in her eyes. “Please, come with us to the Black Forest and see for yourself,” she said. “And when you do see the truth of the matter, I ask that you simply do what you feel is right.”

Harry looked at Hermione, and he could read nothing but confusion in her face. He felt the same way, but Ozma needed some kind of reply. “It sounds reasonable,” he said. “But we need some time to think about it.”

“Of course,” said Ozma, smiling. “If you wish, you can go out to the balcony adjoining the throne room and discuss everything in private.”

She gestured over to her right, where there were great gilded doors with glittering glass. Silently the wizards passed through them onto the balcony, which looked out over the royal gardens and a large plaza where the citizens of the Emerald City walked to and fro about their business in the morning sunlight. They heard songs and laughter drifting up from below. Beyond that the city sloped away, and they could see past the towering jade and glass spires to the green countryside beyond, spread out like a bucolic green blanket.

“It’s a beautiful country,” said Luna, sighing.

“What do you think of what Ozma said, Luna?” asked Harry.

“I think it’s true,” said Luna simply. “It matches up with the story my father heard from that old man in France. It explains so much about the house elves. It explains why so many wizards are being struck squib suddenly, and so randomly. And I feel like Ozma is telling the truth. It’s horrible. But I believe it.”

“I don’t,” said Ron. “I’m sorry, Luna, I just don’t.  And honestly, I’m afraid that if we go with her to see this Queen or whatever, she’s going to imprison us or something, and steal our magic.”

“If she wanted to do that, she could have done it already,” said Harry. “They defeated us last night, and locked us up, remember? They could have taken our wands away and everything. But they didn’t. And I bet that if we wanted to walk right out of here right now, and just fly home, they wouldn’t stop us.”

“I think Harry’s right,” said Ginny. “Not just based on what’s happened to us, and what we’ve seen and heard, but based on what Rinkitink said, and the Nome King, and on all the Oz books… Everything she’s said matches up with what we’ve heard so far, and what we know about the fairies and the elves from everyone else.”

“And it certainly felt like she was telling the truth,” said Neville. Hagrid nodded, frowning into his thick beard.

“If it’s true,” said Ron, “I feel like a right idiot. Charging in everywhere like a fool, no plan, nothing. Not stopping to make sure I was even fighting on the right side of the battle.”

“You were just doing the best you could,” said Hermione. “Remember that fight against the Wheelers? You were great.”

Ron shook his head and muttered. “Anyway, I don’t believe it,” he said.

“There’s so much I don’t understand,” said Hermione. “I mean, intellectually I guess I get that the house elves love their Queen. And I guess it’s good that they’re loyal. But… why do they have a Queen? Why do they have to do what she says? They’re not bees or ants. They have free will, don’t they? It seems like they could use their magical power to overwhelm the wizards and free the Queen. But they won’t, because she’s ordering them not to. Is that right? Am I missing something?… It seems… I mean, I don’t want to be callous, but it seems stupid.” She sniffed. “And they were so angry and disgusted with Dobby, just because he wanted to be free. It’s not right.”

“I just don’t believe it,” said Ron again.

“Oh Ron,” said Hermione, fighting back tears. “Don’t you see? We don’t have any choice, whether we believe her or not. What else are we going to do? We have to do whatever we can to keep the wizards from being struck squib. So we have to go with her to try and find the Queen, to at least find out what the truth is. That’s where the trail leads. Once we see the Queen for ourselves, then we can decide what to do.”

“But Ozma’s magic is so powerful,” said Ron. “She might cast some illusion, a glamour or something. She might make us see whatever she wants. How we can trust what we see?”

“We just have to do the best we can,” said Harry. “I don’t think she’ll try to trick us. Remember, she could have defeated or deceived us already. But we’ll be on our guard. And we’ll keep Conca close by.”

Ron sighed. “All right,” he said. “But I don’t know how we’re all going to give up magic. I just don’t.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t either,” he said. “No matter how this ends, it isn’t going to be good. But we’ve just got to try and do the right thing, the best we can. Agreed?”

He looked at all of them, and they all nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They marched back into the throne room. Ozma looked up at them quickly.

“We will help you,” said Harry. “What do we need to do?”

Chapter Text

Preparations

“I suggest,” said Ozma smiling, “we start with lunch.”

There was general cheers and whoops at this suggestion. Although the wizards had had a wonderful breakfast, the intense morning of storytelling and discussion had made them all ready for a nice relaxing meal. Ozma’s servants had made ready, and into the throne room was wheeled a long table decked with a white cloth and laden down with meats, cheeses, fruits, and breads of every description, light wines and juices, and a separate (somewhat smaller) table with platters of dessert cakes, pies, cookies, and other confections. It was a very long table indeed, and were set places enough for all the wizards and the house elves who had journeyed to Oz, as well as all the Ozites who had joined them earlier — the Scarecrow and Tin Emperor, Dorothy, the Wizard, and Glinda — and a bunch of other odd characters that few of the wizards recognized except for perhaps Ginny: two old men, one of which was dressed all in rags with a great shaggy beard, and the other in a faded ship captain’s uniform; a number of young girls and boys who appeared to be about Dorothy’s age; a yellow hen who sat proudly at the table next to Dorothy; a girl who seemed to be made entirely of patchwork; and even a giant man-sized insect dressed immaculately in a frock coat. When all of these people (most of whom appeared to consider themselves quite important) began to talk at once, the noise at the table was rather remarkable.

After everyone had settled in and begun eating properly, Ozma, at the head of the table, rose and tapped her spoon on her glass, which silenced everyone immediately.

“Friends,” she said, “as I am sure you have heard, our visitors, the wizards from the mortal lands on the other side of the world, have kindly agreed to assist us in finally finding our beloved Queen Lurline, who has been hidden away in bondage for over a thousand years.”

Clapping and shouting erupted from around the table. “Three cheers for the wizards!” cried the Patchwork Girl, and she jumped up from the table and did a somersault.

“We begin at once,” said Ozma. “At least, right after lunch. But we must decide the best course of action. I will allow the Wizard of Oz, who has led the research into these matters, tell us what we know, and what our options are.”

Ozma sat, and the Wizard stood up.

“Thank you, Princess,” he said. “Ever since Ozma tasked me with finding Queen Lurline and her crown, a few decades ago, I have been doing a great deal of travel and research, both in fairy countries and in mortal lands. The research has been very difficult, because the two brothers, Audo and Arnust, worked very hard to keep their crime a secret, even from their own descendants. Nevertheless, with diligent work and assistance from various friends of mine around the world, I have managed to discover some key facts. First, the Queen’s crown, the Crown of Life, was hidden by Arnust in Scotland, which at that time — about 800 AD — was a very remote, wild and dangerous place. He hid it in the deepest, darkest, wildest, most dangerous forest he could find. And that forest, as you might imagine, became deeply enchanted, filled with all manner of dangerous magical beasts and birds and monstrous things. And it was a place of great power for wizards as well. In fact, one of the greatest schools of wizards was built right outside the forest because of the tremendous magical —“

“You’re talking about Hogwarts!” said Ron. “You’re talking about the Forbidden Forest! Aren’t you?”

“You know this place?” said the Wizard. “I do think the name of the school was something like Hog-Warts but I haven’t been able to determine where the forest —“

“The forest is right outside the castle,” said Harry. “We know it. That’s the school we went to! We’ve been in that forest hundreds of times!”

“You’ve been in it hundreds of times?” said the Wizard. “And it is called the Forbidden Forest?”

“I know that Forest like the back of me hand,” bellowed Hagrid. “No one better. — Except of course the Centaurs and such.”

“That is excellent news,” said the Wizard. “Have you heard of the Crown of Life? Is it in the forest?”

“No,” said Hagrid. “Can’t say I — well now wait a moment.” He paused, scowling in thought. The whole table was silent, waiting for him.

“There is a place,” he said slowly. “I’ve never been there myself. But the Centaurs call it the Crown of the Forest. I think they hold dances there, or something? Maybe that’s where the Queen’s crown is?”

“Certainly suggestive,” said the Wizard. “Some of us, then, should go to this Forbidden Forest and see if we can find the crown. The other key facts I have discovered concern the location of Lurline herself, and her captors. As Miss Lovegood has said,” and here he bowed slightly towards Luna, “in her extremely interesting statement about her father’s encounter in Calais, it seems likely that Lurline is still being held in the Black Forest of Germany, in the mountains near the border with Switzerland. It also seems likely that she is being held captive by three wizards. They are all grandchildren of Arnust — Audo never married or had children; and all of Arnust’s children have died through accidents, murder, or disease. First, there is Lord Heiland — the same one who captured the poor woodcutter, Noah. He is a mighty alchemist and potions-master. Second, there is Lossa, his cousin, who is rumored to have great knowledge of divination and illusion. And finally there is their cousin Blafroua, who, unlike the other two, I believe is quite well known in Switzerland as one of the greatest witches in the world. She has served on the International Council of Wizards for hundreds of years.”

“I’ve heard of her,” said Hermione. “She always keeps herself looking young and beautiful, and never reveals her age. How do you know she’s one of the Queen’s keepers?”

“It was not easy,” admitted the Wizard. “But I do have informants.” He glanced at Kreacher and Coddie, who bashfully looked at their feet. “It is difficult to keep secrets from one’s family house elf, it appears. And anyone who knows anything about house elves knows they are terrible gossips.”

“I didn’t know that!” said Hermione.

“We would not gossip with humans,” said Kreacher, horrified.

“That, then, is what I know,” said the Wizard. “And so, if you ask my advice, I would say that some of us should go to the Forbidden Forest in Scotland to seek the crown, while the rest of us go to the Black Forest in Germany to seek the Queen.”

“But we can’t just go wandering randomly through the Black Forest,” said Hermione. “It’s the half size of Yorkshire.”

“We should start our investigations either with Blafroua and Lossa, who live together in a mansion on the outskirts of Basel, on the banks of the Rhine, or with Lord Heiland, who lives deeper in the forest, not far from Münstertal. It may be that he keeps the Queen with him there. I suggest we start with him.”

“Makes sense to me,” said Neville. “But who should we send to each forest? And how will we get there?”

“Do we still have the Portkey that brought us to Rinkitink?” said Harry.

Hermione shook her head. “It was Ungitink’s. He still has it.”

“Not to worry,” said Ozma, smiling. “We can transport us all to the mortal lands in the same way that I brought your house-elves here: using the Magic Belt.”

“Very well then,” said the Wizard. “Are we settled on the basic plan?”

There was a murmur of agreement around the tables.

“Then who will go in each party?” asked the Wizard.

“Well, I’m headed to the Forbidden Forest,” said Hagrid. “I know that place better than just about everybody.”

“And I’m going there too,” said Luna. “My expertise is magical creatures, and that forest is full of them.”

“And we’ll bring Conca of course,” said Hagrid.

“I suggest that the Wizard, Glinda, and I go to the Black Forest,” said Ozma. “It is best that we face the wizards head on with our fairy magic.”

“But you can’t go,” blurted out the Wizard. “If the Magic Belt enters a mortal country, it will lose all its magic. Remember, that is why Dorothy never used it to travel home to Kansas. She left it here with you.”

“And I will leave the Magic Belt here, also,” said Ozma. “I will leave it with the wise Scarecrow, who I appoint to rule Oz in my absence, along with his trusted advisors, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. He will use the Magic Belt to transport us all to the mortal lands.”

“But you cannot endanger your life in this way,” said the Wizard. “Your people need you. You have a duty to them, your majesty.”

“I do have a duty,” said Ozma. She drew herself up to her full height, which admittedly was not very tall. “I have a duty to my Queen, Lurline, who appointed my family rulers of Oz many years ago. I must save her, if I possibly can. And I have every confidence that the Scarecrow will rule Oz with wisdom, as he did before I came to the throne.”

The Scarecrow bowed. “I am terribly disappointed,” he said, “for I wished to lend my brains to the fight against the Queen’s captors. But I will do as you command, your highness.”

“I too am disappointed,” said the Tin Emperor. “I had hoped to wield my axe in defense of your highness.”

“This is not a fight for axes,” said Ozma gently. “I need you here, my old friend, to lend your greatest weapon, your kind heart, in defense of the kingdom.”

The Tin Man seemed greatly moved. He bowed silently.

“If I may suggest,” said Hermione, “it seems likely that the fight against the Queen’s captors is going to be much more difficult than getting the crown. It might make sense to send most of us to the Black Forest. Maybe just one more person should go with Hagrid and Luna — a strong and powerful wizard who knows the forest well.”

“You’re volunteering, Hermione?” said Harry, smiling.

“Actually, no,” said Hermione. “I was thinking Ron.”

Ron immediately blushed so brightly Harry could almost feel the heat radiating from his face.

“She’s right,” said Harry. “You’re the perfect choice, mate. You’ll do great.”

“It’ll be just like old times,” said Hagrid, and he slapped Ron on the back so hard he stumbled forward a few steps.

A thought struck Harry. “How should we divide up the pearls?” he asked. “It seems like the white pearl should definitely go with the party to the Black Forest, since it could be very difficult to outwit these senior wizards. But I’m not sure about the pink and the blue.”

“Why not ask the white pearl itself?” said Hermione. “We should also ask if it has any other advice about the whole mission.”

This was agreed. Hermione held the pearl up to her ear. Her eyes opened in surprise.

“It says it needs to talk to Glinda,” she said. She handed the pearl to Glinda, who lifted it to her ear and listened for some time.

“This is very curious,” said the Sorceress at last. “It is saying that, in order for our mission to succeed, I must take all the pearls and magically combine them into a single object. Only if their powers are combined can we achieve this.”

The Wizard looked startled. “Is that something you can do?”

“I believe so,” said Glinda. “It will take a day or so of work. But I cannot leave immediately in any case. I need to make arrangements for my nation, the Quadling Country, to be administered while I am gone; and I’m sure the same is the case for others of us. I suggest we meet back here in three days, and depart at that point.”

“An excellent idea,” said Ozma. “Is there any objection?”

There was not. The rest of the lunch passed uneventfully — unless you consider amazing desserts to be an event, which Harry and Ron definitely did — and then the wizards were led to apartments in the palace, where they would stay for the next three days. Harry and Ginny’s room was opulently decorated with emerald, silver, and mirrors; there was a small golden fountain with fruit and drinks nearby, a massive bed draped with curtains, and a large window that looked over the palace gardens. It was amazing.

They refreshed themselves with showers and a change of clothing, and then sat in the chairs by the window, relishing the silence and the chance to relax.

“How do you feel about it all?” Harry asked at last.

“It’s just like a dream,” she said. “I mean, I’ve loved these books for so long, you know? The characters were… unbelievable, strange, fantastic, and yet somehow I knew them so well. You don’t read a dozen books about the Scarecrow without feeling a bit like he’s a close personal friend, I guess. And now, here they are, in real life. And there’s magic here that goes beyond anything I thought was possible. I guess I feel like I might be asleep, really.”

