Hermione Weasley 3: The Case of The Shoeless Suspect
When a centaur is accused in a crime,
it helps to be a being rather than a beast.

"May I have a moment, Mrs. Weasley?"

Hermione looked up from her desk. At the door was Mr. Pinch, one of her Ministry superiors.

"Certainly, sir."

"As you know, your Investigator title overlaps several departments —"

"Yes, I noticed that caveat when I took the job. It adds variety, though."

"— and yet, business has been rather slow for you lately."

"I like to think I've been solving cases so quickly that my in-bin is always clean."

"So, while things are quiet, we're sending you to the Centaur Relations Office."

"WHAT?"

"Just on loan, of course, until their sticky little problem is resolved."

Hermione was stunned. "Sir, I thought I'd been doing a good job, actually. I often come in early and leave late, I worked evenings on my last two cases, I've taken work home..."

"Gently, Mrs. Weasley! It's still investigations. It's not the end of the world."

"From what I hear, it is! Being 'sent to the Centaur Relations Office' is tantamount to being sacked!"

"I know that's the standard office legend, yes, but hear me out, please. There really is such an office, and as a history buff, I'm sure you can comprehend why it's under-utilised."

She took a breath and calmed down. "Because it's been there for 200 years to defend the centaurs' rights as beings, but the centaurs still consider themselves beasts. As a result, the office is never called upon to do anything! From what I hear, when the elves clean the office, they dust the manager; it's their way of being sure he hasn't died at his desk. He has no staff—"

"Which is why I'm sending you. A clever mind is needed to sort out a strange case. The old boy in Centaur Relations has a mystery on his hands that he's hardly suited to solve by himself! No sense in hiring someone to help; they may never have another case."

Hermione was still dubious. "Do I keep my present office space?"

"Absolutely."

"And my usual flow of jobs?"

"The world of criminal wizards awaits your return."

"Then lead on! Where do I find this dustbin of an office? It sounds Level-4-ish."

"Exactly. Level 4, end of the corridor. See Mr. Codger."

"You're joking."

-o-

The ancient wizard in a threadbare old robe nodded. "Yes, it's Codger. Fine old family name from Kirkby, Yorkshire, y'know. We've always..."

He had a reminiscent air about him, and Hermione cut him off. "Yes, sir, and I'd love to hear about it some time. Perhaps we should talk about the matter at hand first?"

"Hm? Oh, the centaur and all that rot. Yes, I suppose so. It's all in this folder. Two centaurs were... this is so strange, y'know. I'm not used to having work to discuss. After all, this is the Ministry's first centaur case since I arrived in this job."

She sighed. "When was that, sir?"

He thought about it. "1932. I was the first, mind you. The manager position had been vacant since the office was created 121 years before, and no one had noticed. That's continued apace for 80-odd years now. I'm hardly up to doing field investigations and all that. I'm somewhat past my prime, y'know."

"I'll be glad to help, sir. Now, about those two centaurs."

-o-

Hermione mentioned it all at dinner, but Ron only chuckled, offering no sympathy. "So when this senile, hairy-eared old codger finally got around to it, what's the case?"

"A Muggle matter," she explained, "in Inchvuilt, Scotland. A few nights ago, a farmer who raises race horses had a barn fire. Fortunately, by the time he got out to the barnyard, the horses had somehow escaped the building — and then comes the weird part. In the stampede, the Muggle insists he saw two centaurs clearly outlined against the flames! He's blaming them for the fire. The newspapers, of course, think he might as well have blamed space aliens."

"Is Inch-whatever near the Forbidden Forest?"

"Inchvuilt. It's miles away, downhill near Loch Monar, but not too far for a Hogwarts-area centaur to wander. The centaurs have no love for humans anyway, but the two major Muggle-haters, our old acquaintances Bane and Magorian, are automatically suspect. So far, they haven't been charged with anything. The Ministry shoved the investigation into Codger's lap, and naturally, he hasn't done a thing on it."

"So you get stuck with it?"

"Yes, and Morgan Bartholomew will handle the field work for Scotland Yard."

"That's good," said Ron, munching on a chicken leg. "You definitely want to help Morgan. Then maybe he'll owe us another posh dinner."

"Oh? So you can escape my cooking?"

"Dinner's delicious, hon."

