Chapter 2 The Gates of Hell
“Welcome,” their guide Samir said, “To the Gates of Hell.”
Neville’s ears were still popping, and he concentrated on trying to do something about that problem rather than try to take in his surroundings. Samir had said that the reason for it was the change in pressure; they were at the lowest point in the world. It was also, Neville decided, the busiest and loudest place in the world. He saw Hermione rip off her “Instant Translator” and adjust her skirt a little self-consciously.
She had been told that the people here were very religious and very strict in terms of dress – especially that of women, so, with her typical stubbornness she had elected to wear the shortest skirt Neville had ever seen her in. The effort was wasted, Neville realized as they got followed Samir to a large mass of people that was supposed to be a ‘line’, she wasn’t making any points here. They might be strict and religious, but Neville found himself standing behind a girl dressed in unbelievably tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt. The girl was talking animatedly in words Neville did not understand, swishing her dyed hair every now and then, and beside her, laughing with her about something, was a girl dressed in long flowing robe-like dress that covered everything except for her face and hands.
After a few minutes of the ‘line’ not moving at all Neville found himself drawn to the incomprehensible conversation. Strangely enough the girl with lots of clothing seemed to be unable to sustain the conversation in what Neville knew must be Arabic and kept dropping a few words of English – with a heavy American accent – every few sentences. He shook his head at the contradiction. Hermione was not making any points here, not if the women dressed in such extremes and every shade in between, she had merely inconvenienced herself.
Samir seemed a little amused at Hermione’s discomfort. He tried to avoid her eye and then, what seemed to be an hour later; he asked an older man a little way ahead of them in the line how long he had been here.
“Sa’teen.” Neville did not need to understand the language, with its strange letters, to know what the response meant: too long.
They soon found themselves having to squeeze between two metal fences that wound around and around and around like a snake before entering the building. “Why doesn’t someone bloody organize it a little?” Hermione huffed as she found herself squished up against the railing with the metal biting into her side, “And why can’t people get inside first and then start the line-up? It’s unbelievably impractical.”
“That’s the point, Hermione.” Samir’s voice sounded tired.
“What?” Hermione said, “The point is for it to be inconvenient and disorganized?”
“Yes,” Samir replied, “It is.”
There was a silence in which Neville tried to fight off the memories of the last time he had felt this helpless. The line went a little faster from then on and they finally found themselves in a large crowded hall.
“I’ll go do the paperwork,” Samir said, “Wait here. First, though, I’m going to ask you again. You can pay a few extra dollars and go in as a VIP, much less painful that way, and faster. Or you can go back now and go in through Israel – nice quick plane ride and you’re in as respected British tourists.”
Neville shook his head and felt his hands clenching almost involuntarily.
“Why don’t you do that?” Hermione said, “You’re a British citizen too, and you have money.”
Samir smiled sadly. “You know why. And unlike you, Hermione, I’ve been here before. This is not going to be pleasant and I don’t see a reason why you should put yourself through this if there’s an easier way to get in.”
“We’re here to see,” Neville said, “We’re here to understand this side of the story while our friends have gone to understand the other side of it. There’s no way we can do that unless we go through here.”
Samir nodded and took their Muggle passports and papers. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” It was apparently supposed to be a playful joke, but none of them smiled as he walked off to deal with the paperwork. Neville was wholeheartedly glad to leave him that particular aspect of the trip – the memory of the time he had attempted to register some plants with the ministry as a controlled species still left a bad taste in his mouth.
After hours of watching children run around and sharing the few seats that were available with the rest of the people who were waiting, Neville found himself dropping off to sleep with the dizzying pattern of the old woman’s traditional dress imprinted in is mind. Samir shook him awake and he realized how uncomfortable sitting on the floor was, but there really weren’t enough chairs and most of the other people waiting were very old or very young. He straightened his back and tried to reorient himself as he followed behind Hermione.
He had assumed they would have to think and would be asked questions due to tight security or something. His illusion was shattered very quickly. What followed was a series of walking up lines, handing over paperwork to bad-natured officers, and then watching their luggage being thrown around roughly onto a bus that had no room on board for them to ride in.
They waited for quite a while, watching buses go by and hassled people who had been waiting for hours get on. Luckily enough, they eventually got into a bus and it was still daylight. According to Samir people had been known to get stuck here for days on end.
