Disclaimer: All you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and her respective distributors, producers and publishers. I do not profit for this work.
Chapter Six: Changeling
Winter gave way to spring quickly between classes, homework, spellcasting practice, their situational awareness and defense classes (which Safiya insisted on after a third kidnapping report featured on the morning news), and family time (which Dan insisted on just to get the kids out of their rooms, for a bit), sometimes involving group study into wizarding culture and law. The girls progressed rapidly both in spell memorisation and casting in addition to learning basic evasion and escape maneuvers, doing much to put their parents' minds at ease. Dahlia had a little bit of trouble adjusting to her own wands after practicing with Hermione's for nearly a month, but with a little experimentation, she found the holly-and-phoenix-feather focus picked up charms and spells designed for pure defense or evasion faster, while its aspen-and-thunderbird twin amplified offensive spells to an almost dangerous degree.
This discovery came at the expense of Safiya Granger's favourite rosebush during a back garden practice session, which resulted in a week-long telly ban for the girls and an unnamed punishment for Dan that made him grumble sullenly for the duration. As the young witches had improved, their father volunteered to play the bad guy, and they turned to the cold, damp outdoors for extra room. Kitted out in a friend's hockey armour, he let them take turns evading holds and incapacitating him. Hermione, who lacked in speed, made up for her weakness with very creative and subtle spellwork.
Dahlia, on the other hand, possessed unusual stamina and agility after years of avoiding bullies in school and children's homes, and so fell first on her innate ability to squirm out of tight holds and get around a larger opponent. Usually, she was well out of range of Dan's arms by the time he caught up with her, and she would either use leg-lock or another movement impeding jinx, her favourite of which she nicknamed the Slow-Mo. One afternoon, however, Mr Granger switched tack and went for Dahlia's right arm, rather than her left, in his initial grapple.
This created an excellent learning experience for all parties involved.
Dan grabbed and twisted Dahlia's arm behind her back, and Dahlia, unused to dodging in the opposite direction and unable to reach her holly wand, shoved her free hand into her left coat pocket, pushed the aspen rod to point behind her, and cast a banishing spell. Luckily, it missed her adoptive dad entirely, but it drilled into the ground at the base of the rosebush and (as things were wont to do when struck with knockback jinxes) flew backward, uprooting itself entirely and making a horrible noise against the shed into which it crashed. Mrs Granger stormed out of the house moments later, and practice ended abruptly.
As it grew warmer outside, Dahlia's thoughts turned increasingly to practicing magic or spending time with the Grangers whenever her mind was not appropriately engaged. Trigonometry, to Hermione's constant frustration, often lent itself to her sister's daydreams more often than not. Generally, she passed these classes in some state of disinterest, but on that particular May Wednesday, the unthinkable happened.
The girls sat next to one another, as usual, in the front of the room. Hermione stared straight ahead, hardly blinking as her hand darted between one side of her page and the other, making subject notations on the left and jotting down definitions and calculations on the right. Her hair poofed up over her crown n a voluminous, frizzy bun. Dahlia sat with her textbook open, posting colourful sticky notes on the relevant bits and writing example problems annotated with page and topic on a separate sheet. Mr Denson called for a volunteer at the front of the room, and as Cecilia Carmichael walked up the central aisle to take the dry erase marker, one of the 'blonde brigade' (as she and Hermione had nicknamed them) subtly nudged her school bag so it fell from its hook and tripped the volunteer. She fell hard, bruising her knees. Her calculator clattered across the floor, and Dahlia jumped to help her up while Joanne, the subtle schoolbag-nudger, giggled behind her hand. With everyone's eyes on Dahlia and the mousy, skinny child, no one else could reliably see what happened save for the green-eyed witch.
Cecilia shook off the girl's hand with a muttered thank-you as Dahlia helped her to her feet. She had brushed it off with a smile, passing the calculator back, when an eraser flew from the opposite side of the room to smack Joanne on the back of the head.
"Who threw that?" Mr Denson demanded after waving Cecilia to the board and presenting her with a selection of felt-tip pens. "I'll not have things thrown about in this classroom. This is Trig-One, not Physics."
Joanne glared around at everyone positioned to have thrown the thing, but no one appeared particularly guilty because no one had physically launched the projectile; It had launched from a wall-mounted shelf to the right of the whiteboard, just beyond the teacher's peripheral vision the opposite direction from everyone watching Cecilia's little spill, precisely at the moment she glanced at the bully from beneath the limp, stringy curtain of her hair. The class calmed and quickly returned to normal procedures beneath Mr Denson's annoyed frown. Hermione threw sympathetic glances toward Cecilia's seat throughout the remainder of class, but Dahlia could not focus on her or the teacher much after watching that eraser zoom through the air unaided. She hadn't done it, and Hermione obviously hadn't a clue. She knew of only one power equipped to defy physics so blatantly.
