I know I said no AN's, but I absolutely have to get across my gratitude to everyone who has left me reviews and kudos on AO3 and FFN. I'm completely blown away by the response and as a result, I've decided to post chapter 2, very early, because not only am I really excited to share it with you, I'm also really grateful for such a wonderful response.
After this, I'm going to go with weekly chapters, so chapter 3 will be posted a week from now and so on.
I am bending the timeline a little, so if this is getting confusing please let me know
Thank you, so much.
A while ago…
The Prime Minister was sat at his desk after a long day of work when he heard that cough. A shiver ran down his spine, he hadn't heard 'that' cough in years and the last time it happened, he was informed that the serial killer 'moldywart' had been killed and that the war was over. He didn't expect to be hearing that cough again so soon. What on Earth happens in the Wizarding World to cause so much trouble all the time? Meddling fools, maybe he was just a little bit glad he didn't have magic.
Placing his favourite pen down on the desk, he arose from his high-backed chair and placed his left arm on the small of his back. He simultaneously awaited and dreaded the portrait's next words.
"Prime Minister of Muggles, the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, has requested meeting with you as a matter of great urgency, please await his arrival by floo shortly."
"Thank you, I am free to meet with him." The portrait nodded in reply and returned to his inert position within the frame.
The Prime Minister strode over towards his liquor cabinet and pulled out a crystal decanter and two glasses. Deciding that this meeting couldn't be anything he particularly wanted to hear, he would require a little Dutch courage to remain focused.
Situating himself in front of the empty fireplace, he startled slightly when a bright green light lit the room, before an imposing figure of a man stepped out of the fireplace. Astounded by the hulking stature of the Minister of Magic, the Prime Minister felt overwhelmed for a moment.
"Good evening, Prime Minister, I'm sure you remember me from the last time we met" Kingsley held his hand out towards the man in a friendly gesture, observing the look of horror on his counterpart's face. Noticing both hands busy with glassware, Kingsley took the bottle and poured both men drinks..
"You're right, I do. Although it has been quite some time hasn't it? Any more murderers on the loose?" The shorter man joked, nervously offering the tumbler in his right hand.
Kingsley quirked a smile, "Astute observation, Sir. However, I have held office for 3 years now, and no, no more murderers."
"Please, take a seat, I'm assuming there is an important reason you're here?"
"Thank you, and yes. I'm sure you're aware of the turmoil my world has been through over the last few years…" Kingsley cleared his throat,
"Ahh yes, moldywart." The Prime Minister said smugly, as if by knowing this information he was on the same level as Shacklebolt.
Kingsley paused "Voldemort, and yes, that problem. Well, a few years ago his reign of terror came to an end, but we have been dealing with a myriad of problems since then..." Both men drank.
"… However, we have an issue we require your immediate assistance with. Wizards and Witches come from many different backgrounds and some of them are born to parents with no magic at all. These Muggle Borns are why I am here today."
The Prime Minister was aware of this already, having been given the briefing about magic manifesting in the non-magic world the first night he sat in office, but never in his whole career had the Wizarding world asked for help before. He wasn't certain how much help he could be to a secretive organisation like this one.
"During the war, several Muggle Born witches and wizards were captured, obliviated and sent back into Muggle Britain without any trace."
The Prime Minister worked very hard to hide confusion from splaying across his face as he listened intently, Shacklebolt may as well be talking in a different language entirely.
"I have a list of names of those I need to trace most of all, although there is one particular person we must find immediately. She is a very important witch and we wish to have her back." Kingsley handed over a moving photograph of Hermione, Harry and Ron. They smiled at the camera, clearly during a happier, carefree moment in their lives.
"Minister Shacklebolt, I do apologise for seeming, shall we say, ignorant but please can you explain what you mean by 'blivy-ated'" He looked up from the photo, willing his ignorance of this technology to persevere.
Shacklebolt smiled, "I'm sorry, Obliviation is a mind-altering charm, it removes memories. If done correctly, it can be quite a useful spell. However, we believe the Obliviation used on these people was haphazard and forceful rendering many completely lacking in any recollection whatsoever." He passed a scroll across the desk "This is the current list of people we are tracing."
