The Boy That Never Was

Light stung Hermione's eyes, and she shifted in her bed, trying to bury her face under the covers. However the light persisted, and Hermione was forced to open her eyes. Is it morning already? She wondered. Opening her eyes, Hermione blinked against the dazzling light that filled the small space of the tent.

But something was amiss. For one thing, she couldn't hear birds chirping. For another, this light was far too bright to be natural daylight. She sat up in bed and nearly screamed.

Sitting at the foot of her bed, a bright sunny smile plastered on his face, was a young boy.

Hermione tried to say something, but her voice seized and died in her throat. The boy seemed not to notice and stuck out his right hand. "My name is Eriol Hiiragizawa. I'm very pleased to meet you."

Upon closer inspection, Hermione saw that this wasn't a young boy at all, but a young man in his early to mid-twenties. His haircut and slightly large glasses, in addition to the completely innocent expression on his face had fooled her. He was dressed in robes of black lined with blue. A ridiculously large hat was perched on his head along with an equally ridiculously sunny smile.

Warily, Hermione set a foot out of bed. "Who are you?"

The sunny smile never wavered. If anything, it grew wider. "I already told you that. Eriol Hiiragizawa."

"I mean what are you doing here in my tent at -" She groped for her alarm clock. "4:30 in the morning?"

Eriol didn't look put out in the slightest. "I could always come back at a more convenient time if you'd like."

Hermione glared. "That isn't the point. I want to know just what you think you're doing, sneaking into my tent. This is an archaeological site and it's off limits to non-personnel. How you even got through the security barriers is beyond me."

Eriol shrugged. "Those barriers do not apply to me." Before Hermione could say anything, he continued. "I am just an apparition. You'll find me gone when you wake up."

Hermione looked at her intruder warily. "So what is it that you want from me?"

Eriol smiled again, that damnably sunny smile. He practically chirped when he spoke. "I do not require anything from you, Hermione. Actually, I'm here to help you."

"Help me?"

Eriol nodded. "Yes. You've been spending the past several days here, looking for an artefact. I can help you find it much more quickly, if you'd like." He pointed to the small pile of books on Hermione's desk. "You've made a fair amount of progress in your search," he continued. "However, it may be weeks before you find what you're looking for."

His eyes fixed on Hermione's. "I can tell you exactly where to look so you won't have to waste your time."

She eyed him warily. "Why are you doing this?"

Eriol's eyes darkened, and his face became indescribably blank. "It's my duty, and we are all bound by our duties, Hermione. And besides…"

He seemed to be staring past Hermione at something. Hermione turned around, but saw nothing. She returned her gaze to Eriol, who had returned to smiling with all the brightness of a supernova. He was holding something in his hands, and he held it up for Hermione to see.

"This book." He said. "This book will tell you all you need to know." He put it back down on the desk.

He stood up then. "And if you are the right one, Hermione, I will be seeing you again."

And without any further ado, he left.

For several moments, Hermione sat on the very end of her bed, staring at the vacant space where Eriol had been. Then she very deliberately brought her hands to her eyes and rubbed hard at them. When she was finished, she looked at her clock. It was still 4:30.

She contemplated going to sleep again, then resignedly came to the conclusion that she wouldn't be getting back to sleep any time soon, so she may as well get a head start in going through the books.

She had just come upon her desk and was picking up the first volume in the pile when she remembered the vision she had just had. If it was just a figment of her imagination, or a result of her overworked and duly overstressed brain, it was a rather specific hallucination she had just had. And she had been having those strange dreams lately…

Having reached an unspoken decision, Hermione put the book down and riffled through the pile for the book Eriol had indicated to her. It was a fairly slim volume, at least when compared with the giant tomes that were its companions. The cover was embossed with scrolling gold text. Wards for the Workaday Witch or Wizard: A Guide to Protecting Precious Articles from Pugnacious Poachers by Mercurius Quistquire.

Carefully opening the book, Hermione ran a finger down the table of contents. "Wards defined, the makings of a ward, simple one-step wards…" After paging through the book carefully, she tensed. She read the first few lines of the page.

One of the more cleverly designed wards is the Key Holder's Ward. Requiring a key so that the protected item(s) may revealed, to date, no other methods have been found of tearing down this type of ward. These wards will last for up to 600 years, although with proper care and maintenance, they may last for longer periods of time. Due to the complexity and nature of the ward, very few of them are successfully put into place. There have been confirmed reports of these wards in China and Great Britain.

