An Australian in Hogsmeade

Chapter 7:

Someday

***

The next morning I woke up early for my swim. My alarm had been set for five AM and outside it was just getting light. I changed into my bathers and pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt. I threw a warm jumper into my bag, as well as my towel and the ever-present sketchbook; I thoroughly expected the water to be freezing. Invigorating, at least.

I padded downstairs in bare feet so that I didn't wake up any sleepers. I could just imagine how impressed they'd be at being woken up before the sun had properly risen.

I slid my thongs on at the bottom of the stairs and then made my way to the door. It was cold outside and I was glad I had my jumper for later. Hogsmeade was deserted; it reminded me of when I had first arrived in the street, except it was in the grey semi-light of false dawn rather than the flickering yellow-orange light of flame.

I started up to the castle, enjoying the cold air against my exercise-warmed skin. Eventually I reached the top; the gates were open, as they had been yesterday. I wondered why, then thought that maybe they were simply too much effort to close for the night. The gates were large, made of wood bound in iron. If they were closed, the castle would be in almost complete isolation until they were opened again. The walls were very high, too high to climb just to get in or out of the castle unless it was a serious emergency. The only opening would be over the lake, and I had the idea that there would be something to take care of that should the need ever arise.

Making my way over to the rocks I had clambered over the other day, I could hear shouting in the distance. It sounded like a sports practice of some sort; it was now half past five, so that didn't sound too unreasonable. The rowers at my school had started at five-thirty and that had been during winter, when it didn't start getting light until close to seven. I heard several stories of the freezing sand - not the water, apparently that was comparatively warm. From what I knew from my own early morning swims, I could well believe that, but I only went during summer. During winter, I felt, it would just be pure insanity.

Sitting down on a conveniently sized rock, I kicked off my thongs. The rocks were surrounded on this side by one of those small strips of sand. The bottom remained sandy for a large space around the rocks and I had decided to stick to this area; I love duck diving and wriggling around and generally spending a lot of my time underwater and it was definitely preferable if there were no weeds to interfere.

Putting my feet down on the sand - which was very cold - I stripped off my jeans and shirt. My hair was out, falling to halfway down my shoulder blades; I find it easier to deal with later if it isn't tied up while I swim. That way, at least, there are no hair ties involved in the tangles.

Finally I left my towel on a rock and made my way to the water. I prefer to dive straight in, but no way was I doing that until I knew how deep it actually was near the rocks that were further out in the water. It isn't possible to have had seven years - more than seven, actually - of compulsory swimming lessons and not pick up at least a few bits of water sense.

The water was, as expected, very cold. I waded straight in and dived under as soon as it was deep enough. It was somewhat hard to breathe from the shock, but I kept moving around until my body adjusted. I see no point in shivering on the edge; if you're going in, you're going in and you may as well not waste good swimming time.

I was getting used to the water now. I dove under and swam, keeping my eyes open. There was no reason not to; it was a freshwater lake, with no chlorine and no salt to irritate the eyes. The water was deep and clear. I did somersaults and rolls, corkscrews and handstands, loving the freedom the water gave. I wondered if this was how birds felt when they flew; no fear of falling and it didn't matter how deep the water was, because you only used as much as you wanted. I did some dives off the rocks as well, as the water there was quite a bit deeper than I was tall. Finally I just floated on my back, watching the clouds as they drifted overhead.

I stayed until I started to feel cold again, then I did some lengths of the sandy area - freestyle and breastroke. I never learned butterfly and I dislike backstroke because you can't see where you're going. Freestyle was the first thing I learned; I taught it to myself, swimming between my parents in the river near our house.

Eventually I emerged, dripping water everywhere. I went to get my towel, then paused.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the rock next to my towel. He was dressed in green robes this time, robes that looked like they permitted a lot more movement than the black ones he had worn the day before.

I bent done, snagged my towel and started drying myself.

"Good morning," he said.

Apparently he did have some manners, despite yesterday's evidence to the contrary.

"Morning," I replied. "What are you doing here? I didn't think anyone would be up."