Harry nodded. “It’s definitely mind-bending,” he said. “I mean, if we’d had any of this magic during the war with Voldemort, can you imagine? Like, suppose we had the pink pearl, and Voldemort couldn’t harm us at all. Or if we’d had Glinda’s magic rope that could just remove his magical power.”

“Do you suppose Luna’s right when she says the Ministry has known about these fairy countries all this time, but been keeping them secret?” asked Ginny. “If that’s the case, then Voldemort must have found out about them when he took over the Ministry, right?”

“I suppose,” said Harry. “Could you imagine Voldemort coming here, and stealing Ozma’s Magic Belt? Or the Magic Picture? Or joining up with the Nome King and marching on England?…”

“Actually,” said Ginny, “if Voldemort really knew about these countries, he’d probably want to conquer them. Or at least come and live here. After all, no one ages or dies here.”

“What?” said Harry. “Are you serious?”

“Sure,” said Ginny. “You saw Dorothy today. That little girl might look like she’s twelve, but she was born in 1890 or something. And her Aunt Em and Uncle Henry are living in the palace too. And who knows how old the Wizard is… If Voldemort came here, Death could never find him.”

Harry thought for a while, and then he said, “The fairy magic is so powerful… I don’t suppose the fairies can bring people back to life?”

Ginny was silent for a few moments. Then she shook her head sadly.

The next few days passed quickly. Hagrid, Ron, Luna, and Conca reviewed what they knew about the Forbidden Forest, talking about the different creatures that lived there — especially the Centaurs, a type of creature that Conca remembered only vaguely from her youth. Meanwhile, Harry and the others going to the Black Forest spent most of the time talking with the Wizard, discussing possible plans of approach and attack. The house elves, who knew the most about the Queen’s captors, helped as much as they could, but there was not much that they were allowed to tell. But they were able to get some information from Ozma’s Magic Picture.

The Picture hung in Ozma’s private chambers. It was just a small, simple picture hanging in a frame, and appeared to be a painting of a meadow. If one watched it for a little while, the scene shifted, now showing a forest, or a mountain, or a lake. But if you asked, the Magic Picture could show you any scene in the world, as it was happening.

“Show me Lord Heiland’s castle,” said Ozma.

The castle that appeared was rather squat and low, made of tightly-packed black stone, rising up out of the surrounding fir forest like a chunk of volcanic rock.

“It reminds me of Gormenghast’s castle,” said Harry. “But not as large and sprawling.”

“Oh yes, I remember seeing the Daily Prophet’s article about that,” said the Wizard. “That was fascinating. You were the ones that defeated him, weren’t you? Was it very difficult?”

“It was difficult,” admitted Ron. “We probably would have lost if he hadn’t been struck squib. All his house elves were defending him. They had Time Turners and everything.”

“My guess is that Gormenghast is probably one of Lord Heiland’s children,” said the Wizard. “He is immortal, or at least extremely long-lived, so he is probably one of the first few generations of wizards. Lord Heiland’s power is likely similar to his… but greater.”

They used the Magic Picture to look at the castle from above and all sides, even inside. Most of the rooms were dusty and uncared-for, or stacked with rotting fabrics and old furniture. In other rooms — kitchens, larders, bedrooms — house-elves worked away, cleaning and cooking. There was no sign of the Lord himself.

“It’s hard to get a real sense of the layout,” said the Wizard. “It’s hard to know if we’re looking at every room. And it’s possible he may have some magic that prevents us from seeing him, or his personal living space.”

“And there’s no sign of the Queen herself,” said Ozma.

“She may not even be in the castle proper,” said the Wizard.

“So how should we organize the attack?” said Neville.

“I feel like surprise is our greatest advantage,” said Ron.

“Agreed,” said Harry. “I suggest we Apparate directly into the middle of the castle. Somewhere far away from the house elves, but a place near the center, so that we can spread out and explore. Then we can try to see if the Queen is there.”

“Once we find the Queen, maybe we can free her without Lord Heiland even knowing. That would be best,” said the Wizard.

Once we find her, thought Harry, we have to decide whether we are going to free her. That might be the most difficult part of the mission.

On the morning of the third day, Glinda returned to the castle, having put everything in order back in the Quadling Country.

“And I have a gift for you,” she said to Harry. She held out a small jeweled ring box.

Harry took it and opened it. Inside was a tiny swan, made with exquisite detail. It was completely smooth and appeared to be made of silver pearl that reflected rainbow colors as it caught the light.

“This swan was created out of all three pearls together,” she said. “I fashioned it by following the directions of the white pearl itself. It has the powers of the three pearls — strength, protection, and wisdom — plus one more: the power of healing. If you give the swan to someone, they will be instantly completely healed of any harms.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Harry. “But why give it to me?”

“I am simply following the white pearl’s instructions,” she said, smiling. “But my guess is that there is a connection between you and the power of healing, since you have died and returned to life.”

“Thank you,” said Harry simply. He lifted the swan to his ear.

“Keep me close always,” whispered the swan.

Well, that instruction seemed clear enough. He put the box in his pocket.

As the final preparations for the journey were being made — everyone packing together what they would bring, grabbing a quick snack, and practicing a few last-minute spells, before gathering on the palace grounds for the Scarecrow to use the Magic Belt to transport them away — Harry showed the swan to the other wizards.

“It’s gorgeous,” whispered Luna.

“And it’d be worth a mint,” said Ron. “Are you sure I can’t borrow it a while? Promise to give it back once we’ve finished up in the Forbidden Forest.”

“The swan said I should keep it close to me,” said Harry. “And anyway, you’ve been in that forest dozens of times, mate. We even went camping there last summer.”

“Sure, and we were almost gored by that Ganderfang.”

“Can you imagine?” said Luna. “It heals anything! … I mean, we could just shut down St. Mungo’s. Anyone who needs healing, just get in line for the swan.”

“Whatever happens today,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “the wizarding world will never be the same.”

“Are we all ready?” cried the Wizard. “We will send the Forbidden Forest party first, and then the Black Forest party. Hagrid? Luna?…”

Hagrid, Luna, Conca, and Ron stepped forward. The Scarecrow, who looked rather absurd wearing the beautiful six-inch wide bejeweled Magic Belt, stood before them, and raised his hands for silence.

“Magic Belt!” he cried. “I wish for Hagrid, Luna, Conca, and Ron to be transported at once to the Forbidden Forest!”

At once they all disappeared, without any noise or fuss at all.

“And now the rest of us, Scarecrow,” said Ozma, stepping forward. Harry and the others stepped forward with her.

“Are you certain of this, Princess?” said the Scarecrow. “Please reconsider. Surely your subjects can do this without you.”

“I will do my duty, Scarecrow,” said Ozma.

“Very well,” said the Scarecrow. “I will guard Oz faithfully until you return. — Please, everyone here who is going, if you will hold hands. Thank you. Magic Belt! I wish for the mortal wizards, Ozma, and all her companions, who are holding hands, to be transported at once to the Black Forest!”

Chapter Text

The Forbidden Forest

They arrived, unfortunately, in the middle of the night, and had no idea where in the forest they were.

“Night!” said Ron. “But we left in the morning!”

“Well, it is the other side of the world,” said Luna.

“Hmm, yeah,” said Hagrid. “Probably should have thought of that. Probably could have planned that better. My fault, really. Anyway, we’ll be fine — I know these woods like the back of my hand. Just give me a minute.”

“I’ll get us some light,” said Luna. She flicked her wand to light it. Nothing happened.

“That’s funny,” she muttered. “I can usually do that non-verbally. Lumos!”

This time the tip of the wand lit, but wan and dim, like a sickly firefly. Then the light went out.

“What?” said Luna. “What’s going on with my wand? Lumos. Lumos!”

But the wand remained dark.

“Lumos,” said Ron. His wand lit immediately.

Ron and Luna looked at each other in Ron’s wand light. Luna’s expression slowly changed from confusion to fear.

“Ron,” she whispered. “I’ve been struck squib!”

“What!” bellowed Hagrid. “Impossible!”

Luna tried again and again to light her wand. She tried simpler spells — hair lengthening, tooth growing, using Accio on a leaf… Nothing.

“Oh my god,” said Luna, her voice breaking. “I don’t believe it.”

“We’ll get it fixed,” said Ron firmly. “One way or another. Come on, now. We need to get that Crown.”

“But Ron,” said Luna, “if we get the Crown, and save the Queen, that won’t bring our magic back.” She leaned heavily against a tree, as if the loss of her magic had sapped all her energy away as well.

“We have to get to the Queen,” said Ron firmly. “It’s the only thing we can do. Maybe she’ll let us keep our magic, we don’t know. Or maybe Ozma is fooling us somehow. But it’s all we’ve got.”

Luna nodded. Ron couldn’t see in the darkness, but he suspected she didn’t want to speak, for fear of revealing the fact that she was crying.

Hagrid blew his nose. He was definitely crying. “Don’t you worry, Luna,” he said. “We’ll get it fixed.”

“You have lost your powers,” said Conca in her thrumming voice, “but you continue on regardless. Truly, you have great courage. For my part, my very legs are trembling from the darkness, and from the knowledge that all manner of strange and terrible beasts may be surrounding us in this strange forest as we speak. Nevertheless, we have our duty to perform.”

Luna still didn’t speak, but she stood up straight and squared her shoulders.

Hagrid blew his nose again, and looked around at the trees. Ron and the others did the same. It was chilly after the bright morning sunshine of the Emerald City, and there was a clammy breeze blowing through the trees, carrying thin tendrils of mist. Everywhere they looked, there were just more trees in the darkness. Hagrid put his ear up against a tree and listened.

“Maybe we should wait till morning?” said Ron.

“Nah,” said Hagrid. “I reckon the centaurs will be around soon enough, if we make enough noise. And I’m on pretty good terms with ‘em these days.”

He then cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed. “Hoi! Hoi!” he cried. “Herodotes! Pollux! Hoi!”

“That should do it,” he muttered to himself. “Give ‘em a few minutes.”

“I hear them,” said Conca. “They are coming.”

It didn’t take long. Soon all the wizards could hear the thunder of hooves, and within moments, the centaurs arrived. It was very difficult to see them in the dark, of course, but Ron could make out enough of their shapes and movements to tell that at least a dozen completely surrounded them.

“You are here,” said one of them to Hagrid. “As expected.”

“Seen us coming in one of your prophecies, eh Hero?” said Hagrid.

“Indeed,” said Herodotes. “A very old one.”

“And what does it say?” asked Luna.

“A conjunction of Venus and the Sun in Leo,” said Herodotes. “Also Chiron. A time of healing for leaders. But it will not be easy.”

“I think you know us all,” said Ron. “Except our new friend here. Conca is a Thunderfox.”

“You are welcome,” said Herodotes.

“We’re looking for the Crown of Life,” said Ron.

“Indeed,” said Herodotes. “The Crown of the Forest, we call it. And we will take you to it. But it will be very difficult for you to take it to the Queen. You will see.”

“Is it far?” asked Luna.

“Far enough,” said the centaur. “It will be a considerable walk.”

He said this just a bit pointedly, as if to emphasize the fact that he was not offering them a ride. Ron was expecting to have to walk, so he wasn’t disappointed. The wizards and centaurs set off, heading along a path that the centaurs knew.

It was probably two or three miles — at any rate, most of an hour’s walk — before they reached the clearing. It was still night, but there was a bit of a moon, and the clearing was filled with silvery light. It appeared to be perfectly circular, about a hundred yards across, and bounded on all sides by tall, thin, young birch trees. The ground within the clearing was coated with low-growing plants such as myrtle, clover, moss, and other herbs, giving the air a heavenly scent.

“The Crown of the Forest,” said Herodotes. “Here we celebrate the solstices, equinoxes, ascensions, declensions, and the dance festivals.”

“Quite a party place,” said Ron. “So where’s the crown itself?”

“You are standing in it,” said Herodotes.

There was a moment while they all tried to absorb this.

“This clearing is the crown?” said Luna.

“You see these trees?” said Herodotes. He indicated the young birches. “These are not birch trees. They are more closely related to the aspen. They are all part of one organism, the Crown. Their roots are intertwined, and encircle this clearing; and the roots crisscross under the earth here and prevent trees from growing in the circle. When the Crown was brought here, over a thousand years ago, it was a living circlet of silver that fit easily on the Queen’s head. The wicked wizard, Arnust, planted it, and it took root here. The rest of the forest grew up round it, and it was enchanted.”

“Well I’ll be jiggered,” said Hagrid.

“There must be something we can do,” said Ron.

“The situation,” said Herodotes, “is even more dire than it appears. The Crown is the Queen’s link with the magic of the Earth; it is the source of her power and helps her direct it and control it. And it is sentient — it knows what it is, and how important it is; and it has grown into the Earth here in order to protect itself. Because it knows it must protect itself at all costs.”

“Got a high opinion of itself, has it?” said Ron.

“This is no laughing matter,” said Herodetes. “Do you not know? Do you not understand? The Crown is an Hourwick.”

“A what?” said Luna. “An Hourwick? A Time Turner?”

Herodetes grimaced. “It does not turn,” he said. “But the Queen Lurline used the Crown to change the shape of time, to divert it from its natural course. She realized that she would be captured, you see. When the brothers reached out to grab her, to steal her power away, she used the Crown to travel back in time, to try and save herself.”

“She went back to kill the brothers when they were children, or something?” asked Ron.

Again, Herodetes grimaced. “Nothing so horrible,” he said. “The Queen would never kill a living being, if she could help it. And she will not knowingly divert a creature from the path laid out for it by fate. There was not much she could do. But she was able to hide away a great part of her power — to stash it away from herself, hidden on the opposite side of the world, where the brothers would not find it. In this way, when she was captured, they gained only a tiny fraction of the power they would have.”

“So wizards might have been ten times more powerful?” said Luna.

“A thousand times,” said Herodetes. “Wizards would have been the undisputed masters of the Earth. There would have been no Goblin wars, for the wizards would simply have… vanished the goblins. Forever.”

“Where did she hide her power?” asked Luna.

“She went to a continent on the other side of the world,” said Herodetes. “She found a wide, sandy, deadly desert. And in the middle of that desert, she created a vast fairy country, and put her power there.”

“…Oz?!” cried Luna.

“Correct,” said Herodetes. “Oz itself holds the vast bulk of Lurline’s power.”

“No wonder all the magic in Oz is so powerful,” breathed Ron.

“Indeed,” said the Centaur. “But now, mortal, do you understand why this Crown must protect itself? If it were destroyed, or even captured and controlled by the wizards, the timeline would snap back to its original form. Oz would immediately be consumed by the desert, and made as if it had never been. And the wizards would be a thousand times more powerful.”

There was silence as they all tried to digest this.

“It wouldn’t just change that,” said Luna softly. “All of history for the last thousand years would change, wouldn’t it? Probably… probably the wizards would have just taken over all of Europe, and set themselves up as kings. Different nations, different wars. Different people would have been born. Most of us probably wouldn’t even exist.”