“But there’s nothing here,” Hermione protested, “No where to get food, no bathrooms, no healers – what if someone’s sick. Look at that old man; someone like him couldn’t possibly survive seven days out here on the pavement waiting for a bus.”
“Hermione,” Neville interrupted, “You’re holding up the line, get in.”
She hurried inside the bus and they found seats at the back. Neville was just glad to be rid of the flies. They rode for a while, but that didn’t last long either. No progress seemed to last very long here. Everyone on the bus started getting off, leaving their purses and paperwork behind. “What’s-”
Samir hushed him and motioned for the door. They filed out behind the rest of the passengers and were ushered into a small fenced area where they had to stand and wait. Soldiers with guns, some of them pointed directly at passengers, were all around. Some soldiers went inside the bus.
Neville remembered the bullet that had struck Blaise when they attempted to Apparrate here. He tried not to think about how simple it was for one of the soldiers to fire now, at any of them, he tried not to lose his composure or remember the events that had occurred after the death of the Dark Lord.
Finally, they were allowed back onto the bus and they drove the rest of the way to the other side of the border crossing. They entered a large Hall and went through a line-up, which was, thankfully, short and moving quickly. When they reached the desk Samir gave the Palestinian Authority officer the passports. To Neville’s surprise the man didn’t even look at the thing. He held it up a little so that it could be seen over his shoulder…but there was no one looking. Neville waited until they had their papers back and were safely down the hall before asking about this strange behavior.
“Did you see the dark, tinted glass windows behind him?” Samir asked, “There’s an Israeli officer behind that glass. He’s the one that actually approves our entry.”
“But I thought the West Bank was under the Palestinian Authority?” Hermione asked.
“It is,” Samir said, “And this is what that means.”
They came out into a huge hallway packed with people. There was no discernible order, no clear direction, just masses of people ahead of them. “Well,” Samir said, “Let’s get in line.”
“That’s absurd,” Hermione began. Her patience was clearly coming to an end. When Samir had called this place “The Gates of Hell” Neville hadn’t really expected it would be this bad; he hadn’t expected to be on the border crossing for this long.
It was suffocating. Standing here in the middle of a crowd of people who don’t know which way they’re supposed to go and have been on their feet for a very long time. Children crying every now and then before someone hushed them, sweat running down his face. Neville was struggling to stay calm, trying to concentrate on the white headscarf of the woman before him, so he didn’t immediately notice when Hermione slipped out from beside him and tried to walk around the large crowd of people to what was, supposedly, their destination. Samir was already behind her when Neville noticed and followed them.
They tried their best to catch up to her, but the crowd did not help, and Hermione had less of a problem squeezing past women and through tight openings in the crowd. When they reached the desk at the front they found five Israeli soldiers sitting behind the desks doing nothing. A couple of them were smiling as they looked on to the crowd. Hermione was already talking to two of the women behind the desk.
“…animals,” one of the women was saying with broken English and a smirk on her face, “We will take their papers when they line up like human beings.”
“There’s no room to line up,” Hermione insisted, “There are no directions, no signs pointing out where the front desk even is, no instructions. And if you were working this whole time then the number of people would have been much less by now and people would be able to see where they need to go and line up properly. The line in that room just outside was fine-”
“I can’t,” the second woman interrupted Hermione’s rant, “Orders.”
“What do you mean, look at the children…” Neville tried to motion to Hermione to stop, and he noticed that Samir was being much more obvious about trying to shut her up. There were armed soldiers here, the first woman was still calling them animals and laughing. Neville did not like this at all, and he wanted Hermione to shut up and get back in line. They were only here to observe, that was their goal, the rule they were supposed to be following. And besides, interfering in Hermione’s know-it-all fashion might cause more misery than they were already in.
Finally, one of the men standing behind the counter offered to take their passports. Hermione began to protest that their place was at the back of the line and they shouldn’t be treated any differently and there was no logical reason for this when Samir pulled out the passports and handed them over. He placed his hand on Hermione’s arm and Neville, taking that as his cue, pulled her back a few steps.
Her face and neck were completely red – just at that moment she reminded him of Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. The man handed them back the passports and motioned to the exit. “Look,” Samir pointed behind them as they exited the hall, “They’re taking everyone else’s passports now so stop muttering and lets get through this day without causing more of a disturbance.”