China and Great Britain. A Chinese wizarding artefact in Great Britain. Perhaps it was just a coincidence, but somehow… Hermione read on.

The keys that open the wards can be any object and have sometimes even been known to be incantations. The inconspicuous and innocuous nature of these keys has left all confirmed wards except for one in Canton province, China, untouched and unopened.

Hermione bit her lip. Meilin was from Canton, which meant that she would know about this type of ward. Perhaps she would be able to give Hermione insight into how to open the ward, now that she knew what type it was.

Excited, Hermione dashed out of her tent and scanned the grounds. She found Meilin sitting off to one side of the site, writing in the notebook that seemed her constant companion. As Hermione got closer, she saw that Meilin had the disk Fayla had lent her in her lap. The Chinese woman tapped her quill against it, muttered something, then turned the disk over before muttering again.

After a minute of this, Hermione cleared her throat. Meilin jumped and fumbled quickly as the disk started to slide down her lap. "Ms Granger!"

"Sorry for startling you, Meilin. Is everything all right?" Hermione offered. Over the past few days, she had gotten the distinct impression that Meilin Xiaong didn't like her. It wasn't anything she said or did, but she was always distant, cool and a little too polite than was necessary. She also seemed to furtively glance around the site, and when she found Hermione looking back at her on several occasions, quickly looked away and immediately whipped out her notebook, scribbling furiously.

It was almost as if she had something to hide.

"Everything is all right," Meilin said. She looked at Hermione. "Is there anything you require?"

 "You work primarily in Canton, right? I think Mr Fayla mentioned it."

Meilin nodded curtly. "I do."

"Well, I was wondering if you could help me with something. I just recently thought of something that may be getting in the way of our search, and sent Collins off to the library to look into things for me," Hermione said.

"I'm thinking that a ward may be preventing us from finding anything, and so I did a little digging and found a ward that you may be familiar with."

Meilin raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

Hermione continued. "Yes. It's called a Key Holder's Ward and can only be unlocked with a key. The book didn't say what kind of objects can be used as keys, just that the keys were inconspicuous. That could mean that anything from a shoe to a leaky cauldron. Apparently a similar ward had been dismantled in Canton, and I was wondering if you knew about the key used to unlock it."

Meilin looked somewhat surprised. "Do you think similar keys may be used for these wards?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just wondering if you know what the key was."

Meilin shrugged. "As I recall, it was an artefact of some sort."

Something in Hermione's mind clicked. "An artefact?"

"Yes. It was very old. A coin or a mirror. I cannot remember, exactly."

"Do you remember anything else about the case? Who the warder was? What was being protected?"

"I think the wizard was a trader. Reports disagree as to what his exact occupation was, but there were old records of transactions that he had completed. He traveled quite extensively, from what I understand." Meilin shook her head. "I think you can find them at the National Chinese Wizarding Registry in Beijing."

Hermione nodded. "Are the records only available there? No copies have been made or archived elsewhere? For safekeeping, perhaps?"

Meilin shrugged. "I am not aware of any other existing copies, but perhaps that is a question best addressed to the curator."

Hermione nodded, more to herself then to Meilin. "Thank you, Meilin," she said. She turned around and began walking back to her tent, thinking. She wouldn't know anything further until she wrote to the person in charge of the registry, and then she'd have to wait. There was nothing else for it.

Within a few days, an owl came winging in over the site, and Hermione was just in time intercepting it. She had packed a couple of bags in preparation for her stay at the Burrow, and was just stepping outside to give Collins his instructions while she was gone when she heard a loud screeching noise.

A large brown owl was swooping down and landed right on top of Hermione's shoulder. It made a clicking noise with its beak and screeched again. Hermione winced.

"Hello, and who are you from?" She held out her arm, which the owl hopped onto and stopped. The owl stuck out its leg, which was weighed down with a fairly substantial looking package. The rope binding the package had slipped off the other leg, which meant that the owl had been carrying the weight of the package on one side. She knew what the irritable screeching had been about.

"Oh, you poor thing. Did you have to carry that very far?" Hermione had finished untying the string and held the package aloft. As was customary with wizard post, there was no return address. There was, however, a stamp in the upper left corner featuring a five point star and a Chinese character.

"You didn't have to carry this all the way from China, did you? They did change owls periodically at the post offices, didn't they?" As she said this, her expression grew grim. Perhaps when she got back, she'd have to look into starting a campaign for the well-being of post owls.

