by Van © 2023
		Chapter 1

Somewhere in the North of England (Perhaps)

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The chamber was quite spacious; however, its margins were cloaked in shadow so it was difficult to estimate its true size.  The floor, walls, and high, vaulted ceiling were composed of dark-gray, roughly-dressed stone.  Twenty or more iron torchiers burned with a flickering, strangely cold, smoke-free, green, and manifestly eldritch light, but provided only a little illumination.  In addition, weak, indirect daylight shone down a deep, angled shaft stretching diagonally upwards to a small, square, heavily barred window.

In short, the chamber was a dungeon... a magical dungeon.

The only entrance (and exit) suitable for use by humans (or other similarly sized beings or creatures) was a door of heavy wooden timbers banded with hand-forged iron and studded with heavy bolts.  If it had a handle, locking mechanism, or hinges, they were all on the far side. The ceiling shaft was also available for egress or exit, perhaps by spiders, insects, small birds, or bats; however, any witch or wizard confined in the dungeon (and assuming they'd been allowed to retain their wand and/or possessed an innate power of transformation) would find that a complex web of standing spells and charms prevented the use of any and all magic for the purpose of escape.  The dungeon might as well be part of Azkaban Prison (although it was not).

In the center of the dungeon stood an open, hut-sized, rectangular framework of heavy gray timbers festooned with iron rings and pulleys from which dangled long lengths of hemp rope.  To say the least, the frame and its accoutrements were... ominous.

The door swung open on oil-hungry hinges—Creeeee!—and a pair of witches padded into the dungeon on bare feet.  Then—Creeeee!—the door swung closed behind them.
 
Both witches were unarguably beautiful, and their features were noticeably similar.  Also, they had the same lustrous brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin, and trim but curvaceous/voluptuous figures.  They might very well be related.  They might even be sisters.  One was taller than the other, as well as slightly older, but she was far from old.  The other was shorter and at least a little younger, and her breasts (while still full) were smaller than her companion's.  In any case, both witches were quite attractive.
 
Regarding their magical status, an observer with arcane knowledge would tentatively categorize them as witches based on their mode of dress, in that they were wearing the sort of long black gowns worn by all witches on preternatural occasions (such as formal coven business).  These particular gowns, however, were decidedly old fashioned, even ancient.  Their long, full skirts were slit nearly to the hip on either side, and above the waist they were quite revealing, virtually backless, and with only narrow panels immodestly covering their breasts.  Historically, the garments were of a style that would mark the wearer as a Celtic High Enchantress from before the arrival of the Romans.

"I still say it's your turn," the shorter/younger witch complained, a quirky, petulant pout curling her unarguably attractive lips.

The taller/older witch reacted with a graceful, dismissive wave of her right hand (and a similarly eccentric, dimpled smile).  "Rubbish.  Get on with it."

The clearly unhappy shorter and younger witch heaved a long-suffering sigh... paused for maximum effect... then began to disrobe.  The process wasn't exactly time consuming.  As was expected with such a traditional/ancient costume, the witch was already barefoot (like her taller/older companion), and wasn't wearing any underwear (also like her taller/older companion).  Task complete, the shorter/younger witch was now nude (also known as "skyclad").  She neatly folded her gown and placing her wand on top, heaved another sigh—tragic martyr that she was—then padded to the center of the timber frame, gave the taller/older witch a scathing (and quirky) scowl, then stood with her bare feet apart and arms and her hands raised above her pouting head.

The taller/older witch pulled her wand from a hidden pocket in the folds of her skirt, smiled a beatific (mocking) smile, then began waving the wand in a complex, precise manner.  As she did so, the dangling ropes quivered... shook... then sprang into action like so many striking snakes!

Bands of rope tightened around the naked witch's wrists, ankles, waist, torso, thighs, and bundled hair, then lifted her into the air!  There was a brief interlude as her bonds cinched, hitched, and knotted themselves... then the frame's pulleys creaked as the resulting web drew rigidly taut.

"Ah!" the naked captive gasped.

The final result was a beautiful, naked witch suspended in mid-air in the center of a matrix of tight, inflexible hemp strands.  Her arms were fully extended to either side, her knees bent, her lower legs more or less horizontal, and her torso leaning forward about 45-degrees.  In addition, thanks to the ropes knotted in her hair, her grimacing head was more-or-less immobilized.  It was as if she was frozen in the act of skydiving, pinioned in place by the taut web.