“But we have to get the Crown to the Queen,” said Ron. “Otherwise she can’t be saved. Right?”

“You are correct,” said Herodotes. “But the Crown cannot be moved. So saving her is impossible.”

Hagrid’s expression became thoughtful. He looked up at the sky, and down at the ground, and walked out into the middle of the circle of trees.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Seems to me it might be done. If we had a bit o’help. How much do you reckon this weighs?”

“How much it weighs??” said Ron, incredulously. “Hagrid, it’s a grove of trees!”

“Not very big trees,” muttered Hagrid. “I’d bet the whole thing is less than a hundred tons, root and branch.” He stamped his foot. “And it has its roots knotted together underground, you say?”

“You cannot be thinking of actually uprooting the Crown,” said Herodotes. It was not a question, but a statement.

“I know Buckbeak can lift half a ton at least,” said Hagrid.

“Hagrid, you’d need… a hundred hippogriffs! Two hundred!” said Ron. “And they’d have to carry it all the way to the Black Forest!”

Hagrid’s face fell. “Aye,” he said sadly. “We might be able to get two hundred hippogriffs… But the Black Forest — that’s in Germany or some such?”

“Yes,” said Luna thoughtfully. “Almost a thousand miles away, I think. But there is a spell, Mobiliarbus, that’s specifically for moving trees. Ron, do you know it?”

“I don’t,” said Ron grimly. “I mean, I could try it. I know Hermione knows it. Seems risky though —“

“Especially since we will not permit you to do this,” said Herodotes. There was now a definite note of anger in his voice. “How could you be considering moving the Crown, after all we have told you? Any threat to the Crown places us all in terrible danger. If the Crown is destroyed, our world, as we know it, will cease to exist! Anything is preferable to that. Seek some other way to save the Queen. But do not move the Crown.”

“I don’t see that we have a lot of choice,” said Ron. “I mean, what else are we going to do?”

“I think we have to try,” agreed Luna.

“We will stop you!” cried Herodotes. “We cannot let you do this!”

Ron was conscious of movement and noise throughout the dark forest around them. There were, of course, an unknown number of centaurs in the area. Maybe Conca could hold some of them off, for a while, but it seemed likely that she’d be quickly overpowered. And Ron really had no idea if he could cast that spell, or, if he did, if he’d be able to keep it up all the way across Scotland, England, the British Channel, the Netherlands, and whatever other European countries before they got to Germany.

“Well now hold on,” said Ron. He swallowed. “Let’s think this through.”

“Someone is coming,” whispered Conca.

They all instantly fell silent, even the centaurs. At first there was nothing to be heard but the blowing of distant wind; but then they could hear other noises in the darkness. They were small, quiet noises, but purposeful and steady. Like a firm rainfall, or the sound of hundreds of small feet in the undergrowth.

“What the hell is that,” whispered Ron.

Suddenly a small bright face poked out of the bracken at the edge of the clearing and blinked at them. It was a house elf.

“A house elf!” said Ron. “What is it doing here?”

“Is that one of yours?” asked Herodotes.

Dozens of other small, bright faces poked out of the bracken, all around the clearing.

“Nope,” said Luna. “Not ours.”

“Then who —“ began the centaur, but he stopped suddenly. The ground under him had shifted.

“Oh no,” said Luna. “These must be house elves working for the bad wizards!”

“They’ve come to steal the Crown!” cried Ron. “Stop them! Stupefy!”

The bolt from his wand caught an elf right in the face, and it fell back into the undergrowth. The forest around them was suddenly full of the sounds of centaurs rearing up and bellowing, shouting and cursing. Hagrid charged into the forest, his great arms wide, trying to catch whatever he could. Conca ran after him, and Ron could hear her huge paws crashing and thrashing in the darkness. The house elves’s faces disappeared; and they made no noise at all. Ron, now lacking a target, plunged into the trees. Almost immediately he stumbled over a house elf making gestures at one of the Crown’s trees — casting a spell of some kind. Ron cast Stupefy again, and then cast around for another elf to strike. It was easy: the forest seemed to be swarming with them. He stupefied another, and then another.

And then his wand went dead.

Uselessly, he shook it and screamed at it. Rage filled him. He shoved the useless stick in his pocket and tried to grapple a house elf with his bare hands. It simply Apparated away.

He felt as though all the energy were drained out of him — exhausted, spent. He staggered out of the woods back into the clearing, where Luna was standing alone, looking fearful.

“My magic’s gone, too,” he said to her.

“It’s awful, isn’t it,” she whispered. “I feel so powerless. Like… all I can do is watch. Like a ghost.”

“I feel like a child,” said Ron. “Like I’m a kid again, and don’t have magic anymore. Like playtime’s over. Time to come back inside.”

Suddenly the earth shifted under them. They fell to their knees. Ron heard a tumult of hoofbeats, and had the impression that the centaurs were galloping away through the trees, but he couldn’t see anything to be sure. The roaring and crashing from Conca and Hagrid’s bellows continued.

“They’re going to take the Crown,” whispered Luna.

The ground shifted again, and lurched, and Ron almost fell flat on his face. He rolled onto his back, looking up at the sky. The stars… the stars tilted and spun, literally spiraling above him, and he grabbed onto the moss to try and hold fast to the Earth.

“They’ve got us!” gasped Luna. “They’re flying the whole Crown to Germany!”

They were hit with a blast of cold wind, and the air around them began to rush and churn. Ron managed to lift his head to look at the trees around the clearing. Their thin silver branches tossed and twisted as if blown by typhoon winds, and the space beyond them was empty and black, save for stars. They were on a disk of earth surrounded by trees, sailing through the air like a thrown discus.

He dug his fingers into the soil and held on with all his might. A minute passed… five minutes… twenty minutes…

Ron’s fingers cramped, and he passed into a strange hazy dream of pain and fear. The flight went on, and on, and on…

Chapter Text

The Black Forest

Harry and the others arrived in complete darkness. They were somewhere inside — somewhere cold, dank, and smelling of must and mold. Harry could tell by the echoes of his companions’ breathing and shuffling that the room they were in was small and low-ceilinged.

“Right,” whispered the Wizard. “Light, everyone?”

The wizards lit their wands. The nine of them were crowded into a small room. Their faces, lit with a ghostly blue pallor by the wand light, wore expressions of mixed anticipation and determination.

Glinda lifted her glowing wand high and a brief ball of bright gold light suffused the entire room. They were in some kind of storeroom: old barrels and rotting sacks lined the walls, shelves of bottles were stacked high, and piles of old cloths were wedged in here and there. There were two wooden doors on opposite walls.

“I suggest we split up,” whispered the Wizard. “We can cover the ground faster that way. You wizards can take that door. We will take the other. Remember: we are looking for clues to the Queen’s whereabouts. If we can avoid fighting, we will. But if either party runs into trouble, we should join up again. You wizards can transport instantly from place to place here in mortal lands, correct?”

“Apparate? Yeah, we can do that,” said Harry. “But only if we can see or visualize where we’re going.”

“Then I suggest each party take a house elf,” said the Wizard. “They are exceptionally skilled at instantaneous transport and they can pull you along with them. If either party runs into trouble, the other party can join them immediately.”

This was agreed. Coddie went with the Ozites, and Kreacher joined Harry’s group.

Harry opened the door with some effort — it was heavy, and dust and grime had accumulated around its edges; it clearly hadn’t been moved in decades, maybe centuries. Beyond it was a dark, dank passage that went just a few steps and then began to climb steeply upstairs. They went slowly, carefully, and silently, all of them on the highest possible alert.

At the top of the stairs there was another door. Harry lifted his hand to stop them.

“Do you hear that?” he whispered.

A man’s voice. A deep, powerful voice, singing some kind of song in a harsh language Harry didn’t recognize. It might have been coming from the other side of the door, but the old castle echoed so much he couldn’t be sure.

“Wands ready,” whispered Harry. “Alohomora.”

The door opened. They could see a small dining room flecked with red light from a fireplace, and the table was set for a dozen. Clearly some kind of huge meal had just been eaten, for the table was decked with dishes and plates of mostly-eaten food. Almost all of the seats were occupied by young women, chatting and laughing and wearing thin, gauzy gowns. At the head of the table was a large, powerful man, with a thick short-cropped black beard and hair, dressed in a dark red cloak. He was the one singing. He wore an eyepatch. His one good eye was closed, and in one hand he held a golden cup. The wine bottles near him on the table showed he’d been drinking for a while.

Harry noticed that there was a huge portrait of the man hanging on the far wall. He looked exactly the same in that painting, but instead of an eyepatch, an actual dagger had been stabbed into the canvas, obliterating the eye. The painting was faded and peeling; in fact it looked hundreds of years old.

The man and the women took no notice of the wizards in the doorway. But Harry felt they were being intently watched. He scanned the room again… There. Down by the man’s chair, near the man’s knee. A house elf, staring right at him.

Harry reacted on instinct. “Stupefy!” he cried.

Too late: the house elf had simply vanished away — probably Apparated to get help. And Harry’s shout had alerted the man.

He instantly stood up, slamming his cup on the table. The women all disappeared, fading into smoke that swirled away towards the ceiling. The man scowled, and he pulled a wand from his robes.

“Hwer gaes?” he roared.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry’s mind raced, trying to think. Was this Lord Heiland? If so, then the truth was obviously not called for here. What story could he tell that would buy them time, and give them a chance to try and find out where the Queen was being held captive?

But maybe the question was moot. Did the man even understand English?

“Hello,” said Harry, trying to sound bold, but not threatening. “We are travelers. Visitors. Um… we are looking for Lord Heiland. To… ask him… about…”

“Oh, you’re doing terrible at this,” whispered Hermione.

“Well, you come up with something!” snapped Harry.

“You are speaking English!” cried the man. His accent was thick, but understandable. “What are you doing here, Englishmen? Speak, or I will pluck your tongues!” He lifted his wand.

“We bear a message from your cousin, Blafroua,” said Hermione quickly.

“From… from Blafroua?” said the man. He looked confused, and his wand wavered. “Why, what does she want? — Is she injured? Why did she not come herself?”

“She’s… trapped,” said Harry. His mind raced, and inspiration finally struck. “She’s lost her magic. She was traveling in England and was struck squib. I mean, all her magic disappeared. You know how wizards in England have been losing their magic? Well, it happened to her.”

The man looked thunderstruck. He began to lower his wand. Was that fear on his face?

“She sent us to ask for your help,” said Harry. “And so we need you to Stupefy!”

Harry was quick, but not quite quick enough. If Heiland had been alone, Harry would probably have gotten him, but it seemed as though the room exploded with house elves. They popped out from behind his chair, under the table, and even appeared in midair, and they were all casting spells. Some threw protections in front of Heiland, and others attacked the wizards. A blast of fire hit Harry, and he was thrown hard against Neville. They both tumbled backwards, crashing down the stairs.

He heard Heiland bellowing in German or something, and the other wizards screaming and shouting. Harry struggled to his feet, unhurt. He tried to check and make sure Neville was ok, but Neville was already charging back up the stairs.

“So much for buying time,” muttered Harry.

“I know who you are!” bellowed Heiland from above. “Your disguises do not fool me, jotuns! I am Odin, Allfather and Deathless!”

What the hell? thought Harry. Just as he was coming to the top of the stairs again, another fiery blast lit the doorway, and Ginny was thrown against him. He managed to catch her and keep from falling back downstairs. She’d been caught by some kind of fireball, and her robes were searing hot to the touch. It looked like she’d barely managed to save the skin on her face by throwing her arms up and covering herself with her robe’s sleeves. Her eyebrows had been singed off, and the hair around her forehead was smoking.

“Harry, we’ve got to retreat,” she gasped. “My wand didn’t work! I might have been struck squib! Those elves — they’re going to kill us!”

“May Surt’s fire take you all!” screamed Heiland. “I know who you are! Has it not been long foretold? I stood on the mountaintop with my ravens; I planted my eye at the foot of the World Tree; I woke the seer from her grave and she told me her vision. I have seen my death and I have been waiting for you! Let the wolf come! Let the serpent come! Let my traitorous brother come with his ship of ghosts! Here I will stand, and defy you all!”

With that, he hurled another fire ball from his wand. He was joined by half a dozen of his house elves, and all the air in the room was seared and billowing with flame. Hermione had fortunately managed to throw up a “Protego!” in time, saving them from the worst of it. They staggered back through the doorway.

“Colloportus!” cried Neville, trying to lock the door behind them. But nothing happened. Neville shook his wand desperately and tried again. Nothing.

“Colloportus!” shouted Hermione, and the door began to swing shut, but the house elves were upon them; it was too late for spells. Dozens of house elf fingers curled around the door’s edge, trying to yank it back open. Neville desperately tried to pull the door shut with his hands.

“Kreacher!” screamed Harry. “We’re losing our magic! We need help! Get the others!”

He had no idea if Kreacher heard him. The house elves were too many and too strong for Neville, and they pulled the door from his hands. Harry quickly threw up another protection in support of Hermione’s spell. For a moment, the whole air in front of them roared and thundered with the fury of the fires from the spells of Heiland and his elves, and then Harry heard Heiland shouting for them to stop.

The fires dissipated, leaving the room so dark that for a moment he couldn’t see anything. Then he began to make out the room again: everything scorched and smoking, the table tipped on one side smoldering, the crockery smashed, the huge painting blackened with soot. Heiland stood tall, proud, chin high.

“And yet you cower,” he muttered to himself. Then, no longer speaking English, he uttered a short command to his elves. One of them answered him in the same language. A smile twitched up one side of his mouth.

“I am told you are not jotuns,” he said. “You are not the titans of the north. You are just… human wizards.” He smiled broadly, showing his teeth. “My children. Welcome home.”

My children. Harry felt his skin crawl. Was it true? Was he descended from this… horrible man? Was this his great great great… great great great… grandfather?

“Come,” the man snapped. “Join me at feast.”

He turned his back on them. His elves leapt into action, setting the table upright and fixing its legs, clearing away the broken crockery, repairing the painting, scrubbing away the ash and soot and scorch marks. By the time Heiland walked the few paces back the to the head of the table and sat down, they were already bringing in new food and drink.

He looked up at the wizards expectantly. “Well?” he demanded. “Come sit. Do not think you can disobey any command of mine, my children. I know varieties of the Cruciatus and Imperious curses that go beyond any of your worst imaginings.”

Harry and the others glanced at each other fearfully. Could Heiland really use Imperious on them all that easily?

Tentatively, Harry lowered his protective shield and walked over to the table. The house elves had laid out a curious collection of dishes, mostly hard breads, wild game birds, jams, and wines.

“Medieval foods?” whispered Hermione.

“I enjoy the dishes of my childhood,” said Heiland. “Who does not? If you would prefer something different… I don’t care.” He smiled his twisted smile again. “So tell me truly, my children. Since you are clearly not here on a mission from my cousin, why are you here? And why did you attack me without provocation?”

