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.”