They did not know what time it was, underground in the darkness, and the Nome King had no idea either. But they were feeling rather tired, so they decided to rest a bit and eat before continuing on in the tunnel.

The Nome King gave them small hard cakes of mashed nuts and fruits and plenty of good clean water. It was simple food, but it would keep them going for days. Then the King shook hands with them all, and wished them the very best of luck.

“I am afraid I will have to lock the door behind you,” said the Nome King. “Otherwise the spell that protects you from the Magic Picture will not work. But if you need assistance, simply knock and my servants will be happy to let you out.”

Then he bowed deeply to them. “If you defeat the Princess Ozma,” he said, “I and my Nomes will be forever in your debt.”

He then marched out. His Nomes followed, leaving them alone in the tunnel. When the door closed and locked, the noise of it resounded down the tunnel, echoing far into the hollow darkness ahead.

It was like being locked in a tomb.

“I don’t feel really great about this,” said Neville.

“Hermione,” said Harry, “could you ask the white pearl if this is what we should be doing?”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it, mate?” asked Ron.

“I didn’t want to mention the pearls where the Nome King could hear us,” said Harry. “Hopefully, if we need to get out again, the white pearl can advise us on what to do.”

Hermione nodded and took the pearl from her pocket. “What should we do now?” she asked, and then held the pearl to her ear. She listened, then nodded. “We should go through the tunnel,” she said simply. “I guess we’re on the right track.”

So they did their best to put their misgivings out of their heads. They needed to rest and recuperate, and then march to Oz as quickly as possible.

It was going to be rough. Even sitting on the tunnel floor, resting and sipping the water, the dust in the air was pervasive and irritating, and scratched continually at their throats and eyes. Fortunately, they were probably going to be able to fly along the tunnel: it was quite wide and tall, obviously built to allow the passage of a mighty army.

“Maybe, if we can fly fast enough, it will only take a couple of days,” said Hermione.

“It’ll still be brutal,” said Ron. “I feel like I’m breathing sandpaper.” He was continually blinking and coughing and sniffling.

“I wish we really knew how far we could trust the Nome King,” said Luna. “Does this tunnel really go to the Emerald City?”

“According to the books,” said Ginny, “the King really did build the tunnel, and he tried to march on Oz, just as he said. The difference, of course, was that he was trying to conquer Oz because Ozma had freed his slaves.”

“His slaves?”

“Yes, that ‘tribute and treasure’ he kept going on about were slaves. The Queen of Ev, and her children. Ozma had demanded that he give them up. In fact, she offered to pay him for their freedom. He refused, and tried to enslave Ozma in turn. Ozma only escaped because Dorothy had brought along a hen…”

“You realize this sounds mental,” said Ron.

“Well, those are the facts,” said Ginny.

“As recorded by an American children’s book author a hundred years ago,” said Hermione. “It’s hard to know what to believe.”

“If half of what we’ve been told is true,” said Neville, “we’re up against some amazingly powerful magic. Filling a whole tunnel with dust? Making someone forget everything, even their own name? Transporting people from anywhere in the world?”

“And Ozma isn’t even the most powerful Sorceress in Oz,” said Ginny. “There’s Glinda, and the Wizard…”

“The Wizard of Oz?” asked Hermione. “Isn’t he a harmless old man?”

“At first,” said Ginny. “But in later books he returns to Oz, and starts learning real magic. By the last books he’s nearly as powerful as Glinda, and can do magic no one else can.”

“That’s great,” said Ron. “Just great. We are so screwed.”

“We just need to talk to Ozma,” insisted Ginny. “I’m still not sure this isn’t all just some terrible misunderstanding.”

They fell silent, eating and trying to rest. Hagrid kept looking around nervously, and his breath came in quick gasps. But he insisted he was fine. “Just a touch of claustrophobia,” he said. “It feels like the walls are… they… Never mind. I’ll be ok once we start moving.”

“Right, let’s go,” said Harry. “I can’t just sit here anymore.”

It was difficult, but not impossible. It was very hard to breathe at broomstick speeds, and their eyes watered up quickly, but they were able to cast Protego as a permanent shield ahead of them as they flew. They also cast Lumos, although there wasn’t much to see except the walls.

