The Ransom of Albus Dumbledore

12. Mor Mgglbrns

It was just after sunrise. Hermione jogged up the road and was greeted warmly by Piddles/Sirius at a crossroads. She'd had barely six hours of sleep, after being questioned by Rufus Scrimgeour, but at least, she was once again wearing comfortable clothes: shorts, trainers and a bright tank top. Yesterday's success had brought back her old confidence, and she was looking forward to this next challenge with renewed vitality, although the thought that she might be tailed by Aurors made her nervous.

"Grrruffff--What did the Minister want?" Sirius asked.

"It wasn't so bad. They detected your Levitation Charm and came to investigate, that's all. It seems they didn't know that Muggleborns are living in those houses."

"But Susanna's been doing wandless magic for quite a while, and those baby bottles popping out of the cooler had to be some kind of primitive Accio from the twins."

Hermione nodded. "And I'm sure Naomi knows she's magical. I wouldn't be surprised if she Levitates her bed at night and dances on the ceilings. All I can think is things must be really bad at the Ministry if they didn't pick up on all this." She sighed. "Well, at least they know now."

"So how did you get out of it?"

"I told them to check my wand."

"Prior Incantato. Yip-yip—good idea."

"Yes, it showed the Lightening Charm I did on the Bag of Holding in the Head's office. Scrimgeour actually knew about that one so I was off the hook. But I'll have to be doubly careful now."

"Did he ask you why you were there?"

"Oh, yes, that was his first question. I said I had a summer job doing surveys for an advert agency."

"Pretty slick, Hermione. You sure you haven't done this kind of sneaking around before?"

"Well, yes—remember when we rescued you from Flitwick's office?"

"Woof! But the kiddies won't be safe for long. I mean--we never got to send that owl to the Ministy. Once they get home, won't the D.E.s just pick another day to attack?"

"Oh, I've got that covered, I think. Scrimgeour figured that your Levitate must've been from someone in the house, so I told him how I noticed the way Susanna was filching cookies. He got an egg-on-the-face look for a minute, and then said they'd start monitoring the place right away. And I saw in The Prophet this morning that a bunch of 'suspicious persons' were rousted near there last night."

They were distracted by a yellow pick-up rumbling down the road towards them. It stopped at the crossroads, and the driver grimaced into the sun through dark sunglasses before moving on. Hermione noticed the truck had the letters G & E on its side.

"Nice dimple," yipped the poodle, his tail wagging furiously. He was staring at the driver, who had long, curling blond hair.

"Down, boy," Hermione cautioned. Sirius' sexual proclivities were legend at Hogwarts. It was a bit distressing to think he could still be aroused by the sight of female charms even though he was a dead dog.

~*~

Down a hill, six houses faced them in an arc. The land behind was unfenced and bare, its only boundary a scrubby wood. They see could other houses rising on a hill beyond the wood.

Hermione and Sirius discussed strategy in low tones. No use trying to deal with each individual household here, he argued. It would take far too long. And they didn't even know for sure which houses held child-mages. From Dumbledore's shorthand, they had managed to guess that Death Eaters would strike tonight, wiping out all these Muggle families, their only sin, having children with magical powers in their midst. Hermione suppressed a gasp as she watched one of them, a tiny child with golden ringlets down to her shoulders, skip out of the front door of the end house and run down to the road. A dark-haired woman ran out after her and retrieved her before she could hurt herself.

"Naughty girl!" the woman scolded the child as she snatched her up. "You foiled the dead bolt, Stacy. Ah, you're too clever by half. But you mustn't, darling. It's dangerous out here..." The rest of her warning was lost as she nuzzled the child's neck and swept her back inside.

Mudbloods, the D.E.s called these magical misfits--filth, polluters of the purity of the Magicosm. Hermione did not want to think of how many more children like this sweet little thing, who could already command locks to do her bidding, were slated for extinction this very night.

