Welcome to the Library
They land in Sydney early in the morning and stumble through the airport, blinking in the bright sunlight. Hermione keeps one hand locked on her knapsack, leading them through the sterile corridors.
“Is there a local apparition point somewhere nearby?” George asks in a low voice beside her as they hurry past groups of travelers.
Hermione shakes her head. “Not that I know of. And even if there was, I don’t think I know the area well enough to be able to apparate us somewhere safely.”
George raises an eyebrow and adjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder. “So what are we looking for?”
“A taxi to take us to the hotel.”
“Right then.”
George steps in front of her and strides down the concourse, following the mass of people streaming towards the exit doors. Hermione trots to keep up, scowling slightly.
“George. George! Wait!” she huffs. George pauses ahead of her, turning to frown at her over his shoulder.
“What?” he asks once she has caught up.
“You’re walking too fast,” Hermione says. “Slow down.”
“Oh.” He looks down at her, seeming to realize for the first time that she is several inches shorter than him, and nods. “Sorry ‘bout that.”
They find the exit at last, and follow the signs for the taxi queue. Once safely inside the vehicle, Hermione deposits her knapsack on the seat in front of her and gives the driver the name of their hotel.
The car ride through Sydney is rather quiet. Hermione’s head has begun to ache again, the sunlight boring sizzling holes into her brain. She closes her eyes and lets her head rest against the cool glass of the window. She doesn’t know what George is thinking, how he is feeling as they drive through the city, and for the moment she doesn’t quite care.
She is here. She is in Australia, on her way to finding her mum and dad. Soon, they will be together again.
The driver pulls into their hotel, a modest accommodation located on a side street just a few minutes away from the city center, and lets them out, wishing them a good holiday. Hermione responds gratefully, swinging the knapsack onto her shoulder before paying the fare.
George waits for her by the lobby door, his head on a swivel taking in their surroundings and the towering city skyline in the distance. “I never understood how muggles create these enormous buildings without magic,” he whispers to Hermione under his breath. “It seems like it should be impossible.”
Hermione smirks and shakes her head. “A lot of things are possible without magic, you know. Wizards are just quite narrow minded sometimes.”
The hotel lobby is a bit rundown, but undoubtedly clean, and after a year of living in a tent with two boys it seems to Hermione like the Ritz Carlton Paris. She checks in as Elizabeth Wilkins, casting a quick confundus charm and showing the woman at the desk her charmed identification papers before accepting the two room cards. The woman gives a dreamy, unfocused smile as she tells Hermione to enjoy her stay and let the front desk know if there is anything she needs.
A familiar lump lodges in Hermione’s throat at the sight of the woman’s empty smile, and she tries to swallow it as she repeats a well-practiced refrain. It’s for the best. It’s for the best. It’s for the best.
It is for the best that she has bewitched the muggle concierge. Her reasons for doing so are different and purer than those of the wizards she has fought against for the last seven years, the wizards who bewitch muggles for sport and terror. A simple confundus charm is not the same as torture.
And yet, as Hermione glances over her shoulder to see the woman’s dreamy expression clear and her face twist into a frown, the lump in her throat will not go away.
She rejoins George in the corner of the lobby, holding out his room card. He takes it from her without comment and follows her as she walks to the elevator.
“So are we just kipping in our rooms the rest of the day?” George asks, running a hand over his face. In the fluorescent light of the hotel lobby, his face looks gaunt, almost gray. He frowns as he looks down at the key card in his hand and slides it carefully in his pocket.
Hermione grimaces and shakes her head as she presses the button to call the elevator. “I’d like to get started soon,” she says, glancing up at him sheepishly. “You don’t have to come if you’d rather rest.”
“Nah,” George says with an airy wave of his hand. “I’ll go with you. I just thought you’d be tired, is all.”
Hermione swallows, fussing with the strap of her knapsack. The ache in the back of her head seems to pulse more loudly in response to George’s words. “I’m not tired,” she lies, looking at her feet. “And anyways, we have the whole day ahead of us. It would be a waste of time not to make use of it.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” George runs a hand through his hair and leans against the wall.
Hermione nods, worrying her lip as she tears her eyes away from him and tries to ignore the obvious shadows under his eyes, the stubble scattered across his jaw. George looks exhausted, but she cannot afford to wait.