The naked, helpless witch squirmed, wiggled, tugged on her bonds, and did her best to free herself, but the ropes were too numerous, too cleverly arranged, and too rigidly taut for her to mount a serious effort.  The most significant result of her severely attenuated squirming and twitching was to impart a noticeable wobble to her semi-hanging/semi-sagging breasts.  Clearly, she wasn't going anywhere.

"Ooooh!" the nude captive complained.  "Too tight!  You made it too tight!"

"Silly goose," the taller/older witch chuckled.  "It's no tighter than what you did to me the last time.  And besides, as you're well aware, tight is better than loose.  Too much thrashing around inevitably leads to sore joints and cramping muscles."

"Ooooh!" the shorter/younger captive reiterated.  "You're just being catty!"

The not naked, suspended, and stringently bound witch smiled and shrugged—"Meow!"—then reached through the left slit in the skirt of her gown with her left hand and produced an off-white, coarsely-woven, bandage-like roll of linen cloth.  (She must have had it secured against her left inner thigh with a garter.)  "If you're going to be a petulant brat..."  She tossed the bundle into the air and it unrolled into a fluttering ribbon.  At the same time, she flicked the wand still in her right hand, several loops formed in the center of the hovering strip, then coalesced into a loose rosette.  The resulting elegant "flower" then stuffed itself into the shorter/younger/naked/captive's indignant and disgruntled mouth!

"MRRRpfh!" the naked and bound prisoner complained as the free ends of the linen strip tightened around her head—first cleaving her stuffed mouth—then covering her lower face from nose to chin under multiple tight layers—and finally weaving themselves into a tight knot at the nape of her neck!  She stared a steady stream of imaginary but wickedly sharp daggers at her captor... to no effect.

Suddenly—Creeeee!—the dungeon door swung open... a line of robed and hooded figures slowly, solemnly filed into the chamber on bare feet... and formed a circle around the timber frame and its naked, bound, gagged, and suspended captive.  They were thirteen in number.

The taller/older not naked, bound, or gagged witch had lowered her head and taken several slow, careful, backward steps, getting out of the way of the robed figures as they to took up their positions.

The newcomers were short, very short.  In fact, they were the size of very young human children, little more than toddlers!  That said, they didn't move like children, but with the confident, fluid, barefoot strides of adults.  The raised hoods concealed their features and their long, swaying robes nearly touched the stone floor. 

One of the figures turned to face the taller/older witch and pointed to a row of stout vertical posts embedded in the floor several feet away.  "Leave now," the figure intoned in a melodious, soprano, very feminine voice, then shifted her finger to point to the door in an imperious manner.  "If not, strip, choose a post, and allow yourself to be bound and gagged.  Casual observers are not allowed."

The older witch bowed again.  "By your command."  She then took three additional steps back, spun 180-degrees, and rather hurriedly padded through the door without a backwards glance at her shorter/younger naked, bound, gagged, and suspended companion.

"Mrrrmpfh!" the remaining witch whined as the dungeon door swung closed.  Creeeee!  She then went limp in her bonds.

The thirteen diminutive figures raised their arms... their fingertips began glowing with an eerie green light... and they began a whispering, lilting, melodious chant in perfect unison.

♪♫♪♫  "Gwysiwn oleuni...  Galwn chwerthin...  Gwysiwn lawenydd...  Gwysiwn iachâd..."  ♪♫♪♫

The helpless captive shivered in distress and despair.  She knew exactly what was about to happen to her, all too well.

London, England
(Beneath Whitehall)

---

Hermione Granger-Weasley had a plan, but this was hardly a revelation to her friends, family, and colleagues at the Ministry of Magic.

Hermione Granger-Weasley always had a plan.  In fact, she had a plan for the day, a plan for the week, and plans for the month, year, decade, and so on into the indefinite future.  Granted her plan(s) closest to the present were the most detailed, well-researched, and in most cases already grinding steadily forward, while her plan(s) furtherest into the future were little more than outlines, if that, and might better be characterized as intentions, goals, or notions, and were subject to significant change.