When a friendly looking soldier asked about the reason for their visit at the next line up Neville did not allow Hermione to say a word. “Tourism,” he said, “Our friends have gone in through Israel and we’re hoping to meet them there in a couple of days. I have panic attacks on airplanes - health problem - and I thought I’d avoid that.”
The soldier looked at him for a moment and then nodded. “You should do more research before you travel,” he said handing back the passports, “This isn’t exactly good for the health. But you’ll enjoy Israel it’s a great place.”
Neville nodded thankfully and stepped through the archway that was the Muggle equivalent of a secrecy sensor. “When you’re going back out you should either try the plane or go through VIP,” the soldier said as he waited for Samir and Hemrione to cross through the secrecy sensor, “VIP is much easier and quicker, it’s worth the money.”
“Really?” Neville said pretending never to have heard of it. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind if I have any money left on the way out! Thanks for telling me.”
The man grinned. “You’ll have a hard time hanging on to the money, it’s true; so much to do.”
Samir got through the Muggle sensor alright, but a woman came up to Hermione and told her to step away with her for a minute. At first Neville thought it must be something to do with the fact that she was female, who knew what sort of rules they had here, but soon he realized that women were going through the sensors just like the men and it was only a few that were being taken through to the rooms. He tried to tell himself he was being stupid and paranoid because of the long day, but when he turned and saw Samir’s face his gut clenched.
“What is it?” Neville asked.
Samir shook his head. “Nothing, nothing. She’ll be fine. Just a memory…or a dream, I don’t know which.” This was far from reassuring.
*** *** ***
Theo was checking on his potions and spelled bandages and enjoying the view off the mountainside when Susan approached from behind. In true Slytherin fashion he heard her coming almost as soon as she left the Healing tent and he noticed that she was trying to be sneaky. But with a feeling that had become all to familiar lately, something Blaise always called his ‘inner Hufflepuff’, he allowed her to sneak up on him and feigned surprise.
He was not prepared for the onslaught of images that came as a result of this selfless act.
Theo wondered why Profes – Headmaster Snape always assigned Theo this particular Hallway to Patrol. It was possibly the most Boring place in the entire castle, counting Binns’ classroom. At least in History of Magic there were other students to observe and, sometimes, to test new spells on while no one was looking.
Then again, spells weren’t always meant to be cast on humans. He grinned and whipped out his wand. It was supposed to be a simple spell, according to the book he had just finished reading, but the effects were said to vary slightly depending on the object it hit. He decided to try it on one of the statues first and twirled his wand, whispering the incantation in his mind. He had no idea why he was whispering even in his head, but it seemed to fit the mood of the gloomy hallway at this unearthly hour. He wondered if anyone had even been in this hallway for the past hundred years.
Suddenly, a flickering movement caught his eye; the statue seemed to be moving. Because he was the one casting the spell, or perhaps because he wasn’t very good, he could still see it for the illusion it was. A solid stable statue behind a flickering griffin statue that came to life and struck out – it was the only thing that kept him from yelling out.
After a few minutes he was getting very good at the illusion spell and had moved on to a powerful revealing spell.
“P-please.”
Theo knitted his eyebrows.
“The little Hufflepuff is begging. That’s better, filthy Muggle-Lover, now you’re starting to understand your place!”
“Please, please, please no.”
The sheer terror behind that disembodied voice was what made him act. It was coming from behind what looked to be a solid wall. Theo cast several different revealing spells and then an anti-illusion spell, and finally, out of sheer frustration, he tried “Diffindo!” The wall ripped like a piece of fabric revealing two very large Slytherins and a Ravenclaw as they stood over a shaking Hufflepuff.
The only reason he could tell she was a Hufflepuff was because he actually recognized her from Herbology, her robes had been torn to shreds and the shirt underneath looked like it was about to go the same way.
“Expelliarmus!”
Duck.
“Sectumsempra!”
Twist; jump.
“Diffindo!” “Imperio!”
The last one was very good at dueling, but horrible at resisting the Imperius. Theo knew several first years that could do better than this. He decided to have a little fun, and made the miserable creature cast a boil charm on himself followed by a binding charm that would only release him once he had confessed three embarrassing things about himself to a crowd and handed himself over to the highest authority in the building. Professor Snape could do whatever he wanted with him afterwards.
