Chapter Sixteen: Missing
Wednesday, May 13, 1998, Midday:
I'm going to kill that blasted Weasley, Hermione thought as George coaxed another delicious pastry from one of their many eager house elf attendants. They had all eaten more than enough ages ago and should have headed off to connect the final primary anchor point. Much to her irritation however, George had been stalling for almost an entire hour, and she was about thirty seconds away from cursing him for delaying her early night. And that wasn't even to mention how he was blatantly taking advantage of the slaves' kind natures. A fight for another day.
But part of her, and she didn't know how big that part was, relished the distraction. There was something else she had to do today, something she had been dreading for almost a year. Perhaps she had left it too late and there would be nothing to go back to? But she mustn't think like that. She would find out soon enough anyway. Besides, she had to focus on what was coming next, because even a minor lapse in her concentration would spell disaster on an unknown, but likely large, scale.
"I just can't decide whether the chocolate tart or strawberry scone was better," said George loudly, licking his fingers. "They both offered something unique and truly unforgettable, with a distinct flavour pallet that leaves one wanting more. What do you think, Hermione?" The man knew that she had not sampled either, but continued to speak to her as if she was his fellow judge for a dessert contest.
She gave him a look so powerfully displaying her mounting anger that a Pepper Imp would likely have detracted from the effect. He turned away from her, his grin fading somewhat. Hermione thought his cheeks may have adopted a slight pink tinge, but she hadn't gotten a good look before he bent to speak to the head elf. She had kept an eye out for Kreacher, but the kitchen staff's newest addition was nowhere to be seen. She didn't worry about it too much though. He was probably off doing something for Harry. Something necessary, she hoped.
"Perhaps one of each to go then," he said, glancing over at Hermione. He smiled down at the apron-clad elf, giving her a conspiratorial wink. "We'd love to stay longer, but there's work to be done." As the tiny creature scurried off to fulfil his request, the other Weasleys gathered around the pair, wiping crumbs out of stubble and dusting powdered sugar off rumpled robes. Hermione gave a satisfied harrumph, and the others tried not to laugh.
They set off a few minutes later, the house elves waving goodbye and shoving food into their hands amidst Hermione's half-hearted protests. She had long given up on making any real impact in the kitchens. The group marched down corridor after corridor without pause, eager to get the final task completed. They didn't pass anybody on their way towards the Entrance Hall, which suited Hermione just fine. George didn't need any more excuses to waste time.
"So where's the last anchor point?" George asked as they neared the Entrance Hall. His shoulders were slumped in a display of bone-deep tiredness that not even his natural charm and charisma could hide.
"Near the Forbidden Forest," she replied, repressing a grin.
"What?" he roared, his flaming hair almost catching alight in his indignation. "We were just there! Couldn't you have mentioned that before we went all the way up to the castle?"
"You should have asked," she said sweetly, lengthening her stride to move out of George's substantial reach. "And wasn't it you who insisted on dropping by the kitchens for a snack?"
Arthur and Bill were chortling quietly behind the squabbling pair, and even George had to admit that he had no real reason to be annoyed. "I'll have the best legs in Britain after all this walking," he announced, flexing experimentally.
"Not without a bicycle you won't," she retorted.
"What's that?" he asked, falling into step next to her once more.
"A Muggle contraption," she explained, adopting the tone she used when helping Harry and Ron with their homework. "It's got two wheels and you push against the pedals to make it move."
"Well that doesn't sound too bad," he replied, shrugging his broad shoulders. "What's the catch?"
"More uncomfortable than a bristly broomstick," she replied, giggling at his horrified expression.
"On second thought," he said hastily, speaking loudly to prevent the witch from saying anything else, "I think I'll develop a muscle growth potion instead."
"Muggles have already figured that out, but I wouldn't recommend it." Untrained at schooling her expression, Hermione couldn't hold back the sly grin that crossed her face.
"Why not?" George asked, fearing the answer but unable to resist learning more about Muggle potion-making.
"Let's just say it'll make bicycle-riding a breeze."
George almost fell over in his shock while the others burst out into raucous laughter. At the unexpected commotion, a nearby suit of armour drew its chipped sword and cried out for them to halt. They paid it no mind, worried that they wouldn't be able to start walking again if they stopped now. Their playful banter petered out after a few more quips from Arthur and George. They all needed a long rest to restore their spent muscles and magical cores. Unlike the others, Hermione would have to wait at least a few hours before she could lie down. There were some things you had to face alone.
As they were about to reach the castle's main entrance and head outside, a loud shriek rang out behind them. Wincing at the ear-splitting cry, Hermione turned to find a young boy and his mother exiting the Great Hall. His face was screwed up in anger, tears leaking out from his tightly-shut eyes as he stamped his bare foot on the cold stone floor.
"I told you Marcus, I've looked everywhere for it and nothing's come up." The woman was trying to make herself heard over her son's wailing, but he continued his tantrum without pause.