Harry’s mind was racing. What should they do now? He hadn’t forgotten Glinda’s swan, but he couldn’t think of any way that he could defeat Heiland with strength or protection. And there was no time to ask it for advice. There was no frontal attack that could defeat this wizard. They would have to trick him somehow. But with his army of house elves, what weaknesses did he have?

Harry could think of only one weakness: the Queen herself. If they could find her and free her, Heiland would lose his power.

Maybe, if they could keep him talking, he would reveal where she was… That’s the information they’d come to get, after all.

Where was Kreacher and the others…? He pushed the thought out of his mind. They would come when they would come.

“My Lord,” said Harry, “you spoke of… titans? And wolves, and snakes, and ghost ships? What were you… what was all that about?”

Lord Heiland continued to smile. “When one is as old as I am,” he said, “and has learned so much of the world, one gains knowledge that may seem… strange to those who are not so learned and so wise. You most likely will not believe me. But my child, I will tell you; for it is the truth, whether you believe it or not.”

He thumped his chest. “Behold!” he said. “You look upon none other than Odin himself.”

“Odin?” said Ginny. “I thought you were Lord Heiland?”

“Of course I am Lord Heiland,” he snapped. “But I am also Odin. I have incarnated into this body, and taken shape upon the earth.”

“So… you’re a god?” said Harry.

“I am the Allfather,” said Heiland. “As Lord Heiland is the father of all wizards, so Odin is the father of all humanity.”

“So you’re the lord of everything?” said Harry.

“Even as Odin fashioned the world from the body of the frost giant Ymir, so I have fashioned the world from the bones of the old world. All must obey and bow down to me.”

“What about your cousins?” said Hermione. “Blafroua and Lossa? Do they bow down to you also?”

His face darkened into a scowl, and he bared his teeth like an animal. “Do not speak to me of these traitors!” he cried. “They will recognize my sovereignty in time. I am not insane! I will not be spoken to in that way!”

Anytime anyone screams that they’re not insane in that way, thought Harry, that’s when you call St. Mungo’s.

Lord Heiland waved his hand languidly. “I tire of this talk,” he said. “You are avoiding my question. But it matters not; I do not truly care why you are here. But I am glad you came. It has been many years since I indulged in experimentation, and I rarely have the chance to do it on my own descendants. Will my transfiguration spells work on you, I wonder? Can I turn you into a frog or a spider against your will?… What about finer transfigurations — extensions of the fingers or tongue? Twisting, rending of the flesh? Or will your morphogenic field prove too strong for me? So many questions!”

The horror in Harry’s mind made it almost impossible for him to think, so it was extremely fortuitous that at that moment Kreacher returned. With a clap of thunder that shook the walls, Ozma, Glinda, the Wizard, and Coddie Apparated right into the center of the room. Lord Heiland was on his feet in an instant, wand ready, but Ozma was faster. She struck her scepter onto the stone floor, and there was a great flash of white light, blinding everyone for a moment.

When Harry managed to open his eyes and blink away the after-images, he saw Heiland and his house elves crumpled on the ground, shaking their heads and blinking. Harry lifted his wand, but Glinda already had her golden lasso ready. With a flick of her wrist it zipped over the heads of everyone else, and Heiland’s one good eye fixed on it; it was as if he was frozen, compelled to watch the rope as it sailed towards him. It looped him round and tightened. For a moment his eyes bulged in amazement, and then…

And then the most horrifying transformation occurred. Heiland screamed, and his body withered and shrank, drying and wrinkling and flaking away like a deflating balloon, a thousand years of decomposition occurring in a few seconds. Before Harry had time to breathe, Lord Heiland had collapsed into a pile of old bones and clothes on the floor.

There was silence for a breath or two. Then Heiland’s house elves all Disapparated at once with a loud crack.

“Are you all right?” asked Ozma, turning to the wizards sitting at the table.

“Thanks to you,” said Harry. He got up, feeling shaky. “I think we managed with just a few scorches…”

“We’re all ok,” said Ginny. “I just need someone to regrow my eyebrows.” She pointed at her face, wiggling her bare forehead. Hermione waved her wand, and Ginny’s golden-red wisps of hair reappeared. Meanwhile, Harry handed Glinda’s swan to Neville, and immediately the ankle he’d twisted on his tumble down the stairs was righted.

“Sorry you’ve lost your magic,” said Harry quietly.

Neville shrugged, and handed the swan back. “It was bound to happen sometime. I’ve never been the strongest wizard anyway. I just hope we all get our magic back at the end of this.”

Harry nodded grimly.

“I’m sorry it took so long for us to get here,” said the Wizard. “Kreacher wasn’t sure where to find us, and we were… somewhat lost. You survived a long battle here with him, it seems.”

“He was powerful,” admitted Harry. “And his house elves…”

“They did defeat us,” said Hermione simply. “And he would have killed us instantly, but he wanted to… experiment on us.”

“Well, he is gone now,” said Ozma. “And his elves have fled. Unfortunately, this brings us no closer to discovering where the Queen is held captive.”

“Unless, in your conversation with him, you were able to discover some hint?” asked the Wizard.

Harry shook his head ruefully. “I don’t think so. It was all just… stuff about Norse gods, I think.”

“I think he was mad,” muttered Ginny. “He said he was an incarnation of Odin.”

Ozma raised her eyebrows. “That, he certainly was not,” she said. “If he were, Odin would surely have mentioned it in his letters to me. — In any case, we are lucky to be victorious and uninjured. I suspect we should…”

There was suddenly another thunderous crack, and the room shook with the force of it. Darkness fell like a blanket, extinguishing the fireplace and all the wizard wands and leaving Harry completely unable to see. The air filled with screeches and howls, and he felt dozens of tiny hands and fingers gripping him on the arms, legs, and even his face and hair. He struggled to free himself. He tried to shout a spell, but tiny fingers were forced into his mouth, and other hands tightened around his throat.

“Ausgezeichnet,” thundered a woman’s voice, so loud it seemed to vibrate his very skull. “Bitte bringt sie zum Zauberturm jetzt, meine Lieblinge. Dort werden wir sie vernichten.”

Somehow, although he didn’t know the language, the force of the woman’s words was hammered into his mind: “Excellent. Please bring them now to the Tower of Sorcery, my pets. There, we will crush them.”

Harry felt the familiar twisting tug of side-along Apparating, and he was pulled away, far away.

Chapter Text

The Queen of the Fairies

Ron gradually woke, in pain. His fingers seemed partly numb and partly in excruciating agony, and the rest of his body ached all over. His head was pounding. It was dark, and he was lying on something cold and hard. He blinked, trying to get his vision back, but it was still just dark.

“Bloody hell,” he moaned.

“Ron?” said Hermione’s voice. “Oh my god, is that you?”

He heard chains clanking and echoing in the darkness.

“Ron? Ron?” came other voices. Neville, Ginny. Luna.

“I’m here,” he said. He tried to get up, but found his wrists and ankles bound with iron chains. In the complete darkness, he managed to feel around and determined that he was bolted to a stone wall. In a dungeon.

“Are you ok, Ron?” said Hermione. Her voice was sick with worry.

“Not feeling great,” said Ron. “I think I’m just tired and bruised, though. You?”

“We’re ok,” said Hermione. “We managed to defeat Lord Heiland, but then someone else, we think maybe one of his cousins, captured us with her house elves and put us here in this dungeon.”

“How long have you been here?” asked Ron.

“It’s hard to tell in the dark,” said Hermione.

“Four hours or so,” said the voice of the Wizard of Oz. “Fortunately, my timepiece, a pocket watch I purchased in Omaha many years ago, is still in good working order. And I am chained in such a way that I can reach that pocket. And I can’t see its face, but I can feel the hands with my fingers. It is good to hear that you are unhurt, Ron.”

“Yeah, you too, mate,” said Ron. “Who all is here then?”

“Neville and Ginny and Luna and I,” said Hermione. “And the Wizard. And maybe others, but if so, they’re still asleep or knocked out. Like you were.”

“I wonder why we were divided up,” said Ron. “Hagrid isn’t here? What about Harry?”

“Haven’t heard from them,” said Luna.

“What about the Crown?” asked Ron.

“No sign of that either,” said Luna. “I guess the evil wizards got it.”

“Well, sounds like we made a right mess of that,” said Ron. “You got that Heiland bastard, though?”

“Oh yeah,” said Ginny. “Glinda got him with that rope that sucks away magic. He aged like a thousand years in a second.”

Ron let out a low whistle. “Right. So what’s the plan, then?”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Ron, I don’t think there’s anything we can do at all,” said Hermione. “We’re chained up in a dungeon. All of us have lost our magic.”

“In fact,” said the Wizard, “I still have mine. I believe I could free myself without too much trouble. Once I have done so I could quickly free the rest of you. However, I would rather not do so until we have determined our next course of action. If our captor, or captors, return, and find us free, they may execute us summarily.”

“But we can’t figure out what to do without more information,” said Hermione. “Wizard… It feels weird to just call you Wizard — we’re all wizards! What is your name?”

“Well, that’s a bit awkward,” said the Wizard. “The name I was always called by when I was younger is Oz.”

“What? Why?” said Ron.

“Well, you see my given name is in fact Oscar Zoroaster Phadrig Isaac Norman Henkle Emmannuel Ambroise Diggs,” said the Wizard. “But I was usually called ‘Oz’, since that is short for ‘Oscar’, and my first two initials are ‘O’ and ‘Z’. The rest of my initials spell out ‘pinhead’, so I do not often use them.”

“Wow,” said Ron. “I guess not!”

“It was very lucky for me, in fact,” said the Wizard. “I put the letters ‘O’ and ‘Z’ on my balloon when I worked for the circus in Omaha. When my balloon was blown off course, and I ended up in Oz, the people of the Emerald City saw those letters and assumed I was their king. The kings of Oz have always been named Oz, you see. And the queens of Oz have always been Ozma.”

“Just like the king of Rinkitink is named Rinkitink,” mused Luna.

“Imagine if all our kings were named ‘England’”, said Neville. “Wouldn’t that get confusing?”

“Well, the French had something like twenty kings named ‘Louis’,” said Hermione. “I can’t imagine it would be any worse than that. — Anyway, can we call you Oz? I think we could deal with that. Is that agreed?”

“Whatever you like, my friends,” said Oz.

“Then, Oz,” said Hermione, “we have got to get more information. Suppose you were to free yourself and feel around in the dark to see what kind of dungeon we are in. Or if you can light your wand, maybe we could see things. If there’s a door with a lock on it, maybe you can unlock that as well.”

“An excellent suggestion, young lady,” said Oz. “Give me a moment and let me see what I can do.”

Ron heard Oz shuffling and shifting in the darkness. Based on their voices and the echoes, it seemed as though they were in a rather large room, but chained up relatively close together. There were clinks of metal and then a clatter.

“There we are,” said Oz. “And… yes, here is my wand, still in my pocket.”

The glow from it lit up the room. It was indeed a large, windowless, stone room, maybe one hundred feet square, with a very tall ceiling. There was one door over in the corner. The five of them were chained in the opposite corner, bound to shackles attached to the wall.

“I will go examine the door,” said Oz. He carefully got up and walked silently over to the door, carrying the light with him. After a few minutes he came back.

“I believe I can get that door open easily,” he said. “I did not actually try it; it’s possible there is some kind of magical alarm attached to it. But I don’t know what is on the other side of the door.”

“Well, we know a little more than we did before,” said Hermione. “But not much.”

“We can’t just sit here,” said Ron. “I say we get Oz here to unshackle us all, and open the door. Then we’ll take our chances.”

“Or,” said Hermione, “we could wait a bit longer. It’s only been four hours. Harry and Ozma and the others could be working to set us free right now. Or maybe they found the Queen. If we charge out now we could ruin everything.”

“No! Whatever we do, we should do it soon,” said Ginny. “Oz is bound to be struck squib at some point, like the rest of us. Once he loses his magic, we’ll be stuck here.”

“Oh god, you’re right,” said Hermione.

“We have to go now,” said Ron urgently.

“Hello, what’s this?” said Oz. He had wandered over into another corner of the room with his light, and was poking at small pile of dirt there. “There seems to be something…”

He crouched down, and they heard him gently handling the dirt. There was a squeaking and creaking noise, like old metal.

“Curious,” he said. “There is an old birdcage here. And a very, very large acorn inside it. I spotted it because it is glowing, just a little.”

“A glowing acorn?” said Hermione. “What could that be?”

The wizards all looked at each other in the near darkness. No one had any idea.

“Magical objects can be very dangerous,” said Oz. “I’m reluctant to do anything with it. However, we are in somewhat desperate straits…”

They saw him tuck his wand under his arm and fiddle with the birdcage.

“I can’t seem to open it easily,” he said. “It may be rusted shut. However, the bars are far apart. Let me just…”

He reached his arms through the cage and picked up the acorn. It was indeed huge: the size of a softball. He twisted the acorn’s cap, and it… unscrewed. A brilliant white light burst forth from it, flooding the room.

The Wizard of Oz stood for a moment looking into the acorn, an expression of surprise frozen on his face. Then he said softly, “Good day, your Majesty.”

There was a pause, and none of the wizards dared to breathe. A quiet, soft, gentle voice came from the acorn: “Good day, Oz. How did you find me?”

“Rather by accident, I must admit,” said Oz. “But, as it happens, we were in fact looking for you.” He turned to the others. “My friends,” he said, “I believe we have found the Queen of the Fairies.”

The wizards gasped. The light from the acorn grew much brighter, and then seemed to bubble forth from it like glowing sea-foam. Oz hastily, but very gently, placed the acorn on the floor of the cage, and backed away. A globule of light separated itself from the rest and rose a few inches into the air, and it grew and lengthened and slowly resolved into the figure of a beautiful woman, just a few inches high. She looked somewhat like Ozma, but older; in fact she had an ageless quality that is hard to describe, because it does not appear often on Earth. To Ron it looked as though she were immortal starlight itself, in the form of a beautiful woman. Her black hair was long and loose, and she wore just a simple white dress, with no decorations or jewelry of any kind.

Oz knelt before the cage, bowing his head to the ground. The others, still shackled to the wall, tried to bow also. There was no question of not bowing: they knew instinctively that she was, indeed, the Queen, and that this respect was her due.

“Rise, friends,” she said softly. “I thank you for your attempt to save me from bondage.”

“It was our simple duty,” said Oz. “I am only sorry that we were not able to find you sooner.”

“For my part,” said the Queen, “I wish you had not found me at all. I am thankful for your efforts, but since I cannot be released, it would have been better if you had not found me, and not been trapped here by my captors.”

“You’re still trapped by that old birdcage?” said Ron.

The Queen smiled. “Yes, friends,” she said. “You only opened my living chambers.” She gestured to the acorn, still open on the ground.

“Surely we can break that thing apart,” said Hermione.

“It is stronger than it looks,” said Oz. “My guess is that some form of magic is increasing its tensile strength. And there is no lock on the cage. Nor a door.”