Theo had never been very good at repairing spells so the Hufflepuff’s robes looked rather botched when he put them back together. Neither of them cared much. He wasn’t a Gryffindor, of course, so he spared them both the helping-hand and the kind words. He did, however, quietly cast a couple of quick healing spells – non-verbally.
“Thank you…I.”
“Don’t leave the Common Room after hours, Bones, and never walk alone.”
She shook her head. “Detention…” she whispered. The Carrows.
“Am I a coward, Theo?”
“I’m sorry,” Theo said, “You must have mistaken me for a Gryffindor, I don’t answer stupid questions like that.”
“But that was the whole point of this, to face all of it and stop being afraid.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.” Theo could not help the venomous tone that crept into his voice at that.
He turned towards her and forced her to hold his gaze. “There are some things that you should never have to face,” he said seriously, “Things that you should never have gone through to begin with. The point of this is to pick up the pieces of you that are left and learn how to be yourself again. It doesn’t matter how you do that, or what you face or push to the deepest parts of your soul. As long as you find a place and an identity you can live with.”
Susan blinked a few times, he thought she might be trying to blink back tears, but then she smiled. “Awfully philosophical for a Slytherin.”
Theo snorted. Nothing to say.
“So have you found it?” she asked. “The place you want to be, the identity you can live with or whatever.”
He stood up and puffed out his chest rather comically. “Of course!” he said in his best imitation of pompous Ernie, “Journeying Healer-Medic, finding new cures in the plants and ancient traditions of Chile, helping Muggles wherever I can and keeping Salazar turning in his grave. Even-” he looked towards the group that was rebuilding destroyed houses, “Even building houses side by side with the local population and the pompous-arse North American Muggle Volunteers that haven’t done a hard day’s work in their lives.”
Susan laughed as he headed over to the building and began trying to help. “As if you’ve ever done a hard day’s work Muggle-style!” she laughed.
“Is that a challenge, Hufflepuff?” he turned, halfway there, and threw her his wand. She quickly pocketed it with a huge grin on her face, wondering how long he would last. Wand-less magic would drain his energy faster than Muggle labor, so it was a real challenge.
And an old woman carrying a small bundle on her back and a pail of water in her hand smiled over at them fondly, her eyes shining with an inner mirth. And the world was right.
*** *** ***
Hermione knew what this was before the soldier spoke. There could only be one purpose for this private room in the middle of a border crossing. And of course she hadn’t remembered the first and most important rule of survival: keep your mouth shut.
Still, it came as a surprise when the woman told her to undress. She complied mechanically, her teeth grinding into each other, her fists clenched. She looked straight ahead.
It had been a month after the downfall of Voldemort. Harry had killed him, the war was over. Finished. Most of the Death Eaters had been rounded up and put on trial. It was supposed to be over. All they had to do now was rebuild Hogwarts and their world, celebrate and relish the fact that you could say it out loud now: Voldemort.
They were at a celebration only a few moments ago and suddenly Hermione found herself in a cold, dark cell with three girls she did not know very well – Hogwarts students form her year.
There were the screams too, of course, for entertainment, with the rough voices laughing at their victims’ pain.
This was not supposed to be happening. The war was over. Voldemort was gone.
That became their chant when Susan came back to the cell. She was half naked, bruised, her eyes hollow – deathlike. She did not look at any of them, just rocked back and forth, whispering the words, clinging to them, as if they were her sanity. Trying to cling to the images of the world that was supposed to be after the end of the war. Forget, reject, this strange, harsh reality.
“He’s dead. Voldemort is dead. He’s gone. Voldemort is gone.”
And then it was Hermione’s turn. Paralysis. Cold hands. Laughter. Death sentence. No: death wishes, more like. And questions, as if a tiny Rita Skeeter was standing there watching her humiliation and marking down the facts with that green quill of hers. How had she come to be here? How had she survived Voldemort and captured so many Death Eaters only to be completely helpless now.
And cold hands. And Laughter. Paralysis.
She stood there, naked, for a few moments trying to comprehend what the woman was saying. There was laughter in those eyes. Why shouldn’t there be? Hermione was lost, disoriented; she must look very stupid. She understood, finally, that she was allowed to dress again now. Did it mechanically. Began to wonder how common this was and what the trigger for this sort of treatment was, if they had some sort of checklist to determine whether a person would be strip-searched or not. Automatically, her hand went to the wand that had been turned into a rubbery hair-band. Still there.