Though her studious friend usually dawdled after class to reorganise her notes or discuss homework with the teacher, Dahlia packed up Hermione's books and looped arms to escort her out and into the hallway.
"What's the big hurry?" she complained when the shorter girl finally released their hand. "And why are we in the toilet?"
She looked around at the gleaming monochromatic blue tiles bemusedly. Neither she nor Dahlia was really the type to coordinate lavatory visits. The girl peeked under every stall door, further increasing Hermione's confusion, which heightened rapidly to alarm when the girl clicked her fingers, shooting her wand out of her sleeve, and pointed it at the door with a rapid jab and twist.
"Kleiséro," she whispered, and the bolt slid shut.
"Dahli!"
She wheeled around, eyes wide.
"Cecilia Carmichael's a witch!"
"What?" Hermione blinked. "Whyever would you think that?"
"No one threw the eraser," Dahlia hissed, cheeks flushing with excitement. "I saw it when everyone was looking at her. It flew off the shelf by the door!"
The taller girl frowned, eyes glazing for a moment and lips moving as she mouthed figures, before finally shaking her head.
"It's extremely statistically unlikely," she said doubtfully. "Just you and I are pushing it for Crawley as far as normal probabilities go. Are you sure?"
"Positive!" her sister insisted. "We have to talk to her. I think she's older than me-"
"Everyone's older than you," Hermione teased. "You skipped."
"Well, I'm clever, and so are you, and when you eliminate the impossible, what remains must be true," she said urgently. "I'm telling you, no one threw that thing, and I saw Cecilia glaring at Joanne-bloody-Bloomingblonde-"
"Language!" her sister chided. "And that's not nice. It's one thing to call them the Blonde Brigade, but we shouldn't butcher her name. I admit she's horrid, but Mr and Mrs Bloomingdale are quite lovely."
"Hermione!" Dahlia groaned, clasping the girl's forearms. "We'll probably be going to school with her. Don't you think the Cecilia thing's a bit more important? You remember what it was like when you thought you were the only one, right?"
She nodded hesitantly and pulled her lower lip between her teeth.
"I suppose."
Dahlia beamed and cast a finite over her shoulder.
"Excellent!"
They rushed to their their next class and spent the next hour surreptitiously passing notes about when they should try to talk to her. After a little bit of back-and-forth, they finally decided on Lunch. It was the only time in which everyone in their year were in the same place and able to converse with some semblance of privacy, lost among the other hundred-some girls. They left their third hour classes - gymnastics for Dahlia and dance for Hermione - and joined the throng moving toward the bright dining hall.
"Where does she normally sit?" Dahlia frowned.
"I'm sorry to admit it, but the Blonde Brigade probably know better than we do," she mused, unpacking her customary salad, fruit and nuts as she surveyed the churning sea of navy and burgundy. "We have a bad habit of not really interacting with the others."
The green-eyed witch crossed her legs on the bench and bit and poked her corned beef and cabbage a absently.
"I don't know," she hummed wryly. "I was under the impression people think we're weird: the frizzy swot and the speccy orphan."
She bumped her shoulder against Hermione's to soften the words.
"I like your glasses, and you're ours, now," she said sweetly.
"And you know I love how clever you are, even when you drive me mad, and I get a laugh watching people try to see around your hair when they're too lazy to sit in front, in the first place."
The girl snorted and elbowed her back.
"You like my hair because you can hide behind me when you're feeling antisocial," she quipped.
Dahlia felt her cheeks warm a little.
"Maybe," she shrugged. "I think you underestimate how pretty it is, though."
They bantered back and forth through the remaining hour and walked together to change out their books, never once seeing the skinny, shy girl. She didn't show up for Dahlia's fourth hour chemistry, or Hermione's French class, either. In fact, no one they asked had seen Cecilia since she practically fled from maths that morning. The teachers seemed increasingly on edge as the day drew to a close, as well, so by the time Mr Granger arrived to pick up the girls, their unease had transformed to worry.
"Is there any particular reason we're so quiet this afternoon?" Dan finally asked after pulling into the garage following an utterly silent drive home.
Hermione tilted her head slightly in nonverbal support, and Dahlia loosed a long sigh.
"Well, one of the girls from class, Cecilia Carmichael - I'm not sure if we've mentioned her - One of the blonde bullies tripped her up in Trigonometry today, and we wanted to talk to her and see that she was all right, but she never showed up to lunch," she explained. "Or class, as a matter of fact. The teachers weren't telling us anything though."
"That doesn't sound good, at all," the father agreed, lifting the girls' bags and opening the door for them.
They filed into the foyer, hung up their coats and school bags, and made their way toward the kitchen table. Dan dropped his own briefcase by the study door before joining them and began assembling a light snack with quick, practiced movements. The comforting, crisp sound of his knife as it sliced through bright apples, the subtle suction and gritty scrape of a spoon against the peanut butter jar, and their combined scents filled the room.