“We can drop our things in our rooms and meet back down here in an hour?” She cringes as she hears the questioning note in her voice, like she’s asking his permission.
George shrugs again, picking at the hem of his shirt. “Whatever you want, Granger. And are we—er—” he looks up and quickly scans the area around them before leaning in to whisper. “Are we planning to stick to muggle Sydney, then?”
“Yes,” Hermione nods. “My parents would have been in the muggle part of the city, when they came through here. It will be the best starting place for us.”
“Right.” George crosses his arms over his chest, jumping slightly as the elevator lets out a shrill ding and opens in front of them.
“We’re not far from wizarding Sydney, though,” Hermione continues quietly as they shuffle into the elevator. “If you want to see it.”
George shrugs again and leans one shoulder against the wall of the elevator as the doors wheeze closed. “I was just curious. This is my first investigative expedition in a foreign city. I wanted to be sure I understood the boundaries.”
“So you can effectively push them?” Hermione asks, the corners of her mouth curling.
George’s eyes flick to her, and he gives a wry smile. “One day in and you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Granger?”
It is now Hermione’s turn to shrug as she rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you will find endlessly new and maddening ways to surprise me.”
“I have a whole hour right now to begin plotting,” George murmurs. “I’m sure I’ll be able to come up with a few ideas of ways to keep you on your toes.”
The elevator reaches the fifth floor and lurches to a halt, the doors whining as they part. With a glance towards George, Hermione straightens and walks into the corridor. She hears him exit the elevator, staying a few paces behind her.
“Here we are,” Hermione mutters as she comes to a stop in front of room 524. “So we’ll take an hour to settle in and freshen up and then meet down in the lobby to get started.”
“Yes, ma’am,” George drawls, leaning against the door to his room. He takes his key card from his pocket and turns it over in his hand, eyebrows knitting together. “How do these work, by the way?”
“Oh, here,” Hermione says, plucking the card from George’s grasp and stepping in front of the door to his room. “It’s simple. You just slide the card in like this,” she demonstrates sliding the card in the reader and taking it out, opening the door as the light flashes green, “and it unlocks.”
George lets out a breath and shakes his head, his face opening up in something that looks to Hermione rather like wonder. “These muggles and their inventions,” he says in an undertone. “They really are innovative, aren’t they?”
“Just mind you bring the card with you whenever you leave your room,” Hermione says, handing the card back to him and pointedly looking anywhere except inside George’s hotel room. “Otherwise you’ll be locked out and we’ll have to confund the woman at the front desk again, which I would rather not do.”
“Yes, ma’am.” George repeats, giving Hermione a mock salute. “And I’ll be downstairs in exactly one hour.”
“Lovely,” Hermione replies crisply. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Do I get to know what the first step is in this mission of ours?” George asks, leaning against the open door and crossing his arms. “The curiosity is killing me. Are we going to rob a bank? Break into a government building? Destroy some poor sod’s home in our attempt to uncover critical information?”
“Of course not.” Hermione purses her lips. “My parents could be anywhere in this country, and we don’t know exactly where. Our first step is to do some research.”
George raises an eyebrow. “And where will we do that?”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “The library, of course.”
***
Hermione emerges from her room an hour later feeling cleansed, if not particularly rested. Her skin is faintly pink and damp, still tingling slightly from the hot water and energetic scrubbing she had subjected it to in the shower. Her hair, freshly washed and magically dried, is tied back in a plait that rests heavy on her shoulder. The steady throbbing at the base of her skull remains unabated.
George stands waiting for her in the corner of the lobby, his face still somewhat drawn though freshly shaved. He gives a short wave as Hermione approaches and follows her to the concierge’s desk.
The concierge, upon hearing Hermione’s request, looks very confused but remains polite as they give directions to the closest public library. Hermione thanks them and takes the slip of paper from the desk where the concierge has drawn a crude map, checking her watch as she walks towards the front door.
“We’ll only have a few hours before places will begin to close,” she says to George as she leads them out the front door of the hotel and into an adjacent alley. “I just hope we’ll be able to find everything we need to get started.”
