Heart racing in fear, Hermione woke with a start to see a familiar head of ginger hair next to her own: her friend turned lover turned friend again, Ronald Weasley. She sighed and cast a tempus charm which indicated it was close to 5 in the evening. Groaning, she sat up, performed charms to dry and freshen her sweaty nightmare hair, then studied her surroundings.
George's flat hadn't been messy, not really, but thick layers of dust coated most of the surfaces in his home. It's like he doesn't even live here, she realized sadly. Can't say as I blame him, though. The scent of cigarette smoke assaulted her nose and she turned to find the source.
George Weasley was sitting at his dining room table, staring dazedly at the file on the table. From her position, Hermione judged him to be 3/4 of the way through. He'll have seen the grizzlier photos by now, then. The dark eyed girl stood slowly so as not to startle him and walked towards the table herself. Pulling the chair out quietly and taking a seat, she opened her mouth to speak.
"A little warning would have been nice," George spoke before she could. He lifted bloodshot eyes to her own warily.
"I'm not sure it would have helped."
"Probably not," he offered before taking another draw on his cigarette.
"Those are horrible," Hermione remarked.
"I know. Habit I picked up."
"Picked up where, exactly? That's a muggle cigarette, George."
George exhaled a plumb of smoke and immediate took another drag before answering, letting more smoke spill out of his mouth as he did. "I tend to prefer muggle things these days. No one knows me in muggle London."
Hermione rubbed her forehead, refusing to comment on his obvious drinking problem and instead, pulled the file away from her friend. "Ah, I see you made it to Number 11."
"You mean Maureen Jenks?"
"I mean Number 11, George. It's easier if you don't personalize the victims on cases like these."
George stared blankly at her, at a clear loss of what to say. "That's awfully harsh," he finally managed. "I cannot believe you of all people would say something like that. She was a human being, Hermione, a muggle."
"I'm well aware of 11's circumstances, George," she replied a little hotly. "I can't afford to be consumed by this case, however. I must remain impartial to the victims so that my judgment isn't clouded when I track down the bastard that did all this," she gestured to the file. "Don't think that it isn't a struggle for me."
The tired looking man studied her for a moment. "Of the many side effects that come from prolonged use of Wideye Potions, dependency is not one of them. Unless I am mistaken, you are using it in favor of the highly addictive Dreamless Sleep to provide you with a similar outcome – no sleep means no nightmares."
She paused, momentarily surprised by how quickly he pieced her situation together. "You are perceptive as ever, George. Which is why we need you."
He gave a brief sardonic smile and continued, "Let's just say I know a thing or two about avoiding nightmares." Hermione looked back at the file, for once at a loss for what to say. "So, what's the plan?"
Ron chose that moment sit straight up, shouting out "expelliarmus!" as he did. Blinking slowly, he looked at his wand hand. Luckily, his wand had been left on the coffee table when he dozed off.
Clearly uninterested in talking about his dreams, George joked to diffuse the tense atmosphere. "Good evening to you too, Ronnikins."
"What time is it?" Ron asked, rubbing vigorously at his forehead with both hands, as though he could bore through his skull and into his brain to wipe the nightmare from his memory.
"It's a bit after 5 in the evening," Hermione answered him.
Ron sat in silence for a few more minutes, gathering himself, then finally stood and joined that at the table. Using the same spells she had on herself, Hermione set Ron to rights as George got three glasses of water from the kitchen.
"You two hungry?"
Both Hermione and Ron nodded in the negative.
"Well, that's too bad. You're eating. Mum sent me a roast last night and we should probably eat it before trekking all over the states, yeah?" He started dishing them up, used a warming charm on each plate of flood, and levitated the meal to the table.
After a slow start, Hermione and Ron found they were actually hungry, even if their brains didn't know it; compliments of the Wideye Potion. The three ate quietly until nearly finished, George broke the silence. "So, what's the plan, then?"
"I spoke to Kingsley about it and we determined that even a chain of illegal portkeys from here to Iceland, to Greenland, to Newfoundland, Canada, to Maine in America and on to New York City would be a little too risky," the girl explained. "It's really too much to cover even over a few days, not to mention, again, illegal."
"What does that leave?" George asked with a raised brow. "We can't possibly fly over the Atlantic."
Hermione split into a knowing grin, "On the contrary, we will indeed be flying."
Catching up a moment later, Ron's jaw dropped. "Hermione! You can't be serious! Aeroplanes are metallic, flying death traps."
"Wicked!" George exploded merrily. "Have you ever been, Hermione?"
"Yes, I have and, no, Ron, they are not flying death traps. I mean, yes, sometimes accidents happen but the odds of landing safely are much better than the odds of getting injured on a broom," she explained.
"How exactly are we going to do this, Hermione? I mean, we're going to need muggle money, traveling documents, I imagine. Not only that, aren't we kind of sneaking in on the investigation?"
"Wait a tick, what was that, Ron? We're sneaking in?" George asked archly.
