When Magic is Useless

When Magic is Useless: Chapter 3

By Indus

Disclaimer: Again, no copyright of JK Rowling and publishers of Harry Potter intended. This is for non-commercial uses only. Any original characters are mine and I am usually willing to share if my permission is asked.

Warning: The rating shouldn't be more than R, with some adult issues but nothing graphic. But this might be a slash story eventually, so squeamish people beware.

Summary: What can the most powerful wizards in England do when their child's kidnapping is a Muggle crime?

5 ½ years Later

Hermione pulled off her earrings and tossed them onto the kitchen table. Behind her, Ron sat down on one of the chairs, sighing his exhaustion. She laughed. "It wasn't that long of a day, Mr. Weasley."

"Yes it was. And we are getting older, Mrs. Weasley."

She made a face at her husband. "We are not old, Ron. We are still only thirty-eight, and full-time Aurors."

"While that is most certainly true, love, we just attended the graduation of two of the next generation of Weasleys from Hogwarts. Do you realize that Lily will be starting Auror training in just a few months, while Art is starting work full-time at Fred and George's shop next week?"

"I know. It's hard to believe that they are eighteen." Hermione meant her words as a joke, but neither she nor Ron could laugh. They were both reminded of the one subject they had all decided not to mention that day, despite the fact that none of them could stop wondering how much more special it would have been if three Weasley/Potter children were graduating together.

Looking suddenly as old as he felt, although Ron's hair was still full and fiery, and his face only slightly lined, her husband said that he would check on Phillip.

Hermione smiled slightly in response. She looked out of the window at the dark night. She could hear Ron's footsteps on the stairs, and her father's snoring from the guest bedroom. Her parents had stayed the night so that she and Ron could attend the party Harry and Percy had thrown together for their children's graduations. All the children had attended, which made for a very large Weasley guest list, and Hermione had a feeling that Harry had decided to combine the parties to save Percy and Penelope some money. Although Molly and Arthur's surviving children were all more comfortable financially than their parents had been, Penelope was pregnant with her eighth child and it was difficult for them to throw lavish parties. Besides, the Weasleys were Harry's only family aside from Remus and Sirius.

However, the youngest children had all been sent home when it was time for bed. Phillip and Jem, another of Percy's children, were staying at Hermione's home, but Rowena was spending the night at James Potter's home in Hogsmeade.

The adults had stayed together from the time of the graduation, ten in the morning, until about three a.m. the next day. And in those fifteen hours, not once had Hermione's eldest son's name been spoken. Alexander had been on everyone's mind, so they had implicitly decided not to discuss him, and let the day be about the two who had been able to graduate. Dear Lily and Art, so brilliant and so in love. They had made such a perfect picture she had almost, but not quite, stopped herself from thinking of Alexander, who should have graduated that day.

Turning, she looked at a picture that remained one of her favorites, framed and in a prominent position on a shelf. Baby Alexander was cradled in his Grandmother Molly's arms, while Arthur stood behind his wife, beaming proudly. He was the first grandchild, although Penelope would give birth a week later and Harry's wife Marcia would have Lily within a month. It had been one of Arthur's favorite jokes that his youngest son had a child before any of his other siblings. The only ones to marry before Ron and Hermione were Percy and Penelope, who had waited to settle down before having Art. Ron and Hermione married a year after graduation and Alexander was born when they were twenty. Harry and Marcia had not married until three months before Lily was born, since the pregnancy had been an unexpected, and at first unwanted, surprise. However, it had not taken long for both Harry and Marcia to regard Lily as one of the greatest things to have happened to their lives, tied with the birth of her brother and second only to their meeting at Vernon's sister's funeral, which they had attended because Hermione insisted that it was the proper thing for Harry to do, and Marcia, a veterinarian, had wanted to show appreciation for Ms. Dursley's business. And so the three children, who all called Molly and Arthur, as well as Remus and Sirius, their grandparents, had been born almost immediately after one another, and had become a trio like Ron, Hermione and Harry had been. But Alexander was the eldest, the first, and he had meant so much to all of them as a symbol of what they had worked for, and suffered for, during the first and second wars against Voldemort. Perhaps that was why none of them had ever recovered from losing him.

She jumped a little when she felt her husband's strong arms wind around her. Despite her Auror skills she had not heard him step into the room. His chin came to rest on her shoulder, and his breath warmed her ear when he spoke. "He was a beautiful boy."

