by Van © 2023
		Chapter 2

Giggleswick,
Craven District, North Yorkshire, England,
United Kingdom, European Wizarding Union

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Hermione and Elspeth abruptly popped into existence several feet above a small clearing in the middle of a copse of Lawson cypress on the outskirts of Giggleswick—then drifted down and gently landed on their feet.  Like all such stations on the Ministry of Magic Portkey Network, the immediate area was protected by a standing spell that gently repelled any muggles that might happen to be in the area, thus shielding the arrival or departure of any witches or wizards using the portal.  The focus of the Giggleswick Terminus was an ancient moss-covered boulder too small to be called a menhir or standing stone but large enough to strongly discourage anyone from trying to move it.

Both witches were dressed for business in sensible heels, pantyhose, half-slips, (bras and panties, to mention the unmentionable), cotton blouses, tweed jackets with matching skirts, and stylish raincoats.  Pinned to the left lapels of their jackets were small "brooches" that a muggle would perceive as charming, attractive, and inconsequential pieces of personal jewelry; however, thanks to permanently imbued magical glamours, any witch or wizard would recognize the pins as badges of the Ministry of Magic and would know the wearers were engaged in their official duties.

Hermione's jacket and skirt was heather-gray, her blouse a crisp snow-white, her simple raincoat dove-gray, and her hair pinned back in a neat bun.  Her reticule handbag (Hermione's entire luggage) dangled from her left wrist, and in her right hand she clutched a rolled umbrella.  The brolly was for cover, literally if it was raining, and as Hermione had more of a habit of hanging around muggles than most witches or wizards, it was also a minor disguise.  (Most magic folk could and would cast a simple Umbra spell over their heads to deflect falling raindrops.  An attentive muggle would notice if they were getting wet but Hermione was not.)  Her wand was tucked in a special inside pocket of her jacket, ready to be quickly drawn if required (or relatively quickly because of her raincoat).

Elspeth's outfit was predominately olive-green and her blouse pale-beige, both of which complemented her ginger locks and peachy-pink complexion.  Her raincoat was British-tan and her long, semi-straight/semi-wavy red hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and tied with a silk scarf.  It had a pearl-white background and featured a quaint motif of European robins perched on a lattice of dark-brown branches with dangling clusters of red berries.  (The scarf had drawn a complement from Hermione, which had caused her Protective Detail to smile and blush in a comely manner.)  As Elspeth had been trained (and repeatedly drilled during her basic Auror training), her wand was tucked up her right sleeve and ready for instant deployment.

It was a stroll of not quite two miles from the Portkey clearing to the Black Horse Inn.  They strolled through the trees, past the grounds of the Giggleswick School, a public school (which in the UK meant a private school)... past the Giggleswick Primary School (for village children ages four to eleven)... and on to the inn.

The sky was gray, and while both the muggle forecast and the Official MoM Prognostication agreed that rain was imminent, so far it was holding off.

Hermione and Elspeth checked into their room, which was quaint but considerably more modern than comparable accommodations in establishments catering exclusively to witches and wizards.  Muggles have different expectations.  Next, they enjoyed lunch in the public room.  It was still not raining, but it didn't seem prudent to avail themselves of the inn's charming alfresco dining area.  (And by the way, the Black Horse Inn's shepherd's pie lived up to its reputation, and it was the real deal, made with lamb and the mashed potato topping crisp and perfectly browned.)

After lunch Hermione decided a casual tour of the village was the first order of business.  Not only would they see the sights, but it would it would be her first opportunity to chat up the locals and gather intelligence.  Elspeth trooped along at Hermione's side, alert for danger while doing her best play the casual tourist.  Hermione had to smile.  Her protector was trying too hard.  She agreed with Harry's professional assessment that Auror Tillyhope was a poised, intelligent, and well-trained young lady; however, this was neither the time nor the place for an Auror to "protectively hover."  Elspeth's watchful vigilance wasn't too overt, but this occasion called for an appearance of zero watchful vigilance.  Not to worry.  She'd learn.  Anyway...

They strolled around the village like a pair of out-of-town visitors, entering shops, boutiques, and groceries, those that catered exclusively to tourists and those that served the local population.  They chatted up the clerks and their fellow shoppers—witches, wizards, and muggles alike.  Hermione was carefully casual in her inquiries.  At this point she was simply trying to get a feel for the community.  She'd focus in on rumors or reports of mysterious and unexplained disappearances once she felt grounded.

