A/N: This is a short chapter, so you get a double-post this week while we get the ball rolling.
Enormous thanks to the wonderful Meladara for beta work! All errors that you see are mine.
Anti-Litigation Charm: I do not own.
"No luck, mate," Ron told Harry glumly, shutting the door behind himself and flopping down on his bed. He took one look at Harry's face, and his expression hardened. "And I s'pose you didn't, either?"
Harry shook his head. He had a lot to tell Ron, but suddenly, his reinstated lessons with Snape and his first face-to-face meeting with his Godmother no longer seemed so important. Hermione was well and truly missing.
"We'd better go tell Professor McGonagall," Harry said decisively, rolling off his own bed. "I checked the Map again, and she's not on it."
Ron winced. "You're sure you didn't miss her?"
"Positive," Harry insisted. "And you already checked the Room of Requirement."
They exchanged looks.
"But—but where could she be?" Ron insisted.
Harry paused. "You don't think…"
"You-Know-Who?" Ron whispered. "He couldn't have gotten inside the school—could he?"
"If he could, he wouldn't be going after Hermione," Harry said convincingly. "He's after me, remember?" And, he wanted to add, that Voldemort had indicated nothing about Hermione in any of the strange dreams he had been having, but he kept that piece of information to himself. "No, there's something else going on here—I just can't put my finger on it."
He headed for the door, and Ron followed close behind. They scurried down the stairs to the common room and were about to push open the portrait when it pre-emptively swung open. Ron nearly knocked Harry over, who had to stop rather suddenly to avoid running directly into the Transfiguration Professor.
"Professor…" Harry began, but McGonagall cut him off.
"I was just coming to fetch you two." Her words were said rather tightly, and it seemed to Harry that she looked rather weary. "Come along."
"Professor, it's about Hermione," Harry began urgently, as they followed the Transfiguration teacher. "She hasn't shown up since—"
"I'm aware, Potter," McGonagall said stiffly, as they descended the stairs. "That's what this meeting is about, I'm afraid."
"Meeting?" Ron repeated.
They dodged a trick-step, and then McGonagall held open the door on the landing. "You'll see," she responded crisply.
Harry and Ron glanced at each other, and then they were ushered down the hall and into Umbridge's office. Umbridge was sitting at her desk, like a giant, lumpy pink toad contemplating an assortment of particularly juicy flies as the two Gryffindors reluctantly took a seat. Shacklebolt shifted until he was standing against the wall between the two of them, and Harry instantly felt safer. If Kingsley was here, then Umbridge couldn't do anything illegal to them. Harry hadn't forgotten that she had tried to slip Veritaserum in his tea.
Umbridge took a generous spoonful of sugar from a kitten-patterned pot and dumped it into her teacup, eyeing Harry and Ron under the pretense of taking her time in gently stirring her tea, but there was a certain, nasty eagerness in her eye that made Harry queasy.
"It has come to my attention that Miss Granger has been missing for quite some time now," Umbridge began sweetly. "She missed several classes, and did not sign up for permission to leave Hogwarts over break." A tap of the spoon against the teacup, and then she set it aside. "I have been very patient with you and your antics this year, Mr. Potter, but it has finally run thin. Where is Miss Granger?"
"I don't know," Harry responded, thinking quickly. Was this just an act on Umbridge's part, to pin Hermione's disappearance on them, or was she in the dark as much as the rest of them?
"Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge prompted, turning to Ron.
The red-head shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I don't know. I haven't seen her."
Beside them, Harry could feel McGonagall shifting uneasily.
"Mr. Potter," Umbridge said, and her saccharine smile, which normally took several minutes of stonewalling to weaken, had quickly slid off her face. "You don't seem to understand the seriousness of the situation. Miss Granger has been missing for nearly two weeks, and neither of you saw fit to report her absence—"
"On the contrary," McGonagall interrupted tightly, "the two of them came to me this afternoon to tell me their concerns about Miss Granger's absence."
"Why did you wait so long to report it?" Umbridge demanded.
Harry and Ron looked at each other, neither wanting to say something particularly incriminating about Hermione, but not knowing precisely what to say, either. Fortunately, it was McGonagall who came to their rescue.
"Miss Granger is, and has always been, an exceptional student at this school," she said coldly. "There have been many occasions over the years where she has spent days, even weeks researching in the library, rarely to be seen by her peers. Her friends, I'm sure you understand, are used to such behavior."
Kingsley coughed into his hand at this, and Harry couldn't be sure, but he almost suspected the Auror was trying to hide a huff of amusement.
Umbridge narrowed her beady eyes at them. "If Miss Granger is well and truly missing..."
"We don't know where she is!" Harry said firmly.
"I hope you're telling the truth, Mr. Potter, because if you are covering for her—"
"We haven't seen her since you busted Dumbledore's Army," Ron interrupted bitterly.