"Yes he was," she answered simply, her eyes never wavering from the sweet boy. "He looked exactly like pictures of you at his age. If I had not suffered through twenty hours of labor, I could almost have said he was all yours. There was not one physical aspect of me he inherited except for my teeth, and Molly was kind enough to correct that as soon as he was old enough."

Ron shook his head, rubbing his chin on her shoulder comfortingly. "He may physically have looked exactly like me, but from the beginning he was your son in temperament. He read Hogwarts: A History before Art and Lily were done with Quidditch through the Ages. He always thought things through and was well known for his encyclopedic knowledge. In his first"- and here Ron faltered as it occurred to both of them that it was also Alexander's only complete- "year at Hogwarts, he was the best student in his class. Oh Hermione, if he did not appear to have inherited a single physical feature from you, he certainly had your mind."

"Dad, Mum, can I have a glass of water?"

As she had been doing for six years, Hermione wiped away all traces of her grief and admonished her youngest child lightly for being out of bed at that time of night. Phillip was still only seven, but he showed signs of being Hermione's son in appearance as much as Alexander had resembled their father, though he was all Ron on the inside. The only physical aspect of Ron he had inherited was the Weasley hair, which was shared by each and every one of his cousins. When all of the children came together, the only non-redheads were Lily and James, which Hermione thought was rather ironic considering the first Lily Potter's hair was a calmer, less fiery shade of red.

Ron and Hermione gave their son a glass of water and teased him about his rather unexpected friendship with Alice Longbottom. They laughed, tickled and groaned their way upstairs to bed, as if the parents were thinking of nothing more important than what to feed their son and his friend for breakfast since they had all just come back from a family vacation and there were no groceries at home. Ron and Hermione had long ago decided that their children deserved a happy, complete upbringing, and Alexander would be the only of their children to have his childhood so tragically cut short. They had accomplished this, helped greatly by their very supportive friends and family. Moreover, Rowena, or Ro as she was more often called, turned out to be as much of a prankster as her uncles Fred and George. About to start her fifth year at Hogwarts, she was going to miss her cousin Art, with whom she had charmed the ceiling of the Great Hall to display the opposite weather of what was actually outside. It had taken Headmistress McGonagall two weeks to realize what they had done, and she had been furious with them and Deputy Headmaster Lupin, whose wolfish senses allowed him to feel the weather as humans could not and therefore he had known about the prank all along. With her hilarious stunts and ability to make light of almost anything, she kept Ron and Hermione busy worrying about what she would pull next and writing Howlers to Hogwarts.

*

Lily and Art sat together on the porch of the Potter's secluded home, playing with a tabby suffering from an infected ear. They talked quietly, saying nothing important but reveling in the simple pleasure of being in the same vicinity.

"Ouch!" Art stuck his finger in his mouth and glared at the cat. It appeared that she did not want to play anymore.

"She bit you?" Lily sounded more amused than sympathetic. Having a vet for a mother had trained her not to take small nips very seriously. Only the ones Marcia kept in cages were dangerous.

"Shut up," Art said without any rancor.

They were both silent for a few minutes, thinking of the day that had passed. It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that they were not students any more. They were now officially adults.

Lily's soft voice broke through his reverie. "I can't believe I am never going back to Hogwarts to study."

"I know; it's a little frightening. Everything is changing."

"No, not everything." She leaned over and took his hand, bringing it up to rest against her cheek. "This will never change." There was a promise of forever in her eyes, reflected in his.

They murmured declarations of love, holding on to one another, but still skirting the real issue. It had been implicitly decided that neither of them would ever speak of Alexander to one another, unless forced to by some family discussion, and for six years they stood by their decision. But the day of their graduation had been too much for them. And it was time.

Unsurprisingly, it was Lily who broached the issue. She was her father's daughter, and did not lack the strength to face difficult moments. "He should have been there today."

Art turned away to hide the tears that suddenly threatened to spill. It had been an emotional day, and wonderful, but by no means perfect. Art had not had a perfect day for six years. "I still miss him so much."

Lily clutched his hand tighter. "I do too. Oh, I know our relationship was different, because you were boys and I have my close girlfriends, but we were all three the best of friends. We were both closer to him than we were to each other; perhaps we knew from the beginning that we were destined to be lovers. And just as there has been no one for you to talk to about me, there hasn't been anyone for me to talk to about you. I used to sit on the top of the Astronomy Tower and imagine that I was speaking to him." She stopped for a minute, swallowing her tears to continue. "But it wasn't the same. He couldn't answer me, or give me advice. Alexander always had something to say about everything." His name was more of a sob than a word, but Art had no trouble understanding her.