"Most aren't. They're enjoying their beauty rest. I had Quidditch practise. When I saw someone in the lake I decided to check up on them; a lot of students here can't swim, or not very well. And there was the possibility of deducting house points."

I wondered what Quidditch was, but decided not to ask. So far I seemed to be blending in reasonably well, but that would stop if I asked too many strange questions. Instead I grinned.

"Let me guess; there was also the potential for giving them a detention?"

"Out of bounds, breaking curfew, swimming in the lake - I'm sure I could have managed one. Only it was you."

"My apologies for being such a spoilsport."

He smiled a little; like the day before, it was only a small, half-smile that quickly disappeared. I wondered if he ever let go enough to smile fully or laugh. It didn't seem like it.

I decided to change topic then and ask him about something else I was interested in.

"Are there any good walking tracks in that forest? I - "

I was cut off by the expression on his face. He had paled (which I hadn't thought would be possible, given his complexion) and seemed a little afraid.

"Don't go in there!"

I blinked, surprised at his vehemence.

"Why on earth not?"

"Well if you really want to get yourself killed by werewolves, be my guest. One less idiot in the world."

I shrugged and sat down beside him, pulling on my t-shirt.

"Umm...werewolves? It's daylight, I thought they only happened on the full moon."

"You mean you'd trust them normally? They're vicious, half-human things at best."

I shrugged, deciding not to go into it. Personally, I thought Draco sounded like he was just spouting rhetoric. Besides - werewolves? Why not dragons, then?

"All right. Have you ever been in there?"

"Once. It was for detention, in first year, at night. I wouldn't go back in, ever."

He'd obviously seen something bad in there. And to someone as young as the kids I'd seen on the rain, in the dark... No wonder he'd sounded a little scared. I wondered why a school would forbid kids to go into the forest and then send them in at night for detention, but decided not to press the issue.

I looked at the forest. Tall, dark trees rustled a little, despite there being no breeze, but I still didn't see it as threatening.

"Doesn't anyone ever go in? It seems such a pity, in a way."

"A few. Fred and George Weasley do, but everyone knows there insane. And they never get caught at it, so they don't get in trouble from the teachers over it. The trio from Gryffindor sometimes - Potty, Weasel and the Mudblood. And they never get in trouble for it either."

The sneer was back on his face as he said those names.

"Who?" I asked.

"Potter, Weasley and Granger."

He looked at me as if that should explain everything.

"I don't go to this school," I reminded him. "Who?"

"Ron Weasley is one of Fred and George's brothers. The whole family's poorer than church mice and the dad is obsessed with Muggle things - they're a disgrace to purebloods, honestly. Weasel's even more hopeless than the rest of them, can't do anything except tag along behind Potter.

"Hermione Granger is top of every class she's in, she's favoured by the teachers. Got three hundred and something percent in an exam once."

"How's that possible?" I interrupted. I thought that one hundred was as high as percentages went in marks.

He shrugged.

"No one said our teachers were normal. They're good, some of them - one or two are almost brilliant - but they're quite strange sometimes. Anyway, those two don't really start anything, they just follow along when Harry Potter suffers from an intense bout of his hero-complex and starts something and like the school's going to expel him."

He sounded somewhat bitter about this, but I was too preoccupied to notice much. That little niggle I'd noticed the morning before had just developed into a full-blown realisation and it felt rather like I'd knocked my head on one of the rocks. And, true to prediction, I was wondering how I could have missed anything so obvious.

"Did you say Harry Potter?" I asked.

"Yes, I did. Yes, he goes to this school, yes he has the scar and..."

I waved a hand at him and asked him to be quiet for a little, ignoring his decidedly irritated expression.

The little niggle from earlier had been the names Harry, Ron and Hermione together. I'd heard my sister and my friends talk about them frequently in their Harry Potter discussions. And they'd also often referred to a Draco Malfoy and a school called Hogwarts.

I sat there for I don't know how long, trying to absorb the implications of all of this, while Draco went from irritated to confused (that was after my muttered "Oh, Christ,") to just plain bored.