"Do you know if they were able to reach her parents?"
"I don't think so," Dahlia said. "I'm pretty sure her mum's a single mother, and I think the teachers would've looked less worried if they had gotten a hold of her at work. They would have asked the kids if they knew for sure she was missing-missing, right?"
"I should hope so," the father grumbled, sliding a plate each before the children and pressing kisses to their crowns. "We picked Marie Curie's partly because of their safety and bullying policies. Hermione's last school was just awful."
"The kids there were pretty mean," she admitted. "It's definitely better, but teachers don't have eyes everywhere."
"Yes, well," Dan harrumphed. "They ought to."
The girls giggled at his stubbornness but let the subject drop while they finished their snack and discussed the rest of the day to The Germs' upbeat and slightly chaotic music playing in the background. The dentist regaled the girls with a dramatised retelling of how he received the bite mark on his hand, and Safiya immediately switched the record to The Doors the moment she came in and heard the punk and her family's raucous laughter.
"Homework, you lot!" she called into the kitchen, where her husband stood, frozen mid-stroke on the air guitar, staring at her with a gaping mouth and a betrayed expression on his face.
"You can't just take it off before the song's over," the girls heard him complain on their way up the stairs. "It's sacrilege!"
"That dissonance is sacrilege," she countered, shaking out her hair. "And much too much after the horrible stuff Debra insists on listening to. Are you sure we can't tell her it disturbs people waiting in the reception room?"
Hermione and Dahlia gathered in the smaller upstairs study on either side of a wide, heavy table with their books and homework spread around them for the hour or so it took to complete the night's assignments and organise notes for the following day, then, relieved of their weekday duties, changed into loungewear and joined their parents in the sitting room for telly. The girls read while waiting for the news to finish and for their time with the nintendo to begin, but just before the newscaster signed off, she broke off her planned notices, and a new, scrolling caption over a red background slid across the lower edge of the screen.
"This just in - Mrs Catherine Carmichael of Haslett Avenue phoned police this evening after arriving at Marie Curie's Girls School to find daughter Cecelia had been missing for several hours. Staff and school security reported they attempted to contact Mrs Carmichael immediately after noting her initial absence in her fourth hour course and conducted a thorough search of the grounds and surrounding area. They notified police shortly thereafter, but authorities achieved little success in the search until they received Mrs Carmichael's call. Chief reporter John Efferidge broadcasts now from the scene-"
The image shifted from the pleasant brunette to a grey-haired, slim man with a grave expression and thin moustache in front of a neat but modest row of multilevel buildings lit with flashing emergency vehicle lights. Officers milled around behind the reporter, who stood beside a woman clearly terrified, going by the worry lines and tears on her face.
"John Efferidge reporting live from the Carmichael family's building on Haslett Avenue- Police arrived on scene a few hours ago after Mrs Carmichael discovered her flat empty and her daughter's room marked with the Crawley Kidnapper's signature. Unlike in previous cases, there's yet hope for Cecilia, as she has not been found on the scene this evening."
Safiya's hand flew to her mouth as the scene changed. A large black blur, pixelated to preserve whatever evidence the police thought inappropriate for television, scarred the pink, floral wallpaper above a message burned into the wall:
Rake out the Red Coals, Madam
For There Your Child Shall Lie
"What does that mean?" Dahlia asked shakily while on the screen, Mrs Carmichael pleaded for any and all with information about her daughter to come forward immediately.
"I'm pretty sure it's from a poem," Dan frowned. "Maybe American? Hold on."
He rose and walked around the corner to reference one of the many anthologies housed within the downstairs study's shelves. A few muffled thumps sounded during his search, making Safiya flinch, and both girls left their places on the plush rug to curl against her sides. The woman's soft, graceful arms wrapped around them tightly. Meanwhile, interviews with tired and anxious looking teachers, including Mr Denson and head teacher Melody Rivers, and photos of shy, mousy Cecilia splashed across the screen.
"Police are reviewing Marie Curie's School security footage now in hopes of finding leads in the search for eleven-year-old Cecilia Carmichael-"
"Got it," Dan called from the study.
He returned to the sofa with a thick, leather-bound volume of early American poetry and turned it around for the girls to read. With each line, Hermione and Dahlia both grew more worried. Safiya and Dan watched their faces pale rapidly, and then Hermione jumped from her seat, nearly headbutting her father, and thundered up the stairs.
"I need to check something!" she shouted halfway there.
"What's this about?" Mr and Mrs Granger asked Dahlia worriedly. "What's frightened you so much?"