-o-

Morgan Bartholomew, wizard and police inspector, stretched in his chair and laughed. "And how do you bring wizard justice to centaurs, when they consider themselves beasts, and above it all in matters Ministerial?"

Hermione nodded. "Not to mention Muggle justice, when we can't let the Muggles find out centaurs really exist. Meanwhile, there are Loch-Ness-type sensationalists gearing up to explore the forests around Inchvuilt, on the rumour of centaurs."

"I imagine Bane and Magorian deny it all, and aren't about to come to the Ministry for questioning."

"How would they get in, anyway? We only have two ways into the Ministry. The visitors' entrance is in a phone box, and anyone else has to arrive through the fireplaces by floo powder. A centaur won't fit in either transport."

"Doesn't that joint have a freight dock, or something? How do they bring in desks?"

"They shrink them with a charm, then expand them indoors. Can't do that to living creatures, I'm afraid."

"So what's your next step, Sherlock Weasley?"

"To have you tell me all about the barn fire."

"So, who do we interview first, Morgan?"

"Not much to say; it was a horse stable only. The loft was for storing hay. A corridor ran up the middle from a big barn door, which is where the horses escaped. Tie-ups were on one end; on the other were a threshing floor, and a separate room with saddles, reins, and all that."

"A tack room, yes."

"Oh, you know your horse barns, do you?"

"Loved riding as a little girl, and tended horses one summer. Where did the fire start?"

"The hayloft would have been a fine spot, but according to the forensics, the fire began in the tack room and spread from there."

"Were there any unusual tyre tracks?"

"No, but hoofprints were another story. The horses storming out the barn door were all shod, but the four-footed whatever that opened the door and stood aside was unshod. Forensics took molds of those hoofprints, but they don't know if anything will come of it. Unless the hoof has a sizable defect, they're all pretty much alike."

"First, we take the railway to Scotland, then pick up a car. Very muggular, I know, but the accountants have to see how I got there! Brought your bags, did you?"

"All ready."

"Fine. Tomorrow we'll apparate to Hogsmeade and walk to the Forbidden Forest, where you can find me some centaurs — trot them out for me, so to speak."

-o-

Morgan was trying to be diplomatic with his interrogation, but he was not doing so well. Every question seemed to grate Ronan's nerves. He tried again. "Is there any way to distinguish your shoes from horses' shoes?"

"Horseshoes are human inventions for ridden horses! Centaurs would never wear horseshoes!"

"So, all the shoeprints are horses' marks. As for the unshod ones, Bane and Magorian say they're innocent..."

"They said they were not there, and that is enough for us."

Morgan was about to argue that point when Hermione interupted and took him aside. "Morgan, let's say our thanks and leave it at that. We have some searching to do."

"For what?"

"For who. I just realised that a centaur's missing here. An old friend. Just a guess, but I wouldn't be surprised to find him in the Inchvuilt Wood."

-o-

"Who on earth are we looking for?" asked an out-of-breath Morgan.

"You'll see," said Hermione as they hiked the mountain path. "He's here somewhere. I just know it."

"Hermione, with so many curiosity-seekers and centaur hunters here lately, you'll have to tell him we're friends, or he'll think we're here to collar him and he'll stay a mile away. So, how do we attract him? Blow a dog whistle?"

"Morgan! He's not some dumb animal!"

"He'll also avoid us if he's got something to feel guilty about."

"I doubt he's guilty... and I'm sure I can prove it if he'll talk to us."

"Well, here's the overlook you wanted. It's showtime. Go ahead; make a noise like a wizard friend."

"I will," said Hermione. "Let's hope he hears me, and remembers." She cleared her throat, took a breath, and loudly sang:

"Happy we hail you,
O hallowed haven, Hogwarts,
Beacon of light
Through the ages of dark,
Herald of magic
For students brave and stalwart!
Hat having spoken,
Houses betokened,
Hogwarts, forever
Convey the spark!

Warp us and weft us,
O wizard-weaver, Hogwarts,
Wrought from the spindles
Of wise ones of yore.
Wizards and witches
Of prestidigious riches,
Willing and worthy,
Watchful and sturdy.
Hogwarts forever,
Forevermore!"

Morgan was baffled. "What on earth was that?"

