Stranger Than Fiction
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.
Author's note: Once again thanks for the reviews, they really help to keep me writing. I hope that in this part I have calculated a reasonable timeline for the events previously described, as I have never actually read the epilogue. I am sure that someone will let me know if I haven't.
Part 7. A Visit to the Ministry
Harry's memories had given me my first real clue that things might not be quite as straight forward as Melissa had seemed to think. I couldn't help but notice that, although Harry had attempted to distance himself from Hermione in the early years after Voldemort's defeat - for his own fairly expedient and irrational reasons, it seemed to me - the last partial memory that I had seen suggested that their rapport was still as strong as ever. I always thought that Harry greatly over estimated the importance of the Weasleys, since none of them could hold a candle to Hermione in either magical ability or loyalty. I also considered that Harry underestimated his own abilities somewhat. He had shown a great deal of promise in his early years at Hogwarts with his skill at flying and at defense against the dark arts. Harry was the first student in his year to produce a fully fledged patronus and I believe that he also demonstrated a quite remarkable ability to resist the Imperius curse. However, he then made little magical progress in his fifth and sixth years, presumably because of the pressures resulting from the return of Voldemort, but possibly also as a result of his preoccupation with first Cho Chang and then Ginny Weasley. Hormones can unfortunately have a devastating effect, even in young wizards and witches.
The memories, which I had observed, were presumably the last ones that Harry had himself reviewed, since they were each separated by a considerable number of years. The first scene, in the motorway service station, had clearly taken place only a few months after I had last met with Harry and Hermione up in Hogsmeade. Since Hermione was only just pregnant at the time of the second memory and, according to Melissa, her first child was starting at Hogwarts nineteen years after Hermione had herself turned eighteen, the scene at Arthur Weasley's birthday party must have occurred around eight years later. The final scene was fairly recent and would, therefore, seem to have happened soon after the events depicted in the epilogue - originally described to me by Melissa - were meant to have taken place.
Hermione's demeanor in the first of the memories was troubling. While she was always a fairly high-strung and emotional girl, I remembered thinking that her behavior in her sixth year at school had become slightly erratic, but I had put this down to her harrowing experience at the Ministry of Magic the previous year. However, it appeared that I had misjudged the amount of strain that she was really under. She also seemed slightly depressed in the second of the memories, although Harry appeared to be able to cheer her up. By the third memory, her attitude was more relaxed and self-confident, which was altogether more encouraging. The behavior that I had observed from Ronald and Ginny Weasley in the second memory seemed to tie in well with the opinions expressed to me, all those years ago, by Hagrid and Cho Chang and their unease over the relationship between Harry and Hermione was almost palpable. This was all very interesting, but I was still no nearer to tracking down Hermione or to discovering why Muggles were being enthralled by a series of books about Harry Potter, relating the momentous events that had shaken the wizarding world in the fairly recent past. I felt that I had made little real progress in pursuing my main objectives.
I went back to 14, Flamel Mews the next day and I managed to persuade Mr. Brewett to return to his shop - to pick up some documentation on charm defenses - while we were in the middle of a second viewing of the property. This gave me the opportunity to retrace my steps to the attic, but unfortunately I could find no evidence of the hidden pensieve. It appeared that Harry, or someone else, must have returned to the house in secret and removed it. If this was the case, then Harry was probably already aware that his memories had been tampered with and was, I should imagine, not best pleased. However, with the avenue of investigation provided by the pensieve now closed, I had to return to my original plan of a visit to the Ministry of Magic, regardless of the consequences.
I still had my security clearance at the Ministry, albeit at a low level, and so a short time later I found myself walking across the highly polished, dark wood floor of the atrium, towards a rather bored looking young witch seated behind a desk at the far end. I was pleased to see that this level of the building had been restored to its former splendor and that the Fountain of Magical Brethren, albeit in a modified and less controversial form, had been reinstated. The tinkling sound of the fountain had always provided a soothing counterpoint to the frenetic activity that generally characterized the Ministry and, at the present time, it also helped to soften the rather harsh and intrusive sound of my footsteps on the hard wooden floor.
"I would like to see Harry Potter, please," I said imperiously to the young witch at the desk. I have always found that taking a high-handed manner with administrative staff is the best way to avoid too many awkward questions.
"Sorry, that's not possible," was the sullen and immediate reply.
"But, you don't understand, dear," I informed the young lady in as commanding a tone as I could muster, "I am an old friend of Mr. Potter's and I have some very urgent business with him."