"Er-" she began, unsure. "We just didn't want to worry you. We told Dad about it before we got home, but sort of forgot and then- Well, I didn't tell you, earlier, but I'm pretty sure I saw Cecelia use magic by accident, today. You know, like Hermione and the books. A whiteboard eraser flew and hit a girl who had just tripped her. We were going to talk to her about it, after, but she never showed up at lunch or any of our classes."
Safiya's arm tightened around Dahlia's shoulders.
"You don't think-?"
A trilling, mechanical chime rang through the house, and everyone jumped. Mr Granger smoothed the front of his shirt and strode to the door with an anxious glance over his shoulder at his wife, who had followed a moment after to hastily pin her hair back and fix her hijab in place. She dashed back to sit by Dahlia just as Dan cracked the door open.
"Yes? Can I help you?" he called through the gap, leaving it chained.
"Mr Granger?" a deep, tired voice answered. "Police Officer Richard Henley. We were told by Mr Denson at Marie Curie's that your girls attend a class with Miss Cecilia Carmichael."
Dan undid the chain and opened the door completely, waving the officer and his partner inside.
"Yes, I'm afraid we just saw the live report. Do come in," he invited. "Please excuse our state of dress."
He gestured to their pyjamas and lounge wear.
"I'm afraid we didn't expect to see anyone else this evening."
The television in the sitting room turned off with an electric hum, and Dahlia huddled closer to Safiya's side.
"Not at all, Mr Granger. We're sorry to disturb your family," the officer said, taking off his hat and tucking it under his arm before nodding to the seated women and Hermione, who appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Everyone," Dan said for the officers' benefit. "These are officers Richard Henley and-?"
"Rebecca Baker," the slighter serviceperson said, removing her own hat.
"Officer Rebecca Baker," the dentist finished. "This is my wife, Safiya-"
"How do you do?" she greeted politely, holding out her hand.
"And our daughters, Hermione and Dahlia-"
The girls nodded mutely and mimicked their mother, still pale, scared and more nervous than ever with officers of the law in their decidedly unusual home. Dahlia found herself hoping very fervently the clerk at Flourish & Blotts hadn't been exaggerating about the anti-muggle, cover-freezing charms on all the wizarding volumes the Granger family now owned.
"And please, call me Dan. Come sit down. Would you like any tea?" he asked, leading them to settle opposite the girls.
"No, thanks," Officer Henley answered for them both. "We don't want to keep you long, we just need to conduct a brief interview with the young ladies, if that's all right."
"Of course," Safiya immediately allowed. "Anything we can do to help."
"Thank you."
The officers pulled out leather-bound pads and biros.
"So, first, would you mind confirming how you know Miss Carmichael?"
Dahlia and Hermione exchanged glances, and at seeing her panicked expression, the former answered.
"Both of us have second-hour trigonometry with her," she explained. "We don't really know one another very well - we're both a bit shy and I think she is, too - but normally, we eat lunch at the same time. I've also got a fourth-hour chemistry lab with her, and Hermione shares sixth-hour French."
The police officers scribbled fastidiously before asking their next question.
"Thank you," Baker continued. "And when was the last time you saw Cecilia?"
"Trigonometry," Dahlia and Hermione answered in sync.
"She left really quickly, after," the green-eyed child added. "Some of the other girls were unkind to her, and she was a little upset. We were going to check on her at lunch, but didn't see here there."
Officer Baker nodded gravely and Henley shook his head in disappointment.
"That seems to be the consensus for everyone we've spoken to, unfortunately," he said. "It's been a nightmare. Three kids since Christmas!"
"Please, Officer," Dan said a little sharply at the sight of Safiya's trembling shoulders and tight grip on the girls.
"Very sorry, Ma'am," Henley apologized. "Would there be anything else you might know that could help us, ladies?"
"Oh, um-" Hermione glanced nervously between her parents and Dahlia, rubbing her left forearm. "Well, would you mind waiting a moment? Sometimes we study together and I could go check our notes from the last time to see if anything we were working on jogs my memory. I've got a very good memory."
"Really?" Baker's dark eyebrows rose in surprise. "Of course, Miss Granger. Honestly, anything you can think of might help. We just want to try and find her quickly."
Alive remained unsaid, but the word weighed on them as if it had been shouted.
"Well, I'll just pop up to my room, then," Hermione said shakily. "Dahli, could you help me?"
She rubbed her left forearm, again, and the girl finally understood.
"Sure," Dahlia casually suggested, her voice only a little higher pitched than normal. "Perhaps you could have a bit of tea or coffee while you wait for us to look through? Mummy makes a really wonderful Turkish coffee, and Dad has a huge collection of teas aside from the usual."
Officer Henley shrugged.
"Oh, go on then," he agreed with an appreciative smile at the adults. "We've got officers out all over checking with your classmates, so I think we can afford a few more minutes."
"Great. We'll be right back!"
The girls rushed upstairs as quietly as they could manage, and Hermione pulled Dahlia into their study and growing magical library.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God-" she breathed, squeezing the younger girl's hands. "Oh, this is bad, Dahli, really, really, really bad!"