"Honestly, if you had just let me finish explaining, I would have covered all of this. Yes, Ronald, we're going to need muggle money, something Kingsley and I are sorting out. Luckily, me converting currency isn't going to raise any eyebrows. Yes, we need passports to allow us access to the states, those I'm working on myself," she finished in a rush before turning to George. "I don't think that 'sneaking in' is the correct phrase, but we are performing an unsanctioned investigation in a foreign territory. The-"
"They don't know we're coming?" George asked slowly.
Hermione sighed and nibbled on her lip, considering her reply, "The Magical Congress of the United States of America did not deem these crimes as having been committed by a witch or wizard. I disagree. Don't you?"
George studied the still open folder on the table, noting in particular the position of victim number 11, Maureen Jenks. "I don't believe that the level of contortion could have been caused by anything other than magic. If I'm not mistaken, she is laid out in the form of a rune?"
Hermione heaved a sigh and nodded. "Yes, all of them are arranged."
George paused, "How can the American government ignore such blatant blood rituals?"
"We think it has to do with denial. I mean, Voldemort was one of ours and he's gone now. I imagine they don't want to believe that such a monster could come again.," Hermione answered, passing her glass of water from one hand to the other to busy herself.
Ron looked uncomfortable but resigned to the task at hand. "From what I've been told, our mission is to get in, poke around, find evidence and report back."
"At the time such evidence is found, the Ministry can extend a formal request to investigate further. That, unfortunately, means that we can have no support from the Ministry. We will be trying our best to pass as muggles for as long as possible." Hermione studied the brothers for a moment before continuing. "I'm going shopping tomorrow to find muggle clothes items to help us blend in better," she trailed off, apparently trying to plan out what she was going to explain next.
Ron and George nodded along, offering their agreement and waited for her to continue. When she didn't, George broke the silence, "Out with it, Hermione."
She twitched slightly and sighed, closing her eyes. "I don't want either of you to be upset with me."
Hermione opened her eyes but focused on her hands while the boys stared at her, still waiting. "Kingsley is the only person still alive in our world that knows what I'm about to tell you. I have-" she trailed off again, struggling to find the words. "We won't be entirely on our own. We even have a place to stay where we don't have to hide our magic. I have a witch cousin in America."
There were a few moments of silence in which one could have heard the dropping of a pin, before Ron exploded, standing up from his seat. "What the bloody hell, Hermione?!" he slammed his open palm onto the tabletop. "I've been your friend for almost a decade, we dated – we- you trusted me to be inside of you! And you choose just now to tell me that you not only have a cousin, but that she's a witchtoo?"
"Calm down, Ron," George angled his chair to more easily prevent Ron from getting into Hermione's personal space. "I'm guessing Hermione had a reason. Rarely does she do anything without purpose."
"How could you not tell me?" Ron asked a red-faced Hermione.
Still staring at her hands, she answered. "From the time I found out I was a witch and started becoming part of this world, I realized my place in it, Ronald Weasley. Not only could I feel that I was viewed differently, I had an endless amount of texts that confirmed my status as a muggle-born would always call into question my worthiness of taking up space in the Wizarding World."
Ron opened his mouth to interrupt her, but George held up his hand, "Don't dismiss her experiences, Ron. Please continue."
Hermione drew a deep breath and raised angry eyes to her friend, "You may have failed to notice, but even in the beginning of our time at Hogwarts, the Wizarding World was descending into chaos. People were going missing, even then, and there were whispers of Voldemort returning. I read everything I could get my hands on. This world is a dangerous place for muggle-borns.
"My father, as you know, is a muggle. His brother, Jonathan, however, was a wizard. We must have had magic in our bloodline for it to express itself in our family. Anyways, Uncle Jon moved to America fresh out of Hogwarts, I have since found out, for research work. He fell in love with a- well, an American woman named Mara. They lived in England for a time, to be near my dad, I think.
"Eventually, they had my cousin. Her name is Lorelai. She's only about three months younger than me, so we had a lot of time together as young children, but then Uncle Jon died. After that, Lorelai's mother moved the two of them back to America to be with her family.
George took another drag from his cigarette as he digested the information while Ron pushed food around his plate.
"I found out she was a witch over the Christmas holidays in first year. Mum, dad and I went to go visit Lorelai and Mara. Dad was praising something I had done at school and he accidentally mentioned Dumbledore and the next thing you know, Lorelai was screaming her head off and asking me to show her my wand. Which, did you know that in America, students must leave wands home over holidays, including summers? She was so glad to have another witch in the family, though her magic is different from ours.
"Since then, I've done everything I can to distance myself from her name, especially as I became a high-profile person in the Wizarding World– due simply to being friends with Harry. I couldn't risk her being outed or targeted because of me. After keeping her a secret for years, I couldn't just sit you down and tell you after the war ended, could I?" Hermione finally raised her eyes to look at Ron. "Can you understand that?"
It was his turn to avoid her gaze. Ron flushed crimson with embarrassment for his overreaction. "Sorry, 'Mione."
She leaned back in her seat and fixed her gaze on George. "Well?"
"I think you did the right thing," George answered with an easy smile. "Now tell me, this cousin of yours: is she fit?"
"George!" Ron and Hermoine chastised at the same time.
"Just lightening the mood," he answered with a cheeky grin that hinted at his former self. "Anyways, I have just one more question. When do we leave?"