The journey from the Ministry Atrium to the edge of the remote Scottish highlands took Hermione only moments, a silent, unauthorized slip through space. She landed on a stretch of rain-slicked moorland miles from Cho's cottage, the chill air biting her cheeks. Operating outside Ministry jurisdiction, she encased herself in layers of Disillusionment Charms and sophisticated Anti-Eavesdropping Wards, ensuring her presence was ghostlike and undetectable by both Muggle and magical means.
Hermione moved through the rugged landscape with the quiet, focused efficiency of a career Auror. Her heart hammered with a heavy, sickening rhythm—a combination of dread over the shattered Level Seven ward and the pain of impending betrayal. Every step toward the address 'Claire Wong' was a step away from her own foundational beliefs in law and truth.
As she drew closer, the cottage presented itself as maddeningly ordinary: a small, stone structure nestled into a copse of trees, smoke rising lazily from the chimney, a perfectly maintained, unthreatening garden. It was camouflage so meticulous it screamed of conscious effort.
Hermione approached the perimeter, her custom wand—its core humming faintly—held low and steady. She detected the expected benign charms: minor repelling spells against damp, simple cleaning enchantments. But then, near the back door, her wand vibrated sharply. She isolated the anomaly: an ancient Muffliato Charm, layered and interwoven with sophisticated, almost artisanal concealment spells. It was subtle, powerful, and absolutely non-standard.
"Cho," Hermione whispered, the confirmation a bitter, agonizing taste on her tongue. The charm's complexity spoke of desperation and years of maintenance.
She quickly moved to the rear of the property, her focus shifting from finding the lie to finding the truth of the escape. She cast a Subtle Detection Charm focused on the earth behind the cottage—the most likely egress point.
The soil offered immediate answers. It was marked by chaotic, raw, and recently disturbed magic. She confirmed the massive residual kinetic energy associated with the shattered Level Seven Ministry Ward. This was the epicenter of the magical explosion.
Hermione knelt on the damp earth, her gaze fierce, performing the one charm that could tell her the family secret: an advanced Spectro-Analysis Charm she had developed for identifying the deepest core of inherited magic. The charm targeted the unique magical frequency left behind by a wizard's power.
The air around the soil pulsed, not with a color, but with a specific, rhythmic frequency. Hermione analyzed the signature's decay curve. It was immense, volatile, and profoundly unstable—but more terrifyingly, threaded deep within the core of the signature, she recognized something that made her heart stop and her entire body go cold:
It was the unmistakable resonance of Potter family magic.
But it was wrong. It wasn't the signature of Harry's matured, controlled magic, which was always tempered by his emotional history. This signature was raw, ancient, and unnervingly pure, lacking the familiar anchors of modern magical practice. It felt like stepping back seventy years into a history she only knew from textbooks. It felt like the power of a legend, not a man she saw every day.
No. It's impossible, she thought, denying the cold, analytical reality staring her in the face. Harry knew nothing of this. Cho had never said a word. Yet, the strength of the signature, the untamed nature of the power, screamed of a primal, first-generation ability.
She thought back to Cho's quiet withdrawal, the odd, secretive gift of the 'health tonic' she claimed to be giving her son, "Luke," and the way Cho's eyes would dart away whenever Harry's name came up.
The fragmented puzzle pieces slammed together with brutal, nauseating force:
1. Cho had been secretly living with a child for fifteen years.
2. The child was a Potter.
3. This child, Lucien, possessed a primal, unleashed power that defied modern magical understanding.
4. This power had shattered a Level Seven Ministry Ward in conjunction with Ira Riddle's escape.
Hermione backed away, shaking her head. The implications were staggering. This was not merely a security breach; this was the Third Prophecy coming to terrifying life, orchestrated by forces stronger than the Ministry. The uncontrolled light of the "Savior's lineage" had been unleashed by the desperation of the "Dark Lord's blood."
She rose, the weight of the wizarding world settling squarely onto her shoulders. She had two unbearable choices:
1. Report the facts: Instantly trigger a massive, politically motivated hunt for Harry's secret, powerful son, likely resulting in Lucien's death or permanent imprisonment as a volatile threat.
2. Hide the evidence: Continue the hunt alone, risking her career, her standing, and her life, to capture Ira Riddle and—more crucially—find and contain Lucien before the Ministry's blunt force did.
Hermione knew what Dumbledore would have done. He would have chosen the quiet, strategic path, prioritizing the long-term integrity of the magical world over the immediate dictates of law. She would not betray Harry's son.
With a heavy heart, Hermione vanished the trace of the powerful energy she had just analyzed, erasing the most damning evidence. She then cast a modified tracking charm, one designed not for magic, but for uncontrolled elemental energy—the path the raw power itself would have naturally taken.
The faint, silver-blue energy trail she detected led not to a road, but directly to the old railway viaduct—the one logical, overlooked path away from the coast.
Hermione adjusted her grip on her wand, her face set in a grim mask of determination. She was no longer just the Head Auror; she was a detective racing against a prophecy. She was going after a hidden son she believed belonged to her best friend, who was now allied with the daughter of Voldemort, and guided by a strategic mind powerful enough to vanish Ministry Aurors.
She was going to follow the silver-blue trail.