The owl just eyed her warily and ruffled its feathers.

Hermione slit apart the opening of the package. Inside was a brief note from the curator, and a thick sheaf of parchment. She took out the note and read.

Ms Granger:

                 Enclosed are copies of the documents which you have requested. We understand that you have a Chinese interpreter on site, and would ask that you employ her in translating these articles. Please do not use a Translation Spell on the documents; they yield all manner of inaccurate results and may result in a misunderstanding of the documents. If you require any further assistance, please contact me.

Charlie Wu,

Curator

National Chinese Wizarding Registry

Hermione folded the note and tucked it back into the envelope. Hefting the package, she moved to Collins's tent.

Within half an hour, she was standing before the fireplace in her tent, her bags at her side and a pinch of Floo Powder in her hand. She dashed the powder in and stepped back as a large green flame whooshed into existence before her. Picking up her bags, she stepped in, ducking her head so she wouldn't hit it on the mantle.

"The Burrow!" She yelled.

She tucked her elbows in at her sides and hoped that her bags wouldn't encounter too much bumping and rough handling during transit. She closed her eyes almost immediately as a great swirl of colour flew before her eyes. Opening her eyes for too long inside the Floo always made her dizzy and slightly nauseous.

Soon, she felt herself slowing, and she risked opening her eyes. The colours weren't rushing by as quickly, and after a few seconds, she was able to make out the different exits. Three grates ahead, she recognized the mismatched furniture and cozy bustle that was the Weasley kitchen and made a conscious effort to stop.

She was right in front of the exit grate when she felt a jerk, and she was tumbling headfirst onto the floor. She flailed her hands before someone caught one of her arms.

"Whoa, there! Almost had a rough landing there, didn't you?"

Whatever landing she may have had, her bags definitely did not have a smooth landing. They fell to the floor in an ungracious heap, and Hermione was sure she heard something break.

"I'm fine, but my bags are -"

"Aw, it's okay, Hermione. I'm sure they're fine."

Hermione looked up. "Ron?"

"The one and only," he grinned. He bent over to pick of one of her bags. "How long are you staying, anyway? It looks to me as if you've brought enough for a week."

Hermione shook her head. "Not that long. I had a lot of work to do so I thought I'd bring it with me."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Hermione, you're here to relax. You know, that thing people do when they get away from work? You're not supposed to bring it with you!"

Hermione suppressed the urge to sniff and make a retort. She settled for smiling instead.

"Actually, I'm looking forward to spending time with everyone. Has Harry been here this entire time?"

Ron nodded as he climbed the rickety, winding staircase. "Yeah. He's not going to go back for another week. The team's not going to have another game for a month, and Harry goes to practices and comes home here. Mum's really happy about that – it makes the house seem full again."

It probably would, Hermione thought. A few years after graduating, Percy had found a place of his own to share with Penelope Clearwater. Fred and George had moved to a small space above their shop in Hogsmeade, and Ginny spent much of her time between London and France. Ron had stayed in the house he, Harry and Hermione had first bought after they had graduated. Having Harry around gave Mrs Weasley a chance to mother someone again, if only for a brief little while. Hermione smiled at the thought.

"Are Bill and Charlie here as well?" Hermione asked. She knew that the two eldest Weasley sons rarely came home due to the nature of their work.

"Yeah, sort of," Ron said, opening the door to Ginny's old room and shouldering his way in. "Bill was here for a bit then took off – there's an emergency in Egypt, apparently, and the goblins wanted him back there straight away. Charlie's been in and out for the last few days. We don't know what he's doing."

He put the bags down beside a small cot and straightened.

"How's Sylvia?" Hermione asked.

"She's all right. Doing great, as a matter of fact."

"Oh?" Hermione asked, careful to keep her voice light.

"Yeah, she's got this new thing at -"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, however.

"Ron?" A voice floated to them from downstairs.

"In here, Sylvie," Ron called back. He grinned as a woman with short brown hair entered. She seemed to be fairly happy about something, as she skipped right into Ron's arms and kissed him firmly on the mouth. Hermione plastered a smile to her face and stared at a point beyond their heads.

"Ron, honey, we're almost ready to start. Has everybody arrived?" Sylvia asked.

"Yeah. Our last guest arrived just now," he said, nudging his fiancée slightly and gesturing with a free hand. The other one seemed to be glued around Sylvia's waist.