She wondered if the other women, the ones that covered themselves from head to toe felt the same numb feeling inside when they were brought here or if it was something else closer to anger. Closer to the rage that she had felt years ago in a cold, dark cell.
Hermione found Samir ashen-faced, locked in his own world of memory, and Neville pacing like a madman. They seemed afraid to touch her or come too close, casting about for a way to handle this.
Finally, as they walked among hundreds of taxi cars looking for one that still had enough room in it Samir spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said in a very small voice, “I never really though it was – real. I though it was my imagination, or a dream. I’m so sorry.”
“You warned us, right?” Hermione said flatly, trying to make her voice more reassuring, trying to bring life back to her numb, vacant body. it wasn’t his fault. She couldn’t even manage to hold on to the flash of curiosity about what his memory was, would ask later when the world was less suffocating. “You told us it would be hell.”
“Only the Gates of Hell, dear,” the taxi driver said in a very thick accent, throwing his cigarette away and ushering them in, “Now welcome to Hell.”
*** *** ***
Lee had, in fact, lost track of which country they were in now. He felt a little ashamed of himself for thinking “well, at least I know we’re still in Africa,” but there was no helping it. The Egyptian Wizard they had stumbled across didn’t exactly have the luxury to be a good guide; he was too busy trying to save their lives.
They had planned out a route that would take them across Africa, stopping at specific places to talk to farmers and other citizens about food prices and other aspects of their economic troubles. That was as far as their Egyptian Guide would go with them, but they had also been planning to go around the rest of the world to affected areas and discover what problems lay at the heart of the food crisis. Lee had just begun to enjoy research for the first time in his life, because it was real, it was deeply rooted in life, and in the world around him.
Unfortunately, that was when they had stumbled across some heavy fighting and had to flee. They had not been very lucky, landing themselves in rather tense situations three out of the four times that they had used a port-key. Finally, however, they found themselves in a quiet village and decided to speak with the farmers.
The first person they saw was a young man with a very tired, old looking face, leaning against a tree. His shoulder was barely touching it, as if it was the mere idea of support that held him up. His clothing was muddy and torn.
Lee adjusted his “Insta-T” even though he knew their guide would translate. He only put it into one ear, though, because there was a longing inside him to hear the words in their original form – to understand the language and be part of it. No matter that he had no bleeding clue which country he was actually in right now, he didn’t even know where his ancestors had come from so to him it was all the same, all Africa, all home.
The man’s voice held an unexpected bitterness when he spoke. Perhaps they should have expected it. “Let me guess,” he said, “You don’t look like Tourists or ‘professional advisors’ so you must be rich kids looking for a way to do something good and ‘save the children of Africa’ – right?”
Cho was fidgeting nervously. George looked like he always did nowadays, empty, barely interested. “I’ll answer your questions if you like,” the man continued, “But only because it’s important that you let go of your naïve ideas and expectations.”
“We don’t have any expectations,” Cho said, waiting for their guide to translate, “We just want to learn as much as we can so we can help.”
“The only way you can ‘help’ Africa, my dear girl, is to take all your foreign friends and leave the continent. Of course I realize you don’t have that much power, but maybe you can go back and tell all your well-meaning friends that Africans are perfectly capable of solving their own problems if they were just left alone without the constant meddling of outsiders who fuel the fire between family members so they can get at our resources. It is true everywhere.”
George seemed ready to leave, but Cho was not finished here. She jumped at the word resources. “I was wondering about resources,” she said hurriedly, “The countries most affected by this food crisis are very rich in natural resources. It is a strange contradiction.”
“It is not,” the man said, genuinely interested in the conversation now, “Resources are a curse. If you don’t have resources no one will meddle and you will be able to scrape a living off whatever small means you do have, but when you have resources then everyone will want a piece of it for themselves.”
“So what do you think the answer is?” Cho asked. Lee thought it was a bit early on in their journey to be looking for answers, but he didn’t say anything, preferring to listen to the man and take it all in – analyze later.