“We’ll know one way or another soon enough,” George replies. They come to a stop halfway down the alley, both of them looking over their shoulders to ensure they are alone.
“You know where we’re going?” George asks, gesturing to the map in Hermione’s hand. Hermione nods, tucking the slip of paper into her jeans pocket and holding out her hand. George puts his hand into hers, and Hermione takes a deep breath before turning on the spot and disapparating.
They land at the end of a different side street, and Hermione feels her feet wobble beneath her, sending her tumbling into George’s side.
“Easy there, Granger,” he says, catching her by the shoulder and steadying her. Hermione straightens, her cheeks feeling somewhat warm, and shakes her head to clear it.
“We’ll want to go this way,” she points to the end of the street in front of them, through which she can hear the bustle and shouts of the city. “The library should be just across the street.”
They move as surreptitiously as they can from the side street, joining the throng of people and cars on the main road and up to the imposing building of the public library.
“Wow,” she hears George breathe behind her as they push through the heavy front doors. “This place is cool.”
Hermione does not reply, though inwardly she has to agree with George’s assessment. The building which houses the Darling Square Library is cool. The modern, circular building is replete with natural light let in from the myriad windows, the space open and scattered with sturdy furniture. Compared to the Hogwarts library, with all its dark wood and dust-ridden tomes, the public library feels like another world.
She scrubs a hand down her face, trying to quiet the faint buzzing in her ears and calm the steady headache that has plagued her since her nightmare on the plane. The hour-long break in her hotel room had been peaceful, but not nearly long enough to make the headache go away.
“Don’t go far,” Hermione says over her shoulder as she marches towards the front desk. “This is just a stopping point to figure out where we need to go next.”
George frowns. “We’re not spending all day in the library, then?”
Hermione stops and shakes her head. “They likely won’t have what we need here.”
Without another word, she walks away from George and towards the large desk at the front of the building with a sign overhanging it reading Reference. “Hello,” she chirps as she approaches. The woman behind the desk, a rather tired looking matron wearing a pair of thick spectacles, looks up from the book in her lap.
“How can I help you?” the woman asks, tucking the book away and fixing Hermione with an expectant stare. “Do you need to find materials for class?”
“Er—no—” Hermione stutters, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I—I’m an international student—from Oxford—and I was just wondering if you could tell me where I could go to browse local property records?”
The woman squints at Hermione. “Property records?”
“Er—yes,” Hermione says, biting her lip. “They’re for my thesis on—er—ethnographic fluctuations in anglophone colonized spaces from 1985 to the present.”
“Ah,” the woman’s eyes widen slightly and she shakes her head as she leans towards the bulky computer monitor in front of her. “Let me see,” she clucks, typing violently on the keyboard. “I’m sure we have those available somewhere in the government library system, though you may need to make an appointment to look at them.”
“That’s alright,” Hermione says quickly.
The woman’s fingers clack against the keyboard a few more times as she stares intently at the screen. “You’ll have to go to the Land Registry Services,” she says at last, peering at Hermione over the top of the monitor. “It’s just down the road. Would you like the address?”
Hermione nods and the woman takes a slip of paper from the tray in front of her, scrawling an address on it in blue pen.
The woman squints at her. “And did you want me to call and help you make an appointment?”
“Yes, that would be wonderful,” Hermione says.
The woman nods and picks up the phone from the desk, glancing at the computer screen as she punches in the number.
“Yes, hello,” she says after a brief pause, “this is Marjorie with the Darling Square Library. I have a young woman here with me—uhm—” she puts a hand over the phone and looks up at Hermione. “What did you say your name was, dear?”
“Elizabeth Wilkins,” Hermione responds, opening her knapsack and digging out the piece of paper charmed to look like a passport. “Here,” she hands the paper to Marjorie, “in case you need the spelling.”
“Thank you.” The woman takes the piece of paper and glimpses it before adjusting the phone in her hand. “Sorry, yes, I have a young woman with me here who is wishing to make an appointment to browse the records. Mhm. Mhm—yes—yes—I did tell her, yes. It’s Elizabeth Wilkins. Mhm. Let me check.”
She pauses, still cradling the phone against her shoulder as she looks up at Hermione through her spectacles. “They have an opening on Thursday afternoon at two o’clock, will that work for you?”
