Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden from Hogwarts

Chapter Two

Hermione Granger and the Year Hidden from Hogwarts

Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 2

A/N: I'm not sure what the Department of Education and Science would've been referred to as colloquially in the mid 80's, despite my research. The name dropped the "and Science" part in the early nineties, but that was all I uncovered. I just abbreviated it to its acronym like we do for Child Protective Services in the US.

October 29, 1985

The room they'd been placed in lacked windows, so they'd missed the sunrise, even if the clock on the wall now read that it was half past ten.

"Bet you regret not getting the digestives out now, don't you?" Mr. Granger grumbled.

"Daddy," Hermione pleaded, not wanting her parents to fight when things were so terrifying at the moment.

"I'm sorry, tootsie pants. Sorry, dear. You both know how I get when I'm feeling peckish."

Mrs. Granger reached for her husband's hand, giving it a dainty squeeze. "We know. I should've known better and fed the mountain troll when the chance presented itself."

He stole his hand out from beneath hers like it was a live wire. "Oi!"

Whatever comeback had been brewing was cut short as the door to the interview room opened for the first time in four hours. The intaking office that'd taken their report down, Officer Curtis, approached, grim-faced and with a file in his hand.

"Well, I'm afraid it's not good news."

Her parents straightened.

"We found the girl. Light blue dress—"

"Periwinkle," Hermione corrected automatically, and then blushed bright red when the officer's eyes cut up to hers. "Sorry," she mumbled, properly chastised.

"Periwinkle dress," he emphasized, making her cheeks burn hotter. "Folded lace socks and black shoes."

Hermione only just managed to stop herself from reminding him that they were Mary Jane shoes. It couldn't be helped. They'd found the girl. For the first time, it felt like something productive had come from her ability to see the dead.

Her parents looked lost, though, likely coming to the same realization—or at least Hermione desperately hoped so—that she'd been telling the truth all these years. She wasn't crazy.

"What does this mean?" her mother whispered, looking lost as her world upended off its axis.

The officer didn't answer her.

"And the crane?" Hermione prodded, hoping for more proof in case her parents were still on the fence.

Officer Curtis leaned back in his seat, his fingers tapping the closed file. He'd yet to open it. "Just as you said, we found her in the heart of Spitalfields, hidden in an alley just off Hanbury Street with a view of the famous mural. In fact, where they found her, was almost a perfect match to the perspective of the drawing you made."

"Oh, well, I didn't—" Hermione began even as her parents also rushed to correct the officer.

"I don't...Hermione's not..."

"There's no way our Hermione could've drawn that picture," her dad finished baldly. At his wife and daughter's dirty looks, he backpedaled. "Not that we don't love you with all our hearts, tootsie pants, but you such as an artist."

"I'm six!"

He ruffled her already untamable mane of hair. "Doesn't matter, kid. When you've got it, you've got it. And you don't got it."