I am not JK Rowling.

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It's not easy taking my problems one at a time when they refuse to get in line. ~Ashleigh Brilliant, as quoted in The Reader's Digest, 1989

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It wasn't that he was snooping. It was simply that his formative years sharing a house with the Dursleys had trained him in keeping out of sight and out of mind. He'd had every right to enter Emmanuel's office, the rest of the Magical law enforcement squad did so without announcing themselves, and it was standard practice to drop off reports onto the captain's desk. Harry had entered, and the snatch of conversation had lingered for less than a minute, but put together with the maps on the table, was enough.

"... she has to be somewhere unplottable, which is only half a dozen places that we know of in Europe, and that's the Map he used. Unless the potion didn't work, but-"

Harry took a step out of the office, and clutched the dry report he'd been given as busy work. Its absence from the desk probably wouldn't be noticed, and he kept his eyes firmly on it as he made his way back to the desk piled high with everyone else's scutwork in the corner that he'd been assigned.

He sat and watched the slow methodical movement of MLE personnel working throughout the office, itching to leave. Lunch was well over, and while they might not miss his report, they'd certainly notice if he were to walk out of the department. There were a few members of the squad that took to checking where he was every few minutes, without bothering at discretion.

There was a burst as a Patronus shot into Emanuel's office, the bright silver light spilling out of the door, and a shudder in the machinery of efficient work as heads turned to watch. A hush fell, but whatever message had been delivered neither echoed or lingered.

As soon as the silver light died in the office, Emmanuel emerged in the doorway.

"Stebbins, Peakes and Parsons, with me. Leadensworth, you're in charge here." The blonde stalked through the department, the called men falling in behind him, before he stopped, sending a few of them skidding into each other.

"Potter. Where are you?" He turned and Harry stood, his report still in his hand.

"Sir?" Harry did his best to remove the insolence from his voice.

Emmanuel eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then smiled.

"Potter, report to Burges immediately. I've sent a memo, and I'm sure he'll want to see you."

Harry nodded, dumping his report on the pile. He smiled as he left the office.

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Minervra was furious. The wards had signaled someone;s entrance to the grounds with a foreign tingle down her spine and yet here she sat, listening to the board of governors discuss, not the amendment proposal, but the current gossip about Hermione's supposed relationship with Dennis, and what had come of the Weasley boy, and whether or not she'd actually been missing or if there was any merit to last night's radio broadcast. They were worse than fifth years, with not one of them younger than fifty, and she half-listened while the whole of her focus stayed on the disturbance to the wards, and the feel of the ancient castle around her, attempting to understand why the meeting had not yet been interrupted.

The governors said nothing when she rose from the table, so enraptured were they in different opinions of the 'disarming Miss Granger', and she excused herself for a moment.

As she opened the doors of the Great Hall, she sized up the four MLE wizards sweeping the entrance hall, wands aloft, for magical signatures; they were revealed in the air, magical strands pulsing and visible, but tangled in a mass with that of the hundreds of students who had ever disobeyed the school rules about using magic outside their classes.

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

It was a blonde wizard who strode towards her, looking furious.

"Magical Law Enforcement, Headmistress. We have an active investigation-"

"Which does not give you the right to enter the School's grounds uninvited, Mr… ah yes. Mr Walker."

"With all due respect, Headmistress, there is precedence." Emmanuel looked about the hall, and with a wave of his hand, commanded his men to continue tracing the magical signature.

"What is it you think you are doing?" Minerva looked down her nose at him, but decided the screaming match she was likely to enter would only distract the governors within.

"Tracing what I imagine is an illegal portkey." Emmanuel answered, looking over her shoulder for a split second. Interestingly, it would seem he did not wish to draw attention to the Ministry's presence either.

"Well, as I am too busy to escort you from the grounds myself, I will leave you to a no doubt, illuminating search." Minerva smirked internally, but kept her face severe as the MLE wizards behind her fruitlessly picked at the webs of intersecting magic, as it slowly dissolved around them. "If you are still here when I return, I will be submitting a full enquiry about your investigation, and will make sure its contents are made public. You have twenty minutes."

As Minerva re-entered the Great hall, it was clear that she had little work to do; The majority of the Governors were in favour of the amendment. She would do her best to draw out the particulars, and hope Emmanuel Walker had developed more sense since the time he had left Ravenclaw house.

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"What the hell Dennis!" Hermione spluttered as soon as she made her way to her feet on the dusty road, overlooking a sprawling, picturesque lavender field.

Dennis had hit the ground far harder than she had, and his reply came out in a winded voice, his hands bracing his knees as he tried to catch his breath: "Sorry, I thought Professor McGonagall had told you. Kingsley made a port key, should we need to get away quickly, that she was to give to you. He thought there was a chance a ministry official might alert the MLE"

Hermione fumed silently, and examined the small brass inkwell.

"He was right. Still, a warning might have been nice. Where are we?"

"Provence." Dennis finally stood upright and moved towards her. "It's only-"

A shrill electronic buzz filled the air, as the mobile in his pocket spluttered to life, ringing out. Hermione looked out at the blue fields spanning the vista, and absently brushed the dust from her robes, as Dennis took the call. It must be the lingering anger, or the adrenaline still pumping through her system from the meeting, but waiting as Dennis nodded, then paled, suddenly seemed impossible.

"What, Dennis, who is it?" She reached for the phone and the teen surrendered it to her.

"Hermione?!" The clear shout almost bombarded her ear drum.

"Arthur?"

"I've just stepped out of the ministry, Harry just came, he snuck in on his way to see Burges, he knows I've got the Fellytone now. Hermione, Harry said the Ministry knew you were somewhere unplottable, and said Emmanuel mentioned a potion; They have a way of tracking you; or they did. I'm not sure, but they used a map. Stay calm, and stay alert. I've got to go, I've already had a lunch break and I'm sure I'm being watched."