“Indeed,” said the Queen. “The cage was constructed around me. And the iron is strengthened with my own magic.”

“We will find a way to get you out,” said Hermione.

The Queen shook her head. “I am sorry, friends,” she said. “But I must tell you that I do not wish to be released.”

There was a brief pause.

“What?” said Hermione. “What do you mean?”

The Queen turned to look directly at Hermione, and her tiny eyes were piercing and white, like two morning stars. Her expression softened.

“Hermione Granger,” she said. “You have fought long and hard for my people. I know the efforts you have gone to, even when you were in school and struggling against the one who called himself the ‘Dark Lord.’ And I know the hard work you have done for us at the British Ministry of Magic. But you have not understood us, truly, have you?”

“What?” said Hermione. “I mean, the house elves, they should be freed. They shouldn’t be enslaved. No one should be enslaved. There’s nothing more to understand about that. Is there?”

The Queen’s tiny face smiled. “But do the house elves wish to be enslaved? Can someone be enslaved, if they serve willingly? … You have tried freeing them, have you not?”

Hermione sighed. “I have. I tried giving them clothing. They wouldn’t take it. Well, one did. And the others treated him like he’d… betrayed them all.”

“The elves wish to serve me,” said the Queen. “They love me. And I love them. They serve the wizards because they serve me, and I have asked them to serve the wizards.”

“Ok, sure,” said Hermione. “I mean, I guess I understand that. But you want to be free, don’t you? You want to escape?”

“No,” said the Queen simply. “Listen, child. Open your heart and your mind if you can. Fairies and humans are fundamentally different. You are a mortal being. Your time here on earth is short. To make the most of your life, you must do as much as you can in a very brief lifetime. Yes? And in order to do so, you must be free to make your own choices, your own actions, your own decisions, your own mistakes. Freedom is absolutely essential. Otherwise, how can your life be your own? Is this not true?”

“Yes,” said Hermione slowly.

“Serving others,” said Neville. “That’s really important too, though.”

“Of course,” said the Queen, smiling. “Your lifespan is not so short that you cannot take time to serve others as well. But even that service must be your own choice to make. And thus the greatest, most meaningful choice you can make is the sacrifice of your own life for others.”

“Ok, maybe,” said Hermione. “A lot of people believe that. Then what?”

“Remember,” said the Queen, “that I, and all my children, are immortal beings. Our time is not short. It is longer than you can even imagine. What brings meaning to such a life? Service. Teaching. Helping others. Serving as mentors and guides. Through these actions, our long lives find purpose and joy. Without that, without service, we might as well be stones.”

Hermione was silent a moment. The she said, “It sounds like what you’re saying is that I… shouldn’t be trying to impose my own desire for freedom on elves.”

“Yes,” said the Queen. “It is a noble sacrifice of your brief time on Earth. But my people do not desire freedom as you do; we desire to serve. My people serve me, and thus their lives gain meaning. And now that I serve the wizards, my life has gained meaning, also.”

“But that’s awful!” burst out Ginny. “Have you met those wizards? Lord Heiland was completely mad! And Gormenghast! Why serve them? Why not find someone good to serve?”

“Are there no good mortal wizards?” said the Queen. “I promised to give magic to all of the descendants of the two brothers, good and evil. It is not my place to decide who is good and who is evil. If I did that, I would be ruling them, not serving them.”

Hermione seemed struck wordless.

“So you’re just going to… pretend that you don’t bear any responsibility for this?” said Ginny. “That anything these evil wizards do, it’s just fine with you?”

“Some wizards are wicked,” said the Queen. “Some are good. Most are a mixture. Again, it is not my place to judge them. Think of it this way. If a house elf serves an evil household, do you blame that house elf for what the family does?”

Ron remembered Kreacher, and the wicked things he’d done when he served the House of Black. He definitely blamed Kreacher for some of those things. Kreacher was reformed now, of course… though he was still pretty odd. And he remembered that Dobby used to be part of the Malfoy household, and that Dobby had probably had to do some terrible things. And that other house elf… Winky, wasn’t it? Was she the one who’d set off the Dark Mark at the World Quiddich Cup? No, that was Barty. But she’d been accused of it, and her defense wasn’t ‘no, I’d never do such a thing’, but that she simply hadn’t known how to.

Was it a house elf’s fault if they were ordered to do terrible things? Well, no, surely. They were slaves. But the Queen was saying she wanted to serve the wizards.

“But you don’t have to serve them,” said Ron. “Why don’t you just… help them when they want to do good things? And refuse to help them do bad things?”

The Queen shook her tiny head. “It is not so simple,” she said. “My power comes from the Earth, and as you know, the rain falls on both good and evil. The sun shines on both good and evil. The soil gives fruit for both good and evil. The tide rises and falls for both good and evil. The lion hunts the deer, regardless of whether the deer has led a blameless life. And old age and disease fell the lion, no matter how generous or compassionate she is. This is what I am trying to tell you. Good and evil are not always the same thing for lions and deer, humans and elves, trees and grasses. You, as a human, must do what is right, as your heart and mind guide you. And I, as the Queen of the Fairies, must do the same. But we will not always make the same choices.”

She smiled. “And anyway, young mortal wizard, if I did withdraw my magic, you would lose yours as well, wouldn’t you?”

“But I have already lost my magic,” said Ron.

“Right,” said Hermione. “We all have. Ozma said it was because you are weakening.”

The Queen’s expression grew very serious and solemn. “That is true,” she said. “I have been separated too long from my Crown. I am sorry. My power fails me.”

“Well, your elves stole the Crown back,” said Ron.

“They will probably destroy it,” said the Queen sadly.

“I don’t understand this at all,” said Luna. “If you’re a willing slave to these… wizards… then why don’t they give you your crown back?”

“They don’t believe me,” said the Queen. She seemed utterly heartbroken. “If I got the Crown back I could give you more powers. I could make all mortal wizards immortal, for example. Or make wands unnecessary. Or allow you to change your form at will. Or make it so that you no longer require sleep, or food… But my captors don’t trust me. They still think that I will take revenge on them if they return my Crown to me.” She sighed.

“So they will just… lock away the Crown somewhere?” asked Hermione.

“No, no,” said the Queen. “They will destroy it.”

“Why?” gasped Ron.

“To prevent me ever getting my power back,” said the Queen. “They would have done so a thousand years ago, but they did not know how. But Blafroua is very crafty, very clever. She thinks she understands the Crown now, and how to destroy it utterly, with a magical fire.”

“But it’s a Time Turner,” said Ron. “If they destroy it… won’t the timeline switch back?”

“What?” said Hermione. “What do you mean, it’s a Time Turner?”

“That’s what the centaurs said,” said Ron. “The Queen knew she was going to be captured, so she went back and made a new timeline in which she hid away most of her powers by creating Oz. If the Crown is destroyed, the timeline will switch back, and Oz will be destroyed. And all of history for the last thousand years will be changed. None of us will have been born, probably.”

“Wow,” whispered Neville.

“Is this true?” demanded Hermione.

“Oh yes,” said the Queen sadly. “I was afraid, you see. I didn’t know what these wizards would be like. I didn’t realize how I would come to love them — to love all of you, even with all your faults. So I hid away most of my magic.” She smiled. “But it will be fine. Blafroua will destroy the Crown, and the timeline will switch back… and then the mortal wizards will gain all the power that I can give them. I will make them like gods.” Her voice became dreamy. “No more hunger. No more pain. No more death. It will be wonderful.”

“For us, maybe,” said Ginny. “But Lord Heiland was a beast. He’d gone completely mad. He already thought he was a god. And you remember that story Luna told us, about the woodcutter he tortured.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,” said Ron. “I mean, the rest of us would put a stop to him. Just like we stopped Voldemort.”

“We barely stopped Voldemort,” said Hermione. “But Ron, you don’t understand. Lord Heiland was born in 900 AD, or whenever it was. Anyone born at that time… they were all pretty beastly. The upper classes literally thought that the lower classes were animals; and they thought that God had given them permission to rule over everyone else. The wizard family would have immediately established an empire over the whole world, and then they would have started fighting with each other over the throne.”

“And they would have used dragons against each other,” said Neville.

“And they’d use imperious curses to make the Muggles fight for them,” said Hermione. “And when the Muggles died they’d raise the dead to fight again… It would have meant continual wizarding war for a thousand years. Isn’t that right, Queen?”

“You cannot know these things,” she said haughtily. “You are a mortal with no power of the Sight.”

“Can you see this future, then?” demanded Hermione. “Do you have the Sight along that timeline?”

“I did,” said the Queen. “Before I created Oz, I… I thought I saw some things. But it has been a long time… my memory has faded.”

There was a silence.

“Your highness,” said Hermione quietly. “Listen to me. There is… a thing that can happen to humans sometimes, when they have been taken captive. Especially if they are good and kind people. They get to know their captors. They talk with them, they joke and laugh with them. They come to understand their point of view. They come to think that their captors have their best interests at heart, and only kidnapped them because they had no other choice. They come to think of their captors as their friends. And they try to help them.”

The Queen did not answer.

Hermione pressed on. “Your highness, I think you might be especially susceptible to this syndrome. I know that the house elves are. Remember Winky?” she said, turning to the others. “How she felt so responsible for what happened to the Crouches? She felt so guilty, she became an alcoholic! And all they did was abuse her. Your highness, if what you say is true, and you and your subjects gain so much meaning in life from serving others, can’t that make you blind to how mistreated you might be? Can’t that make you sacrifice too much of yourself for others, even if those others treat you terribly?”

The Queen still did not answer.

“Your highness,” said Hermione, “I would do anything to get my powers back. But these people… they took your Crown, they took your kingdom, and they have locked you in a dungeon for a thousand years! They are terrible, terrible people, and they do not deserve the love you have for them. — Look. Let us rescue you. Let us get you out of here. Once you are free, take some time, think about it. Walk under the stars and trees again. Speak with your people. And then, if you still want to give these wizards your powers… well, that’s up to you.”

Still the Queen was silent. Her expression was unreadable.

Hermione took a deep breath. “As for me,” she said, “I can’t bear to see you like this. And I can’t bear to learn that wizard magic comes at the price of your imprisonment. And I… I will never, ever use magic again.”

Ron heard a snapping noise. He realized, like a punch in the gut, that Hermione had snapped her own wand in half. She dropped the pieces on the ground.

He knew what he had to do. There was no doubt in his mind.  He took out his own wand and sharply broke it over his knee, and dropped it.

There were more cracks as Neville, Ginny, and Luna did the same.

The Queen stared at them all for a moment, then shook her head. She climbed back into her acorn and the top of it lifted up and screwed itself back on. The light from within went out, and they were left in complete blackness again, except for the thin blue light from the tip of the Wizard’s wand.

“Well,” said Oz quietly, “it appears we need a new plan.”

Chapter Text

The Swan of Glinda

Harry woke up suddenly in complete darkness. He was lying on something soft, so soft it seemed hardly there at all. The air was a bit stuffy, and had a slight floral smell. He sat up and groped around for his wand, found it in his robes, and lit it.

He was in a tiny, round, low-ceilinged room, not much bigger than the inside of a car. The walls were completely smooth and had a golden sheen. He was lying on what seemed to be a soft mass of cotton swabbing, and on either side of him were Ozma and Glinda, asleep. Beyond Ozma was Kreacher and Coddie, also asleep.

Or maybe they were dead?

“Ozma! Glinda!” he said, in as loud a whisper as he dared. “Wake up!” Tentatively he shook Ozma’s shoulder, and then Glinda’s. They weren’t cold. He watched them carefully, and they did seem to be breathing. But otherwise they did not stir.

Did he dare try some magic more powerful than Lumos? He could only assume they’d been taken prisoner and stuffed in this… weird egg-shaped prison. He wasn’t sure he wanted his captors to know he’d woken up.

“Rennervate!” he whispered, pointing his wand at Ozma. It didn’t work: she remained asleep. She didn’t even move. She must be under some sort of powerful enchantment.

He could reach the top of the egg with his fingers. The surface was smooth and cold. He felt around fruitlessly for any crack or irregularity that might open it. He got his legs under him (standing on the soft cotton-like substance wasn’t easy), crouched with his back against the ceiling, and tried to push or wedge it open. Nothing.

He sat back down, breathing heavily. The air seemed to be getting a bit stuffier. Maybe this egg had no air holes. Would they all suffocate in here? How long did they have?

He tapped his wand on the egg surface. “Alohamora!” he cried. “Diffindo!” The tip of the wand flashed, but the egg remained whole. He banged on it with his hands. He lay back and hammered it with his feet. Other than his breathing becoming more labored, nothing happened.

He lay back, trying to quiet his breathing. No use in using up the air any faster than he had to. Think, he told himself. Think!

Glinda’s swan!

He dug around in his robes and pulled it out. Maybe the swan had protected him somewhat from the sleeping spell.

“Where are we?” he whispered to the swan, and held it to his ear.

The voice was soft and calm. “You are imprisoned in a magical egg created by the fairy servants of the witch Blafroua. The egg is unbreakable, and impermeable to air, fire, water, and magic.”

That was bad. “What should I do?” he whispered.

“Wait,” said the swan.

“I can’t just wait!” snapped Harry. “We’ll suffocate in here!”

“Wait,” said the swan.

“Our friends could be dying out there!”

“Wait,” said the swan.

“Wait for what? Death?” demanded Harry.

The swan did not answer. Harry pounded on the egg walls in frustration. Nothing happened, of course.

He sighed and lay back, putting the swan back in his pocket. He couldn’t just sit here and wait to die. But he couldn’t think of anything to do, either. He racked his brains. If only Hermione were here; she would think of something, surely.

He lay there and thought, and lay there and thought. He became somewhat drowsy, and closed his eyes. The air slowly became stuffier and harder to breathe. Still, the fairies and elves did not stir. Nothing happened.

Would it hurt to suffocate? Would breathing become painful, until he was gasping with effort, like drowning? Or would he just sort of fall asleep, and never wake up?

Then he snapped alert. Something had changed — he couldn’t tell what. Was there a noise?

No. His wand light had begun to flicker.

He looked at the wand light in horror. It dimmed slightly.

“Lumos!” he said. “Lumos! Lumos!”

For a moment it grew brighter. Then it flickered a couple of more times, and went out entirely.

Darkness fell, and with it came a black fear and weariness. He felt as though all the energy were drained out of him — exhausted, spent. He hadn’t felt this afraid and hopeless since he’d encountered the Dementors. But then, he’d known on some level that the feeling was due to their enchantment. Now, there was no such meager comfort. He’d lost his magic, he’d lost his friends, and he was going to die here in the dark.

Then there was a sound. It was a strange, high keening, a voice singing, angelic and haunting. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from; it seemed to echo everywhere. It drew to mind wind and pouring rain, empty autumn orchards and blowing leaves, and the gentle fall of the first snow. It was a voice of sleep, a voice of death.