Just about the time Hermione and her cute little ginger escort were ready to return to the Black Horse Inn, the rain started.  Also—as much as she hated to admit it—it became clear her efforts to conduct nonchalant, laid back, non-interrogative interrogations hadn't proven to be entirely successful.

Late in the afternoon they'd entered a small shop with an array of antique hand tools in the window, probably placed there to attract strolling tourists.  Once inside—Tinkle-tinkle-tinkle!  (That was the tiny bell dangling over the door.)—the rest of the merchandise on display was typical of a village hardware shop... and everything would benefit from a good dusting.  The owner was a late middle-aged wizard with a bushy beard and longish, somewhat tousled brown hair with significant gray.  More importantly, he had an attitude, a hostile attitude.

"Hah!  Yah would be the snoops from the Min'stry.  I have nay desire 'thear yer idle prate, so it's no use talkin'.  I'll tell ya nothin' 'bout the Giggle Witch, so off with yah!  Goa raight to t' divil, the both of ya!"  He shifted his scowl from Hermione to Elspeth.  "Twice fer you, yah ginger brat!"

Hermione smiled (coldly), said nothing, and hustled her outraged escort from the shop.

"Wanker!" Elspeth called back over her shoulder as the shop door slammed behind them—Tinkle-tinkle-tink!—abruptly cutting off the hysterically jingling bell.  She took a deep breath, then glanced at Hermione.  "Sorry."

Hermione sighed.  "As members of the Ministry, it's important to treat the public with polite respect."  Her lips curled in a teasing smile.  "Even when they're 'wankers.'"

Elspeth blushed.  "Yes, Madam Undersecretary."

Hermione's smile broadened.  "Did you notice?" she purred.

Elspeth's smiled and lifted in inquisitive eyebrow.  "The part where Mr. Wanker called us snoops, the part where he told us to go straight to the devil, or the part where he called me a 'ginger brat?'  His Yorkshire accent was pretty thick."

"The part about the Giggle Witch," Hermione clarified.  "Three different shops we've visited this afternoon sold quaint little figures of witches in black gowns and pointed hats riding brooms."

"So."

Hermione's smile widened (lust a little).  "They all had handwritten labels that read... 'The Giggle Witch of Giggleswick.'"

Elspeth blinked.  "I noticed, but surely they were just cleverly cute souvenirs for the tourists.  And with his thick Yorkshire accent, I assumed when the 'friendly' shopkeeper who just threw us out into the street said "Giggle Witch' it was his picturesque way of referring to the village.  You think it's important?"

"I think it's something," Hermione replied.  "Important?  At this point we can't tell.  We certainly haven't learned much of anything else this afternoon."

Elspeth grinned.  "I thought that was the plan, to innocently scope out the locals but not try to learn anything in particular."

Hermione smiled back.  "I suppose in that sense we've succeeded brilliantly."  She hadn't explained her non-interrogation interrogation strategy to her Protector, but obviously the devilishly cute ginger youngster had figured it out on her own.  "We missed afternoon tea," Hermione observed, "and now its approaching time for an early dinner.  Do you want to eat at the Black Horse, or elsewhere?"

"That Italian place we passed looked good," Elspeth responded.  "We can share a pizza."

"Brilliant," Hermione responded, "but we still need to freshen up, so it's back to the Inn."  They continued strolling down the street under the cover of Hermione's open umbrella (and the discrete Umbra spell cast by Elspeth, more or less from habit).  "You weren't bothered by that rude man's 'ginger' comment," Hermione inquired, "were you?  Personally, I've never understood why some people are so bigoted about redheads.  I find it... puzzling."

Elspeth smiled.  "I should hope so," she chuckled, "seeing as how you married one."

Hermione favored her Protective Detail with a stern, disapproving frown (and a poorly concealed smirk).  "Don't be impertinent, Auror Tillyhope."

"Yes, Madam Undersecretary," Elspeth responded (with arguably insincere contrition).  "I wouldn't imagine it, Madam Undersecretary."

"Cheeky ginger brat," Hermione muttered under her breath... then they both burst out laughing.  The merriment continued for several paces.