Hermione listened to the dial tone, her grip tight on the plastic phone. She'd barely had time to take it all in, let alone to explain he needn't yell, and she hoped that if anyone was following him, they were trailing him from a wide distance.

Hermione handed the phone back to Dennis, and his anxious look was like a spark that flared the adrenaline into a flame once more.

"Okay. Let's go."

Dennis pocketed the mobile, and gripped her hand tightly as he whirled them into apparition.

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Emmanuel said nothing as his men attempted to explain that the signature was still there, but it was not Hermione Grangers.

He had remained silent, his wand outstretched, the curls of the magical traces glowing and twirling faintly around it.

His face didn't move, as a nervous voice informed him that they had no way of knowing where it led, with the heavy interference in the hall.

Burges had warned him about the importance of subtlety, and he quietly dismissed his men, waiting until the last had made his way through the great doors, before raising his wand once more.

He cast a rather excellent disillusionment charm. It was all in the focus, despite his current fury, and then the subsequently cast silencing charm on his feet. Footsteps could give the game away.

He took the corridor on the left, made his way through the trophy room, and nudged the door by the raised platform usually inhabited by professors during meals, until the voices of those within drifted clearly.

"... I say we inform the press immediately, before we introduce the amendment to the Wizengamot. I know you've said you will take care of that Minerva, but a public declaration beforehand is imperative. You heard the Granger girl, it's important that we not be left taking the blame for this mess. "

"I think it's important to mention that we've listened to the appeals of those affected in order to come to this decision too…"

Emmanuel came away from the door, following his route back to the Entrance Hall.

He fired a Patronus, knowing it would arrive to Burges faster than he could.

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"Betty, darling, It's like this." Rita began, finally, after listening to Braithewaite's whinging complaints as she nursed the cold coffee for a good ten minutes. "I always land back on my feet. That's half the game. The trick, you see, is not to reveal your hand. Cliche, I know, but the thing is Betty, I like you. I can see the talent there. You've still got all your moral quandaries, which is dull I'll admit, but you've put more than a few aside when it comes down to the deadline. Now, you know as well as anyone that Amorin will have nothing to do with me, and quite frankly going over his head is tiresome and risky. You want to look good, and I want to dish the dirt on what the Granger bitch is up to. You don't trust me, but you trust my motives on that I think."

Rita watched Betty and thought it rather marvelous that, while no one in his right mind working at the Prophet (an oxymoron in itself) would ever claim to trust her, they all implicitly did. They trusted her to work in her own best interest, number one, and now, they trusted her to do everything in her power to tear down Granger, number two. Which just went to show that even when people knew better, they didn't.

"So what's your hand?" Betty mumbled, interested despite her better instincts.

"Here." Rita pulled a Manila envelope from her handbag, placing it on the table. She watched Betty's face as the witch's eyes widened and mouth fell open.

"Why on earth didn't you give this to Cuffe?" She flicked through the contents of the file, and Rita knew she'd seen the photograph of Harry Potter shaking a French ministry official's hand, with Luna Lovegood in the shot. She knew because the reporter instinctively hid it from anyone who might be looking over her shoulder.

"Oh, darling, did I say you had talent? Use it, quickly, before I change my mind." Rita knew she couldn't be nice to the younger reporter entirely, lest she get suspicious.

"He wouldn't run it, or wouldn't be allowed to. What use is it to me then?" Betty had finally reached the end of the folder, and held up the small paper napkin, brow furrowed.

"Well, unlike me, you haven't got a non-compete clause in your contract. Witch Weekly has been quiet lately, I'm sure they're dying to be in the loop."

"Is this?"

Rita smiled.

"The address Luna Lovegood gave, when she emigrated to France, yesterday. I rather suspect that as a close associate of Miss Granger, it might be a place to start."

Before Lucy could marshal the argument no doubt running through her head into cognizant language, the hubbub across the street rose in volume, and the window display in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes changed to a large-scale blow up of The Quibbler. Hermione Granger's erratic appearance scowled down as the crowd of people rushing to enter the store grew and swallowed up the first of the lot to leave with their own copy of the magazine in tow.

Rita stood, picking up her handbag.

"Oh, and Lucy, it seems to me that if anyone else were attempting to emigrate, they might use the same address. Already been inspected and listed; streamlines the process. Now, keep your hand hidden and don't dawdle. I don't think I can stand to be wrong about you, it would simply be too predictable."

She left Betty sitting there, and swiftly made her way up the alley, back to the newsroom. She knew more than one reporter who would be glad of a tip off, and she needed a new photographer before the rundown.

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Dennis apparated them to a small deserted square, shaded from the afternoon light by tall Parisian apartment buildings and four tall straight birch trees. The brick pavement centered around a raised wallace fountain, and Hermione determinedly walked up beside it, nodded to Dennis, then coughed.

As the roots of the trees rose from the brick, growing and flowing into a weaved cage around them, she did her best to beat the panic welling in her throat down, and summon the feeling of victory she had felt addressing the board.

It did not come. That had been easy. She knew, for the most part, how the board would react. She knew, realistically, she could run before anyone detained her. Now she was heading into an unfamiliar location with nothing but the name given to her by a French Auror. She had no real idea if they would help, and she couldn't help remembering the last two incidents she had entered a magical ministry with a mission in mind. At least, if the MLE had a means of tracing her location, they probably wouldn't pursue her outright in the middle of a foreign power's ministry. Maybe.

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I think this chapter gave me whiplash to write, hopefully it's not too over the top to read.