"Shh-"
The girls threw a glance at the door and fell silent for a moment, remaining so until the noise of the kettle and low conversation floated up the stairs.
"Slow down. Tell me what you found."
Hermione made an unintelligible noise of distress and pointed to the thin white tome lying on the work table.
Tales of the Fae Folk - Separating Truth from Myth
Dahlia bent over the page, reading rapidly with growing trepidation.
Changelings
Many stories have circulated throughout history in both Muggle and Magical literature regarding the Changelings, and it is one topic upon which most resources from both worlds typically agree. By definition, a changeling is a lesser fae creature or construct left in place of a kidnapped infant no older than one year old. In the oldest stories, these often accompanied other tragedies reportedly occurring in the location around the same time as a changeling's placement, and in newer retellings, poems use changelings to describe the postpartum condition that causes fear, paranoia, and despair experienced by some new mothers during a child's infancy.
It is unknown whether changelings themselves ever existed by the legendary definition; however, the word holds unique significance for the Wizarding World due to early attempts to integrate muggleborn children into wizarding society at the earliest possible opportunity.
In larger communities, a "changeling programme" may have been implemented to prevent drawing undue attention to the other witches and wizards there, and also to protect the children themselves from ongoing witch hunts of the time, as children made up the majority of magical victims.
Attempts have been made throughout the years to reinstate a modernised changeling program in an effort to eliminate secrecy risks to the Magical Community and to ensure all magical children receive appropriate care by magical caretakers from infancy. The most recent proposal, brought before the Wizengamot in February 1970, showcased the rising concern for secrecy and security both within and without the Ministry. While it failed to achieve a majority vote, research into the viability of such a programme remains ongoing.
In the mid 1970s to the early 1980s, the Dark Lord's supporting Death Eaters sometimes referred to muggle-born children as "changelings," arguing they were magical aberrations and a threat against the continuation of wizardkind. Some of the most infamous crimes committed during the Dark Lord's Wizarding War during this period involved the torture and murder of several muggleborn children not yet in attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; however, the practice fell out of popular use within Death Eater ranks due to international pressures and improved security designed to protect the identities of untrained muggleborn children.
To the right of the text lay a black-and-white photograph of a child's bedroom. The image of a crossed sword and wand charred the wall above the bed, bordered by a banner bearing: In Magicis Sanguinem Prospere. The message from the telly followed below, written in the same large, Gothic font.
Rake out the Red Coals, Madam
For There Your Child Shall Lie
Dahlia felt sick.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "What do we do?"
Hermione made a high-pitched whinge.
"I don't know! I thought we should call the aurors, but we can't with the police here. They're looking for Cecilia right now, though, and we could help, but we can't tell them about magic-"
The shorter girl clapped a hand over her mouth and thought hard for a moment.
"O.K."
She pushed her glasses up and cast her eyes around the room.
"All of our books have spells on them to keep muggles from noticing the moving photos if they don't already know they're there, right?"
"Yes?"
"So," Dahlia reasoned. "We could say Cecilia mentioned being in a fantasy roleplaying thingy, and that she said she knew one of the other kids from it. That might at least help them, and if they draw attention to this 'fantasy roleplaying game' using certain terms, the Aurors'll definitely get involved."
"And we can go to the Ministry to tell them what's going on and what we think's happening, too!"
They grinned triumphantly, and Hermione pulled Hogwarts: a History from the shelves before leading the way back downstairs. The adults looked up when they entered, and Dahlia tried to smile reassuringly to Mr and Mrs Granger, who both looked extremely concerned by the book they were holding.
"Sorry that took so long," she said blithely as Hermione placed the volume on the coffee table. "We had to find that. The last time we studied with Cecilia, she mentioned participating with that other girl. I can't remember her name, but Cecilia said they were in this fantasy roleplaying club together based around this book. She gave it to me for my birthday."
She waved to the magnificent tome. Its cover illustration moved lazily before their eyes, but the officers seemed to notice nothing amiss about it. Baker flipped it open and grunted with appreciation.
"This is really detailed. Are there other books or items we might be able to find at the Carmichael home?"
"I believe she said they have a standardised library for the organisation as a whole," Hermione said carefully. "So people might have different works, but they'd all be about the same things. Witches, wizards, spell-casting, magic-"
Henley frowned thoughtfully, picking up the book for himself.
"Actually, I think I remember seeing something odd like this in the Porter house," he murmured, making hasty notes. "It read like a cookbook, but it was full of all these made-up potions."
"That sounds right," Dan confirmed, catching on. "If you ask the other parents about the club, they should be able to confirm whether their kids were involved. We had been thinking about letting the girls join. They call it Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
Baker nodded and penned it carefully into her notebook.
