01 July 1995 - English Countryside - Hogwarts Express
Harry Potter watched quietly as his best friend stared sightlessly out the window at the placid countryside. He was somewhat surprised at the realization that she was his best friend; it was a title he'd always attributed to Ron. Before the first task he'd found her company more tedious than he was comfortable admitting, but since Ron had come to terms with Harry's inclusion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Harry had found his company grating.
Ronald Weasley was loud, Ronald Weasley was abrasive, Ronald Weasley was ill-mannered, and Ronald Weasley was temperamental. It's funny, Harry mused, how much that mattered now. After their reunion it hadn't mattered, but as time went on it began to bother him more and more.
"Everything's going to change now, isn't it?" Hermione said softly, looking away from the window and towards him.
Harry impulsively grasped her hand, squeezing it gently. "Not everything," he assured her. "You'll still be my best friend. Ron's mouth will still outrun his brain."
"It rather does, doesn't it?" she grinned.
"You'll still have a pretty smile," he went on.
"Are you flirting with me, Harry?" she teased.
"A bit," Harry admitted. "If you'd rather I didn't-"
"No, it's okay," she interrupted. "But-"
"Flirting's fun, but more would be weird?" he guessed.
"Yes," she nodded. "I don't know why. It just feels…"
"Like romance would be terribly awkward between us."
"Right!" she exclaimed. Harry gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.
"I'm glad you don't mind the flirting, though," he smiled. "It's… comfortable. I'm going to go get some food. See you later, Hermione." He rose from the bench and left the compartment.
"Later, Harry," she answered.
01 July 1995 - King's Cross Station - Platform 9¾
Hermione Granger was irritated.
After Harry had left the compartment, Ron had returned and started playing Exploding Snap solitaire. The explosions were irregular enough that she couldn't tune them out to read.
Draco Malfoy had eventually paid them a 'visit', and the two boys had ended up brawling, further trying her temper. She'd ended up hexing them both, and felt ashamed at her loss of composure.
Perhaps that was why Ronald had evacuated the compartment immediately after their arrival at the platform. She would have forgiven him that if he hadn't left her to struggle with her luggage by herself. When eventually she managed to extract her trunk from the rack, it had landed on her foot, leaving her limping.
And she still hadn't seen Harry!
Spotting her parents, she bid Ron a surly goodbye. Trying to convince her parents to wait for her to find Harry proved a waste of breath. With one last searching look at the platform, she followed her parents out of the station.
Vernon Dursley was irritated.
The freak was supposed to be back from his blasted school today. But the boy hadn't the manners to be punctual, the train had arrived forty-five minutes ago.
Deciding he'd waited long enough, Mr. Dursley returned to his car and drove off. The freak could find his own way home.
Amelia Bones was irritated.
Fudge had dumped the whole issue of Lord Voldemort's 'alleged' revivification on her desk and told her to sort it out. The investigation had barely begun before the whole thing was mired down in realpolitik.
She had no crime scene. Harry Potter was considered an unreliable witness. All she really had was Alastor Moody with ten months of missing memories.
She still needed to interview Harry, but his guardians were being uncooperative. At least I have an active case to work on, she admitted, administrivia isn't nearly as stimulating. Now where is Susan?
The platform was clearing slowly, but she still hadn't spotted her grandniece. Patience was a prerequisite for any law officer, and Amelia exercised hers. Waiting a little longer wouldn't harm anyone.
Augusta Longbottom was irritated.
The Regent to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Longbottom reflected on the rumours running about high politics. The House of Magi had been sitting for a week, and for one as savvy as the Dowager Lady Longbottom, signs of unpleasantness to come were obvious.
The fractiousness of the Isolationist bloc had settled, and they were acting like an actual political bloc for the first time since the arrest of Lucius Malfoy almost two years ago. They tried to disguise it, of course, but she was experienced enough to see the signs. Someone had managed to secure leadership and get them working in concert again.
I'll have to step up Neville's lessons, she reflected. He needs to be able to recognize situations like this. Now where is that boy?
Ladon Greengrass, Magister Greengrass was irritated.
The Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic had been irritated ever since his unexpected, and unwelcome, promotion two years before. He'd taken a post in Minister Fudge's cabinet as a favor to his wife, and after what was being called the 'Malfoy Disaster' had found himself as acting Minister for almost six months.