He realized eventually that the song was coming from his own pocket. He drew out the swan and held it. He couldn’t see it in the utter darkness, but it was clear that the swan was singing. As he held it in his hand, the voice seemed to gain strength, vibrating and humming and shaking his very bones, until the whole egg seemed to thrum with it.

Then the swan’s voice faded, and it crumbled to dust in his hands.

As its voice disappeared, another sound replaced it. It was a faint, insistent thumping. Whump, whump.

Someone was pounding on the outside of the egg!

“Help! Help!” screamed Harry. “Help, we’re in here!” He pounded back. He thought he could just barely hear a deep voice shouting.

The pounding grew even louder. Then it stopped.

“Help! Help!” screamed Harry again. “Please!”

Then there was another kind of noise — one that Harry couldn’t hear with his ears, but felt in his blood and his bones. The air was vibrating again, but at a frequency beyond his hearing. His head began to pound. He reached out and touched the surface of the egg, and it was vibrating so fast that it felt like an electric shock. He covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a tremendous crack, and a fine dust fell on him. He opened his eyes to bright sunlight, and he blinked in pain.

“Harry! Harry, thank goodness yer all right!”

It was Hagrid, and behind him, the looming form of Conca. The egg was completely gone — pulverized, it appeared, by Conca’s voice. Ozma, Glinda, and the two elves were sitting up and blinking, and the cotton-like substance they’d been lying on was spread out under them. There were other eggs nearby — most of them no larger than pumpkins, and looking more like eggplants than actual eggs. They appeared to be growing from a vine. Harry and the others were in a courtyard garden, surrounded by high stone walls. The garden was not large; it was cobbled with stones, and had a few raised beds of flowers and was lined with ancient apple trees. One simple fountain bubbled in its center.

“Where are we?” asked Ozma.

“In a castle in Germany, I reckon,” said Hagrid. “At least, Conca says we’re somewhere up in the forests and mountains near the border of Germany and Switzerland. Near the Black Forest, she says. Maybe in it? Anyway we followed the Crown here — they landed it over in the field there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “But by the time we caught it Ron and Luna had been taken away somewhere. And then we heard the singing, and we came over here and saw this huge egg. Conca thought she heard Harry breathing inside, so we tried to break in. And so she sang it open. Ain’t she something?”

Despite Hagrid’s long answer, Harry found himself not much wiser than before. He tried to organize his thoughts to ask a question, but Ozma beat him to it.

“The Crown?” she asked. “It’s nearby?”

“Aye,” said Hagrid. “It was in the Forbidden Forest, o’course, but the house elves of the evil wizards yanked it up out of the ground and flew it here. Ron and Luna were carried with it, but Conca and I got left behind. We flew after it as fast as we could, but I’m, uh,” he looked embarrassed and glanced over at Conca, “I’m kinda heavy so she couldn’t fly so fast. Anyway we finally caught up when they landed it in that field over there.” He jerked his thumb again.

“Should we go get it?” asked Ozma.

“Oh, I didn’t tell yeh,” said Hagrid. “Probably should have mentioned. It’s a circle of trees. It’s as big as a football pitch.”

Ozma frowned. “There is much here to be explained,” she said. “But it seems most urgent that we find our friends and see if they also need saving. They may be in the same dire straits as ourselves, or worse.”

“How did you all get in that egg?” asked Hagrid.

Harry briefly described their encounter with Heiland, and how they appeared to be victorious when suddenly they were captured again. “I don’t know how we actually were put in the egg,” said Harry. “I just woke up in there.”

“Probably the wicked witch Blafroua,” said Glinda. “She has great power. More powerful than Lord Heiland, for he had gone mad with power and age. She is likely still quite sane. She may be more powerful than myself, depending on how much power she has been able to siphon from the Queen.”

“Then she may be back at any moment,” said Harry. “Is there something we can do to find the others?”

“Yes, I believe I can help,” said Glinda. From her robes she drew out a small wooden box. She held it out in her palm and tapped it with her wand. The box immediately began to grow, and in a few seconds was revealed to be a cage with a tiny blue bird inside it. Glinda raised her hand to her mouth and whispered to the bird, and then opened the cage. The bird, which was smaller than a hummingbird, popped into the air, circled them once, and zipped off towards the far end of the courtyard.

“Follow!” cried Glinda, and they all charged after it.

Chasing after a small bird reminded Harry so much of Quiddich, he found himself desperately wishing he had his broom. But the bird flew through a low doorway in the courtyard wall and into a dark, stone-lined hallway.

“I’ll stay out here with Conca!” cried Hagrid. “Be careful in there!”

Ozma went first, her glowing golden scepter held high to light the way. The air quickly became stale and close, and they were bunched up together trying to squeeze along the passage. Harry found himself continually bumping into the wall or half-stumbling over Glinda’s robes or the house elves as the walls inched closer. Down two flights of spiral stairs, through a gate, left and right and down one more long straight flight, and then they were stopped at a door.

“The bird is gone,” said Ozma.

“They must be behind the door,” said Glinda.

“Ozma! Glinda!” came a voice from behind the door. It was the Wizard’s. Then Harry heard other voices: Ron, Hermione, Ginny…

“Get that door open!” he cried. Ozma banged on the door with her scepter, and it broke open. They rushed in, expecting to find a dungeon of some kind, but instead they stopped still, amazed.

It was a forest glade. The trees were tall firs that cast deep, soft shadows over rich, thick grass at their feet. Butterflies flitted from flower to flower. In the midst of the trees was a long table, mottled with sunlight fallen through leaves from far above. The table was draped with a white tablecloth, and all along it were set small dishes and chinaware, plates of cookies and cakes, crystal pitchers of clear water, and pots of tea. Wind whispered overhead, and birdsong echoed among the trees. A strange, tantalizing smell drifted in the air. Ron, Hermione, and the others were sitting at the table, enjoying the cookies and cakes and tea. One other person was at the table: a tall, thin woman with long golden hair gathered up onto her head, and wearing a dress like silvery snow. She sat languidly at the head of the table, smiling gently.

“Come on over, Harry!” cried Ron. “We’ve done it! We’ve won! Come have some cake!”

Ron stuffed a cookie into his mouth, and Hermione shot him an annoyed look. But she looked back at Harry and smiled.

“It’s true,” she said. “Lossa here has surrendered. And she said Blafroua has, too.”

“Surrendered?” said Ozma suspiciously. She lowered her scepter and stepped forward. Harry and the others followed.

“Indeed,” said the golden-haired woman. She smiled broadly, perhaps a bit sadly, and stood to greet them. “I am Lossa, known as Snow-Stone. I am the sister of Blafroua and poor Heiland. For a thousand years, ever since our grandfather encountered the Queen of the Fairies, we have ruled over this land.”

“You captured her,” said Harry. “You enslaved her.”

“And you, our descendants, have reaped the rewards of the deal we struck with her,” said Lossa.

“But we were going to free her,” said Harry.

“Yes, and Blafroua captured you and brought you here, and we thought to defeat you. But,” and she paused and waved at the table, “but your words of reason and compassion have opened our eyes. We realize now that we have acted terribly. We have released the Queen, and henceforward we renounce all magic.”

A tremendous sense of relief, peace and calm descended on Harry. He was amazed and grateful that the victory had been won so easily.

“But this table,” said Glinda. “This feast. This glade. Surely this is all magical.”

“Indeed, it is a final gift from the Queen,” said Lossa sadly. “In her great mercy, she has granted us this final meal together before we pass back into mortal life. Without her magic, I will die, just as Heiland did. So it is my final meal; when I take my last bite, I shall die.”

“And these cakes are amazing!” cried Ron. “Harry, mate, you have got to try this one with the raspberry.”

Harry was so happy and grateful he felt almost dazed. He stepped up to the table and sat down with the others. The tablecloth was pristine and white; the tea, which he drank from a light, thin china saucer, was bittersweet with just enough honey. He ate a cake, and it was absolutely amazing. The silverware glittered brightly in the forest sunlight, and the tea settings had intricate blue and white patterns that twisted his vision and made him blink rapidly. It was exquisite; everything was real and yet too wonderful to be real. It was a feast as only a fairy queen could concoct, he supposed.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” he said to Ginny.

“I was so worried,” said Ginny. “But thankfully that’s over. I’m so grateful.”

“Me too,” he said. “I suppose later I’ll be really sorry to lose magic forever. But I think if we’re together, it will be ok.”

“I think so, too,” said Ginny, smiling. She ate another cake.

“Do you know what that smell is?” Luna asked Neville. “I’ve been trying to place it; it keeps nagging at me.” Neville shook his head impatiently and stuffed his mouth with cookies.

“I am certainly grateful that you and your sister have seen reason,” said Ozma, sipping daintily at the tea. “Where is Blafroua now?”

“She will be here shortly,” said Lossa. “As you can imagine, the failure of her magic will leave many of her affairs in disarray. I am an ascetic myself, and have few worldly possessions; but she is actively involved in the wizarding community and has a great many preparations to make.”

“And the Queen herself?” asked Ozma. “Is she nearby?”

“I am not sure where she is,” said Lossa. “I am sure it is not important.”

“I am sure it is not important,” repeated Ozma.

Things definitely seemed strange. But Harry couldn’t seem to think in a straight line. Every time he tried to put one thought after another, he would be distracted by the patterns on the teacups, or the glitter of the silverware, or a flash of a butterfly… Or Ginny’s smile. Ginny laughed, and smiled, and he laughed and smiled with her.

“I think I know that smell,” whispered Luna. “It’s Somnipoke spray, isn’t it? Neville?”

“Somnipoke?” said Neville. “No, can’t be that. They only live in southeastern North America. Related to the skunk. They spray when they’re alarmed. Smells like…”

“Like sweet burning leaves,” whispered Luna.

“Yes,” said Neville. His eyes unfocused. “I wonder…”

He took a strong sniff, blinked, frowned. “Can’t be that,” he said. “They only spray when they’re alarmed. I don’t see any alarmed Somnipokes here.”

“Could be hiding,” said Luna.

“One way to find out,” said Neville. He reached for a pitcher of water and pulled it over to him. He stuck his hand in the top of it.

“What are you doing?” asked Hermione.

“Checking to make sure it’s cold,” said Neville. Then he carefully, deliberately, lifted the pitcher of water and poured the entire thing over his head.

For a moment he blinked at them all, water dripping from his hair and clothes.

“More,” he said.

“Wait,” said Lossa. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll help,” said Luna. She grabbed another pitcher and poured it over his head.

He stood up suddenly, sputtering and spitting. “Augh!” he cried. “It’s foul! It’s muddy and dirty! Don’t drink it!”

Lossa was on her feet, but Glinda was faster. She whipped her lasso from her belt and threw it at Lossa. Lossa tried to dodge, but was nowhere near quick enough. The lasso circled her and cinched tight. Harry expected her to age instantly, as Heiland had done, but instead she simply vanished.

“What on earth?” cried the Wizard.

“It’s the Somnipoke spray,” said Neville. “It’s still in the air. Your mind is still muddled, and you can’t see anything that doesn’t fit in with the illusion. Use the cold water. Just don’t get any of it in your mouth.”

Harry was still confused about what was going on, but he started to get the idea when others began dumping cold water on their heads. He didn’t know what the big deal was, but it seemed like fun, so he went for it. Immediately he wished he hadn’t: the glade, cookies, tea, and cakes all disappeared, leaving them in a dim, foul-smelling dungeon.

The table was still there, but it was just rough-hewn wood; and the pitchers of water were there, but they were just poor iron pitchers with dirty water in them. There were no cookies, cakes, or tea at all. Harry was afraid for a moment that his friends were illusions, too, but they were all still there. That, at least, he was very grateful for. He grasped Ginny in a tight, damp embrace.

“Where is Lossa?” demanded Ozma.

“I fear she is this pile of dust here, your highness,” said Glinda. “And there, in that recess, are the poor captive Somnipokes she used to deceive us. They are not well fed.”

“We have no time to see to them now,” said Ozma.

“We must be ready,” said the Wizard. “Blafroua is sure to be on her way.”

“What can we do?” said Luna. “None of us have magic any more!”

“I still have magic,” said the Wizard. “So do Ozma and Glinda. And Coddie and Kreacher.”

“And I,” said Hagrid. None of them had heard or seen him coming, but he had shouldered his way through the narrow passage and squeezed into the chamber. “Not that I ever had much magic anyway, but…” He patted his pocket and Harry could see the end of his umbrella sticking out of it. “I’ll do what I can.”

“What about Conca?” asked Harry.

“Conca’s fine, she’s still on guard out there. She heard everything that went on down here. She wanted me to warn you that Blafroua’s in another part of the castle, gathering up her house elves for an attack. It’s going to be nasty.”

“We must think quickly,” said Ozma. “How can we prepare?”

“Your highness,” said Glinda, “perhaps it would be wisest to transport those who have no magic out of here. Blafroua will be swift and brutal to anyone who cannot defend themselves. They may be killed immediately, before we have a chance to help them.”

“We’re not going anywhere!” cried Hermione. “There must be something we can do!”

“Kreacher will protect them,” croaked Kreacher.

“I feel that Kreacher and Coddie would be more valuable on the attack, your highness,” said Glinda.

“The biggest thing we need to worry about,” said the Wizard, “is the Queen.”

“The Queen?” cried Ozma.

“Yes, your highness.” The Wizard gestured with his wand to a large birdcage in the corner of the room. “Lurline is in that very cage. We spoke with her earlier. She refused to be set free, and she declared herself to be on the side of Blafroua.”

Ozma’s young face blanched white. “It cannot be!”

“Your highness,” said Glinda, “if the Queen is against us, we have no hope at all.”

“I must speak with her!” demanded Ozma.

“I fear you are too late, my darlings,” said a woman’s voice. Blafroua had arrived.

Chapter Text

The Wizard of Oz

The voice was deep and powerful, and spoke with an effortless authority. It echoed around the room, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere. Then she entered: not particularly tall, but regal in bearing, with long black curls and a simple, elegant gown of scarlet and coral. She had a scepter topped with a circle bearing the letter ‘A’ inside it. It reminded Harry immediately of Ozma’s scepter, which had a circle with a ‘Z’, representing ‘OZ’. What would the ‘A’ stand for? Maybe Audo and Arnust, the two brothers? Was she deliberately trying to copy Ozma? Taunt her?…

The air around her shimmered, and Harry could see she had already thrown up powerful protective spells around herself. At her heels followed a dozen house elves. The elves marched with near-military precision, and ran to take positions around her and at the corners of the room nearby; their hands were lifted, fingers curled, ready to cast spells immediately.

“Princess Ozma,” said Blafroua. “Welcome to my home. I hope we can resolve this without any more unpleasantness.”

“Release the Queen,” said Ozma firmly. “You have held her for over a thousand years. That is long enough.”

“And if I do?” said Blafroua. “Ozma, my dear, your whole world will end if I do that. Firstly, of course, none of your wizard friends will ever get their powers back. Would you do that to them? But second, you will lose your whole kingdom. Oz will be destroyed. Is that what you want?”

