"I swear I had something for this," I muttered, rummaging elbow-deep in my inventory space as Hermione watched with her usual combination of curiosity and weary resignation.
She stood beside me, arms folded, eyes flitting nervously back to the tunnel that had led into Salazar's terrifying lair.
"If that basilisk wakes up in your pocket, I'm hexing you into next week."
I pulled free a small brass handle attached to a thick wooden box. "Ah-ha! Behold: my emergency escape plan."
Hermione blinked. "That's a trunk."
I beamed. "Not just any trunk. Prototype Gateway—contains a vanishing cabinet rig. Two-way travel. One end leads here. The other?" I thumbed toward the lid. "Right to my warehouse."
"You had a portal home this entire time?" she snapped.
I shrugged with a guilty smile. "I wanted to test my edge."
"Your edge? For an entire hour?!"
"Y'know. See how far I could push things before death became imminent."
"I hate you."
I threw open the trunk. Inside, a gleaming archway shimmered into view.
"Shall we?"
Together we stepped through as I closed the trunk on top of us, we walked through the vanishing cabinet and stumbled into the dim, cozy chaos of my Gryffindor-linked warehouse trunk. Spare furniture loomed to one side, crates of Rats and interconnecting pipes to the other.
Mrs. Norris flicked her tail from atop a rolled rug.
"Still alive?" I asked her. She blinked.
Hermione pointed toward a rusting cage. "Is that—Scabbers?"
I walked over and plopped a pellet into the feeder. "Still kicking. Door's welded shut."
We exited the warehouse trunk into the Gryffindor common room, stepping out like we'd just returned from a walk.
Hermione adjusted her robes. "What now?"
"I'll swing back to tidy the bathroom and grab the trunk. Meet you at lunch?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You better not steal anything on the way."
"No comment" I quipped.
Halfway through the walk back to Myrtle's bathroom, I slowed.
The trunk.
The trunk was a portal.
To the most magically hidden room in the entire castle.
Untouched. Unused. Forgotten for centuries.
Oh this… this was genius.
I turned heel and headed back to the second-floor girls' lavatory instead.
Myrtle was floating near the ceiling when I entered. "Took you long enough. I waited for hours at the entrance!"
"Backdoor exit," I said casually.
She looked impressed for about two seconds before shrugging.
I pulled out the stored sink back into its proper place.
With a grunt and a wave of my wand. A quick reparo and cleansing charm later, the dust and debris were gone.
"Mischief unmade," I said with a satisfied nod.
Myrtle circled overhead. "You're weird. I like you."
"Thanks. I think."
With that, I strolled toward the Great Hall.
Lunch was in full swing. I slid in beside Hermione like I hadn't just hidden a monster in my pocket.
She looked at me. "All cleaned up?"
"Not a soul (other then Myrtle) noticed."
We started to eat—roast lamb, mashed potatoes, and a suspiciously soft roll. A little peace for once.
Fred popped up. "Oi, Kingston, you been off the map."
"Lost in thought."
"Seen Ginny?" George asked, brow furrowed.
I paused. Hermione tensed beside me.
"We were studying all morning," I said. "Haven't seen her."
Fred looked uneasy. "We can't find her anywhere. Not in the tower, not at breakfast and most worriedly, NOT ON THE MAP."
"There are a couple reasons why she could be off the map but I'll help look tonight if she's not back," I said with worried concern.
George nodded. "Thanks, mate."
Hermione stayed quiet, eyes flicking between me and the twins.
The meal ended with pumpkin pasties and knowing glances.
Back in my trunk's deeper levels, I led Hermione past stacks of enchanted ledgers and jars full of whispering powder. We passed the more chaotic aisles until I found the quieter wing—a place with a battered couch and a flickering magical lantern.
I gestured for her to sit and took the opposite end.
"I've been meaning to tell you something," I said, voice lower than usual. "Something I haven't told anyone else… not fully."
Hermione tilted her head, cautious but attentive.
"I don't know who I am. Not really," I began. "I woke up in a forest one day with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and a pounding headache. No memories. No name. No clue where I was."
Hermione blinked, stunned. "You're serious?"
"I wandered into a Muggle town. They couldn't find anything—no missing persons, no leads. Eventually, they handed me off to a transitional orphanage."
"That's awful," she whispered.
"They said, since I didn't have a name, I could pick one. I picked 'Sky' because it was the first thing I saw that made me feel calm. And 'Kingston'... I just wanted something that sounded like it belonged to someone with dignity."
Hermione smiled gently. "You named yourself well."
I exhaled. "The first time I discovered my ability was by accident. I picked up a fire poker, and it disappeared. Just gone. I panicked. Thought I broke something."
She leaned forward, eyes wide.
"I learned to hide it," I said. "To survive. Never told a soul... until now."
Hermione looked like her heart might crack. "Sky, that must've been so lonely."
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
After a beat, she wiped her eyes and stared at me for a long moment. Then, with a curious softness, she asked, "So... when did you figure out how to use it properly?"
"The storage thing? It took time. I didn't even realize what it was for the first few days. I'd pick something up, it'd vanish, and I thought I was cursed." I chuckled. "I tried to return a missing wrench once by drawing it from my coat pocket and got labeled a klepto genius. They called the Muggle social worker."
Hermione winced. "So it stores anything? Even living things?"
I hesitated. "judging by all the rat experiments and the whole basilisk fiasco we just went through, I believe so. When stored. No aging. No hunger. It's like… time stops. But I haven't tested that extensively yet. Rats, yes. Basilisks, apparently."
She blinked. "That's terrifyingly useful. But also just... terrifying."
"Exactly why I never told anyone. Until now."
Hermione folded her legs beneath her and tilted her head. "Did you ever try retrieving things in front of Muggles?"
"Nope, a Magician has his secrets."
She laughed, then leaned forward eagerly. "What's the largest thing you've ever stored? Other than that basilisk of course."
I grinned. "A wardrobe. No—wait. A donkey cart. Don't ask. a Bus."
Hermione stared. "You... never cease to amaze me."
There was a lull as she absorbed it all. Then she narrowed her eyes slightly.
"Okay," she said suddenly. "Was it you?"
I blinked. "You need to be specific. Ive done a LOT of questionable things.'"
"The thefts. At Beauxbatons. Statues. Scrolls. Three chandeliers."
"Oh those."
She threw up her hands. "Sky!"
"So I moved a couple things, no big deal right? Avoided magical alarms. Completely safe."
"They sent a task force!"
I bowed. "I prefer 'artifact relocation specialist.'"
"Your animagus matches a little too well don't you think?"
"Fluffy and efficient."
She laughed despite herself. "You're lucky you're cute as one. But you're infuriating as a person."
Dinner arrived, and so did the chaos.
I was halfway through a bowl of roasted carrots when Dobby popped in—wearing a colander, wielding tongs like twin daggers.
"Sir! The cheese war draws near!"
Hermione stared. "Is this normal?"
"Define normal."
He handed me a letter with a stiff bow.
The envelope bore the Malfoy seal.
"Lucius," I muttered.
Inside, the letter was vague. Formal. Threatening by politeness alone.
'We should converse soon. I trust your time at Hogwarts has been… instructive.'
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "We're showing this to McGonagall."
Later, in the common room, Fred and George approached.
"She's still not back," Fred said quietly.
"Not in the tower. Not on the grounds," George added.
Something cold pressed behind my ribs.
Ginny Weasley was missing.
And I had a very bad feeling about why.