Author's Notes: I realise that if I'm going to continue moving at this pace, I should really make my chapters longer, because not much is happening in each one. This may reduce the frequency I update – I've been posting as I finish my small bouts of inspiration. Which would you prefer – longer chapters or frequent updates?
And also, leave your email address in your review, or email me directly, if you'd like me to put you on my mailing list to notify you when I upload another chapter. This is so you don't have to keep checking back to see if I have or not.
Chapter 5: Like Faces on a Milk Carton.
The moon filtered in through the net curtains of the lounge, casting a soft silver blanket over the room and splashing each dark corner with its white liquid fire. As tired as Trina was, she had still managed to fall asleep rather quickly, despite Tony's refusal to close the drapes over the net curtains. Tony had insisted that if she was to be bored lying down quietly to stare at the ceiling, she was going to be bored with a view. Even if the view included an ironing board still folded-out from that afternoon, the TV and her father's video editing equipment, and the two other sleeping bodies sprawled haphazardly over thin mattresses on the floor.
On the couch, Tony restlessly shifted inside the sleeping bag belonging to one of her sisters, causing a rustle.
And again.
Silence.
And again.
"Stop it…" a sleepy voice fought its way groggily through the thick night air. Trina had been dragged to consciousness just enough to project these words, though Tony knew that she was still asleep more than anything else. Still, she thought it best to stay still before that voice, which had held an edge of annoyance, grew to be accompanied by conscious thought. Which would make for a not-happy Trina.
Tony sighed. She watched the VCR clock switch its thin, green, digital numbers to 01:13am.
Wow, she thought. Has it really been only just over an hour since they came? Since my life was made a World of Weird?
She replayed what had happened, in her head. She contemplated the heavy expression of the green-eyed boy in glasses; amusedly recalled Ron's face as she remembered Trina's nickname for him; admired Hermione for her ability to hold the waylaid group together; and thought bemusedly of the platinum blond egotist.
I can see why nobody likes him, she admitted to herself. I mean, sure I go for the platinum thing he's got going, but a girl's gotta have her standards.
He was rather deceptive, to look at. Initially, he gave the impression of being weak. Although he had strong, piercing grey eyes, his skin looked pale and thin, and he looked as though it wouldn't take much to overpower him. This impression lasted as long as it took for him to open his mouth.
"He looks like something dead…" Tony quietly muttered into the room.
"I don't think he'd be too happy to hear that," an equally quiet voice came through a pillow.
Tony started a little in surprise, as she realised Hermione was still awake. Although, if she'd just appeared on the other side of the world with no explanation and no way of defending herself, she didn't think she'd be prone to sleep either.
She didn't know what to say to the meant-to-be-sleeping Gryffindor, so for several uncomfortable minutes she stayed silent, before venturing the words, "So you have no idea how you got here?"
She thought that perhaps Hermione had finally dropped off to sleep, but then the quiet voice sounded again.
"No."
There was a long silence, before she continued, "We weren't in Potions class, so it couldn't have been a potion made wrongly – unless it was one with a delayed effect."
Tony doubted that was the answer.
"But I doubt that's it," commented Hermione, bringing a smile from Tony.
For a moment, Tony thought about telling her about the incident with the laptop, and the mysterious icon with its instructions. But on second thought, hadn't thought that was a good idea. She didn't want the group being convinced she was the bad guy because she'd brought them here. But then, she didn't think that she had. What sort of regular muggle-contraption would be able to do that sort of thing?
No, it has to be the work of whoever was behind that site, Tony thought. I'll tell them about it, but not yet.
A thought occurred to Tony: Why would they be fully dressed in the middle of the night? She lay pondering that, until the answer came to her with such obvious clarity, she was slightly embarrassed for even questioning it. England was twelve hours behind New Zealand – it would have been their lunchtime when they were whisked over here. Suddenly Hermione's insomnia wasn't so surprising. She doubted the boys were sleeping either, which caused her some concern over what it was that they were doing – she hoped it wasn't an exploration of her underwear drawer. They were boys, after all.
"I can see why you and Ron would have come with Harry, as you three tend to be the Three Musketeers of Hogwarts…" Tony started. She hoped Hermione understood the reference. She appeared to, as she didn't ask what it was. "…but why do you think Draco was caught up in this location-warp with you?"
"I don't know," Hermione responded, and Tony detected a definite edge to her reply this time. Perhaps it was because she was tired, but Tony was more inclined to think that it pained Hermione to repeatedly say she was clueless about anything.
Tony was beginning to feel a little bad. If it had been her who was stranded in Hermione's situation, she wouldn't want to analyse it straight away. She'd be more inclined to curl up into a ball, close her eyes tightly, and hope that when she opened them she'd see her home again. She supposed that even for someone as sure-minded and sensible as Hermione, what had just happened had to have been at least a little scary.
"We'll get you home, you know," Tony assured her, although she wasn't sure quite how yet. "Somehow, we will."
In the dark, Hermione smiled past the tear running down her cheek.
~ ~
Commotion at the Gryffindor table hadn't been much different that usual, an hour beforehand. The disappearance of Ron, Harry and Hermione, had grown to become a fairly recent occurrence with their adventures around the school, so the students now didn't question their absence, but only held curious wonderment.
Curiosity was replaced with concern as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had walked into the Great Hall, sans Draco Malfoy. The two cronies had looked disoriented and puzzled.
It wasn't as if the Gryffindors were concerned for Draco; on the contrary – most of them would consider it a wonderful gift if he was transferred away, or even just expelled. But the absence of Draco, coupled with the absence of the Gryffindor three, led them to believe that the Slytherin could be making trouble for them somewhere.
Lee Jordan stood, and strode confidently over to Crabbe and Goyle, confronting them by the Slytherin table before they sat down.
"So where's Malfoy?" he asked, although the question sounded more like an accusation.
Once Goyle had gotten over the surprise of being approached and spoken to by a Gryffindor, he formed a half-scowl on his face before muttering, "Why do you care?"
"Oh, I don't," Lee reassured them with a sardonic smile. "I just want to know what he's done to Harry."
The Slytherin two frowned.
"We don't know anything," said Crabbe, and Lee fought to keep from laughing at Crabbe's unintentional meaning. "We don't know where he is, or what he's doing."
"Not that it's any of your business anyway," Goyle added.
Some nearby Slytherins sitting at their lunch table looked over at Lee, and commented snidely, "Stick to worrying about commentating on Quidditch, Jordan. Keep your nose out of our business, or we'll make sure it ends up on a bludger."
Lee departed for the Gryffindor table, but not before casting them a resentful glare.
"They don't know where Harry is," he reported back to his housemates. "Or Ron and Hermione."
Neville looked glum, and held sympathy for them if they hadn't returned by the next Potions class. Professor Snape was particularly intimidating to Neville.
The Weasley twins looked at each other worriedly.