The Prime Minister allowed himself to look shocked. "You mean there are…" He looked down at the list that Kingsley had handed him, "… This is a lot of people Shacklebolt, you have no idea how this will appear to the public. I'm not even certain what my government can do to help here." He felt very much as though he stood on the back foot of this conversation and it discomforted him.
Kingsley nodded in thought, "Prime Minister, if you will for a moment, imagine that your country has been at war and,"
"I think I can well imagine what my country at war feels like! Please do not treat me like a fool here," he reacted, indignantly.
"…and you have a chance of making life a bit better for your people, you would go to the end of the Earth to make that happen, wouldn't you Prime Minister?" Kingsley's deep, gravelly voice held a tone of superiority and it made the hairs on the back of the Prime Ministers neck stand on end.
"But, yes of course. Just remember now, that this is going to be bad for publicity, bad for my government. Hundreds of unknown people suddenly being recalled back to where, Minister?" He frustratedly picked up the list of names and scanned them, "Donaghan Tremlett, Mary Cattermole, Minister Shacklebolt if you please… I couldn't explain this to the populace well enough."
"Prime Minister, a man in your position has enough push to do something. But let me press the importance of one name on that list; Hermione Granger." The Prime Minister took a moment to find her name, it was at the bottom with double underlines and a circle drawn around it. "Hermione Granger is a war heroine. She is famous for her role in defeating Voldemort and she is now in grave danger. She must be found. We need her memories; we need to return her."
The Prime Minister looked Kingsley directly in the eye, observing his body language and testing out whether the Minister for Magic had any idea about British Politics and how brittle his job role was these days. "You're asking the impossible from me, Shacklebolt!" Reaching for the decanter he poured himself a generous helping of brandy and drank it down. Kingsley looked at him with a keen eye, his mouth set straight and a grim determination on his face.
"You do understand, Prime Minister, that I have tried this without you." His tone lowered, "Without you, it is infinitely more difficult to keep the Statute of Secrecy in place, you do understand my meaning here, of course. If they find out about our World…"
He understood well enough. The statute kept his people safe from people like Kingsley and this Hermione Granger. Now, there was a list of a few dozen people in front of him who could break that statute in an uninformed way and suddenly, he understood. This needed to be done quickly and quietly. Without fuss. Without it going public.
"Well, I can't promise results, but I can try. Make this the last you ask of me; do you hear me? The government I run is teetering and I cannot subject it to any extra strain for nothing."
"Prime Minister, I can make sure funding for this mission is made available to you. Finding these people, and especially Miss Granger can mean the difference between my world surviving the post War era and well… I do not want to consider the affects if these people don't reappear soon."
Sensing the finality of this discussion, the Prime Minister stood and shook hands with Kingsley Shacklebolt, he felt nervous and sick and desperately wanted the man out of his office, shy of kicking him out.
"There is another thing I need to add, however…"
Stifling a groan, the Prime Minister let go of Kingsley's hand, he was going to need another very stiff drink after this,
"… They can not know they are magic folk until we perform the obliviation reversal spell. It can damage their minds permanently. Approach this with caution."
He handed over another piece of parchment.
"This parchment is charmed, as soon as you write on it, I will personally receive the message. Please inform me quickly in the event anyone is found."
Kingsley left through the fireplace again and the Prime Minister walked back to his desk to pour himself another brandy. Thinking over the conversation again, he realised what an impossible task this might be. Finding people who don't even know their own names and with only a list of their forgotten names? The man was a fool and not one he wanted to cross. Knocking back the Brandy he poured another and walked back to the list.
Hermione Granger - Aged 18 (at disappearance in March 1998), born Sept. '79.
5 foot 5 inches tall. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Pale complexion. Lived in London.
An impossible request.
"…and finally, The Metropolitan Police have reopened a missing person case and are appealing for public help…"
The old tea kettle whistled its boiling point and Good Sister Mary counted out 4 spoonsful of leaves for the pot. Slightly stooped by age, she carefully lifted the heavy kettle and poured the water, hands worn by age and experience. Her feet shuffled in pink, fluffy slippers to return the water boiler to the stove and she collected the bottled milk from the fridge.
Settling all her wares onto a delightfully elderly tea tray, she lifted it with both handles and wandered back into the sitting room.
"Oh, thank you Sister Mary, you're a good egg" Sister Angelique cooed from her overstuffed armchair, leaning over to remove the TV remote from the coffee table between them.