“I already told you,” the man replied, “You want a more specific answer? Alright. Whit- Foreigners stop giving our boys weapons and setting them against each other, they stop telling us how to live so we can sort out our disputes in a way that will work, and then we will be able to have peace for long enough to farm this land and raise our children. And if the government stopped bringing foreign companies to manage the resources and the organization of the country we would have more jobs and the money and benefit would go to us instead of some rich person in Europe of America.”
“Do you think this is the case just in Africa, though?” Cho asked, “It seems that Africa is unique in some of those details, what about the rest of the world.”
“I have never been to the rest of the world,” the man said, “I will not tell them how to live, but I believe that it cannot be otherwise, anywhere in the world. It must the same wherever there are diamonds or fertile lands, maybe in different forms and disguises.”
Suddenly the man smiled, “Follow the trail of resources around the world, little Traveler, and you will find your answer. Find out where they go and you will know why they are not getting to children’s mouths. Go to a city, talk to the people who work in factories and the people who can’t find any work.”
“Thank you for speaking to us.”
“I like you much better than those who think they can tell us how to solve all our problems,” he said, “You are not arrogant.”
Lee realized they had Magic to thank for that and their complete ignorance of the Muggle World. Perhaps if they had known more about the Muggle World they would have come with those ‘naïve ideas and expectations,’ with suggestions, but they recognized their ignorance of the Muggle World and so their first mission was strictly to learn and observe.
When they were a safe distance away their guide sat down to sort out his Portkeys. They needed to know where they were going and avoid getting caught in the middle of a battle again. “Aha!” the guide said after a while, “The Portkey that got us into trouble was this one, I shouldn’t have even been carrying a Portkey to Somalia – too dangerous now and we’re a large group. Well, I think I’ve got these Portkeys in order now, who wants to go Cameroon next?”
*** *** ***
Israel was beautiful. They had almost succumbed to the temptation of being tourists for a couple of days and forgetting about everything. Their guide Sarah, had encouraged the idea, but they decided to get their mission over with first – their research. The fun could come later.
“Not that it won’t be fun, anyway,” Sarah said as they climbed the stairs to her Aunt’s apartment, “I always enjoy visiting the family and everywhere here is beautiful.”
They knocked on the door and waited. Finally, a smiling middle-aged woman opened the door and welcomed them in. Then her eyes locked with Dean’s and she faltered for a moment, before opening the door fully.
Closed the door. The house was beautiful. Luna’s eyes ran over the candleholders – she would have to ask Sarah what they were called again, she knew they had a Religious significance – and then landed on a little girl standing by a piano. An older sister, almost Sarah’s age, had been playing the piano when they came in.
Luna suddenly realized that Sarah and her Aunt were having a very heated discussion in the hallway. She wondered if they were intruding, Sarah had insisted there would be no trouble and she hadn’t called her Aunt earlier to let her know they were coming. Perhaps it was a bad time to visit. Luna did not have her Insta-T and neither did Dean, but Ron had it on in one ear and he appeared to be listening. His face was growing red.
Finally, he strode to the door and walked out, slamming it behind him. Luna jumped. Ronald was rude, sometimes, to his close friends, it was one thing she liked about him, the openness, but she had never seen him like this. “I’m so sorry,” Luna said, not really sure whether she was apologizing for him or for intruding.
“No, no,” Sarah said quickly, “My aunt is just upset with me because I didn’t let her know I’d bring guests and she hasn’t prepared anything. She’s very well-known for her delicious food and she takes it too personally if she’s not given a chance to show it off.”
Her aunt’s face finally relaxed and she told them to make themselves at home while she got a quick snack. They began talking to Sarah’s cousin, Rebecca, with the sound of crashing pots and pans in the background. Luna grinned a little at that, reminded of her father when he was in a hurry and in the kitchen.
After a few minutes of small-talk, when her aunt returned with tea and cookies, Sarah stated their purpose very bluntly.
“They’re here to learn about the rocket-attacks and the conflict.”
“Oh,” her aunt stopped and put a cookie down, “You don’t know how wonderful it is to hear that. No one is interested anymore; they just leave us to our suffering and pretend nothing is happening. It is very difficult here in Sderot, we are always afraid – worried when the next rocket attack will come.”
“Do they happen often?” Luna asked.
“Very often,” she said, “There has been so much damage to the city and many have been wounded...”