“That would be lovely,” Hermione nods.
“She said that works,” Marjorie says into the phone. “Mhm. Great. Thank you, I’ll tell her.” She punches a button on the phone and slips the receiver back into its cradle. “You are all set with a two o’clock appointment for Thursday. Did you want me to write that down for you next to the address?”
“No, that’s alright,” Hermione shakes her head. “But thank you for all your help.” She plasters a bright smile on her face. “This is exactly what I needed.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” the woman replies, handing the slip of paper to Hermione before leaning back in her chair and reaching for her book. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Hermione gives a quick nod, the slip of paper clutched in her hand, and scurries across the library to rejoin George by the front door.
“Got what you need?” he asks, glancing at the slip of paper in her hand.
Hermione nods and gestures towards the door. “Follow me.”
They make their way back into the crowded city street and into the quiet alley. Hermione reads through the address on the piece of paper again before slipping it in her pocket and holding out her hand.
George watches her, eyebrow raised. “Do I get to know where we’re going now?”
“Oh, sorry!” Hermione feels her cheeks grow warm as she glances sheepishly at him. “We’re going to the National Land Registry office. They’ll have records of any home sales or land transactions that have taken place in Sydney that are open to researchers.”
George gives a short nod. “So if your parents decided to settle down in Sydney, you’d be able to find where they live?”
“More or less.” Hermione shrugs. “It’s the best starting place I could think of. It assumes they stayed in Sydney and didn’t go any further, but at least if I look through these I can rule out the possibility that they just got here and liked the city and decided to stay.”
“Fair enough, Granger.” George looks over his shoulder to check the alley remains clear and holds out his hand. “Go ahead and take us to the land registry, then.”
Hermione closes her hand in his, turns on the spot, and feels the world around her collapse.
They arrive in a different side street that seems unsettlingly similar to the first, with noises from the city ringing out from the main road. If Hermione weren’t so confident in her apparition abilities, and if she didn’t feel George stumble slightly into her shoulder, she would have worried they hadn’t moved at all.
“I don’t know how strict they’ll be about security and access at this office,” Hermione says as she strides into the chaos of the city. “So it will be best if I do the talking at least in the beginning.”
“Right.” George moves easily beside her. “And tell me why we didn’t just go to this office in the first place if it’s actually where we need to go to start looking for your parents?”
Hermione shrugs. “I was sure there would be a separate office that houses these records, but I didn’t know precisely what it was called or where it was, and didn’t want to ask over the phone in case it drew attention. Anyways, this way I got to see the public library and talk with one of the librarians there, which might be helpful in the future. Half of research is just building relationships with the people who manage the materials.”
She hears George give a small snort at this and turns to glare at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says with a shake of his head. “We just have very different approaches to research, that’s all.”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you would just break into the building in the dead of night and steal what you needed, wouldn’t you?”
“Oi, that’s hurtful, Granger.” George clutches a hand to his chest and pulls his mouth into an exaggerated frown. “You make us sound like ruthless criminals.”
Now it’s Hermione’s turn to shake her head. “If that’s not the case, then why did I never see any of you in the library? I had a pretty good idea of who was spending time there.”
George gives her a rather wicked grin. “Because we made it our business to make sure you didn’t see us there, Granger. We didn’t think you’d approve of the particular research we were doing.”
Hermione purses her lips and doesn’t ask any other questions. She thinks back to her fifth year, when she had argued incessantly with the twins over their methods for developing their products. No, she’s sure she wouldn’t have approved of whatever research they had been doing. But still, it stings to hear that they had purposely kept their goings-on from her in particular.
She can feel George’s eyes on her and ignores them, walking silently down the busy street.
“That was a joke you know,” George says as they turn onto a different street. “About not wanting you to know we were there.”
“It was very funny,” Hermione responds flatly.
“We didn’t want anyone to know we were there,” he continues. “Though we found other ways of achieving that than breaking into the library in the dead of night. We never tried that, mostly because Madam Pince is right scary when she’s angry and neither of us fancied seeing what her night clothes looked like.”
Hermione snorts, biting back a smile. “And so how did you get the books you needed, then?”