They went on in silence for a few hours, then stopped to take a break and drink some water.

“It’s exhausting,” said Neville. “It’s not hard, but it wears you down.” Everyone nodded silently, and sipped water. The Protego charms were protecting them from the dust, but the air was still terribly dry.

As they flew on, Harry kept turning over in his mind the argument with the house elves. He had to agree with Neville: they really seemed remorseful, and torn between their loyalty to the wizards and their loyalty to Ozma. But why were they loyal to Ozma at all? Harry just couldn’t understand it. He was from England, and was a subject of the Queen, he supposed, but he wouldn’t spy on his friends or feed information to the Queen if she were striking them squib. It just didn’t make any sense. But for that matter, the loyalty that house elves showed to wizarding families didn’t make much sense. Was it something genetic, maybe? Were they indoctrinated from birth? He realized he knew almost nothing about house elf family life or education. Did they have their own schools? Was there a house-elf Hogwarts somewhere?…

…Was the dust getting worse? Or was he just getting tired? … No, the dust was definitely getting worse. The illumination of his wand, pointing ahead of him like a car headlight, was thick with glittering dust particles. And now, looking far ahead, it seemed that he could make out a dim white light. Could that be the end of the tunnel? Surely not — they couldn’t be more than halfway through it yet, and anyway the Nome King had said that the end of the tunnel had been covered over and blocked by Ozma.

He considered calling a halt, but decided to cautiously fly on a bit further first. There was no point in stopping until it was clearer what they were in for. The light grew slowly brighter for a while, and then suddenly started getting a lot brighter. It was as if there were a bright star at the end of the tunnel, getting closer and closer, as the dust got worse and worse.

Then everything resolved in Harry’s head. That had to be sunlight. Which meant that either the tunnel emerged up there, or there was some kind of hole in the ceiling or something. And they couldn’t be at the end of the tunnel yet. Which meant they were probably still under the Deadly Desert. Which would mean the dust they were flying through was actually desert sand that had fallen or blown into the tunnel.

“Stop!” he called out. “Everyone stop! But keep your shields up!”

They landed. Harry cast another Protego over them all, to make sure as little of the sand as possible reached them. Tiktok had said that anyone who touched the sands would turn instantly to dust…

“Everyone here?” he asked worriedly.

They were. “What d’you suppose that light is, Harry?” asked Hagrid.

“I think the tunnel has collapsed,” said Harry. “And I think the sands of the Deadly Desert are coming through and mixing with the dust in the tunnel. Ginny, is it true what Tiktok said? That anyone who touches the sand will turn to dust?”

Ginny frowned in thought. “Maybe,” she said. “The later books definitely say that in some places. On the other hand, in earlier books, people go out on the sand and don’t get hurt. So it’s hard to know which to believe.”

“Tiktok has actually crossed the desert,” pointed out Ron. “Maybe we’d best believe him.”

“We shouldn’t take any chances,” said Harry. “We’ve got to keep these shield charms going.”

“But what happens when we get to the tunnel collapse?” asked Neville.

“We’ll have to fly over the desert,” said Harry grimly. “Unless anyone has any better ideas.”

“I think that’s a terrible idea,” said Hermione. “Without the tunnel to guide us, how will we know where to go?”

“We need to just keep going in a straight line,” said Ginny. “According to the maps, the tunnel was completely straight.”

“That will be harder than you think,” said Hermione.

“We only have to make it to Oz itself,” said Ginny. “Once we’re across the desert, pretty much anyone we meet will be happy to guide us to the Emerald City. That’s what happens in the books.”

“And dust storms,” said Luna. “Remember, Tiktok said dust storms.”

“We’ll fly as high as we can,” said Harry. “That will hopefully give us better visibility anyway.”

“But the tunnel was the only thing protecting us from Ozma’s Magic Picture,” said Neville. “She’ll be able to see us.”

They looked at each other. No one said anything.

“She’s known about us this whole time,” said Harry. “She hasn’t tried to stop us. I don’t know why not. All we can do is keep trying to get to her.”

They nodded grimly.

“All right,” said Harry. “Everybody ready? Stay close!”

