Harry Potter and the Lady Thief
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters...
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters...
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Harry Potter and the Lady Thief (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)
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Prologue and Chapter 1: Expelled
Starfox5
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Harry Potter and the Lady Thief
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter books or movies.
Author's Note: This story is set in an Alternate Universe. A number of canon events didn't or won't happen. The society of Wizarding Britain is a bit different and a number of characters will act differently as well.
I'd like to thank fredfred for betaing. His help has improved the story a lot.
Summary: Framed as a thief and expelled from Hogwarts in her second year, her family ruined by debts, many thought they had seen the last of her. But someone saw her potential, as well as a chance for redemption - and Hermione Granger was all too willing to become a lady thief if it meant she could get her revenge.
Notes: Original prompt by CG99.
Cover:
Prologue
Near Blagdon Hill, Devon, Britain, August 23rd, 1981
He knew he was too late the moment he arrived and saw the Dark Mark floating in the pitch black sky. He ignored the Auror raising his wand in his direction, just as he ignored the older Auror grabbing her partner's arm and pulling it down. All of his attention was focused on the burning cottage. His home. Green, cursed flames were leaping through the roof and out of the windows.
A dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards were struggling to control the fire, to keep the flames from spreading into the garden and nearby fields, their red and grey robes tinted green by the fire's glow. For a second he felt hope. Maybe Martha had managed to escape with Jane. His wife wasn't a member of the Order, nor a duellist, but she was a talented witch, and…
He spotted the two bodies laid out at the gate, covered with white sheets. An adult and a child. His family. He trembled, stumbling towards them. One Auror got in his way, saying something he didn't hear. He pushed the man away and fell to his knees before the bodies, reaching out to lift one of the sheets.
Then he screamed.
"Mundungus?"
He didn't react and kept staring at the ashes of his home. The fire had, finally, burned itself out. The Aurors had gone, as well. They had tried to talk to him, but he had ignored them. He had never cared much for them, anyway.
"I offer my heartfelt condolences, my friend. To suffer such a loss…"
He tensed up and clenched his teeth. He had expected him, had expected those words, had heard them before, even if not addressed to him. But to hear them, now, after… "Save it, Albus!" he spat.
When the old wizard didn't answer he turned his head to look at him. Albus met his eyes, and his expression was so understanding, he wanted to hex the old man. No, to curse him! "Where were you?"
"There were multiple attacks all over Britain, most of them aimed at the homes of Order members. I did what I could, but it was not enough. Gideon and Fabian were murdered, as was Edgar and most of his family."
"And my family." He stared at the old man.
Albus inclined his head in response.
"I should have been with them. I should have protected them." Together, they would have managed to escape. Snuck out and disappeared. He was good at such things - it was why Albus had recruited him. And it was why he hadn't been with his family tonight.
Again, the old man remained silent. He hated that, that understanding, that pity!
"Aren't you going to ask if I succeeded at my mission? The oh so important reason I wasn't with my family tonight?" He snarled at him, daring him to answer. "Aren't you going to tell me how much we need to stand fast in our darkest hour, to prevent others from suffering the same fate as my family?"
Albus shook his head.
"Why not? Are you going to let me grieve a day, a week, before you have another 'mission' for your personal thief? A task to focus on, to take my thoughts off my pain?" He trembled with anger as he faced Albus. He didn't let the old man answer and pulled the ledger he had copied inside Parkinson Manor earlier tonight and threw it to the ground.
"Here!" After a deep breath to regain control of himself, he went on: "Don't speak to me again! I'm through with you, with the Order, with this whole damn war!"
Spinning on his heel, he apparated to an abandoned factory in muggle London. He had used the place before, to test spells and potions, and no one had ever bothered him here. He could cry here as long as he wanted, too.
And, Mundungus Fletcher added to himself as he pulled out the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky he had pilfered from Parkinson's desk after cracking the man's strongbox, no one would bother him while he drank himself into a stupor either.
Chapter 1: Expelled
Hogwarts, March 31st, 1993
"That's it! That's my grandmother's necklace!"
Standing near her bed, Hermione Granger stared at the golden pendant dangling from the Auror's hand, barely registering Greengrass's words. How had this thing appeared in her trunk? "I've never seen that necklace before!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. How could it… "Someone must have planted it in my trunk!" That was the only explanation - she knew she hadn't stolen it!
"And someone else who looked just like you was seen by Miss Parkinson, sneaking out of her dorm?" The Auror - John Dawlish, she remembered, was his name - didn't bother to hide his derision.
"They could have used Polyjuice! Or else she's lying!" Everyone knew that Parkinson was Malfoy's girlfriend. Or wanted to be his girlfriend. And Malfoy had ample reasons for trying to get Hermione into trouble.
"The only one lying is you!" Greengrass snarled at her. "Filthy thief!"
She shook her head. "I didn't steal that necklace! I didn't!" She looked at Professor McGonagall. "I didn't steal the necklace!"
But her favourite teacher wasn't looking at her. "I'll inform the Headmaster," the old witch said, her face set in a grim expression.
As she followed McGonagall, walking between the two Aurors as if she was a prisoner being transported to jail, Hermione felt like crying - and even more so when she noticed how many of her fellow students were in the Gryffindor common room, watching her being led out, and heard them whispering behind her back. Hunching her shoulders, she kept her eyes down - she didn't want to see them staring at her.
"Hermione! What's going on?"
Harry! She whipped her head around, looking for her friend. There! He was standing near the entrance, still wearing his Quidditch gear - he must have just arrived. Ron was right behind him, and both looked confused, and concerned.
"Parkinson and Greengrass are framing me for theft!" she responded. "It must be Malfoy's work!"
"Miss Granger!" McGonagall glared at her. "Don't make this any worse!"
Hermione gaped at the teacher. What did the witch mean? Didn't she realise that this was a setup? Didn't she believe Hermione? Was McGonagall angry at her? She wasn't a thief! "But…" she began, only to be interrupted by the old witch.
"Don't say anything until we're in the Headmaster's office!" McGonagall snapped at her.
Trembling, Hermione followed the witch. How could her teacher think this of her! As they left the dorms, she tried to calm down. The Headmaster would fix this - he knew she wasn't a criminal! He knew what Malfoy had done!
"I see. This is quite a situation," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.
"A situation?" Dawlish blurted out. "It's an open and shut case! We have Miss Parkinson's statement, and we found the stolen necklace in Granger's trunk!"
Hermione bit her lower lip to stop herself from saying anything. Dumbledore had to know she was innocent!
"Appearances can be deceiving," Dumbledore said. "I will need to talk with Miss Granger in private."
"What?" Hermione and half the others in the room said in unison.
"That's against Ministry regulations…" Dawlish started to object.
"This is Hogwarts, and Miss Granger is one of my students," the Headmaster interrupted him.
"This is not a disciplinary matter, but a criminal matter!" Dawlish retorted.
"A student being accused of theft is most certainly a disciplinary matter," Dumbledore corrected him, and Hermione felt her heart lift. But his next words destroyed her growing hope that he would nip this awful plot in the bud: "It remains to be decided whether or not this is also a criminal matter."
"That is not your decision to make."
"I never claimed it would be - only that as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is my prerogative to handle disciplinary matters. It should not take overly long."
That apparently calmed Dawlish. It had the opposite effect on Hermione, of course, and by the time everyone but her and Dumbledore had left the Headmaster's office, she had bitten her lower lip bloody to keep herself silent.
"Headmaster! I'm innocent! Someone planted the necklace in my trunk! Parkinson is either lying, or was fooled. It has to be a plot by Malfoy! You have to believe me!"
"I do believe you, my dear." Dumbledore's smile was gentle. "This does look like Lucius's handiwork."
She nodded rapidly. "He's trying to get back at me for foiling his plot against Harry earlier this year!"
"Indeed. Though I would say that he does not simply want revenge, but also to remove you from Harry's side, to prevent you from foiling further plots." Dumbledore nodded gravely.
That… that… Hermione clenched her teeth before she cursed in front of the Headmaster. The depths to which Malfoy and his father would stoop! "So… how can I prove my innocence?"
The old wizard hesitated to answer, and she gasped. He sighed. "Alas, that may prove impossible, Miss Granger."
"But I am innocent! Even if they do not believe me, they can interrogate me with Veritaserum!" She knew exactly how well that worked, after all.
"I am afraid to say that that cannot be allowed to happen, Miss Granger."
"What?" She stared at him. "Why not?"
"The Aurors, well-prepared by Lucius, would most certainly not limit their questions to the matter at hand."
She gasped, finally understanding. "You mean…" He knew! Of course he'd know, he was Dumbledore!
"Indeed. While it is very impressive for a second year to have brewed Veritaserum - a feat even many who have passed their N.E.W.T.s have trouble with - you broke the law in doing so. And to make matters worse, the illegally brewed potion was then used on young Mister Malfoy." She shivered, and he smiled sadly at her. "The punishment for brewing a restricted potion is not overly harsh, but to use Veritaserum on someone…" He shook his head. "Many among the members of the Wizengamot are well aware of how easily they would be ruined, should they be forced to spill their secrets, and will make an example out of you." Or her friends, who had helped her use the potion on Malfoy.
She swallowed. "Azkaban?"
"Yes. A year at the minimum. But since you are a muggleborn, and the potion was used on the son of Lucius Malfoy…"
She sniffled. She wouldn't survive that. "What… what can I do, then?" She couldn't go to Azkaban!
"I could obliviate you of the critical knowledge, of course, but that would, if detected, which would have to be expected, invalidate your testimony under Veritaserum."
"Can't you limit the questions? They can't just ask all sorts of questions, can they?" That was how it worked with muggle trials, wasn't it?
"I am afraid that they can, provided they can claim to have reasonable suspicion of further crimes. Which Lucius will ensure - I am certain that he has anticipated this course of events. There is a reason that the use of Veritaserum requires explicit permission from the Wizengamot, unless the accused asks for it, and that such permission is very rarely granted when it involves a relative of a member of the Wizengamot. We are rather fortunate that you, as a muggleborn, are merely being accused of larceny, and not of a more serious crime."
"But…" That was corruption!
"I am sorry, Miss Granger, but the only way to avoid Azkaban is to avoid being interrogated using Veritaserum."
"But I can't prove my innocence otherwise!" When he didn't answer and simply looked at her with a sad expression, she understood. "You mean… I will be found guilty?"
"With only your word to put against Miss Parkinson's, and with the necklace found in your trunk, it is a certainty. The most I can do is lessen the punishment." He spread his hands with a rather apologetic expression. "An attempt to do more would be decried by Lucius and his allies as me trying to interfere with the course of justice, and might even lead to a harsher punishment."
"But…" She couldn't get punished for this!
"It saddens me to tell you this, in light of the fact that you find yourself in these circumstances for having helped your friend, but I do not see any other way to handle this without seeing you condemned to Azkaban."
"What… what punishment should I expect?"
"Fines. I may not be able to exonerate you, but there are enough good people on the Wizengamot to ensure that a young witch will not be sent to Azkaban for theft - especially not for a first offence. I doubt that Lucius would even attempt to push for such a sentence, knowing how it would be received."
"Even as a mudblood?" She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He frowned at her. "Miss Granger, while I am the last wizard to claim that the foul and foolish ideology of blood purity has no more adherents in Wizarding Britain, your blood status will not significantly change anything with regard to the sentence." Chastened, she lowered her head. After a moment, he continued: "Although, and it honestly pains me to say this, your expulsion from Hogwarts is also unavoidable."
She stared at him, blinking. That couldn't be true. It couldn't. She couldn't get expelled. If she was expelled from Hogwarts, she'd lose her wand. She'd lose her education. She'd lose her friends!
He slowly shook his head in response to her silent plea, and she broke down in tears.
Hogwarts, March 31st, 1993
"I've heard that they arrested Granger. For theft!"
"Yes. Aurors found her trunk full of stolen jewelry!"
"She's been taken straight to Azkaban!"
Harry Potter clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to yell at the gossiping witches in the corner of the Gryffindor common room to shut up or get hexed. Hermione wasn't a thief! She wouldn't steal some stupid necklace. But she hadn't returned to the dorms yet, nor had she been at dinner.
"Stupid witches spreading lies," Ron mumbled, shifting around in the seat next to his. Harry's friend looked as worried as Harry felt, though. "Tomorrow they'll say she broke into Gringotts."
To be fair, Hermione had stolen potions ingredients - but they had needed them to foil Malfoy's plot. And Harry and Ron had helped her. He leaned towards Ron, who was scowling at the closest witch, Lavender. "Do you think this is another of Malfoy's plots?" he whispered.
Ron looked at him as if he was confused. "Of course it is! She told us so when they took her away!"
"No." Harry shook his head. "Do you think she might have stolen the necklace because Malfoy wanted to use it against us?"
"Oh." Ron blinked. "But why didn't she tell us? We'd have helped her!" he whispered back.
"I don't know. But it's all Malfoy's fault either way." Harry was certain of that. He suddenly stood up. "We'll get to the bottom of this. Come!"
"Huh?" Ron looked confused, but stood up anyway. "What do you mean?"
"We'll go to Dumbledore!" Harry said. They should have done that right away.
"Please sit down, Harry, Mister Weasley."
Harry didn't want to sit down. He wanted to stand, to pace, to do something, anything. But instead he sat down in response to the Headmaster's invitation, as did Ron.
"I assume that you are here because of the incident with Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.
He wasn't smiling, not even a little, Harry noted with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hadn't even looked as serious after Quirrell's death, and Harry had played a rather large part in that! "Yes," he said, nodding. After a moment, he went on: "She hasn't returned to the dorms. Not even after dinner. And there are rumours that she has been arrested…" He trailed off, pressing his lips together.
"I am sorry to confirm that your friend has been arrested."
Ron let a curse slip for which his mother would scourgify his mouth while Harry gaped at the Headmaster. "But… she wouldn't steal a necklace! Not unless it was part of a plot by Malfoy!" Harry protested, leaning forward in his seat and almost jumping to his feet.
"Yes," Ron chimed in, "she scolds us when we break the rules, too! The Slytherins are lying!"
Dumbledore sighed. "I am certain that Miss Granger hasn't stolen Miss Greengrass's family heirloom."
"So she'll get off?" Harry blurted out, then winced when he realised that he had interrupted the Headmaster.
Now Dumbledore smiled - but only a little. "She hasn't stolen the necklace, but I have it on good authority that she isn't actually innocent of any crime."
Harry blinked. "What?" Hermione wouldn't commit a crime, she wouldn't! What was the Headmaster talking about… "Oh."
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "I am referring to the actions she took in dealing with your 'curse' earlier this year."
"The Malaclaw venom? Harry almost died because of that!" Ron scowled. "We had to do something!"
"And it was Malfoy's fault!" Harry added, rubbing his right arm. He had had to take a large dose of Skele-Gro after the crash that had destroyed his Nimbus 2000.
"Indeed it was. But the manner in which that knowledge was revealed has caused quite a serious problem."
"What?" Harry tried to think of what they had done that would cause this. They had slipped a few drops of Veritaserum into Malfoy's pumpkin juice during dinner…
"It was quite clever of you to arrange for a teacher to question him about the latest misfortune that had befallen Harry, but dosing anyone with Veritaserum is a serious crime." Dumbledore looked from Harry to Ron and back.
"But… that's got nothing to do with the theft!" objected Ron.
"No, but given the evidence arranged against her, the only way for Miss Granger to prove that she is innocent would require that she be questioned under Veritaserum - which would almost certainly reveal her own use of that potion. And the punishment for illegal use of Veritaserum is far harsher than for theft."
"But…" Ron trailed off.
Harry shook his head, trying to make sense of this. "You mean… she'll be found guilty for something she didn't do?"
"In order to avoid being punished for something she did do," Dumbledore said. With a noticeable frown, he added: "And to avoid incriminating her friends."
"Oh." Harry repeated himself. Hermione would do that. Like when she had lied to the teachers after the troll attack.
"But we helped her!" Ron exclaimed.
"Admitting your own culpability will not help Miss Granger; all such a confession would accomplish would be to see you two sent to Azkaban as well, and see your father ruined, Mister Weasley."
"She'll be sent to Azkaban?" Harry gasped. He had heard enough about the wizard prison this evening in the common room to know how horrible that would be.
"No, not for the theft which she is accused of having committed." The Headmaster's smile had appeared, but it was rather thin. "Do you now understand the situation in which Miss Granger finds herself?"
"Can't we do anything?" Harry asked.
"I shall do my best to mitigate her punishment. She will not be sent to prison, I can assure you." Dumbledore sighed. "But she will be expelled from Hogwarts."
"What?" Harry looked at Ron. His friend seemed as shocked as he was. Hermione, expelled? Gone from Hogwarts? That was… she had once called that a fate worse than death.
"But only the Headmaster can expel a student!" Ron said. "You can refuse to expel her."
"I could - but the school governors would take action against me, and I doubt that my successor would uphold my decision." Dumbledore's faint smile vanished again. "The events of this year and the year before have not been received well by the governors."
Harry clenched his teeth. It was partially his fault, then. If he had paid more attention, hadn't been so reckless, then Quirrell would still be alive, and Malfoy wouldn't have been able to poison Harry.
"It's not your fault, Harry," Dumbledore said, in a gentle voice. "As the Headmaster, and even more so, as a wizard of my experience, it was my responsibility. I should have handled things better. I was preoccupied by politics, but that is no excuse."
Harry nodded, but he still felt guilty.
"But… where will Hermione go, if she can't go to Hogwarts?" Ron asked.
"A witch as gifted as her has several options," Dumbledore assured them. "Even after this affair."
That made Harry feel a little better. Ron and he might lose their best friend, but she wouldn't lose magic. "Will we see her again?" he asked. "Before she gets expelled, I mean."
"Yes, of course. Although I expect that she will have to spend a day in the Ministry's custody first."
Harry managed to smile at that, even if he felt like crying.
Hogwarts, April 2nd, 1993
They were waiting for her when Hermione Granger came down the stairs, dragging her trunk behind her. Harry and Ron. Her best friends. Her only friends, even. There were others in the room as well, but she didn't care for them. They didn't care for her either, anyway.
"Hey." Harry shuffled his feet and tried to smile.
"Hermione." Ron wasn't doing any better.
She bit her lower lip then took a deep breath. She could do this. She had to do this. She had prepared for this. "I guess this is goodbye." She wouldn't cry.
It was obvious that they didn't know what to say. "Did you talk with the Headmaster?"
Harry nodded. "We did."
They knew then. Good. She couldn't say anything more, not with an Auror standing behind her.
"I'll write you. And we can see each other in the summer," she managed to say.
"Yes."
"Of course."
None of them mentioned how difficult it would be to meet, with the Dursleys, and Ron not being familiar with muggle London, and her… expelled. "Good," she pressed out, then lunged forward, gathering both of them together in a hug.
"Don't do anything stupid," she whispered. "Malfoy's just waiting for that." It was bad enough that she had to take the fall; she wouldn't let that bigot ruin her friends' lives as well. She could feel them tense, but they didn't answer. "Promise me!" she added.
"OK," Harry said after a moment, and she felt Ron nod.
"That's enough," the Auror said in a gruff voice. "We're leaving now." She released her friends and looked over her shoulder at the wizard. He had his wand drawn. He would probably use it on her, too - he had taken her wand, so she couldn't levitate her trunk, earlier.
Frowning, she turned away and bent down to pick up her trunk again. To her surprise, it was far lighter than before. She looked up, and saw Fred or George smile at her.
She smiled back, feeling a little better. Her ordeal would soon be over, too. She wouldn't even have to spend another day in a cell, so she had been told, since her trial would take place that afternoon. She could do this. She had to.
Her smile didn't last long. Along the route to the entrance, students were lined up - all of them Slytherins. But they should be in their classes or dorms right now! Some were simply staring and whispering, but many were jeering and sneering at her.
"Look at the thief go!"
"Check her pockets, I'm missing a Knut!"
"Have a good time in Azkaban!"
"Bye-bye, Beaver!"
"You should never have come to Hogwarts, mudblood!"
That was Malfoy. This was all his fault! She wanted to yell at him, to curse him, but she couldn't. It would just make everything worse. She had to endure this, to show that she was better than them. No matter how much they doubted her, believed her to be a criminal, she knew the truth. She knew who the real criminal was here.
"Go back to the muggles, mudblood!"
Turning a corner, she saw Snape walking towards her, a scowl on his face. He was shooing the nearby students away, and for a moment, she felt relieved. Then she felt rage rise inside her. Snape should have stopped this from happening at all! There were no Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs around, only Slytherins. As if the bigot wouldn't have been able to prevent this! He was just covering himself now that his students had already slung their slurs at her!
Hermione focused on her anger, her rage, and sneered at him, then held her head high and did her best to ignore the hecklers as she strode out of Hogwarts.
London, Ministry of Magic, April 2nd, 1993
Sitting in the centre of a large chamber, magical chains binding her limbs to a wooden chair, with everyone looking down at her from their seats above her, wasn't how Hermione Granger had wanted to visit the Wizengamot. Not at all.
Bu here she was, the accused, with everyone already convinced of her guilt, or so she thought, glancing at the faces of the assembled Wizengamot and the rest of the court. She could even spot Malfoy's father, among the Wizengamot, and up high, among the spectators, his son. He must have asked his father to pull some strings to be allowed out of Hogwarts for this so he could gloat!
Dumbledore smiled at her, but the rest of the wizards and witches present didn't. Especially not the fat witch standing in for the Minister for Magic - Dumbledore had managed to keep the Minister from interfering directly; Lucius Malfoy had been cultivating Fudge for years.
The fat witch cleared her throat. "Criminal trial of the second of April, 1993," she spoke, her nasal voice amplified by a spell. "Hermione Jean Granger stands accused of multiple counts of grand larceny."
What? Multiple counts of grand larceny? Hermione gasped and looked at Dumbledore. But the Headmaster seemed to be surprised himself.
"How do you plead?"
"Not guilty!" she answered, still reeling from this unexpected change. "What am I being accused of?" she added. "I was arrested for theft!"
"The charges have been expanded due to new evidence," the witch - Dolores Umbridge, Hermione remembered - explained with a cruel smile.
"I haven't been made aware of this," Dumbledore spoke up.
"It was all filed properly." Umbridge's smile widened.
Hermione expected Dumbledore to lodge a protest - that was impairing her defence! - but the old wizard simply sat down again. She felt even worse, now. And Malfoy, sitting high above her, was smiling!
"Take a note that the accused has pleaded not guilty," Umbridge ordered.
"I still haven't heard what I am being accused of in detail!" Hermione yelled.
"Another such outburst and you'll be found in contempt of the court!" the other witch snarled at her. "Auror Dawlish, present the evidence against the accused."
The Auror who had arrested her in Hogwarts stood up. "Witnesses for the prosecution: Miss Daphne Greengrass. Miss Pansy Parkinson. Miss Millicent Bulstrode. Miss Tracey Davis. Mister Allan Borgin."
Hermione had never seen that man before. What was going on? She looked at Dumbledore, and saw that he was frowning. That was… she bit her lower lip. She couldn't lose her composure. Not now. She forced herself to calm down, despite her growing desperation.
"Are you Hermione Jean Granger, born September nineteenth, 1979, resident of London?"
"Y-yes." Hermione swallowed and once again bit her lip.
"Did you steal this necklace from Miss Greengrass?" Umbridge pointed at Dawlish, who was raising the necklace in the air.
"No." She shook her head.
"Did you steal this ring from Miss Parkinson?"
"What? I've never seen that ring before!"
"Answer the question!" Umbridge snapped.
"No, I didn't steal that ring!"
"Did you steal this diadem from Miss Bulstrode?"
"No!"
"Did you steal this bracelet from Miss Davis?"
"No!"
She looked at the sneering Slytherins. What were they trying to accomplish? Those pieces hadn't been in her trunk. Had they placed them in her room after she had been arrested, to be 'found' in time for the trial?
But as she soon found out, Malfoy's plot - and it had to be him behind all this - was a bit more intricate.
"... to sum up: We have heard how the necklace stolen from Miss Greengrass was found in the accused's trunk the morning after the theft. We have heard that Miss Parkinson, Miss Bulstrode and Miss Davis had been missing jewelry as well - a ring, a diadem and a bracelet, all very expensive, goblin-made heirlooms - but assumed that they had lost them, which is why they didn't report the loss - until they realised that if the accused could steal from Miss Greengrass, she could have stolen from them as well. And, most importantly, we have heard the testimony of Mister Allan Borgin, who bought these three pieces of jewelry during the last few months, thinking he was helping out a young pureblood witch who had fallen on hard times. Against this stands nothing but the word of the accused - a muggleborn witch who could never afford such treasures. The evidence is overwhelming, and the punishment should fit the crime. I ask for her wand to be snapped and for her to be incarcerated for six months in Azkaban. Let this be a message to others tempted to steal and rob." Auror Dawlish sat down.
Hermione was trembling when she noticed how many of the Wizengamot members were nodding in agreement. Azkaban! Half a year! She couldn't… she would not survive that. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she didn't care any more.
Dumbledore rose to speak for her. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! The accused is a young witch; she has not yet finished her second year at Hogwarts. To think that she would be able to not only steal multiple times without getting caught, but also sneak out of Hogwarts, travel to Knockturn Alley and then sell the stolen pieces without any trouble, beggars belief. That she would stash stolen loot in her trunk, instead of hiding it somewhere else, makes this whole story even less plausible. No, she is not the culprit, but simply a scapegoat, another victim of the true culprit.
"But even should you believe this tale and find her guilty, you should consider her young age, and that this would be her first offence. Azkaban is a place for the worst criminals of Wizarding Britain - murderers, those who try to break the Statue of Secrecy, dark wizards and Death Eaters." Hermione saw a number of Wizengamot members jerk at the last words.
"You all know the fate of those sent to Azkaban. Dementors, those vile fiends harboured there, will torture her, slowly draining her of any joy and happiness, leaving her a broken shell of herself. Six month there have seen hardened criminals reduced to insanity! Will you burden your conscience with doing such to a young girl, over theft?"
Hermione noticed that the witches who had done this to her now looked uncomfortable, shifting on their seats - even Parkinson. None of them spoke up, though. And Malfoy was smiling, even!
"Sending her to Azkaban would not be justice, but needless cruelty - fit for a Death Eater, but not for a member of the Wizengamot."