"Here, Sister, did you see that on the news about the girl with the curls?"
Sister Mary placed the tray on the table and turned her body to face the television as the unmistakable likeness of Jean appeared as a person of interest in a Police investigation.
"Oh, she was such a good girl. Mark my words Sister Angelique, if she is in trouble then I'll be damned."
"Don't say such things Sister, we will all be in trouble!"
Sister Mary tutted and served the tea. They watched the rest of the broadcast in silence as the News Reader spoke of the young friend she once made.
"If anyone knows any information regarding this, please call '101' and you can give your details anonymously. Allow me to repeat, if you have any information regarding this individual, please call '101'. All calls will be treated with the utmost confidentiality. More details can be found on the BBC News website"
Making up her mind, Sister Mary nodded to herself. She placed the teacup back on the tray and tootled to the hallway to reach the main house telephone. Situating herself comfortably on the wicker chair, she lifted the receiver and dialled the phone number in question.
"You are being connected to Metropolitan Police, please press 1 to request a different force."
She held the line,
"Metropolitan Police, how can I help?"
"My dear, I have some information regarding one of the people named in the news report I saw on the news. Her name ' Hermione Granger, although I know her under a different title, but there is no confusing that curly mane she calls hair."
Chuckling softly, the operator on the end of the line spoke rapidly "One moment please, I am going to pass you to the correct department who can help, do you mind being placed on hold?"
Sister Mary bade the young woman goodbye and awaited connection to the next person in line.
"Missing persons, my name is Katie Bell, how can I help you?"
"Hello Miss Bell, my name is Sister Mary and I am calling today to report some information regarding a young lady I've met. Her face appeared in the news report on the television not a moment ago. She is called Hermione Granger, but I knew her under a different name."
There was silence at the end of the phone and Sister Mary took it from her ear to look at it, questioning whether or not she had been heard, "Hello?"
"Uh, hello. Yes, sorry. Did you say Hermione Granger? Please can you tell me what you know?"
"Well, like I've said, I did not know her as Hermione Granger, she was named Jean Doe 394 when she crossed my path. She came to visit us after finding herself in a lost and confused state in hospital. I only really recognised her from the photo shown on the tele, but it is definitely the same person you are looking for."
"Wow" was all Katie could gasp at that moment in time. "Well, Sister Mary, I thank you for calling us today. This is very vital information and I am quite keen to hear what else you might know about Hermione."
"Well, my dear, it has been approximately 2 years since I have seen the girl, she came to live with my sisters and I in the convent here. She seemed to be suffering from a severe case of memory loss, of which nothing could be recovered enough for her to find her own family. She was entitled Jean Doe 394 under her hospital records – That's Kings College Hospital – so you may be able to discover her medical history from that name. It's unique to her"
"I'm just taking the information you are giving me down, but please can you remember any dates of when you last saw Miss Granger?"
"I last saw her on the 18th of March 1999, when I saw her off to work one morning and of course, she hasn't been back since"
"Do you know where she worked at the time?"
"Of course, my dear! I left her at the airport, she flew out under a specialised Visa with the church and is currently working with our foreign colleagues. I can tell you exactly where she is currently living"
Katie could not believe what she was hearing. Gesturing wildly to someone else who was in the room, she pressed the urgency of her request with as little noise as possible.
Writing frantically on a forgotten piece of parchment, in capital letters, she scratched out just two words, underlined it twice and drew a circle around it:
HERMIONE GRANGER
"… But one error has remained a mystery to us for a long time and we believe we may have a breakthrough in the disappearance of Hermione Jean Granger."
The once silent room erupted in a cacophony of shouting and squealing. The cameras seemed to flash at the exact moment her name left Potter's lips and the reporters didn't seem to care about talking over one other. Everyone wanted to know more about Hermione.
This was the news the world had been waiting for. For three long years, Hermione's whereabouts had been an unending mystery. Since her capture by the snatchers, she'd disappeared from Malfoy Manor without a trace and not a single ounce of her magic had been used since that day.
She wasn't the only one to disappear during that time. The tally had reached over 100 names, mostly people known to those still alive after the war. As the post war depression lingered over mourning families, it was Hermione's names on their lips; At least we can lay him to rest, not like that poor soul Hermione. We can celebrate her life once and for all, which is a relief because she could have gone missing like Hermione.