“Easy,” George replies. “Lee went and got them for us. Somehow people never looked twice when he was there. It was brilliant in its simplicity.”
Hermione shakes her head, rolling her eyes. Ahead of them she spots a squat building with a sign out front reading NSW National Land Registry. “Oh,” she says, pointing towards the building. “Here we are.”
They walk up the narrow pathway to the building, and Hermione pulls open the heavy oak door.
“You should find somewhere to sit,” she whispers to George as they walk through the entryway and towards the reception desk. “I’ll go talk to them and see if I can get in.”
George nods, tilting his chin as he scans the room. “I’ll be over there,” he says, pointing across the room to a cluster of chairs around a small coffee table. “Come get me if you need me.”
“Alright,” Hermione nods.
George ambles towards the chairs, sliding a small black knapsack from his shoulder. Satisfied that he does not need further direction, Hermione checks her watch and walks towards the desk at the front of the room.
“Hello,” Hermione trills as she approaches the desk, once again plastering a bright smile on her face. “How are you today?”
The young woman behind the desk glowers at her, looking altogether much less welcoming than Marjorie at the library. “Do you have an appointment?” the woman asks, the words snapping around a piece of gum.
Hermione does her best not to frown. “Yes,” she says. “At 2:15. I know I’m a few minutes early.”
The woman scowls and pulls towards her a large paper planner sitting on the desk, running her finger across it.
Hermione holds her breath and slowly takes her wand from her pocket, holding it by her hip and pointing it towards the desk. Confundus, she thinks as clearly as she can.
The woman’s eyebrows knit together as she looks again at the paper planner. “When did you say your appointment was?” she asks, looking up.
“2:15,” Hermione says. “For Elizabeth Wilkins? One of the librarians from the Darling Square Library called and made it on my behalf.”
The woman’s eyebrows furrow more deeply. “I don’t see—” she mutters to herself, flipping the pages of the planner and running her finger across them. “Ah—” she stops at an entry a few pages past the one she started on. “But I don’t know—”
“The appointment is today at 2:15 for myself and one other researcher,” Hermione presses on. “I made it a few days ago, and it was confirmed on the phone.”
The woman shakes her head and flips the planner back to the original page. “I just don’t—”
“We’re on rather a tight timeline,” Hermione adds.
Finally, the woman slides the planner away and reaches down below the desk, coming up with two badges on lanyards which she shoves at Hermione.
“Reading rooms are open until six o’clock,” she says as Hermione takes the badges. “Our archivists will help you find the materials you need.”
“Thank you,” Hermione replies, quickly putting one of the lanyards around her neck before the woman changes her mind and demands it back. With one last glance towards the desk, she turns and hurries back to the waiting area.
“Here,” she says as she approaches George, brandishing the second badge at him. “Put this on and let’s go to the reading room.”
George puts the badge on without comment and stands, walking beside Hermione as she follows the signs down a meandering corridor.
“That took longer than I thought it would,” George murmurs as they walk.
Hermione grimaces. “It took a bit more effort than expected. You’re technically supposed to have specific credentials to get in here.”
George glances sideways at her. “So you bewitched that angry girl at the front to let us in?”
Hermione purses her lips. “Pretty much. Now hush, there might be other people nearby.”
The reading rooms sit at the end of a brightly lit corridor, and Hermione gently presses open the first door she sees.
The room holds a bank of four computers in the corner and is otherwise littered with chairs and small tables arranged in varying clusters. Only one of the seats is occupied, a wizened little woman hunched over a manila folder.
Hermione glances over her shoulder at George, who points wordlessly at a table and three chairs sequestered in the far corner. Hermione nods and hurries to claim it.
They each sink into a chair and drop their bags on the empty seat. Hermione folds her hands on top of the table and turns to look around the room.
“So, uh, Granger,” George says, his own head on a swivel as he takes in their surroundings. “I don’t want to be an idiot here, but where exactly are all of these records we’re meant to be looking through?”
“They said there’s an archivist who will help us,” Hermione hisses, sitting back in her seat. “I just don’t—”
Her sentence is cut off abruptly by a small man almost completely hidden behind a stack of very dusty boxes bursting from a door on the opposite side of the room. The man stumbles about the room like a top and deposits the boxes on one of the unoccupied tables, brushing his hands on his trousers as he straightens.