As Dumbledore sat down, Hermione wiped the tears from her face and hoped fervently that his plea had been enough to sway the Wizengamot and spare her.
Hogwarts, April 3rd, 1993
Muggleborn Thief Fined And Expelled!
Sitting down for breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry Potter winced when he saw across the table the headline of the Daily Prophet Percy was reading. He craned his neck, trying to read the front page, but he hadn't gotten further than the author's name - a Rita Skeeter - when Percy folded the newspaper up and handed it to him. The older boy didn't say anything, but he smiled apologetically - or so Harry thought. It wasn't an expression he often saw on Percy's face.
Reading the article - Ron joined in a minute later, looking over Harry's shoulder - Harry hissed with anger. There was a picture of Hermione's wand being snapped in front of her. He could see her flinch, then press her lips together and stand straighter, when the two parts were thrown at her feet, before it started again.
He realised he had stared at the picture for a minute when he heard Ron exclaim: "Blimey! Have you read the paragraph about you?"
"What?" He hadn't.
According to our sources at Hogwarts, Granger was quite close to the Boy-Who-Lived, and deeply involved in the affair surrounding his almost fatal accident last autumn. While unconfirmed, the possibility of this criminal attempting to steal Harry Potter's fortune through various means cannot be dismissed out of hand - many students describe her as ambitious and cunning, so she might have had long-term plans to that effect. Several of our sources went into detail about her practice of using her relationship with Harry Potter to escape punishment for her numerous offences. It is certainly a good thing that her corrupting influence has now been removed from both the Boy-Who-Lived and Hogwarts.
"Those… those…" He knew who those 'sources' were. Slytherins. He glanced over at their table, and saw a gaggle of them bent over a few newspapers, some pointing and laughing.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron's curse drew Harry's attention back to the article. What else could this Skeeter have written? She had already turned Hermione's alleged crime into a veritable crime spree that 'had shaken Hogwarts to its founding stones'. He saw what his friend was pointing at, and hissed under his breath.
Granger's grades - she allegedly excelled in tests, but, according to other students in her year, she was lacking in practical talent - are now also suspect. A witch willing to steal an heirloom of the scion of an Old Family like the Greengrasses would certainly be able to cheat in tests. In hindsight, this should have been obvious - had the girl been truly as smart as she claimed, she would certainly have been sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor. We can only hope that the school's staff will investigate these accusations thoroughly - it would not do to have a cheater affect the standings of hard-working, honourable students.
Harry glanced over at the Ravenclaw table and noticed several of the students in their year looking quite satisfied. "Jealous gits," he mumbled.
One can but hope that her expulsion will spell the end of the recent string of scandals which have plagued Hogwarts - as our readers know, not only did the Boy-Who-Lived almost die in a potions-related accident, but last year Professor Quirrell was killed under mysterious circumstances.
Those had been the work of Malfoy and Voldemort respectively! And the Prophet was hinting that Hermione was responsible? Harry threw the newspaper article on the table, not caring that it landed right on a plate filled with sausages. He wanted to hex that journalist, the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws!
"Hey, Potter! Aren't you glad you were freed from the clutches of the mudblood before she stole your family fortune, leaving you both orphaned and poor?"
Harry jumped up and drew his wand. His promise be damned, he wouldn't let that stand!
But before he - or Ron, who had mirrored his own actions - could hex the foul git, the Headmaster's voice cut through rising excitement: "Mister Malfoy! Twenty points from Slytherin and detention tonight!"
The Great Hall fell silent as everyone turned to look at Dumbledore. The Headmaster almost never raised his voice, much less disciplined students directly; he left that to the teachers. Teachers, Harry noted, who looked almost as surprised as most of the students. Even Snape.
Harry expected Malfoy to protest, but not even that arrogant idiot would dare to talk back to Dumbledore, and the git sat down instead.
"Did you hear me, Mister Malfoy?"
The Slytherin jerked and looked back at the staff table. "Yes, sir," he pressed out.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, apparently satisfied, then vanished the Daily Prophet on his table.
"Serves the git right," Ron whispered as both of them sat down again.
"It's not enough though," Harry answered. Not by far.
"We promised not to do anything," Ron said - as if he hadn't been about to hex the git a minute ago.
But Harry's friend was correct - they had promised Hermione. Slowly, Harry started to grin. "Yes, we did promise. But," he added, with a glance at Fred and George, "they didn't."
Ron's smile matched those of his brothers'.
London, Kingston upon Thames, April 24th, 1993
Hermione Granger was sitting in the garden, behind the old tree in the corner. She needed to be alone. Away from her parents and their silent accusations. And the telly covering the bombing in the City of London. And she wanted to enjoy the garden before they had to move out.
Which they would have to, once the house was sold. They would have to find a flat - a cheap one - near whatever new employment her parents could find after selling their dental practice. Which they needed to do because of her. She pulled out the broken pieces of her wand. She had kept them, despite the wand being ruined. It would serve as a reminder.
Her family was ruined, and it was all her fault. Her fault, but even more the fault of those despicable Malfoys and their friends. It hadn't been enough for Malfoy to get her expelled with his plot and the lies of his friends - no, they had to go even further! All those lying witches, claiming she stole even more from them… and Borgin, claiming he had bought those treasures in good faith, for a fair price! The fines and damages were more than her family owned! And, as a muggleborn, she was lucky that the Wizengamot, which mostly consisted of purebloods who had inherited their seats, hadn't sent her to Azkaban!
She clenched her teeth, rage filling her. They would pay! She didn't know how, yet, but all who had conspired to ruin her would pay! Every single last one of them. Malfoy, Parkinson, Greengrass, Bulstrode and Davis. Borgin, of course. Umbridge, for hiding the new charges so Dumbledore couldn't do anything in time. Dawlish, for going along with the plot. And Skeeter, for calling her a cheater! And all those who had sneered and slandered her at Hogwarts. The bigots and the jealous.
She would get her revenge!
When she noticed that her broken wand was sparking, she forced herself to calm down. A bout of accidental magic would cause even more trouble for her and her family. And they definitely couldn't afford that.
Once again, she considered asking Harry for help. But that would ruin him, and she couldn't do that. Not when it was her fault for not considering the consequences of her plan. For not researching enough. And to see him spend all his gold for her, after that awful article… But, she thought, maybe she could ask him to buy her a new wand? Nothing but the lack of money kept her from buying one - and the fact that any money she changed into Galleons at Gringotts would be confiscated right away by those loathsome goblins.
But even if she had a wand, she couldn't return to Hogwarts, and she couldn't afford to go to another school of magic. Dumbledore had told her that he'd do what he could to let her continue her education, but after sending her a selection of admittedly fascinating books to study, she hadn't heard anything more concrete from him. She could ask Harry or Ron in her next letter to bother the Headmaster for her… No. She could wait a little longer.
Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes. She had cried enough since the trial. She had lost this round, but she wouldn't stay down. She would get her revenge!
"Miss Granger?"
The sudden question made her gasp and jump to her feet. A man was standing a few yards away, leaning against the fence - inside the garden. How had he managed to get so close without her noticing? She looked him over. He was wearing an expensive suit. Tailor-made, she thought. Polished shoes. A bow-tie, of all things. Immaculately shaved and coiffed. "Who are you?" she asked in return.
"Fletcher. Mundungus Fletcher."
Mundungus? That sounded like a wizard name. She glanced at his hand.
He grinned and, with a flourish, produced a wand. "Indeed, I'm a wizard."
"What do you want?" She hadn't heard his name before.
"I've been looking into your trial. A clear set-up, in my opinion. You must have angered Lucius Malfoy a great deal for him to go to those lengths."
"So?" She already knew that. Then she had another thought. Was the man here for her? Wasn't ruining her and her family's life enough? Had Malfoy hired the man to kill her?
She took a step back and glanced towards her house. If she sprinted… she wouldn't make it.
"I'm not here to harm you, Miss Granger." The man smiled, though a bit crookedly, in her opinion. "I'm here to make you an offer."
"What?"
"As I said, I've been looking into your case, and into your history. You didn't steal from those witches. But you could have. And you would have done it in a far less obvious way, right?"
Well, of course! She had stolen from Snape, after all, to brew the Veritaserum without getting caught!
"And you're in dire need of gold."
"Yes." What was he proposing? Was he… certainly not!
"You have the talent and the motivation - and people already think you're a thief. You have nothing to lose, I think." He grinned. "Would you like to learn how to become a real thief, and rob those pureblood bastards blind?"
She blinked in surprise.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the Harry Potter books or movies.
Author's Note: This story is set in an Alternate Universe. A number of canon events didn't or won't happen. The society of Wizarding Britain is a bit different and a number of characters will act differently as well.
I'd like to thank fredfred for betaing. His help has improved the story a lot.
Summary: Framed as a thief and expelled from Hogwarts in her second year, her family ruined by debts, many thought they had seen the last of her. But someone saw her potential, as well as a chance for redemption - and Hermione Granger was all too willing to become a lady thief if it meant she could get her revenge.
Notes: Original prompt by CG99.
Cover:
Prologue
Near Blagdon Hill, Devon, Britain, August 23rd, 1981
He knew he was too late the moment he arrived and saw the Dark Mark floating in the pitch black sky. He ignored the Auror raising his wand in his direction, just as he ignored the older Auror grabbing her partner's arm and pulling it down. All of his attention was focused on the burning cottage. His home. Green, cursed flames were leaping through the roof and out of the windows.
A dozen Aurors and Hit-Wizards were struggling to control the fire, to keep the flames from spreading into the garden and nearby fields, their red and grey robes tinted green by the fire's glow. For a second he felt hope. Maybe Martha had managed to escape with Jane. His wife wasn't a member of the Order, nor a duellist, but she was a talented witch, and…
He spotted the two bodies laid out at the gate, covered with white sheets. An adult and a child. His family. He trembled, stumbling towards them. One Auror got in his way, saying something he didn't hear. He pushed the man away and fell to his knees before the bodies, reaching out to lift one of the sheets.
Then he screamed.
*****
"Mundungus?"
He didn't react and kept staring at the ashes of his home. The fire had, finally, burned itself out. The Aurors had gone, as well. They had tried to talk to him, but he had ignored them. He had never cared much for them, anyway.
"I offer my heartfelt condolences, my friend. To suffer such a loss…"
He tensed up and clenched his teeth. He had expected him, had expected those words, had heard them before, even if not addressed to him. But to hear them, now, after… "Save it, Albus!" he spat.
When the old wizard didn't answer he turned his head to look at him. Albus met his eyes, and his expression was so understanding, he wanted to hex the old man. No, to curse him! "Where were you?"
"There were multiple attacks all over Britain, most of them aimed at the homes of Order members. I did what I could, but it was not enough. Gideon and Fabian were murdered, as was Edgar and most of his family."
"And my family." He stared at the old man.
Albus inclined his head in response.
"I should have been with them. I should have protected them." Together, they would have managed to escape. Snuck out and disappeared. He was good at such things - it was why Albus had recruited him. And it was why he hadn't been with his family tonight.
Again, the old man remained silent. He hated that, that understanding, that pity!
"Aren't you going to ask if I succeeded at my mission? The oh so important reason I wasn't with my family tonight?" He snarled at him, daring him to answer. "Aren't you going to tell me how much we need to stand fast in our darkest hour, to prevent others from suffering the same fate as my family?"
Albus shook his head.
"Why not? Are you going to let me grieve a day, a week, before you have another 'mission' for your personal thief? A task to focus on, to take my thoughts off my pain?" He trembled with anger as he faced Albus. He didn't let the old man answer and pulled the ledger he had copied inside Parkinson Manor earlier tonight and threw it to the ground.
"Here!" After a deep breath to regain control of himself, he went on: "Don't speak to me again! I'm through with you, with the Order, with this whole damn war!"
Spinning on his heel, he apparated to an abandoned factory in muggle London. He had used the place before, to test spells and potions, and no one had ever bothered him here. He could cry here as long as he wanted, too.
And, Mundungus Fletcher added to himself as he pulled out the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky he had pilfered from Parkinson's desk after cracking the man's strongbox, no one would bother him while he drank himself into a stupor either.
*****
Chapter 1: Expelled
Hogwarts, March 31st, 1993
"That's it! That's my grandmother's necklace!"
Standing near her bed, Hermione Granger stared at the golden pendant dangling from the Auror's hand, barely registering Greengrass's words. How had this thing appeared in her trunk? "I've never seen that necklace before!" she exclaimed, shaking her head. How could it… "Someone must have planted it in my trunk!" That was the only explanation - she knew she hadn't stolen it!
"And someone else who looked just like you was seen by Miss Parkinson, sneaking out of her dorm?" The Auror - John Dawlish, she remembered, was his name - didn't bother to hide his derision.
"They could have used Polyjuice! Or else she's lying!" Everyone knew that Parkinson was Malfoy's girlfriend. Or wanted to be his girlfriend. And Malfoy had ample reasons for trying to get Hermione into trouble.
"The only one lying is you!" Greengrass snarled at her. "Filthy thief!"
She shook her head. "I didn't steal that necklace! I didn't!" She looked at Professor McGonagall. "I didn't steal the necklace!"
But her favourite teacher wasn't looking at her. "I'll inform the Headmaster," the old witch said, her face set in a grim expression.
As she followed McGonagall, walking between the two Aurors as if she was a prisoner being transported to jail, Hermione felt like crying - and even more so when she noticed how many of her fellow students were in the Gryffindor common room, watching her being led out, and heard them whispering behind her back. Hunching her shoulders, she kept her eyes down - she didn't want to see them staring at her.
"Hermione! What's going on?"
Harry! She whipped her head around, looking for her friend. There! He was standing near the entrance, still wearing his Quidditch gear - he must have just arrived. Ron was right behind him, and both looked confused, and concerned.
"Parkinson and Greengrass are framing me for theft!" she responded. "It must be Malfoy's work!"
"Miss Granger!" McGonagall glared at her. "Don't make this any worse!"
Hermione gaped at the teacher. What did the witch mean? Didn't she realise that this was a setup? Didn't she believe Hermione? Was McGonagall angry at her? She wasn't a thief! "But…" she began, only to be interrupted by the old witch.
"Don't say anything until we're in the Headmaster's office!" McGonagall snapped at her.
Trembling, Hermione followed the witch. How could her teacher think this of her! As they left the dorms, she tried to calm down. The Headmaster would fix this - he knew she wasn't a criminal! He knew what Malfoy had done!
*****
"I see. This is quite a situation," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard.
"A situation?" Dawlish blurted out. "It's an open and shut case! We have Miss Parkinson's statement, and we found the stolen necklace in Granger's trunk!"
Hermione bit her lower lip to stop herself from saying anything. Dumbledore had to know she was innocent!
"Appearances can be deceiving," Dumbledore said. "I will need to talk with Miss Granger in private."
"What?" Hermione and half the others in the room said in unison.
"That's against Ministry regulations…" Dawlish started to object.
"This is Hogwarts, and Miss Granger is one of my students," the Headmaster interrupted him.
"This is not a disciplinary matter, but a criminal matter!" Dawlish retorted.
"A student being accused of theft is most certainly a disciplinary matter," Dumbledore corrected him, and Hermione felt her heart lift. But his next words destroyed her growing hope that he would nip this awful plot in the bud: "It remains to be decided whether or not this is also a criminal matter."
"That is not your decision to make."
"I never claimed it would be - only that as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is my prerogative to handle disciplinary matters. It should not take overly long."
That apparently calmed Dawlish. It had the opposite effect on Hermione, of course, and by the time everyone but her and Dumbledore had left the Headmaster's office, she had bitten her lower lip bloody to keep herself silent.
"Headmaster! I'm innocent! Someone planted the necklace in my trunk! Parkinson is either lying, or was fooled. It has to be a plot by Malfoy! You have to believe me!"
"I do believe you, my dear." Dumbledore's smile was gentle. "This does look like Lucius's handiwork."
She nodded rapidly. "He's trying to get back at me for foiling his plot against Harry earlier this year!"
"Indeed. Though I would say that he does not simply want revenge, but also to remove you from Harry's side, to prevent you from foiling further plots." Dumbledore nodded gravely.
That… that… Hermione clenched her teeth before she cursed in front of the Headmaster. The depths to which Malfoy and his father would stoop! "So… how can I prove my innocence?"
The old wizard hesitated to answer, and she gasped. He sighed. "Alas, that may prove impossible, Miss Granger."
"But I am innocent! Even if they do not believe me, they can interrogate me with Veritaserum!" She knew exactly how well that worked, after all.
"I am afraid to say that that cannot be allowed to happen, Miss Granger."
"What?" She stared at him. "Why not?"
"The Aurors, well-prepared by Lucius, would most certainly not limit their questions to the matter at hand."
She gasped, finally understanding. "You mean…" He knew! Of course he'd know, he was Dumbledore!
"Indeed. While it is very impressive for a second year to have brewed Veritaserum - a feat even many who have passed their N.E.W.T.s have trouble with - you broke the law in doing so. And to make matters worse, the illegally brewed potion was then used on young Mister Malfoy." She shivered, and he smiled sadly at her. "The punishment for brewing a restricted potion is not overly harsh, but to use Veritaserum on someone…" He shook his head. "Many among the members of the Wizengamot are well aware of how easily they would be ruined, should they be forced to spill their secrets, and will make an example out of you." Or her friends, who had helped her use the potion on Malfoy.
She swallowed. "Azkaban?"
"Yes. A year at the minimum. But since you are a muggleborn, and the potion was used on the son of Lucius Malfoy…"
She sniffled. She wouldn't survive that. "What… what can I do, then?" She couldn't go to Azkaban!
"I could obliviate you of the critical knowledge, of course, but that would, if detected, which would have to be expected, invalidate your testimony under Veritaserum."
"Can't you limit the questions? They can't just ask all sorts of questions, can they?" That was how it worked with muggle trials, wasn't it?
"I am afraid that they can, provided they can claim to have reasonable suspicion of further crimes. Which Lucius will ensure - I am certain that he has anticipated this course of events. There is a reason that the use of Veritaserum requires explicit permission from the Wizengamot, unless the accused asks for it, and that such permission is very rarely granted when it involves a relative of a member of the Wizengamot. We are rather fortunate that you, as a muggleborn, are merely being accused of larceny, and not of a more serious crime."
"But…" That was corruption!
"I am sorry, Miss Granger, but the only way to avoid Azkaban is to avoid being interrogated using Veritaserum."
"But I can't prove my innocence otherwise!" When he didn't answer and simply looked at her with a sad expression, she understood. "You mean… I will be found guilty?"
"With only your word to put against Miss Parkinson's, and with the necklace found in your trunk, it is a certainty. The most I can do is lessen the punishment." He spread his hands with a rather apologetic expression. "An attempt to do more would be decried by Lucius and his allies as me trying to interfere with the course of justice, and might even lead to a harsher punishment."
"But…" She couldn't get punished for this!
"It saddens me to tell you this, in light of the fact that you find yourself in these circumstances for having helped your friend, but I do not see any other way to handle this without seeing you condemned to Azkaban."
"What… what punishment should I expect?"
"Fines. I may not be able to exonerate you, but there are enough good people on the Wizengamot to ensure that a young witch will not be sent to Azkaban for theft - especially not for a first offence. I doubt that Lucius would even attempt to push for such a sentence, knowing how it would be received."
"Even as a mudblood?" She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He frowned at her. "Miss Granger, while I am the last wizard to claim that the foul and foolish ideology of blood purity has no more adherents in Wizarding Britain, your blood status will not significantly change anything with regard to the sentence." Chastened, she lowered her head. After a moment, he continued: "Although, and it honestly pains me to say this, your expulsion from Hogwarts is also unavoidable."
She stared at him, blinking. That couldn't be true. It couldn't. She couldn't get expelled. If she was expelled from Hogwarts, she'd lose her wand. She'd lose her education. She'd lose her friends!
He slowly shook his head in response to her silent plea, and she broke down in tears.
*****
Hogwarts, March 31st, 1993
"I've heard that they arrested Granger. For theft!"
"Yes. Aurors found her trunk full of stolen jewelry!"
"She's been taken straight to Azkaban!"
Harry Potter clenched his teeth and resisted the urge to yell at the gossiping witches in the corner of the Gryffindor common room to shut up or get hexed. Hermione wasn't a thief! She wouldn't steal some stupid necklace. But she hadn't returned to the dorms yet, nor had she been at dinner.
"Stupid witches spreading lies," Ron mumbled, shifting around in the seat next to his. Harry's friend looked as worried as Harry felt, though. "Tomorrow they'll say she broke into Gringotts."
To be fair, Hermione had stolen potions ingredients - but they had needed them to foil Malfoy's plot. And Harry and Ron had helped her. He leaned towards Ron, who was scowling at the closest witch, Lavender. "Do you think this is another of Malfoy's plots?" he whispered.
Ron looked at him as if he was confused. "Of course it is! She told us so when they took her away!"
"No." Harry shook his head. "Do you think she might have stolen the necklace because Malfoy wanted to use it against us?"
"Oh." Ron blinked. "But why didn't she tell us? We'd have helped her!" he whispered back.
"I don't know. But it's all Malfoy's fault either way." Harry was certain of that. He suddenly stood up. "We'll get to the bottom of this. Come!"
"Huh?" Ron looked confused, but stood up anyway. "What do you mean?"
"We'll go to Dumbledore!" Harry said. They should have done that right away.
*****
"Please sit down, Harry, Mister Weasley."
Harry didn't want to sit down. He wanted to stand, to pace, to do something, anything. But instead he sat down in response to the Headmaster's invitation, as did Ron.
"I assume that you are here because of the incident with Miss Granger," Dumbledore said.
He wasn't smiling, not even a little, Harry noted with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hadn't even looked as serious after Quirrell's death, and Harry had played a rather large part in that! "Yes," he said, nodding. After a moment, he went on: "She hasn't returned to the dorms. Not even after dinner. And there are rumours that she has been arrested…" He trailed off, pressing his lips together.
"I am sorry to confirm that your friend has been arrested."
Ron let a curse slip for which his mother would scourgify his mouth while Harry gaped at the Headmaster. "But… she wouldn't steal a necklace! Not unless it was part of a plot by Malfoy!" Harry protested, leaning forward in his seat and almost jumping to his feet.
"Yes," Ron chimed in, "she scolds us when we break the rules, too! The Slytherins are lying!"
Dumbledore sighed. "I am certain that Miss Granger hasn't stolen Miss Greengrass's family heirloom."
"So she'll get off?" Harry blurted out, then winced when he realised that he had interrupted the Headmaster.
Now Dumbledore smiled - but only a little. "She hasn't stolen the necklace, but I have it on good authority that she isn't actually innocent of any crime."
Harry blinked. "What?" Hermione wouldn't commit a crime, she wouldn't! What was the Headmaster talking about… "Oh."
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "I am referring to the actions she took in dealing with your 'curse' earlier this year."
"The Malaclaw venom? Harry almost died because of that!" Ron scowled. "We had to do something!"
"And it was Malfoy's fault!" Harry added, rubbing his right arm. He had had to take a large dose of Skele-Gro after the crash that had destroyed his Nimbus 2000.
"Indeed it was. But the manner in which that knowledge was revealed has caused quite a serious problem."
"What?" Harry tried to think of what they had done that would cause this. They had slipped a few drops of Veritaserum into Malfoy's pumpkin juice during dinner…
"It was quite clever of you to arrange for a teacher to question him about the latest misfortune that had befallen Harry, but dosing anyone with Veritaserum is a serious crime." Dumbledore looked from Harry to Ron and back.
"But… that's got nothing to do with the theft!" objected Ron.
"No, but given the evidence arranged against her, the only way for Miss Granger to prove that she is innocent would require that she be questioned under Veritaserum - which would almost certainly reveal her own use of that potion. And the punishment for illegal use of Veritaserum is far harsher than for theft."
"But…" Ron trailed off.
Harry shook his head, trying to make sense of this. "You mean… she'll be found guilty for something she didn't do?"
"In order to avoid being punished for something she did do," Dumbledore said. With a noticeable frown, he added: "And to avoid incriminating her friends."
"Oh." Harry repeated himself. Hermione would do that. Like when she had lied to the teachers after the troll attack.
"But we helped her!" Ron exclaimed.
"Admitting your own culpability will not help Miss Granger; all such a confession would accomplish would be to see you two sent to Azkaban as well, and see your father ruined, Mister Weasley."
"She'll be sent to Azkaban?" Harry gasped. He had heard enough about the wizard prison this evening in the common room to know how horrible that would be.
"No, not for the theft which she is accused of having committed." The Headmaster's smile had appeared, but it was rather thin. "Do you now understand the situation in which Miss Granger finds herself?"
"Can't we do anything?" Harry asked.
"I shall do my best to mitigate her punishment. She will not be sent to prison, I can assure you." Dumbledore sighed. "But she will be expelled from Hogwarts."
"What?" Harry looked at Ron. His friend seemed as shocked as he was. Hermione, expelled? Gone from Hogwarts? That was… she had once called that a fate worse than death.
"But only the Headmaster can expel a student!" Ron said. "You can refuse to expel her."
"I could - but the school governors would take action against me, and I doubt that my successor would uphold my decision." Dumbledore's faint smile vanished again. "The events of this year and the year before have not been received well by the governors."
Harry clenched his teeth. It was partially his fault, then. If he had paid more attention, hadn't been so reckless, then Quirrell would still be alive, and Malfoy wouldn't have been able to poison Harry.
"It's not your fault, Harry," Dumbledore said, in a gentle voice. "As the Headmaster, and even more so, as a wizard of my experience, it was my responsibility. I should have handled things better. I was preoccupied by politics, but that is no excuse."
Harry nodded, but he still felt guilty.
"But… where will Hermione go, if she can't go to Hogwarts?" Ron asked.
"A witch as gifted as her has several options," Dumbledore assured them. "Even after this affair."
That made Harry feel a little better. Ron and he might lose their best friend, but she wouldn't lose magic. "Will we see her again?" he asked. "Before she gets expelled, I mean."
"Yes, of course. Although I expect that she will have to spend a day in the Ministry's custody first."
Harry managed to smile at that, even if he felt like crying.