"I'm too tired for this," muttered George. He pointed his wand at the screaming child. "Silencio."
His mother kept yelling for a moment, but she stopped after noticing her son's soundless gaping mouth. She whirled around, spotting George's outstretched arm and sheepish expression.
"How dare you hex my son!" she boomed, her rage-filled voice bouncing off the walls of the cavernous space. She marched over to him, a fierce maternal spark blazing in her eyes. She wore an expression of righteous indignation that looked oddly at home on her face. Hermione vaguely recognised the woman, but couldn't recall ever interacting with her.
"Hey, I didn't hex the prat," said George, raising his hands in front of him. "It was only a silencing charm. My ears have rights too, and tearing open my eardrums is definitely a major breach."
"Hold on," said Hermione quickly, interposing herself between George and the boy's irate mother before the situation progressed any further. "Is this about his gobstone?"
"Yeah!" exclaimed the boy as George shoved his wand back into the pocket of his jeans. He appeared to have calmed down, if only slightly. He walked over to the others, wiping his face with the sleeve of his thin jumper. "His name's Bluey and he was my lucky gob! Never lost a game, he didn't! I left him outside the other day and now he's gone."
"I told you I'd buy you another one when I got the chance," said his mother, facing her son with an apologetic look. "I've just been really busy sorting things out here."
"Kathy Wallace!" Hermione blurted out, finally remembering who the woman was. "You're one of Kingsley's secretaries."
"That's Minister Shacklebolt to you," barked Kathy without shifting her gaze from Marcus.
"Hardly," said George. "We're basically best mates. I think we've earned first-name privileges. But he's definitely Minister Shacklebolt to you, love."
The woman seethed but otherwise ignored George, turning to scowl at Hermione. "In case you need a reminder, I am here to oversee the castle's repairs and make sure everything runs smoothly. I'll be returning to the Ministry today as a matter of fact. Most of the restoration projects have been more or less completed."
"But I want my gobstone!" whined Marcus, returning the topic of conversation to something of actual importance. "I'm not leaving here until I get it back."
"I'm sorry darling," said Kathy, her tone softening. Hermione couldn't believe her voice was capable of making such a tender sound. "But everyone I've asked to look for it has turned up nothing, and I've spent all my spare time trying to hunt it down. It's gone."
Marcus scrunched up his face again, preparing to restart his best method of persuasion. But after a few seconds his shoulders sagged and his face relaxed. "Okay," he mumbled, staring at the floor with shining eyes. "Can I pick out my next gobstone when you get it?"
"Of course, sweetheart," his mother replied, wrapping him up in an enormous hug. "Let's go and get some lunch, shall we?" The pair of them re-entered the Great Hall, talking quietly and holding hands. They completely ignored the ward squad as they hurried inside, filling them all with a profound sense of relief.
"If I ever talk about wanting kids," said George as he pushed open the great double doors. "Remind me of this moment so that I may save myself decades of misery and hardship."
"You weren't that bad," said Arthur mildly. "Nothing your mother couldn't handle."
Hermione was glad to finally be outside again. Most of her time had been spent in the castle organising people or repairing what she could. Powering the wards had given her the opportunity to move around a bit, but many of the anchor points were located within Hogwarts. The draining nature of her work coupled with a resounding lack of free time meant that Hermione hadn't even realised how much she'd missed the outdoors. There was a serenity in experiencing the natural world, the horrors of camping with two hotheaded boys not withstanding. A weight lifted from her shoulders as the sun's rays washed over her, the overwhelming sense of relief bringing a contented smile to her face. But she would not be distracted from her task. Lounging by the lake would just have to wait a little longer.
She glanced over at Hagrid's hut as they passed it on their way to the forest, absently hoping that her friend was alright. The shattered window caught her attention almost at once, and she barely managed to keep from crying out in surprise. Countless shards of glass glinted in the sun beneath the empty pane and the front door stood wide open. She stopped walking mid-step, her eyes narrowing as she took in the unsettling sight. How had nobody mentioned what could only have been a violent break-in? When had it happened? Did it have something to do with Fang turning up at the castle last week? Hagrid should surely have been back by now anyway.
"You alright, Hermione?" Bill asked, turning back to face her. "What the—" The eldest Weasley began moving towards the hut's entrance, his father and brother close behind.
"Don't touch anything!" Hermione's voice was barely above a choked whisper, but the grounds were silent and her friends stopped in their tracks a few yards away.
"What's going on?" asked George, brow furrowed as his gaze shifted from the broken window to the dwelling within. "Hagrid's never cared much for home security, but he at least keeps his front door shut."
The hut's interior appeared undisturbed, but Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had been inside. Sunlight spilled in through the open door, revealing the huge bed in the corner. The blankets were in disarray, but she guessed the culprit had been furry, four-legged, and bored. There was a lot more glass inside the hut than outside it, so the window had likely been broken in, not out. There was something on the floor as well.
