42: The Crossing

"No way! I am NOT getting on one of those... things without my wand!"

It was a challenging morning. No one had slept particularly well the night before. Together, Harry and Sirius drank an entire case of butterbeer before finding a cache of Firewhisky, and started singing ribald songs in the drawing room at two AM. That went on until Ondossi lit into them, screaming like a banshee in English, Inupiaq, and Parseltongue. That killed the jocular mood, but not the noise; the two wizards ended up sitting in the staircase, tearfully assuring each other of their undying love and admiration. Lupin finally put a Silencing spell on both of them and locked them in their bedrooms. The breakfast table was loaded with bleary eyes and frowns, but light on food, the waffle ingredients having been consumed for dinner the night before.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You have to, Harry. They're very fussy about what you can bring on board."

"Might poke somebody's eye out," smirked Ondossi.

Hermione and Ron were lauded as heros when they Flooed into the kitchen. They were a veritable walking buffet, bearing platters of sticky buns, muffins, sausages, even a huge cheese omelette. "Dobby's idea," Ron said. "He knows nobody here cooks a decent breakfast. And I can't let my best mate head off with an empty stomach." He glanced quizzically around the ring of faces. "Where is Harry?"

Tonks, practically drooling on a tray of hot sliced ham that eluded capture by floating persistently above her hand, waved at him impatiently. "He and Snuffles won't be up for a while yet. Might you Finite these, already?"

Sirius soon sniffed his way down to the kitchen with an absurd bed-head and bloodshot eyes, but he grinned and ate his share of breakfast (albeit slowly). Harry, however, slept in until the food had long gone cold and only the bran muffins were left.

"Are you crazy? What if something breaks? Or it runs out of gas? I don't even see how they get off the ground in the first place!" Harry's knuckles were white around the handle of his wand, as Hermione and Tura scowled at him over the open lid of a Muggle suitcase.

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Hermione in exasperation. "Muggles use them all over the world, every day! They're perfectly safe. Furthermore, if you try to carry that with you, they might try to confiscate it!"

"Face it, Harry, it has to go in the luggage department," said Ondossi irritably.

"Compartment," said Hermione.

She had bought the airplane tickets, ordering them with her little cell phone. No one else was quite sure how to do that, least of all Harry, who had been left home with a sitter whenever the Dursleys traveled. He'd complained bitterly about traveling Muggle-style, but Ondossi insisted. Voldemort would be watching the borders of his fortress carefully, now that the news of Bellatrix Lestrange's capture had been spread far and wide. There was little point in sneaking through his wards if he was watching for London traffic via Floo or Portkey. "And even the stupid Ministry can tell if we Apparate--remember that ticket I got?"

Harry was forced to capitulate, as usual, but this business about stowing his wand was just too much. He gave it his best shot, but in the end, he grudgingly stuffed it in his suitcase. He did make Hermione put several different jinxes on all the luggage against theft, loss, crushing, falling out of any unexpected holes, and even rough jostling.

The group Flooed to "Terminal Zero" at Heathrow Airport, which was essentially an empty broom closet behind the main British Airways ticketing area. Wizards rarely used airlines, but there were tourist agencies that sold "Muggle Excursion Get-Away" packages, complete with non-magical travel. The ill-lit room had a huge checklist posted on the door, as well as a bored-loooking portrait reminding sorcerers that they were now entering the Muggle world and would they please check over their clothing and appearance for any magical oddments?

As Lupin reached for the doorknob, however, the uniformed lady in the portrait gave him a flat smile and shook her head. "Ticketholders only are allowed in the gate area," she said. "Passengers with tickets, please file through the door one at a time."

Remus turned around and gaped at the others. "How do you like that?" he said.

Tonks palmed her forehead. "Snap! I forgot about the heightened security. There was a bit of trouble last summer when, erm, some hooligans came through 'T0' and tried to steal one of the airport X-ray machines. They thought it was a 'Hex-Ray,' see? Felt entitled to it. Everyone had to pull a shift with Magical Catastrophes, all those Muggles watching Fred and Geo--" Her hand flew over her mouth in a panic.

"That's why I had to post bail for them?" demanded Ron loudly. "They're dead. They're SO dead. They haven't even paid me back!"