*****
Hogwarts, April 2nd, 1993
They were waiting for her when Hermione Granger came down the stairs, dragging her trunk behind her. Harry and Ron. Her best friends. Her only friends, even. There were others in the room as well, but she didn't care for them. They didn't care for her either, anyway.
"Hey." Harry shuffled his feet and tried to smile.
"Hermione." Ron wasn't doing any better.
She bit her lower lip then took a deep breath. She could do this. She had to do this. She had prepared for this. "I guess this is goodbye." She wouldn't cry.
It was obvious that they didn't know what to say. "Did you talk with the Headmaster?"
Harry nodded. "We did."
They knew then. Good. She couldn't say anything more, not with an Auror standing behind her.
"I'll write you. And we can see each other in the summer," she managed to say.
"Yes."
"Of course."
None of them mentioned how difficult it would be to meet, with the Dursleys, and Ron not being familiar with muggle London, and her… expelled. "Good," she pressed out, then lunged forward, gathering both of them together in a hug.
"Don't do anything stupid," she whispered. "Malfoy's just waiting for that." It was bad enough that she had to take the fall; she wouldn't let that bigot ruin her friends' lives as well. She could feel them tense, but they didn't answer. "Promise me!" she added.
"OK," Harry said after a moment, and she felt Ron nod.
"That's enough," the Auror said in a gruff voice. "We're leaving now." She released her friends and looked over her shoulder at the wizard. He had his wand drawn. He would probably use it on her, too - he had taken her wand, so she couldn't levitate her trunk, earlier.
Frowning, she turned away and bent down to pick up her trunk again. To her surprise, it was far lighter than before. She looked up, and saw Fred or George smile at her.
She smiled back, feeling a little better. Her ordeal would soon be over, too. She wouldn't even have to spend another day in a cell, so she had been told, since her trial would take place that afternoon. She could do this. She had to.
Her smile didn't last long. Along the route to the entrance, students were lined up - all of them Slytherins. But they should be in their classes or dorms right now! Some were simply staring and whispering, but many were jeering and sneering at her.
"Look at the thief go!"
"Check her pockets, I'm missing a Knut!"
"Have a good time in Azkaban!"
"Bye-bye, Beaver!"
"You should never have come to Hogwarts, mudblood!"
That was Malfoy. This was all his fault! She wanted to yell at him, to curse him, but she couldn't. It would just make everything worse. She had to endure this, to show that she was better than them. No matter how much they doubted her, believed her to be a criminal, she knew the truth. She knew who the real criminal was here.
"Go back to the muggles, mudblood!"
Turning a corner, she saw Snape walking towards her, a scowl on his face. He was shooing the nearby students away, and for a moment, she felt relieved. Then she felt rage rise inside her. Snape should have stopped this from happening at all! There were no Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs around, only Slytherins. As if the bigot wouldn't have been able to prevent this! He was just covering himself now that his students had already slung their slurs at her!
Hermione focused on her anger, her rage, and sneered at him, then held her head high and did her best to ignore the hecklers as she strode out of Hogwarts.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, April 2nd, 1993
Sitting in the centre of a large chamber, magical chains binding her limbs to a wooden chair, with everyone looking down at her from their seats above her, wasn't how Hermione Granger had wanted to visit the Wizengamot. Not at all.
Bu here she was, the accused, with everyone already convinced of her guilt, or so she thought, glancing at the faces of the assembled Wizengamot and the rest of the court. She could even spot Malfoy's father, among the Wizengamot, and up high, among the spectators, his son. He must have asked his father to pull some strings to be allowed out of Hogwarts for this so he could gloat!
Dumbledore smiled at her, but the rest of the wizards and witches present didn't. Especially not the fat witch standing in for the Minister for Magic - Dumbledore had managed to keep the Minister from interfering directly; Lucius Malfoy had been cultivating Fudge for years.
The fat witch cleared her throat. "Criminal trial of the second of April, 1993," she spoke, her nasal voice amplified by a spell. "Hermione Jean Granger stands accused of multiple counts of grand larceny."
What? Multiple counts of grand larceny? Hermione gasped and looked at Dumbledore. But the Headmaster seemed to be surprised himself.
"How do you plead?"
"Not guilty!" she answered, still reeling from this unexpected change. "What am I being accused of?" she added. "I was arrested for theft!"
"The charges have been expanded due to new evidence," the witch - Dolores Umbridge, Hermione remembered - explained with a cruel smile.
"I haven't been made aware of this," Dumbledore spoke up.
"It was all filed properly." Umbridge's smile widened.
Hermione expected Dumbledore to lodge a protest - that was impairing her defence! - but the old wizard simply sat down again. She felt even worse, now. And Malfoy, sitting high above her, was smiling!
"Take a note that the accused has pleaded not guilty," Umbridge ordered.
"I still haven't heard what I am being accused of in detail!" Hermione yelled.
"Another such outburst and you'll be found in contempt of the court!" the other witch snarled at her. "Auror Dawlish, present the evidence against the accused."
The Auror who had arrested her in Hogwarts stood up. "Witnesses for the prosecution: Miss Daphne Greengrass. Miss Pansy Parkinson. Miss Millicent Bulstrode. Miss Tracey Davis. Mister Allan Borgin."
Hermione had never seen that man before. What was going on? She looked at Dumbledore, and saw that he was frowning. That was… she bit her lower lip. She couldn't lose her composure. Not now. She forced herself to calm down, despite her growing desperation.
"Are you Hermione Jean Granger, born September nineteenth, 1979, resident of London?"
"Y-yes." Hermione swallowed and once again bit her lip.
"Did you steal this necklace from Miss Greengrass?" Umbridge pointed at Dawlish, who was raising the necklace in the air.
"No." She shook her head.
"Did you steal this ring from Miss Parkinson?"
"What? I've never seen that ring before!"
"Answer the question!" Umbridge snapped.
"No, I didn't steal that ring!"
"Did you steal this diadem from Miss Bulstrode?"
"No!"
"Did you steal this bracelet from Miss Davis?"
"No!"
She looked at the sneering Slytherins. What were they trying to accomplish? Those pieces hadn't been in her trunk. Had they placed them in her room after she had been arrested, to be 'found' in time for the trial?
But as she soon found out, Malfoy's plot - and it had to be him behind all this - was a bit more intricate.
*****
"... to sum up: We have heard how the necklace stolen from Miss Greengrass was found in the accused's trunk the morning after the theft. We have heard that Miss Parkinson, Miss Bulstrode and Miss Davis had been missing jewelry as well - a ring, a diadem and a bracelet, all very expensive, goblin-made heirlooms - but assumed that they had lost them, which is why they didn't report the loss - until they realised that if the accused could steal from Miss Greengrass, she could have stolen from them as well. And, most importantly, we have heard the testimony of Mister Allan Borgin, who bought these three pieces of jewelry during the last few months, thinking he was helping out a young pureblood witch who had fallen on hard times. Against this stands nothing but the word of the accused - a muggleborn witch who could never afford such treasures. The evidence is overwhelming, and the punishment should fit the crime. I ask for her wand to be snapped and for her to be incarcerated for six months in Azkaban. Let this be a message to others tempted to steal and rob." Auror Dawlish sat down.
Hermione was trembling when she noticed how many of the Wizengamot members were nodding in agreement. Azkaban! Half a year! She couldn't… she would not survive that. Tears were running down her cheeks, but she didn't care any more.
Dumbledore rose to speak for her. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! The accused is a young witch; she has not yet finished her second year at Hogwarts. To think that she would be able to not only steal multiple times without getting caught, but also sneak out of Hogwarts, travel to Knockturn Alley and then sell the stolen pieces without any trouble, beggars belief. That she would stash stolen loot in her trunk, instead of hiding it somewhere else, makes this whole story even less plausible. No, she is not the culprit, but simply a scapegoat, another victim of the true culprit.
"But even should you believe this tale and find her guilty, you should consider her young age, and that this would be her first offence. Azkaban is a place for the worst criminals of Wizarding Britain - murderers, those who try to break the Statue of Secrecy, dark wizards and Death Eaters." Hermione saw a number of Wizengamot members jerk at the last words.
"You all know the fate of those sent to Azkaban. Dementors, those vile fiends harboured there, will torture her, slowly draining her of any joy and happiness, leaving her a broken shell of herself. Six month there have seen hardened criminals reduced to insanity! Will you burden your conscience with doing such to a young girl, over theft?"
Hermione noticed that the witches who had done this to her now looked uncomfortable, shifting on their seats - even Parkinson. None of them spoke up, though. And Malfoy was smiling, even!
"Sending her to Azkaban would not be justice, but needless cruelty - fit for a Death Eater, but not for a member of the Wizengamot."
As Dumbledore sat down, Hermione wiped the tears from her face and hoped fervently that his plea had been enough to sway the Wizengamot and spare her.
*****
Hogwarts, April 3rd, 1993
Muggleborn Thief Fined And Expelled!
Sitting down for breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry Potter winced when he saw across the table the headline of the Daily Prophet Percy was reading. He craned his neck, trying to read the front page, but he hadn't gotten further than the author's name - a Rita Skeeter - when Percy folded the newspaper up and handed it to him. The older boy didn't say anything, but he smiled apologetically - or so Harry thought. It wasn't an expression he often saw on Percy's face.
Reading the article - Ron joined in a minute later, looking over Harry's shoulder - Harry hissed with anger. There was a picture of Hermione's wand being snapped in front of her. He could see her flinch, then press her lips together and stand straighter, when the two parts were thrown at her feet, before it started again.
He realised he had stared at the picture for a minute when he heard Ron exclaim: "Blimey! Have you read the paragraph about you?"
"What?" He hadn't.
According to our sources at Hogwarts, Granger was quite close to the Boy-Who-Lived, and deeply involved in the affair surrounding his almost fatal accident last autumn. While unconfirmed, the possibility of this criminal attempting to steal Harry Potter's fortune through various means cannot be dismissed out of hand - many students describe her as ambitious and cunning, so she might have had long-term plans to that effect. Several of our sources went into detail about her practice of using her relationship with Harry Potter to escape punishment for her numerous offences. It is certainly a good thing that her corrupting influence has now been removed from both the Boy-Who-Lived and Hogwarts.
"Those… those…" He knew who those 'sources' were. Slytherins. He glanced over at their table, and saw a gaggle of them bent over a few newspapers, some pointing and laughing.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron's curse drew Harry's attention back to the article. What else could this Skeeter have written? She had already turned Hermione's alleged crime into a veritable crime spree that 'had shaken Hogwarts to its founding stones'. He saw what his friend was pointing at, and hissed under his breath.
Granger's grades - she allegedly excelled in tests, but, according to other students in her year, she was lacking in practical talent - are now also suspect. A witch willing to steal an heirloom of the scion of an Old Family like the Greengrasses would certainly be able to cheat in tests. In hindsight, this should have been obvious - had the girl been truly as smart as she claimed, she would certainly have been sorted into Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor. We can only hope that the school's staff will investigate these accusations thoroughly - it would not do to have a cheater affect the standings of hard-working, honourable students.
Harry glanced over at the Ravenclaw table and noticed several of the students in their year looking quite satisfied. "Jealous gits," he mumbled.
One can but hope that her expulsion will spell the end of the recent string of scandals which have plagued Hogwarts - as our readers know, not only did the Boy-Who-Lived almost die in a potions-related accident, but last year Professor Quirrell was killed under mysterious circumstances.
Those had been the work of Malfoy and Voldemort respectively! And the Prophet was hinting that Hermione was responsible? Harry threw the newspaper article on the table, not caring that it landed right on a plate filled with sausages. He wanted to hex that journalist, the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws!
"Hey, Potter! Aren't you glad you were freed from the clutches of the mudblood before she stole your family fortune, leaving you both orphaned and poor?"
Harry jumped up and drew his wand. His promise be damned, he wouldn't let that stand!
But before he - or Ron, who had mirrored his own actions - could hex the foul git, the Headmaster's voice cut through rising excitement: "Mister Malfoy! Twenty points from Slytherin and detention tonight!"
The Great Hall fell silent as everyone turned to look at Dumbledore. The Headmaster almost never raised his voice, much less disciplined students directly; he left that to the teachers. Teachers, Harry noted, who looked almost as surprised as most of the students. Even Snape.
Harry expected Malfoy to protest, but not even that arrogant idiot would dare to talk back to Dumbledore, and the git sat down instead.
"Did you hear me, Mister Malfoy?"
The Slytherin jerked and looked back at the staff table. "Yes, sir," he pressed out.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, apparently satisfied, then vanished the Daily Prophet on his table.
"Serves the git right," Ron whispered as both of them sat down again.
"It's not enough though," Harry answered. Not by far.
"We promised not to do anything," Ron said - as if he hadn't been about to hex the git a minute ago.
But Harry's friend was correct - they had promised Hermione. Slowly, Harry started to grin. "Yes, we did promise. But," he added, with a glance at Fred and George, "they didn't."
Ron's smile matched those of his brothers'.
*****
London, Kingston upon Thames, April 24th, 1993
Hermione Granger was sitting in the garden, behind the old tree in the corner. She needed to be alone. Away from her parents and their silent accusations. And the telly covering the bombing in the City of London. And she wanted to enjoy the garden before they had to move out.
Which they would have to, once the house was sold. They would have to find a flat - a cheap one - near whatever new employment her parents could find after selling their dental practice. Which they needed to do because of her. She pulled out the broken pieces of her wand. She had kept them, despite the wand being ruined. It would serve as a reminder.
Her family was ruined, and it was all her fault. Her fault, but even more the fault of those despicable Malfoys and their friends. It hadn't been enough for Malfoy to get her expelled with his plot and the lies of his friends - no, they had to go even further! All those lying witches, claiming she stole even more from them… and Borgin, claiming he had bought those treasures in good faith, for a fair price! The fines and damages were more than her family owned! And, as a muggleborn, she was lucky that the Wizengamot, which mostly consisted of purebloods who had inherited their seats, hadn't sent her to Azkaban!
She clenched her teeth, rage filling her. They would pay! She didn't know how, yet, but all who had conspired to ruin her would pay! Every single last one of them. Malfoy, Parkinson, Greengrass, Bulstrode and Davis. Borgin, of course. Umbridge, for hiding the new charges so Dumbledore couldn't do anything in time. Dawlish, for going along with the plot. And Skeeter, for calling her a cheater! And all those who had sneered and slandered her at Hogwarts. The bigots and the jealous.
She would get her revenge!
When she noticed that her broken wand was sparking, she forced herself to calm down. A bout of accidental magic would cause even more trouble for her and her family. And they definitely couldn't afford that.
Once again, she considered asking Harry for help. But that would ruin him, and she couldn't do that. Not when it was her fault for not considering the consequences of her plan. For not researching enough. And to see him spend all his gold for her, after that awful article… But, she thought, maybe she could ask him to buy her a new wand? Nothing but the lack of money kept her from buying one - and the fact that any money she changed into Galleons at Gringotts would be confiscated right away by those loathsome goblins.
But even if she had a wand, she couldn't return to Hogwarts, and she couldn't afford to go to another school of magic. Dumbledore had told her that he'd do what he could to let her continue her education, but after sending her a selection of admittedly fascinating books to study, she hadn't heard anything more concrete from him. She could ask Harry or Ron in her next letter to bother the Headmaster for her… No. She could wait a little longer.
Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes. She had cried enough since the trial. She had lost this round, but she wouldn't stay down. She would get her revenge!
"Miss Granger?"
The sudden question made her gasp and jump to her feet. A man was standing a few yards away, leaning against the fence - inside the garden. How had he managed to get so close without her noticing? She looked him over. He was wearing an expensive suit. Tailor-made, she thought. Polished shoes. A bow-tie, of all things. Immaculately shaved and coiffed. "Who are you?" she asked in return.
"Fletcher. Mundungus Fletcher."
Mundungus? That sounded like a wizard name. She glanced at his hand.
He grinned and, with a flourish, produced a wand. "Indeed, I'm a wizard."
"What do you want?" She hadn't heard his name before.
"I've been looking into your trial. A clear set-up, in my opinion. You must have angered Lucius Malfoy a great deal for him to go to those lengths."
"So?" She already knew that. Then she had another thought. Was the man here for her? Wasn't ruining her and her family's life enough? Had Malfoy hired the man to kill her?
She took a step back and glanced towards her house. If she sprinted… she wouldn't make it.
"I'm not here to harm you, Miss Granger." The man smiled, though a bit crookedly, in her opinion. "I'm here to make you an offer."
"What?"
"As I said, I've been looking into your case, and into your history. You didn't steal from those witches. But you could have. And you would have done it in a far less obvious way, right?"
Well, of course! She had stolen from Snape, after all, to brew the Veritaserum without getting caught!
"And you're in dire need of gold."
"Yes." What was he proposing? Was he… certainly not!
"You have the talent and the motivation - and people already think you're a thief. You have nothing to lose, I think." He grinned. "Would you like to learn how to become a real thief, and rob those pureblood bastards blind?"
She blinked in surprise.
*****
Chapter 2: New Beginnings
Starfox5
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Chapter 2: New Beginnings
London, Knockturn Alley, April 24th, 1993
Albus Dumbledore heard Mundungus before the other wizard returned to his flat - one of many stuffed into the decrepit-looking building in Knockturn Alley thanks to the overuse of Extension Charms. Unlike other wizards, Mundungus didn't tend to apparate directly into his home, but preferred to check for intruders before entering - a cautious habit, and one that had served Albus's old friend very well in the past.
The Headmaster wasn't trying to hide, though, and he simply waited until the door was opened and Mundungus entered, leading with his wand.
"Good evening, Mundungus," Albus said from the armchair he had conjured, raising a hand in greeting.
"Albus," Mundungus said in a flat voice. He was wearing ratty robes again, but he was still looking far better - clean shaven, coiffed and sober - than the last time Albus had seen him. "I should have known you'd come." And speaking like the educated wizard he was, instead of the gutter rat he had become for over ten years.
Albus nodded.
"That was your man, observing her home."
Albus nodded again. He had hoped Mundungus would notice the guard he had posted at the Grangers' - it showed that his old friend's talents hadn't been dulled by his Firewhisky excesses. Or not overly so, at least.
"Do you expect an attack on the girl?" Mundungus asked, walking over to sit down on a wooden chair that looked weathered enough to collapse under Filius' weight.
He shook his head. "No. It is merely a precaution, in case I am wrong." He had been wrong before, after all. And it would be good training for those of his friends in the Order who had let their skills grow rusty since Tom's defeat.
"Good. You've been spectacularly, fatally wrong in the past." Mundungus spat the words at him, and flicked his wand. An empty bottle flew into the thief's hand, and he stared at it, then at Albus.
Albus merely let his smile widen a smidgen. He had failed his friend before, but he wouldn't fail him now.
Mundungus scoffed. "Not very subtle." He threw the bottle at the wall, but vanished it before it hit the peeling, faded wallpaper.
"Subtlety didn't work before."
His friend snorted. "I met the girl. Talked to her."
"And she agreed to become your apprentice."
"She agreed to take a few lessons from meself. Cautious chit."
Albus noted how the Knockturn Alley accent was slipping back into his friend's words. And how his posture started to change as he slouched in his chair. "Understandable, after her experiences." Which were at least partially his fault. He hadn't expected Lucius to go to such lengths against a young witch who had done nothing more than help save her friend. Plotting to send a young witch to Azkaban… he had managed to spare Miss Granger that, at least.
"Yeah. 'Er 'experiences'." Mundungus narrowed his eyes at Albus. "Why do ya want me to teach 'er? You all but ordered me to go to 'er."
"Miss Granger is a very smart witch." The smartest of her generation, as far as Albus could tell. "And yet she was sorted into Gryffindor."
"Bleedin' 'ell."
"Indeed." He grew serious. "While it would be a shame to see her talent wasted on the muggles, I am far more concerned about the possibility that, left alone, she would choose a rather questionable path to take revenge on those who wronged her."
"You think better be a thief than a dark witch."
Albus nodded. "One way or another, she will get even." More than even, in his opinion - Miss Granger was not one to do things by halves.
"And so you picked me to be her mentor?" Mundungus threw back his head and laughed, though it sounded forced to Albus. His friend stopped laughing abruptly. "Di'n' wanna let your traitor mentor 'er? Or is 'er blood too muddy for 'im?"
"Severus's other duties would preclude such a task." And, Albus thought, his prejudices would doom such a plan from its inception. That had been proven without a doubt when he had let young Mister Malfoy organise his mob to hassle Miss Granger on her last day at school. Albus had voiced his displeasure quite clearly at seeing his orders undermined like that. If Severus wasn't needed for the coming troubles...
"Other duties? What, scarin' the kiddies?" Mundungus narrowed his eyes again. "No… there's something else. Something more important than Snape's attitude."
His friend's wits hadn't suffered overly much during his plunge into the gutters either, it seemed. Albus nodded. "The Dark Lord wasn't killed, not entirely, in 1981. His shade lingered and surfaced last year." Poor, brave Quirrell had paid with his life for another of Albus's mistakes.
Mundungus hissed. "So that's why you bothered me. You think we're about to 'ave another war and you want your thief back - and another thief in case I buy it."
"I have never stopped 'bothering' you to pull yourself out of the gutter," Albus corrected him. He had merely let his attempts to help his friend lapse a bit longer with each failure.
"But ya've been preparing. I've 'eard about some 'effin Aurors askin' odd questions lately."
Albus nodded. He had pondered setting them on Lucius's tools, but even a confession before the Wizengamot by the four young witches wouldn't achieve anything, not at this point. It would be dismissed as the result of coercion or guile - probably with some spells arranged for additional plausibility. And any use of Veritaserum would see the questioner in Azkaban. No, better to set his friends on the real threat. Although Severus would have to keep his house in line - and impress upon the Slytherins that another attempt would have drastic consequences. The next year wouldn't be pleasant for the four witches and Mister Malfoy, Albus would see to that. He hoped the others of the House of Green and Silver would learn the lesson.
"I shoulda known." Mundungus swore a string of curses. Some even Albus didn't know, and he made a note of them - maybe he would be able to surprise his brother next time they met.
"This doesn't change anything with regard to Miss Granger." Albus knew his friend - better than Mundungus knew himself these days.
"She wouldn't stay away anyway, would she?"
"She is very loyal to her friends, among whom Harry Potter numbers rather prominently."
Mundungus scoffed. "You've got your way. Now get on your way."
Albus smiled as he rose and vanished his seat. Then he banished a small piece of parchment towards his friend.
Mundungus caught it and glanced at it. "What's this?"
"The address of a flat more suitable for the teacher of a young witch," Albus said.
"She's gonna 'ave to learn about the seedier places too," his friend muttered. At Albus's raised eyebrows, he added: "But not until later, I guess."
Smiling, Albus apparated back to the Forbidden Forest and checked the time on his watch. He was early enough to foil the latest scheme of the Weasley twins. The two purveyors of mischief were determined to take revenge on young Mister Malfoy on behalf of Miss Granger, and seemed to take the continuing failure of their efforts as a challenge. Maybe Albus would have to explain to them that their efforts would, ultimately, only benefit Lucius, who would use the opportunity for further attacks against Albus and his staff.
London, Greenwich, April 26th, 1993
"Lumos!"
Hermione Granger smiled widely at the bright light shining from the tip of her wand. Her new wand, bought less than an hour ago in Diagon Alley. Made of walnut wood, 9¾ inches long, slightly flexible, with a dragon heartstring as its core, it seemed to sing in her hand, eagerly working magic with the slightest gesture. After three weeks without a wand, three weeks without casting a spell, three weeks without feeling like the witch she was, Hermione wanted more than anything to spend a day, or two, just casting every spell she knew, to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything. She had had her books to read, but reading about magic, studying the wand movements in the diagrams, had made her longing to cast spells even worse.
But, she thought with a glance at Mister Fletcher, who was watching her with a faint smile, they hadn't come to this flat for her to play with her new wand. They had travelled here - by Apparition! Her first Side-Along-Apparition experience - so she could receive her first lesson from her new teacher.
So she took a deep breath and slid the wand into her equally new enchanted wrist holster, styled to look like a bracelet - and then had to resist the urge to test the QuickDraw Enchantment that would slip the wand into her hand at a mental command. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be." Fletcher snorted. "To go without a wand is among the more dreadful fates a wizard can suffer. Not the worst, not even close, of course." The man looked a lot older when he said that, Hermione thought, and a lot more serious.
He quickly smiled again, though, and gestured towards the dining table. "Let's take a seat. But first," he added, and Hermione stopped halfway to the closest chair, "let's change." With that, he transfigured his robes back into the suit he had worn when he had fetched her from her home earlier today, then did the same to her own clothes, leaving her in jeans and a sweater. "We're in muggle London, and we should attempt to fit in. Especially right now, with all the muggle policemen up in arms. Not that they would be able to enter this flat, or even notice it, but it's the principle of the thing - you need to develop a habit of doing this."
Hermione nodded, feeling slightly guilty for forgetting about Saturday's bombing in Bishopsgate in her excitement.
"The more you look like you belong, the less chance that a bobby or Auror will single you out."
She nodded in agreement. That made sense. Then she blinked - she was already thinking like a thief. She wasn't certain if that was a good or bad thing. But after her recent experiences with Aurors, she certainly knew that avoiding their attention was a good thing.
"So… before we start with any practical lessons - which we will, don't look that disappointed - you need to learn the basics." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not going to teach you how to become a common criminal. I'm going to educate you in the art of the gentleman thief. Or, in your case, lady thief."
"That's still a criminal." At his crooked smirk, she narrowed her eyes. A thief stole another's property, usually by stealth and without using violence or force. That was the definition - Hermione had looked it up.
"Correct. But not a common criminal. A gentleman thief has rules." That sounded… more like from a book - a fictional book - or a movie to Hermione. She tried not to let her doubt show, though, as he continued. "The first rule is simple: Don't kill. The penalties for theft are relatively light - relatively, mind you - but if you murder someone, it's the Kiss or Azkaban for you for certain. And the Aurors go after a murderer with much more effort - and violence - than a burglar. There are enough spells and other magical means to deal with, say, interlopers without killing them anyway."
She nodded and made a note. "That makes sense." And Hermione didn't want to kill anyone anyway. Well, maybe the elder Malfoy. He had tried to send her to Azkaban, after all, which she considered an attempt on her life.