Ozma did not reply. Her expression did not change.

“You don’t know about the Crown?” said Blafroua. “I shouldn’t be surprised — I only learned about it myself a few years ago. Yes, you see, when the Queen realized she was going to be captured, to prevent the wizards from gaining ultimate power, she used the Crown to travel back in time and conceal the greatest part of her magic on the other side of the world, in the middle of a deadly desert. She used that power to create Oz and all its inhabitants there. If she is released, don’t you think she’s going to want that power back?”

This was the first time Harry had heard about this, and he felt sure Blafroua was lying. But it was a strange lie to tell — one that should be easy to disprove.

“Glinda,” said the Wizard, “is this true?”

“It is true,” said Glinda quietly. “I read of this many years ago in my Book of Records, in which is written everything that happens in the world, as it happens. When I discovered this, I informed Ozma. We agreed that it should be kept secret, for it was not our secret to tell.”

The Wizard said something under his breath. Harry thought it was probably not a nice word at all. He himself was thinking something similar. Surely Ozma would back down now. Her responsibility was to her kingdom. She would need to defend it at all costs.

“The Queen created our nation,” said Ozma. “We owe our lives to her. She can destroy us, if she so chooses. But I do not think she will. She loves us too well. Release her! It is her choice to make.”

Blafroua laughed quietly. “I do not think you know her as well as you think,” she said. “If I asked her now, she would beg not to be released. And if I released her, she would beg to be returned to my service. Oz knows.” She smiled, and looked at the Wizard. “Don’t you, Oz?”

Harry was a bit confused to hear the Wizard referred to as Oz. He was struggling to keep up.

The Wizard bowed his head. “It is true,” he said quietly. “We spoke with the Queen before you arrived, your highness, as I was telling you. She has, somehow, become a devoted servant to these mortal wizards. I do not understand it.”

“Release her,” said Ozma coldly. “I demand to hear the words from her own mouth.”

“Fine,” said Blafroua. She gestured at the large cage, and one of the house elves leapt to obey her. Harry now saw that there was a huge acorn in the cage. The house elf reached through the bars with his nimble fingers, picked up the acorn, and began twisting the top. After a moment the top came off, and a brilliant misty froth began to boil out of it.

“Oh Queen Lurline!” cried Blafroua. “Your subject, Ozma of Oz, is here. She wishes me to release you.”

There was silence a moment. And then a small voice from the acorn said, “I do not wish to be released. The wizards need me.” The voice seemed weary and sad.

“You see?” said Blafroua triumphantly.

Ozma glanced at Glinda. Glinda nodded very slightly.

“I do not know what enchantment you have laid on her,” said Ozma. “But she is my Queen and it is my duty to serve and care for her. And it is her destiny to walk freely the forests of the Earth, to see the starlight and the moonlight on the grass, to smell the spring air and dance on the surface of the snows in winter. That is her life’s true path, and her birthright, whether she wills it or not. And I will bring it to her, if I can; for neither you nor anyone else can keep it from her forever.”

With that, Ozma swung her scepter at the ground, and when it struck the stones there was a tremendous flash of light that blinded them all for a moment. When Harry managed to open his eyes again, he saw Glinda’s lasso hurtling directly towards Blafroua. But unlike Heiland, Blafroua didn’t stand there dumbstruck. She dived out of the way, and the lasso encircled a hapless house elf, who shrieked and disappeared with a crack just before it struck.

Then the air was full of heat and light. Blafroua’s elves had released a firestorm. Harry’s instinct was to fire back, or throw up a protective charm, but his magic was gone, and he knew his wand would be useless. Instead he used the only weapon he had: his own body. He twisted away from the flames and hurled himself sideways, throwing open his robes to try and protect Ginny and Neville, who were somewhat behind him. He felt the heat of the attack blast around his ears and fingers, and dropped onto the ground, rolling to put out any flames on his clothes. He heard yelling and screaming from the humans, and screeches and cries from the house elves.

“Get behind me, all of you!” he heard Ozma shouting. He unrolled enough to get his bearings, and he saw Ozma standing in the center of a blue halo of protection, impervious to the magical fire. The other wizards  desperately scrambled to get there. He tried to get up and walk, but his hands and arms were seared and too weak to lift himself. Instead he just crawled towards Ozma as fast as he could, joining the others.

When he reached the blue halo, gasping for breath in the blast furnace of air, he tried to look around and see who was winning. How could Ozma, Glinda, the Wizard, Kreacher and Coddie withstand the attack of Blafroua and so many elves? They were standing in Ozma’s protective halo, waving their arms, preparing some sort of counterattack.

He suddenly wondered, with a sinking feeling, how long the Wizard’s magic would last. Blafroua’s house elves could strike him squib at any moment.

It must have been just a few seconds, but it felt like much longer, before Glinda cast her spell. As she finished gesturing, she raised her golden lasso over her head, and it seemed to unravel into dozens of golden lights like fireflies. She then released them with a flourish and a shout, and each light zipped away, targeting a specific enemy. The elves screamed, and their attack turned into chaos. Many Apparated away; others slumped to the ground, senseless or dead. Was their magic being removed?

Blafroua, looking determined and angry, threw up a brighter, stronger protective shield, and the firefly targeting her bounced off it. She then conjured a blue bolt that zapped the firefly right out of the air.

Before she could do anything further, however, Glinda unleashed a second cloud of sparks, all of them headed directly at her. Quickly Blafroua conjured another shield, and the fireflies surrounded her in a swarm, hammering away at it. She Apparated to another part of the room and threw up another shield, but the fireflies followed her. She began zapping them out of the air one by one as quickly as she could, but then Glinda released another swarm.

Blafroua was losing! Harry could see the fear and desperation in her face. It was only a matter of time…

“Halt!” cried a high, loud voice. “Halt and hear your Queen!”

Everyone froze. The fireflies vanished. All was silent for a moment. Harry saw the tiny figure of the Queen standing within her cage, arms upraised in command.

“All mortal wizards to whom I have granted power, I hereby revoke my gift. I reclaim my power from you. All my subjects, all my sons and daughters, I hereby order you to stand down: do not fight me, or the mortal wizards, any further. This battle is over.”

Glinda, Ozma, the elves, and the Wizard slowly lowered their hands. Blafroua lowered her wand, breathing heavily, her chin held high in triumph.

“It pains me,” said the Queen, “but for everyone’s safety, I must bind you.”

Harry’s hands were magically pulled backwards, gently but firmly, and he felt metal shackles appear around his wrists. He could see similar shackles appearing around the wrists of everyone else in the room — golden shackles decorated with filigree, not heavy, but terrifically strong. Only Blafroua’s hands remained free, and those of her elves.

“I will now heal those who have been harmed,” said the Queen.

Harry’s scorched arms and ears immediately felt better. Blafroua’s house elves began to wake up, shaking their heads and getting to their feet.

Harry’s mind was racing, trying to think of something to do; but what could be done? How could any power defeat the Queen herself? He could only hope that she would make some mistake, or come to her senses somehow.

“My children,” she said to the house elves, “my good and loyal children! Please bring to me all the Hourwicks you have gathered. Also, bring me my Crown.”

What? What was going to happen now? Harry’s mind spun. Was she going to reclaim her power, or something? With a battery of cracks, half a dozen house elves disappeared. A moment later they began to come back, each carrying an Hourwick. Was Harry’s Hourwick — the Time Turner he and Hermione used to save Buckbeak’s life — there among them?

And how were they going to bring the Crown, if it was as big as Hagrid said?

Within a few minutes, the house elves had placed six Hourwicks around the Queen’s cage. Then one house elf came bearing the Crown. It was a completely normal-sized crown: perhaps eight inches across, it would easily fit on a human’s head. But Harry could see that it was in fact a dozen tiny birch trees, with all their fine branches and roots intertwined so that they were a circlet of silver. The tiny leaves rustled as the elf gently carried it. Had it simply been shrunk down? The elf put it with the other Hourwicks around the Queen’s cage.

“These are the last Hourwicks remaining,” said the Queen. “Together, they have drawn away so much of my power that I am dying. I will now destroy them. And in doing so, I will regain my power. And I will destroy this terrible timeline, in which I have not been able to give my full power to my poor mortal wizards. They have had to live in hiding, persecuted by the non-magical humans, instead of bringing peace and prosperity and immortality to the whole of the human world. Let this terrible timeline, and all memory of it, be wiped away forever.”

This was it, then, thought Harry. His Hourwick, the one keeping this timeline going, would be destroyed. He wouldn’t just be killed; he’d never have been born. Neither would any of his friends, as far as he knew. All of human history would be completely changed, from 800 AD onward.

There was a deadly silence as the Queen began waving her tiny arms. Harry felt almost calm; he had faced death so many times… He wondered if it would hurt. He wondered if he would join Dumbledore at the train station, as he had when he died before. Or would it be different this time? After all, he wasn’t being killed so much as wiped from existence. Can you really die if you’ve never been born?

The Queen gestured at one Hourwick, and a bolt of gold light shot from her fingers and struck the device. It glowed briefly gold, then white-hot, and burst into ash.

Nothing seemed to change. Harry still lived. He realized he was holding his breath.

The Queen destroyed another Hourwick, and then another. Still nothing happened.

Harry realized he was crying: silent tears were running down his cheeks. He wasn’t really sad for himself. But everyone he knew was going to be instantly destroyed, and they didn’t even know it. He couldn’t move his hands to wipe away the tears; but he didn’t really want to.

Another Hourwick was destroyed. The Queen was methodically destroying them counterclockwise around her cage. Two Hourwicks were left, and then the Crown.

The Queen destroyed the two Hourwicks. Only the Crown remained. And, somehow, Harry still lived.

Harry’s timeline should have been destroyed. Why was he still here? He tried to glance over at Hermione, to see if she had any clue what was going on, but he couldn’t turn his head enough to see her.

“And now the Crown of Life,” said the Queen.

“No!” screamed Ozma.

This time the bolt the Queen shot from her fingers was black. The Crown seared and smoked, and the leaves of the trees began to rattle and quake. Suddenly it burst entirely into flame. Harry watched the flames consume it, the trees writhing like snakes at first, and then twisting and falling limp like spent matchsticks.

There was absolute silence. All of them stood there, staring at the small pile of burned sticks.

Nothing happened. Harry felt his heart pounding as he waited for something… anything to happen. But nothing did. The Queen stared at the remnants of her Crown, frozen in surprise.

At last the Wizard stirred. With a small little smile on his face, he shook his shackles, once, twice, three times, and they fell off him.

Blafroua gasped. “Who released you?” she demanded. “You couldn’t have released yourself! The Queen removed the magic from all wizards!”

The little man did not reply, except to smile more broadly, and lift his wand. A white bolt shot out of it and struck Blafroua square in the chest. She screeched and fell backwards in a heap; her scepter clattered away from her on the floor.

“If you will allow me, your highness,” said the Wizard, stepping over to Ozma. He took hold of her shackles, and in a second or two she was released as well.

“Thank you, Oz,” said Ozma. She grasped her scepter and advanced on the Queen’s cage. The Queen was still staring in mute surprise at the pile of sticks that had been the Crown.

“Your highness,” said Ozma firmly, “enough of this. It is not right that the Queen be in bondage to mortals. You must be released.”

The Queen looked up at her fiercely. “How dare you!” she said. “You are my subject. Why are you not obeying my command to stand down?”

Ozma did not answer her. “Oz,” she said, “can you break open this cage? Glinda cannot, because she is bound by the Queen’s command. I cannot, because my magic is not strong enough. The cage is a mix of iron and spellwork, and while I might break the spell, my magic does not work well on iron.”

“I believe I can help, your majesty,” said the Wizard. “But if the Queen tries to stop me, I do not know if I can fend her off.”

“I will not permit it!” cried the Queen. “Touch my cage, and I will consume you with liquid fire!”

“I will protect you,” said Ozma grimly to the Wizard. “Be as quick as you can.”

The Wizard nodded and took a step toward the cage. The Queen instantly tried to blast him with a bolt of fire, but Ozma had already cast her blue halo of protection over him. She parried the Queen’s attack, and then, waving her arms to shape the magic in the air, she molded the defensive shield so that it surrounded the Queen herself within her cage. Ozma grunted and breathed heavily with the effort of the magic. The Queen screamed incoherently and raged against the barrier, but nothing got through.

Carefully the Wizard approached the cage. From the pockets of his greatcoat he pulled out a pair of heavy leather gloves and large thick goggles, and pulled them on. Then he took out a small vial, crouched by the bars of the cage, and carefully poured its contents onto the bars. Nothing seemed to happen. He began trying to turn and twist the bars, and where the liquid had been Harry now saw that the metal was discolored, and seemed weakened and thinner. In a few moments the Wizard was able to snap one of the bars. Then he snapped another, and another. Then he stepped back.

“Your highness,” said Ozma, “the spell of the cage is broken. The iron no longer surrounds you. You are free.”

The Queen screamed once, twice, then fell to her knees, sobbing.

“How did you disobey my command?” she cried. “How did this mortal human wizard still have his power? Why did the time lines not snap back? I do not understand!”

“I will answer your questions as best I can,” said Ozma. “And then you will answer mine. Agreed?”

“Very well,” said the Queen.

“I could disobey your command,” said Ozma, “because you did not command me. You said, ‘All my subjects, all my sons and daughters, I hereby order you to stand down;’ but I am not your subject — I am your child, the ruler of Oz in your stead. And while I am indeed your child, I am neither your son nor your daughter. I was born a daughter, but when I was a baby I was stolen away and sent to live with old Mombi, the Wicked Witch of the North. To hide me, she transformed me into a boy, and changed my name to Tip. She raised me as a son. Later, when I was restored to the throne, I was changed back into a girl, and I rule Oz as Princess Ozma, as the law requires. But in my own heart I am simply myself: both and neither Ozma and Tip,  both and neither boy nor girl. So, since I am not your subject, nor your son, nor your daughter, your command did not apply to me.”

The Queen only gaped at Ozma. She was speechless.

“As for the Wizard,” said Ozma, “I do not know how he comes to still have his powers. Can you explain this, Oz?”

The little man smiled somewhat shyly. “Certainly, your highness. I did not lose my powers because, in fact, I have never had any magic at all.”

“No magic!” cried Ozma. “Did you not just destroy the Queen’s cage? Did you not free us from our shackles? Did you not strike Blafroua with a bolt from your wand?”

“I did,” admitted Oz. “But not with magic. I weakened the iron of the queen’s cage with a mixture of hydrochloric acid and some other chemicals of my own devising. My wand is in fact fitted with a powerful battery, and the bolt I shot was simply electricity. As for releasing the shackles… well, any stage magician with a lockpick in his sleeve could have done it.”

“Where did you learn all these tricks?” said Ozma.

“I learned them in my youth, in Omaha,” said Oz. “You see, I was born to a large family of wizards, but I am a squib. I have never had any magical talent whatsoever. In order to keep up with my brothers and sisters, I learned as much slight-of-hand magic as I could; and then of course I learned more tricks when I joined the circus…”

“The Wizard of Oz is a squib?” cried Ron.