I was in a world where a Harry Potter existed, was friends with a Ron and a Hermione, went to Hogwarts for school. And I was talking to a Draco Malfoy, who seemed far more substantial than any fictional character has a right to be.

Ms. J. K. Rowling, it seemed, had hoodwinked the entire world, telling a truth hidden behind the facade of fiction while the critics acclaimed her as a wonderful writer with an incredible imagination. Not once had anyone suspected the truth, or if they had, it seemed so preposterous that they had dismissed the notion.

I stood up and moved over to the grass, cleaning my feet of most of the sand on them before I pulled on my jeans. My bathers were merely damp now.

"I have to go," I said to Draco. "I haven't had breakfast yet and if I don't I suspect I'll start trying to eat the grass."

My stomach rumbled loudly in agreement and he looked at me.

"I think you'd skip the grass and go straight on to the rock - probably more filling."

I shook my head.

"No, I rather like my teeth in their current intact state, thanks all the same."

I pulled on my jumper, leaving my towel around my neck to absorb some of the water from my hair. I said goodbye to Draco and headed through the gates and down the hill for breakfast, carrying my thongs in my hand so my feet would finish divesting themselves of sand as I walked.

***

After a showering and getting changed, I decided to eat breakfast downstairs. That was an experience in itself.

Breakfast was served in a similar fashion to the day before. Today it was a thick, creamy porridge; I didn't mind, as I've always rather liked the stuff. There was fruit, as there had been the day before, and a bowl of nuts as well. These I put in the porridge, with a little of the honey. All the tea things were there again, the only difference being that they only gave me Earl Grey today, which was what I'd had yesterday. Whoever took the tray had been observant.

There were a few other people eating breakfast as well; some of them were reading The Daily Prophet, which I guessed was the paper in this place.

At one end of the room was a lit fireplace and it was what made breakfast interesting. I had only had a few spoonfuls of my porridge when it startled rattling. Then the flames turned a bright green, the rattle turned into a sort of muted roar and a person stepped out, a little unsteadily. I think my eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Fire places apparently had more uses than I'd ever thought realised.

"Dedalus! How good to see you! Here's the brush."

Madam Rosmerta had come up to the man who had stepped out and handed him a brush. He used this to beat his clothes, sending up small puffs of soot.

"Usual for breakfast?"

"Yes, thanks, and if I could have a cup of tea first - I really don't like floo travel."

I paid attention at that. Floo was what I had to use, and I needed to know what it was.

"Well, if you hadn't gone and apparated where you shouldn't and had your license suspended you wouldn't have to use it. Honestly, into the middle of a Muggle market?"

With that Madam Rosmerta bustled off to the kitchen, soon bringing back a tray of tea things.

The fireplace rattled and roared a few more times and each time the person who stepped out looked a little the worse for wear. Some looked downright nauseous and I assumed that they were the ones who were susceptible to motion sickness.

Finally I saw one wizard who had finished both breakfast and the paper make his way over to the fireplace. He took a handful of something from the left-most pot on the mantelpiece; I was taking notice because I figured I'd have to do this soon. He opened his hand, letting whatever he held fall, and said as he did so "Diagon Alley." The flames flashed that bright green and he vanished. This time the roar was somewhat louder.

While I sat there trying to absorb this phenomenon during breakfast, several other people stepped up to the fireplace. Each time they did the same as the first man, save that what they said changed. However, all of them spoke clearly. That, it seemed, was an essential, and I just hoped that accent wouldn't be an issue.

Eventually I finished breakfast and headed upstairs to put what I needed in my bag. Water wallet, and camera, but for once not the sketchbook. I was going to be buying the entire Harry Potter series so far if I could get my hands on it, and I knew how thick the fourth book was. I suspected I was going to need all the room I could spare.

I made my way downstairs again and towards the fireplace, stopping to speak with Madam Rosmerta.