"Of course it does - otherwise it wouldn't be a rule. Thieves are practical." He cleared his throat. "Second rule: Don't steal from the poor. Not only is it poor form to steal from those who don't have much to begin with, but it generally isn't worth the effort anyway. And you never know if that hovel might turn out to be a Death Eater's hideout."
"Ah." Hermione filed that tidbit about Death Eaters away in her mind while she wrote that rule down.
"Third: Keep mum about your profession. Never tell anyone who is not directly involved about your heists. And for 'eaven's sake, don't brag!" He scoffed. "Word travels fast. Even people you trust completely might reveal something - accidentally, or against their will."
She bit her lower lip. She didn't like keeping secrets from her friends - from Harry and Ron - but it made sense.
"Which means that your essential notes will have to be very carefully hidden, and any notes you don't need any more have to be destroyed."
She gasped. Destroying her notes? That… that…
"Trust me - you don't want your... parents, or your boyfriend, to accidentally stumble upon the schematics for a house including the strongbox's location."
She blushed slightly at the 'boyfriend' remark - she didn't have one, and she didn't think anyone would be interested in her, bushy hair and buckteeth and all - but she could see how that would be a really bad thing. It wasn't as if her parents knew anything other than that 'Mister Smith' was her new tutor. But… "Are you speaking from experience?" She regretted her question at once when she saw his face close up.
After a moment that seemed far too long to her, he went on: "Fourth rule: Never rat out your accomplices. Not only do informers tend to end up dead, but you will quickly run out of friends and contacts if you can't be trusted."
She thrust her chin up. She hadn't tattled on her friends! Not ever! At least not at Hogwarts!
He chuckled. "Ah, I see." He looked rather wistful, too, in her opinion. "Now, the next rule is obvious: Don't get caught." The way he looked at her made her think he was hinting at her trial - her conviction.
She scowled. "I wasn't caught. I was framed."
"Same thing, in the end. The best method to avoid getting caught is to avoid catching attention. Don't be obvious. Don't stick out. Don't be seen, even. Always have an escape plan - and two more in case the first plan fails. Getting away is more important than getting the loot, never forget that!"
She nodded emphatically. She certainly had no intention of getting caught by the Aurors ever again!
"And in order to avoid getting caught, you need to always keep an eye out for traps, ambushes, and anything out of the ordinary. Patience and caution are much more important than courage, so you'll need to rein in your inner Gryffindor."
She frowned at that - she wasn't brash, unlike others in her house. Her former house, she corrected herself with more than a little regret.
Once more he chuckled at her expression. "You'll have to work on hiding your feelings as well. Anyway, those are the most important rules. They'll keep you alive and out of prison." He looked at her until she nodded, then smiled again. "Now, let's start with a more practical lesson. Can't let you forget how to cast spells, after all."
Hermione perked up and let her wand slip into her hand. Finally!
Hogwarts, May 5th, 1993
"This is weird!" Harry Potter said, putting his quill down and leaning back in his chair in the Gryffindor common room.
"What's weird?" Ron asked, looking up from where he was reading a Charms essay Percy had written in his second year.
"I keep expecting Hermione to appear and quiz us. Or tell us to study harder."
Ron snorted, but he didn't sound amused. "Or tell us that we should have started studying earlier. Like last year."
"Yeah." Harry sighed. "If you told me a few months ago I'd miss her nagging…"
Ron nodded. "Bloody Malfoy! It's all his fault," he muttered.
Harry looked around, then leaned forward and whispered: "Your brothers haven't had much success." He had expected much more than the few pranks they had managed to do.
"The Headmaster told them off." Ron frowned. "Otherwise, Malfoy would be begging his father for a transfer to Durmstrang now."
Harry knew that. "Still…"
"Would you go against Dumbledore?" Ron stared at him.
Harry was tempted to do so. Even knowing that Malfoy's father would exploit any incident to further weaken Dumbledore's position. "Each time I see his ugly face I want to hex him until he cries," he said through clenched teeth.
"You and me both, mate," Ron muttered. "But we'd get expelled as well."
"It might be worth it," Harry said. "We could study with Hermione's tutor." They'd still do the exams - Hermione had told them that Dumbledore would send her the questions. After the exams at Hogwarts, of course.
"Mum would kill me. And Hermione would kill us. We promised her that we'd leave the slimy git alone, remember?"
Harry sighed. He remembered - Hermione reminded them with every letter. And he really didn't want to leave Hogwarts. The Dursleys wouldn't let him study magic. It would be Stonewall High for him. "Bloody arse," he spat.
Ron nodded. "He'll get his. What did Hermione say in her last letter? Revenge is a dish best served cold?"
"Yes." Harry had had to explain the saying to Ron.
His friend suddenly grinned. "Can you imagine what she'll do to him with enough time to prepare?"
Harry smiled. He certainly could.
London, Greenwich, June 9th, 1993
Hermione Granger frowned at the parchment in front of her. The written Charms exam had been harder than she had expected. Although given her lack of access to the Hogwarts Library, she should have anticipated that - she hadn't been able to research the material as thoroughly as she should have. And she hadn't had that much time to study either, what with the upheaval caused by her family's recent move to a small flat in London.
She clenched her teeth. If the wizards and goblins had been reasonable, they would have let her parents keep their practice and pay the debts over time with their greater income. But they hadn't been reasonable. Not at all. The whole thing was a travesty to start with, and would never have happened in a decent court - her parents wouldn't have been held liable for her actions in the first place! But with the Wizengamot stuffed full of bigoted rich purebloods...
"Done?" Mister Fletcher asked, looking up from where he had been reading the Daily Prophet.
"Yes." She dried the ink with a quick charm, then banished it towards the wizard.
He caught it, though with some difficulty, as she noticed, and stowed it in the scroll case on the low table near the couch. Once Hedwig brought Harry and Ron's next letter, the owl would carry the case back to Hogwarts with the other exams she had taken, to be corrected by the teachers.
"Good. Then let's get through the practical part."
She didn't frown when she stood, but she felt like doing so. Mister Fletcher wasn't the best teacher when it came to casting spells. He wasn't bad, but the difference between him and Professors McGonagall or Flitwick was obvious. He was used to casting without incantations, and often without precise wand movements as well, and she usually had to resort to animated sketches in the books to learn the basic wand movements of a spell. Which limited her progress, since she had only limited access to such documents.
Mister Fletcher had said that Dumbledore owed her for failing to foil Malfoy's plot, and that she should use that to get access to the Hogwarts Library over the holidays. She didn't want to - the Headmaster had saved her from Azkaban - but on the other hand, she really missed being able to read whatever book she wanted…
And, she thought when she faced her tutor, there were Potions and Herbology to consider. And Care of Magical Creatures. She could handle Potions - having brewed Veritaserum by herself, with a pilfered cauldron and stolen ingredients, proved that. It wasn't as if Snape deserved to be called a teacher anyway! But Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures needed practical lessons her tutor couldn't provide.
"Ready?"
She stopped pondering her academical problems and nodded at Mister Fletcher. "Yes."
"Good." He conjured a small piece of wood on the floor. "Cast an Engorgement Charm on it."
She knew that charm. "Engorgio!" The piece of wood grew rapidly, until it was the size of a table. She smiled - that was a good result for such a charm, according to her reading material.
He nodded. "Shrink it down."
"Reducio." She had gone through that spell in her head already while he had inspected the wood - those two charms were taught together for a reason.
"Good." He took a step back and held his wand at the ready. "Now stand on top of the wood, and then cast the first charm again!"
She blinked. That wasn't in the test notes she had received! She opened her mouth to protest, when she suddenly understood what he was doing.
"Exactly!" He grinned. "A nifty little trick to get over walls - or on top of roofs - with the right object. Don't overdo it while we're inside, though!"
She huffed. As if she'd forget that the ceiling wasn't that high above her head! "Engorgio!"
The piece of wood rapidly grew again, but even expecting it, she couldn't adjust for the sudden movement, and lost her balance halfway to the ceiling, toppling off the wood.
Before she hit the floor though, she suddenly froze in mid-air - Mister Fletcher had stopped her fall with another charm on the exam list. He shook his head. "And that's the difference between learning how to cast a spell and learning how to use the spell."
She frowned at him. "That was the first time I tried this!"
He inclined his head. "True. I expect you'll do better the second time, then." He cancelled his spell with a grin, and she dropped to the floor. "Or not."
Hermione rubbed her rump - that had hurt! - and glared at him.
"Third time's the charm?" He tilted his head slightly sideways with a grin.
Yes, Hermione thought while getting up - and resisting the urge to try and hit him with a Stinging Hex - Professors McGonagall or Flitwick would never have done this.
But then, they wouldn't have taught her some of the uses for those harmless-looking spells either.
London, Enfield, July 11th, 1993
Harry Potter spotted her before he regained his balance - magical travel, apart from flying, didn't seem to agree with him, and Ron's dad side-along-apparating him and his friend was no exception. Hermione was leaning against the bus stop sign, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. By the time he had managed to stand straight, she was already greeting them with a smile.
"Hello, Mister Weasley. Hi, Ron. Hi, Harry."
"Hermione! There you are, just where you said you'd be! At the muggle bus stop!" He pointed at the sign and turned to Harry and Ron. "See boys? This is what muggles use to stop their busses, since they have no wands."
Harry refrained from telling Mr Weasley that he had been taking buses for years. Ron's dad had been kind enough to fetch him from Privet Drive, sparing him a lengthy trip.
"Are your parents here as well?" the older wizard asked, looking around.
"They're at work," Hermione answered, her smile slipping a little.
"Ah." Mr Weasley nodded. "Do you live around here?"
Hermione's smile disappeared completely. "We had to move here after we had to sell our house."
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, I forgot." Ron's dad had the grace to look embarrassed. "Terrible shame that affair! Terrible!"
Harry glanced apologetically at Hermione. He didn't think that she wanted to talk about it - he knew her relationship with her parents was still rather strained. Even though the Grangers weren't as bad as the Dursleys, they certainly weren't fond of magic now.
"So… I'll be off then, back to The Burrow. We have so much to prepare for our trip! International travel is complicated! Ron, take the Knight Bus home in time for dinner. And ask your friends before you assume something about muggles, will you?"
"Yes, Dad." Ron didn't quite roll his eyes, and Harry felt a touch of jealousy. He wished he had parents who cared that much about him. Hell, he wished he had parents, period.
Mr Weasley disappeared with a cracking sound, and the three were alone at the bus stop.
"Are you going on a trip?" Hermione asked.
"Ah…" Ron cleared his throat. "Right, yes, we are. Dad won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. Seven hundred Galleons." He looked almost embarrassed, Harry thought. "So, we're going to visit Bill in Egypt for a month."
Hermione smiled. "That's great, Ron. When will you depart?"
"Last week of July - I'm going to miss Harry's birthday."
"It's not as if I'm going to throw a party," Harry said. "The Dursleys would never allow it."
Hermione sniffed. "We'll be celebrating your birthday, Harry," she declared in that firm tone of hers that left no doubt that things would happen as she wanted.
Not that Harry would want to contradict her - he was looking forward to his birthday. They'd probably watch a movie, eat out...
"Ah, alright." Ron glanced at him, then at Hermione with a strange expression, but quickly smiled again. "So, how are things with your tutor?"
"Ah, they're going well. It's not the same as Hogwarts, of course - I really miss Professors McGonagall and Flitwick - but according to the test I took, I would have done well on the exams. Even in Defence, which is quite surprising, since that's not one of my better subjects." Which meant that she wasn't the best in her year in Defence, Harry knew. Or rather, hadn't been the best, since she was no longer a student at Hogwarts.
"Well, you won't miss Snape," Ron muttered. "Bloody git."
Hermione nodded. "How that awful man remains a teacher I cannot fathom."
"Dumbledore must have told him off, though - he's been on his best behaviour ever since you left," Harry said. Granted, the man's best behaviour was still rather dreadful compared to the other teachers, but there had been an improvement. He didn't think it would last past the summer though.
"Lockhart was a decent teacher, I guess." Ron sounded as if he had to force the words out - he didn't like the man. Harry shared the sentiment - especially after he saw how Hermione's eyes lit up. Lockhart had just been too… full of himself.
"He won't be returning for our next year," he said. "Apparently, there's been a zombie outbreak in Africa, and Britain is sending a force to deal with it."
"I've read about that," Hermione said, and once more, Harry felt nostalgic at the familiar tone, "there is speculation that this could be the work of survivors of the ICW Intervention of 1870. Or a splinter group of houngans from Jamaica trying to establish themselves there. My tutor thinks the houngans are trying to expand and are using that as a cover story," she added.
"Who's your tutor, anyway?" Ron asked. "You haven't told us his name."
Hermione flinched a little - Harry almost missed it - before she straightened. "I told you, Ron, he doesn't want his name to be known. I'm persona non grata in wizarding society, after all, and being known to teach me could harm his reputation."
"Dad doesn't care about that," Ron said, frowning.
"Well, he should! No one but Malfoy profits if your family gets dragged into my mess." With a scowl, she added: "And Malfoy has profited far too much already."
"So, what are we doing today?" Harry was as curious as Ron about Hermione's mysterious tutor - he thought it was Dumbledore himself, but Ron thought that the Headmaster wouldn't have the time to teach anyone - but he wouldn't push their friend.
Hermione smiled again. "I've prepared a schedule!"
While their friend pulled out a rather large sheet of paper and started to explain, Harry exchanged a grin with Ron. Hermione would never change.
London, Greenwich, July 19th, 1993
"My friends asked me about you again," Hermione remarked as she walked down the street next to Mister Fletcher.
"Curious lot, are they?" He didn't look at her as he answered, but she could see that he was grinning.
"They are concerned about me." Being curious was not a bad thing, but she felt the need to defend Harry and Ron anyway.
"And you wonder why I gave a fake name to your parents."
"No." She glanced at him. He was now looking at her. "While you were a gentleman thief, you haven't been one for some time."
He snorted, and for a moment, he didn't look like a middle-aged gentleman, but a … crook, she decided after a little deliberation. Then he sighed and simply looked old. "Yeah. 'Mundungus Fletcher' got a reputation. Not a good one, mind ya. Guttersnipe. Drunk. Petty thief. Not a name ya would want to be associated with. And not a good cover for a gentleman thief either."
Hermione didn't ask what had caused one of Dumbledore's friends to become such a man. Nor did she ask if he had left his past behind. He was always shaved and perfectly coiffed, but that was easy with magic. The occasional trembling of his hands, or the expression he had once when they passed a Wine Merchant, though, were harder to hide. "So now you're Mister Smith."
"Yeah." He sounded rough, then cleared his throat and went on in a much smoother voice. "Mister Smith, recently moved here from the Colonies, now whiling away his time as a private tutor in the Old Country."
"Obviously a fake name, but people will assume you are simply one of the refuges - émigrés - from one of the wars in North America who wants to avoid trouble with old enemies. They won't suspect that you are a thief." She had put that together a week ago, after reading up on the situation in Magical North America - a conglomerate of small and usually extremist wizarding enclaves, at least half of them either at war, or close to starting a war, with their neighbours on any given day.
"Gentleman thief," he corrected her. "Of course, I'll be maintaining my identity as Fletcher too." Once more he grinned crookedly. "There's a lot places a bleedin' gentleman would be thrown out of where a guttersnipe can enter jus' fine."
She managed not to shudder at his accent. "Will I be joining him on such… ventures?"
"No," he said in a very flat voice. "Those are not places that a young witch should visit."
She wasn't certain if she should feel relieved or insulted, but she had a notion of what kind of witches would be found in those places. "What if I need to, to case a joint?"
"You'll need to be older to fit in convincingly."
He wasn't looking at her as he said that, and she didn't think he was being entirely honest with her, but she didn't pry any further. She had no real desire to visit such places, after all. "What disguises will we be using today?" she asked instead. "Pureblood daughter from a good family?" Mister Fletcher had been drilling her in 'proper pureblood manners' when he hadn't been teaching her more spells or checking her other work.
"That would be 'illegitimate pureblood daughter from an affair with a witch of the continent'," he corrected her. "You can't pass as a British pureblood witch from a 'good family' - they all know each other. The older witches know the pureblood family trees better than a dragon breeder knows his bloodlines." She didn't try to hide her revulsion at the images that conjured up inside her mind. He laughed. "They don't try to breed their children as if they were animals, mind you - it's politics they keep track of. And inheritances, of course."
"Ah." They passed a muggle café, and she waited before answering. "So… will we be using that disguise?"
"Not today. You still need to learn to act a bit better." He snorted at her pout. "No, today we'll case a joint - a muggle bank." Her eyes widened. Would they...? "We're not gonna rob it, mind ya. It's just training for the real thing."
"Gringotts?" She had heard stories…
"Merlin's beard, no!" He was shaking his head. "No, the real thing will be a magical house - and we won't break into one any time soon, either, don't look so eager."
She didn't. Not really. But it would be good to do something… productive. Even if she hadn't yet decided how to explain her career choice to her parents. Which she would have to, once she started to steal gold.
"Now… look at the bank there - without looking as if you're studying it. We're just waiting for the bus, father and daughter." She glanced at the building. "How would you enter it?"
"Roof or upper floor windows," she answered quickly. "From a broom."
"You have no broom."
"From a floating board, then." She could do that, even though standing on a board that only her magic was keeping in the air was even more disturbing than flying on a broom.
"And once inside?"
"Unlocking Charm on all doors until I reach the vaults… no. There would be alarms on the doors."
"Indeed."
A Silencing Charm wouldn't help - the doors would send out electronic alerts. Now how to deal with that… "I'll have to find out who can disable the alarms." She looked at him.
He seemed pleased. "Yes. And how can you do that?"
"Enter disguised and make someone else trigger an alarm, so I can observe what happens." A Compulsion Charm would do it.
"That's one method, yes. There are others, of course."
"Do pureblood manors really have alarm charms on their doors?" That would be a hassle, she thought.
"Some of the more paranoid families do - at least on the less used or more important ones. But it's the principle of the thing - you can't just break in and grab some loot if you want to steal a fortune. You need a plan, and for that, you need a lot of information. Information best acquired in disguise."
She nodded.
"And for that, you need to learn to act convincingly. You have a way to go there, too."
She scowled. She was working hard on that. And she was making progress. Her parents didn't suspect anything, after all. Not that they were speaking with her that much, these days.
"How's your physical training progressing, by the way?"
Her scowl deepened. P.E. was the only class she had never liked. And after two years free of it, it had now returned with a vengeance.
Mister Fletcher laughed at her expression, utterly unimpressed with her glaring at him.
London, Enfield, July 31st, 1993
"That was a great movie!" Harry Potter exclaimed when he and Hermione left the cinema.
"They made a lot of changes to the book," his friend said, pursing her lips. "The characters acted quite differently. And I'm not entirely certain if they incorporated the latest discoveries about dinosaurs."
Harry had to laugh, even though he should have expected that reaction from her. Of course she would have read the book beforehand! "Well, it was a good movie. Thank you for inviting me!" He smiled at her.
Her slight pout, a reaction to his laughter, disappeared, and she returned his smile. "It's your birthday gift. Or part of it." She pulled a small package out of her handbag. "Here's the other part!"
"Thanks!" He took it and started to unwrap it while they walked. He knew it was a book before he even touched it, and tearing off the wrapping paper revealed a copy of 'Jurassic Park'.
"Since you liked the movie I think you'll like the book as well," she said. "I mean, I didn't know that you'd like the movie when I bought the novel, but it was a safe bet." She was biting her lower lip though, he noticed, so she probably was worried he wouldn't like it.
"Thanks! I'm sure I'll like it - I can read it at Hogwarts, too, and remember the movie."
The smile that had appeared on her face slipped a bit, and Harry wanted to hit himself for reminding his friend - and himself - that she wouldn't be joining him and Ron at Hogwarts this year. "So… let's get something to drink, OK?" he quickly said, pointing at the nearest café.
She nodded. "Alright."
"My treat," he added. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. "I insist." He expected her to argue, but after a moment, she nodded. He was glad - he didn't want her to spend even more money on him. Not when he knew how bad her family's situation was. At least she was more sensible than Ron about such things.
His eyes widened. "I almost forgot: Ron sent a letter." He dug around in his jacket and pulled out the envelope. Handing it over, he added: "There're two pictures from Egypt inside as well." She looked at the letter, hesitating. "Go ahead and read it." It wouldn't take her long, anyway, and they would be able to talk about it.
With a quick smile, she pulled the letter and pictures out. By the time the waiter brought their order, she had already finished. "That's a really long letter. For Ron," she said. Her own, of course, were generally longer.
Harry nodded. Sometimes, it had felt as if Ron was bragging about his trip. But then, Ron didn't get to brag about much, so Harry didn't really mind. Even if he would have loved to go to Egypt as well. Or just stay with the Weasleys. On the other hand, that would have meant leaving Hermione alone by herself.
And he doubted that he would have been able to enjoy his vacation knowing that.
For a change, Harry was happy when he reached Privet Drive. That had been his best birthday, ever! And Ron was at least partially responsible for it, too, despite his absence - Harry and Hermione had talked at length about his letter, and had been able to avoid the touchier subjects.
He sighed, enjoying the evening for a moment, before he opened the door and entered the house. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were in the living room, watching the telly. Dudley would still be out, with his friends. 'News and Sports' had just began, from what he could hear.
After a moment's hesitation, he entered the living room. "I'm back!"
Uncle Vernon turned his head and glared at him. "The news has started!"
Aunt Petunia frowned, then asked: "Did you have a nice day?"
"Yes." Harry almost grinned. His aunt didn't really care, but she insisted on the proper forms - the Dursleys were a normal family, after all, and a normal family asked after your day. "You?" he asked.
"We had a great day!" Uncle Vernon grumbled.
Aunt Petunia was about to go into more - boring - detail when she suddenly gasped and stared at the TV. "Dear Lord!"
Harry blinked. There was a report about a mass-murderer having escaped a special prison. He looked like a maniac on the picture they showed. "Sirius Black?" He hadn't heard of the man.
His aunt was trembling. "I recognise that man!"
"What?" Harry and Uncle Vernon said in unison for the first time in their lives.
She nodded shakily. "He's a wizard… he was one of your father's friends. I met him at Lily's wedding!"
"A mass-murderer?" Harry couldn't believe it. His parents had been heroes!
"I can believe that," Uncle Vernon grumbled. "Evil lot, all of them. Like that giant who cursed Dudley!"
"What… what if he's looking for us?" Petunia asked, still trembling, before Harry could defend Hagrid. Vernon paled as well.
"I'll mail Dumbledore," Harry said. "He'll know what to do."
For once, neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia disagreed about him contacting a wizard.
London, Greenwich, August 1st, 1993
Someone had broken out of Azkaban! Hermione Granger was reading the article in the Daily Prophet for the third time, trying to spot any detail she might have missed. According to her research - and she had read what she could on that horrible prison after her close brush with being incarcerated there - Sirius Black was the first prisoner ever to have managed that feat.
"How could Black have escaped?" she asked, looking up from the newspaper at her tutor, who was currently reading Seeker Weekly.
"Inside job," Mister Fletcher answered without any hesitation. "It's not possible otherwise. He must have had help, probably from a guard."
"A human guard?"
"Of course. The Dementors wouldn't help anyone - they'd even attack the guards, if they could get away with it, and suck out their souls."
Hermione shuddered on being reminded of the ultimate punishment used in Wizarding Britain - the Dementor's Kiss. To go as far as to destroy a soul… She shook her head and rubbed her arms to banish the morbid thoughts that brought up.
"But to get inside help after more than twelve years… why wouldn't he have escaped earlier?" That didn't make much sense. Even a few months among Dementors tended to drive prisoners mad.
"Well, cui bono? Someone must have an interest in freeing a crazy Death Eater." He was looking at her, expecting her to work it out.
She wasn't entirely certain that he knew the answer himself in the first place, but she still tried to reason it out. "Having such a dangerous prisoner escape weakens the trust of the population in the Minister. So a political rival might have engineered this." He nodded at her. She bit her lower lip, then went on: "Since he is a threat, whoever catches him will gain a lot of prestige. A rival of the Minister could use that to replace him."
"Good guess, but the one who would profit the most, Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE, isn't the type to play such games. She would never set a prisoner free in such a plot." He snorted. "If the bleedin' witch had 'er way, she'd keep all prisoners forever."
Hermione decided not to ask if he had personal experience with the Head of the DMLE. She cleared her throat. "But if she is such an ethical person, others could exploit the capture of Black." People like Malfoy.
"They could. But Fudge is such a weak-willed wizard, they could probably simply bribe him and get what they want without going to such lengths." He was back to speaking with a barely noticeable - and entirely fake, as she knew - American accent.
"So... maybe they want to use this opportunity to achieve something else. It might be a pretext to search the houses of his suspected accomplices or relatives. Or simply a way to ruin their reputation with rumours and suspicions." She was simply speculating now.
"Aye, that could be it - but the most obvious victim of such a plot would be Malfoy, being both an 'imperiused' Death Eater, and the husband of Black's cousin." Mister Fletcher grinned. "Do you think Dumbledore would go that far?"
"It sounds a bit risky," she said. It also sounded like a great way to get back at Malfoy, as long as Black wasn't actually free to roam Britain.
"But you forgot the most obvious angle."
"Which is?" She frowned at him. She didn't overlook the obvious! Not often, at least.
"Gold. If Black gets killed - and the Aurors will not hold back when they find him, so that's rather likely - his relatives would inherit the Black fortune."
"Malfoy." She spat out the name like the curse it was.
"Yeah. Would be a nice, neat way to get at that gold without having to wait a few more decades until Black croaks in Azkaban."
She narrowed her eyes. "But… if Malfoy wanted Black dead, wouldn't he have had the guard on the take simply kill Black in prison and make it look like an accident or an attempt to escape?"
"Good question." He smiled at her. "Maybe he wants Fudge weakened as well - or is trying to blame Bones for this. Malfoy is a cunning man, and his plans reflect that."
Hermione clenched her teeth, scowling - she knew that only too well. But she would get her revenge!
And, she thought, she would look into how one could escape Azkaban. If the worst happened, she wouldn't languish there for a decade.