The point was, Hermione Granger-Weasley had a plan!  She was the proverbial Unstoppable Locomotive hurtling down the proverbial tracks and transporting the Ministry into a Glorious and Progressive Future!  Her life's mission was to nudge (and if necessary shove) the magical bureaucracy into rousing itself from its moribund and befuddled complacency, shuffle off the accumulated dust of inefficiency, rid itself of outdated attitudes and misconceptions, and especially to discard its many inconsistent and counterproductive rules and regulations; and above all, to make the Minister's lofty rhetoric about reform and improvement a Radiant Reality!

Hermione also had personal plan(s), of course, the most important of which had recently come to splendiferous fruition!  She'd married Ron!  Miss Hermione Granger was now Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley!  As The Daily Prophet had put it, the two Steadfast Heroic Friends of The Great Harry Potter, his Bosom Companions during the Second Wizarding War, were now Husband and Wife!  (The Prophet's headline writers had a longstanding habit of penning overly florid prose.)

Hermione and Ron's wedding at "The Burrow" (Molly and Arthur Weasley's ramshackle cottage) had been fabulous, every bit on par with Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley's nuptials—only without being interrupted by the downfall of the Ministry, the attack of a small army of Death Eaters, and the formal outbreak of the Second Wizarding War.  Anyway... Hermione's mum and Molly cried, Hermione's dad and Arthur got amiably drunk together, and a good time was had by all—and among the guests was Kingsley Shacklebolt himself, the Minister of Magic!  The Daily Prophet declared it "The Wedding of the Year!"  (By the way, the muckraking reporter Rita Skeeter had not been invited, nor did she manage to gatecrash.)

Hermione and Ron's honeymoon in the Lake District was equally memorable... and private.  (And again, Rita Skeeter wasn't invited and didn't attend.)

Career-wise, after a brief tenure as an Auror at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE), Hermione was promoted to a newly created senior post at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (the DR&CMC).  It was one of several such departmental appointments made by Kingsley Shacklebolt to various Departments.  His plan (which was also Hermione's plan) was to expedite reform from within, but without bruising too many egos in the process and calcifying further resistance.  In Hermione's case, her portfolio was to assist Secretary Dimwitty in identifying and rectifying inconsistencies in the rules, regulations, and policies of the DR&CMC's many sub-departments and bureaus.

With this particular low-profile but potentially high-impact appointment, Hermione had her work cut out for her.  The DR&CMC was notoriously moribund, its senior bureaucrats notoriously truly gifted in their self-satisfied apathy, and many were well past normal retirement age (even for wizards and witches).  It was taking all of Hermione's patience and growing political skills to shepherd meaningful change.  She had to carefully choose her battles and always think several moves ahead.

One tactic Hermione was finding particularly effective was to search for an unresolved incident involving Magical Creatures that touched on multiple bureaus within the DR&CMC and especially within other ministry departments.  She would offer to look into the "egregious matter" for Secretary Dimwitty so he could check it off his nonexistent list of "Serious Problems Requiring Resolution," use his authority to carefully investigate and spotlight real problems, then clean house.  It was political jujitsu, and as she gained bureaucratic experience, Hermione was getting increasingly good at it.

Case in point:  There was something going on in Giggleswick, a village and civil parish in the Craven District of North Yorkshire.  There were multiple vaguely documented instances of wizards, witches, and muggles disappearing... then reappearing after a few days.  According to all reports, the victims were agitated but unharmed and had had their recent memories wiped, as if by an Obliviate spell.  Also, while the incidents were numerous, temporally they were widely separated and dated all the way back to the reign of Æthelred the Unready (978-1013 & 1014-1016).

By the way, one of the so-called "Shacklebolt Reforms" that Hermione was finding quite useful was his creation of a Department of National Liason (DNL).  Since most modern muggle technology (including electronic computers) has proven to be totally incompatible with magic, the first thing the DML did was to establish a Data Center in a block of secretly interconnected townhouses in the London Borough of Barking and Dagenham.  The Center were designated as strictly "Magic Free" and all witches and wizards, including visiting MoM officials, were required to check their wands at the door.  Once inside, specialist magical and muggle consultants helped them conduct computerized searches via broadband links to the National Archives and other muggle governmental databases.  So far, Hermione was one of only a handful of witches or wizards who regularly availed themselves of the DML's services, but as the value of being able to easily tap into muggle information became increasingly obvious, that number was steadily growing.