“A fraud, in fact,” said Oz, grinning. “As I told Dorothy many years ago. I was a very bad wizard, but a very good man. I have gotten better at wizardry, I think, but I still cannot do any actual magic at all.”

“But the Hourwicks!” demanded the Queen. “Why did destroying the Hourwicks not destroy the timelines? Why does the Land of Oz still exist? Why do I not have my full power back?”

“I do not know,” admitted Ozma. The Wizard also shook his head.

“I think I can answer this one,” said Glinda. “As you know, an Hourwick is like a large stone dropped into the river of time; it diverts time’s flow onto a new course. But a river, diverted into a new course for long enough, will carve a new channel. It will dig its way into the earth and make itself a new bed. At that point, the rock can be removed and the river will remain on its new course. I believe it is the same way with the Hourwicks. They have been too long in place. Time will not snap back.”

“Oh thank goodness,” gasped Harry. He suddenly felt light as air; it was as if a tremendous weight — one that had been in place for so long he’d forgotten how heavy it was — had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like he could take full breaths again.

The Queen looked around from one to another of them. Standing in the remnants of the cage, she looked like a small frightened animal. Her tiny cheeks were wet.

“But why did you free me?” cried the Queen. “Ozma, my child, why did you free me? For the first time in my life I had purpose. I could serve. I could give happiness and joy to others. I did not have to worry if what I was doing was right or wrong… I simply had to obey. I knew purpose. I knew fulfillment. Why did you take that away from me?”

“Your highness,” said Ozma gently, “if you wish, you may serve and give happiness to your subjects, who love you. But your destiny, your purpose, is to walk free on the Earth under the sky. That alone will give you true fulfillment, and that can never be taken from you. You would remember this better if your Crown were restored to you. If you will permit me…”

Ozma knelt by the charred remnants of the Crown and, closing her eyes, passed her hands over it. Green light swirled around it. Ozma concentrated, gasping with effort. Then, from each blackened twig, a single golden flower blossomed. The blossoms sprouted green shoots that reached out to each other and wound round each other until they were all bound together in a garland. Then the green light faded. Ozma, still breathing heavily, lifted up the garland, and as she did so, it shrank down to the size of a golden ring. Still kneeling, Ozma bowed her head, and presented the Crown to the Queen.

The Queen looked at it a moment. Then she bowed her own head. Ozma placed the crown gently on her, and the Queen immediately fell forward. Ozma caught her and lifted her out of the cage, standing up.

“She is asleep,” said Ozma. She picked up the Queen’s acorn and carefully put her sleeping form inside, and closed the lid.

“When she wakes, she will feel better,” said Ozma. She smiled, looking tired but happy. “We will take her back to Oz. With her Crown, and her subjects, surrounded by her magic there, I hope she will quickly feel whole again. Glinda, I give her to you for safekeeping.”

“Of course, your highness,” said Glinda. “Perhaps the Wizard could first release me from my shackles?…”

Chapter Text

The Wizarding World

I don’t know if you have ever been in the Emerald City on a spring day. Usually the city enjoys an eternal summer, with bright warm mornings and afternoons, often with a brisk breeze to break the heat, and a gentle rainfall overnight, keeping everything verdant. But in the springtime there are whole days of misty, foggy rain, coating the grass and gardens with soft dew and watering the huge blossoms that flourish the rest of the year. The air and smells of springtime are at once relaxing, peaceful, and invigorating, like a pleasant shower after a nap.

It was on a misty day like this that Ozma welcomed one of the largest and strangest collections of delegations ever to visit the royal palace. The British Minister of Magic was there, and the French Ministre de la Magie, and the German Minister der Magie, and Russia’s Ministr Magii… Magical ministers from a dozen nations. The Muggle Prime Ministers and Presidents of all those countries came, too, and other representatives from the European Union. None of these exalted persons had ever been to Oz before, and they walked the palace gardens and orchards with wide eyes and continual exclamations of amazement in their various languages. Mingled among them were other visitors, much more usual for the Emerald City: King Bobo of Noland, Queen Zixi of Ix, the King and Queen of Ev, and, neither last nor least, King Rinkitink riding his little donkey. There were even a few ambassadors from the Nome King, although they kept mostly to themselves, sitting at a small table in the corner of the welcome hall, scowling and drinking mineral water.

Harry was required to be there, and he was not happy about it. He and Hermione and Ron sat, stuffed uncomfortably into their finest dress robes, eating little fairy cakes (which were exquisite and melted in the mouth like morning mist), listening to the delegates earnestly discuss the finer points of international diplomacy, bored stiff. The questions to be decided were extremely important: would the Queen remove all the magic from all the wizards everywhere? If so, when? How? If not, would the people struck squib receive their magic back? Would house elves continue to serve wizard families? What about wands and other magical items? What about Disclosure: would the Muggle world be alerted of what was going on?

In theory, Harry was very interested in these questions. But somehow, the way these delegates talked, everything was excruciatingly boring. And, after using a portkey to travel halfway around the world, his body felt like he’d been awake all night… And it was such a wonderful, warm afternoon…

“She can’t just take all the magic away,” whispered Hermione. “She just can’t. Harry, are you listening?”

“What?” muttered Harry.

“Are you seriously falling asleep?” whispered Hermione in a hiss. “The Queen’s representative is speaking!”

“Goodness, Hermione, I don’t know how you can stay awake,” said Ron. “Especially after the Woggle-Bug’s speech. I didn’t know English had so many ten-syllable words.”

“I thought it was very interesting,” said Hermione testily. “I had never heard the history of the Nonestic Ocean Treaty Organization laid out in quite that way before. But anyway hush, I’m trying to listen…”

Harry sat up, shaking his head to rouse himself, and tried to attend properly.

“…And thus the Queen,” said the elf who was the Queen’s representative, “cannot allow things to continue as they were. We know that many of you, especially our friends among the mortals, may find it difficult to truly understand the Queen’s distress, disgrace, and confusion.  For you, then, the Queen will express herself through song.”

Harry and his friends glanced at each other. Through song? Was this… normal for diplomatic negotiations among the fairies?

The various diplomats and ambassadors made space in the center of the welcome hall, and the Queen was escorted in. She had grown herself to full size, and was dressed in a simple, elegant gown of forest green and dun brown, edged with a thin trim of pink lace. The smell of spring rain seemed to follow her in.

She quietly whispered something to her representative, smiling softly, and he stepped back a few paces. The Queen looked round at them all, still smiling — this time with, Harry thought, a bit of sadness — and then closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and sang.

She did not sing in English, but Harry seemed to understand her words nonetheless. The first few bars carried a terrible weight of sadness, loss and hopelessness on a scale that Harry could hardly comprehend.

I lived free under soil, under sea, under sky

Until the chains came round me and took me, rooting me

And sea, soil and sky were lost to me

I was smothered in steel and silence

My endless story was stilled

Then the song changed, and there was a shift in feeling. Subtly, hopelessness became hope, and loss became yearning, although the sadness remained — becoming, if anything, even deeper.

But among the mortal souls I could serve

I could ease the sore of spirit

I drew joy to them and loved them

Still chained, yet now tied with tenderness

And with a final shift, the yearning song turned again to loss, this time even more crushing and despairing than before.

When the steel was gone a silence descended

No more joy I drew, no more anguish to ease

No more assistance or affection to be taken

Only hollow wilderness with no hope of water or living wood

For all the eternity of the Earth’s days.

It was a loss of hope but also loss of sadness itself, leaving only a meaningless existence stretching onward forever. The song ended there, leaving Harry with a horrible emptiness inside. He struggled to snap out of it, to bring himself back to the present. The Queen did not open her eyes again; she simply turned and walked back out the way she had come, leaving a leaden silence that clung to the room for more than a minute.

Finally Harry took a few deep breaths and got control of himself. It was bad, but it was no worse than the effect of a Dementor, really. Chocolate — he needed chocolate.

Hermione had her face in her hands. Ron was staring at the ground where the Queen had stood, his eyes wide, face haggard. He looked older than Harry had ever seen him.

“It’s ok,” said Harry. “We need to get some chocolate.”

Hermione lowered her hands, nodding. Harry could see her face was smeared with tears. Wordlessly, she stood up and walked over towards the food tables.

“You ok, Ron?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know,” said Ron. He sighed. “You know, Harry, when I first met the Queen, in that dungeon, and I saw how the evil wizards had messed her up, I swore I’d never do any magic again, and I broke my wand. We all did. Since then, I won’t lie to you, I’ve had some second thoughts. It’s been hard, you know. Really hard. I was starting to think, well, maybe I’ll just pop round to Ollivander’s again, you know?”

“Well, yeah,” said Harry. “Giving up all magic forever. I mean, that’d be crazy.”

“But it’s not crazy,” said Ron firmly. “And after hearing that song, I’m sure — well, I’m pretty sure. I can’t do it any more. I can’t bear to know that it’s my magic that’s been causing all this pain. I mean, did you see her? She’s devastated, Harry. She’s had a thousand years of torture. And for what? So that we can have magic. I can’t do it any more. I just can’t. I… I won’t.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He groped for words.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into,” he said. “I mean yeah, I’ve thought about giving up magic. For months now. Ever since we found out about the Queen. But, Ron, I lived the first half of my life without magic. I had no idea about magic. It was awful. Why do you think wizards pity squibs so much? So many little things about everyday life… And you couldn’t be an Auror anymore. What would you even do?”

Ron barked a bitter laugh. “I’ve never been great shakes as an Auror anyway,” he said. “Not compared to you. That’s probably why I was charging in to every battle early on. I felt like I needed to prove something…”

Harry tried to compose an answer, but just then Hermione came back carrying a platter of chocolate. The Wizard of Oz arrived with her, bearing glasses of fairy ale (watered down, Harry had been told, to make it potable for mortals).

“So! What did you think of the Queen’s song?” asked Oz. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything half so beautiful and terrible.”

“I’m definitely giving up magic,” said Ron. He still had the same haggard expression he’d worn since the Queen stopped singing, looking like he was staring Death herself in the face.

“I tried to tell him,” said Harry, “he can’t, it’s too hard, he doesn’t understand…”

“I want to give it up too,” said Hermione quietly. “I broke my wand as well. I don’t think I can keep it up, though. Not because it’s too hard. Remember, Harry, I grew up as a Muggle too. But I have this Ministry position… and we’re doing so much great work to help the house-elves and the other magical creatures. If I gave up magic, how could I keep doing that?”

“Very good points,” said Oz quietly.

“And the house elves have a huge transition in front of them,” said Hermione. She picked up a dark chocolate brownie and mashed it into her mouth, finishing it in two bites. “I was talking to Kreacher a few weeks ago. Do you know that the Black family used to breed their house elves, like prize dogs? Kreacher always wanted to have children, but the Black family wouldn’t let him.”

“That’s horrible,” said Harry. “Why didn’t he ever tell me? I would have let him.”

“It’s too late now,” said Hermione. “He’s too old.”

“I thought house elves were basically immortal?” said Ron.

“They are,” said Hermione. “Or they would be, if wizard families didn’t work them so hard. Kreacher looks old because he’s literally spent his life away working for the Black family. He’s too weak to have children.”

“Oh my god,” whispered Harry. He felt sick to his stomach.

Silence fell on the table. None of them could look at each other.

“Well, I can’t give up magic, either,” said Harry. “I’m an Auror. It’s what I’ve always wanted to be. I don’t know what else to be. I’ll be one as long as the Ministry needs me.”

Oz sighed and took a long drink. “Negotiations seem to be settling toward a very long, slow, gradual reduction of magic over time. No more being struck squib. Instead, everyone’s magic will just gradually get weaker. Spells will last for shorter and shorter times, and will be less and less effective. Things like that. Until, in twenty years, forty years, maybe a hundred years, there won’t be any spells left at all.”

“What about house elves?” asked Hermione.

“They’ll still work for wizard families,” said Oz, nodding. “For a while, anyway. They are very helpful for disabled wizards, for example. In fact some are proposing that the house elves be shifted around somewhat, allowing them to change households if they wish to, to help poorer families as well. They do so love to feel that they are of service. — And it’s been suggested that they can help wizards by enchanting more magical items. Creating magical teapots and stoves and clocks… making broomsticks that can be steered without magic… mixing potions. All the little cantrips that help wizards get through the day.”

“What about Dr. Leach?” asked Hermione. “The one Leach’s Syndrome was named after? And all the patients at St. Mungo’s who need the help of doctors like him?”

“I was just speaking with Glinda about that kind of thing,” said Oz. “I think the solution there will involve teams of elves and fairies that visit hospitals around the world and give assistance where it’s needed.”

“Wands?” asked Ron. “Will our wands still work?”

Oz shook his head. “No, wands don’t work without a wizard’s magic.” He smiled and drew out his own. “My own wand is electric, of course. Anyone can use it.” He toggled the tip’s light on and off with its hidden button. “But it’s mostly for show.”

Silence fell. Ron put his head in his hands and drew a shuddering breath.

“It’s no use,” said Ron at last. He wiped his eyes. “I can’t get that song out of my head. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Oz reached out and took Ron’s hand.

“Eventually,” he said, “we will all lose our magic. The distinction between muggles and wizards will disappear. But it won’t be that bad. With the house elves to help us, we can still make and use magical objects. And you will still have all your knowledge of magic.”

“Knowledge of magic?” said Harry. “What use is that, if we don’t have the magic itself?”

Oz smiled. “I invite you to think about your own successes as a wizard, Harry,” he said. “Especially your time at Hogwarts, when you were just a child, but still managed to fend off and eventually defeat the strongest dark wizard of our time. Your first year, you and Dumbledore kept the Philosopher’s Stone away from Voldemort, not because you were more powerful than he, but because you had a greater understanding of the workings of the Mirror of Erised. Your second year, you defeated Voldemort’s shade with a basilisk tooth. The third year you used an Hourwick. Can you name even one time that you succeeded because you simply had more magical power?…”

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

“I am a squib, but I have been celebrated for a century as the wonderful wizard of Oz,” said the little old man, smiling. “I have found that one’s greatest strength is not magical power. It is skill, subtlety, and good sense.”

Harry stuffed a brownie into his mouth, and swallowed it down with fairy ale. He looked out over the green-leafed grassy lawn and down into the luxuriant orchards. He would remain an Auror as long as he could, and after that… well, maybe he would still be an Auror. An Auror without magic. It would be difficult… very difficult. A great challenge, in fact.

…A tremendous challenge. But maybe this challenge wasn’t a bad thing. Win or lose, at least he’d have a completely clear conscience.

There was movement in the garden down below, and Harry suddenly spotted the Queen of the Fairies sitting by herself under a cherry tree. The wind had risen, and the blossoms were shaking on their branches, and dozens of flowers were drifting down covering the grass around her feet. Her crown was on her head. Her eyes were still closed, but she was smiling, just a little.