Hermione Apparated not onto the abandoned viaduct itself, but into the thicket bordering the old embankment, ensuring her landing made no sound. The air here was heavy with mist and the faint, metallic scent of disused railway iron. She was miles from the Ministry's official search grid, operating on a thread of logic and a terrible intuition.
She moved quickly, her gaze fixed on the remnants of the Elemental Energy Flux—the silver-blue shimmer of raw power that marked the fugitives' retreat. It wasn't a footprint or a scent; it was a directional vector left by Lucien's immense, uncontrolled magic as it sought to disperse after shattering the ward.
The viaduct was a perfect choice for a clandestine escape. Elevated, cutting directly through the dense, impassable woods, it offered a clear, non-Apparition path that bypassed the main roads and Muggle settlements. Hermione noted the strategic brilliance: it was a route only someone with a profound understanding of magical world history and Muggle infrastructure would consider.
Lysander Grindelwald, she thought, the name a cold echo in her mind. He was leading them, anticipating every Ministry move.
Hermione tracked the silver-blue trail along the railway ties. The further she went, the more the raw power of the Potter signature began to fade, replaced by a subtler, colder magical imprint—the calculated influence of their guide. This colder magic was not Dark in the conventional sense, but it was profoundly manipulative, woven expertly into the Muggle world's existing structures.
The trail led her to an ancient, half-collapsed maintenance shed beneath a massive stone arch of the viaduct. Here, the silver-blue energy abruptly stopped.
Hermione entered the shed, wand sweeping the darkness. The air inside was stale, smelling of old oil and rust. She cast a powerful Revealing Charm—a variant only she knew, designed to peel back layers of concealment spells woven into the environment itself.
The charm took effect instantly. The shed didn't glow, but Hermione's eyes registered a series of precise, shimmering afterimages—magical echoes of events that had occurred moments before.
She saw the shadow of Ira Riddle, non-magical and frail, being supported by Lysander Grindelwald, his figure elegant and strangely familiar in the gloom. And she saw the third figure: Lucien, a tall boy whose face was momentarily alight with a burst of uncontrolled, raw magical energy. The magical echo of that power confirmed her worst fears—it was the source of the shockwave, and it was undeniably Potter lineage.
But the most critical piece of evidence was the method of disappearance.
In the center of the concrete floor, a powerful, self-sustaining Portal Rune had been inscribed in chalk, now quickly fading. It wasn't a standard Floo connection or a portkey activation point. It was an ancient, long-forgotten mechanism for long-distance, instantaneous transport designed to look like a simple Muggle sewer entrance.
The afterimages showed Lysander initiating the transport. He had placed Ira and Lucien carefully onto the rune, then followed, activating it not with a spoken word, but by touching a subtle, non-magical object—a small, highly polished wooden whistle.
Hermione quickly analyzed the fading Portal Rune.
Destination Coordinates: Ambiguous, masked by layers of elemental redirection charms, but she was able to pull a faint geographical anchor—a region of heavy, natural water magic and ancient, high-density metal.
Energy Signature: The residual energy was laced with a powerful, fast-dissipating compulsion charm. This charm was likely used to make the muggle police and any local Ministry patrols ignore the noise and activity.
The portal was now cold, but Hermione had enough. The geographical anchor pointed far west, toward the coast, where the peninsula met the heavy, industrial shipping lanes and the ancient lochs.
They're heading for the sea, she realized. Or rather, a permanent hidden base disguised as an industrial area or a shipping port—the one place the Ministry would never think to look for ancient magical artifacts.
Hermione stood, wiping the grime from her Auror robes. She had confirmed the impossible: Harry's son was an uncontrollable magical force, now in the hands of a dangerous strategist allied with the Dark Lord's daughter.
She didn't need the Ministry's help. The Ministry would move slowly, prioritizing the official, discredited trail in the mountains. She had the secret route, the unique magical signature, and the cold geographical anchor.
With a final, desperate look at the fading magical echoes, Hermione vanished the evidence of her visit, then prepared for the longest, most difficult leg of her pursuit. Her next destination was the industrial, watery region in the West, where the scent of uncontrolled Potter magic and cold, calculated ambition now led.