"No, you don't understand, missus. He's not here. He's on sabbatical."
I noticed that the girl had trouble pronouncing the last word; clearly the standard of staff at the Ministry wasn't improving. However, this information was most unwelcome and didn't help my plans in the slightest.
"Well, when will he return?" I asked patiently.
"Don't know, missus. It's what's called open-ended." The girl appeared to be enjoying her success in frustrating me.
"In that case," I tried to regain the initiative, "I will need to contact Mr. Potter at home. Could you give me his address please?"
"Sorry, missus. I can't do that. That information is confidential. Man in Mr. Potter's position - I'm sure you can understand."
"But, look," I pleaded, dropping all pretense of superiority, "I'm Minerva McGonagall. I taught Harry Potter at Hogwarts. He would want you to give me his address."
"Don't care if you're Merlin himself, missus. More than my job's worth to give out that information to anyone. Anyway, I'm not cleared to access it."
I decided to change tack. "In that case, could I speak to Mr. Ronald Weasley, please?"
"Oh dear, isn't your day is it? Mr. Weasley is away on business. He won't be back until next month," the girl replied, with what I thought was an unnecessarily cheerful smile.
"Where's he gone?" I asked, suspecting the answer as I spoke.
"Sorry, that's classified information. I can't tell you."
I sighed. "And, I don't suppose that you can tell me where he lives either?" I suggested and the girl shook her head in confirmation.
I was at a loss. I was out of touch with the mainstream now, but surely there must be someone that I knew in the Ministry who could help me? I was aware that Arthur Weasley had retired a number of years ago, so that was no use and I felt uneasy about broaching the subject with Arthur in any case. And then I remembered Jennifer Wood, Oliver's older sister. She had been two years ahead of Oliver at Hogwarts but had also been in Gryffindor, so I knew her well. She had gone to work in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes straight from school.
"What about Jennifer Wood?" I asked desperately. "Does she still work here?"
"Finally, you're in luck," said the girl, with a chuckle. "I'll ask if she can see you. What did you say your name was again?"
Once the receptionist had made contact, Jennifer said that she would be delighted to see me and so, after reluctantly handing in my wand to security and with my silver visitor's badge pinned to my lapel, I rode one of the numerous, clanking elevators up to Level Three. Unfortunately, Jennifer was unable to help with either Harry's current address or his whereabouts. However, my visit to her had managed to get me out of the reception area and through security and she was able to confirm the number of Harry's office, which, as I suspected, was situated in the rarified atmosphere of Level One. I also obtained the location of Ronald Weasley's office, in case I should need it. He was based down on Level Seven, quite some distance from Harry, but I hoped that a visit to his office would prove unnecessary. After thanking Jennifer, and without much hope but with a display of bravado that I certainly didn't feel, I marched purposefully back to the elevators and ascended two more floors to Level One.
I exited onto a quiet corridor, fitted with deep-pile mauve carpeting and with dark stained wood paneling on the walls. Checking in both directions, to make sure that nobody was about, I moved furtively away from the elevators, examining the brass numbers fixed to the heavy oak doors that occasionally interrupted the paneling to make sure that I was heading in the right direction. Harry's office was situated around a corner at the very end of the corridor, at the rear of a large open-plan area in which a bored-looking, very attractive, young witch was sitting behind an uncluttered, shiny, dark wooden desk. The girl was idly shuffling a few memos with her wand as she surreptitiously checked the time on a wall clock placed opposite her. I assumed that she must be Harry's personal assistant, with little to occupy her in his absence. Fortunately, I was out of her direct line of sight as I peered around the corner and she therefore wasn't aware of my presence. I hurriedly retraced my steps back towards the elevators, trying to decide what I should do next. As luck would have it, as I approached, there was a loud clanging sound and one of the elevators stopped at this level. The doors slid open and one of the small paper aeroplanes, used to carry internal memos around the building, darted out at eye level and headed in my direction.
