*** at the Hog's Head

It was nearly dusk when she walked in. The sun was just setting over the edge of the village. I was sitting at my desk, legs propped up on the green painted oak monstrosity, wishing for something, anything to happen in this poor excuse of a town.

But no. Everything was quiet in Hogsmeade. Like always.

I opened the drawer of my desk, pulled out a pack of cigs and a lighter and lit up, watching the smoke fill the room.

Then, like something out of a novel or a silent movie, she appeared through the nicotine cloud.

"Hermione Granger," I said lowly, smiling. "What have you got for me today?"

"An order to stop that wretched smoking thing, you git!" she muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Glad to see you're the same, Hermione. Ron send you in?"

She blushed.

"Yes, he did. But no matter, I've got something for you," she composed herself quickly, settling into the chair directly opposite me.

"Hit me," I said, leaning back and placing my hands behind my head.

"Stop it with that silly posturing. This is not Casablanca, you are not searching for the Maltese Falcon, so quit it. Now."

"Says you," I muttered.

Hermione, Ron, and I had been friends since we were all snot-nosed kids.

And Hermione never got tired of reminding me just how snot-nosed I'd really been.

She continued rambling on.

"You think that just because you're a detective-"

"Private eye," I corrected, taking another drag off the cigarette.

"Just because you're a detective doesn't mean that you have to try and be like all of those men in trench coats on those silly American television shows. I mean, sometimes I think if you saw a movie about a wizard you'd go out and buy a wand."

I'd just quit my job as a PR rep in London to be a private eye, and so far, no one but my buddy Ron thought it was a good idea.

Yet.

"Hermione. Be reasonable. Being a private eye is nothing like being a wizard. Even though that would be a great job. If wizards were real," I mumbled. "Now, what have you got for me, fancy newspaper lady?"

Hermione reached into her bag, her fluffy, light brown hair settling around her shoulders.

She'd make a great femme fatale, if she weren't so sodding serious all the time.

Pulling out a file, she tossed it onto the desk in front of me. A picture of a man that I almost recognized stared back at me from the front of the folder.

"There was a murder last night," Hermione said. My heart quickened.

"A murder? You don't say?" I drawled.

Hermione shook her head, tapping her manicured nails on the desk.

"Would you stop it with the damn private eye act already? You are getting on my nerves. All my life I've tried to help you and Ron and you repay me by being imbeciles. Here you are trying to play the hero and I'm the one having to keep you bloody straight! Ever since we were in school-"

"You've enjoyed giving me a good lecture, I know," I interrupted her, thumbing through the file. "Cedric... Cedric Diggory?"

Hermione nodded.

"Wasn't sure if you'd remember him. He was a year above us."

I remembered Cedric. Who didn't? Main man in school. Moved away to become a rugby player.

"What the hell brought him back to Hogsmeade? He was in London, right?" I asked, cringing as I saw a crime scene photo. Clean shot through the forehead. Poor bastard never had a chance.

Hermione shook her head.

"Don't know. All I know is Police Chief Dumbledore thinks that Tom Riddle's back."

My jaw dropped.

"Tom Riddle? The gangster? The one who got his nose chopped off with the cigar snip?"

"The one and only," Hermione said. She laughed a bit. "Lucky it was a nose. I heard those things can be hell on the old willy, just cuts it of-"

"Okay, okay, that's enough," I shuddered. "What does the Chief need me for? They've got a lead, they've got a victim, time to hop on the golden broom of crime eradication and zoom away into the sunset!"

Hermione leaned back in her chair, smiling.

"The one thing they're missing is Tom Riddle. And it's your job to find him."