"I never had another best friend. The guys in the dorm are friends, but no one could take his place. Least of all me."

Lily's tears dried. "You've done a good job..."

Art stood up and paced the length of the porch. "Don't patronize me, Lily! When Alex... left, I became the oldest, and the responsible one. And look at what I did. I am sure that half of Rowena's detentions are for pranks that I was a part of or that I inspired. If it had been me who... who... died, I know Alexander would have done a great job of making sure everyone had eaten a healthy meal and got good grades. He would have..."

"Been like Uncle Percy?"

"What's wrong with my father?" Art shot back, his face flushed.

Lily stood up and walked towards him. Taking his head in her hands, she drew him nearer until their foreheads were pressed together. "Nothing is wrong with your father. You know that I love him, but I don't believe that Uncle Percy could have done anything better. After all, Uncle Ron and Aunt Ginny went through quite a bit of turmoil and dangerous exploits while Uncle Percy was in school."

Art contemplated her words for a minute or two in silence. Finally, he nodded his acquiescence and went on to talk about the best friend he had lost so many years ago. "He would have been Head Boy, you know."

Lily laughed, thinking of her Aunt Hermione and all the stories her father had told her about what a perfectionist she had been. At twelve, Alexander's character had developed enough for everyone to identify his mother's approach to reading, education and life continuing strong within his body.

"Instead we had that stupid Ravenclaw, Cedric Wood," Art continued griping. "That bloody freak deducted points from fellow seventh-years for being outside after hours. No one deducts points from seventh-years unless they do something really bad, especially not your peers."

"Oh, stop complaining." Rolling her eyes, Lily recognized the need for her to stop Art from setting down the familiar path of pointing out all of poor Cedric's flaws. Of course Cedric was not as terrible as Art made him out to be, although he did come close. "You all got yours back with all those pranks you, Ro and Shawn played on him."

Art managed to look wounded. "We could hardly avoid doing so. After all, Shawn's father is a partner and co-founder of the greatest joke shop in all of Diagon Alley. Besides, he asked for it."

"He wasn't Alexander." She did not say it sarcastically or even reproachfully. It was a statement of fact. Poor Cedric Wood was not Alexander Weasley, and therefore Art Weasley resented him.

Standing in the moonlight just hours after they had graduated, they held on to each other. No, Cedric wasn't Alexander; no one was, and no one could be. The absence of a third pair of arms would always be felt when they were together, clasping lovingly instead of amorously. And for the first time in six years, they dedicated the night to the memory of Alexander. Breaking the silent vow to never speak about the boy or his tragic end, they spent all night discussing their exploits as children. Tears of joy, pain and sorrow mingled on their faces as they remembered their best friend and the memories that they, and only they, shared.

*

Far away, in a small school in rural England, a young man packed his bags and prepared to leave school. He too had graduated that day, and was moving to London to work as an assistant to a healer.

Folding the last of his clothes, Ash found a little cloth bag stuffed inside the sleeve of an old shirt. Loosening the string that kept the bag closed, he reached in and pulled out the objects he kept hidden inside. Ignoring the snapshots that he could not quite look at yet, he took out a small twig. It had been taken from a bush outside the Weasley home in London about four years ago. Although healers had to be familiar with herbs that could be used for medication, this was a plant he had not studied. Hermione's parents had made sure that their daughter's house was surrounded by Muggle plants, but Ron and his offspring had little interest in anything that did not do 'something.'

However, Ash was interested in studying these Muggle plants to see if they could be useful to the magical community. While witches and wizards often grew roses in their gardens, they did it for aesthetic reasons, never trying to make new magical treatments with them. Like everything else, they had separated herbology into plants that wizards used and those that Muggles cultivated. Even if they kept them in their homes, they considered them Muggle creations without any real value. But what if they were wrong?

That was what Ash would find out, while he assisted the healer in Diagon Alley. He felt a little queasy at the thought of returning there, but he knew it would be on his terms. No one would recognize him; he had become quite good at glamour spells.

*

Early the next day, someone rapped on the Weasley front door loudly. It had to be a Muggle they knew; there were wards to warn them when strangers, Fred and George or mere acquaintances approached and wizards would know to put their wand in the groove to communicate with Hermione and Ron directly.

Hermione groaned and went to answer the door. It was better that way as Ron tended to act strangely around her Muggle friends. But it was too early in the morning to be one of them.

She became a little anxious. Could there have been an accident? Rowena wasn't home, and Hermione began to envision cars mowing down her daughter and the like. Her anxiety was in no way diminished when she opened her front door to the Muggle police-man who had handled Alexander's case so many years before.