Little Whinging, No 4 Privet Drive, August 14th, 1993
Weeding the garden was tiring work, but Harry didn't mind - he was getting paid well enough for it, after all. Especially as the threat of Black meant working outside the house was seen by his relatives as being more dangerous. And it wasn't as if he had anything more interesting to do. Harry wasn't in the mood for losing another video game against Dudley, he had read all his books already and had done all his homework. And Uncle Vernon had asked Aunt Marge to cancel her visit due to the danger, which meant that so far the summer had been more pleasant than expected. On the other hand, the Dursleys had limited his trips to London to see Hermione to days when Dumbledore's friends could protect both the house and Harry, and that had seriously cut down on the time Harry had been able to spend with his best female friend.
Straightening up after pulling out a particularly resistant weed, he narrowed his eyes when he saw, through the gap in the fence, the flattened grass near the tree in their neighbour's garden. Over the last two weeks, he had become quite good at spotting the guards Dumbledore had placed at Privet Drive - even invisible, they had to pick a location from where they could observe the house's entrances, or at least most of them, and usually something gave them away. A cat or dog staring at the spot - Mrs Figg's cats seemed particularly apt at sniffing the wizards out - or some of the neighbours making a detour without any obvious reason.
But today none of the usual spots had been occupied. And from that tree the front door and the garage were not visible at all - Harry had been up that tree often enough in the past to know that. So why would anyone trying to prevent Black from breaking into the house be hiding there?
If that was Black… but the fugitive would have spotted Harry already, and he hadn't been cursed.
"Heh!" He heard a chuckling laugh. "Spotted me, huh? Good instincts, Potter. I'm impressed." The voice would have fitted an escaped prisoner - rough and harsh.
"Who're you?" Harry stood up and put his hand on his wand holster - a late birthday gift from a friend of his parents, Dumbledore had called it when he had handed it over.
The air around the tree seemed to shimmer for a moment, and then a man appeared. An old man, with scarred face and… something that spun wildly in place of his left eye. And a peg leg! "I'm Moody."
"Moody." Nickname, first name, last name? Harry couldn't tell with wizard names.
"The others told me you were a sharp kid. Guess they weren't as rusty as I thought." The man cackled. "Keep that attitude up. Constant vigilance!"
Harry felt slightly irked at the patronising tone. He had spotted all of his guards so far, after all! "What happened to your eye?"
"Lost it in a fight against a dark wizard." Moody grinned, which wasn't a comforting sight with his scarred face. He didn't explain further.
"Can you see through walls with it?"
More laughter. "Really sharp kid. You'll make a good Auror. I can see through walls, and behind me." He suddenly stiffened, then frowned. "And you should return to weeding the garden. Neighbours're coming home."
A flick of his wand later, the man had disappeared from view. And the grass wasn't showing any imprints any more.
Harry looked around for a little longer, then knelt down again to finish his chores. He could use the money for his next trip to London.
London, Enfield, August 15th, 1993
"So... have you already spotted our tail today?" Hermione Granger asked sotto voce while acting as if she was very interested in the clothes on display in the window in front of her and Harry.
"Hm." Harry leaned forward, probably to get a better angle on the mirror behind the window. "There's been a rather clumsy fellow bumping into people behind us."
"Yes," she whispered. "But that could be a decoy, to throw us off the real tail." Mister Fletcher had been thorough about the tricks Aurors used when tailing a suspect. And how to throw them off. Unlike spotting invisible wizards, which a spell could do easily, spotting disguised wizards was very difficult - especially since they could use magic to change their disguises and hair colour. Not that she would let that deter her. You could never be too cautious, as her tutor was fond of lecturing her.
"I doubt that," Harry retorted. "They don't have that many people - they need to guard the Dursleys as well while I'm with you."
He had a point, she admitted with a frown. "I hope they catch Black soon. You haven't been able to visit often." She could visit him, but spending a day with the Dursleys didn't sound appealing at all, and if she and Harry left the house, they would need another bodyguard anyway.
"Yeah. I hope they catch the traitor soon." Harry bared his teeth - he hadn't taken well to her telling him what Black had done to deserve Azkaban, and Hermione hoped that Harry wouldn't do anything foolish, should Black make an attempt on him.
She winced at the thought - she was being a little hypocritical, seeing as she was training to become a lady thief, which was certainly not a low-risk profession. On the other hand, she tended to think things through before acting, unlike Harry. Most of the time, at least.
"Another one stumbled over the curb," Harry whispered. "Either we're close to a meeting of Clumsy Anonymous, or that's our tail."
Hermione agreed with him. Then she had a thought. "Unless that's Black." After more than a decade in a small cell - the conditions for prisoners in Azkaban were even more horrible than she had thought before researching the matter - he might not be in a very good shape.
"He'd have tried something if that was the case," Harry said. "A few times he had a clear line of fire."
Hermione hadn't noticed that! That failure irked her even more than the realisation that Harry didn't see anything wrong with his method to check if their tail was Black or a friend. She glared at him.
"What?"
"Nothing." She huffed. She couldn't lecture him about his safety on the street. And her new favourite secondhand book shop beckoned.
She would tell him later, in private.
Little Whinging, No 4 Privet Drive, August 21st, 1993
When the doorbell rang, Harry Potter peered through the window first, to check who was visiting them on a Saturday evening. Black might be crazy enough to simply walk up to the house - Hermione had told Harry in detail just what happened to prisoners in Azkaban.
But it wasn't a stranger outside - it was Dumbledore. Or, he corrected himself, someone looking like the Headmaster. But the guard posted near the house hadn't stepped in. They could have been dealt with, of course - if Harry could spot them, then so could a wizard capable of breaking out of Azkaban. Moody had been vocal about that during their second meeting.
"Who is it?" he heard Aunt Petunia ask from the living room, where the Dursleys were watching TV.
"Wizard," he answered.
"Deal with him, boy!" he heard Uncle Vernon yell - he had expected that; they usually left 'such matters' to Harry.
He opened the window slightly. "How did you answer me when I told you how easy it was to spot the guards?"
The old wizard smiled. "I see you have been taking lessons from Alastor. You wrote me a letter, and I reassured you that the Black situation was under complete control and that you were entirely safe wherever you were."
That was the specific wording. Harry still had his wand in hand when he opened the door. Dumbledore must have noticed, but didn't comment. "Good evening, Headmaster."
"Good evening, Harry."
"I didn't expect you today." He was supposed to go to the Weasleys tomorrow, for the last week of the summer. "Did… did something happen?"
"Indeed, a serious matter, so to speak. Something best discussed in private."
For a serious matter, Dumbledore looked far too happy, Harry thought. But he gestured towards the stairs. "We can use my room, then. After you."
The old wizard nodded. "I might impose on Alastor, should I need a new Defence teacher. You certainly seem to have taken his lessons to heart."
"Not all of them," Harry said as they took the stairs to his room. He wasn't paranoid - there really was a mass-murderer out to get him. Normal boys didn't get around the clock protection.
"Good. Alastor is a good friend, but he is a little too zealous, at times. Understandable, of course, given his experiences."
They entered his room, and as soon as Harry closed the door, the Headmaster cast several spells he didn't recognise on it. "Those will ensure that we are not overheard," Dumbledore explained while he conjured an armchair for himself.
Harry sat down on his swivel chair. "So…"
Dumbledore sighed. "I must confess that I have not been entirely truthful with you - for a good reason, mind you."
"What?" Harry tensed.
"I have known for two weeks that Sirius Black was no danger to you. But in order to catch a very dangerous criminal, I had to keep this knowledge secret. Even from you."
"What?" Harry repeated himself.
"Sirius contacted me soon after his escape, and surrendered himself into my custody so I could verify his story. As it turned out, he was innocent of the crime for which he had been imprisoned - and the real culprit was still at large." The Headmaster's smile grew more grim. "That changed this afternoon. I'm happy to say that the man who betrayed your parents to Voldemort has been arrested and will be standing trial."
Harry gasped. "So… Black was innocent?" Twelve years in Azkaban as an innocent… he didn't even want to imagine how horrible that must have been.
Dumbledore nodded. "After so much time in Azkaban, he had lost a lot of his memories to the cruel attention of the Dementors, so Veritaserum would have proven less than useful. Fortunately, I had other means at my disposal."
"Who was the traitor?" Harry felt his fingers digging into his thighs, and forced himself to relax.
"Peter Pettigrew. Another friend of your parents - and a spy for Voldemort." Dumbledore grew serious. "I cannot know for certain yet how many he betrayed to the Death Eaters, but I fear he has been responsible for many more deaths than your parents and the twelve muggles he murdered to frame Sirius." He reached out and patted Harry's knee for a moment. "Justice will be done, trust me."
Harry wasn't entirely certain of that - first Hermione was framed and expelled, and now it turned out that Sirius Black had been framed and imprisoned for twelve years. Obviously, Wizarding Britain's judicial system was somewhat less than reliable. He nodded anyway.
"Now, that said, there is another thing to discuss."
"Yes?" Harry tilted his head as he looked at Dumbledore.
"Sirius Black was more than a friend of your parents. He is your godfather." After a moment, he added: "Your parents intended for him to become your guardian should they die."
Harry gasped again.
London, Knockturn Alley, April 24th, 1993
Albus Dumbledore heard Mundungus before the other wizard returned to his flat - one of many stuffed into the decrepit-looking building in Knockturn Alley thanks to the overuse of Extension Charms. Unlike other wizards, Mundungus didn't tend to apparate directly into his home, but preferred to check for intruders before entering - a cautious habit, and one that had served Albus's old friend very well in the past.
The Headmaster wasn't trying to hide, though, and he simply waited until the door was opened and Mundungus entered, leading with his wand.
"Good evening, Mundungus," Albus said from the armchair he had conjured, raising a hand in greeting.
"Albus," Mundungus said in a flat voice. He was wearing ratty robes again, but he was still looking far better - clean shaven, coiffed and sober - than the last time Albus had seen him. "I should have known you'd come." And speaking like the educated wizard he was, instead of the gutter rat he had become for over ten years.
Albus nodded.
"That was your man, observing her home."
Albus nodded again. He had hoped Mundungus would notice the guard he had posted at the Grangers' - it showed that his old friend's talents hadn't been dulled by his Firewhisky excesses. Or not overly so, at least.
"Do you expect an attack on the girl?" Mundungus asked, walking over to sit down on a wooden chair that looked weathered enough to collapse under Filius' weight.
He shook his head. "No. It is merely a precaution, in case I am wrong." He had been wrong before, after all. And it would be good training for those of his friends in the Order who had let their skills grow rusty since Tom's defeat.
"Good. You've been spectacularly, fatally wrong in the past." Mundungus spat the words at him, and flicked his wand. An empty bottle flew into the thief's hand, and he stared at it, then at Albus.
Albus merely let his smile widen a smidgen. He had failed his friend before, but he wouldn't fail him now.
Mundungus scoffed. "Not very subtle." He threw the bottle at the wall, but vanished it before it hit the peeling, faded wallpaper.
"Subtlety didn't work before."
His friend snorted. "I met the girl. Talked to her."
"And she agreed to become your apprentice."
"She agreed to take a few lessons from meself. Cautious chit."
Albus noted how the Knockturn Alley accent was slipping back into his friend's words. And how his posture started to change as he slouched in his chair. "Understandable, after her experiences." Which were at least partially his fault. He hadn't expected Lucius to go to such lengths against a young witch who had done nothing more than help save her friend. Plotting to send a young witch to Azkaban… he had managed to spare Miss Granger that, at least.
"Yeah. 'Er 'experiences'." Mundungus narrowed his eyes at Albus. "Why do ya want me to teach 'er? You all but ordered me to go to 'er."
"Miss Granger is a very smart witch." The smartest of her generation, as far as Albus could tell. "And yet she was sorted into Gryffindor."
"Bleedin' 'ell."
"Indeed." He grew serious. "While it would be a shame to see her talent wasted on the muggles, I am far more concerned about the possibility that, left alone, she would choose a rather questionable path to take revenge on those who wronged her."
"You think better be a thief than a dark witch."
Albus nodded. "One way or another, she will get even." More than even, in his opinion - Miss Granger was not one to do things by halves.
"And so you picked me to be her mentor?" Mundungus threw back his head and laughed, though it sounded forced to Albus. His friend stopped laughing abruptly. "Di'n' wanna let your traitor mentor 'er? Or is 'er blood too muddy for 'im?"
"Severus's other duties would preclude such a task." And, Albus thought, his prejudices would doom such a plan from its inception. That had been proven without a doubt when he had let young Mister Malfoy organise his mob to hassle Miss Granger on her last day at school. Albus had voiced his displeasure quite clearly at seeing his orders undermined like that. If Severus wasn't needed for the coming troubles...
"Other duties? What, scarin' the kiddies?" Mundungus narrowed his eyes again. "No… there's something else. Something more important than Snape's attitude."
His friend's wits hadn't suffered overly much during his plunge into the gutters either, it seemed. Albus nodded. "The Dark Lord wasn't killed, not entirely, in 1981. His shade lingered and surfaced last year." Poor, brave Quirrell had paid with his life for another of Albus's mistakes.
Mundungus hissed. "So that's why you bothered me. You think we're about to 'ave another war and you want your thief back - and another thief in case I buy it."
"I have never stopped 'bothering' you to pull yourself out of the gutter," Albus corrected him. He had merely let his attempts to help his friend lapse a bit longer with each failure.
"But ya've been preparing. I've 'eard about some 'effin Aurors askin' odd questions lately."
Albus nodded. He had pondered setting them on Lucius's tools, but even a confession before the Wizengamot by the four young witches wouldn't achieve anything, not at this point. It would be dismissed as the result of coercion or guile - probably with some spells arranged for additional plausibility. And any use of Veritaserum would see the questioner in Azkaban. No, better to set his friends on the real threat. Although Severus would have to keep his house in line - and impress upon the Slytherins that another attempt would have drastic consequences. The next year wouldn't be pleasant for the four witches and Mister Malfoy, Albus would see to that. He hoped the others of the House of Green and Silver would learn the lesson.
"I shoulda known." Mundungus swore a string of curses. Some even Albus didn't know, and he made a note of them - maybe he would be able to surprise his brother next time they met.
"This doesn't change anything with regard to Miss Granger." Albus knew his friend - better than Mundungus knew himself these days.
"She wouldn't stay away anyway, would she?"
"She is very loyal to her friends, among whom Harry Potter numbers rather prominently."
Mundungus scoffed. "You've got your way. Now get on your way."
Albus smiled as he rose and vanished his seat. Then he banished a small piece of parchment towards his friend.
Mundungus caught it and glanced at it. "What's this?"
"The address of a flat more suitable for the teacher of a young witch," Albus said.
"She's gonna 'ave to learn about the seedier places too," his friend muttered. At Albus's raised eyebrows, he added: "But not until later, I guess."
Smiling, Albus apparated back to the Forbidden Forest and checked the time on his watch. He was early enough to foil the latest scheme of the Weasley twins. The two purveyors of mischief were determined to take revenge on young Mister Malfoy on behalf of Miss Granger, and seemed to take the continuing failure of their efforts as a challenge. Maybe Albus would have to explain to them that their efforts would, ultimately, only benefit Lucius, who would use the opportunity for further attacks against Albus and his staff.
*****
London, Greenwich, April 26th, 1993
"Lumos!"
Hermione Granger smiled widely at the bright light shining from the tip of her wand. Her new wand, bought less than an hour ago in Diagon Alley. Made of walnut wood, 9¾ inches long, slightly flexible, with a dragon heartstring as its core, it seemed to sing in her hand, eagerly working magic with the slightest gesture. After three weeks without a wand, three weeks without casting a spell, three weeks without feeling like the witch she was, Hermione wanted more than anything to spend a day, or two, just casting every spell she knew, to ensure she hadn't forgotten anything. She had had her books to read, but reading about magic, studying the wand movements in the diagrams, had made her longing to cast spells even worse.
But, she thought with a glance at Mister Fletcher, who was watching her with a faint smile, they hadn't come to this flat for her to play with her new wand. They had travelled here - by Apparition! Her first Side-Along-Apparition experience - so she could receive her first lesson from her new teacher.
So she took a deep breath and slid the wand into her equally new enchanted wrist holster, styled to look like a bracelet - and then had to resist the urge to test the QuickDraw Enchantment that would slip the wand into her hand at a mental command. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Don't be." Fletcher snorted. "To go without a wand is among the more dreadful fates a wizard can suffer. Not the worst, not even close, of course." The man looked a lot older when he said that, Hermione thought, and a lot more serious.
He quickly smiled again, though, and gestured towards the dining table. "Let's take a seat. But first," he added, and Hermione stopped halfway to the closest chair, "let's change." With that, he transfigured his robes back into the suit he had worn when he had fetched her from her home earlier today, then did the same to her own clothes, leaving her in jeans and a sweater. "We're in muggle London, and we should attempt to fit in. Especially right now, with all the muggle policemen up in arms. Not that they would be able to enter this flat, or even notice it, but it's the principle of the thing - you need to develop a habit of doing this."
Hermione nodded, feeling slightly guilty for forgetting about Saturday's bombing in Bishopsgate in her excitement.
"The more you look like you belong, the less chance that a bobby or Auror will single you out."
She nodded in agreement. That made sense. Then she blinked - she was already thinking like a thief. She wasn't certain if that was a good or bad thing. But after her recent experiences with Aurors, she certainly knew that avoiding their attention was a good thing.
"So… before we start with any practical lessons - which we will, don't look that disappointed - you need to learn the basics." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not going to teach you how to become a common criminal. I'm going to educate you in the art of the gentleman thief. Or, in your case, lady thief."
"That's still a criminal." At his crooked smirk, she narrowed her eyes. A thief stole another's property, usually by stealth and without using violence or force. That was the definition - Hermione had looked it up.
"Correct. But not a common criminal. A gentleman thief has rules." That sounded… more like from a book - a fictional book - or a movie to Hermione. She tried not to let her doubt show, though, as he continued. "The first rule is simple: Don't kill. The penalties for theft are relatively light - relatively, mind you - but if you murder someone, it's the Kiss or Azkaban for you for certain. And the Aurors go after a murderer with much more effort - and violence - than a burglar. There are enough spells and other magical means to deal with, say, interlopers without killing them anyway."
She nodded and made a note. "That makes sense." And Hermione didn't want to kill anyone anyway. Well, maybe the elder Malfoy. He had tried to send her to Azkaban, after all, which she considered an attempt on her life.
"Of course it does - otherwise it wouldn't be a rule. Thieves are practical." He cleared his throat. "Second rule: Don't steal from the poor. Not only is it poor form to steal from those who don't have much to begin with, but it generally isn't worth the effort anyway. And you never know if that hovel might turn out to be a Death Eater's hideout."
"Ah." Hermione filed that tidbit about Death Eaters away in her mind while she wrote that rule down.
"Third: Keep mum about your profession. Never tell anyone who is not directly involved about your heists. And for 'eaven's sake, don't brag!" He scoffed. "Word travels fast. Even people you trust completely might reveal something - accidentally, or against their will."
She bit her lower lip. She didn't like keeping secrets from her friends - from Harry and Ron - but it made sense.
"Which means that your essential notes will have to be very carefully hidden, and any notes you don't need any more have to be destroyed."
She gasped. Destroying her notes? That… that…
"Trust me - you don't want your... parents, or your boyfriend, to accidentally stumble upon the schematics for a house including the strongbox's location."
She blushed slightly at the 'boyfriend' remark - she didn't have one, and she didn't think anyone would be interested in her, bushy hair and buckteeth and all - but she could see how that would be a really bad thing. It wasn't as if her parents knew anything other than that 'Mister Smith' was her new tutor. But… "Are you speaking from experience?" She regretted her question at once when she saw his face close up.
After a moment that seemed far too long to her, he went on: "Fourth rule: Never rat out your accomplices. Not only do informers tend to end up dead, but you will quickly run out of friends and contacts if you can't be trusted."
She thrust her chin up. She hadn't tattled on her friends! Not ever! At least not at Hogwarts!
He chuckled. "Ah, I see." He looked rather wistful, too, in her opinion. "Now, the next rule is obvious: Don't get caught." The way he looked at her made her think he was hinting at her trial - her conviction.
She scowled. "I wasn't caught. I was framed."
"Same thing, in the end. The best method to avoid getting caught is to avoid catching attention. Don't be obvious. Don't stick out. Don't be seen, even. Always have an escape plan - and two more in case the first plan fails. Getting away is more important than getting the loot, never forget that!"
She nodded emphatically. She certainly had no intention of getting caught by the Aurors ever again!
"And in order to avoid getting caught, you need to always keep an eye out for traps, ambushes, and anything out of the ordinary. Patience and caution are much more important than courage, so you'll need to rein in your inner Gryffindor."
She frowned at that - she wasn't brash, unlike others in her house. Her former house, she corrected herself with more than a little regret.
Once more he chuckled at her expression. "You'll have to work on hiding your feelings as well. Anyway, those are the most important rules. They'll keep you alive and out of prison." He looked at her until she nodded, then smiled again. "Now, let's start with a more practical lesson. Can't let you forget how to cast spells, after all."
Hermione perked up and let her wand slip into her hand. Finally!
*****
Hogwarts, May 5th, 1993
"This is weird!" Harry Potter said, putting his quill down and leaning back in his chair in the Gryffindor common room.
"What's weird?" Ron asked, looking up from where he was reading a Charms essay Percy had written in his second year.
"I keep expecting Hermione to appear and quiz us. Or tell us to study harder."
Ron snorted, but he didn't sound amused. "Or tell us that we should have started studying earlier. Like last year."
"Yeah." Harry sighed. "If you told me a few months ago I'd miss her nagging…"
Ron nodded. "Bloody Malfoy! It's all his fault," he muttered.
Harry looked around, then leaned forward and whispered: "Your brothers haven't had much success." He had expected much more than the few pranks they had managed to do.
"The Headmaster told them off." Ron frowned. "Otherwise, Malfoy would be begging his father for a transfer to Durmstrang now."
Harry knew that. "Still…"
"Would you go against Dumbledore?" Ron stared at him.
Harry was tempted to do so. Even knowing that Malfoy's father would exploit any incident to further weaken Dumbledore's position. "Each time I see his ugly face I want to hex him until he cries," he said through clenched teeth.
"You and me both, mate," Ron muttered. "But we'd get expelled as well."
"It might be worth it," Harry said. "We could study with Hermione's tutor." They'd still do the exams - Hermione had told them that Dumbledore would send her the questions. After the exams at Hogwarts, of course.
"Mum would kill me. And Hermione would kill us. We promised her that we'd leave the slimy git alone, remember?"
Harry sighed. He remembered - Hermione reminded them with every letter. And he really didn't want to leave Hogwarts. The Dursleys wouldn't let him study magic. It would be Stonewall High for him. "Bloody arse," he spat.
Ron nodded. "He'll get his. What did Hermione say in her last letter? Revenge is a dish best served cold?"
"Yes." Harry had had to explain the saying to Ron.
His friend suddenly grinned. "Can you imagine what she'll do to him with enough time to prepare?"
Harry smiled. He certainly could.
*****
London, Greenwich, June 9th, 1993
Hermione Granger frowned at the parchment in front of her. The written Charms exam had been harder than she had expected. Although given her lack of access to the Hogwarts Library, she should have anticipated that - she hadn't been able to research the material as thoroughly as she should have. And she hadn't had that much time to study either, what with the upheaval caused by her family's recent move to a small flat in London.
She clenched her teeth. If the wizards and goblins had been reasonable, they would have let her parents keep their practice and pay the debts over time with their greater income. But they hadn't been reasonable. Not at all. The whole thing was a travesty to start with, and would never have happened in a decent court - her parents wouldn't have been held liable for her actions in the first place! But with the Wizengamot stuffed full of bigoted rich purebloods...
"Done?" Mister Fletcher asked, looking up from where he had been reading the Daily Prophet.
"Yes." She dried the ink with a quick charm, then banished it towards the wizard.
He caught it, though with some difficulty, as she noticed, and stowed it in the scroll case on the low table near the couch. Once Hedwig brought Harry and Ron's next letter, the owl would carry the case back to Hogwarts with the other exams she had taken, to be corrected by the teachers.
"Good. Then let's get through the practical part."
She didn't frown when she stood, but she felt like doing so. Mister Fletcher wasn't the best teacher when it came to casting spells. He wasn't bad, but the difference between him and Professors McGonagall or Flitwick was obvious. He was used to casting without incantations, and often without precise wand movements as well, and she usually had to resort to animated sketches in the books to learn the basic wand movements of a spell. Which limited her progress, since she had only limited access to such documents.
Mister Fletcher had said that Dumbledore owed her for failing to foil Malfoy's plot, and that she should use that to get access to the Hogwarts Library over the holidays. She didn't want to - the Headmaster had saved her from Azkaban - but on the other hand, she really missed being able to read whatever book she wanted…
And, she thought when she faced her tutor, there were Potions and Herbology to consider. And Care of Magical Creatures. She could handle Potions - having brewed Veritaserum by herself, with a pilfered cauldron and stolen ingredients, proved that. It wasn't as if Snape deserved to be called a teacher anyway! But Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures needed practical lessons her tutor couldn't provide.
"Ready?"
She stopped pondering her academical problems and nodded at Mister Fletcher. "Yes."
"Good." He conjured a small piece of wood on the floor. "Cast an Engorgement Charm on it."
She knew that charm. "Engorgio!" The piece of wood grew rapidly, until it was the size of a table. She smiled - that was a good result for such a charm, according to her reading material.
He nodded. "Shrink it down."
"Reducio." She had gone through that spell in her head already while he had inspected the wood - those two charms were taught together for a reason.
"Good." He took a step back and held his wand at the ready. "Now stand on top of the wood, and then cast the first charm again!"
She blinked. That wasn't in the test notes she had received! She opened her mouth to protest, when she suddenly understood what he was doing.
"Exactly!" He grinned. "A nifty little trick to get over walls - or on top of roofs - with the right object. Don't overdo it while we're inside, though!"
She huffed. As if she'd forget that the ceiling wasn't that high above her head! "Engorgio!"
The piece of wood rapidly grew again, but even expecting it, she couldn't adjust for the sudden movement, and lost her balance halfway to the ceiling, toppling off the wood.
Before she hit the floor though, she suddenly froze in mid-air - Mister Fletcher had stopped her fall with another charm on the exam list. He shook his head. "And that's the difference between learning how to cast a spell and learning how to use the spell."