He'd wanted to return to his fairly junior position once Fudge had recovered, but Fudge couldn't afford the public reaction to his apparent demotion, and Fudge was his wife's favorite nephew. Now he was stuck being the number two man in an administration that was rapidly headed for disaster.
The public wouldn't care that they'd been completely hamstrung by the deadlocked House of Magi. They wouldn't care that the administration had to observe the legal protections for subjects of the Crown. The public wouldn't care that they themselves wouldn't stand for the stringent measures required to deny the Dark Lord a foothold.
No, all the public would care about is that Lord Voldemort had returned, Harry Potter had said so, and that Fudge's government hadn't stopped him.
Lord Greengrass pinched his nose and broke out of his morose thoughts, looking around for his elder daughter and frowning. The platform was almost empty; where was the girl?
When only six families remained on the platform, Lord Greengrass made his way across the space to greet Madam Bones. Ladon Greengrass was a tall, handsome, austere man, with sharply defined features and a neatly kept beard. His hair and beard were pure white and his sharp features severe. He'd celebrated his centenary last year, and less than two decades before he'd caused quite a scandal by marrying a witch a fifth his age.
Then inspired a number of ribald remarks when that witch soon announced she was pregnant.
Now his blue eyes flashed with barely restrained fury as he addressed the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, though he maintained his genteel manners. "Madam Bones, I seem to be missing my heir," he said mildly. "And it appears that the young Lady Bones and Lordan Longbottom are also absent." (1)
Amelia Bones was a serious, attractive witch with a strong jaw and red-blonde hair. A scar twisted her left eyelid out of shape behind a monocle. She'd been aggressively courted from the moment she'd passed her OWLs in 1948, but her ferocious sense of independence and absolute dedication to Law Enforcement had kept her single.
Even now, bearing the sobriquet 'Iron Maiden', she fended off at least one attempt to court her every few months.
"Lord Greengrass, the rail attendants are already searching the train," she answered curtly, "and a message is en route to the Headmaster, requiring his attendance with the Express' passenger manifest." Her voice dropped as she added, likely to intended to be to herself, "why they don't keep it on the Express I don't know."
Lord Greengrass heard her anyway. "Because the wards on the Express are outside the wizardspace in which the track exists and warding information can't be passed from normal space to wizardspace," he answered.
"Why do you know that?" she wondered.
"Because Hogwarts' wards and protections were extensively discussed during the negotiations for the Triwizard Tournament. Ah, here's Dumbledore."
Albus Dumbledore was not a happy man. He hadn't been truly happy for many years. True, there had been moments of joy, but happiness had been elusive since the first whispered reports of Lord Voldemort had reached his ears. Today, however, marked another nadir.
Four students were missing, including his favorite. Vanished from the very seat of his power as though they had never been. An heir of a great house, and three heads of great houses, all disappeared. It only slightly comforted him that there was sure to be plenty of unhappiness to go around.
He read the manifest again with frustrated eyes. Four names in bright black. Bones, Lady Susan. Greengrass, Ladan Daphne. Longbottom, Lordan Neville. Potter, Lord Harry. With their boarding times neatly inscribed next to them, and the departure times blank. Dumbledore scowled at the manifest and thrust it abruptly towards Madam Bones, visibly mastering his temper.
"Amelia, my Lord Greengrass, Dowager Longbottom," he greeted them civilly. "According to the manifest, four students, including your three missing wards, are still on the train."
"The train's been searched three times, Headmaster," retorted Lord Greengrass. "Once by the staff, once by house elves, and once by Law Enforcement Patrol Officers. They're not there."
"I did not say they were," Dumbledore clarified. "I said that according to the protective enchantments on the Express, they never left it."
"Is Harry Potter also missing?" Augusta Longbottom inquired, looking over Amelia's shoulder. "His name also appears on the list as still on the train."
"I do not know," Dumbledore admitted. "As his guardians are not here, I assume not."
"But you will check," Amelia ordered.
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed.
"All right," Amelia straightened up and nodded. "I'm officially declaring this a potential act of terrorism. Every on-duty Auror will be here within fifteen minutes to begin preliminary investigations, and a task force assembled. After which I will have to suspend you two," she nodded to Dowager Longbottom and Lord Greengrass, "and myself from all governmental positions as potentially compromised. Does anyone have a suggestion for who should head the investigation?"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt," Dumbledore offered.
"I concur," Dowager Longbottom agreed.
"I don't object," Lord Greengrass acceded.