Sirius, meanwhile, frowned and said, "You mean they're NOT 'Hex-Ray' machines?"

The portrait steadfastly refused to let anyone through without a ticket. Hermione happened to have some Travelcards in her purse, good for use on the Underground. She and Viktor had used them during the spring holidays and they were still valid for transportation. She engaged in a lengthy argument with the portrait about the definition of "ticketholders" while Remus and Tonks said a rather abrupt goodbye and dodged into the Floo before Tonks started crying.

Ron and Sirius eyed each other awkwardly. Even if Hermione managed to convince the portrait to let them through with the subway cards, she only had two of them. Someone else had to go back through the Floo. Ondossi glanced between them a few times, then quietly slunk out into the Muggle terminal. The portrait interrupted its discussion with Hermione just long enough to flash an insincere smile and say, "Enjoy your adventure."

Ron finally shrugged. "Never was keen on long goodbyes." As he turned and regarded Harry, a procession of emotions played across his face. He opened his mouth a few times, obviously struggling for words, then shrugged again. "Not too late to let me come along," he finally said, his voice gravelly.

They fell into a mutual bear hug, each one misty-eyed. "Ron," Harry whispered, his throat suddenly too tight to give volume to his speech.

"I know. Just... be sure you make it. Okay?"

"I will," he said, thumping Ron's back. "I will."

Ron stepped back and forced himself to smile at his best friend one last time, then spun on his heel and leaped into the Floo. The silly git didn't even say goodbye, but that was just Ron. He had to get away or he'd break down in tears, and neither of them wanted the other to fall apart. Harry waited until the flames had died back down to a yellow flicker before he said it himself, softly, under his breath: "Bye, Ron."

In the end, Hermione's boilerplated reasoning prevailed over the painting, and the four of them found their way through the dazzling bustle of the Muggle airport. The terminal was much more modern and bright than King's Cross Station, which was essentially the only other Muggle building Harry had entered in years. He felt eerily conspicuous among the bright tiles and fluorescent lights, after the dark stone walls and lanterns of Hogwarts.

The sense of exposure and vulnerability did nothing to improve Harry's mood about surrendering his wand in his checked baggage. At the gate, he sat near the entry ramp, skimming the thoughts of every person as they got on board, making sure none of them were planning a hijacking. Tura and Hermione rolled their eyes and giggled at him, but Sirius merely shook his head. Harry scowled at each of them in turn, between passengers; what difference did a bit of Legilimency matter among Muggles? None of them were aware he was doing it--and if there chanced to be a wizard or Squib among them, well, aside from getting startled, they'd probably be glad to know someone was checking in on security. X-ray or Hex-Ray, Harry didn't trust that thing to screen out screwballs with any reliability.

As the line boarding the plane dwindled, Tura said her goodbyes and tromped down the jetway. When the gate attendant announced the final boarding call, Harry started to grumble a gruff farewell to Hermione, but was cut short when he saw her eyes had suddenly filled with tears.

"Harry..." she said, then scooped him into a hug so tight, she nearly lifted him off the ground. It struck him, very hard, that he might never see either of them again.

"None of that, Harry," said Sirius firmly. He was referring to the dimming of his hope, not the prolonged embrace with his friend. "Come now, both of you..."

"I believe in you, Harry," Hermione whispered in his ear, then stepped back smartly, her jaw set with a courage that belied the mistiness in her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but he put up his hand. I love you, too, he said wordlessly, placing the thought straight into her heart.

Sirius simply opened his arms for a hug, then stepped back with a warm smile. "Off, now! And we'll see you when you get back!"

Harry did all right on his first plane flight, except during the takeoff. And landing. And there was quite a bit of turbulance in between that caused him considerable distress. But when he finally clambered down the stairs at the airport in Moscow, pale and weak-kneed, Tura patted his hand and congratulated him for keeping the contents of his stomach confined within the little bags every single time.

The second leg of the trip was worse. When they finally landed in Krasnoyarsk, he slumped onto a granite bench outside the terminal, thinking he'd rather walk the rest of the way, even if it was hundreds of miles. To make matters worse, Ondossi eventually bounded out of the small building like a ping-pong ball with something to prove.

