September, 2008
It was Joe’s sixth birthday. Casper had been teaching him how best to score a goal - against the back fence with a slightly deflated football - but now Joe’s nine-year-old big cousin was just watching Joe and his friends from the steps that led to the back door.
–Can’t catch me, can’t, can’t -â€
Joe’s mum was supervising a game of blind man’s bluff; a small blond boy had his eyes blindfolded, and was grinning as he tried to capture his unseen friends as they darted around him.
–Casper. Inside, now.â€
His mother’s voice was polite and stern, the voice of any ordinary mother asking something of her nine-year-old child, but Casper knew better. He followed her into the kitchen and stood on his spot on the floor.
She was talking to him, and he was listening, but it was so familiar he barely had to.
–I try, so hard, every day Casper, and you’re just not doing your best.â€
–I’m sorry, mum.â€
–It’s really not good enough. You were abnormal enough to begin with and sometimes you seem to make great leaps forward, but other days it feels like you’re not even trying.â€
–I’m sorry, mum.â€
–I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what you’ve done?â€
–No, mum.â€
–Look at me when I’m talking! I work hard to make you right and you could at least be polite enough to pay attention!â€
Casper lifted his head immediately.
–Yes, mum. Sorry mum.â€
–You know what to do, go on.â€
–Yes, mum.â€
Outside, six-year-old Joe looked around. Where was Casper? Casper must have gone inside. Joe wandered through the backdoor, which led to the living room, and then through the hall to the kitchen door. There he stopped. Peering around the door, he saw something he had never been supposed to see.
When it was over, he ran back through the living room and into the garden. He ran so distractedly that he tripped on the step and fell, grazing his knee badly.
And then there Casper was, his hand on Joe’s back and a smile on his face, and it was easy to pretend he didn’t know that under his big cousin’s shirt was a small, circular burn. But Joe remembered; and from that moment on a small part of him realised that Casper needed looking after too.
~
August 2012
It was an unseasonably dark evening, but cosy inside the living room. A tall, red-haired man lounged on the sofa.
–Relax, Hermione, they’ll be here soon.â€
He spoke to a woman his own age with softly curled hair as she hovered by the fireplace. She turned and raised her eyebrows at him.
–I’m not -â€
Her words were drowned out by a flash of green from the fireplace. She stepped back, and out of the flames came a man with brown hair and smiling eyes. The red-haired man stood up, grinning.
–Neville! It’s good to see you. How’s Assyria been?â€
Neville grinned back, taking the other man’s hand and pulling him into an embrace.
–Brilliant! Ron, some of the stuff out there’s amazing, just unbelievable…†he turned to greet Hermione, and Ron moved to say hello to Susan Bones - now Susan Longbottom - who had appeared through the fire just after her husband.
After a few minutes of ooh-ing and ahh-ing over each other’s appearances and changes, they moved to sit down. Ron fetched everyone drinks, and after that they were settled, and the conversation moved to the serious.
–So,†Susan began, somewhat hesitantly, with a half-glance towards Neville, –we’ve been fairly out of touch for the last few years. But we did hear one thing; hard not to, really…†she trailed off, uncertain. Ron and Hermione were quiet; Ron was staring at the arm of the sofa without seeing it, and Hermione was turning her half-empty glass around and around in her hands. Neville spoke quietly.
–We didn’t want to believe anything until we heard it from you. Didn’t seem right to. But… Harry and Ginny are good friends of ours, and… well…â€
–You don’t have to justify it, mate,†Ron said, his voice low. –It’s just not the easiest thing to…â€
He cleared his throat.
–What really happened?†Susan asked softly.
–It was so sudden,†Hermione said, shaking her head a little. Ron took the glass from her so that he could hold her hand.
–From what Harry said, there was no sign, no clue beforehand.â€
–Or after,†Ron muttered darkly, but looked apologetic when Hermione winced. She continued.
