Chapter 1
Great detectives in literature never seem to do any work. They sit back, inject cocaine into their veins, travel by Orient Express, fix their moustache with pomade or charm the world with their twinkling blue eyes.
Of course, they might collect the odd piece of evidence or two and give their old friend, the little grey cells a good scratch every now and then. But they never work.
Life for fictional detectives is surprisingly easy.
Which is why Hermione Jean Granger was most certainly not a detective, not that the profession existed as such in the Wizarding World. There were the Unspeakables, but no one really knew what they did anyway. The Aurors existed too, of course, and other members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that was two levels below her own at the Ministry of Magic. But that's not the point.
The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was where Hermione spent the majority of her time, wasting away under piles and piles of House Elf Rights legislation.
It was by no means her dream job, but if she didn't do the work, well, who else would?
She checked the time. Merlin, she ought not to have done that. It would have been better had she not known just how long she had spent at the office that day. So much for going out for drinks with Ginny that night.
Inhaling deeply and running her eyes over the last clause of the forty-page document before her, Hermione supposed that her Friday night was worth the immense social benefit of House Elf emancipation. She could keep telling herself that.
At least she was done for the day - or night - and could finally floo home and collapse on her bed. Thank goodness she had no makeup to remove that night. She'd had no time in the morning, having woken up late after yet another late night at the office. But what was new?
Just as she was reaching into the pot of floo powder resting on the mantelpiece above the department's fireplace, there was a tap on the window.
It was a large brown owl was carrying a sepia-coloured letter with a black wax seal on it. How unbelievably strange for a letter to be delivered at such a time.
Shaking herself out of her trance, Hermione hastened her way over to the window and opened it, inviting the owl inside and immediately removing his burden. The owl politely declined her generous offering of some birdseed from a little pouch that she always kept in her extendable bag, gave her a farewell hoot, and was back out into the night just as quickly as he had arrived.
Hermione had never received a letter this late in the evening. Or early in the morning, if you will. She considered leaving it until she woke up, when her eyesight would be slightly less blurry and she herself would feel slightly less sluggish.
A rather useless suggestion. Hermione had always been a very curious witch who always needed to know everything. It could not wait.
She tore the envelope open and slid out the letter. It felt gritty in her hands.
***
Dear Miss Hermione Granger,
You are to attend a week long conference beginning this very Monday, three days after you will have received this letter. You need not prepare anything nor bring anything in particular other than yourself. Food and accommodation will be provided.
On Sunday at precisely 5 o'clock in the afternoon, the Floo Network will be opened between the fireplace in your home and your destination: The Raddery. You will receive further instructions from there.
There is no need for you to inform your superiors. All has been taken care of. You have been granted permission for this absence.
We await your arrival most impatiently,
The National Society for Elfish Welfare
***
The National Society for Elfish Welfare! She knew only of one society for Elfish Welfare: S.P.E.W. This had to be an entirely new campaign. Perhaps they had taken inspiration from her! Hermione grew quickly more and more interested in this conference.
But such short notice. And such lack of details. Something had to be wrong.
Perhaps, due to how new this society was, they hadn't had the time to give any more notice, or maybe they just didn't know how things were normally done in everyday life, which encouraged her to think that perhaps the society had been created by house elves.
But could currently uneducated house elves be capable of writing so fluently? With no grammatical errors?
As per usual, Hermione grew increasingly curious and was determined to get to the bottom of it. She would be attending that conference next week. What was the worst that could happen?
~
After reading the letter over ten more times, Hermione gathered her things, stepped into the fireplace and soon found herself in her own home, dusted in a light layer of soot. Sighing, she cleared it off herself as she did at least twice a day and finally collapsed on her bed, still fully dressed.
A muffled noise that sounded vaguely like the activation of the Floo Network rung in her ear.
"You home, Mione?" someone called from the corridor.
Hermione groaned, irritated that she was still being denied sleep.
"Ginny, what on Earth are you doing here?"
Ginny swung Hermione's door open and threw herself down on the bed next to Hermione.
"How kind of you to let me know that you would be ditching me tonight," said Ginny, slurring her consonants.
"Sounds like you did just fine without me," Hermione replied, catching a whiff of firewhiskey on her breath.
"Yeah I ended up bumping into Harry and Seamous."
"Oh, really? How are they?" asked Hermione. Due to her exceptionally busy work schedule, she rarely managed to catch up with her friends from Hogwarts, much to her own dislike.
"Great. We had an excellent evening. I stayed out with them and a few others until only a few minutes ago," replied Ginny, who then looked at Hermione as if expecting something.
"I'm guessing that you would like to stay over," mumbled Hermione with a yawn, catching on to her meaning.
"Can I? Oh, brilliant. I was just about to ask, you know," said Ginny cheekily.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Hermione smiled back sleepily.
"Well, I can't go back to the Burrow in the middle of the night, drunk and delirious. Mum would have my head. Your place is just so convenient."
"You're welcome here any time, Gin. It's not like I ever have anyone over anyway."
Ginny sat right up at this and stared widely at Hermione.
"Hermione Granger, answer me honestly: when is the last time you got laid?"
Hermione groaned once again and covered her eyes.
"It's late, Gin."
"Answer me," Ginny repeated. "Or I'll kick you all night and steal all the covers."
"You do that anyway."
"Irrelevant," Ginny dismissed Hermione's comment, beckoning her to answer.
Hermione inhaled deeply and reluctantly complied.
"Two years."
"TWO YEARS?" Ginny cried. "Bloody Hell, Mione, no wonder you're always so stressed."
"Leave me alone, carrot head," Hermione whined, hitting Ginny playfully with one of her throw pillows, but Ginny would not stop laughing.
"Who was it? You have to tell me now," Ginny pestered, her energy and excitement almost sobering her up entirely.
"I'm not telling you. Now sleep or I'm drugging you with a Sleeping Draught."
"But-" Ginny began.
"GOODNIGHT," Hermione yelled, turning out the lights and rolling over to her side.
"Always does this, secretive bint," Ginny mumbled almost inaudibly as she too rolled over to her side.
Hermione mentally rolled her eyes at her.
"Stop mentally rolling your eyes at me and spoon me," Ginny commanded.
"Would you like a head massage with that too?" Hermione mocked.
"Yeah that would be great thanks."
Thanks to Hermione's spooning expertise, Ginny was sound asleep and lightly snoring away in seconds. Her own sleep came considerably later as the impending conference consumed her thoughts.