"Are you saying that she didn't even make it back to her common room, Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge asked, in a falsely sweet voice. "Because if so, that is a serious concern.—"
"Erm—no," Ron said, looking at Harry. "I mean, I think she made it back—I didn't see her come back personally, I thought maybe she'd gone up to bed early—"
"And I got back late," Harry said, as though any of them needed reminding, "so I figured everyone else had gone up already. And after that, it was a bit—well..."
"Chaotic," Ron finished for him. At Umbridge's scowling face, he added brightly, "Y'know, what with the fireworks—"
"I haven't forgotten, Mr. Weasley," Umbridge snapped. She stood up. "I feel neither of you are being entirely truthful, and will give you both one last chance to come clean. Where is Miss Granger?"
"I don't know," Harry answered, a sinking feeling in his gut.
"Are you covering for her absence?"
"No!" He said vehemently.
He could see Umbridge's increasingly impatient agitation with him and at once knew that there was no way she could be responsible for this. It was obvious that she didn't want a student to go missing under her watch. That would certainly put a damper on her career as High Inquisitor.
The world isn't divided between good people and Death Eaters.…
Be an adult, he heard his godmother's words in his head. Act like an adult. Think like an adult. Don't do something rash. Don't say anything that might endanger Hermione further…
He saw Ron glance over at him and then twist around to eye Kingsley. If Shacklebolt was here, he'd get everything they said here, and maybe they'd even have an opportunity to talk to him privately. Tell him everything they know. They just had to bide their time and wait for Umbridge to finish with them.
"Are you going to keep questioning us, or are you going to open an investigation on her disappearance?" He asked, struggling to keep his tone cordial.
Umbridge hesitated and then glanced at Kingsley, who bowed his head.
"It's a matter of due course, Madam Umbridge," he said, his voice deep and soothing, but that wasn't enough to put Umbridge at ease. "Your interview didn't result in Miss Granger's discovery, and so I will have to file her in Missing Persons and open an official investigation."
"I—" Umbridge began, looking rather flustered.
"It will, of course, be up to her Head of House to inform her parents," Kingsley continued calmly.
"I-it couldn't wait, could it?" Umbridge said, her eyes bulging as she glanced back at the two boys and then at McGonagall. "An official report could wait until I do some more internal investigation—"
"I'm afraid not," Kingsley said, his expression perfectly serious. "Miss Granger has been missing for two weeks, and it seems clear that she is no longer at Hogwarts. I can't put this off further when it's clear that a student's safety may be at serious risk."
He turned his attention to Harry and Ron.
"I'd like to speak to both these boys before they go," he said. "Madam Umbridge, Professor McGonagall, if you would be so kind as to give us a few moments alone…?"
"Of course," McGonagall said, getting to her feet.
Umbridge looked as though she might protest, but Kingsley's unrelenting stance seemed to make her quail in badly-suppressed frustration. She left the room, followed a moment later by McGonagall, who shut the door firmly behind her.
Harry breathed in deeply, trying to calm his pounding heart, and then turned to Kingsley.
"Sir—about Hermione—the Order wouldn't happen to know where she is, would they?" he asked desperately, keeping his voice in a careful undertone.
To his surprise, Kingsley's eyes sparkled. "I wouldn't be too worried," he murmured. "I will, of course, be opening an investigation, but you needn't worry about her."
"So, she's alright?" Ron asked, looking enormously relieved. "Where is she?"
"I'm afraid that, for now, that is classified information," Kingsley said apologetically.
"That's not fair!" Ron muttered. "She's our best friend, we have a right to know where she's gone!"
Harry stood up. "My godmother visited me today," he said quietly.
Ron whipped around to look at him. "You kept that quiet!" he choked.
"I was more worried about Hermione, wasn't I?" Harry responded. "But she said that you—the Order—were going to start treating me like an adult. That you were going to start trusting me with information about the Weapon."
Ron goggled at him, but Harry ignored it. "So, why won't you tell us about Hermione?"
Kingsley pursed his lips, as though carefully thinking about how to phrase his next words. Harry had the sense that he was turning his words over carefully, possibly giving him the consideration he felt he was due as someone who was expected to act like an adult, rather than be treated like a child.
At last, he spoke. "I'm glad the Professor's finally made herself known to you," he said. "She's been dying to see you for a long time, and she's been your champion in Order meetings when we decide what or how much to tell you. But, there are some things that aren't my place to say, Harry. I'm sorry."
Harry swallowed. "I—I see," he said, trying to keep his words carefully neutral.
Kingsley placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hermione won't be here for a while, but your godmother will be," he said warmly. "Listen to her, Harry. Learn to close your mind, protect yourself. That will open doors to other things that are important to you."
He clapped another hand on Ron's shoulder.
"Stick by him, Mr. Weasley. We must always be able to count on our friends."
"R-right," Ron said, rather startled by this.