"Very well," Amelia said. "I shall begin immediately. Headmaster, if you would, contact all the prefects and their guardians and ask them to stand by. And Lord Potter's friends, too. I'll do the same for Susan, and Augusta and Ladon, please do so for your missing wards."
Four of the most powerful people in Wizarding Britain split apart, leaving the platform to attend to their tasks, all very worried for the children in their care.
01 July 1995 - Crawley, West Sussex - Granger Home
A young woman in an unremarkable grey pantsuit was sitting behind the wheel of an unremarkable beige four-door compact, parked in the street in front of a snug country cottage in Crawley. The residence of the Grangers was somewhat isolated, and possibly a Heritage-listed building. The walls she could see were made from irregular, mortared stone and the roof was made from ceramic tile. It felt welcoming and cozy.
The young woman was a rookie Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She'd been tapped for this assignment because she was one of the most capable in the department at operating in the so-called 'Muggle World', and she was young enough to put the interviewee at ease. Her name was Nymphadora Tonks.
Tonks was quite nervous. The case she'd been attached to was very high-profile. Too high-profile, really, for a rookie, but no one in the department was as unobtrusive as she. She'd been waiting outside the Grangers' home for almost four hours when a Range Rover pulled into the driveway. She watched as the car pulled into the drive and then into a detached carriage house.
Three people left the carriage house and crossed a covered walkway into the cottage. The man was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, but average, though very fit. He was balding, with hair cut down to stubble and a rugged, but attractive face. He clocked her immediately, and made sure she noticed him doing so.
The woman was short, curvy, and very blonde, with a pretty face and a bright smile. She had a happy walk and was chattering brightly. The tones, but not the words, reached Tonks' auto from the walkway and evoked a smile from the auror.
The daughter was taller than her mother, with sharp, beautiful features and thick, curly hair. She'd shed the last softness of childhood but not yet grown into her body; she was almost androgynous. Like her father, she noticed Tonks' vehicle and presence, but did nothing to indicate she'd done so.
All three were dressed informally, in jeans, t-shirts, and jumpers, although the woman's were clearly higher quality than her daughter's or husband's. Tonks waited a half hour longer to let them settle, and then left the car and rapped sharply on the door. She was unsurprised when it was opened immediately by the man.
"Mister Richard Granger?" she asked, holding up her identification folder.
"Yes," he answered.
"My name is Nymphadora Tonks. I'm an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement - we're the magical equivalent of Detective Inspectors - and I need to interview your daughter." (2)
"Why?" he demanded.
"Four students went missing from the school train," she explained. "One of whom was Harry Potter. As best we can determine, your daughter was the last person to speak with him before his disappearance."
Granger nodded, and opened the door wider. "Come in."
Tonks followed him inside. The interior of the home told her that the cottage wasn't Heritage listed, as the flooring and walls were modern. The walls were painted soft, warm hues, and the carpets dark, cooler hues. The decor tended towards watercolor landscapes and classical sculpture. Mr. Granger led her to a family room with a sofa and three chairs arranged in a conversational grouping, and one wall consisting entirely of bookshelves. The absence of a television surprised her as she took a seat. Mrs and Miss Granger were already present, seated on a sofa.
"Poppet, Sweetheart, this is Auror Tonks," Mr. Granger introduced her, "Auror Tonks, my wife Helen and my daughter Hermione. Auror Tonks needs to interview Hermione."
Tonks took the offered seat and looked directly at Hermione. Her next words had the precise inflection of phrasing learned by rote, "Miss Granger, I am an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I am here to interview you in conjunction with an active investigation. You are not a suspect, nor are you required to answer any questions at this time, but if decline to cooperate a subpoena may be sought. If you wish to have a solicitor present, that is your right. As you are a minor, your guardians are not required to be present, but they must give you permission to speak to me without their presence. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded once, "Yes, I do."
"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, do you understand?" she asked.
The adult Grangers glanced at each other and nodded, "We do."
Tonks retrieved what appeared to be a tape recorder from her inside jacket pocket. "Does anyone object to my recording this interview?"
"You use a tape recorder?" Hermione asked. Tonks shook her head.
"It's a magical device that performs the same function. But since we frequently interact with the non-magical world, most of our kit is designed to appear non-magical," she clarified.
Familiar with his daughter's habits, Mr. Granger preempted her next question. "We have no objections to your recording the interview."