She frowned at him. "That was the first time I tried this!"
He inclined his head. "True. I expect you'll do better the second time, then." He cancelled his spell with a grin, and she dropped to the floor. "Or not."
Hermione rubbed her rump - that had hurt! - and glared at him.
"Third time's the charm?" He tilted his head slightly sideways with a grin.
Yes, Hermione thought while getting up - and resisting the urge to try and hit him with a Stinging Hex - Professors McGonagall or Flitwick would never have done this.
But then, they wouldn't have taught her some of the uses for those harmless-looking spells either.
*****
London, Enfield, July 11th, 1993
Harry Potter spotted her before he regained his balance - magical travel, apart from flying, didn't seem to agree with him, and Ron's dad side-along-apparating him and his friend was no exception. Hermione was leaning against the bus stop sign, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. By the time he had managed to stand straight, she was already greeting them with a smile.
"Hello, Mister Weasley. Hi, Ron. Hi, Harry."
"Hermione! There you are, just where you said you'd be! At the muggle bus stop!" He pointed at the sign and turned to Harry and Ron. "See boys? This is what muggles use to stop their busses, since they have no wands."
Harry refrained from telling Mr Weasley that he had been taking buses for years. Ron's dad had been kind enough to fetch him from Privet Drive, sparing him a lengthy trip.
"Are your parents here as well?" the older wizard asked, looking around.
"They're at work," Hermione answered, her smile slipping a little.
"Ah." Mr Weasley nodded. "Do you live around here?"
Hermione's smile disappeared completely. "We had to move here after we had to sell our house."
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry, I forgot." Ron's dad had the grace to look embarrassed. "Terrible shame that affair! Terrible!"
Harry glanced apologetically at Hermione. He didn't think that she wanted to talk about it - he knew her relationship with her parents was still rather strained. Even though the Grangers weren't as bad as the Dursleys, they certainly weren't fond of magic now.
"So… I'll be off then, back to The Burrow. We have so much to prepare for our trip! International travel is complicated! Ron, take the Knight Bus home in time for dinner. And ask your friends before you assume something about muggles, will you?"
"Yes, Dad." Ron didn't quite roll his eyes, and Harry felt a touch of jealousy. He wished he had parents who cared that much about him. Hell, he wished he had parents, period.
Mr Weasley disappeared with a cracking sound, and the three were alone at the bus stop.
"Are you going on a trip?" Hermione asked.
"Ah…" Ron cleared his throat. "Right, yes, we are. Dad won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw. Seven hundred Galleons." He looked almost embarrassed, Harry thought. "So, we're going to visit Bill in Egypt for a month."
Hermione smiled. "That's great, Ron. When will you depart?"
"Last week of July - I'm going to miss Harry's birthday."
"It's not as if I'm going to throw a party," Harry said. "The Dursleys would never allow it."
Hermione sniffed. "We'll be celebrating your birthday, Harry," she declared in that firm tone of hers that left no doubt that things would happen as she wanted.
Not that Harry would want to contradict her - he was looking forward to his birthday. They'd probably watch a movie, eat out...
"Ah, alright." Ron glanced at him, then at Hermione with a strange expression, but quickly smiled again. "So, how are things with your tutor?"
"Ah, they're going well. It's not the same as Hogwarts, of course - I really miss Professors McGonagall and Flitwick - but according to the test I took, I would have done well on the exams. Even in Defence, which is quite surprising, since that's not one of my better subjects." Which meant that she wasn't the best in her year in Defence, Harry knew. Or rather, hadn't been the best, since she was no longer a student at Hogwarts.
"Well, you won't miss Snape," Ron muttered. "Bloody git."
Hermione nodded. "How that awful man remains a teacher I cannot fathom."
"Dumbledore must have told him off, though - he's been on his best behaviour ever since you left," Harry said. Granted, the man's best behaviour was still rather dreadful compared to the other teachers, but there had been an improvement. He didn't think it would last past the summer though.
"Lockhart was a decent teacher, I guess." Ron sounded as if he had to force the words out - he didn't like the man. Harry shared the sentiment - especially after he saw how Hermione's eyes lit up. Lockhart had just been too… full of himself.
"He won't be returning for our next year," he said. "Apparently, there's been a zombie outbreak in Africa, and Britain is sending a force to deal with it."
"I've read about that," Hermione said, and once more, Harry felt nostalgic at the familiar tone, "there is speculation that this could be the work of survivors of the ICW Intervention of 1870. Or a splinter group of houngans from Jamaica trying to establish themselves there. My tutor thinks the houngans are trying to expand and are using that as a cover story," she added.
"Who's your tutor, anyway?" Ron asked. "You haven't told us his name."
Hermione flinched a little - Harry almost missed it - before she straightened. "I told you, Ron, he doesn't want his name to be known. I'm persona non grata in wizarding society, after all, and being known to teach me could harm his reputation."
"Dad doesn't care about that," Ron said, frowning.
"Well, he should! No one but Malfoy profits if your family gets dragged into my mess." With a scowl, she added: "And Malfoy has profited far too much already."
"So, what are we doing today?" Harry was as curious as Ron about Hermione's mysterious tutor - he thought it was Dumbledore himself, but Ron thought that the Headmaster wouldn't have the time to teach anyone - but he wouldn't push their friend.
Hermione smiled again. "I've prepared a schedule!"
While their friend pulled out a rather large sheet of paper and started to explain, Harry exchanged a grin with Ron. Hermione would never change.
*****
London, Greenwich, July 19th, 1993
"My friends asked me about you again," Hermione remarked as she walked down the street next to Mister Fletcher.
"Curious lot, are they?" He didn't look at her as he answered, but she could see that he was grinning.
"They are concerned about me." Being curious was not a bad thing, but she felt the need to defend Harry and Ron anyway.
"And you wonder why I gave a fake name to your parents."
"No." She glanced at him. He was now looking at her. "While you were a gentleman thief, you haven't been one for some time."
He snorted, and for a moment, he didn't look like a middle-aged gentleman, but a … crook, she decided after a little deliberation. Then he sighed and simply looked old. "Yeah. 'Mundungus Fletcher' got a reputation. Not a good one, mind ya. Guttersnipe. Drunk. Petty thief. Not a name ya would want to be associated with. And not a good cover for a gentleman thief either."
Hermione didn't ask what had caused one of Dumbledore's friends to become such a man. Nor did she ask if he had left his past behind. He was always shaved and perfectly coiffed, but that was easy with magic. The occasional trembling of his hands, or the expression he had once when they passed a Wine Merchant, though, were harder to hide. "So now you're Mister Smith."
"Yeah." He sounded rough, then cleared his throat and went on in a much smoother voice. "Mister Smith, recently moved here from the Colonies, now whiling away his time as a private tutor in the Old Country."
"Obviously a fake name, but people will assume you are simply one of the refuges - émigrés - from one of the wars in North America who wants to avoid trouble with old enemies. They won't suspect that you are a thief." She had put that together a week ago, after reading up on the situation in Magical North America - a conglomerate of small and usually extremist wizarding enclaves, at least half of them either at war, or close to starting a war, with their neighbours on any given day.
"Gentleman thief," he corrected her. "Of course, I'll be maintaining my identity as Fletcher too." Once more he grinned crookedly. "There's a lot places a bleedin' gentleman would be thrown out of where a guttersnipe can enter jus' fine."
She managed not to shudder at his accent. "Will I be joining him on such… ventures?"
"No," he said in a very flat voice. "Those are not places that a young witch should visit."
She wasn't certain if she should feel relieved or insulted, but she had a notion of what kind of witches would be found in those places. "What if I need to, to case a joint?"
"You'll need to be older to fit in convincingly."
He wasn't looking at her as he said that, and she didn't think he was being entirely honest with her, but she didn't pry any further. She had no real desire to visit such places, after all. "What disguises will we be using today?" she asked instead. "Pureblood daughter from a good family?" Mister Fletcher had been drilling her in 'proper pureblood manners' when he hadn't been teaching her more spells or checking her other work.
"That would be 'illegitimate pureblood daughter from an affair with a witch of the continent'," he corrected her. "You can't pass as a British pureblood witch from a 'good family' - they all know each other. The older witches know the pureblood family trees better than a dragon breeder knows his bloodlines." She didn't try to hide her revulsion at the images that conjured up inside her mind. He laughed. "They don't try to breed their children as if they were animals, mind you - it's politics they keep track of. And inheritances, of course."
"Ah." They passed a muggle café, and she waited before answering. "So… will we be using that disguise?"
"Not today. You still need to learn to act a bit better." He snorted at her pout. "No, today we'll case a joint - a muggle bank." Her eyes widened. Would they...? "We're not gonna rob it, mind ya. It's just training for the real thing."
"Gringotts?" She had heard stories…
"Merlin's beard, no!" He was shaking his head. "No, the real thing will be a magical house - and we won't break into one any time soon, either, don't look so eager."
She didn't. Not really. But it would be good to do something… productive. Even if she hadn't yet decided how to explain her career choice to her parents. Which she would have to, once she started to steal gold.
"Now… look at the bank there - without looking as if you're studying it. We're just waiting for the bus, father and daughter." She glanced at the building. "How would you enter it?"
"Roof or upper floor windows," she answered quickly. "From a broom."
"You have no broom."
"From a floating board, then." She could do that, even though standing on a board that only her magic was keeping in the air was even more disturbing than flying on a broom.
"And once inside?"
"Unlocking Charm on all doors until I reach the vaults… no. There would be alarms on the doors."
"Indeed."
A Silencing Charm wouldn't help - the doors would send out electronic alerts. Now how to deal with that… "I'll have to find out who can disable the alarms." She looked at him.
He seemed pleased. "Yes. And how can you do that?"
"Enter disguised and make someone else trigger an alarm, so I can observe what happens." A Compulsion Charm would do it.
"That's one method, yes. There are others, of course."
"Do pureblood manors really have alarm charms on their doors?" That would be a hassle, she thought.
"Some of the more paranoid families do - at least on the less used or more important ones. But it's the principle of the thing - you can't just break in and grab some loot if you want to steal a fortune. You need a plan, and for that, you need a lot of information. Information best acquired in disguise."
She nodded.
"And for that, you need to learn to act convincingly. You have a way to go there, too."
She scowled. She was working hard on that. And she was making progress. Her parents didn't suspect anything, after all. Not that they were speaking with her that much, these days.
"How's your physical training progressing, by the way?"
Her scowl deepened. P.E. was the only class she had never liked. And after two years free of it, it had now returned with a vengeance.
Mister Fletcher laughed at her expression, utterly unimpressed with her glaring at him.
*****
London, Enfield, July 31st, 1993
"That was a great movie!" Harry Potter exclaimed when he and Hermione left the cinema.
"They made a lot of changes to the book," his friend said, pursing her lips. "The characters acted quite differently. And I'm not entirely certain if they incorporated the latest discoveries about dinosaurs."
Harry had to laugh, even though he should have expected that reaction from her. Of course she would have read the book beforehand! "Well, it was a good movie. Thank you for inviting me!" He smiled at her.
Her slight pout, a reaction to his laughter, disappeared, and she returned his smile. "It's your birthday gift. Or part of it." She pulled a small package out of her handbag. "Here's the other part!"
"Thanks!" He took it and started to unwrap it while they walked. He knew it was a book before he even touched it, and tearing off the wrapping paper revealed a copy of 'Jurassic Park'.
"Since you liked the movie I think you'll like the book as well," she said. "I mean, I didn't know that you'd like the movie when I bought the novel, but it was a safe bet." She was biting her lower lip though, he noticed, so she probably was worried he wouldn't like it.
"Thanks! I'm sure I'll like it - I can read it at Hogwarts, too, and remember the movie."
The smile that had appeared on her face slipped a bit, and Harry wanted to hit himself for reminding his friend - and himself - that she wouldn't be joining him and Ron at Hogwarts this year. "So… let's get something to drink, OK?" he quickly said, pointing at the nearest café.
She nodded. "Alright."
"My treat," he added. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he shook his head. "I insist." He expected her to argue, but after a moment, she nodded. He was glad - he didn't want her to spend even more money on him. Not when he knew how bad her family's situation was. At least she was more sensible than Ron about such things.
His eyes widened. "I almost forgot: Ron sent a letter." He dug around in his jacket and pulled out the envelope. Handing it over, he added: "There're two pictures from Egypt inside as well." She looked at the letter, hesitating. "Go ahead and read it." It wouldn't take her long, anyway, and they would be able to talk about it.
With a quick smile, she pulled the letter and pictures out. By the time the waiter brought their order, she had already finished. "That's a really long letter. For Ron," she said. Her own, of course, were generally longer.
Harry nodded. Sometimes, it had felt as if Ron was bragging about his trip. But then, Ron didn't get to brag about much, so Harry didn't really mind. Even if he would have loved to go to Egypt as well. Or just stay with the Weasleys. On the other hand, that would have meant leaving Hermione alone by herself.
And he doubted that he would have been able to enjoy his vacation knowing that.
*****
For a change, Harry was happy when he reached Privet Drive. That had been his best birthday, ever! And Ron was at least partially responsible for it, too, despite his absence - Harry and Hermione had talked at length about his letter, and had been able to avoid the touchier subjects.
He sighed, enjoying the evening for a moment, before he opened the door and entered the house. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were in the living room, watching the telly. Dudley would still be out, with his friends. 'News and Sports' had just began, from what he could hear.
After a moment's hesitation, he entered the living room. "I'm back!"
Uncle Vernon turned his head and glared at him. "The news has started!"
Aunt Petunia frowned, then asked: "Did you have a nice day?"
"Yes." Harry almost grinned. His aunt didn't really care, but she insisted on the proper forms - the Dursleys were a normal family, after all, and a normal family asked after your day. "You?" he asked.
"We had a great day!" Uncle Vernon grumbled.
Aunt Petunia was about to go into more - boring - detail when she suddenly gasped and stared at the TV. "Dear Lord!"
Harry blinked. There was a report about a mass-murderer having escaped a special prison. He looked like a maniac on the picture they showed. "Sirius Black?" He hadn't heard of the man.
His aunt was trembling. "I recognise that man!"
"What?" Harry and Uncle Vernon said in unison for the first time in their lives.
She nodded shakily. "He's a wizard… he was one of your father's friends. I met him at Lily's wedding!"
"A mass-murderer?" Harry couldn't believe it. His parents had been heroes!
"I can believe that," Uncle Vernon grumbled. "Evil lot, all of them. Like that giant who cursed Dudley!"
"What… what if he's looking for us?" Petunia asked, still trembling, before Harry could defend Hagrid. Vernon paled as well.
"I'll mail Dumbledore," Harry said. "He'll know what to do."
For once, neither Uncle Vernon nor Aunt Petunia disagreed about him contacting a wizard.
*****
London, Greenwich, August 1st, 1993
Someone had broken out of Azkaban! Hermione Granger was reading the article in the Daily Prophet for the third time, trying to spot any detail she might have missed. According to her research - and she had read what she could on that horrible prison after her close brush with being incarcerated there - Sirius Black was the first prisoner ever to have managed that feat.
"How could Black have escaped?" she asked, looking up from the newspaper at her tutor, who was currently reading Seeker Weekly.
"Inside job," Mister Fletcher answered without any hesitation. "It's not possible otherwise. He must have had help, probably from a guard."
"A human guard?"
"Of course. The Dementors wouldn't help anyone - they'd even attack the guards, if they could get away with it, and suck out their souls."
Hermione shuddered on being reminded of the ultimate punishment used in Wizarding Britain - the Dementor's Kiss. To go as far as to destroy a soul… She shook her head and rubbed her arms to banish the morbid thoughts that brought up.
"But to get inside help after more than twelve years… why wouldn't he have escaped earlier?" That didn't make much sense. Even a few months among Dementors tended to drive prisoners mad.
"Well, cui bono? Someone must have an interest in freeing a crazy Death Eater." He was looking at her, expecting her to work it out.
She wasn't entirely certain that he knew the answer himself in the first place, but she still tried to reason it out. "Having such a dangerous prisoner escape weakens the trust of the population in the Minister. So a political rival might have engineered this." He nodded at her. She bit her lower lip, then went on: "Since he is a threat, whoever catches him will gain a lot of prestige. A rival of the Minister could use that to replace him."
"Good guess, but the one who would profit the most, Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE, isn't the type to play such games. She would never set a prisoner free in such a plot." He snorted. "If the bleedin' witch had 'er way, she'd keep all prisoners forever."
Hermione decided not to ask if he had personal experience with the Head of the DMLE. She cleared her throat. "But if she is such an ethical person, others could exploit the capture of Black." People like Malfoy.
"They could. But Fudge is such a weak-willed wizard, they could probably simply bribe him and get what they want without going to such lengths." He was back to speaking with a barely noticeable - and entirely fake, as she knew - American accent.
"So... maybe they want to use this opportunity to achieve something else. It might be a pretext to search the houses of his suspected accomplices or relatives. Or simply a way to ruin their reputation with rumours and suspicions." She was simply speculating now.
"Aye, that could be it - but the most obvious victim of such a plot would be Malfoy, being both an 'imperiused' Death Eater, and the husband of Black's cousin." Mister Fletcher grinned. "Do you think Dumbledore would go that far?"
"It sounds a bit risky," she said. It also sounded like a great way to get back at Malfoy, as long as Black wasn't actually free to roam Britain.
"But you forgot the most obvious angle."
"Which is?" She frowned at him. She didn't overlook the obvious! Not often, at least.
"Gold. If Black gets killed - and the Aurors will not hold back when they find him, so that's rather likely - his relatives would inherit the Black fortune."
"Malfoy." She spat out the name like the curse it was.
"Yeah. Would be a nice, neat way to get at that gold without having to wait a few more decades until Black croaks in Azkaban."
She narrowed her eyes. "But… if Malfoy wanted Black dead, wouldn't he have had the guard on the take simply kill Black in prison and make it look like an accident or an attempt to escape?"
"Good question." He smiled at her. "Maybe he wants Fudge weakened as well - or is trying to blame Bones for this. Malfoy is a cunning man, and his plans reflect that."
Hermione clenched her teeth, scowling - she knew that only too well. But she would get her revenge!
And, she thought, she would look into how one could escape Azkaban. If the worst happened, she wouldn't languish there for a decade.
*****
Little Whinging, No 4 Privet Drive, August 14th, 1993
Weeding the garden was tiring work, but Harry didn't mind - he was getting paid well enough for it, after all. Especially as the threat of Black meant working outside the house was seen by his relatives as being more dangerous. And it wasn't as if he had anything more interesting to do. Harry wasn't in the mood for losing another video game against Dudley, he had read all his books already and had done all his homework. And Uncle Vernon had asked Aunt Marge to cancel her visit due to the danger, which meant that so far the summer had been more pleasant than expected. On the other hand, the Dursleys had limited his trips to London to see Hermione to days when Dumbledore's friends could protect both the house and Harry, and that had seriously cut down on the time Harry had been able to spend with his best female friend.
Straightening up after pulling out a particularly resistant weed, he narrowed his eyes when he saw, through the gap in the fence, the flattened grass near the tree in their neighbour's garden. Over the last two weeks, he had become quite good at spotting the guards Dumbledore had placed at Privet Drive - even invisible, they had to pick a location from where they could observe the house's entrances, or at least most of them, and usually something gave them away. A cat or dog staring at the spot - Mrs Figg's cats seemed particularly apt at sniffing the wizards out - or some of the neighbours making a detour without any obvious reason.
But today none of the usual spots had been occupied. And from that tree the front door and the garage were not visible at all - Harry had been up that tree often enough in the past to know that. So why would anyone trying to prevent Black from breaking into the house be hiding there?
If that was Black… but the fugitive would have spotted Harry already, and he hadn't been cursed.
"Heh!" He heard a chuckling laugh. "Spotted me, huh? Good instincts, Potter. I'm impressed." The voice would have fitted an escaped prisoner - rough and harsh.
"Who're you?" Harry stood up and put his hand on his wand holster - a late birthday gift from a friend of his parents, Dumbledore had called it when he had handed it over.
The air around the tree seemed to shimmer for a moment, and then a man appeared. An old man, with scarred face and… something that spun wildly in place of his left eye. And a peg leg! "I'm Moody."
"Moody." Nickname, first name, last name? Harry couldn't tell with wizard names.
"The others told me you were a sharp kid. Guess they weren't as rusty as I thought." The man cackled. "Keep that attitude up. Constant vigilance!"
Harry felt slightly irked at the patronising tone. He had spotted all of his guards so far, after all! "What happened to your eye?"
"Lost it in a fight against a dark wizard." Moody grinned, which wasn't a comforting sight with his scarred face. He didn't explain further.
"Can you see through walls with it?"
More laughter. "Really sharp kid. You'll make a good Auror. I can see through walls, and behind me." He suddenly stiffened, then frowned. "And you should return to weeding the garden. Neighbours're coming home."
A flick of his wand later, the man had disappeared from view. And the grass wasn't showing any imprints any more.
Harry looked around for a little longer, then knelt down again to finish his chores. He could use the money for his next trip to London.
*****
London, Enfield, August 15th, 1993
"So... have you already spotted our tail today?" Hermione Granger asked sotto voce while acting as if she was very interested in the clothes on display in the window in front of her and Harry.
"Hm." Harry leaned forward, probably to get a better angle on the mirror behind the window. "There's been a rather clumsy fellow bumping into people behind us."
"Yes," she whispered. "But that could be a decoy, to throw us off the real tail." Mister Fletcher had been thorough about the tricks Aurors used when tailing a suspect. And how to throw them off. Unlike spotting invisible wizards, which a spell could do easily, spotting disguised wizards was very difficult - especially since they could use magic to change their disguises and hair colour. Not that she would let that deter her. You could never be too cautious, as her tutor was fond of lecturing her.
"I doubt that," Harry retorted. "They don't have that many people - they need to guard the Dursleys as well while I'm with you."
He had a point, she admitted with a frown. "I hope they catch Black soon. You haven't been able to visit often." She could visit him, but spending a day with the Dursleys didn't sound appealing at all, and if she and Harry left the house, they would need another bodyguard anyway.
"Yeah. I hope they catch the traitor soon." Harry bared his teeth - he hadn't taken well to her telling him what Black had done to deserve Azkaban, and Hermione hoped that Harry wouldn't do anything foolish, should Black make an attempt on him.
She winced at the thought - she was being a little hypocritical, seeing as she was training to become a lady thief, which was certainly not a low-risk profession. On the other hand, she tended to think things through before acting, unlike Harry. Most of the time, at least.
"Another one stumbled over the curb," Harry whispered. "Either we're close to a meeting of Clumsy Anonymous, or that's our tail."
Hermione agreed with him. Then she had a thought. "Unless that's Black." After more than a decade in a small cell - the conditions for prisoners in Azkaban were even more horrible than she had thought before researching the matter - he might not be in a very good shape.
"He'd have tried something if that was the case," Harry said. "A few times he had a clear line of fire."
Hermione hadn't noticed that! That failure irked her even more than the realisation that Harry didn't see anything wrong with his method to check if their tail was Black or a friend. She glared at him.
"What?"
"Nothing." She huffed. She couldn't lecture him about his safety on the street. And her new favourite secondhand book shop beckoned.
She would tell him later, in private.
*****
Little Whinging, No 4 Privet Drive, August 21st, 1993
When the doorbell rang, Harry Potter peered through the window first, to check who was visiting them on a Saturday evening. Black might be crazy enough to simply walk up to the house - Hermione had told Harry in detail just what happened to prisoners in Azkaban.
But it wasn't a stranger outside - it was Dumbledore. Or, he corrected himself, someone looking like the Headmaster. But the guard posted near the house hadn't stepped in. They could have been dealt with, of course - if Harry could spot them, then so could a wizard capable of breaking out of Azkaban. Moody had been vocal about that during their second meeting.
"Who is it?" he heard Aunt Petunia ask from the living room, where the Dursleys were watching TV.
"Wizard," he answered.
"Deal with him, boy!" he heard Uncle Vernon yell - he had expected that; they usually left 'such matters' to Harry.
He opened the window slightly. "How did you answer me when I told you how easy it was to spot the guards?"
The old wizard smiled. "I see you have been taking lessons from Alastor. You wrote me a letter, and I reassured you that the Black situation was under complete control and that you were entirely safe wherever you were."
That was the specific wording. Harry still had his wand in hand when he opened the door. Dumbledore must have noticed, but didn't comment. "Good evening, Headmaster."
"Good evening, Harry."
"I didn't expect you today." He was supposed to go to the Weasleys tomorrow, for the last week of the summer. "Did… did something happen?"
"Indeed, a serious matter, so to speak. Something best discussed in private."
For a serious matter, Dumbledore looked far too happy, Harry thought. But he gestured towards the stairs. "We can use my room, then. After you."
The old wizard nodded. "I might impose on Alastor, should I need a new Defence teacher. You certainly seem to have taken his lessons to heart."
"Not all of them," Harry said as they took the stairs to his room. He wasn't paranoid - there really was a mass-murderer out to get him. Normal boys didn't get around the clock protection.
"Good. Alastor is a good friend, but he is a little too zealous, at times. Understandable, of course, given his experiences."
They entered his room, and as soon as Harry closed the door, the Headmaster cast several spells he didn't recognise on it. "Those will ensure that we are not overheard," Dumbledore explained while he conjured an armchair for himself.
Harry sat down on his swivel chair. "So…"
Dumbledore sighed. "I must confess that I have not been entirely truthful with you - for a good reason, mind you."
"What?" Harry tensed.
"I have known for two weeks that Sirius Black was no danger to you. But in order to catch a very dangerous criminal, I had to keep this knowledge secret. Even from you."
"What?" Harry repeated himself.
"Sirius contacted me soon after his escape, and surrendered himself into my custody so I could verify his story. As it turned out, he was innocent of the crime for which he had been imprisoned - and the real culprit was still at large." The Headmaster's smile grew more grim. "That changed this afternoon. I'm happy to say that the man who betrayed your parents to Voldemort has been arrested and will be standing trial."
Harry gasped. "So… Black was innocent?" Twelve years in Azkaban as an innocent… he didn't even want to imagine how horrible that must have been.
Dumbledore nodded. "After so much time in Azkaban, he had lost a lot of his memories to the cruel attention of the Dementors, so Veritaserum would have proven less than useful. Fortunately, I had other means at my disposal."