"This is so cool! It's SO cool! I found a bush pilot who'll fly us right where we need to go... and the town he's landing in is called Tura!" she bellowed in his ear. "Come on, let's hurry and find the Yakushchenkos, we've GOT to buy a camera. If they have a 'First Church of Tura' I will DIE, though it'll be written in Cyrillic, I suppose..." Harry didn't even have the energy to shake his head in disbelief; he just pressed himself harder against the stone, soaking up the relieving sensation of being planted firmly on solid ground.

He barely registered their hosts at first. They spoke no English, but as soon as they saw Harry's forehead they began discussing his scar, and he was too dehydrated and miserable to put forth any effort to meet them. Tura apparently explained that he'd not taken well to flying, because the babushka of the family (a great, rosy witch with her hair pulled under an intricately dyed shawl that would have made Professor Trelawny seethe with envy), looked him up and down with a caluclating eye and declared (in her own language, but with unmistakable intent) that he would be getting some rest and fattening up while in her charge. Later that evening, wolfing down tea, boiled potatos, and a soup made of pickles, Harry reflected that matrons like this, Mrs. Weasley's local counterpart, were the force that kept the world turning.

He and Tura left early the next morning, their packs bulging with sausages and pickles. Harry was greatly relieved that he need not part with his wand on the last flight in their journey, but he longed to be back on a jet when he saw the aircraft they would be taking. "You can't be serious. LOOK at that thing! It's smaller than a car!"

The Muggle pilot folded his arms and glared between Harry and Ondossi. She raised her hand in the universal gesture of "Hang on a minute while I straighten this out," and rounded on Harry. "For the love of Merlin, Harry, be polite!" she hissed. "He's doing us a big favor--he doesn't normally fly up to Tunguska for two more weeks!"

"But LOOK at it!" Harry pleaded. "Can we even fit?" He was afraid to ask what was really on his mind, namely whether this pilot kept a supply of those sturdy paper bags like the big jets had. "How do you know it's safe?"

She put her hands on her hips and glowered for a moment. "Oh, for Pete's sake. Private pilots fly little puddlejumpers like this all over the world. We constantly bring them down over Northpole and adjust their memories. Big jets only go between big cities--these small planes go to the interesting places. They're the broomsticks of the Muggle world. Now shut up and get in there."

She was right. Though a bit more bumpy and clumsy, it was almost like riding a broom. The small plane didn't go nearly as high as the jet, and Harry found the view magnificent. He even noted a bit of payback, two hours into the trip. During a particularly sharp set of thermals, he realized that what he'd taken for an oddly-placed spring in his seat was, in fact, Tura's hands. From her seat in the rear of the plane, she had been gripping his backrest with white knuckles the entire time.

They started walking as soon as they arrived. Much to Ondossi's disappointment, the town was too small to bother with signs; anyone who traveled to that remote part of the world knew exactly where they were going beforehand. She traded her new camera to a baker for some hot piroshki, little rolls with meat baked inside, then she simply started walking toward the trees at the edge of town.

"Wait," Harry called, pointing to a "road" comprised of two dirt ruts with a strip of overgrown grass down the middle, "can't we at least use the path?"

She turned and walked backwards with a twinkle in her eye. "Mr. Potter, what makes you think there are ANY paths that lead where we're going?"

They covered a surprising amount of ground that afternoon. Harry was glad to have a chance to walk freely after being crammed into stuffy airplanes for two days. Tura had never been to Siberia, but she was excited to be back in the boreal forest and showed him dozens of plants and trees as they walked.

"This one's worth stopping for, Harry," she said, crouching before a shrubby plant with a wonderful, familiar aroma. "Kingsfoil. Practically extinct--you can only find it in the wildest lands. Break off a few leaves, they have remarkable healing properties. If only it was the right time for seeds..." She scrutinized the plant hopefully anyhow, then sniffed it once more before moving on.

The sunlight was just taking on a golden tint when Tura stopped at a stand of trees. "Let's camp here tonight." Nodding, Harry loosened his pack and let it fall. They put up their hammocks without speaking, not so much out of exhaustion, but because the buzz and whir of insects and innumerable songs of birds needed no accompaniment of human voices.