"Thank you, girls," she said emphatically. "If it turns out the other victim had a connection to this club, too, we might be able to link someone to all three- All four cases. Do you happen to know how to get in contact with the organisers?"
"Ah-" Hermione looked nervously at Dahlia, who came up short.
"Oh!" Safiya grinned. "That invitation they sent you. Just a moment, I'll make a photocopy."
A few minutes later, the police officers left the Granger home with a black-and-white xerox of the Hogwarts return address and the headmaster and headmistress' respective names and titles. They left in much better spirits than when they came, and the Grangers locked the door behind them with no small amount of relief.
"Roleplaying club?" Dan whispered incredulously. "I'm so glad you two take after your mum."
Dahlia blushed at the nonsensical compliment, while Hermione buried herself in her mother's arms.
"If the other kids could be muggleborn, too-" Safiya shuddered. "I think we need to go to London, right away, and speak with the Aurors or see if Tom can help us get in touch with Professor McGonagall."
"Yeah," Dan agreed with a glance at his watch. "I gave the officers our mobile numbers. I'll notify the practice and we can head out."
They seemed to hold a brief conversation reliant entirely upon minute gestures and facial expressions, before Safiya herded the girls up the stairs.
"Come on, let's pack for a couple nights, just in case, and get going," she directed. "And until this is sorted, you two had better wear your wands, even at home. Go on. Don't worry about school. I'll call, and with this being the fourth one in so short a time, I imagine the council will make an emergency temporary closure notice, in any case."
Dahlia and Hermione rushed to their individual rooms and quickly threw on proper outfits, packing away their pyjamas and a couple changes of clothes. Dahlia also tossed her CD player and Lily Evans' driver's license in with the rest, before topping everything off with a couple defense texts she and Hermione had not yet finished. The family gathered in the garage twenty minutes later, each with a small suitcase or overnight bag, and moments later, they left for London. A police blockade stopped them before they got on the M23, but a quick radio to Henley explaining their desire to stay with family in safer areas got them back on the road.
Between the tense quiet and the darkness, the children fell asleep on the drive, but a little under two hours later, they pulled up beside the Leaky Cauldron. Dan helped Safiya and the girls unload their light luggage before driving off to park the car, and the witches led the way into the dingy pub.
Mrs Granger rushed to the counter, where Tom stood reading a copy of the Prophet with thick spectacles.
"Mr Tom-"
"Oh, please just call me Tom, Madam," he grinned gummily and tipped his tophat. "What a pleasure it is to have you back already, Mrs Granger. But what's all this? Are we going on holiday?"
The mother smiled tightly and shook her head.
"I'm afraid not. It's actually a bit of an emergency," she explained in a rush. "We'd like a room for four, if you have one, and we'd very much appreciate some assistance contacting the Aurors or Hogwarts immediately."
He raised a bushy eyebrow, but shrugged.
"Of course, ma'am," he nodded and flicked his wand at their luggage.
The bags and suitcases started floating up the stairs of their own accord, and Tom took two brass keys from a hook behind the bar.
"Here you are, ladies. Room 204, right at the very back, with the big window looking out onto the Alley," he directed. "Floo powder's on the mantle in your room. Secure connection to speak through, but if you want to travel, you'll need to come back down here and use the public grate."
"Er- Floo?" Dahlia echoed.
"Think Father Christmas in a fireplace and a holo-phone all wrapped up in one," Hermione whispered.
"I don't know what a hollow-fone is, but that is how Sinterklass got around back in the day," he chuckled. "Do you need anything else, my dears?"
Safiya looked around at her tired girls and nodded gratefully.
"Oh, I think some tea wouldn't go amiss if it's no trouble. Earl Grey?"
He nodded knowingly and waved his wand at a slate above the taps behind him. The words Earl Grey Tea Service for Four scrolled across its surface briefly before disappearing as if wiped away by an invisible hand. With another word of thanks and a request to send Mr Granger after them, the girls trudged up the narrow, creaking staircase and down an equally grimy corridor carpeted by an old, threadbare runner that may have once been red but had faded a shade of rusty brown.
Room 204 lay at the very end of the corridor across from a stairwell, guarded by a peeling, dirty door with an old-fashioned brass knob and keyhole, and bordered by their neatly stacked luggage. Mrs Granger unlocked the room and waved the girls ahead of her before following with her husband's and her own things, and when she looked up to survey the space, found herself pleasantly surprised.
While the dark wood panelling of the corridor and dining room continued within, it only climbed the walls halfway before ending with decorative moulding. Faded, but handsome blue wallpaper stretched to the ceiling above. Two enormous four-poster beds hung with deep blue, almost black velvet drapes occupied either side of the room, between which a low coffee table and four well-worn, but well-stuffed velvet-upholstered wingbacks sat before a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Diagon Alley. A small fireplace stood in the furthest corner of the room, rising from a knee-high, rounded brick base and topped with a black wooden mantle. A cracked ceramic urn stood on top beside a small sign: Complementary Floo Powder. Full firecall network access, no entry or exit. The opposite corner held a large wardrobe, one door of which featured a mercury glass mirror that cheerfully greeted Dahlia when she took her things to that side of the bed. All in all, it kept with the worn Victorian aesthetic common to the Alley, but the accommodations themselves seemed quite nice.
