The people from the cottages gave Hermione a wide berth as she strode up the street, wand out. Ordinarily, she would have been more concerned about Muggle security, but this wasn’t a time to worry about it.
She picked up the Amulet’s trail quite quickly. She walked behind the stave church to Apparate closer to her prey. No one tried to stop her.
For about half an hour, Hermione followed the beast through a thick forest. She thought she was probably deep in a remote area of Scandinavia”possibly Denmark, or Norway.
She took a short breather to eat and write a note to the Department, explaining her situation and location. Hopefully, a Ministry team would be on-site shortly.
The Portkey was proof-positive that someone had engineered the griffin’s theft and escape. Whoever it was had gone to enormous trouble to first steal the Amulet and then to keep it undetected.
To Hermione’s surprise, she had found magical traces that suggested that the griffin had landed in the forest only a short while after taking off at the hamlet. She had guessed that the creature would continue to fly, frightened by her magical attack.
After an hour of hiking through the thick, cold forest, Hermione saw in the distance a small clearing. There was movement in it and something that looked like a fire. People. She crept closer, careful not to make noise.
A small campfire burned in the middle of the clearing. An enormous blonde man dressed in furs and a smaller, ferrety fellow were squatting on either side of it, warming their hands. There was a felt hat sitting next to the ferrety man; he kept glancing over at it as though he expected it to do something.
The griffin was lying, unfettered, on the ground, his head on his outstretched legs, looking about as peaceful as a pet dog.
“”don’t see why we can’t cut the damn thing out right now,” said the blonde man. His voice was heavy and low, with just a hint of a Russian accent.
“Because those aren’t our instructions,” said the ferrety man. His voice was flat, nasal and American. “We take the animal to herand she deals with it. Case closed.”
“She’s sent us around the damn world over this Amulet,” snarled the Russian. “Why not just snatch it from the museum?”
“Better this way. Far less likely to be caught,” said the American. “The British wizards have got damn good security”we’d have been captured. But this beastie here has evaded them for days.”
“Sending the damn thing to Romania was a bit much,” said the Russian, cracking his knuckles. “We could’ve saved a lot of trouble by having it come straight””
“It’s camouflage, idiot,” said the American. “If anyone was tracing the griffin, they’d have lost him and given up. I think it’s a fine plan.”
Hermione’s heart was in her mouth. She could try to incapacitate the two wizards, but it was an uneven matchup. Could she Stun them both before they could fight back?
“Well, I hope the boss remembers our trouble once she has the Amulet,” said the Russian peevishly.
His companion didn’t respond. Hermione craned her neck to see why and saw that the American’s wand was pointed in her direction.
“[I]Petrificus Totalus[/I]!”
Hermione fell to the ground, caught in the Full Body-Bind. She cursed herself for being so stupid.
The American caught her by the feet and dragged her into the camp, to the astonishment of the enormous Russian.
“Thought I heard something in the woods,” he said. “She was listening in.”
Hermione’s pockets and pack were roughly emptied. The American took her wand and examined her Ministry credentials.
“This witch here is a Brit. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” said the American. “Probably been tracking the griffin. Dunno how she followed him from Romania.”
“Are there more of them?” asked the Russian, black eyes darting around the forest. “Doesn’t matter,” said the American. He pointed at the felt hat, which had begun to glow blue. Another Portkey. Terror struck Hermione. They were going to leave with the Amulet, but they would likely kill her first.
“Well, let’s get rid of her and have done with it,” said the Russian, drawing his wand.
“No, we’ll bring her along,” said the American. “The boss will want to find out what she knows.”
The Russian shrugged and pointed his wand at the griffin. The animal ambled over and rested his beak on the brim of the hat. Apparently controlled by the Imperius Curse, or some form of it.
The American touched Hermione’s lifeless hand to the hat. She tried desperately to fight the curse, but it was too strong. She could only lay immobile as the Portkey whisked her across the world.
Being unable to move made the unpleasant trip even worse. When Hermione finally felt solid ground, she was too dazed to make much sense of her surroundings.
Slowly, she discovered that she was lying in yet another forest, this one light and sunny. The thin trees”birch, she thought”were few and far apart. Tall golden grass sprouted from the dirt, making it more comfortable than the Norwegian forest floor.
In the distance, Hermione could see the vague outlines of great mountains. She could be anywhere. Europe, America, Australia, possibly even Asia, although Africa was probably out.
Her captors were getting themselves a meal (although Hermione couldn’t even guess which one; her internal clock was a mess) and the griffin had lain down again, as docile as a kitten. If Hermione could have moved she would have kicked the horrible thing.
She was going to be kept alive for a little while longer”probably for torture. At least she was going to see who was running this little operation before they killed her.
To Hermione’s surprise, she found that she was so tired that she fell asleep, even while under the Full Body-Bind. The quiet conversation of the two men and the crackling of the fire lulled her into a state of unconsciousness.
She awoke a few hours later to the sound of raised voices. Her two captors were standing by the edge of the campsite, talking with three shadowy figures whose fuzzy outlines Hermione could only just discern.
“”American authorities had a tip. I don’t know how, but they’re on their way.” It was a woman speaking. She had a faint Irish accent.
“But”” spluttered the Russian. “What about the headquarters?”
“They’re probably there already,” said the woman. “I have a backup plan; we’ll have to go to” who’s that?”
Hermione was quite sure that she was being referred to.
“British witch. Found us in Norway. From their Ministry. We brought her along; wanted to see what she knew.” The American’s voice was eager and fawning, as though speaking to someone he respected a great deal.
“Fine,” said the Irishwoman, distracted. “But Stun her, would you? I don’t like to have those eyes looking at me.”
There was a flash of red light, then darkness more restful than sleep.
