The kitchen was warm and lit by the crackling fire in the hearth. Harry and Ron had put a sofa by the stove a few months before and Hermione was now laying on it, curled under a blanket. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so tired.
Ron came over with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Hermione snatched one and drank nearly half of it in one gulp.
They were alone in Grimmauld Place. Harry was at the Ministry, working through the details of what had just transpired. Hermione knew she would be frightfully busy in the morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to think about it.
Ron sat down on the couch next to her. “Is it all right?” he asked, gesturing at her mug. “It’s just from the box.”
“It’s fine,” said Hermione. She closed her eyes.
“No, you don’t,” said Ron, jiggling her foot. “I want to hear exactly what happened.”
Hermione smiled and groaned at the same time. “Do you have any idea what I’ve just been through?”
“No, and that’s why I need to hear about it,” he said, leaning back and taking a sip from his mug.
Hermione laughed. “It’s a long story.”
“When you’re done, you can sleep,” Ron promised.
“Well, you know about the article in the Prophet,” Hermione began.
*
It was two weeks after she and Ron were engaged. She was in her cubicle at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, sifting through reports of malignant fairies.
Bored by the long-winded brief she was reading, she picked up the Daily Prophet and saw the headline: AMULET MISSING, SWALLOWED BY GRIFFIN.
Mildly intrigued, Hermione scanned the article. Two nights before, a small magical museum in Kent had lost its main display: the Amulet of Imhotep, an ancient pendant that granted the wearer powerful magical abilities. The Amulet was said to hold a great attraction for magical beings and was kept behind a bewitched pane of glass that kept museum visitors from falling under its thrall.
The loss occurred when one of the museum’s security griffins went berserk and broke free from its chains. It rampaged through the exhibits and accidentally smashed the enchanted pane of glass. Attracted by the priceless Amulet, the beast had swallowed it and then escaped museum personnel by flying through a window.
The griffin was still at large and the museum was offering a huge reward to anyone who could capture it.
Hermione was fascinated. It was a very odd occurrence. She had heard of the Amulet’s powers and knew that if it fell into the wrong hands, the consequences could be disastrous.
“Reading about the Amulet case?”
Lindsay Wyndham, the Head of the Department, had come into Hermione’s cubicle and was reading over her shoulder, a habit Hermione detested.
“Yes, very strange, isn’t it?” said Hermione.
“Very strange,” said Lindsay. He was a large-jowled man approaching fifty. “I’d like to start a quiet search for the creature. The museum curator has been bombarding me with owls. If that Amulet was lost, well”our Department would be blamed for it.”
“Do we have any idea where the griffin is?” Hermione asked.
“Not yet, but a powerful object such as the Amulet will leave a magical trace,” said Lindsay.
“Won’t the griffin”,” Hermione hesitated, wanting to be delicate. “Well, won’t it pass the Amulet?”
“Unlikely,” said Lindsay. “The Amulet will attach itself to the griffin as the nearest source of magical power. We don’t know how the creature will be affected. Its strength, stamina or health might well be exorbitantly increased by the Amulet.”
“It seems rather convenient that the griffin breaks free and then makes off with a priceless treasure,” said Hermione. “What are the odds of that?”
Lindsay leaned in closer, jowls quivering unpleasantly. “I myself think it’s much too convenient, Miss Granger. It may be that the beast was enchanted and forced to procure the Amulet for someone. We just don’t know.”
“Should I contact Magical Law Enforcement?” Hermione asked. “They could keep an eye out for anyone who might be involved.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” said Lindsay. “We’ll send someone to look for the griffin today. Maybe Perkins.”
For some reason that even she couldn’t really fathom, Hermione said, “If it’s all right with you, Mr. Wyndham, I’d like to do it.”
There was a silence as both parties absorbed what had been said.
“You’re not a field witch, Miss Granger,” said Lindsay, seeming a little taken aback. “But I suppose you could search for the creature if you’d like. You obviously have a record of capability when it comes to hunting down magical objects.”
“Thank you,” said Hermione, who was furiously trying to figure why she had opened her mouth in the first place.
“I’ll have a field package ready in an hour,” said Lindsay. He turned on his heel and left the cubicle.
Hermione was mystified by her own behavior. Why did she feel a compulsion to go running around after an escaped griffin? She had a wedding to plan and a job to do that did not involve hunting down dangerous creatures.
She was qualified to do so, of course (she had passed her initial Ministry tests with flying colors), but why?
Perhaps it was impending marriage. She loved Ron, she really did, but there were flickers”just small flickers”of doubt and fear at the prospect of such an enormous commitment.
Maybe she needed this. One little adventure by herself, to clear her head. Besides, she’d probably find the griffin in a few hours.
How hard could it be to find one animal that would be leaving magical traces everywhere it went? It would be a quick, easy job, Hermione thought.
She was wrong on both counts.
*
Hermione had, after a fairly short amount of time, developed an irrational hatred of that damned griffin. She had already chased it across the Channel, across half of Europe and through more than half a dozen countries.
She’d started out in Kent. Magic always left traces and the Amulet was not difficult to track. Using a few choice spells, Hermione followed the trail through the English countryside for an entire afternoon. Luckily, the griffin had apparently stayed in the air most of the time, so few Muggles would have spotted it.
When she realized that the beast had actually crossed the Channel into France, Hermione started getting annoyed. Her “quick, easy job” was turning into what would probably be a trip of three or four days.
She sent an owl back to the Ministry with an update and another to Harry and Ron. She had plenty of Muggle currency from various countries in her field package, so finding food and a place to sleep wouldn’t be difficult.