Hermione and Dahlia went about settling in and fixing their tea while Safiya fiddled with the little urn. Dan appeared a moment later, looking a little harried.
"Hermione, refresh my memory, please?" Mrs Granger finally asked.
Her daughter peeked around the back of her chair.
"I think you just open the screen and toss in some powder. It's supposed to turn green, and then you stick your head in and call out the destination."
She eyed the fire uneasily, but tossed some of the iridescent purple substance into the fire. As Hermione described, the dancing orange and yellow flames flashed emerald. Dan stuck a hand into the hearth and laughed.
"It sort of tickles."
Safiya shrugged and leaned over the high step and immediately coughed around a mouthful of ash.
"Ugh!" She cleared her lungs and valiantly forced herself to shout the destination. "Aurors!"
The family watched curiously while Safiya clutched her stomach, then the flames died down to reveal an office on the other side.
"I love magic," Dahlia breathed as a wizard in scarlet robes appeared, blocking out the tidy desks and glass fixtures.
"Auror Dawlish. Name and location?"
"Safiya Granger, Leaky Cauldron," she said in a rush. "There's an emergency. There's a little girl who's been taken."
The wizard started scribbling with a grease pencil in a small journal.
"From the Leaky?" he clarified.
The mother shook her head.
"No, from Crawley, south of London-"
"Crawley's a muggle area, isn't it?" Dawlish frowned. "What's this about?"
Dan edged into view of the fireplace, and Safiya scooted to the side to make room.
"Dan Granger," he said tersely at the wizard's questioning look. "And we'd tell you if you would stop interrupting."
Dawlish bristled and stopped taking notes.
"Now see here-"
"No," Mr Granger snapped. "We have two daughters headed for Hogwarts in September, and I'll not have them become victims, too. One of your lot's running around Crawley kidnapping and murdering muggleborn kids. It's been on the telly for months now, and the police aren't going to stand a chance of finding his latest target-"
"Cecilia Carmichael," Safiya interjected at her husband's pause.
"And she was taken over eight hours ago. The police won't stand a chance of finding her without magic, not until it's too late."
The auror crossed his arms and snorted.
"And how do know it's a wizard, sir?" he said sceptically.
"He's been popping into places without a car, snatching kids, and bringing them back right under people's noses, and he leaves a signature referencing one of your lot's lovely anti-muggleborn traditions," he argued with mounting frustration. "And my girls saw Cecilia do accidental magic, and no one aside from a wizard would care about that. Look, you're wasting time! This kid's only eleven, and that monster's had her for ages. For all we know, he might have dropped her body off, already!"
Dawlish made a quick note and shook his head.
"To be honest, I think you've got it wrong, Mr Granger," he said condescendingly. "We have a detection network set up to monitor major accidental and all underage wanded magic, and no one's called in a report to the reversal squad all day. If the little girl's a witch, her magic would have reacted violently by now to someone trying to hurt her. That would have definitely tipped us off, and nothing you've said convinces me the perpetrator's a wizard."
The parents paused as the auror's words registered, and Hermione frowned at Dahlia. They had been doing magic without issue for months, now, and they trusted Ollivander's word about wands above anyone else's. Safiya and Dan came to the same conclusion.
"But what if she was knocked out before her magic could do anything?" the mother insisted. "If it's a wizard, wouldn't they be able to counter anything she did?"
Dawlish's sandy eyebrows climbed high on his pasty forehead.
"Perhaps, but magic acts odd in kids if they're in danger," he shrugged. "Even when they're out. My boy fell asleep up in a tree and still turned the ground to jelly where he fell, and that's very advanced transfiguration. Besides, we have liaisons in muggle law enforcement precisely for cases like you're describing, and it's all been normal. Worse thing we've seen in the last few months are biting toilets in Yorkshire."
"Biting-?" Dan repeated incredulously. "We're talking about a little girl's life! You can't bother to send someone to just check?! Surely, if you can monitor magic throughout the UK, you can tell if magic's been performed in a fairly non-magical area! And even if it's not a wizard responsible, she's a child! What's the matter with you?!"
Dawlish's face purpled.
"Look, I don't appreciate your attitude, sir, and we're disallowed from interfering unless it's clearly a case of magical crime. I'm sorry, but you'll have to rely on your boobies, or whatever they're called," he snapped. "Good evening."
The flames rose again, sparkling green, and the office disappeared, leaving the family gaping.