"Hogwarts Forever, the Sorting Hat's idea for a school song. One time I took our missing centaur to the hat for a performance. I thought he might convince Dumbledore to adopt it as the official song, in place of that scabby-knees horror. He wasn't all that impressed, but he might remember it. If not, the lyrics alone would tell him I'm a witch."

"If he's close enough to hear the lyrics. Now what?"

"We wait."

Their waiting bore no fruit for an hour, and Hermione was almost ready to concede failure when rhythmic footsteps approached through the dense forest — then suddenly, there he was, his palomino body shining in the dappled sunlight. He smiled.

"Long time passing, Miss Granger."

"Good afternoon, Professor."

"Those days are gone. It's just Firenze now."

"Then please call me Hermione; it'll be like old times again. This is Morgan, who's a policeman, but he's also a wizard who comes as a friend. Tell me, what's your mare's name?"

He was startled. "Her name is Phillyra. But how did you know..."

"You no longer have male friends among the Forbidden Forest centaurs. Yet, there were two centaurs reported at the barn fire. I figured you had mated."

"Yes. You shouldn't have come here, Hermione. The unmagic ones are hunting us."

"I know. It's because the farmer saw you, providing him with a convenient villain. The Muggles may hunt you like an exotic beast, but remember, the Ministry considers you a being, and worthy of a defence. We'll help you sort it out. I know you're innocent."

"I was only helping the horses to escape."

"Did you go inside the barn?"

"No. Phillyra begged me not to, and the doorways were far too low. I suspect the farmer-man set his own fire. But men need evidence."

"We'll give it to them — circumstantial, but evidence. That's why I brought my old writing kit today. I haven't used a quill nearly as much as I should these days, and I don't imagine you have. Let's practice our penmanship! Here's my ink, and a long parchment..."

-o-

It was a quiet evening at Heron's Nest. Ron had put the kids to bed before Hermione arrived home from her long railway trip. They reheated dinner and sat down to eat. Not surprisingly, Hermione was dying to tell about her case, and Ron was munching on a chicken leg. "So the farmer did it for insurance money?"

Hermione nodded. "The police confronted him with my parchment, and he confessed. The horses were heavily insured, more so than the decrepit old horse stable. The farmer had been losing lots of money at betting, and couldn't afford the upkeep any more. It was time for a fire. His best-laid plans ganged aft aglee, though; the horses escaped the fire."

"And what was in this parchment of yours?"

"A sworn statement by someone you'll recall. He signed himself as 'Firenze, a citizen of the United Kingdom by birth, born in the County of Kent, Scotland under the sign of Libra in 1972, who prefers to live as an itinerant forest-dweller.' He describes what he and Phillyra saw and did at the fire. He also provides hoofprints of his 'four-footed transportation' in ink, though that's very unscientific evidence. He signed it, and Phillyra made her mark. Morgan and I both exist in the Muggle world, so we signed as witnesses."

"What if they haul you into court to ask you if Firenze is a centaur?"

"No judge will allow that line of questioning; it's ridiculous. All the evidence suggests that Firenze is an ordinary man, who was riding an unshod horse."

Ron looked dubious. "Okay, but Firenze can't and won't testify in a Muggle court. So all you have is a signed statement from some anonymous stranger who admits he was at the scene of a crime!"

"His prints prove he opened the barn door, releasing the horses."

"How? If hoofprints are pretty much all alike, then how do you prove he opened the barn door?"

Hermione smiled. "Oh, not by his hoofprints. Centaurs can also leave one bit of evidence that horses don't: fingerprints! They're very ordinary. I had Firenze put his prints on my parchment, in ink. The police ran them, and accepted all the best part of Firenze's story — that he's apparently a mountain man, with no birth record or any other Muggle paperwork, who just happened to be there that night as the rescuer. The police had fingerprints taken from the barn door, where the horses escaped; those matched Firenze's. All the prints on the doors of the tack room, where the fire started, were the farmer's."

"That's it, then. He's done."

"The stable had the same problem as the Ministry: the doorways were too small for a centaur, so Firenze didn't try entering. Result: two meddling witnesses to arson who didn't manage to implicate themselves. Case closed! The weird-animal seekers have gone back to Nessie, and the Centaur Relations Office will have to do without me for another 80 years. Would you pass the potatoes, please, dear?"

Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer. The song is set to Hogwarts Forever! by John Williams from the first HP soundtrack, and first appeared in The Owl's Tale 2.