I managed to grab the speeding messenger by its wing as it went by. It struggled briefly, like a parakeet being pushed back into its cage, before I was able to immobilize it with a "parchment paralysis" charm. I then performed a fairly simple piece of wandless magic to erase the current message and replace it with the words, "All senior personal assistants should report immediately to Room 713. Please bring your Quick-Quotes Quills with you;" this last part was designed to add an air of authenticity to the instruction and I was quite proud of it. I refolded the aeroplane and pointed it in the direction of Harry's office. I waited a few moments and then started to walk in the opposite direction away from the elevators. Sure enough, I heard soft footsteps coming down the corridor behind me and Harry's personal assistant entered an elevator and descended without paying any attention to my retreating form. I knew that it wouldn't take her long to discover my subterfuge and so I hurried back along the corridor and was soon standing outside of the splendid, paneled oak door to Harry's office, complete with the engraved brass plaque bearing the title, "Mr. H. Potter, Minister for Magic." I tried the door handle and not surprisingly found that it was locked. Without my wand, it seemed highly unlikely that I would be able to gain access to Harry's office in the short time that I probably had available.
Fearing that I had drawn another blank, I frantically surveyed the work area of the personal assistant. The young witch was clearly very well organized and most things had been tidied away. In despair, I pulled on the brass handle fixed to the top drawer of her desk but to no avail. She was obviously also highly security conscious and all of the drawers and cupboards appeared to be locked. I contemplated forcing one of them open, but I couldn't be sure if anyone was in earshot and would hear the resulting commotion. The only things that didn't appear to be locked away were a few harmless inter-departmental memos - the very ones that the girl had been toying with - some typical office ornaments, a few quills, an appointments book - that had been charmed so that nothing in it was visible unless you knew the counter-charm - and a row of books of various types and sizes, arranged haphazardly on a wooden shelf behind her desk. I quickly looked along the spines of these books to see if there was anything of interest there. They were mainly books concerned with wizarding law, magical creatures and various items of office practice. However, amongst them was a rather old Muggle atlas of Great Britain. This seemed slightly incongruous, although clearly Harry retained an interest in Muggle affairs and needed to keep abreast of them in his job.
Out of curiosity, I pulled the book from the shelf, taking care not to disturb its neighbors. As I held it loosely in my hands, the book seemed to open, very slightly, at a particular page. Examining this page closely, I could see that the corner of it had been folded down at some stage and that this very minor blemish detracted from the evenness of the other pages, drawing attention to the place. This seemed like something that Harry might do. Any pureblood wizard, wanting to mark their position in a book, would do so with a simple "bookmark" charm. Harry, however, had never completely rid himself of some of his Muggle habits and presumably this was one of them. Wondering if Harry's interest in this page might be significant, I carefully tore it out along the spine and then pushed the atlas back into its place amongst the other books on the shelf. Folding the page into quarters and concealing it beneath my robes, I hurried back to the elevators and pressed the downward button. Fortunately, an elevator arrived in seconds and as the doors closed behind me, I heard the unmistakable sound of another elevator stopping at the First Level, possibly marking the return of Harry's, presumably irate, assistant; but by then I had already started my descent. Retrieving my wand from security and handing in my badge, I left the Ministry in as nonchalant a fashion as I could manage, with my knees still shaking, giving the receptionist a careless wave as I passed by.
I apparated home straight away and unfolded the stolen page; laying it out flat on my kitchen table. Nothing on it seemed particularly significant to me, although I have to confess that I am no expert in Muggle geography. I am also not particularly skilled in the art of potion making, but nevertheless I dragged my fairly battered old cauldron from its resting place in the cupboard under the kitchen sink and used it to prepare a revealing potion that I hoped might be of some use. This potion, which I had frequently relied upon to detect cheating in homework assignments given to my students at Hogwarts, could be utilized to indicate the handling of parchment, turning a different color for each separate person involved, and I hoped that it would also work on Muggle paper. I set the strength of the potion to indicate handling within the previous month and then painted the clear liquid over the side of the page on which the fold was present. Sure enough, after a few minutes the potion indicated a series of pale green fingerprints around the edges of the page and a curved stripe of the same color moving from the bottom edge towards the centre, as if someone had drawn their finger tip across the page. This stripe ended right on a tiny black circle with black lettering by its side, marking the position of a small Muggle village to the north of London.
I was immensely grateful that the atlas had been in Harry's possession. This was just the type of careless, rash mistake that he had always been prone to make. I was certain that someone like Hermione would have been much more cautious about covering their tracks. So, why had Harry been looking at this page and specifically at that location? Could the village be where he was taking his sabbatical? Or could someone he knew be staying there? Had I finally located Hermione? Of course, the most likely answer was that the village had something to do with Harry's work and represented nothing at all for me to get excited about.
One thing was for certain; there was only one way that I was going to find out.