“Ah, you must have just gotten here,” the man says as he spots Hermione and George and scurries towards them. “Welcome. What can I help the two of you find today?”
Hermione has to stifle a laugh as she gets a better view of the man. He is small and slight, with horn-rimmed glasses and neatly combed hair, dressed in a pinstripe waistcoat and matching bowtie. He reminds her, very strongly, of Percy Weasley. Based on the low chuckle she hears George let out, she guesses he sees the resemblance as well.
“Hello,” she greets the man as clearly as she can muster. “We are—er—here doing some research for my thesis. Would I be able to access all the records you have on home and land purchases that have taken place from July 1997 until now?”
The man nods furtively. “Yes, yes, those are available. But we do have a two box maximum that can be taken out at a time per reader. Did you have a particular time frame you wanted to start with?”
“Er—” Hermione bites her lip. “Could we just start at the beginning?”
“Of course!” the man nods again. “Let me get those first two boxes for you. Neither of you has any food or beverage with you?”
Hermione and George both shake their heads.
“Good.” The archivist gives them a smile. “I’ll be right back with those boxes for you, then.”
He hurries away, and George raises an eyebrow at Hermione. She merely shrugs and smiles.
The archivist returns with two boxes which he slides onto the table between them. “I’ll be walking around until close,” he tells them, straightening his bowtie. “Just come find me or wave me down if you need anything.”
Hermione thanks him and waits until he is out of earshot before standing and lifting the top off the first box.
“I have no idea how these are organized,” she says, peering into the neatly filed contents of the box. “Though I’m guessing they’re placed according to the date they were created.”
George stands beside her and looks over her shoulder at the row of paper. “There isn’t anything we can look at that tells us what all is in here?”
Hermione frowns. “They probably have a finding aid somewhere I could ask for. But I don’t know how helpful that will be.” She glances at the front of the box which bears a label reading July 11 1997 - July 25 1997. “It won’t tell us exactly where to find a document regarding a Wendell or Monica Wilkins.”
“What are all these documents, incidentally?” George asks, gingerly picking up the first piece of paper from his box and turning it over in his hands. “This looks like a lot more than just people buying houses.”
Hermione brushes her hair over her shoulder. “I told you, they’re records related to real estate transactions. Deeds to houses, mortgage documents, records of foreclosures, that kind of thing.”
George blinks at her. “I think I understood about half of that.”
Hermione sighs. “Don’t worry about it. Half the kinds of documents they keep here won’t be relevant to my parents. Just look over the names listed on the documents.”
“And so our grand plan is just to read through all these and see if they have your parents’ fake names on them?”
Hermione feels her shoulders tense as she nods stiffly. She watches George and waits for the outburst, for him to tell her this isn’t what he signed up for.
Instead, he drops back into his seat and pulls one of the boxes towards him. “I’ll start with this one and you start with the other,” he says, nodding towards the box. “If either of us finds mention of a Wilkins we’ll let the other person know.”
Hermione opens her mouth to agree, but George has already dropped his head and begun to read, his lips moving soundlessly as he traces a finger over the lines of tidy text. With a small sigh, and a silent, almost wordless prayer, Hermione drags the remaining box towards her and begins to read.
There seems to be a never ending number of records pertaining to real estate transactions. They each read through the documents in their respective boxes within the hour, and to Hermione’s great relief the man with the horn-rimmed glasses quickly reappears to fetch the next subseries for them.
They silently read through the records until ten minutes to six, when the archivist approaches to tell them the library will be closing for the evening, and to put the materials back as they found them. Hermione looks up from the paper in front of her, bringing a hand up to rub her eyes as the rest of the world swims into focus.
“Can we take these with us?” George whispers to her, pointing to the box in front of him labeled August 30 1997 - September 12 1997. “We could keep reading from the hotel tonight.”
Hermione shakes her head. “The sign says they’re for in-library use only.”
George cocks his head towards the archivist’s retreating back. “Couldn’t we just confund—”
“No.” Hermione rubs her eyes again and sets her pile of paper back in the box. “I’d rather not. We can just come back tomorrow and continue.”