"Oh, you're going? Just say "Newcastle upon Tyne." And to return it's "The Three Broomsticks." Floo powder's in the left-most pot on the mantelpiece - don't worry about paying, it's already included in the room bill."

"Sounds easy enough," I said. "I'll see you later then."

I went over to the fireplace. The powder was glittering, shimmery stuff, coloured green and ground quite fine. I took a handful and stepped into the fireplace as I had seen the others do. Opening my hand and letting the powder fall in a fine cloud about my legs and feet, I called out "Newhaven upon Tyne," imitating the British accent as best as I could and resisting the urge to cough halfway through.

The Three Broomsticks and everything in it began to spin and whirl, then vanished to be replaced by glimpses of half-seen rooms flashing by. I didn't feel sick - motion sickness has never been a problem for me - but I did feel incredibly dizzy. I couldn't feel anything under my feet, and it was impossible to tell if I was the one spinning or everything else was. I kept a tight hold of my bag, not wanting it to go flying off into some random room.

Finally the spinning stopped, as suddenly as it had started, and I fell out of a fireplace, landing on my knees. I could understand now why the others had looked so unsteady when they emerged from the fireplaces.

"Hello dear - here's the brush."

A woman handed me a brush as I stood up and I beat the soot off my clothes. I hadn't been wearing robes, so there wasn't as much as had come off Dedalus. Then I looked around me. I was in a small cafe, which, like the Three Broomsticks and the Leaky Cauldron, wasn't lit by electricity.

"Welcome to the Witch's Brew!"

That was the woman who'd handed me the brush.

"Umm... hello. Could you tell me what street this is on so I can find it when I come back?"

The woman told me and I left the store. Crossing to the other side of the street, I turned and looked back to see what was on either side of it so I'd be able to find it again. On one side was a bookshop, on the other a record store. I frowned thoughtfully.

The Leaky Cauldron had also had a bookshop on one side and a record store on the other. I wondered if all these little places had the same thing on each side, to serve as a sort of signal to the people of the other world.

Shrugging, I went into the bookstore to hunt up the Harry Potter books. They had copies the first three, so I bought those, figuring that they'd give me some idea of what I'd landed myself in. Someday had arrived; Jenna Curlew was going to read the Harry Potter books.

Then I asked for the nearest internet cafe and proceeded onward to check my email. My sister and friends had all sent replies, my sister's being full of thanks for the book. I had sent it airmail, wanting her to get it as soon as she could.

After writing a email to my family, apologising that I couldn't ring because there was no phone where I was staying, I left and went back to the Witch's Brew. I had an iced chocolate before returning to the Three Broomsticks, which may not have been the most sensible idea. The floo was slightly less disconcerting the second time, but I still landed on my knees at the other end. Rubbing them ruefully, I stood up and accepted the brush from the person handing it to me without looking up.

"I am never going to get used to that," I said, handing the brush back and standing up.

"Oh you will, give it a little while!"

That was not Madame Rosmerta. I looked at the person - it was a middle-aged woman, dressed burgundy robes with gold fastenings.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I was trying to get to the Three Broomsticks!"

"No matter, you're still in Hogsmeade at least - what did you say to get here though? Follow me, I'll show how to get to Rosmerta's from here."

"Thanks. I said the Three Broomsticks, it should have - oh. I forgot to use a British accent."

My impromptu host grinned.

"Yes, that would do it. The Ministry really should try and fix up the little quirks of floo system, but there's only so much regulations can do when some of the fireplaces are hundreds of years old. They get quite set in their ways. Some of the ones built in the early 1940s refuse to let anyone with a German accent through, they were charmed that way for security and they haven't been able to undo it... Here's the door, the main street's just down there, turn left when you get to it."

I thanked her and left before she decided to educate me further in the peculiarities of World War II magic fireplaces.

I shortly arrived at the Three Broomstick. Madam Rosmerta gave me an odd look when I walked through the door instead of the fireplace but didn't say anything. I took a lunch tray and headed upstairs. Settling myself in a large armchair with a sandwich in one hand, I began to study the only known textbooks for the Harry Potter world.