She agreed with Sirius: they needed a blanket solution to save this particular group, but she couldn't think of one. She didn't know how to do a Mass-Apparation, and didn't even know if such a spell existed. And besides, such a gigantic expenditure of magical energy would surely be detected at the Ministry.

"How about a--ruff-ruff--rumor of a maniac loose in the neighborrrrrhood," barked Sirius. "That would clear them out pretty quick."

"People don't believe in rumors like that unless they've heard about them from someone they trust, or if it was on the news or something."

"So—rowf!--let's call up the Muggles in charge of the news and give them an anonymous tip—"

"But I think the networks always check a story out before airing it. Mmmm… what if we start a fire, just a small one, back in the woods there?"

"Grr--there's no such thing as a 'small fire' when it's so dry. I remember one time when James and I almost burned up Godric's Hollow playing Exploding Snap out in the yard one summer day. The sparks landed in some brush...Not a pleasant memory, Hermione...." He paced the ground a few moments, sniffing the bushes. "Oh, if only he was here..."

"James?"

"He was always so clever.... He'd have an answer for this, you know. Woof! I miss him."

Hermione stifled an urge to pat him on his doggy head. "I know you do. I remember how you went after Peter, when you found out he betrayed them."

"Yes," growled the poodle, "I was right out of my head then. I was going to pulverize the little bastard. But I didn't know he had it in him to fight back like that. The spell he cast was so powerful..."

"I remember. The only explanation the Muggles could give for it was a gas main explosion.... oh my," gasped Hermione. "Gas main! That's perfect."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember that truck that passed us this morning on our way in here?"

"Do I!" yipped Sirius, his tail thumping the ground in a spate of doggie amour.

"Not the driver. The sign on its side. It was a gas and electric truck. Um, I wonder if that means--"

She scanned the area around the houses until she found a row of yellow markers sticking out of the ground near the tree line behind the houses. There was a sign too, partly covered by bushes. She pointed it out to Sirius.

CAUTION--GAS LINES--BEFORE DIGGING, CALL OUR MISS INFORMATION AT 553-1313

"That's it," she crowed. "There's our answer. A gas leak. That'll start them evacuating the place. Sirius, do you know some kind of cutting or Puncturing Charm?"

"Sure, Perforatus. We used it all the time crack Slughorn's demijohns during his more boring lectures."

"Could it make a hole in an underground line?"

"You'd have to know exactly how deep down it was."

"I could call this misinformation number and say I was planning to dig around the site. They'd probably give me the approximate depth."

"I don't think it's a good idea, Hermione. First, I'm leery of using magical energy, however low-key, on a flammable gas, and second, if the gas is in the air tonight or building up underground when the D.E.s attack, mightn't their own spells trigger a secondary explosion?"

"All the better," she said, "It might take a few of them out too."

"Yes, and start a real wildfire that could spread to those other houses." He pointed with a paw to the development rising on the ridge beyond the woods.

But Hermione was not to be deterred. "You know what? We don't even need a real gas leak, just the smell of one."

"Would an In Fragrante Delicto Charm work?"

"That wouldn't last long enough. No, I mean Dung Bombs." She rummaged around in the Bag of Holding and brought out the pack she had found when she cleaned out Ron and Harry's dorm. "They've got a dozen different kinds in here, and there's one I know that smells just like gas, only stronger."

She tore open the package and found a number of two smaller packets, two of which were covered in blue spangles. "Here they are: Fairy Farts. They'll be perfect—and they're guaranteed to work for 24 hours."

They watched the houses for a while, then casually strolled around the edge of the open space and into the thicket beyond. Sirius sniffed out the path to their goal and soon they came up behind the gas main warning signs. Hermione thought they should hide the bombs up in the trees, but Sirius came up with a more realistic plan. He started digging with his sharp little claws and soon had two nice holes they could drop the bombs into. Hermione activated the bombs, and holding her nose, stuffed them into the holes. Sirius covered them over expertly with quick kicks of his hind feet. Then they waited for the miasma to carry to the houses. Unfortunately there was no wind at all and the odor just settled about them.