"Sir," Harry said, as Kingsley headed for the door. "Sir, my godmother…"
Kingsley's fingers were resting lightly on the handle. "Yes?"
"I…" there were so many things Harry wanted to ask, to say, to ponder, but he knew that they didn't have all evening in Umbridge's office. "I've only ever heard Voldemort's followers refer to him as the Dark Lord," he said finally. "The Professor calls him that, too. What do you suppose that means?"
Kingsley was silent for a long moment, and Harry had the odd sensation that he was being weighed.
"I don't suppose it means anything important," the Auror said at last. "I'd trust your godmother with my life, Harry. People pick up strange habits for interesting reasons."
He nodded at them both and then swept from the room.
~o~O~o~
"Blimey," Ron said the next morning, when they were able to find a place to talk privately. Their roommates had already gone to bed when they finally returned to Gryffindor tower, and neither wanted to risk being overheard on such a sensitive topic. They had nicked some toast from the Great Hall and then gone out by the lake. "Occlumency with your Godmother and Snape. That's a combination I wouldn't want to take."
"I don't know," Harry admitted, taking a bite. "It was odd, actually. They seemed to really know each other. He hardly reacted when she deliberately said something… you know, something to rile him up." He waved a hand. "And with her there, it wasn't as bad as before."
Ron looked at him disbelievingly, and Harry felt the need to elaborate. "She's teaching me to block my mind in steps, rather than making me do it all at once, like I was doing with Snape." He rubbed his forehead. "And my head doesn't hurt as much after she does it. It's like… I dunno."
"Well, You-Know-Who makes your scar hurt, doesn't he?" Ron said reasonably. "Maybe Snape was trying to copy that. You know, so that you're prepared for the real thing."
Harry frowned. "I doubt it. I don't trust him."
"Even if your godmother does?"
"Her judgment isn't perfect," Harry said. "Snape's different around her, just like he's different around Dumbledore or McGonagall. They're the ones he's got to fool."
Ron gazed at the lake thoughtfully. "Didn't you see her with Snape in first year?" he asked slowly. "With a toddler?"
Harry faltered. Ron continued, "And didn't Sirius say that they were friends, back in school?"
"He didn't say it, but he got pretty defensive when I asked what she had to do with Snape," Harry muttered. "She was friends with my parents, too. She was a part of the Marauders. Sirius said she was brilliant—came late in the year—" he began ticking off each item. "Something happened to her when she was young, like a curse, that's why she couldn't show herself to me earlier. Maybe that's what she's got to do with Snape."
There was a pause.
"I've got to talk to Sirius," Harry said finally.
"Good luck with that, mate," Ron said. "The fireplaces are being watched, remember?"
~o~O~o~
"You've got to close your mind, Potter!" Snape snapped at him, a week and three sessions later. "Stop worrying about Miss Granger, and start focusing on protecting that useless clump of cells you call a brain!"
Harry winced and turned to look at his godmother, who was calmly sitting at Snape's desk. She was leaning back, hands folded in her lap, one leg crossed over the other. She was gazing at him strangely, and Harry had the sense that she was momentarily startled by Snape's words, because she jolted up slightly in her seat.
"Severus, that's enough," she said, a bit too sharply.
"I'm not worried about Hermione," Harry said, glancing over at his Godmother. He was telling the truth. "I've just been thinking about her a lot," he continued. "Where she is, what she's doing…"
"That's none of your concern right now," Snape said, his voice low.
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the Professor cut him off.
"He's right," she told him, locking her brown eyes onto him. They were the same shade as Hermione's, Harry found himself noticing, but were harder, colder. But they also held something he couldn't quite decipher; it was a mixture of warmth and feeling. "You just need to focus on yourself, Harry."
Harry took in a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. He'd been doing so well, so far. He'd actually been making improvement. He closed his eyes. He wanted to know more about the Prophecy, and to do that, he needed to keep making progress.
Umbridge, in her hijacked role as Headmistress, had delivered a speech to the students the Monday following break informing the student body that Hermione Granger had gone missing. She had phrased it so that it seemed as though Hermione had run away in a childish fit of pique or a tragic misunderstanding. She had described Hermione as a school-oriented girl, who had broken under the stress of upcoming OWLs, and was possibly mentally unstable. It made Harry's blood boil.
The only positive was that Umbridge seemed to want to keep this out of the papers as much as anyone, and had put up yet another Educational Decree forbidding students or staff from speaking to the press without explicit permission from the High Inquisitor.
He opened his eyes, and stared at Snape challengingly.
"Alright. I'm ready," he said.
"Yes," Snape drawled, readying his wand, "the world shall patiently wait while Harry Potter readies himself for a mental attack. Would you like a moment to prepare your epitaph?"
Harry ground his teeth but managed to bite back a retort. He saw the Professor nod approvingly at this and felt slightly better about not falling for Snape's bait.
"Legilimens!"
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-Anubis Ankh