Anyway, the DNL had been most helpful fleshing out Hermione's research into what she had dubbed "The Perplexing Giggleswick Mystery," and although detailed information from all sources was sparse and anything but detailed, clearly something had been happening in or around Giggleswick for a very long time.

According to one account, "gigantic and oddly colored Cornish Pixies" were responsible.  Another gave reference to "vexing goblins of great beauty."  Such reports were the reason the Giggleswick Mystery was in the DR&CMC archives in the first place, because of the possible involvement of unidentified magical creatures or beings.  However, what were not in the records were meaningful attempts to resolve the situation.  That meant Hermione was free to "stick her cute but impertinent little nose" into all sorts of unwelcome places, as her detractors among her fellow DR&CMC Undersecretaries often characterized her "snooping."  Anyway, The Perplexing Giggleswick Mystery was proving itself to be a prime opportunity to drag all sorts of bureaucratic deficiencies into the light.

So, after poking around at the DR&CMC and conducting extensive research at other MoM archives and the DMLE, the next phase in Hermione's cunning plan was to take an actual trip to North Yorkshire to conduct a little personal reconnaissance.  She intended to make the journey first thing the next morning, stay a day or two, and conduct a "casual" but thorough investigation; however, just as she was getting ready to leave for the day... an official DMLE memo in the form of a paper bird flitted into her office, unfolded itself, and announced in an officious (and irritating) voice that a DMLE Protective Detail was being assigned to her until "The Giggleswick Matter" was resolved, and it was signed by "Harry J. Potter, Assistant Supervising Auror!"

"Oh, bother!" Hermione muttered.

In the first place, how dare Harry get himself promoted without telling her so she could throw him a celebratory party!

In the second place (and more importantly), Hermione Granger-Weasly did not need an Auror to be assigned to her as a "Protective Detail."  She was going to North Yorkshire to scope out the lay of the land and conduct a few discrete interviews with local witches, wizards, and muggles.  What could possibly happen that would make her wish she had a protector?  Hermione Granger-Weasley could take care of herself, so there!

Anyway, (and after a glorious night of intense lovemaking to compensate Ron for her impending brief absence)... early the next morning found Hermione back in her office and not on her way to Gigglewick via the MoM Portkey Network and trying her best not to glower in an unfair manner at an absolutely gorgeous young woman sitting in one of the visitor chairs in front of her modest desk.

The visitor in question was twenty-something, with girlish features, a fair complexion, green eyes, and a remarkable head of copper-red hair (like a Weasley).  She was fidgeting in her chair and shyly smiling back in a carefully polite and professional manner (but with imperfectly disguised nervousness).

Hermione lowered her even gaze to the memo in her hands and reread its contents.  It was written in typical DMLE " bureaucratese," proclaiming that Junior Auror (Probationary) Elspeth Gorawen Tillyhope of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic, was hereby and forthwith temporarily assigned to the staff of Undersecretary Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ministry of Magic, as her Undersecretarial Protective Detail, with all the Duties, Responsibilities, Perogatives, and Requirements specified and required by...  A long list of various MoM Regulations, Canons, and Statutes followed.  Obviously, the missive was a form memo written by a charmed typewriter on automatic; however, a personal note in Harry's hand was scrawled beneath his signature.

Sorry, but Secretary Robards insists & I can't say I fault him.  It's now SOP to appoint protection to any interdepartmental team investigating an open criminal file with more than seven related & unresolved complaints.  Also, on a personal note, this is a chance for me to give Auror Tillyhope some much needed independent field experience.  She's a good kid.  (But please don't tell her I called her a 'kid.')  Elspeth may be green, but she's very capable, intelligent, motivated, & skilled.  (Don't tell her I said all of that either.)  I know you don't need a watchdog, Hermione, so use her as your helper.  This is as much for her benefit as yours.  Say hi to Ron for me, & Ginny wants you two over for dinner soonest.  She got a new goulash recipe from one of Viktor Krum's friends & is eager to give it a try.  Please come anyway.   P.S. By the way, Elspeth idolizes you—& she's a Gryffindor.

