Harry wished he had brought a bottle of firewhisky or at least a flagon of butterbeer in his rucksack. Instead of which, staggering under the weight of all his gear - including the Book of Secrets he had recently obtained from the King and Queen of Melloria - he trudged along the slippery path that fringed the top of a gorge. In sheeting rain, he and his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, picked their way in their North Face rain jackets as, far below them, the River Lupus galloped like a herd of wild horses. More rain blew on them from the dark windy sky. 

"Ruddy hell, Harry, why did we have to take this scary route to get across the Magic Mountains? The path down below would have taken us straight to where the Caves of Desire start." 

Ron huffed and puffed as he struggled to keep from slipping under the weight of his rucksack. 

"Yes, Ron's right for once, Harry," Hermione said, bringing up the rear. "If we'd followed the river path, we'd be almost at the mouth of the first cave by now." 

Harry gritted his teeth. How could an ordinary wizard, however decent, or a witch, however clever, understand the role of being a hero and doing what a hero has to do, namely everything the hard way? 

"Shut up, both of you!" he bellowed in the shrieking wind. "I know what I'm doing. We've got to include the effing Magic Mountains in our itinerary, otherwise I'd be breaking my promise to Professor Dumbledore. We went to Greece to see the chimaeras, Turkey to whirl with the Dervishes and Egypt to hang out with the alchemists. So now we're going to climb up these blessed Magic Mountains, okay?" 

He began to stride blindly against the curtain of rain, aware that the other two were appraising him, sizing him up to see if he was still the Harry Potter who had fought and slain the Dark Lord, Voldemort. 

"Blimey, I never 'spected weather like this!" Ron wheezed, dragging his soaking jeaned legs through the heavy clumps of sagebrush that overgrew the path. "We should've brought our effing broomsticks." 

"Oh, it wouldn't have done any good flying on flimsy brooms in this storm," Hermione upbraided him. "Although maybe if we had thestrals..." 

"It's almost like the rain's a malevolent force," Ron gasped, hefting his rucksack over another clump of sagebrush. "I feel like we're being pursued by Death Eaters." 

At that moment, one of Ron's booted feet sank into a puddle of muddy water. 

"Oh, bloody hell! Now I'll have to dry my socks out when we get to that bloody inn. If we get there tonight!" 

Ron struggled to pull his foot out of the mud, and Harry scratched his forehead and wiped his round glasses. 

"It's funny, the Book of Secrets that old King Godfrey and his wingeing wife gave me said we should be almost there by now. Yet I don't see any lights up ahead." 

The minutes dragged on as the three weary travelers tramped through the sodden undergrowth.  

"Look, lights!" Hermione cried as she staggered to a halt and pointed. She almost fell into Harry's arms. 

Ron gave Harry a dirty look as Harry steadied Hermione by grasping her hips. Up ahead, light from a dozen windows twinkled in the falling rain. 

They all stood looking at each other, then Harry nodded and they tramped on to the village of Mania. 

To reach the village they had to climb down the gorge and up the other side, fording the raging river in between. Using the sagebrush for slippery handholds, the three companions spread out to make the best of the tangle of undergrowth. When they reached the river, Harry told the others to take off their packs. 

He slung his own rucksack over his head, almost slapping Ron in the face with the strap. 

"Oi, watch out, Hero! You almost took my eye out."  

Ron had fallen into the habit of referring to his friend as Hero. 

Harry grimaced. "Sorry, Ron." 

They forded the river with great difficulty, holding their packs above their heads as they clambered over huge rocks in the fast-flowing current. The rain slowly began to ease off and they plunged on through long grass until they reached the first of a collection of stone hovels that comprised the village of Mania. 

"This must be the inn," Harry said. "All right, packs off. We'll go in and see if we can get some grub and a room for the night." 

Squeezing through the heavy oak door with their soaking rucksacks, the three itinerants staggered between crowded tables and chairs whose occupants were feasting and drinking noisily. They found a vacant table and collapsed onto three chairs. Harry looked around the room. 

Most of the other diners were warriors, dressed in the curious uniform of Mellorian soldiery. Their thickly-accented voices roared as they fought each other to seize and devour an array of food and wine. Their helmeted faces, mostly bearded, were fixed on their plates, and their weapons: spears, axes and broadswords, bristled by their sides. 

Harry's features stiffened. 

"It looks like we're in a warriors' drinking den," he said to the others. "We better make ourselves inconspicuous." 

"Bit difficult when you're a hero," Ron muttered, and Harry gave him a withering look. 

Eventually, a serving oaf, whose ugly, warty features reminded Harry of Dudley Dursley, his large, blond cousin whom he had hoped never to see again, wandered over to them and took their order. 

"What's on the menu tonight?" Harry asked.  

"Same as every night," was the waiter's slack-jawed reply. "Roast turnip with dark brown cabbage in plum and goat meat sauce." 

"Blimey, I thought English food was bad," Ron said. 

"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione hissed at him. To the waiter, she said: "That sounds yummy. We'll have three bowls, please." 

"Want summat to drink?" the waiter said in a surly voice. 

Yes, just like Dudley. 

"We'll have a flagon and three goblets of your strongest local beverage," Harry said. To the others he added: "We need warming up after that deluge." 

When the waiter had shuffled away, Harry reached into his backpack and fished out the Book of Secrets. Hefting the antique volume onto the table, he opened a marked page. 

"First thing tomorrow, we'll make a break for these Magic Mountains," he said. "There's a clue here as to how to reach them. But we also have to decypher some pretty tricky runes." 