George looks like he is about to argue, but then merely shrugs and sets his stack of papers in the box on top of hers. Hermione glances around and takes out her wand, waving it over the box so the papers shuffle and rearrange themselves back into their original order.
“I take it you didn’t find anything either?” she asks George as she replaces the lid on the box and rises from her chair.
George shakes his head. “I thought I did at one point, but the bloke’s name turned out to be Robert Wendell Watkins.”
Hermione sighs. “We knew this would take time,” she says, more to herself than to George. “It would have been a miracle if we found them after just half a day’s searching.”
George makes a noncommittal noise and picks up the black knapsack from under the table.
“I’ll just go put this back,” Hermione holds up the box of records, “and we can get back to the hotel.”
To Hermione’s relief, the archivist accepts the box from her with no questions, wishing the two of them a good night. Hermione shoves the box unceremoniously towards him, her mind already turning to her hotel room and bed. She knows sleep will not come tonight, but maybe her head will stop pounding if she lays down.
She sees George standing idly by the reading room door, and they walk wordlessly through the bright corridor and out into the street.
The side street they had appeared in just a few hours earlier remains empty, and Hermione follows George when he turns into it. He stops halfway down the street, head swiveling to check that the coast is clear, before holding out his hand. Hermione takes it, begins to take a deep breath, and then feels her chest constrict as George turns on the spot and apparates them back to a side street near their hotel.
The landing is smoother this time. Hermione breathes a sigh of relief when her feet touch down steadily on the ground, releasing her hold on George’s hand and smoothing her shirt.
They walk along the side street to a bustling square, stopping at a muggle hamburger restaurant to eat. Hermione’s stomach roils as she swallows the greasy food, and she realizes she hasn’t had a proper meal since they left the Burrow.
Stomachs now full and the sun beginning to drop lower in the sky, they meander back to the hotel. Hermione thinks wistfully about the room waiting for her, the fluffy duvet and tightly tucked sheets. There will be nobody else with her when she inevitably wakes up in the night, and she doesn’t know if she finds this thought comforting or not.
She is so wrapped up in her thoughts she doesn’t see George stop in front of the hotel door, and nearly walks into him.
“Whoops, watch out,” he says, catching Hermione by the elbow.
“Why’d you stop?” Hermione demands, pulling her arm from his grasp. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all,” George shakes his head before turning to face her fully and offering a jaunty smile. “I just realized it is six o’clock on a Thursday in the lovely city of Sydney, and was wondering what we should do tonight.”
“Oh,” Hermione blinks and frowns. “Er—I hadn’t really thought we’d do anything, really. I was rather looking forward to getting to bed.”
“Oh.” George’s face falls, and Hermione wants to kick herself.
“We can—”
“No, no, that’s alright,” George says, giving her a tight smile and an airy wave of his hand. “You’re probably tired. Sorry, I should’ve realized.”
Hermione swallows and looks down. Her head feels as though it might explode at any moment. “We could see if there’s a place to sit in the lobby and plan a bit more for tomorrow,” she offers. “Or—”
“It’s really fine,” George says firmly. He puts a hand up and runs it through his hair, briefly showcasing the hole in the side of his head where his left ear used to be. “Honestly, Granger. I’m tired. You’re probably exhausted. It’s been a long day. We both could do with just going back and getting some rest.”
“We can try and do something another night,” Hermione suggests weakly, looking up to watch George’s face and hoping to see at least a flicker of lightness. “When we’re not so tired and there’s more time.”
George gives a short, jerky nod and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Right. Of course.”
After an awkward pause Hermione gestures towards the hotel. “Should we—”
George grunts and strides towards the front door, holding it open for Hermione without looking back. She follows him wordlessly, wondering what just happened.
Thick silence covers them like a blanket as they wait for the elevator and ascend to the fifth floor. When at last they reach their rooms George pauses as he fishes the key card out of his backpack.
“Well—” he says in a low, flat voice, finally catching Hermione’s eye, “have a good night, Granger. Sweet dreams.”
“Goodnight,” Hermione squeaks. “I’ll—er—see you in the morning.”
George flashes another grimace as he slides his key card into the reader. “Right. See you in the morning.” With that, he pushes the door open and disappears inside, leaving Hermione alone.