Hermione waved her wand to dismiss Harry's personal note, then dropped the memo in the "TO BE FILED" tray on her desk.  She was no longer frowning, but was still finding it difficult to muster a welcoming smile as she gazed at her new "Protective Detail."  Wonderful, she thought, not only do I have an investigation to conduct, but also a mandatory inexperienced 'helper' who 'idolizes' me.  I'll get you for this, Harry.  Hermione finally managed a smile.  After all, none of this was the ginger youngster's fault.

"So, Auror Tillyhope," Hermione said, "it would appear I'm saddled with you... whether I like it or not."

"Yes, Madam Undersecretary," the Elspeth responded, swallowing nervously.  "I promise I won't be any trouble.  You won't even know I'm here."

"Well, I hope I know you're here," Hermione chuckled.  "Otherwise, I might blunder into you and compromise the dignity of my high office."

Elspeth smiled (and almost managed to stifle a timorous giggle), then shook her head (causing her ginger locks to sway).  "No, Madam Undersecretary.  Of course not, Madam Undersecretary."

Hermione couldn't help but take pity on the young Auror.  Her smile became genuinely warm.  "Please, call me Hermione.  We're going to be working together, so there's no reason to stand on ceremony."

Elspeth blinked a few times (and blushed).  "Of course, Madam Undersecretary... I mean... Hermione."

"Brilliant," Hermione beamed.  "May I call you Elspeth?"

Now Elspeth was really blushing.  "Of course, Madam, uh, Hermione."  Again, she'd nodded her pretty head, and again her ginger locks had swayed.

"Good," Hermione chuckled, then picked up her wand and gave it a flick.  "There.  I've summoned the tea trolley.  We can have a confabulation while I brief you on why we'll be traveling to North Yorkshire.  I assume you've reported for duty fully prepared?"

"I have," Elspeth confirmed, reached into the inner breast pocket of the jacket of her stylish but functional business suit and produced a leather wallet.  "My travel kit."

Hermione recognized a standard-issue DMLE "Pocket Valise."  Thanks to an Undetectable Expansion Charm, it was much bigger on the inside than on the outside, providing more than enough room for a few changes of clothing, food, water, or anything else an Auror expected to need while traveling on official duty.  During her stint as an Auror Hermione had been issued a similar wallet, but she much preferred to use her similarly charmed reticule handbag, which at the moment was hanging by its drawstrings from the clothes-tree next to her office door, alongside her raincoat, scarf, and umbrella.

"Excellent," Hermione beamed as Elspeth returned the wallet to her breast pocket.  "Now..."

They were interrupted by a melodic chime, the opening of the office door, and the arrival of a magically self-propelled serving cart.  On it was a complete tea service and a platter with a generous selection of pastries and biscuits.

"I'll be Mother," Hermione stated as she filled two cups and handed one to Elspeth.  They both added milk to their tea, selected a pastry and a few biscuits, placed them on small plates, then settled back in their chairs and sampled their cups.

 "Brilliant," Hermione purred.  "Now... to business.  For a very long time, something has been happening in Giggleswick, either in the village itself or its immediate environs."

"I've studied the Auror Reports for Giggleswick and scanned the reports for the entire Craven District," Elspeth stated, "all the way back to the establishment of the Ministry and the DMLE."

Hermione smiled and nodded.  "Due diligence," she purred, then took a sip of tea.

Elspeth blushed and did her best to cover her reaction with a sip from her own teacup.  Anyone familiar with Hermione Granger-Weasley's exploits and reputation would recognize her words as high praise, and Elspeth was thrilled.

"I've already booked a room in the Black Horse Inn in Giggleswick," Hermione announced as she selected a biscuit from her plate and gave it a nibble.  "It's a twin, all that was available.  A fortuitous happenstance given your addition to the team."

This did not help Elspeth with her blushing problem, and the thrill rippling up her spine doubled.  I'm on Hermione Granger's team!

"Let's not overindulge," Hermione said, finishing her biscuit.  "If we leave within the hour we can be in Giggleswick for lunch.  The Black Horse is supposed to serve excellent shepherd's pie."

Elspeth nodded, then sipped her tea.  She loved shepherd's pie.