"Here we are," Elspeth said finally, "two giggling witches in Giggleswick."

"You're as bad as Ginny," Hermione purred, shaking her head.

Elspeth's smile broadened.  "That's right!  Ginny Weasley is your sister-in-law!  Did you watch the Harpies thrash Puddlemere United last week?  She was fabulous!"

Hermione smiled.  "Missed it," she sighed.  "Work."

"Pity," Elspeth commiserated.

The stroll back to the Black Horse Inn in order to freshen up continued, with the Undersecretary and her Protective Detail huddled under the umbrella and quietly discussing the professional Quidditch season in general and the ups and downs of the Hollyhead Harpys' record to date in particular.

The pizza was excellent, as were the accompanying pints of Neepsend Blonde, a regional beer.  Afterwards, they returned to the Black Horse and settled in for the night.

For Hermione, that meant sitting at the room's small writing desk and entering the day's observations and interviews in her official diary.  Afterwards, she indulged in a little light reading.  She'd recently acquired an antique tome of Frisian spells, most of which purportedly dated back to the Early Medieval Period.  The sorcery described therein was elementary, what was commonly referred to as "cottage magic."  It was mostly page after page of recipes for simple potions and nostrums, half of which weren't really magical at all.  What made it worthy of study, however, was the extensive marginalia.  Over the centuries various authors had written comments in the margins in various languages, including Late Early Germanic and Early Late Norse (in runes).  They were interesting.

Meanwhile, Elspeth stripped down to her underwear and did her evening stretching exercises.  She'd cast a polite sound-muting and vision-screening spell first, of course, so Hermione could concentrate on her "musty old book."  When she was finished, she dispelled the spell, wished Hermione a "Good night," then slid between the crisp white sheets and light, comfy blanket of her full-size bed.  She then closed her green eyes, composed herself, meditated until her heart rate stilled and she was totally relaxed... then drifted off to sleep.

Hermione read for several more minutes... then returned the book to its proper place in the bookcase deep inside her reticle... stripped to her underwear... and settled into her own bed.  It was also Hermione's habit to meditate before drifting off to sleep (when Ron wasn't available for other forms of relaxation and decompression from the day's trials and tribulations), and she did so was well.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ zzzzzzzz ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

What?  Hermione opened her eyes.

All the muggle lamps and lighting fixtures in the room were off, but a little streetlight was leaking past the closed drapes of the room's single window, enough for her to lift her head and look around.

"Mrrrmpfh!  MRRRmpfh!"

That was not Hermione.  Someone nearby was making a muffled, desperate, keening noise, as if they were gagged!

Then, as Hermione came fully awake—"Mrrrrm!"—she realized she was making the same desperate, well-muffled, gagged noises, and for good reason!

Hermione was helpless!  That is, the bed's top-sheet was tightly wrapped around her entire body, and it was growing steadily tighter!  Her legs were together, her arms at her sides, and the white cotton shroud was tightly wrapped around her feet, legs, arms, torso, and neck, all the way up to her mouth!  She was wrapped—mummified—enveloped—swaddled!  "Mrrrfh!"  Also, narrow folds in the sheet were cleaving and covering her mouth!  She was, in fact, gagged!  "Mrrrpfhrmmm!"

As Hermione squirmed and fought her white encasement, the sheet tightened even further!  Creeeak!  Multiple folds in the shroud encircled her cocooned body above and below her bra-covered breasts, pinned her wrists and hands to her hips, and restricted her knees and ankles.  Everything was already skintight, and—Creeeak!—and was getting slowly, steadily tighter, squeezing every part of her body!

"Mrrrrrmf!"

As she thrashed and squirmed, Hermione managed to turn her gagged head and focus on the other bed.  Despite the paltry light she could see that Elspeth was in the same condition!  In fact, the young Auror's situation was worse!  Her top-sheet-shroud covered her entire body, including her head and face!  None of her peachy-pink skin or ginger hair was exposed to the night air!  Elspeth looked like an Egyptian mummy, only instead of countless carefully wrapped bandage strips—not counting the several narrow, tight folds in her linen cocoon similar to the folds reinforcing Hermione's own shroud—the cloth was one stretched, taut, perfectly form-fitting cloth!  Hermione watched in sympathy and alarm as Elspeth wiggled, squirmed, twisted, tried to bend her knees, tried to bend at the waist, and generally fought—valiantly but feebly—to escape from her cunningly tight winding sheet!