She paused for a bit, Luna hanging on her every word. “Thirteen people have been killed since 2001, when they began to reach us.”
“Oh,” Luna said, “That’s terrible. Do you know why they started in 2001?”
“That’s their Intifada,” the woman said bitterly, “They have always wanted to drive us into the sea and destroy Israel.”
“Oh.” Luna cast about for something to say to that, she really didn’t know much about the conflict. Even Hermione had restricted her research to maps and basic information about the religion and culture of both sides; they were here to learn. “So, what do you think is the solution?” Luna asked, “Has the government been doing anything, talking to them; trying to stop it?”
“Hah!” Sarah’s aunt replied, “They talk too much, there is no reasoning with these terrorists. The government does a few air raids sometimes, sometimes they kill terrorists in Gaza, but the attacks don’t stop. It’s not working, there needs to be a solution.”
“What do you think they should do?”
“There are twenty two Arab countries,” the woman said very seriously, “They should just send them there – leave us alone. We don’t need Arabs here. The government gave them back Gaza and look where that got us! The government needs to start getting tough.”
Dean shifted nervously and spoke. “I heard that Israeli army performs many raids in Gaza and they keep putting them under blockade. Surely if this tough approach is not working there must be other options.”
“Of course it’s not working; they’re being too soft, only pretending to be tough. Those Arabs teach their children to hate us, they bring them up to be terrorist, and everybody is just worried about how tough it is to live in Gaza. Why don’t they go somewhere else then, and leave us alone? They should all be killed.”
“About the rocket attacks,” Luna quickly changed the subject back quickly, “What is your everyday life like here; it must be very disruptive and traumatic to live with the threat of these rockets.”
“Of course,” everyone seemed to be relieved to be off the topic of ‘those Arabs’, “My daughter, the younger one, she is always afraid, we can’t send her to her Ballet practice anymore because it is very dangerous just to be outside the house sometimes. They are losing their childhood.”
Rebecca went over to the piano with a smile and began to play and her sister began to dance. She was very good, Luna thought, watching.
After a while Sarah took over from Rebecca almost seamlessly.
“My mother is very tired,” Rebecca said, “She has been through so much, there is no safety here. You know what she said is very tough, but we are getting sick of this constant fear. We have to be able to defend ourselves, they kill us with their rockets, and the army has to fight back for us.”
“Sure,” Luna said, “You have to be able to defend yourselves, but surely the normal Palestinians just want peace too, like you. Isn’t it important to understand their grievances, what they want?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca said, “What do they want? Why can’t they just leave us alone? We are the only democratic country in the region, that’s why they hate us. They don’t like us because we are Jews, you can’t argue with people like that. We did not do anything to them; we just want to have our own country like everybody else without persecution.”
Dean excused himself to go find Ron and Luna continued to watch the little ballerina. Step, jump, spin.
Behind her the beautiful furniture and the family photos winked like little lights.
Spin, jump, spin. Step.
Luna wondered if they were really equipped to actually help here. She knew the Muggles always went on about talking, peace, and non-violence, but in her world they dueled with the Death Eaters, they fought. It seemed as if they did the same thing here, but it didn’t seem to be working. She wondered if there was an answer or if they were just fated to go on killing each other for another sixty years or more. She wondered if it was possible for them to ever live side by side.
Step, jump, twirl.
A note on sources: I mainly used Wikipedia to look up info for the natural disasters bit: The earthquake in Chile and the affected countries in the food crisis. I'll obviously have more sources as I get into more detail. The dialogue of the farmer that Cho talked to was fictitious, but alot of the stuff he said(especially about resources) comes from things I've heard and put together over the years. If you haven't seen Blood Diamond yet, that's a very good movie sort of related to this. Watch out for the violence though, it's not a pretty movie by any means.
For the Palestine/Israel sections the sources are a mixture of personal experience, news clippings (many of them from Haaretz), and videos (Youtube and B'Tselem). Much of the dialogue for those sections is actually lifted directly from what I've read or heard. In future chapters I'll have dialogue shamelessly lifted from a TV interview that I thought was amazingly good at summarizing both sides of the issue.
Oh yes, and "Sa'teen" actually means two hours in case anyone was wondering, Neville was pretty close with the "too long" guess.
Again, I love reviews so let me know what you think!