"Thank you." Tonks activated the recorder, and then balanced a notebook on her knee. "Miss Granger, please tell me about the last time you saw Harry Potter."
"It was… odd." Hermione frowned a bit, and then described the conversation they'd had. "It didn't bother me, but Harry's never flirted with anyone before."
"What's the nature of your relationship with Mr. Potter?"
"He's my best friend, and he tells me I'm his," she answered without hesitation.
"Could his flirting with you have been a probe into your receptiveness towards a more intimate relationship?" Tonks asked.
Hermione bit the inside of her lip as she thought about that, then shook her head. "I think it's unlikely. Harry and I have been friends for almost four years. The conversation could have be interpreted that way, but his body language was all wrong for that."
"What do you know of Mr. Potter's home life?"
"I know that there's no affection between him and his relatives," she admitted. "I know that they're afraid of magic, and that Harry isn't treated very well."
"Do you think Mr. Potter may have run away from his guardians?" Tonks continued.
"I think it unlikely," Hermione insisted. "He doesn't like it there, but Headmaster Dumbledore wanted him to stay there for awhile. Harry trusts the Headmaster, and so I think he would obey him."
"What has Mr. Potter's mood been like since the incident after the Third Task?" Tonks asked.
"Incident?" Hermione demanded scathingly. "You mean his kidnapping?" Tonks reached out and stopped the tape recorder, shaking her head.
"Miss Granger, the official," she stressed, "position of the Ministry of Magic, and therefore the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, is that the portkey function of the Triwizard Cup was damaged by magical interference, resulting in the quote unfortunate death unquote of Cedric Diggory.
"Many of us know better, but we must be cautious. There's a strong minority in House of Magi that supports He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and they're doing everything they can to hamper any response we might make. We're in the same sort of situation that Britain was in 1939, only we've got a Winston Churchill as Minister instead of a Neville Chamberlain. But until we can get enough proof to convince the populace to support the measures we need to take, we can't make waves."
"What about Harry's testimony?" Hermione couldn't help but ask.
"Mr. Potter was exposed to Acromantula venom before the incident with the cup. Because Acromantula venom has known narcotic and hallucinogenic properties, Mr. Potter is considered to have been non compos mentis. His testimony has no evidentiary value, especially against the kind of political pressure being exerted."
Hermione nodded reluctantly. "Give me a moment, then," she asked, frowning. "I need to figure out how to lie with the truth."
"Tell us what you want to say, dear," Hermione's mother interrupted. "Let us help you figure out how to say it."
"Harry was… really, really focused," Hermione answered. "He thought he didn't do well enough in the graveyard, that he should have done much better. He was making plans to improve his situational awareness, reaction times, and pain tolerance, although he didn't know exactly how to phrase it.
"He spent a lot of time once he got out of the hospital wing in the library, researching wizard combat," she continued. "He was trying to learn what worked and what didn't. He got really frustrated with that, because that kind of information is scarce."
Tonks hummed quietly. "You should leave out the bit about 'wizard combat'. One of the strategies being used is to make Mr. Potter seem violent and unstable. The transcript of my recording will go into the case file. If you go on record that Mr. Potter was trying to learn how to fight wizards, it will be used against him."
"I hate this!" Hermione exploded. "I hate having to tiptoe around the truth, having to watch every word, having to be paranoid! I hate it!" Her father caught her in a hug as she began to sob.
"Auror Tonks, I think this interview is concluded for the moment," he said. "If you could return tomorrow?"
Tonks nodded her agreement. "Two in the afternoon?"
"That'll be fine," Mrs. Granger answered. "We'll expect you then."
01 July 1995 - Goathland, North Yorkshire - Goathland Cell (3)
On the outside, Goathland Cell looked much like the Granger home. The interior was quite different. A traditional Wizarding home, Goathland Cell had been the home of the Abbott family since before the fall of Camelot. Though neat, the floors were still made up of original flagstone, the walls were unpanelled, and the entire home had an austerity to it that was the opposite of the Granger home.
Auror Steven Whitby found the sitting room he to which he had been escorted highly intimidating. It didn't help that a Magister of Magical Britain's ruling body was lurking in the corner, watching him with barely restrained disapproval. Nor that Lordan and Lordana Abbott were flanking his interview subject and looking entirely affronted.