And then, adding total darkness to near total helplessness—"Mrrrp!"—a fold of the top-sheet slid over Hermione's head from behind, covered her eyes, then tightened like the rest!  "Nrrrrm!"  The room had already been dark, but now the absence of light was total!  Also—Creeeak!—the linen cocoon was still tightening!  Hermione could breathe, just barely, in shallow pants through her gag and linen mask, but now she could barely squirm!  The taut cloth sheath continued to squeeze, stretching the white cotton cloth!  Creeeak!

Hermione was getting dizzy!  She was totally helpless, tightly covered from the crown of her head to tips of her toes, barely able to move, and was in imminent danger of passing out—but she didn't.  It was if Hermione was standing outside her body and watching what was happening to her... and to Elspeth.

The bottom-sheet under Hermione's cocooned form ripped down the middle, leaving her squirming on the bare mattress underneath.  Then, incredibly, the mattress opened like a gaping mouth and swallowed her whole!  The quilted top-cover and fabric-covered springs parted to let her pass as she sunk lower and lower into the mattress.  Then, the top-cover closed over her and the strong, stiff wires connecting the fabric-covered springs reestablished themselves.

Hermione continued to descend, layer after layer after layer of shrouded wire coils and their interconnecting and supporting wire matrix opening to let her pass... then restoring themselves as her mummified/encased body sunk lower and lower and lower!

It was as if Hermione was descending into an impossibly deep pit of pocketed coils and taut wires—as if the mattress was absurdly tall!  By this time her weakly writhing form was below the basement of the inn itself, and the neatly mortared stones of the shaft had given way to native stone... and still she descended!

And then... finally... the descent stopped.  The steel of the springs and connecting wires of the towering full-size mattress that should have and would have occupied the space taken up by Hermione's body had formed themselves into a close-fitting wire cage!  The fabric that should have and would have covered the coils had formed itself into a fluffy pillow that positioned itself under Hermione's shrouded head—and then—all was still.

Back up in bedroom, Hermione's aura watched in horrified silence as the bottom-sheets on both beds restored themselves, the bedroom door opened, a pair of neatly folded fresh top-sheets drifted across the threshold, and the door silently closed.  The sheets unfolded themselves and neatly, tautly replaced the top-sheets now cocooning the now missing former occupants.  Then, the light blankets and bedspreads restored themselves (including the self-fluffing pillows), and both beds were now neatly made to the Black Horse Inn's exacting housekeeping standards.

Meanwhile, Hermione and Elspeth's clothes and other possessions had stuffed themselves into a laundry bag, which then drifted out the opening and closing door... and with that the room was ready for its next set of guests.

Hermione's drifting aura was then involuntary returned to her helpless, enshrouded, caged, and deeply buried body, where she found herself tightly bound, more than adequately gagged, caged in taut, form-fitting wire, and utterly helpless!  She tried to struggle, but it was pointless.  Was this the end of Hermione Jean Granger-Weasly?

And what about her ginger-haired, devilishly cute, and cunningly clever albeit inexperienced companion?  Was this the end for Elspeth Gorawen Tillyhope as well?

"Ahhhhh!" Hermione screamed, sat up in bed, and tore the top-sheet from her body.  It was soaked in sweat, as was the bottom-sheet under her feet, legs, and posterior, as were her bra, panties, hair, and body in total, including her flushed and alarmed face!

In the next bed, Elspeth was doing the same thing, meaning screaming, ripping away her top-sheet, and sweating.

The Undersecretary and Auror blinked and stared at each other in glistening horror, their hearts pounding and breath coming in pants.

It was morning.  The drapes were still closed, but they could tell.  It was morning.

Hermione swallowed, then covered her mouth and coughed before speaking.  "It was a dream!"

Elspeth nodded.  "A spell!"

"An oneiric sending!" Hermione agreed!

"An attack!" Elspeth stated, then snatched her wand from the nearby nightstand.

"A warning," Hermione corrected.  "It was an attack... but principally a warning."

Elspeth waved her wand and opened the drapes.  Morning light flooded the room.  Outside, a chorus of songbirds was greeting the dawn, as their kind had done since time out of mind.  "What should we do about it?  Call for reinforcements?"