"I guess it's time for Plan B," said Hermione, and before Sirius could stop her, she set off across the open yard at a jog-trot, straight for a young woman who had come out of the center house to hang the wash.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Hi, my name is Hermione. Erm...did you catch that smell?"

The woman stopped in mid-hang.

"What smell?"

"I was bird-watching out in the trees back there...and I noticed this odor...like gas, coming from this side of the wood. It seems strongest there by those yellow pickets. Oh, I say! 'Danger--gas'--well that must be it!"

"You mean a leak? Oh gorry, show me where you smelled it.

Hermione led her over to the edge of the yard where the scent of Ron's Fairy Farts hit them full in the face.

"I'd better call the gas people," the lady said, turning back to the house. Hermione kept up with her. "By the way, m'name's Carol. And you're-- Hermione, right? Thanks, Hermione. Oh, I hope they don't make us evacuate."

"Why not?"

"I don't care for myself; it's just an inconvenience, but Darla—oh gorry, she's gonna hate this. Never mind. I'll take care of it. Thanks ever so for the warning."

It seemed a fait accompli. Hermione and Sirius watched from the hillside--a girl and her pet poodle, mere interested bystanders--as yellow trucks arrived in front of the row of houses along with some police vans, all with their emergency lights flashing. Officers visited each house in turn. More cars started pulling up. It seemed reporters had gotten wind of a story in the making, and the families resigned themselves to interviews, as well as several days' stay at relatives' houses or a local hotel. Everyone started loading cars for the journey.

All except for one person. The young woman with the child at the far end of the row did nothing. When the policemen visited her, Hermione saw her shake her head rather violently and close her door. The policeman rang the doorbell and banged on the door a long time. Then Carol came over and called to her friend. The young woman appeared at an upstairs window and shouted something at her. The policeman shouted something back, then made a beeline for his van.

Only then did Hermione remember Carol's cryptic remark. This must be Darla. Why would she be reluctant to leave her house in the face of such danger? Most of the other residents had already left, and one of the two remaining police vans pulled out behind them. Carol made one last plea to her friend, then, hearing no response, shrugged her shoulders and went down to her own car. The other police van waited down by the road.

Hermione decided to try a gambit. She approached the van. "Excuse me officer, I'm a friend of Darla's. I heard about the trouble, and I wonder if I can help?"

"Arr, Miss, maybe you can tell us why Ms. Mudge is willing to risk her little girl's life staying in that 'ouse when the air positively reeks of propane. And there's no telling 'ow much is building up under those 'ouses. Sure, she told us she's scared of her boyfriend and all, and there's a restraining order pending. But I checked wi' 'eadquarters and'e 'asn't been seen abaht in over a week."

"Do you mind if I talk to her?"

"Well, she doesn't seem dangerous, so I guess it couldn't 'urt. Might even 'elp, 'cause if she doesn't come out--well--she could be 'ad up before the judge as an unfit mother."

Hermione nodded gravely and went on up the driveway. She knocked tentatively at the door and when there was no answer, she called on Sirius, who had followed her, to do a discreet Alohomora. There was a scary amount of rattling noise before the door would yield. Hermione hoped it was just her tautened nerves twanging.

She slipped inside and called, "Darla," gently.

A woman with dark hair and circles under her eyes lurched out of the next room. "Who are you? How did you get past those?"

Hermione turned back to the door and saw what Sirius had foiled with his charm. Three deadbolts, some heavy chains, and a metal bar.

"I--I'm Hermione Granger. I'm sort of an expert in these things."

"A bit young for a copper, aren't you?"