In the last century, the DMLE had managed to shed most of the classism common to the rest of Magical Britain, becoming the most egalitarian department in the Ministry for Magic. At times like this, Auror Whitby wished they hadn't been as successful as they were; his subjects were clearly offended by his social rank, and were being genteelly obstructionist as a result. Shacklebolt had probably forgotten that social classes even existed when picking the task force and distributing assignments.
"We understand," Lordan Abbott said sharply. Whitby had just finished delivering the standard rights lecture. Whitby nodded and made a note, then retrieved his recording device and asked for permission. The Lordan glanced over at Lord Abbott, who nodded once. Whitby was given permission to record the interview.
"Miss Abbott, please tell me about the last time you saw Miss Susan Bones," Whitby asked. Long experience prevented him from sighing at the narrow-eyed glare Miss and Lordana Abbott leveled at him. He'd obviously violated some principle of etiquette and offended his interviewees.
"Lady Bones and I were attending a memorial gathering in honor of Cedric Diggory, held in the prefects' carriage aboard the Hogwarts Express," Hannah answered in clipped tones. "As the memorial went on, Lady Bones became more distressed. She excused herself to cry in private."
"Who else attended this memorial?" he followed up. Hannah began listing names, almost too fast for Whitby to keep up his note-taking. He'd thought the order was random, or perhaps temporal, until Lordana Abbott clucked her tongue.
"Washburne before Blakely, Hannah," the Lordana corrected. Whitby couldn't quite keep his expression neutral. There's an organization to this? he wondered. Miss Abbott flushed gently at the correction. He made a note in the margin to ask someone in the department for clarification.
The questions continued, asking after Susan's emotional state (grieving quietly), her behavior over the last week (relaxed but pensive), and her relationships with Daphne Greengrass (distant cordiality), Neville Longbottom (politely cool), and Harry Potter.
"Potter is an ill-mannered, arrogant lout," Hannah sneered. "He's been snubbing everyone since before school started, the oh-so-great Boy-Who-Lived, too important to even decline an invitation or assent to an introduction."
"Is there anything else that you think may be relevant to the investigation?" Whitby concluded.
Hannah glowered at the floor. "As much of a jerk as Potter is, he's the ablest in our year with a wand. He's tops in Charms and Defence practicals, and just behind Granger in Transfiguration practical. If he bothered to work more, he'd be the best student in our year. He's definitely the strongest in our year, and Lady Bones is almost as powerful as he is, if not as skilled. If Potter was taken against his will, it was a very subtle trap."
It turned out that no one had seen Neville Longbottom or Daphne Greengrass since the Express had boarded. Tracey Davis' interview revealed that Miss Greengrass had been fretting about something since the day after the Third Task, but no details were available. Neville Longbottom's closest friend proved to be the missing Harry Potter, but that friendship was superficial at best.
Panic and furor mounted as time passed, but despite the feverish efforts of the task force, no new leads were uncovered. With four Great Houses involved, resources were available for almost any effort that might produce results, but none did.
The greatest ward specialists in the world examined the Hogwarts Express, but couldn't unravel more than a quarter of the protections and enchantments on the train and track. Many suggested it was less than that, and that there was more magic involved than they could detect. Dumbledore's investigations were even less fruitful. He barely held onto his post as Headmaster after being quoted in the Daily Prophet as saying 'Hogwarts has many mysteries, we cannot hope to comprehend them all.'
Through it all, Hermione Granger worried for her best friend.
Author's Note: This is set in the same universe as my story 'The Minister's Chair' (which can be considered a prequel to this story).
Most of the 'manners' I'm using for the upper class are derived from my reading of Jane Austen and Brontë, with smatterings of Julia Quinn. I swear I spend more time making notes about address and precedence than I do actually writing.
I need to credit 'broomstick flyer' for "Richard and Helen" Granger. Common fanon is to use Dan and Emma, which is perfectly serviceable, but I like Richard and Helen. They're much stronger, richer names.
1: 'Lordan' is an honorific I made up to denote the male heir apparent of a Wizarding noble house ('Ladan' is the female version). I just didn't want to follow the convention of using 'Heir/ess [SURNAME]'.
2: Yes, Tonks hates her given name, but she's a professional and a law officer. She's required to accurately identify herself.
3. Goathland Cell was a hermitage associated with Whitby Abbey, described as "a farm called 'Abbot House'".
I'm still seeking an editor. If you or someone you know is willing to do so and has a good grasp of the English language, please contact me via PM.