"Who was the traitor?" Harry felt his fingers digging into his thighs, and forced himself to relax.
"Peter Pettigrew. Another friend of your parents - and a spy for Voldemort." Dumbledore grew serious. "I cannot know for certain yet how many he betrayed to the Death Eaters, but I fear he has been responsible for many more deaths than your parents and the twelve muggles he murdered to frame Sirius." He reached out and patted Harry's knee for a moment. "Justice will be done, trust me."
Harry wasn't entirely certain of that - first Hermione was framed and expelled, and now it turned out that Sirius Black had been framed and imprisoned for twelve years. Obviously, Wizarding Britain's judicial system was somewhat less than reliable. He nodded anyway.
"Now, that said, there is another thing to discuss."
"Yes?" Harry tilted his head as he looked at Dumbledore.
"Sirius Black was more than a friend of your parents. He is your godfather." After a moment, he added: "Your parents intended for him to become your guardian should they die."
Harry gasped again.
*****
Chapter 3: Past Sins
Starfox5
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Chapter 3: Past Sins
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1993
Sirius Black was pacing back and forth in the entrance hall. He would meet his godson Harry for the first time in almost twelve years. And Harry had spent all that time thinking Sirius had killed James and Lily. He would hate him. And rightly so - Sirius had failed his parents. Harry's parents, that is. He had let the traitor escape. He had...
"Sirius!"
He whirled around and faced his old friend - whom he had failed as well - and barked. Barked? He blinked, then realised that he had changed into Padfoot without noticing. Again. Sirius quickly changed back. "Sorry."
Remus shook his head. "You don't want to greet Harry as a dog."
He flinched. Things were easier as a dog. Clearer. Simpler. That had kept him alive, and sane - more or less - in Azkaban. As Padfoot, he didn't worry much. He didn't brood much over his past. He didn't feel much guilt. He simply was what he was. "It's just… he will hate me!"
"Why would he? You were unjustly imprisoned. You broke out to save him when you realised how close the traitor was to Harry. You brought the traitor to justice." Remus shook his head. "He has no reason to hate you." In a lower voice, he added: "I'm the one who has no excuse for never visiting him."
Sirius didn't have a good answer to that. He tried anyway. "You were not really yourself after the war. Not with all of us…" he trailed off, wincing. "And there's your furry little problem." Remus could use that as an excuse, couldn't he? Get something good from his curse, for once. "You couldn't get enough of the Wolfsbane Potion." That would change, of course. What use was the Black fortune - all his now, as he was the last Black heir - if he couldn't use it to help his friends? Or his godson's friends. Hadn't Dumbledore mentioned that a witch had gotten into trouble helping Harry, or something? Ah, Harry was his godfather's son, already charming the ladies and getting them into trouble!
"I'm only dangerous for three days a month," Remus muttered, looking even gloomier now.
Sirius grinned. "Ah! Finally you admit it! I've been telling you that for years, and you never accepted it!" He rubbed his chin in an exaggerated fashion and forced himself to smile widely. "Something else that you have in common with witches, now that I think about it - they also usually never believe me, and they are rabid beasts a few days per month as well…"
"Sirius!" Remus half-yelled, half-groaned in that achingly familiar way of his.
Sirius smiled for real now, remembering the good times, at Hogwarts, when… he blinked. He didn't remember! Nothing detailed. Just some hazy images… and fragments of laughter and… he shook his head. His smile gone, he cursed under his breath. "He'll understand, Moony." But he wasn't convinced himself. Remus should have visited.
And Sirius shouldn't have been in Azkaban.
He noticed that he had changed into Padfoot again when he realised that the world hadn't just figuratively lost all colour, and that the background noise wasn't the moaning and ranting of the other prisoners in Azkaban, but the screams from his mother's portrait, dampened by the enchanted wall Dumbledore had put up five minutes after Sirius had brought him to the Blacks' ancestral home.
Which, he thought, after changing back into a wizard, wasn't their actual ancestral home, being far too young for their family tree - but the Blacks didn't talk about what had happened to their real ancestral manor in 1756. Not even after they had taken revenge for it.
He sighed. "Maybe we should do something useful, instead of simply waiting." And brooding. And turning into dogs. "Most of the rooms here still haven't been cleared of curses and traps." Dumbledore had said he'd send a Curse-Breaker over, but the man hadn't been available yet, and the Headmaster hadn't had time to do more than Sirius's bedroom - which had been filled with more traps than Sirius had expected, and all of them focused on his bed - and the kitchen.
Remus stared at him. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time we tried?" Sirius blinked at him, and Remus hissed. "Sorry, I didn't…"
Sirius shook his head. "No, no, I remember." He shrugged. "We got a bit singed. No harm done. No real lasting harm done," he corrected himself when Remus pointedly glanced at the sleeve of his brand-new robes. "We've been through worse at school." At least he thought they had been… Weren't Dementors supposed to only take the good memories?
"Yes." Remus's face showed a mixture of nostalgia and regret, so Sirius had guessed correctly. "But it also took us an hour to recover. Meeting Harry while you're on fire is hardly better than meeting him as a dog."
His friend was right, but Sirius wasn't about to concede so easily. 'Never admit anything, least of all your guilt or defeat', hadn't that been their maxim, back at Hogwarts? He couldn't remember. Dumbledore had said his memories would return, over time… but had been cagey when Sirius had asked how long it'd take. "Bah." He was about to launch into a tirade about being Gryffindors when the fireplace in the hall lit up. Harry!
He bounded over - bounded? He changed back again and spread his arms… and almost hugged Dumbledore. Sirius managed to turn his gesture in a credible bow, though. "Welcome to my humble and curse-infested home."
"Thank you, Sirius. Remus." The Headmaster smiled - he probably hadn't been fooled - and stepped to the side. A second later, a body shot out of the fireplace and into the hall.
Sirius eyes widened. "Harry?"
Harry - Dumbledore wouldn't have brought a stranger, would he? - sat up, rubbing the back of his head and mumbled what Sirius was certain were curses Sirius's mother would be appalled to hear. His godson really took after him! "Yes? Sorry about that; magical travel doesn't agree with me. Apart from brooms." He stood up. "Mr Black…?" he trailed off as he offered his hand.
Sirius grabbed and shook it, enthusiastically. "Call me Sirius! Or Padfoot. You look like James…"
"... except I've got my mother's eyes, I know," Harry interrupted him, then winced. "Sorry, I just hear that all the time."
Sirius chuckled. "Well, it's true." He hadn't lost those most precious memories. His godson was cheeky too! "I'm sorry for not meeting with you sooner… I was in prison. Unjustly, you know."
"Yes. The Headmaster explained it to me."
"Did he?" Sirius glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded. One weight off his chest, he guessed - his memories were a bit spotty, after all. With that out of the way, it was time to talk about the main topic. He forced himself to smile widely again. "Good. Now… as soon as I'm officially exonerated, I'll take custody of you and fulfill my duties as your godfather!" Harry looked surprised, and Sirius felt his stomach drop. "If you want me to, I mean…" he added in a smaller voice. Harry hated him!
"Ah… I think I do, yes." Harry nodded. "Though we might get to know each other first?"
Sirius refrained from turning that into a double-entendre and nodded. "Have I mentioned I'm rich?" Kids liked gold, didn't they? "If you need anything, you just have to ask; the Black fortune is at your disposal!" That should help his godson see that he was the best choice as his guardian.
Harry looked surprised again. "Err… how rich?"
Sirius grinned - honestly, this time. "Well… I've heard you know Malfoy, right?" Judging by the scowl on his godson's face, he did know the tosser. Wait, that would be the tosser's son. But, like father, like son… unless it was Sirius; he was an exception. He shook his head. "Anyway, we're far richer than them!" Unless his family had managed to squander the entire fortune before they had all died off. But that was unlikely - as this cesspit of a house proved, they had lived more than frugally in his absence. Probably.
"Well, it wouldn't be for me… and it would be very expensive, but I have this friend, my best friend - my best female friend - and…"
"Say no more!" Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "Spending gold to impress your girlfriend is always a worthy expense!" Harry was his godfather's godson!
"Err... she's not my girlfriend," Harry said.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Sirius could see that Remus had his face covered by his hands.
"What?"
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1993
Harry Potter stared at Sirius Black - his godfather, the Headmaster had said - as the man looked first confused, then concerned and almost afraid. His clothes looked new, but Black looked haggard, his face pale and hollow-cheeked - a weird contrast with his well-kept beard.
"What?" Black repeated himself, looking from Dumbledore to the other wizard - whose name Harry hadn't yet been told - and back. He wasn't looking at Harry, though.
"Harry's twelve," the other man said.
"Thirteen," Harry corrected him. He wasn't twelve any more.
The other man was showing his teeth, too. "Thirteen. That's not an age to... spend gold on a girl." That made the offer to help Hermione sound… dirty.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Harry's friend's situation is a little more complicated than it may appear."
"She helped save me from one of Malfoy's plots, and, in revenge, Malfoy's father had her framed for theft, and ruined her family," Harry explained. "Her family was sentenced to pay a huge fine."
Black nodded, apparently taking this at face value. "That sounds like the Wizengamot I know. Or rather, the Wizengamot I never knew, since I didn't get a trial."
For a moment, silence filled the room - a rather dark and dusty entrance hall, complete with a big stairway leading up to the first floor. Though the wall at the back looked new. Harry looked at the third man again. "So… who're you?"
The man took a deep breath, but it was Black who spoke up: "That's Remus. Remus Lupin. He was one of your parents' best friends. We were inseparable in our Hogwarts years. If not for me, he'd have been your godfather." Black was talking almost as fast as Hermione in a rush, Harry thought. And he was smiling widely again. "You may be wondering why we didn't visit you, after the war." Harry hadn't but he hadn't known about Lupin until now.
"Sirius!" Lupin hissed.
Black was undeterred, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Well, I was in prison, as you know. Innocent, though. And Remus is a werewolf."
"Sirius!" Lupin literally growled.
"He's only dangerous for about three days a month - like witches - but since werewolves are considered dark creatures, and he couldn't afford the Wolfsbane Potion, he felt too bad to visit you." Black nodded. "That has changed, though, since he now has a job. He'll be your new Defence teacher!"
"Ah." Harry didn't know what else to say. He had no idea about werewolves, other than muggle movies and comics.
"Oh…" Sirius blinked. "Please don't tell anyone about his furry little problem, will you? That could get him fired. People are afraid of werewolves."
"An unfounded, but unfortunately common, prejudice," Dumbledore said. "Werewolves are wizards like you or me. Only under the full moon, three nights per month, do they transform. And only in their cursed form can they spread the curse. Even without the Wolfsbane Potion, which grants them control over their cursed forms, they can take precautions to avoid endangering others during that time."
"Ah." That made sense to Harry. At least for the moment.
"I'm very sorry I didn't visit you," Lupin said, shaking off Black's arm. "I was in a bad place, after the war. I had lost all my friends, or so I thought, and…" He shrugged and didn't meet Harry's eyes.
"It's alright," Harry said. He wasn't certain if he meant it, but Lupin looked rather pitiful.
"So… that's settled. Let me show you the house! At least the safe parts. Which aren't that many, but we're working on it!" Black exclaimed after a moment.
"The safe parts?"
"Oh, yeah. Most of the house is littered with traps and curses. My parents went a little crazy before their death."
Harry silently wondered if that ran in the family as he followed the two strange men to the kitchen.
"What are your impressions of your godfather and your future teacher?" Dumbledore asked Harry after they arrived in the small park near Privet Drive.
Harry shook his head before answering - Side-Along-Apparition didn't agree with him either. "They seem…" He searched for a diplomatic way to say 'mental'. "...to have gone through a lot?"
The Headmaster sighed. "Indeed. Both of them suffered a lot after the war, and little blame can be applied to them for it."
Harry made a noncommittal sound.
"You may be sceptical, understandably so, but I can assure you that they are both good men - although fallen on hard times. Sirius has spent more than a decade under the cruel attention of the Dementors, and Remus has been struggling with his curse since he was a child, always afraid of being hated and feared by everyone should his secret be revealed." He looked sternly at Harry.
"I won't tell anyone!" Harry quickly said.
With a smile, Dumbledore continued: "Few knew about his secret and did not fear him. Your parents were among them, and they and most of his other friends were lost in the war. In addition to that, Remus has spent all these years hating his best remaining friend, thinking he was the traitor responsible for all of this. That burdens him more than anything, I presume."
"I guess so." Harry could understand that, but he still felt some resentment. If he had known about his parents, about magic earlier…
For a few minutes, they walked towards his relatives' home in silence. "Will I be living with my godfather once he is cleared?"
"Only if you want to," the Headmaster said. With a wry smile, he added: "And not before the house has been thoroughly cleared of curses and traps - and dust and dirt."
"So… shortly before I graduate?"
Dumbledore laughed. "You may be underestimating what magic can achieve, my boy. I estimate that you could, if you want to, spend Christmas with Sirius in comfort and safety."
That would mean he could see Hermione more often, Harry thought. Sirius lived in London, after all - much closer to her new home. And… "Sir. Do you think my godfather will help Hermione?"
"I have no doubt. Sirius is a very generous person, and keenly aware that your friend was framed as a result of her helping you. As well as that, Sirius has suffered a grave injustice at the hands of the Ministry himself, just like Miss Granger. Such a shared experience will make him rather sympathetic, I think. He cannot currently access most of his family's fortune, but once he has been exonerated, that will change."
"But it's a huge sum." Harry had thought he was rich, after seeing his vault, but he couldn't have covered the Grangers' debts even if he spent all his gold.
"Your godfather was not lying when he boasted about his wealth. He can afford it - though it will certainly not be a trifle, not even for the famous Black family fortune."
That sounded good. "How long will that take?"
"Not too long. Pettigrew's trial will be held this week, and Sirius's should follow soon afterwards."
Harry felt relieved. That meant he could tell Hermione the good news before he went to Hogwarts. If everything went well.
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, August 23rd, 1993
"The boys are in the garden, weeding, my dear. We didn't expect you this early."
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley. I'll go find them, then."
Previously, meeting the Weasleys hadn't made Hermione Granger feel so conflicted. On the one hand, she hated the pity Mrs Weasley was showing her. She didn't need the witch's pity - especially not since the Weasleys weren't really better off than her own parents. On the other hand, Ron's mum had accepted her without reservations, convinced of her innocence. And shared her ire at the Malfoys. And the Weasleys knew what it meant to be poor. Although they had had a longer time to get used to it. A much longer time.
She stepped out on the porch of the house and looked at the nearby pond, then closed her eyes and faced the sun for a moment. Autumn was fast approaching, and you should use an opportunity when it presented itself, as Mr Fletcher was fond of saying. Provided it was safe to do so, of course.
But she hadn't come here to sunbathe - and how she missed her summers in France! She had come to see her best friends. Shaking her head, she walked out to the garden. Harry and Ron stood there, looking at something in Ron's hand. A gnome, she realised when she reached them.
"Harry! Ron!"
"Hermione!" the two chorused. She hugged Harry while Ron disposed of the gnome in his hand by throwing it over the fence before hugging her as well. He seemed to have grown and put on some muscle during his time in Egypt. And he had gotten a tan - or at least what people with his skin tone had after a long time in the sun.
She buried the jealousy thoughts of Egypt caused her to feel, then frowned. "Shouldn't you turn them around a few times, to prevent them from coming back to the garden?"
"Well, yes. But one gnome more or less won't matter. Can't get rid of them for good anyway." Ron shrugged.
Harry laughed. "Yes. I was tempted to get some for my aunt's garden, but Ron persuaded me not to."
"Really, mate - you don't want to degnome your garden every day next summer!"
"Well… if all goes well, I won't be living there next summer," Harry said.
"Oh?" What had happened? Hermione hadn't heard anything about this.
"Yes. My godfather, Sirius Black, has offered to take custody of me."
"What?" She stared at him as his serious expression gave way to a smirk.
"Didn't I mention that?" He was even laughing now. At her.
"No, you didn't." She pursed her lips. "And why would you want to live with an escaped mass murderer who wants to kill you?" Unless that wasn't true. Hermione knew very well how wizarding justice worked.
"Well, he's innocent, for one thing," Harry said.
"Yes," Ron cut in. "The real murderer was Scabbers!"
"What?" His rat?
"Yes!" Her friend was nodding emphatically. "He was an animagus. A wizard named Peter Pettigrew."
One of Black's supposed victims, she remembered. "Like Professor McGonagall?"
"Yes. He's been hiding as Percy's and my pet for years!" Ron shuddered and looked like he wanted to retch. "Black recognised him from that picture in the Prophet, broke out and told Dumbledore. And when we got back from Egypt, Dumbledore was waiting for us. Scabbers tried to run, but the Headmaster had him stunned, petrified and bound in an instant. Too bad he didn't kill the rat!" he added with a scowl.
"If he had died, then Sirius would have trouble proving his innocence." Harry was frowning at Ron.
"He slept in my bed!" Ron retorted.
Hermione wasn't about to get into that argument. She could understand wanting revenge. All too well. "So, you'll be moving to Black's home then?"
"I'm not certain yet." Harry sighed. "I'd like to leave the Dursleys, of course, and they would be happy to see me go, but… Sirius is not exactly… well, he's been locked up for over ten years in Azkaban, and it shows."
Hermione winced. That probably meant Harry's godfather was dangerously unstable.
"I've heard people go crazy in Azkaban after a year!" Ron had the grace to blush when Hermione and Harry both glared at him. "Sorry."
"Dumbledore says he'll get better, but…" Harry shrugged. "I guess I have to see how he is come Christmas." He smiled at her. "But there's good news for you!"
"Yes?"
"Sirius is rich - really rich. He can pay your debts! And he said he'll do it," Harry added.
Her friend sounded excited, but Hermione was sceptical. Or cautious. "It's a huge sum."
"He's much richer than the Malfoys."
"Oh." He could afford it, then. And without ruining himself, unlike Harry. "But would he want to spend so much gold on a stranger? Once he is feeling better."
Harry blinked. "Well, I think so. If he wants me to live with him, he better do it!"
"Harry!" She frowned at him. "You can't decide whether or not you'll live with him over whether or not he pays my debts!"
"Sure I can! If he doesn't want to help you after you got into trouble for saving me, then he obviously doesn't care about me that much!" Harry grinned at her.
"He's got you there, Hermione." Ron grinned as well.
She huffed, but there wasn't much she could say refute that. And, if she was honest with herself, she didn't really want to say anything to refute it either.
If Harry's godfather paid her debts, then she didn't have to feel that guilty any more for wrecking her parents' lives.
"So… how about a quick game of Quidditch?" Ron asked. "The weather's perfect for it, and Mum won't have lunch ready for an hour or so - Dad's going to be late, seeing as he has to talk to the DMLE about Scabbers."
"Well…" Harry glanced at her, then at Ron.
"Sure," Hermione said, "let's do it!" She tried to sound as enthusiastic as she could. The surprised - or even shocked - expressions on her friends' faces helped.
"Really?" Ron was gaping at her.
"Yes, really." Hermione smiled. Mr Fletcher had told her to get better at flying - a good thief needed to be a good broom flyer as well. Apparition and Portkeys could be blocked much more easily than a fast broom.
She would simply have to get a better broom than the decrepit ones she had flown at Hogwarts.
London, Enfield, August 23rd, 1993
Hermione Granger doubted that she would ever be any good at Quidditch. Even now, many hours after the game, she felt despondent when thinking about it. She had done embarrassingly badly in every position they had put her. They had finally settled on her being Keeper, since 'she might block a Quaffle by accident, at least', as Ginny had put it, the little traitor. She set her jaw - she would master broom riding. She had to. And no piece of wood would get the better of her. She was a witch!
And she was procrastinating, she added to herself, sighing, when she glanced at her parents. Her mum was sitting at the table, going over bills, and her dad was reading a magazine. Shaking her head, she stood up. She had to do this.
"Mum? Dad?"
They looked at her, and she couldn't help feeling that their tired smiles hid their justified anger at her. It was her fault, after all, that they had been ruined. Financially, at least. "Yes, dear?"
She took a deep breath. She had debated this - it was just hearsay, although Harry wouldn't lie to her - but her parents needed to know. If only to give them some hope. "There is a possibility that my debts will soon be paid."
"What?" Her parents looked more alarmed and suspicious than hopeful, she noticed.
"Harry has recently reconnected with his godfather, who has offered to pay my debts, since this all started when I helped save Harry. He hasn't got control of his family fortune yet, though - some legal entanglements need to be resolved first." That was a good, neutral way to speak about a charge of mass murder, she thought. Her parents didn't need to know every detail, after all. "That shouldn't take too long, though." Her smile faltered a little when her parents still didn't look like they believed her.
"Dear, we're talking about a huge sum - a real fortune. For normal people, at least," her mum said. "People don't pay that much to friends of their godchildren. No matter how rich they are."
"And even if that man did - and you haven't mentioned his name yet, I noticed," her father said, and she winced in response, "you - we - would simply owe him. Even if he said we wouldn't. There's always a catch."
She pressed her lips together. "His name is Sirius Black."
"The wanted murderer?" Her mother gasped.
"He was framed," Hermione said.
"Framed?" He father sounded even more sceptical.
"Yes, framed. But they caught the real culprit, and so he'll be exonerated soon."
Her father's scoff told her enough about his faith in wizarding justice.
"And he was in that wizard prison, with the Dementors?" Her mum's face and tone told her that she knew what that meant for Black's mental health.
"Yes."
Her parents exchanged a glance she knew very well. They didn't believe her. But she would prove them wrong. She would set this right, no matter what it took. And she would make Malfoy and the others pay for their crimes!
London, Ministry of Magic, August 25th, 1993
"This is your first time at the Ministry of Magic, right?"
Harry Potter nodded at Mr Weasley without really looking at him - he was busy taking in the sights in the Atrium. So many wizards were bustling about, coming and going from the half a dozen or more fireplaces lined up along one side - the same fireplaces from which he, Ron, Percy and Ron's dad had just stepped out, or, in Harry's case, stumbled out. And there was a big marble fountain with golden statues in the middle of the hall, between them and their goal - which seemed to be a lift guarded by two wizards in grey robes.
"Those are Hit-Wizards," Percy said - he must have noticed Harry's glance. "They're wizards who specialise in magical combat, unlike Aurors."
"Aurors are the police, right?" Harry asked. He had seen them, in their red robes, when they'd arrested Hermione.
"Yes," Mr Weasley answered. "There aren't as many Hit-Wizards as Auros - they mostly guard the Ministry and Azkaban."
"In times of peace there is not much need of Hit-Wizards. Certainly not enough to justify the expense of paying a large number of them," Percy cut in, in his typical, slightly pompous, manner.
"That might be true, but it means that when you suddenly need more Hit-Wizards, you have to hire and train them first," his dad retorted. "It's better to spend more gold in peace than needed than to spend Auror lives in war." He sounded unusually serious to Harry - but then, they were here on serious business.
"Henry. Bertie." Mr Weasley nodded at the two Hit-Wizards.
"Arthur," the one on the left, Henry, responded. "Here for the trial?"
Mr Weasley nodded. "Yes."
"Nasty business. You know the way."
The doors opened, and the four stepped into the cabin. Once the lift was moving, Mr Weasley sighed. "What's wrong, Dad?" Ron asked.
"It's nothing."
The three boys exchanged glances. Harry was certain it wasn't nothing, but it wasn't as if he could push Mr Weasley. And neither Ron nor Percy seemed willing to pry either.
He shelved the thought when they arrived on the Wizengamot's floor. There were more guards here - both Hit-Wizards and Aurors - and they were quickly ushered to the seats for the audience, which Harry found were in the topmost row of the Wizengamot Chamber.
Most of the seats were already occupied - but a number of people offered him their spot when they recognised him. For once, Harry was glad about his fame, though he could have done without the whispers behind his back. Or, as he realised when he overheard some 'didn't notice him for over ten years…' comments, behind the Weasleys' backs.
He was distracted by Mr Weasley pointing out various members of the Wizengamot as they started to file in.
"There's Augusta Longbottom. She is the proxy for her grandson, until he comes of age."
"Neville will be a member of the Wizengamot?" Harry asked. It was hard to imagine the rather shy boy in this Chamber, mingling with the other impressive wizards.
"Technically, he already is, but he cannot vote until he is seventeen years old," Percy explained. "So his grandmother votes for him until then."
"There's Malfoy, the bloody bastard," Ron spat through clenched teeth.
That was the man who had forced Hermione out of Hogwarts, Harry thought as he stared at the blond wizard. He looked very similar to Draco - just taller, and even more arrogant, in his opinion. Harry wished he could curse the git.
"Must be hard for him, judging a fellow Death Eater," Ron muttered.
"He was under the Imperius," Percy said, not bothering to hide his doubt. "Officially."
"That's enough, boys," Mr Weasley said. "This is not the place for such talk."
Chastised, the three remained silent until the chamber had filed and the trial began.
Harry didn't pay much attention to the opening - he focused on Pettigrew, chained to the accused's chair, down below, in the centre of the chamber, flanked by two Aurors. The wizard who had betrayed his parents and framed his godfather looked pitiful. A small, cringing man in tattered robes, stringy, unkempt hair falling to his shoulders. And his face… He looked like the rat he had been for so many years, Harry thought.
"...accused of treason, twelve counts of murder and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. How do you plead?"
"N-not g-guilty!" Pettigrew stammered. "I'm innocent! It was all Black!"
While Pettigrew's plea was noted down and his personal information confirmed, Harry leaned over and asked Mr Weasley: "Treason?"
"Supporting the Dark Lord is considered treason," Ron's dad whispered back.
A stern-looking woman with a monocle was leading the interrogation. "Did you willingly join the Dark Lord?"
"No! No! I didn't join him! It was all Black! He forced me!"
"Did you willingly take his Dark Mark?"
"No! I didn't! I was under the Imperius!"
"Did you betray the location of James, Lily and Harry Potter to the Dark Lord?"
"No, it was Black! He is the traitor."
Harry clenched his teeth. Whatever small amount of pity he had felt for the miserable wizard down there had vanished. "Damn liar!" he muttered as Pettigrew tried to blame his godfather for all his crimes.
"I hope he gets the Kiss!" Ron whispered, glaring at the man.