"Ron! Ron, come down here." She was barely conscious of turning to scream for her husband, only recognizing her fear of what this man would say. He greeted her, but she could not hear him over the roaring in her ears. Then Ron was there, and her world leveled as he grasped her shoulder to give and take comfort.

"What is it, Officer Weeds?" Ron asked, his hand shaking a little as he motioned for the man to come in and be seated.

"It is Inspector Weeds now, sir, and I have some new information to give you regarding the case of your son, Alexander Weasley." The man looked around the house, seeing the differences that time and grief had wrought. It was neater now, and it seemed as if they had picked up the pieces, but he noticed that while there were a great many pictures of the children all over the house, there were few family photographs anywhere. As many other things in the house, everything he saw was enchanted to look Muggle unless the observer had magical blood, and the pictures were still images of the actual moving shots. Of course, the actual picture did not change, so he was right in thinking that it had been difficult for them to take family pictures after the family was irrevocably changed.

He wasn't just noticing what they had done with the house after losing the son; he was also searching for people that he did not see there. "Are your friends available? Your sister, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Potter?"

"No, should we call them for something?" Ron's face whitened as he realized what that could mean. "Merlin, you've found him then?" Ignoring Hermione's pained cry, he continued speaking, some self-destructive and hurtful thing inside him prompting the angry, bitter voice to ask the impossible question. "You've found a body, then?"

Weeds looked down at his shiny black shoes. No matter how long one worked cases like this, it never got easier to see that expression on the face of a parent. "No, sir, but at this point we do not see the likelihood of ever finding him. But I am afraid that we have found where he was taken, and by whom. I just have one question- can you possible recognize this boy as your son?"

Hermione's trembling hand grasped the glossy print and she drew breath before she glanced at it. Yes, it was her son, taken not too long after he was stolen from her. He was filthy, and there was something desperate and terrifyingly old in his eyes. By the slump of his shoulders, she could see that he had already given up any hope of rescue, but his hair was still the same length and style as the last time she saw him, and he did not look any older than twelve. She nodded, and felt Ron's arm leave her shoulders as he got up to pace around the room. "Where was this taken?"

"You can see the casks behind you. It was a wine cellar of a man we found a few days ago after a boy who had escaped gave us the necessary information. In a drawer in the bedroom, we found various pictures of all the children he has kidnapped over the years, and we are trying to identify them."

Ron was now standing in front of the mirror. Refusing to turn around, he asked in a voice that was not quite his whether the children were safe.

Weeds shut his eyes, trying to forget what he had seen as he gave them a condensed, cleaner version of the truth. "No we believe that this last was the first child to escape alive. We know that he tended to keep the boys for a matter of days, sometimes weeks or months, and then he would kill them. His method of disposal was rather quick and permanent, so we have no way of knowing the fate of each individual child. I'm sorry for both of you, and I wish I could give you some hope but I don't believe that those children survived."

Hermione remembered the clock that had stopped, and realized that she had never really accepted her son as dead. Staring at the beautiful but frightened face captured on a piece of paper in her hand, she wondered if she ever would.

Keeping his gaze firmly fixed on something outside, Ron continued his questions. "Do you have any way of knowing how long my son was with him?"

"Actually, we don't think it was for too long. There was only the one picture of him, while some of the other boys he kept longer had a great deal more photographs in the drawer."

Hermione broke into the questioning, not wanting to wonder where this was leading. She knew what Ron wanted to know, but wasn't quite ready for that yet. There was something she had wanted to ask for more than four years, and it was killing her not to know the answer. "Why Alexander? Why my son?"

"All of the children in the pictures were red-haired." And it was that simple. A little boy, about the right age, with the right colored hair and an entire family was devastated..

Ron had had enough of their evasion. Turning around, his face the same color as his hair, he asked in a far too loud voice what he wanted with the children. "Why did he do to them before he killed them?"

Looking pleadingly at the couple, Weeds asked again if there was anyone he could call.

"Just tell us!" Ron was fairly vibrating with the force of his anger. Somehow, Hermione had the strength to go to him and hold him and be held in return. They would face this together.

Weeds had no choice. "He is a child molester"-

Ron made a sound that was not quite a growl. Leaving his wife to collapse sobbing to the ground, he strode towards the Inspector and pulled the sorrowful man up the lapels. "Where is he? Where is this man who took my son?" He didn't even wait for an answer, knowing that they would not tell him, and he would probably not be allowed to use magic to get in wherever he was taken. Ron had studied enough about these cases since the disappearance of his son to know that there was little he could do now but wait to see the man in a Muggle court. Letting Weeds drop back on the sofa, he found himself walking out into the garden. Forgoing gloves, he began weeding, which was a formidable task, considering how busy their work kept them. He could have used magic, but the scratches and cuts caused by the exercise distracted him from the pain he felt inside.