–He was just in the living room with the twins,†she said. –The two of them - well, they would be - would have been -†she paused, took a slightly shaky breath, and continued. –It was their sixth birthday last week. And they both ran upstairs to get something, and - well - Harry didn’t worry too much. The house isn’t huge, and he could still hear them both. Anyway, a minute later he heard a thump from upstairs, and went up to make sure they’re both alright.†At this, Hermione closed her eyes slightly, and Ron gave her hand a quick squeeze before continuing the story himself.
–When Harry got up there, he went in Eddie’s room first. Don’t know why, it’s the furthest from the stairs - but you know what Harry’s instincts are like.†Neville gave a grim half-smile and Susan nodded. –But when he went in… Eddie wasn’t there.†Ron heaved a sigh. –He checked everywhere, of course. Ezzy was fine, didn’t even realise anything had happened - but that was it. No one’s seen Eddie since.â€
Susan leant forward, her chin in her hand, brow creased.
–I don’t understand,†she said, frowning. –Harry and Ginny’s home is one of the most well-warded in the country! Even the boy wandering into the garden should be able to be traced somehow.â€
Ron leant back in his chair.
–That’s just it. ‘Mione checked all the wards herself, of course,†he said, nodding to her, –and there was nothing.â€
–Not a trace, not a whisper,†Hermione said softly. –Not a single mark. Merlin knows how it was done.â€
Neville had been fairly quiet for a few minutes, but now he spoke up.
–So they’re sure that someone actually took him?†he asked quietly. Ron shrugged. Anyone who did not know him as well as the other three did would have said that he was relaxed, but they could all see that the normal laughter was completely gone from his eyes.
–There’s no way he could’ve got out on his own without us knowing about it. Even if… well…†Ron hesitated, glancing at Hermione again, –well, bodies don’t hide themselves.â€
Hermione abruptly stood up and took her glass out to the kitchen.
–How is she?†Susan asked, when the door to the kitchen had closed.
–Blaming herself, mostly,†Ron answered grimly. –She was the one who set up all the wards. But in all honestly, a couple of her friends from the I.U.S. came around to look at it as well as a few people from the ministry, and they all said it was the best they’d ever seen. No one can ask for more than that.â€
–Hermione can,†Neville pointed out. Ron gave a sad smile.
–Yeah.â€
They sat in silence for a minute or so, hearing Hermione clatter around the kitchen.
–When did this happen?†Neville asked.
–’Bout six months ago,†Ron replied. –They’ve had everyone all over it, magical and muggle - police and magical law enforcement, The Daily Prophet and all the muggle papers. But after six months…†he shook his head.
–How’s the family taking it?†Susan asked.
–Difficult to say, really,†Hermione said as she returned from the kitchen. –Everyone’s been so on edge for so long now; Harry and Ginny more than anyone. Just waiting for some kind of result, some kind of news. Knowing anything would be better than this constant waiting.†She settled back on the armchair, her forehead lined with worry.
–It’s bad enough for us worrying about our nephew,†Ron continued quietly, –I can’t imagine what Harry and Ginny are going through…†His voice faded as he gave a half-glance upstairs, where their children slept.
The four of them carried on talking for most of the evening, and conversation returned to lighter topics - but always underneath every discussion, every topic, was the dark thought of the missing child.
~
October 2012
There was a thirteen-year-old boy sitting on the edge of the pavement, his head in his hands. He wasn’t crying, but upon seeing his expression a passerby might wonder why not. His slightness made him look younger than he was, but the way that he was attempting to marshal his emotions suggested someone older. He was wearing a white school shirt without the tie under a dark blue hoodie, and old blue jeans with worn trainers.
After he had been sitting there for almost an hour, he was approached by a man in his early forties who sat down on the pavement next to him.
–Hello,†he said. –I’m Chris.â€
The boy jumped and looked at him, frightened, about to bolt. His fists clenched by his sides. The older man raised his hands in a calming fashion.
–Hey, take it easy,†he said soothingly. –I’m here to help, you’re not in trouble.â€
He waited until the boy had relaxed a little before continuing.
–Are you on your own?†he asked gently. –Lost?â€
The boy shrugged, wary. The man smiled.