She showed Harry how to start a fire with a rock and a black iron striker. Once it built up a bit, she tossed several flowering plants and a handful of pebbles on it. "Repels bugs," she said simply. "I know I said no magic, but if we don't do something, they'll carry us off in the night. The locals burn these plants too; if anyone's watching, we'll look like a couple of hunters that hit the lucky combination." She sunk into her hammock and flipped the blanket over her head.

Harry was tired, too, but he watched the long sunset crawl into twilight, then darkness. He had never seen so many stars beyond the treetops; he was glad he didn't have to take an Astronomy N.E.W.T. in this part of the world. It was cold, but he finally drifted off to sleep, curled up in his blanket and breathing in the clean scent of pine needles under an infinite sky.

So it went for next day, and the next. Ondossi told him that a comet had struck the Earth about a hundred miles to the south, scorching the earth and knocking down every tree for miles. "I'd imagine the Dark Lord plans to build his real fortress right in the center. He'd love to look out every morning and see the destruction. Most of it's hidden by new growth, but that could be removed. Imagine, Harry, his followers--or prisoners--suddenly spotting a castle in the distance; around it, nothing but row after row of black, broken trees, all pointing outward, as though they fell over themselves trying to get away from him. Sets the perfect tone, don't you think? I'm sure this little keep is just to tide him over until he can build the real thing."

Even though his wand sat unused in his pocket, Harry found he hardly missed it. Despite the long hours walking, he loved being outdoors in this open, quiet country. On the third afternoon, they felt the distinctive prickle of hostile magic; they had passed through the wards preventing Apparition into Voldemort's territory.

Tura netted fish whenever they passed a stream, and showed Harry how to identify and yank up masu or "Eskimo potatoes" to make stew. Harry attempted to pick some celery-flavored "poochki" on the third afternoon, but he hadn't noticed the way Tura had cautiously harvested the stalks. An hour later, his hands were covered with blisters. It was quite some time before she could scrounge up the ingredients for an antidote. Harry tried not to complain as he waited, but he couldn't help squirming uncomfortably. By the time she finally slapped the last of the leafy paste on his skin, he had acquired a humble appreciation for the tamer places of the world.

Near the end of the fourth day, Harry was admiring an enormous tree that had toppled headfirst down the hillside when he noticed a dark hole amidst the wild grasses at the base of the trunk. "Tura--look there."

She followed his gaze. "Ooh, a cave! Let's see if it's any good!"

Harry caught hold of her arm. "You're just going right in? What if something's in there?"

"Oh, I'm not too worried. There won't be any big predators here--they can sense his presence. That would give any bear the willies. Besides, do you see any tracks, or tufts of fur?" She rummaged on the ground for a dry bough and wrapped one end in a strip of waxy cloth from her pack. "Torch," she said, lighting the tip. "No telling how far back that goes, we should bring some light."

The cave was dry, though it smelled musty, and bits of punky wood littered the floor. There was a steep slope right behind the entry hole, but other than that, the floor was mostly level. The earthy inner wall was criss-crosssed with roots; the outer wall was a tangle of dead wood, the base of the great tree. Harry spread his arms and bowed in a self-congratulatory fashion to Tura, who improvised a torch bracket in the hillside wall and said with a wry grin, "Good find, nature boy."

After giving the cave a close inspection, though, she beamed at him brightly. "This is perfect! We can even risk a little magic in here--we're totally underground."

"What?" Harry squawked. "We've come all this way without magic and now that we're on his doorstep, you take out your wand?"

She held up her palms to indicate the cave, as though the answer was obvious. "Harry! This is Inupiat land, all the way from here to Alaska. It knows me. It'll keep our secrets while we're under it. Make yourself scarce, I'm going to conjure up a bath right now."

She already had her wand out and was beginning to wave it, but he caught her wrist. "No! Don't you think this is a little too coincidental--finding a perfect hiding place right here? What if this is some sort of guard outpost or something? We should get out of here now!"

She sighed impatiently. "Look, cast your mind around a little, Harry. Keep it in the ground, but open yourself. Can you feel the presence of any other human being within five miles of here?"