Sylvia turned around and made a surprised noise before giggling. "Oh, you scared me there, Hermione. How are you?" She broke free of Ron's grasp and pulled Hermione into an embrace.

Hermione smiled. "Good, thanks. And you?"

"Couldn't be better," Sylvia said cheerfully. She backed away slightly to get a better look at Hermione. "Ooh, someone's got a tan. Where have you been lately?"

"I was in the Caribbean until just very recently," she said.

"Lucky you. I wish we could say the same for ourselves, but the weather's been just awful here recently. You came on one of the few sunny days we've had in over week!" She shook her head. "I love England, but there's so much greyness to all of it." She laughed. "But I suppose I should be used to that, eh? I've certainly lived here long enough."

Sylvia suddenly seemed to think of something, and she clapped her hands together. "That's right! I baked some cookies last night – they're my newest creation. Would you care to try some?"

"Right before dinner?" Hermione asked. Then again, she had to admit that Sylvia knew how cookies were done. She could very well make a living as a pastry chef if she so chose.

Sylvia shrugged. "Why not? A little aperitif before dinner never hurt anyone, right?"

Ron beamed and Hermione looked away quickly. Where Hermione wouldn't hear of having dessert before dinner, Sylvia was more easygoing about those kinds of things. It was just one of the many differences between herself and Sylvia, and the thought that Ron might like the differences Sylvia exemplified over Hermione's brought a sharp pain to Hermione's chest. Even after all this time, it pained as keenly as if it had been yesterday.

"Sure, why not?" Hermione forced herself to say, hoping that Ron couldn't hear the slight change in her voice.

Sylvia beamed. "I'm sure you'll like them very much! I used a lot of Billywig treacle and honey for this recipe, so make sure you don't eat too many of them or you'll be having your dinner three feet above the rest of us."

Ron chuckled. "That'd be a sight to see."

Hermione followed Sylvia and Ron back downstairs and into the Weasley kitchen, which was bustling with activity. Mrs Weasley looked up at them when they came in.

"Ah, there you are, Ron. Could you take the roast out of the oven and make sure Fred and George are setting the table properly, dear?" She frowned as she mixed some sort of pasty concoction. "I don't want any surprises when we're eating dinner tonight."

As if on cue, they heard a loud metallic clattering sound followed by a small explosion.

"Boys, behave yourselves! We've got company!" Mrs Weasley bellowed.

There were twin affirmative sounds from the dining room, and it grew peaceful once more.

Mrs Weasley shook her head and looked up. "Hermione, dear! How are you? We haven't seen you in a long time!"

Hermione smiled and approached the matriarch of the Weasley clan. They embraced warmly, and Mrs Weasley stepped back, taking Hermione in.

"Well, dear, it looks as if the weather's been quite good to you. Where was it that you were working all these months?"

Before she could answer, the door burst open and a voice called loudly.

"Mum, I don't think I can carry all these potatoes!"

"Ron, go help Ginny," Mrs Weasley commanded. Ron, who had just set the roast on the counter, nodded and turned out of the kitchen. Hermione followed.

A slender, willowy redheaded young woman was pulling a large canvas sack through the door with one hand. In her other hand was a basket of leeks, parsley bunches and wild cabbage leaves arrayed merrily in the wickerwork. Ron rushed to take the sack from her, while Hermione relieved Ginny of her basket.

"Thanks," Ginny said breathlessly. "I forgot to bring my wand with me." She dusted herself off and looked up. Her face lit up delightedly. "Hermione!"

"Ginny." The two women hugged, and Ginny grinned. "It's good to have you home, Hermione."

Hermione smiled. "It's good to be back. Did you get my letter?"

Ginny nodded. They walked into the kitchen, all three of them. Mrs Weasley had a large metal bowl set out on the counter. She took the potatoes from Ron, then pointed her wand at them. Hermione stepped back as the potatoes leapt from the sack in a stream and landed with vegetative thunks in the bowl. She felt a tugging on her hand.

"Come on," Ginny said. "We'll go outside to talk."

Hermione nodded, and the two left out the back door and into the garden. They bypassed Fred and George, who were duelling with knives and forks, and Bill and Charlie, who were sitting quietly at the table talking about something. Hermione looked around.

"Where's Percy?"

"He's coming a little late. He's trying to round Aurora up so they can come, but she's being a little difficult." She laughed. They sat on the tufty grass in a corner of the garden and sat for a few moments quietly. Finally Ginny spoke again.

