𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇/𝐃/𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐄 2008

Songlines (2/7)

The Grangers preferred to talk with only their daughter, which gave Harry and Malfoy time to try to figure out what in Merlin's left pants' leg had happened to them. The Ministry of Magic located itself in Sydney; it was attached to the National Floo Registry, to make it more accessible, but neither wizard wanted to risk even a couple seconds of being separated more than twenty feet. So they talked with the hotel manager for apparation instructions. The apparation point was a single room connected to the floo entrances, so that entry was still restricted for safety but not convenience.

They stood in the lobby corner, arguing – not even capable of an hour outside of Hermione's presence without some bickering. "I have apparated much more than you," Malfoy argued, "Therefore I can bring you along."

"I do not need to be helped like a baby," Harry argued.

"And I do not trust you to get me there in one piece," Malfoy smirked.

"I can apparate just fine," Harry growled.

But Malfoy did not retort, simply grabbed Harry and went.

"Merlin's arse, you bastard," Harry growled and pulled away, "do not do that again."

Malfoy said nothing.

"You aren't going to argue?" Harry asked.

"I...can't," Malfoy answered, looking as perplexed as Harry. They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing – the magic in the Outback.

Shuffling through took little time, as most people had come to work already. Approaching the help desk just inside, Harry coughed, not sure how to begin the conversation. The middle-aged witch's eyes stared at his face, making him feel self-conscious, and slowly spoke, "Harry...Potter. You just saved Britain right? What are you doing down here?"

"We need to speak to someone about a magical incident that happened when we were hiking," Harry said firmly.

"Oh, we can't help you with that," she said kindly.

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

"That's aborigine magic," she explained, "it's all very secretive. Their wizards and witches are dying out, but they refuse to let us record anything about their magic for the library or anything. In return, they only use it among themselves. But we do not go in the Outback near their areas. Never know what might happen." She gave him such an apologetic look – the one that doctors gave dying patients.

"Could we talk to one of these aborigine wizards?" Harry asked.

"Well, they're very hard to find," she said, whispering as if telling a children's story, "but they're pure black – completely black, not the shiny-black of Africans. I heard that there's one who sells artwork over in Kiwi Plaza, dodgy place. But that's all I know."

Malfoy sighed, as if she was a waste of his time, "And how can we get to this Kiwi Plaza?"

"Go out the street exit, go to the end and take a right. Then it should be off of that street connected by a small alley, which is hard to see, but it's on the left. I avoid that place. Most decent folk do," her eyes flitted back and forth between them, "there are dangerous wizards and witches there."

"Thanks, and you're staring at the wizard who defeated You-Know-Who twice, once in diapers," Malfoy sniped back, rolling his eyes. "Let's go, Potter."

Harry glanced over with an odd look as they exited, "Okay, first you don't argue, and now the hero worship?"

"That was not hero worship. Your credentials are just a tad more snazzy than mine," Malfoy quipped back.

"Right," Harry laughed, "just a tad."