"Oh god," Ron said, clapping a hand to his forehead. "It's like being back at effing school!" 

"Don't talk about Hogwarts like that," Hermione said sternly. "It was a damn fine school for learning about magic and wizardry." 

She began pulling out her copy of Spellman's Syllabary in a waterproof cover. She perused it, wrinkling her brow. 

"I should be able to translate those runes with this." 

"Typical Mellorian slop," was Harry's verdict after his first mouthful of the turnip and cabbage dish the waiter brought them. He gazed around desolately as he chewed for dear life. 

While the other two silently chomped on mouthfuls of cabbage and turnip in vermilion sauce, he fixed his eye on one of the warriors at an adjoining table. 

"Bring us some more vittles, wench!" the bearded youth, who looked about Harry's age, bellowed at one of the overworked waitresses. He slapped her rear, and she scurried away. 

Harry's face darkened. He wished he could have defended the waitress's honor. 

Noticing his irritation, the bearded warrior wiped his lips with the back of his hand and stood up. 

"What ails you, churl?" he rumbled. 

Harry scowled. "I'm not a churl, I'm Harry Potter, internationally-known wizard from England." 

The warrior roared with laughter. 

"And I'm the Sultan of Oompaloompaland," he said. "Now prove yourself, wizard, or I'll be tempted to run you through." 

He grabbed a bottle of wine from a passing server, took a long pull and belched. 

Slowly Harry reached into his rucksack and drew out his wand. Then he stood. He looked steadily at the young warrior who wore a helmet with a nose-visor. 

The warrior arched his eyebrows. "Well? I'm waiting." Other warriors watched tensely. 

A waitress was coming close to them carrying a bottle of liquor and several goblets on a tray. 

"Have another drink," Harry said and with a wave of his wand sent the bottle skittling from the tray to a point above the warrior, where it upended itself and a stream of liquor splashed over the warrior's head. 

The atmosphere changed in an instant. The other warriors roared with laughter at their comrade's discomfort, and the one with the nose-visor, his helmet dripping, left the room, scowling. 

Harry sat down and Hermione looked at him and frowned. 

"Nice one, Harry. But it was a bit close. It's as if we're up against Dark Magic." 

Harry groaned. "But why? I thought I'd left all that b*llocks behind when I left Hogwarts." 

"Harry, remember who you are," Hermione said, admonishing him. "Killing Voldemort made you a marked man. Every evil entity now wants to pop you off." 

Glancing at Hermione, Ron looked even more glum than Harry. 

"And guess who else they want to pop off - us." 

The oafish waiter slouched up to their table, and soon they were sipping goblets of the local liquor, called Bullet. It went down like firewhisky and Harry felt his cheeks turn red. In a booming voice, he said: 

"Crusty Horcruxes! This stuff's strong. Anybody else feel hot?" 

Hermione replied with a hiccup. 

When the serving oaf returned Harry told him they wanted a room for the night, and the oaf nodded. When he brought them their bill, it was written on a piece of parchment. Harry felt like he was back at Hogwarts. 

"Do you have a quill with which I can sign?" he asked the oaf. 

"Let's have an early night," Ron yawned after the oaf had gone. His eyes were gummy with tiredness. 

"Right, time to climb the wooden hill to Bedfordshire." Harry said.

"If you mean climb the stairs to bed, I can't - I'm too pooped," Hermione groaned. 

"Oh well, better be a gentleman in that case," Ron said. He got out his wand and pointed it at the low ceiling. 

"Descendo!" 

A hatch opened just above their heads and a ladder rolled out and stopped at their feet. 

"After you, dear," Ron said to Hermione, indicating the ladder. 

"Show off!" Harry muttered to himself. 

Starting with Hermione, they climbed the ladder, rung after rung, until they were through the hole in the ceiling. They became aware of an unpleasant smell, like fried bedbugs, in the passage leading to the bedroom.  

Hermione opened the bedroom door and gulped. The room was tiny, containing a dresser, a table and two chairs and only one large bed. 

"Oh, um, this is embarrassing," Harry said. 

"Well, I don't ruddy care!" 

Ron bounded onto the bed, with a great creaking of rusty bedsprings. Hermione jumped in beside him and slammed herself down. Rolling onto his side, Ron fished in his jeans pocket and yanked out a snotty-looking handkerchief. He proffered it to Hermione. 

"Wanna rub the mud off your boots?" 

Hermione blanched and gave Harry a pleading look. 

Wearily, Harry pulled his wand out of his pack. 

"Tergeo."  

The wand siphoned off most of the snot and Hermione plucked the handkerchief between her fingers. 

"Thanks, Ron. Thanks, Harry." 

Harry nodded, then crawled gingerly into the bed without getting too close to Ron who had his arm around Hermione. They all drifted into sleep. 

There was a scuffling sound outside the door, like the claws of a great hound, and Harry awoke instantly. He sat bolt upright. 

"Oh my god, what's that?" he cried. 

"Oh, tell whoever it is to Expelliarmus!" Ron mumbled, half asleep. 

Harry felt a twinge of alarm.  

If only I'd brought my Invisibility Cloak! Oh well, better get up and do my duty. 

He climbed over Hermione's shapely legs and stumbled to the door. 

"Who is it?" he said, and leapt aside as the door flew open. A large furry creature flung itself at him. 

"What the - ?"

More excitement for Harry, Ron and Hermione in Chapter Three. If you liked Chapter Two, please vote and leave a comment.