"It's a beautiful day."

The sun hung brightly in the midday sky. A soft breeze moved the grass and kept the day from being unbearably hot. Delicious aromas wafted from the kitchen, the light tinkle of utensils crashing against each other and songbirds chirruping to one another from the branches of various trees set Hermione in a peaceful state of mind. She nodded. "Yes. It is."

"Will you be staying long?"

"No. I have to return to the site tomorrow."

"Oh."

Across the way, George skilfully caught Fred's knife with his fork's tongs and sent his opponent's utensil flying across the yard to land with a clatter on the stones of the walkway. A shout came from inside the house, and the twins ran back into the house, still laughing.

"It's so peaceful here. I wish I had the chance to come more often," Hermione said.

Ginny looked up.

"I mean, I haven't been home for a long time, and even when I do return, it's only for a short period of time before I'm called somewhere else," she said wistfully. "Sometimes I wish I had chosen a career that didn't involve me moving around so much, where I could settle down. Who knows what might have happened if that had been the case?"

Ginny's eyes widened, then she smiled a little. "Do you have any regrets, though?"

For a long time, Hermione said nothing. Finally, with a small exhalation of breath, she answered.

"Sometimes there are regrets. Sometimes I wish I had handled things a little differently, with a little more foresight, but," she smiled, looking up at the cerulean sky, "there's very little of it I would do differently. There's no point in wishing I could either."

The rest of the evening passed quickly. The food was laid out onto the table, the family gathered, and the next few hours were filled with laughter, stories and full bellies. At night's end, Hermione was opening the door to let herself out. She had only walked a few steps when she heard a voice calling to her from the doorway. She turned around.

Ron was walking toward her, hands in his pockets, looking up at the black and starry sky. The night was pleasantly cool, and a soft breeze lifted the leaves in a gentle dance, and teased the strands on Ron's head.

"I love nights like these," he commented. "It's peaceful – gives you time to think."

Hermione's gaze joined his in the heavens. "Yes, it does." She said.

"It was nice seeing you again. We all missed you."

Hermione brought her head back down from the sky and looked at her old friend. She smiled. "I've missed you all, too."

Ron blinked, then looked away. "Do you think you'll be taking up another assignment after this one you're working on is finished?"

A shrug. "Maybe. I haven't decided yet."

"Oh."

Another small breeze picked up and the leaves rustled again. The lights from the house created soft rectangular pools which moths darted joyously in and out of. A moth flitted into one of the rectangles, darted forward and around its fellows, then quickly darted back out of the light. The sound of a loud bang followed by yelling and laughter from inside the house floated out to them.

"Sylvia tells me that you're planning a trip next week."

A surprised flicker crossed Ron's face. "Oh. Yeah. Her uncle's got a property up north a ways, and it's fairly close to the ocean."

"That should be relaxing."

"Yeah." He shoved his hands into his pockets again and looked down at the ground.

"So… I guess I had better be going. I have an early morning tomorrow."

"Yeah."

"It was really nice seeing you again. Thank you for inviting me."

"Anytime."

"Well…" Hermione said. She struggled to find something to say, and in the end, settled on "Goodbye, Ron."

Ron's head came up at last. His mouth was partly open, as if he wanted to say something. Something flickered in his eyes, then went still again. He closed his mouth and nodded. "Bye, Hermione."

Hermione walked down the hill away from the Burrow. When she reached the gate, she looked up toward the house once more.

Ron was no longer visible from the bottom of the hill, and the lights from the house were only visible from the upper levels. The familiar trees intermittently dotting the sides of the dirt path here and there and the long grass and the no doubt slumbering garden gnomes were exactly as they had been all those years ago, when she had first come here in the summers of her childhood. If she closed her eyes and listened to the breeze long enough, she could almost imagine that everything was exactly the same as it was all those years ago. That nothing had changed.

But things had changed. And whether she liked it or not, whether she had regrets or not, there was nothing she could do to change that fact.

***

Author's Notes: Thankfully, it didn't take quite as long to finish this chapter, nor was it as great a labour to try and finish as the second chapter was. I don't know if I'll be able to put out the next chapter soon – university is a demanding master, and exam time is quickly approaching – but I'll try my best. Hermione will also find get started with the Clow Cards in the next chapter, so we can (finally!) get this show on the road. Other than that… 'til next time.