"Not really. But I'm more of a--private--investigator." Darla seemed to cringe at those words, and Hermione hastened to calm her. "But I'm not on a case right now. I just happened to be birding in the woods and smelled the gas. I gave the initial warning to your friend--uh--Carol--"

"So what do you want?" Darla came a few steps closer. She wasn't holding any weapons, not that Hermione could see. What she could see was that Darla's circles were actually the remnants of two black eyes--there was still some yellow in the bruising. She also saw scars on Darla's arms--round ones like cigarette burns and one long one like a knife slash.

"I'd like to help. The danger's very real, Darla. The gas could be collecting in pockets under us. There's not much time."

"I'll take my chances."

"Have you ever seen a gas explosion, Darla?"

"Mummy?" This from her little daughter who had appeared at her side and was groping for her hand.

"She just woke up. Don't scare her," mouthed Darla, keeping her eyes on Hermione as she bent down to pick up the child.

"What's her name?"

"I Stacy!" she called from the safety of her mummy's arms, her legs wrapped tight around Darla's waist. "Who ow you?"

"What did I tell you about talking to strangers?" scolded Darla.

"She not stranjow, Mummy, she inna house." Stacy smiled and showed a cute dimple before burying her face in Mummy's neck.

"I'm Hermione, and you're right, Stacy. I'm not a stranger. I'm a friend."

Hermione took a deep breath and looked Darla right in the eye. She spoke low and calmly, in hopes of not frightening Stacy. "Listen, Darla, there's no time for small talk here. If the danger of an explosion doesn't frighten you, what do you say to being declared an unfit mother? Because if the police serve you with a court order--and I have no doubt they will--that's what you'll be branded. And you know what that means. Little Stacy becomes a ward of the Court."

If Hermione had directed a Stun Spell to Darla's gut, the effect couldn't have been more dramatic. Her face sagged, and she crumpled protectively about her daughter. Stacy shook her golden head and whispered, "Is all right, Mummy? You got tummy ache again?"

Hermione went to her. "It's only for a few days. The police said your boyfriend hasn't been seen any where near here."

Darla nodded, numbly. Hermione helped her to her feet and held Stacy while she packed. They were all three in the car and down the driveway inside of fifteen minutes.

Hermione heard Sirius barking and growling as he ran after the car. "Growrrrr—ruffruff! What are you doing? This isn't part of the plan."

Yes it is, she said in her mind, hoping he would understand. It's the only way I could get them to leave the house.

~*~

They arrived at the Kings Inn—a cheap motel with a pebbled, almost empty parking lot, but with deadbolts and chains and steel-clad doors. While Darla unpacked and Stacy tested the beds for jumpability in their ground-floor suite, Hermione walked down the road to the local Chickin-Lickin to get them some food.

She thought back to their ride to the motel. Darla, bristling with suppressed fear and suspicion, drove with her eyes darting every few seconds to the rear-view mirror. Stacy, between them, clasped Hermione’s hand complacently and patted her mother’s leg.

“My-mee?" she addressed her new friend, "Know wha’ I wan’be when I gwow up?" She beamed a perfect baby toothed grin. "A jim-niss.”

“She means gymnast,” put in Darla unexpectedly. It was surprising--the mother was not too distracted by fear of being followed to keep track of her daughter’s attempts at conversation with this interloper.

“That’s nice,” said Hermione. She remembered the awe of seeing Olympic gymnasts on the telly, defying gravity almost magically with their leaps and cartwheels and backflips. Stacy was small for her age and would probably remain so. Her tiny hands and bird-like bone structure were a miniature of her mother’s. She would be a tumbler or balance beam artist—when she wasn’t busy studying Transfiguration and Ancient Runes at Hogwarts.