Hermione shook her head.  "No.  We should get cleaned up, restore the room..."  She frowned at the visibly damp bed-linen.  "Especially these disgusting sheets.  Then, we'll get dressed, enjoy a nice breakfast, and continue our inquiries, and this time we'll focus on the mysterious Giggle Witch.  Obviously, somebody has something they'd very much like to hide from the Ministry."

With their wands the witches made quick work of the cleanup.  They freshened their bodies, relieved themselves and emptied the room's quaint bedpans, then dressed in clean underwear and clean clothes.  Actual baths or showers would have been better—witches and wizards enjoy a good wash as much as any muggle—but a "spell-bath" was adequate.  They were both in a hurry.  Apparently, dreaming you'd been magically enshrouded in a taut linen cocoon and buried alive at the bottom of a ridiculously deep pit inside an absurdly tall mattress made you hungry.  Who knew?

Elspeth was frowning.  "I... Madam Undersecretary... I let you down.  I'll be sure it's documented in my report.  I should have done a better job of—"

"None of that," Hermione interrupted with a gentle smile and an abrupt gesture.  "You cast all the recommended DMLE protective spells when we first entered the room, then renewed them before we returned from dinner.  Also, nothing has happened to make either one of us think more would be required... until now.  Obviously, the sending was from a powerful witch or wizard."

Elspeth sighed.  "Thank you, but—"

"But me no buts!" Hermione chuckled.  "You're doing just fine, Elspeth, but from this point forward, we should both be more vigilant... surreptitiously, of course.  Now, let's get dressed."

Soon, they were clad in sensible heels, pantyhose, half-slips, (clean unmentionables), cotton blouses, wool skirts, and matching jackets.  Hermione's ensemble was a slightly darker shade of heather-gray than yesterday and Elspeth's was a subdued, autumnal, moss-green hue.  The only significant change was that, at Hermione's direction, they'd shifted their Ministry of Magic pin-badges to the undersides of their left lapels—although she conceded that might have been an example of closing the stable door after the horses had decided to tour the countryside without formal permission.

"Ready?" Hermione asked her Protective-Detail-of-One with a dimpled smile.

"Ready, Madam Undersecretary," Elspeth responded, also smiling (and also with dimples).

"Breakfast!" they announced in enthusiastic unison, then left the room.

"I'm for a full fry-up," Elspeth announced as they strolled towards the public room, "with kippers."

"Agreed," Hermione responded.  It was more than she ate on most mornings, but today... fried eggs, fried potatoes, fried tomatoes, beans, bacon, bangers, smoked kippers, and buttered toast with jam or marmalade sounded just about adequate.  And tea!  Lots of strong, hot tea!

The pair of probably related witches were wearing versions of their usual antiquated black gowns and lounging in winged chairs in front of a crackling fire in their Regency sitting room.  The chambers of their suite were all decorated in different styles from the Late Medieval Period forward, but this particular salon would have felt familiar and welcoming to Lady Hamilton or Lord Byron.

"Well... that didn't work," the shorter/younger witch said to her taller/older companion.

"I didn't really expect it would," the taller/older witch replied.  "Sendings are often unreliable.  By their very nature they are vague and nonspecific, no matter how well crafted.  Thus don't convey a precise message.  They might deter the average meddlesome Ministry official or muggle tax assessors, as those types are often somewhat lazy and timid.  It would seem our current crop of meddling spys are made of sterner stuff.  Still... it was worth a try."

"What now?"

The taller/older witch smiled.  "Tea, of course.  Afterwards, we apprise Her Majesty of the situation... and wait."

The shorter/younger witch gazed into the flickering flames before continuing.  "Is there going to be trouble?"

"Probably," the taller/older witch purred.  "Almost certainly... but not much and not for us... or for Her Majesty.  As for the two nosey-parkers from the Ministry..."

"The shorter/younger witch smiled, rose from her chair, stretched, and padded towards the door that led to the kitchen.  "I'll fetch the tea... and I believe we still have some of those scrumptious boinkberry scones and strawberry shortcake jelly rolls from yesterday."

The taller/older witch smiled and nodded, then gazed into the fire... and her smile grew arguably sinister.