He did not know how much later it was when he heard a voice behind him. "You're hurting yourself. You once told me that was a pretty useless exercise."

He didn't need to turn around. Ron would recognize the speaker in his sleep. "You were pushing yourself to the breaking point trying to forget that people were trying to hurt you, and I thought it was damn useless to do Voldemort's work for him. This isn't the same thing."

"No it isn't." Harry sat down beside him and grasped his hand. Knowing better than to heal it, knowing Ron would need the pain, he simply murmured a spell that would protect infection. Then he looked at his best friend. "Merlin, Ron, do you have any idea how well I know that?"

Ron's eyes fell in shame. "Yes, I bloody well do. He was your godson."

"Shut up." Harry's green eyes were blazing with the anger he needed the way Ron needed physical pain. "Yes, he was that, and I loved him as my own. In a different way from my own, but just as much, and as a symbol of what I almost gave my life for, what I lost my parents for. But aside from my personal pain, I hurt for you. You're my best friend Ron, and no one and nothing can ever compare with that. More than that, you're my brother and the very first family I have. For the rest of my life, I will never forget how you stood on a broken leg to distract a crazed Azkaban escapee from what you thought was his intention of killing me. And for even longer I will remember how I was unable to help you when you needed me most."

"There was nothing you could do." Ron's voice was dry, but sincere.

"No, and I'm the wizard who beat Voldemort, twice."

Ron's eyes lifted to those of his best friend's. "You're trying to tell me to let go of the guilt, you sneaky bastard."

"Caught me."

Ron gave a hiccupping laugh that almost immediately dissolved into sobs. He barely felt his shorter friend embrace him as he whispered, "I can't stop feeling guilty. But I suppose I have to try."

Harry nodded, though he knew Ron couldn't see him. Looking towards the house, he saw his wife holding Hermione in much the same way. They had been called through the fireplaces as soon as Phillip realized what was happening, and had arrived as soon as they could leave their children at someone else's home. Knowing that very soon the rest of the family would arrive with tea and comfort, he let Ron hold on to him and get the strength he would need to see him through the day. He could do no more, and by the same token he could do no less. And as he looked through the glass at the next two closest people in the world to him after Ron, he cursed Merlin himself for what was done to this family.

*

A week later

Art walked into the Leaky Cauldron, whistling.

"Weasley, know any other tunes?" A very drunk old man at the counter looked balefully at him.

Art ignored him, his attention taken by the boy about his age who was staring at him from a nearby table. Although he knew he had never seen that boy before, he felt an urge to sit down beside him and get to know him.

Being someone who liked to indulge his instincts, Art sat down and introduced himself to a healer named Ash. "Hi, my name is Art Weasley."

"Ash Winton, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Weasley."

Art laughed. "No, my grandfather is Mr. Weasley, and so is my father unless you're one of my uncles and calls him Mr. Weatherby. But I'm just Art."

"Well, just Art, what do you do here?" Ash tried not to seem too eager to hear the answer. He'd told himself to stay away, but if this boy didn't recognize him, no one would. And he wanted, no needed, to have Art as a friend again.

"I'm working for my Uncles Fred and George, in a joke shop called Weasley Whizzes. What about you?"

"Do you know Madame Muslin? I am her apprentice."

And they sat there, talking until it was time for both to leave. Although nothing was said, it became a regular meeting-place, and eventually Art began to bring his Auror girlfriend Lily to lunch with them. Art and Lily did not know it, but they were reforming a friendship that had existed for almost twenty years.

The only time they wondered about him was when they took him to meet the rest of the family. Instead of being the interesting, intelligent friend they knew he was, their family met a very quiet, pale young man who barely smiled at all. Ron, and he would have torn his own tongue out if he had known to whom he was referring although he was only joking, told Art that he was shocked that he could be friends with someone like that, and that there must be more of his father than he had initially realized. But the next time he met them he was himself after a few minutes, and something about him reached all of them. They excused his first impression on the grounds that he had no family and therefore had been a little intimidated with the Weasley/Potter/Marauder clan.

And somewhere in the attic of the Weasley home in London, a dusty clock came to life, and a hand moved from "dead" to "home."

THAT'S ALL SO FAR.