It felt like a very long time, but was probably only thirty minutes or so, before the steadily brightening sunlight surged to the brilliance of a summer’s day, and they could clearly make out the gaping hole in the top of the ceiling, and the wall of stone, rubble, and sand blocking the tunnel underneath. The sand, swirling and twisting in the sunlight from above, seemed almost alive, like ghostly tendrils or tentacles, reaching blindly out for them.

Harry ignored them. He had no choice but to trust Protego and the pink pearl. If those were not powerful enough — if he were about to be turned to dust — there was nothing he could do, except hope that it wouldn’t be painful.

Without slowing a bit — he wanted to get them all through the hole and gain altitude as quickly as he could — he guided the broomstick in a broad arc, swooping up over the rubble, through the hole, and popped out into blazing heat of the desert noon sun. All around him in every direction was utterly flat, yellow desert, like a concrete floor thickly dusted with dried mustard and cinnamon. The sky was a washed-out blue, almost white; and the horizon was crisp and sharp in the completely dry air. The landscape stretched out below like a bleached bone.

He risked a glance behind him. The hole was a completely black, jagged oval in the midst of the yellow and cinnamon sea. One by one each of the wizards popped out of the hole, Hagrid last on his motorcycle. They’d all made it.

He kept his broomstick climbing. It seemed to him, as he rose, that the sky became somewhat bluer. He took that as a hopeful sign that perhaps they were rising above the lower layers of sand and dust, up into the clearer air.

After a few minutes, just as he was starting to get quite cold, he saw the edge of the desert. It was indeed straight on in the direction of their travel, and appeared as a very dark line along the eastern horizon.

“There it is!” he cried. “I can see Oz! Follow me everybody!”

Of course they couldn’t hear him over the rushing of the thin air, but they could see him waving maniacally and they could follow him. He thought he could hear them cheering as they spotted it for themselves.

He didn’t pause, but headed straight for the dark line. The sun was just a bit past noon, best he could judge, so he guessed there was a good chance they might reach Oz by nightfall. He urged his broom faster, glancing behind him occasionally to make sure everyone was keeping up.

At first, of course, there was no change in the landscape as they flew (except that the black hole they’d emerged from was left far behind). The air remained dry and cold, and Harry was exhausted, but he was so glad to be out in the open with a goal in sight that he barely noticed it. Then, gradually, it seemed to Harry that the dark line was getting thicker and darker. Perhaps it was a line of very tall trees?

Suddenly he noticed there was another dark line on the horizon, this time off to his left, to the north. Had that been there the whole time? Certainly not, he would have noticed it before. Why would a new line appear on the horizon?

He watched it for a minute or two, and it was also clearly getting darker and thicker. Much more quickly than the other one. What could it be?

He heard Hermione shouting something indistinct, and turned to look. She was pointing at to the north and shouting. He couldn’t understand what she was saying…

And then he made it out. Dust storm.

A wall of dust, larger than nations and taller than mountains, was headed right for them.

Even if Protego kept them safe from the magical sand, kept them safe from being turned to dust or sand-blasted into skeletons, it couldn’t protect them from the wind. Would they be blown out of the sky? Knocked from their brooms, to fall hundreds of feet to their deaths? Would their charms be overwhelmed?

Could they make it back to the tunnel in time? — No. The storm was coming too fast.

Could they maybe fly over it? He had no idea how high broomsticks would go… But it might be their only chance.

“Up! Up!” he screamed, waving at the rest of them madly. They nodded; they understood. He banked up, still heading east, but trying to urge his stick higher and higher.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Up and up they went. But the storm seemed to increase its speed as it came. It was now quite clearly a wall: a boiling black and brown mass of churning sand, thousands of feet high, rolling towards them inexorably. He thought he could see lightning flashing in its depths. He could hear it, now, too: a roaring and hissing that shook the air.

He had no idea what else to do. There was no way to make a plan, no way to take cover. All they could do was keep flying up, and hope.

Almost instinctively, the seven of them clustered together. He glanced at the other’s faces, and saw fear and determination. “Keep your shields strong!” he shouted at them. “Don’t get knocked from your broom! Use the Gripping Charm to make sure you hold on! We’ll make it!”

Ten more minutes passed. The wall drew up above them like a great wave; its hissing and roaring filled the world.

Then it struck.