–I can help you find your way back, if you tell me where you want to go,†he said.
The boy muttered something under his breath.
–What was that?†enquired the man.
–I can’t go back,†the boy replied quietly. –She told me I had to go, I don’t have anywhere to go back to.â€
He had a very middle class tone to his voice, and he scuffed the toe of one trainer on the road as he spoke. The man smiled again.
–That’s alright. How long have you been out on your own?†he asked.
–A week.â€
–Hungry and tired?†the man said knowingly. –I know somewhere safe you can stay for a while.â€
When the boy looked at him sharply, suspiciously, he put his hands up again, defensively.
–Hey, you can always run if you don’t like it,†he said.
Later, the boy would remember those words. He would turn them over and over in his head until they lost all meaning, but that didn’t matter - there had been no truth in them to begin with.
~
March 2014
It was raining the day that two teenaged boys walked down a side street between two rows of houses in London.
The younger one was ahead of the older one.
–Ghost, wait. Come on, this is stupid,†the older boy said. He looked around sixteen years old, thin-faced and of average height. He had pulled his cotton hood over his head and it was already nearly soaked through; his hair was poking out of it in wet clumps.
–Look, there’s nothing there - it’s just crackheads, no one actually lives here,†he tried. The younger boy turned to look at him. He was around fourteen, and his brown hair was plastered to his head by the rain.
–Then what about last night?†he asked as though he was stating the obvious.
The older boy rolled his eyes.
–Maybe they were just using it so you wouldn’t know where they really lived,†he guessed half-heartedly. –Come on, it’s chucking it down. I’ve got a couple of quid, we could get chips…â€
The younger boy ignored him and sped up so that the older boy had to almost run to catch him up.
–Nice, hot chips,†the older boy tried again. –With salt and vinegar. And maybe we could get your big mate to pick us up some booze.â€
–Go on then, you go,†the younger boy replied, still walking. –I’m going to get a look.â€
–I’m not letting you wander around here on your own. You’re just a kid.â€
At this, the younger boy stopped and turned to him angrily.
–Shut up, Mara. Like I can’t take care of myself. Who was it that took down Rogers last week when you couldn’t even get a look in?â€
The older boy didn’t respond and so the younger one started walking again. They continued in silence for a few more minutes until the younger boy stopped.
–This is the one,†he said.
They were standing outside the back of an old house. It seemed to be unlived-in; all the windows from the ground to the attic were boarded up with wood, and ivy was growing up the walls. It was nearly identical to the ones on either side of it; the entire street was more than overdue for redevelopment, but the council hadn’t got around to it yet.
The older boy sighed. He was soaked through and in no mood to hang around.
–There, you’ve seen it. Now can we go?â€
In answer, the younger boy walked over to the garden wall between them and the house.
–Are you going to give me a hand up or what?â€
A few minutes later, and the two of them were in the back garden. The rain had lessened, but it was still spitting. The older boy tugged his hood down and squeezed the water out of it before pulling it back onto his head warily.
–What now?†he asked. He sounded defeated.
–Can we get up to the attic window?†the younger teen asked. The older one took a step back, sizing up the house. There was an ugly extension tacked on to the back which would get them level with the first floor, but the second floor window would mean clambering up a drainpipe. He chewed the inside of his lip for a minute, thinking.
–Probably. But you do exactly what I tell you, alright?â€
The younger boy nodded.
It took some careful planning and a couple of heart-stopping moments where the drainpipe shuddered dangerously, but then they were up on the relatively broad windowsill of the attic window. The younger boy was standing, clinging to the frame and trying to find a gap in the wooden boards to see through. The older boy kept glancing around; it wouldn’t do for anyone to see them up there.
Suddenly the younger boy froze, and then his head jerked away from the gap he had found.
–Ghost, what is it?†the older boy asked. –Ghost?â€
The younger boy had leant in to the gap again, and he looked confused.