"Daddy, Cecilia-" Hermione whimpered.
"I KNOW!"
The children flinched, and Safiya reeled on her husband.
"Dan!"
The man rubbed his temples and shot his daughters and wife an apologetic grimace.
"Sorry, loves, just stressed. I didn't mean to shout. All right, let's hope Professor McGonagall bothers to listen," he grumbled, throwing more powder on the fire. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
He groaned loudly and shuddered while Safiya winced sympathetically.
"It's like just your head goes on an amusement park ride," she explained to the girls. "It's really disturbing."
Like before, the flames died down when the correct fireplace connected, and the children gathered around to stare in admiration at an office draped in sumptuous fabrics and lined with books from floor to ceiling. Spindly tables stood here and there, and shining, delicate instruments spun and puffed, trilled and hopped, on every surface. Most remarkably, a gigantic scarlet bird with gold plumage in its wings, tail and crest glided down to look through the fire with its head cocked to the side.
"Er-" Dan stared back at it in confusion. "Hello? Is Professor McGonagall or the headmaster around?"
The bird cocked its head the other way and let out a melodious warble, and moments later, the hem and knees of a royal blue robe came into view.
"Do we have callers, Fawkes?" a playful, but aged voice hummed, before the figure knelt and peered out at them, one hand smoothing his long, waist-length beard to keep it out of the flames.
Half-moon spectacles perched low on a very crooked nose, and electric blue eyes twinkled merrily over them. The man's whiskers twitched as a smile curled his mouth.
"Well, good evening. Who might you be?"
"Ah-" Dan blinked. "Sorry, I'm Dan, Dan Granger, and this is my wife Safiya, and our girls are behind us. Would you be Headmaster Dumbledore?"
"Indeed I am, or at least I was the last time I checked the nameplate on my desk," he said mildly. "What might I do for you fine folk?"
Hermione giggled behind her hand and leaned into her sister's side while their parents explained the situation.
"He looks like Father Christmas," she whispered. "Do you think all older wizards are like that?"
"Definitely not, based on Tom," Dahlia smiled.
"...and it's been so long, sir, we're really worried it may already be too late for Cecilia," Safiya finished tearfully, hands shaking in her husband's grip. "We were worried for Hermione and Dahlia too, so we brought them to the Leaky Cauldron. We tried to tell the aurors, but they said they couldn't get involved in muggle crime, but like we said, we don't think it is."
"Dear me," Dumbledore said gravely, the sparkle gone from his gaze. "I shall have to have a word with Amelia about her night crew about that, but I agree: everything you've described very much sounds like the actions of some of our worst villains. Nothing to fear. I shall gather a few of my staff and depart immediately. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Mum, the roleplaying thing!" Dahlia called.
The old wizard tried to peek over the parents' heads curiously, but there wasn't enough room in front of their tiny fireplace.
"Oh, right," Dan said ruefully. "We thought it might help tip off the wizards and witches working with our police, and since we suspected the kids are all headed to Hogwarts in the fall, the girls told the officers who interviewed us that Cecilia knew one other other victims through a 'fantasy roleplaying club' called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Actually, we gave Officers Henley and Baker a copy of Hermione's envelope, along with your and Professor McGonagall's names. They may try to get in touch."
The headmaster nodded appreciatively.
"That would, indeed, catch our attention, even if you had not taken the initiative to contact me directly," he hummed. "I would award points had your children been sorted, already. In any case, I thank you all for your diligence. Rest assured, we shall act immediately to locate Cecilia and her kidnapper. For your safety, I would recommend remaining in Diagon Alley for now, as it seems the perpetrator's been hunting your neighbourhood."
The Granger family breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Yes, thanks so much, Headmaster," Safiya smiled weakly. "Good evening."
Liatris - There were two users you may have been, and since your review was so very enthusiastic, I thought I'd answer here. First off, thanks so much for your compliments, and I'm excited to hear you're so engaged in this story.
Most of the answers to your questions would be spoilers, so I'll not address all at the moment, but as to Hermione and Dahlia, their future relationship will definitely cause a bit of drama. Keep in mind, though, before this year, Dahlia never viewed Hermione as her sister or Safiya as her mother (though she would have liked to). To a kid who's been abandoned, that sort of thinking would only lead to more pain in that adult's absence. As much as she craves affection, she's learned to hold herself at an emotional distance.
Hermione has been thinking about Dahlia as a prospective sibling for a while, but she hasn't met her prior to this year, either. There are studies that show kids who spend a lot of time together as infants and young children will develop in such a way they will not view one another as prospective mates, evolutionarily to encourage genetic diversity. Because of both factors, I don't see it being much of an issue between them once they realize how they feel and get used to dealing with the social stigma. Again, though, since the Wizarding world isn't going to really consider the Grangers Dahlia's 'real' family, I don't see that being too bad, either.