"Is that blood?" asked Bill, pointing at a smear of rust-coloured residue just beyond the threshold. "Hey look! It's on the lock too." He had carefully manoeuvred himself through the front entrance and peered behind the door to find a dark patch on the withdrawn bolt.
Hermione joined him, doing her best to avoid coming into contact with anything. "It's old if it is," she said after a moment of inspection. "At least a week."
"Come off it," said George, too exhausted to bother concealing his disbelief. "How can you tell?" He tried unsuccessfully to slide in behind the pair, but Bill shoved him away.
"Move it, you," scolded the eldest Weasley brother, unable to suppress a chuckle as George flounced back to the front door. "There's only so much room back here. And it can't be fresh because it isn't even close to red," he continued, elaborating on Hermione's initial guess. "It's dry, but not so old that it's completely faded. I'd say it's from at least several days ago, can't be more precise than that," he finished with a half shrug.
It took George a moment to respond. He was fiddling with his wand while moving around the large space, his forehead creased in concentration. "Isn't that about the time when Aed got here?" He took a short pause to ask the question that had been lurking at the edge of Hermione's awareness ever since she saw the blood. "We could see if she knows anything when we get back to the castle. I can't detect any magical activity that wouldn't have come from Hagrid. Not with the spells I know anyway."
"I think that's a good idea," said Hermione absently, continuing to stare at the dried blood on the bolt.
"I know this is a shock," said Arthur after a moment. "But there's nothing we can do right now. I'll let Minerva know once we get back to the castle and she can sort it out." When nobody moved he added: "Come on you lot. The sooner we get that last anchor point working, the sooner I can get back to the Ministry. Kingsley's been good about letting me help with this project, but his generosity is limited."
Shaking her head, Hermione finally managed to look away from whatever misdeeds had befallen her friend's home. "You're right," she said. "Let's go." She led the way down to the forest, not looking back to see if the Weasleys were following.
She arrived at the spot marked out on her parchment with her friends in toe. This section of the tree line looked no different than any other; she would never have found the anchor point if not for the Headmistress' helpful directions. A sea of leaves and branches stretched out before her, countless shades of green and brown spiralling and dancing together in the soft breeze. Something called to her from beneath the forest as she stood there, so faint that the feeling could well have been her imagination. But the pull came again, and she instinctively clung to it with her magic. "It's under the ground," she muttered through gritted teeth to the others, pointing to where the strangely unpleasant sensation was coming from. "It feels different to the primaries we've already done. Bigger."
What little colour remained in Arthur's face drained from it as he stepped up beside Hermione. "I think it's angry too," he murmured. "Or at least unhappy to be disturbed."
"And tired," added Hermione.
"So what you're saying," said George, moving to flank his father while Bill took his place next to Hermione, "is that we need to work quickly so this emotionally unstable ward can't make our job even more difficult."
"It appears so," replied Arthur, not risking the break in concentration it would cost him to shrug.
"I didn't even know wards could be emotionally unstable," said George, taking out his wand. "People really need to stop enchanting personalities into stuff like this. It only causes problems. I'll never get over that mirror in the Leaky Cauldron that told me to do up my trousers."
"That's not so bad," said Hermione, only half-listening to George's rambling.
"No, I suppose it wouldn't have been," he replied. "If all my pants hadn't been in the wash."
The others snorted, and Hermione tried to hide her face. "Magical people from Muggle stories tend to favour eccentricity over being practical," she murmured, returning to his initial point as she concentrated on the ward.
"Funny how they got that part right. I mean," he went on, "those stories were probably written by Muggleborns or half-bloods, so they're probably pretty accurate actually. I reckon that's the only way they can legally talk about magic without getting into trouble from the Ministry. I'm kind of surprised even that's legal. I know the Muggles don't think it's true, but—"
"Not the time," interjected Arthur. "Ward now, Statute of Secrecy chat later." George clamped his mouth shut with an audible click and joined the others in feeling out the anchor point's magical configuration.
Bill laid a hand on Hermione's forearm and the others hastened to do the same. Physical contact with another witch or wizard during this process made it easier for both parties to focus their magic. They all pointed their wands at the ward's dwindling presence, mentally preparing themselves for what was to come. The world fell away as Hermione's vision tunnelled, and she told herself that the ominous feeling in her chest was nothing more than nervousness.
A/N: If you're reading this as I post it, you'd have noticed that Cailean bested a brass padlock, not an iron bolt. However, I think this makes more sense so I went back and edited chapter 3 to sync up the details. If you're reading this after the fact, well you'd have been none the wiser, so you're welcome for the unnecessary information.
By the way woo finally finished writing Chapter 17! And Chapters 13 onwards haven't been beta-read so if they suck I'm sorry send help! Have a great week and see you next week!