He frowned, but it did seem like a reasonable idea. Concentrating, he envisioned a very low fog stretching from the mouth of the cave. As he let his mind expand into it, he felt the presence of hundreds of tiny animals on their constant, wide-eyed quest for food, but no people at all, nothing larger than a rabbit. "No," he admitted, "not now, anyway, but don't you see, he could have set all this up to lure people in, it could even be a trap!" He scanned the walls as though they might collapse on them at any moment. "I think we--"

She clamped her hand over his mouth. "I told you, this is my land. You understand--it knows my blood, my people. And it knows him, too. I... introduced them, so to speak, a while back. It takes a lot to get the Land's attention, believe me, but it knows who he is and it sides with us. Trust me on this, Harry. We're safe here."

She looked so certain, and Harry wanted to believe. It would be so nice to sleep in comfort, without having to worry about biting flies or flipping out of the hammock in the night. I suppose if we get captured, we'll just get it over with that much quicker, he thought. "All right," he muttered grudgingly. "Only... save some hot water for me?"

She glanced up from the barrel she was conjuring. "Yeah, yeah. Now scram, and don't come back for at least half an hour."

Harry rolled his eyes and half climbed, half vaulted through the mouth of the cave. He walked beside the decaying tree until he came to a branch that was still attached; it must have been thirty feet off the ground when the tree was alive. Though spongy, it still had enough strength to support his weight, and he used it to hoist himself onto the trunk. He walked nearly the lenth of the tree, noting the fungus and lichens spreading their infectious color over what was left of the rugated bark, turning the tree back into soil. Parts of the trunk were already becoming indistinguishable from the hillside, as ferns and moss sprouted from the last blackened bits of wood.

He turned around and walked back to the base of the trunk, then sat crosslegged and leaned back against the huge, bare roots poking up through the dirt. It was easy to imagine he was the last person on earth. It was so quiet here, so unspoiled. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, noting with bemusement the patches of prickly stubble here and there. A bit thin yet, but still, he noted with a certain pride, he needed a shave. He wondered if he would live long enough to grow a proper beard. Quite soon he was reflecting that this might be the last sunset he would ever watch, the last time he would sleep.

Harry tipped his head back against the silvery, weathered wood in resignation and breathed the cool, clean air.

She called his name softly. "Up here," he said, though he knew she couldn't possibly see him, even with her head poking out of the cave.

"Well, get down here and help me out! I just had a bath, darned if I'm going to scramble through dirt already."

One look at her and Harry burst out laughing. She had transfigured her robes into that coffee sack nightdress she loved so much, and he'd forgotten how absurdly frumpy it was. "What?" she said crossly.

"Nothing, nothing." he said. "Only you need some bunny slippers to finish off this look of yours." He gave her outstretched arms a mighty yank and she popped out of the cave. Both to his chagrin and amusement, she was wearing fuzzy purple walruses on her feet.

She was very moody and quiet over dinner. "We're right on schedule," she mumbled. "They're supposed to destroy the Horcruxes tomorrow." It wasn't necessary to remind him--Harry well knew they were nearing the end of their journey, and the thought of arriving at Voldemort's keep dampened his enthusiasm for conversation too. He peered around nervously when he went out to fill their canteens, wondering once again if Voldemort would have guards on patrol. He saw nothing, but his stomach was tightening by the minute.

He slid back into the cave and said, "Tura, I'm going to keep watch a while. How about I wake you up around two or so?"

She gave him an affronted glare and said, "I told you, we're safe here."

"I heard you. I just think it's a good idea."

"Rest is a good idea, too."

Harry wasn't in the mood to argue, and why was she acting so offended in the first place? "Look, we're practically on his doorstep. It would be totally stupid to just tuck in for the night. What's the matter with you?"

"What's the...heh. Nothing. Nothing matters, Harry!" she said sharply.

He frowned. "What?"

She stood up suddenly and Harry realized that her wand was in her hand. He was still holding the canteens, and dropped them immediately, but he had no time for any further reaction. She pointed her wand straight at him and said, "Expelliarmus." His wand burst from its pocket, ripping right through the fabric of his robe.

For a moment, all he could do was stare blankly at her. He even reached over to pick up his wand, unable to accept that she had really just disarmed him. "Don't move!" she snapped, pointing her wand at him again.

Harry straightened up to face her. "What's the matter with you? Is this some sort of joke? Because it's not--" His words transformed into a scream. As he spoke, Ondossi had interrupted with a single word.

"Crucio."