After checking through Wizarding customs, Hermione Apparated across the Channel. Cross-country Apparition was difficult and very dizzying. She nearly vomited on the shoes of a little French wizard at customs.
Picking up the griffin’s trail in France was tricky and Hermione eventually booked a room in Cherbourg for the night. She could speak a few words of French, which helped her a little.
It was a lonely evening. She ate at a small café, cursing herself for undertaking this silly mission in the first place.
In the morning, Hermione picked up the Amulet’s trail around Lille. The griffin was clearly moving quickly”as though the beast had a purpose. Lindsay’s theory that the griffin was being controlled seemed likelier and likelier.
The creature appeared to be eating voraciously. Hermione discovered the carcass of a roe deer in a field around midday and a mangled feral pig in Luxembourg a few hours later. It was possible that the Amulet was enhancing the griffin’s speed, but also forcing it to use a great deal of energy.
It was certainly moving quickly enough. By the end of the second day, Hermione was in Dresden, Germany and utterly exhausted. All day she had been Apparating through the countryside, trying to track the griffin and avoid Muggles at the same time. No animal in its right mind would be pushing itself so hard. It had to have a destination. For all Hermione knew, it was headed to China.
The next day was a little better. Hermione knew that she was gaining on her quarry”it had probably rested to sleep during the night. She found another carcass in Austria. It was another deer and it was still fairly warm. She was getting closer.
By now, Hermione had almost no way of communicating with the few Muggles she encountered. At her hotel she had to rely on English and French. A translator was available, but he didn’t speak either language very well.
On the fourth day, Hermione crossed the entire country of Hungary, hot on the heels of the griffin. It was very close now, despite the speed given it by the Amulet.
The sun was setting when Hermione entered the valley. She had crossed the Hungarian border into Romania an hour or so before and was having her easiest time yet picking up the Amulet’s trail. She was nearly there.
When she finally had the beast, there would be difficulty. She would have to keep it insensible until a Ministry team arrived with a proper cage, which would take a day or two.
For now she just had to focus on finding the griffin. When she did, she would worry about the rest of it.
Even though Hermione had passed through some truly beautiful countryside over the past days, this Romanian valley made her stop for a moment and look around her.
The gently rolling land was green and dotted with trees. A few Muggle houses”cottages really”were interspersed here and there. None of them looked lived in. Towering above the little valley was a great mountain range, green with grass at the bottom, frosty with snow at the very top. The sun was only half-visible behind the highest peak, giving the valley a strange, half-lit appearance.
It made sense that the griffin would be attracted to this place. For a creature with wings, mountains were excellent places to hide and find food.
Hermione took a deep breath of a fresh air. There was a tent in her pack. She thought she would camp in this valley tonight, as she, Harry and Ron had done on the Horcrux quest. She felt like waking up to the sun peeking over the mountains.
Looking up, she caught a flash of movement on one of the mountain’s forested slopes. It could be the griffin.
In an instant, Hermione had Apparated to the mountain slope, careful to end up a few hundred yards from her target. She peered through the trees, moving as slowly as she could.
The griffin was in a little clearing up ahead, gnawing at something that had probably once been a goat.
The creature wasn’t quite as large as Hermione had expected. He was a male”probably two hundred and fifty pounds or so, six feet long from his beak to the tip of his tufted tail. His powerful beak was streaked with blood and his razor-sharp talons were covered in the mountain goat’s gore.
He tore a chunk of flesh off of the goat carcass, swallowed it in a large gulp and then loped off into the forest, as if on an important mission. Hermione followed up the mountainside, wand drawn.
The griffin climbed up the forested mountainside purposefully, weaving through the trees. Was he looking for his master? Was he reaching a destination of some kind?
Careful to keep a distance, Hermione followed the beast, who was so intent on his goal that he didn’t detect her presence (Hermione had earlier put a charm on herself that rendered her odorless).
After a few minutes, they reached a second clearing. Sitting in the middle of it was a small, long log, which was glowing with blue light. A Portkey. The griffin’s master had planned well.
The griffin went eagerly towards the Portkey, beak opened. Hermione saw that she was about to lose the beast’s trail forever. She darted out of the trees and just managed to get her hand on the Portkey as the griffin champed down on it.
For a few seconds, the world was gone. The only things Hermione could see or feel were the griffin, the log and her own hand.
They landed, hard. Hermione lay on the wonderfully solid ground, doubled over, gasping from the effects of the journey.
The griffin spat out the log and reared, squalling, all of its feathers standing on end, its talons raking the air. Hermione felt a sharp pain on her forehead as one of the griffin’s claws cut her. She pointed her wand at the creature and shouted an incantation.
With a screech, the griffin was blasted twenty yards away in a flash of yellow light.
Hermione raised her head dizzily, taking notice of her surroundings. She was lying in green grass, surrounded by tall pine trees. A little way ahead of her was a tiny hamlet. A dirt road cut through the middle of it; cheery brown cottages sat on either side. Dominating the scene was an odd building that Hermione thought looked like a Scandinavian stave church.
Scandinavia. They were a long way from Romania. The very thought made her head hurt”or maybe that was the wound? She gently probed the stinging cut and felt a steady stream of blood rolling down her forehead.
People were coming out of the cottages, people dressed in brown and babbling in a language Hermione did not understand. A few were pointing at her, but most were looking up in the sky.
It was the griffin soaring above the fir trees that had caught their attention. He was getting smaller by the second, his wings flapping wildly as he escaped.
Hermione had lost him again. She swore and started to get up, head aching, confused and alone in a strange country.
Why had she started this in the first place?