When Hermione came back from buying dinner—two Chickin-Chunks’n’Chips and a Jolly Meal--she noticed a yellow G & E truck in the parking lot. There's a funny coincidence, she thought. It made her think back to the first one of those she had seen. Not the ones that had arrived in the wake of her warning, but coasting down the road away from the cul-de-sac when she and Sirius had arrived earlier in the day. A young woman had been driving--a buff young woman with flowing gold hair, much the same color and curliness as--Stacy's. Another coincidence. And Sirius had remarked on the woman's dimples. Stacy has a dimple too--Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. Had it even been a woman in the cab of the truck? She'd thought the dark outline on the lower part of the face had just been a shadow caused by the woman's hand—that strong, slender, brown hand--shading her eyes from the morning sunshine. But what if it had been not shadow but--beard stubble?

She walked carefully into the motel foyer and eased her parcels into a chair, then tiptoed down the hallway to their room, which was at the far end. She edged up to the door, placing her hands on the steel surface, willing herself to hear that everything was all right. But through the metal sheathing, she made out a soft, high-pitched keening and then a deeper voice that chilled her.

"That's right, Stacy," it crooned. "Good baby, letting me in while Mummy was on the toilet. You've always been clever with opening locks, darling. Now, we can all have a cozy little talk..." The voice became a murmur, punctuated by sobs and suppressed whimpers of pain.

Hermione had the key at the ready. It was the card kind that you slipped into a slot, being careful not to turn the doorknob until you saw the green light: nice and quiet except for a faint click that hopefully the boyfriend would not hear over his gloating. She pulled her wand out of her bag. A Stun Spell should take him out, but…what if he has a weapon--a gun--or a knife pressed to Darla's throat? Hermione shuddered. She had to take the chance.

At this moment, Minister Scrimgour's words came back to her. By performing this spell, she could be banished from the Magicosm and her wand confiscated. Harry had gotten away with stuff like this before, but, well, that was Harry. She, Muggleborn Hermione Granger, had been expressly warned by the Minister of Magic himself about the change in the law, and had already been found at a place where there had been a suspicious use of magic. And this time the Aurors would appear and find that she had done magic. They would ask what she was doing there.

She couldn't tell them about Dumbledore's list. Scrimgeour might try to use the information to keep Harry from his fated duty.

No, her path was clear. She would use magic and risk the ban. She had promised Darla and Stacy that they would be safe, and it was her fault that they were not. She blocked out of her mind unrelenting images of her friends—Ron especially--going on to fulfill their magical destinies without her.

Rhythmic slapping sounds were coming from beyond the door now and the whimpers increased in volume. She slipped the card quickly in and out of the slot. She thought she heard Stacy crying for her mother. She squeezed her wand, squared her shoulders, turned the handle, and pushed.

At that instant there came an explosion, a splintering crash, and some kind of shock wave that slammed against the door and almost forced it shut again. But Hermione countered it, thrusting her whole body against it, praying: No--dear heaven--he doesn't—he couldn’t have--not a gun— please--

Swinging the door wide, she took in an incredible tableau. There was a haze of smoke, as from cigarettes--or a recently discharged firearm.

Darla was splayed out on the far bed, her face puffy and mottled, blood snaking down her cheek, but alive—coughing and crying. Against the wall under the window curtain lay the golden-haired monster—sprawled crazily over a chair, his head twisted and lolling on his shoulder at an impossible angle to the rest of his body. One leg was stretched out in front of him, the other dangling over the chair arm. A cigarette was burning a hole in the carpet, just beneath a too-still hand. His eyes stared at her in an expression of disbelief. His work shirt was spattered with some dark liquid. And there was a fast ebbing halo of blue flame receding from his body.

But as she glided past the entryway into the room proper, not daring to make a sound, Hermione realized it wasn’t really her at whom his sightless gaze was directed. He was looking at something just off to her right, a slight figure balancing athwart the pillows on the other bed. It was little Stacey--her back arched and her arms stretched out towards him, like a tiny gymnast posing in triumph after a flawless tumbling run, her fingers glowing with that same bright blue aura of energy that surrounded her father.

Now Stacy turned and smiled that angelic, dimpled smile as if she sensed that her new friend My-mee would see that everything was made right. Then she sighed and collapsed on the pillows in a small exhausted heap.