When Hermione came to again, she was propped up against a wall in a dark, wood-paneled room. She was alone and free to move. She felt her pockets instinctively, but her wand was gone, of course. The ferrety little American still had it.
Once again, Hermione had no idea where she was. This gang seemed to have a penchant for getting around the world.
The room was completely empty except for a single chair and a painting on the wall. The painting was of a tiger attacking a boar. Characters that were either Chinese or Japanese framed the illustration.
There were no windows and only one heavy door”locked, of course. Hermione had only two possible weapons: the chair and the painting.
She selected the chair, which was light and wooden. Hefting it above her head, she stood behind the door and waited.
It was nearly half an hour before the door opened and Hermione’s muscles were now sore and aching from the weight of the chair. She tried to bring it down on the person entering the room, but a casual flick of a wand sent her flying into the wall. The chair clattered harmlessly to the floor.
A lean, red-haired young woman with a striking face and plain black robes had entered the room. She pointed her wand at the chair, which righted itself. She sat down.
“I’m Siobhan, Miss Granger,” said the woman, who was evidently the Irishwoman that Hermione had heard the previous night and quite possibly the leader of this little gang. “I expect you have a lot of questions.”
“Not really,” said Hermione, struggling to keep her voice level. She could feel a bruise forming on her hip. “You’re a power-hungry terrorist who stole the Amulet for personal power. It wasn’t a bad plan.”
Siobhan inclined her head in a show of false modesty. “I thought it was quite inspired. It was, I thought, the perfect crime. I took special precautions, of course. I figured the Portkey in Romania would have thrown any pursuers off the track, but you were lucky somehow.”
“So what is it you want with the Amulet?” asked Hermione. She had to keep the woman talking. “World domination? That one’s quite popular with your sort.”
“Nothing so grand. In fact you got it on the first try,” said Siobhan. “I want power, Miss Granger. The Amulet of Imhotep is an excellent way to gain it.
“I’m a Muggle-born, you see. Like yourself. Surely you’ve encountered your share of prejudice, as I have. The pure-bloods looking down their noses at you, belittling your accomplishments. All that’s going to change when I have the Amulet.”
Hermione felt a flicker of hope. “You don’t have the Amulet yet?”
Siobhan frowned. “I’ll get it out of that accursed beast soon enough. When I do, I’m going to show the pure-bloods just what I’m capable of. I think I’ll start in my home country, but yours will take a close second in my priorities, I assure you.”
“What do you want from me?” asked Hermione bluntly.
Siobhan shrugged. “Not a lot,” she said. “I am mildly curious as to how much your people know, but I haven’t decided if it’s worth torturing you over. Torture is a messy business and I don’t really have the time.”
“In fact,” she said, pointing her wand in Hermione’s face. “There is absolutely no reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
“You’re wrong,” said Hermione, fighting to stay calm.
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. I know how to get your Amulet out of the griffin. And I will, if you promise me my freedom,” said Hermione.
“Well, I don’t much care,” said Siobhan, after a short hesitation. “Whether you die or go free is nothing to me. But I would like my Amulet, and now. So why not?”
The door opened and Siobhan stood up.
“Come on. Follow me and don’t try anything.”
Hermione was led out of her prison into a hallway decorated with artwork, distinctly Asian in style.
“Just out of curiosity, where are we?”
“Japan,” said Siobhan. “I operate mainly from America, but I’ve kept a house here just in case. I’m sure you know by now how much I love whisking around the world. It’s a hobby of mine, you could say.”
They turned a corner. The next length of corridor had a huge plate-glass window at the end of it, through which Hermione could see that the house was on the edge of a large, glassy lake.
“Nice location, isn’t it?” said Siobhan. “It’s amazing where you can go with a Portkey. By the way, there‘s an Anti-Apparition spell on the house, so no need to try anything like that.”
She opened a door and pushed Hermione inside. This room was as small as the previous one, but was lighter and more open.
The griffin was in a corner, chained down and apparently no longer under the Imperius Curse. He was bucking and squalling softly.
The ferrety American was seated on a stool, nose buried in a thick spellbook. Several dozen of these volumes were littered around the room, apparently to aid in the removal of the Amulet.
“Granger says she knows how to get the Amulet out,” said Siobhan. “Keep an eye on her, Simpson; she’s feisty.”
The Irishwoman left, closing the door behind her.
The American (whose name was apparently Simpson) looked a little nervous to be alone with Hermione. “What do you know?” he asked.
Hermione had been bluffing. She had no idea how to get the Amulet out of the damn creature. She’d have to come up with something.
“There’s a ritual,” she said. “Do you have [I]Gulagov’s Guide to Griffins[/I]?”
Simpson glanced down to look for the book amongst the piles on the floor and Hermione seized her chance. She picked up a stool and hit him on the head with it as hard as she could.
He went down with a crash, eyes rolling back into his head.
The griffin’s squalls were getting louder and Hermione hoped that they would mask Simpson’s fall. She emptied the man’s pockets and found her wand.
She almost groaned when she realized what she had to do. She couldn’t extract the Amulet in time. She’d have to let the griffin go again.
As distasteful as the idea was, Hermione didn’t hesitate. She snapped the griffin’s chains with a spell and then administered a zapping hex to get him going.
The griffin didn’t waste time. He crashed through the door, racing through the hallway, squalling at the top of his lungs. Hermione heard a smash and knew that he had just flown out a window.
There was no time to lose. Hermione ran out into the corridor and barreled down the hallway, hoping to find a door before”
She crashed into someone turning the corner. They both fell to the floor, Hermione on top. She jumped up as quickly as she could, but a jinx flew over her head. The Russian was advancing, bellowing curses.
There was no choice. Hermione turned and crashed through the plate-glass window, hurtling down into the deep, black lake.