The audience stood and clamoured to be the first with an answer to their question. The room closed in on Draco and his chin dropped to his chest, he closed his bulb-blinded eyes and took in a sobering breath. He'd been vilified in the press and the Daily Prophet had labelled him responsible for Hermione's disappearance and the world hadn't let him forget it. Rita Skeeter had been the first to make the connection to Draco's involvement. She had lambasted him since the day it was revealed that Hermione was missing, her presence, or lack thereof, at the Battle of Hogwarts had almost cost them the war.
Harry had raised his hand to calm the room. Reporters had flocked closer to the stage, one step away from climbing up there, as if being near Harry would get them heard. Harry couldn't hear a damn thing. Security had pulled rank and spread themselves out in front of the long table, buffeting reporters away from the stage. No one voice could be heard. Looking out at the rippling tide of people, trying to get themselves heard, Draco noticed Rita Skeeter had remained in her seat, whispering to her quill.
Draco had enough, pulling his wand out from a holster in his sleeve, he cast Sonorus at his own throat and stood, "WILL EVERYONE PLEASE SIT BACK IN THEIR ASSIGNED SEATS IMMEDIATELY, POST HASTE". He made eye contact with anyone intending to ignore his request until they faltered under his glaring, grey stare and returned to their seats. Still, they whispered between themselves but at least they weren't going hell for leather towards Potter. He cancelled the charm and nodded at Harry before retaking his seat. The witch in her glaringly pink suit watched his every move.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy." Harry returned the nod to Draco, especially in front of this baying mob. He cleared his throat and continued from where he left off.
"I am certain you are all aware that this news requires the utmost delicacy. We believe she is safe and well, and that she has suffered no ill since leaving the Wizarding World." He straightened the sleeve of his robes, "The Ministry has assigned a private taskforce to ensure her safe return and you can be assured that we are exceptionally delighted to convey this news."
"We all," He gestured to the people sat at the desk, "Have committed ourselves to this endeavour over the coming weeks and we will have more news on this matter shortly. We will now open to questions started front row, left hand side," He pointed towards a young reporter with long, blonde hair and the most insane glasses Draco had ever seen, "Miss. Lovegood?"
Draco's insides cringed. Potter is an idiot. Close this up! We are going to be here forever!
A dreamy voice drifted across the airspace as Luna stood to ask her question, "Hello Harry," Harry smiled back at Luna awaiting what was no doubt going to be a stupid question, but what came next surprised even him, "You have already said she is alive and well, but you have yet to mention whether or not you have retrieved her yet. When will Miss Granger be home?"
Harry bowed his head, "No, she has not been retrieved yet, Ms Lovegood. In past cases, the retrieval process has not always been a simple one, and it has been getting more difficult as the years go by. The task force is going to be deployed by the end of the week and we hope to return Hermione soon"
Harry pointed at the next person with their hand in the air. A young man stood, Draco had never seen this boy before and figured he had just arrived for the emergency broadcast.
"Mr Potter, can you tell us of Miss Granger's whereabouts and who she has been with this whole time?"
"At this moment we are keeping those details private until such a time that Hermione wishes to disclose that information herself, as we have with all the Witches and Wizards affected by this problem."
Another hand, another question… "Does Hermione know you're coming?" "She isn't aware of our existence, so, no."
The questions continued for hours and Draco observed every member of the audience after they'd had their question answered. Some of them took what Harry said willingly but you could see that others were not impressed with their response. Some had left soon after their question was answered so gradually the room had emptied for all but a few of the most dedicated.
"Rita Skeeter, Harry, I'm certain you remember me" Her voice alone was enough to make Draco want to punch a wall. Draco saw Harry curl his fingers into a fist as Rita dared to walk onto the podium despite security being present, "You say that dear Hermione is all fit and well but what we are all desperate to know is are you looking forward to rekindling your budding romance with our little War Heroine?"
Harry blushed. Draco decided he'd had enough and stood himself between Rita and Harry, gesturing her off the stage and away from The Golden Idiot.
"As always, we thank you for your time and continued patience, but I'm tired and going home." Draco interrupted. "Goodnight!"
And with that, he graciously pulled out Minerva's chair and offered her a hand to stand. She graciously took it and bent her arm around the crook of his elbow in a show of comradery.