–It’s okay,†he murmured. –Come back, I won’t hurt you…â€
–Ghost, we’ve got to go,†the older boy said, reaching for his arm. He could see a group of men walking down the street. –Kenny’s gang won’t like us being here, we’ve got to get out before they spot us -â€
–They’re not coming up here,†the younger boy said dismissively, still pressed against the boards. The older boy sighed in frustration.
–No, but they could still see us. Move, come on.â€
Three painstakingly slow seconds later, the younger boy moved. His older friend had to watch for both of them as they climbed carefully down, because the younger boy kept looking back up to the window.
–Come on, let’s get out of here,†the older boy said. Not waiting for a response, he grabbed the younger boy’s upper arm and pulled him down the street at a run.
~
August 2017
Harry was reading the newspaper in his basement study when he heard a knock on the door, accompanied by two distinct giggles. He smiled.
–Come in.â€
The big door swung easily at the press of little hands, and the twins tumbled into the room. Harry put his paper down and stood up, walking around his desk to give them both a hug, but when he closed his arms around them suddenly one of them was gone.
And then he was running up the stairs and the door was flying open but the room was empty, so empty, and that gap was agonising because it was so very wrong. Something, someone so important was missing, they were not where they should be -
- wide eyes like the sea screaming in a darkened room -
Harry sat up in bed, sweating, breathing heavily. His heart seemed to be pounding its way out of his chest, and he had to force himself not to leap out of bed and run to check on Esmerelda. Wait, he told himself. He looked over to the other side of the bed - thankfully Ginny seemed to be sleeping peacefully, her long red hair spread over the pillow. Harry smiled slightly; the sight never ceased to be a calming one. All the same, he slipped quietly out of bed without disturbing her, pulled on his dressing gown, and padded softly out into the hallway. As always, he hesitated slightly at the first door that he passed. They’d long since taken the letters that spelt out –Edward†off of the door, but there were slight faded marks on the wood where they had been. Harry ran his fingers along them gently before moving to the next room, the door of which was slightly ajar.
He gently nudged it and tilted his head so that he could see a little way inside. There was eleven-year-old Esmerelda - Ezzy to most people, but Harry had loved the full name when Ginny had suggested it. It had an added special quality to it that he was one of the few people who called her by it. She was asleep in much the same way that her mother was, pale, slender limbs wrapped around herself but her long black hair was plaited to keep it out of the way. He looked on for a moment, reassuring himself of her safety, before pulling the door gently to again and walking back along the landing.
He did not return to his and Ginny’s room, knowing he would not be able to sleep again now, but made his way downstairs and then downstairs again to his study in the basement.
It was furnished a little like the Gryffindor common room, with deep red walls and a soft red carpet. There were a few book cases along one wall, and a very comfortable chair in one corner that he had fallen asleep in on more than one occasion. Along the wall to the left of the oak desk was a row of moving photographs - all of a group of mostly red-haired people, more and more in each photograph. The Weasley family photograph was taken every three years, normally by Creevey Photography. But most prized of photographs was in a frame on Harry’s desk, and as he sat down behind the desk it was this that he was looking at. It was a black-and-white shot, showing himself, Ginny, Edward and Esmerelda. The twins had been about four at the time, and with Ezzy’s short hair they were nearly identical. Eddie was thinner and smaller though - he had always - would have always - weighed less, as he had been born with health problems. Harry sighed, and dragged his eyes away from the photograph.
Esmerelda would be heading to Hogwarts in under a month now, going to join her older Weasley cousins. Harry smiled. She was very excited about it - they had taken her to Diagon Alley a few days ago to buy all her school supplies, and Harry knew that she was itching to pack her bags already. He did not blame her - she was a sociable girl and he knew she wanted to spend more time with her friends than her parents. She already put up with far more fussing and parental protectiveness than she really should have to, and she did it with good grace, for which Harry was very grateful.
Harry sank back into his desk chair, turning things over in his mind. His eyes flicked over to his filing cabinet. He had an entire drawer dedicated to research into his son’s disappearance, but it only contained newspaper clippings from various announcements and false alarms.
How can someone disappear without any trace left behind?