With Pettigrew denying every charge, the interrogation didn't take long, and Madam Bones, the Head of the DMLE - Mr Weasley had pointed her out to him earlier - stood to address the Wizengamot.
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! You have heard the denials of the accused. He claims he had been placed under the Imperius Curse by Black and forced to join the Dark Lord, to take his mark and to betray the Potters. He spins a tale about how he barely escaped Black after the murder of the Potters, and how Black just failed to kill him while murdering a dozen muggles! And yet he cannot explain how he was able to escape Black if he were under the Imperius Curse. Or why he didn't come forward after Black's arrest - nor went to St Mungo's to have his finger regrown."
"I was afraid for my life!" Pettigrew yelled. "I knew Black would escape! He..."
A flick of the left Auror's wand cut Pettigrew off. "Silencing Charm," Percy mumbled.
Madam Bones continued unperturbed. "But, most importantly, he cannot explain why he hid as a rat among a wizarding family for twelve years, living as the pet of two of the family's sons, spending years at Hogwarts, in close proximity to Dumbledore himself, but never daring to seek the Chief Warlock's protection. He has not offered to testify under Veritaserum either.
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! The man bears the Dark Mark. His behaviour cannot be explained by him being under the Imperius Curse, nor by him being afraid of Black - not after the Dark Lord had been killed and Black had been sent to Azkaban. No, the only explanation for the accused's actions is that he was a follower of the Dark Lord. If there is any doubt about this man's guilt, which I do not believe there is, then I ask for an interrogation under Veritaserum. Otherwise I ask for a guilty verdict, and for the accused to be imprisoned in Azkaban for the rest of his natural life."
Harry noticed that many were nodding in agreement with the witch as she sat down. Even Malfoy!
The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, rose from his seat. "Mr Pettigrew, what do you have to say in reply to that?"
Mr Weasley whistled. "No one is willing to speak for him. That's not surprising, given the charges."
"Don't they have lawyers?" Harry asked. He was no expert, but the accused had a right to a lawyer. At least on the telly.
"Lawyers?" Mr Weasley shook his head. "This is not a muggle court. Only members of the Wizengamot have the right to speak here. Apart from witnesses and the representative of the DMLE."
"Ah." Harry nodded.
Down below, Pettigrew was blathering: "I'm innocent! It was all Black's fault! He imperiused me! I couldn't help it! I was so afraid, even with him in Azkaban! I knew he would escape! He had even fooled Dumbledore! I… I… I'm innocent!" He broke down in tears and sobbed in his chair.
The Minister rose from his seat again. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! Those among you in favour of clearing the accused of all charges, light your wands."
Very few wands lit up in response. Pettigrew wailed.
"Those among you in favour of conviction, light your wands."
The entire chamber seemed to light up as dozens of lit wands were raised.
"The accused has been found guilty of all charges. Does the Wizengamot wish to alter the requested sentence?" One wand was raised in response. "The chair recognises Mr Malfoy."
Murmurings filled the chamber as Malfoy's father stood up. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! The crimes this man has committed are without peer. Not only has he betrayed the Potters, whose son saved us all from the Dark Lord, but he also framed the scion of the Black family, a man who should be sitting among us now as the Head of his family, causing him to be imprisoned, despite his innocence, in Azkaban for twelve years! The Chief Warlock himself reminded us just recently of the fate of a prisoner of Azkaban; I do not think I need to add anything to that. For crimes such as these, the Dementor's Kiss is the only appropriate punishment."
The murmurs grew louder. Harry stared, his mouth hanging open. Malfoy had been the last wizard he had expected to ask, no, demand that.
"Blimey!" Ron muttered. "I didn't expect that!"
"It helps to distance him from Pettigrew," Mr Weasley explained. "He only escaped prison himself because he claimed to have been imperiused."
"One rat sacrificing another rat to save himself." Ron scoffed.
When the majority of the Wizengamot followed Malfoy's suggestion and, once again, many wands lit up the chamber, Mr Weasley stood up. "Come on, boys. You don't want to see what comes next." Ron opened his mouth, probably to protest, but his dad glared at him. "No, you really don't want to see that, Ron. Come on."
They were not the only ones in the audience to leave.
London, Greenwich, August 26th, 1993
Sirius Black Innocent! Peter Pettigrew the Real Killer! Sentenced to Dementor's Kiss!
Hermione Granger shook her head as she read the front page of the Daily Prophet. "How quickly justice is done if you're a pureblood and rich," she muttered, more than a bit envious of Black's good fortune.
"That's the way things are in Wizarding Britain," Mr Fletcher responded. "The rich get off. Though I wager that it's the same among muggles."
She hadn't expected him to overhear her - he had been reading the sports section in his favourite armchair and had seemed to be focused on the Quidditch scores. Another lesson in not trusting appearances. And he wasn't exactly wrong. "Yes, but it's not usually that blatant," she admitted. "Although that might be because there are too many newspapers and other media in the UK to be bought off." She was getting a tad too cynical for her age, she thought. But the things the article had said about the Weasleys, the hints about how they had to be either stupid, or would have known about Pettigrew… Someone wanted Ron's family to suffer for this, and she was certain she knew who.
Mr Fletcher laughed. "Yeah. Though the Prophet is an equal opportunity newspaper - if you have the gold, they'll write what you want." He put his own newspaper down. "But isn't this good news?"
"It is." Hermione was already feeling guilty about her envy. "Mr Black offered to pay my debts."
"Did he, now?" Mr Fletcher tilted his head sideways. "That's shockingly generous of him."
Hermione frowned at the wizard's tone. "Harry asked him to, and Mr Black thinks the world of his godson." And, from what Harry had told her, he felt terribly guilty about the death of Harry's parents.
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "That's a hell of a sum to pay to get into your godson's good graces - even if he's the Boy-Who-Lived. On the other hand, the Black fortune is legendary. More than once I toyed with the notion of breaking into the house. But it was too dangerous." He stared at her. "The Blacks earned their reputation as one of the most dangerous families in Britain. They know more dark curses than any other family, and they know how to use them as well. Black's cousin Bellatrix was the Dark Lord's right hand. Deadliest witch in decades. And Black's got a reputation as well." He snorted. "I bet that also played a role in his exoneration - he wasn't present at his trial, but remained in hiding. So everyone knew that if they voted against him, he would know - and could get at them. Or their families. If you steal from the likes of him, you have to make dead certain that no one knows it was you, or they'll hunt you down and kill you - slowly."
She didn't think planning to rob Harry's godfather was a good idea - especially not after his generous offer. "He seems like a good man. He fought the Dark Lord, until he was unjustly imprisoned without trial."
"I've met him a few times in the past," he answered. Hermione filed that away with the other information her tutor had let slip about his past. "Brave and brash, the stereotypical Gryffindor - though that was before he went to Azkaban. That changes a man."
Hermione knew that as well. "He might change his opinion about me too, once he recovers from that ordeal."
Mr Fletcher laughed again. "You don't 'recover' from bleedin' Azkaban. I 'aven't yet met anyone who did."
She nodded.
"But it affects people differently. Most go mad in there, but some come out broken, and some come out… nastier. Crazier. Knew one cutpurse, got caught once too many times, and spent a year in Azkaban. 'E came back a killer. Didn't cut purses any more - 'e cut people. Ta pieces. Took an Auror down with 'im when they ran 'im down." He was staring at the wall now. "Never thought bleedin' Cuttin' Curses coulda done that."
She shivered. "Well, Dumbledore thinks Mr Black is safe to be around."
Mr Fletcher scoffed. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and continued, his accent gone again. "Even if Black pays your debt, even if he says it's a gift, you'll owe him. You'll owe him big." He grinned. "You want to get even with people - for good or ill."
She couldn't deny that. "I plan to get the gold back from the pureblood bigots anyway. With interest."
He laughed, but not in a patronising way. "And with that said, let's get started on today's lesson. Today, we'll study the Supersensory Charm. It's not third year material, but after seeing how you did in your tests, I don't doubt that you'll cast it easily."
Hermione smiled - she had done well in her mock-exams. Not as well as she would have had she stayed at Hogwarts, of course. But more than well enough. And she was determined to keep that up. She had to if she wanted to get her revenge.
Hogwarts Express, September 1st, 1993
Harry Potter was looking out of the window, watching the landscape pass as the train wound its way up north, towards Scotland. Ron was reading the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly for the third time - today. "You know," the redhead suddenly spoke up, "usually, Mum asks me if I've packed all my things. Today, she asked if I remembered the advanced locking charm Bill taught us in Egypt."
Harry remembered the scene - he had been present, after all. And Mrs Weasley had been adamant that neither her children nor Harry would be framed as thieves. "Hermione wasn't that impressed by the charm, though."
"She's Hermione. The charm will keep Slytherins out, at least."
Harry could have pointed out that Hermione had been the one Malfoy and the other Slytherins had framed, but that wouldn't have served any purpose. He had to trust that the measures the Headmaster had said he had taken would prevent them from repeating their foul plot. "We'll still have to be on our guard."
"Can't trust the slimy snakes," Ron agreed.
Hermione would have told them that snakes weren't slimy, Harry thought. He sighed. At least they could meet her on Hogsmeade Weekends. Probably in the local bookshop, he thought with a grin, then frowned - she might not have the money to buy the books she wanted. Harry did, though. He couldn't pay her debts, but he could at least pay for her books.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door started to rattle - someone was trying to get in. He heard some incantations as he drew his wand, noting that Ron had done the same, and loudly asked: "Who's there?"
"Open up, Potter! Or are you scared?"
Malfoy. Harry snarled. He wanted to hex the git.
"Do it yourself. Or are you too stupid to open a door, Malfoy? Need your father to do it?" Ron yelled back.
"You… just you wait! Granger's gone, and you're next!"
"He doesn't even bother lying about it," Harry muttered as Malfoy tried once more to open the door, before moving away.
"Everyone knows it was him anyway. Everyone who counts, at least." Ron scoffed.
Harry nodded, but he knew that enough students believed that Hermione had really stolen from the Slytherins. Or wanted to believe that.
Hogwarts, September 2nd, 1993
"Have you heard? Malfoy got detention! On the very first day of classes!" Ron yelled with a wide smile as Harry came down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room from their dorm .
"For the rest of the week!" Lavender cut in, nodding several times. "Parvati heard it from Padma, who heard it from Zabini." The witch lowered her voice until half the room was crowding around her. "He threatened that second year muggleborn, Colin Creevey, who went and told McGonagall. And an hour later, Snape's tearing strips off Malfoy's hide."
"Snape? Punishing Malfoy?" Harry shook his head. He couldn't believe that.
"Zabini said that Snape told the Slytherins that if he had to punish them because they went against the Headmaster's rules, then he'd make them suffer even more for the humiliation," Lavender went on.
"Zabini is a snake. He probably wants us to think that," Ron said, scowling.
"Even Snape fears Dumbledore." Neville shook his head, then cringed when he realised he had the room's attention. He continued, though: "And Dumbledore was very clear at the feast that anyone trying to get others in trouble would regret it."
"Malfoy was rather quiet at dinner," Harry pointed out. "And the Slytherins didn't jeer at us either."
"Well, good!" Ron huffed. "They should expel him. And the rest of his snakes."
"Not Zabini, though. He's dreamy!" Lavender said with a smile.
"He's a snake!" Ron yelled.
Harry slipped away while Ron and Lavender started to argue about Zabini. Lupin had asked Harry to meet him after dinner, and Harry didn't want to discuss how fanciable Zabini was, or how stupid it was to trust a Slytherin.
"Ah, there you are, Harry. Come in." Lupin sounded even more tired than he had an hour ago, in their first Defence lesson of the year.
Harry had barely taken a step inside when he found himself gathered in a tight hug. "Harry! How do you like being back at Hogwarts?" Sirius Black was apparently visiting his old friend and in a chipper mood.
"Hi, Sirius," Harry said after he had been put back down on the ground. He glanced around. Lupin's quarters were adjacent to the Defence classroom, and he was familiar with them, having helped Lockhart with his fan mail last year. Lupin didn't seem to have made many changes - other than the massive cage in the corner. There would be a full moon tonight, he remembered. "It's weird to be here without Hermione. And the rumours are running wild about the Slytherins."
"Oh! Just like James, when Lily had been sick for a week!" Sirius said, nodding with a grin before blinking. "Or was that the Easter break?" His eyes lost their focus, and Harry didn't catch what he was mumbling under his breath.
Lupin cleared his throat, drawing Harry's attention. "The Headmaster has made clear that he will not tolerate another incident such as what happened to Miss Granger. Apart from having instructed the house-elves and rearranged the portraits to keep an eye on the dorms and the students between classes, he has also had a quiet word with each Head of House, or so I gather, to ensure they will keep their students under control."
Sirius snorted, apparently no longer lost in his thoughts. "The only teacher with whom he needed to speak was Snape. Bloody... bastard," he finished, and Harry caught Lupin glaring at his godfather.
"I heard Malfoy received detention." Harry tried to look as if he wasn't fishing for information.
"That is correct." Lupin looked grim. "He threatened students with expulsion, hinting that they would be exposed as criminals. The Headmaster wasn't amused."
"Bloody git! As rotten as his father," Sirius snarled. "Did I tell you that Lucius Malfoy is trying to prevent me from taking over my family's affairs? He has 'voiced concerns about my mental state'," he added with a sneer. "Call me crazy, will he? I'll show him crazy!"
"No, you won't," Lupin said firmly, despite his obvious physical discomfort. "That's exactly what he wants you to do. Dumbledore has said that the most Malfoy can do is delay your taking control of the Black fortune - as long as you don't play into his hands."
Sirius looked mulish, but nodded. Harry couldn't help feeling that Malfoy's depiction of Sirius's mental health wasn't completely wrong. "How long will that take?"
"A few months at most," Sirius said.
"Provided Sirius behaves," Lupin added.
"I've just been talking to a few of my soon to be honoured colleagues." Harry's godfather grinned widely and shrugged. "Told them my tale of woe from Azkaban, a few tales from the war… they were very understanding."
"Just be careful." Lupin sighed, as if he didn't think Sirius would manage.
"Anyway, I've not - just - visited dear Moony to see you and bore you with talk about politics," Sirius said, sitting down on the couch. "There's a more serious matter to discuss as well."
More serious than his godfather's gold and Malfoy's plots? Harry looked at him.
"We need to train you, Harry."
"Train me?"
"Yes. Dumbledore told us that Voldemort isn't dead, as most people think."
"I know. I met him last year." Harry pressed his lips together.
He remembered that grotesque figure stumbling out of the dungeons when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been caught out after curfew by Quirrell. It had come straight at them. "Inferi!" Quirrell had yelled and stepped into the thing's path, his wand flashing, but his curses had no effect on the attacker. Not before it had reached him and swatted him aside with inhuman force, smashing him against the stone wall. The sound of the teacher's head cracking open, the sight of the blood and brains on the wall… Harry shuddered at the memory. And that paled in comparison to the sound of two voices screaming themselves raw and the horrid smell as the creature was burned alive by his own touch...
"Harry?"
"Harry!"
He shook his head. "I'm alright. Just remembering."
The two wizards exchanged a glance. "Anyway," Sirius said, "He is out there, a shade, a ghost, or something else, we don't know. But we do know that he wants to kill you. Almost did, too. Of course, we'll do our best to protect you, along with Dumbledore, but this is Voldemort we're talking about - our best may not be enough. And you can't depend on Lily's protection either. So you need training in Defence."
"You won't be able to take on the Dark Lord in a duel, of course," Lupin took over, "but it might be enough, combined with everything else, to escape him."
Harry slowly nodded. He had mixed feelings about this. On one hand it was refreshing to see that they were open and honest with him about his chances. On the other hand, it was also rather depressing.
"Mad-Eye Moody wanted to train you, said you had talent, but you're not yet ready for Moody's insane idea of 'training', Sirius went on. "Might as well face the Dark Lord - that might be less dangerous. So Moony and I will train you, a few evenings a week. Shouldn't cut into your Quidditch training sessions. Can't let the snakes win the cup, now, can we?"
Harry's godfather apparently didn't know the current team captain, Harry thought - Wood was a maniac when it came to training. But this was more important. But… "Can Ron join us? He was there too, when Voldemort attacked me. And he's my best friend." Best mate, in any case.
"Of course!" Sirius said at once with a wide smile. "Just like James and me!"
Harry didn't know if that was a good thing.
London, Diagon Alley, September 4th, 1993
"Mr Smith?" Hermione tilted her head to the side, as she had practised. "I think this 'at 'ere looks best." She held her wand with two fingers as she pointed it at a wide-brimmed hat on the rack in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions - apparently, pointing with your bare hand was considered a gaffe, as was holding your wand as if you were ready to cast a spell. She brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled brightly at her tutor.
"Ah." Mr Fletcher looked at her, then turned back to the saleswitch with whom he had been chatting - flirting, Hermione thought, despite the age difference. "Pardon me a moment, dear. It looks like my charge has made her selection."
He walked over to her and bent a bit down to peer at the hat. "A classic, Miss Abel."
"Thank you, Mr Smith." Hermione dipped her head, slightly tilted still, and kept smiling as if she had just been praised for an excellent essay by Professor McGonagall.
"But it might not go too well with your robes." Mr Fletcher rubbed his chin. "Dear, do you have matching robes in stock? Elegant, but not too daring - nothing French, please."
The shop did have such robes in stock, of course, and Hermione found herself being fitted with new robes quickly enough. And they weren't at all daring, in her - admittedly uninformed - opinion.
"How did I do?" she asked half an hour later when they had left the shop and she noticed Mr Fletcher subtly casting a privacy spell.
"Passable. The accent was still a little overdone, but that can be explained by being a recent arrival. You need to add just a hint of French, nothing more," Mr Fletcher said. "Remember: You're a young witch born out of wedlock, and you're trying your best to fit in in your father's country."
She snorted, but kept her vapid smile in place. At least the wig she was wearing didn't itch and the fake glasses were charmed to be near weightless. "It seems as if I just have to act as if I don't care about anything but appearances."
"Appearances are crucial in our business," her tutor chided her. "You need to fit in perfectly, so no one will ever suspect you of having even the slightest nefarious thought."
She had known that, though acting like some of the girls in her dorm - her former dorm - grated. "And do I have to flirt with the saleswitches too?"
He laughed. "No. But you need to know how to treat the staff. Friendly enough so they don't despise you, but also with the right amount of aloofness to fit your role as a pureblood." He snorted. "You can't afford to underestimate the staff. Even house-elves, whose limited magic barely makes them more competent than muggle servants, can spoil a heist. They are too weak to stop you, or even slow you down, but they are sneaky, generally know their master's house better than the owners themselves, and all they need to do is to sound an alarm to ruin your day. They, like human servants, see much more than their masters suspect. And most of them gossip like schoolgirls." He grinned. "You'll find that out yourself, when you're learning how to act as a maid."
"I can't wait." She didn't care to hide her lack of enthusiasm.
He chuckled, presumably at her expression - she had remembered to pout, to stay in her role, instead of scowling. "Oh, it's not that bad. Only fools mistreat their servants, and such fools rarely have anything worth the effort - or if they do, posing as their servant isn't necessary."
She huffed. "Why do wizards even have servants? There's a spell for everything." She had seen Mrs Weasley do the work of half a dozen housewives in an afternoon using magic.
"Status, of course. Whether it's a house-elf, who generally are limited to the oldest families, or human servants, having others serve you is a status symbol. Some purebloods claim it allows them to focus their magic on important things instead of wasting it on trivial chores, but that's hogwash. It's not as if you have a limited amount of magic at your disposal."
"You get tired, though," Hermione retorted. At least she felt winded after a long practice session.
"Yes. But that's mental and physical exhaustion. And the harder you train, the less exhausted you'll be when it counts."
His grin widened a bit, and she knew there was a hard practice session in her near future.
Hogwarts, September 6th, 1993
"Are you OK, mate?" Ron asked as he and Harry Potter made their way from the Gryffindor tower to Lupin's quarters.
"Do I look like I'm OK?" Harry shot back, a little more heated than he'd wanted.
"You look like you've been used as a practice target for a swarm of Bludgers." Ron was as blunt as ever.
"That's exactly what happened," Harry answered. "Wood wanted to 'stress-test' your brothers and released eight Bludgers."
"What? That's stupid! There's never more than two of them in play!"
"That's Wood." Harry sneered as he imitated his team captain's speech: "'If you can defend our Seeker against eight Bludgers, you'll have no problem at all when there are only two of them!' the bloke said. And, as we found out, they can't defend me against eight Bludgers. And I can't dodge that many either." He rubbed his shoulder, which, even after a visit to the infirmary, still hurt. At least the Bludgers had been training balls, not the real deal, or he'd be drinking Skele-Gro for days.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron shook his head. "I'm almost sorry I missed practice. But I needed to finish my Transfiguration homework. Percy insisted."
Harry groaned. He had yet to finish his.
"Hello, Harry. Good evening, Mr Weasley."
"Ah. Hi, Harry. Ron."
Lupin's greeting was as cordial as ever, but Sirius took a deep breath before addressing them, Harry noticed, and didn't seem to be too happy to see him. His godfather hadn't stood to greet him, and he had a glass filled with amber liquid in his hand - drinking before dinner usually meant bad news when Uncle Vernon did it.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked. He didn't think refusing to to go along with Sirius's plan to use detentions as a cover for his training was the reason for the other wizard's mood; Harry couldn't afford to get a reputation as a troublemaker with Malfoy around.
"Wrong?" Sirius scoffed. "Nothing's wrong… but nothing's right either!" He downed his glass and then coughed fire. "You haven't heard then."
"No. We were in the Infirmary," Harry said. "Quidditch training accident!" he hastily added when Sirius's head whipped around and the man drew his wand while rising from his seat.
"Ah." Sirius sat down again. "Someone stole my revenge. Again!"
"I told you: Such talk will make you a suspect!" Lupin glared at Sirius, then sighed when the latter simply glared back. "Barty Crouch was found dead in his home."
Harry had never heard of Barty Crouch, and his face must have shown that, since Lupin elaborated. "He was the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but before that, he was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"He was the bastard who threw me into Azkaban without a trial!" Sirius hissed. "And now he's dead, like Wormtail - and I didn't get to kill either of them!"
Harry really hoped that his godfather had a good alibi, because it seemed as if Sirius would be the main suspect.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1993
Sirius Black was pacing back and forth in the entrance hall. He would meet his godson Harry for the first time in almost twelve years. And Harry had spent all that time thinking Sirius had killed James and Lily. He would hate him. And rightly so - Sirius had failed his parents. Harry's parents, that is. He had let the traitor escape. He had...
"Sirius!"
He whirled around and faced his old friend - whom he had failed as well - and barked. Barked? He blinked, then realised that he had changed into Padfoot without noticing. Again. Sirius quickly changed back. "Sorry."
Remus shook his head. "You don't want to greet Harry as a dog."
He flinched. Things were easier as a dog. Clearer. Simpler. That had kept him alive, and sane - more or less - in Azkaban. As Padfoot, he didn't worry much. He didn't brood much over his past. He didn't feel much guilt. He simply was what he was. "It's just… he will hate me!"
"Why would he? You were unjustly imprisoned. You broke out to save him when you realised how close the traitor was to Harry. You brought the traitor to justice." Remus shook his head. "He has no reason to hate you." In a lower voice, he added: "I'm the one who has no excuse for never visiting him."
Sirius didn't have a good answer to that. He tried anyway. "You were not really yourself after the war. Not with all of us…" he trailed off, wincing. "And there's your furry little problem." Remus could use that as an excuse, couldn't he? Get something good from his curse, for once. "You couldn't get enough of the Wolfsbane Potion." That would change, of course. What use was the Black fortune - all his now, as he was the last Black heir - if he couldn't use it to help his friends? Or his godson's friends. Hadn't Dumbledore mentioned that a witch had gotten into trouble helping Harry, or something? Ah, Harry was his godfather's son, already charming the ladies and getting them into trouble!
"I'm only dangerous for three days a month," Remus muttered, looking even gloomier now.
Sirius grinned. "Ah! Finally you admit it! I've been telling you that for years, and you never accepted it!" He rubbed his chin in an exaggerated fashion and forced himself to smile widely. "Something else that you have in common with witches, now that I think about it - they also usually never believe me, and they are rabid beasts a few days per month as well…"
"Sirius!" Remus half-yelled, half-groaned in that achingly familiar way of his.
Sirius smiled for real now, remembering the good times, at Hogwarts, when… he blinked. He didn't remember! Nothing detailed. Just some hazy images… and fragments of laughter and… he shook his head. His smile gone, he cursed under his breath. "He'll understand, Moony." But he wasn't convinced himself. Remus should have visited.
And Sirius shouldn't have been in Azkaban.
He noticed that he had changed into Padfoot again when he realised that the world hadn't just figuratively lost all colour, and that the background noise wasn't the moaning and ranting of the other prisoners in Azkaban, but the screams from his mother's portrait, dampened by the enchanted wall Dumbledore had put up five minutes after Sirius had brought him to the Blacks' ancestral home.
Which, he thought, after changing back into a wizard, wasn't their actual ancestral home, being far too young for their family tree - but the Blacks didn't talk about what had happened to their real ancestral manor in 1756. Not even after they had taken revenge for it.
He sighed. "Maybe we should do something useful, instead of simply waiting." And brooding. And turning into dogs. "Most of the rooms here still haven't been cleared of curses and traps." Dumbledore had said he'd send a Curse-Breaker over, but the man hadn't been available yet, and the Headmaster hadn't had time to do more than Sirius's bedroom - which had been filled with more traps than Sirius had expected, and all of them focused on his bed - and the kitchen.
Remus stared at him. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time we tried?" Sirius blinked at him, and Remus hissed. "Sorry, I didn't…"
Sirius shook his head. "No, no, I remember." He shrugged. "We got a bit singed. No harm done. No real lasting harm done," he corrected himself when Remus pointedly glanced at the sleeve of his brand-new robes. "We've been through worse at school." At least he thought they had been… Weren't Dementors supposed to only take the good memories?
"Yes." Remus's face showed a mixture of nostalgia and regret, so Sirius had guessed correctly. "But it also took us an hour to recover. Meeting Harry while you're on fire is hardly better than meeting him as a dog."
His friend was right, but Sirius wasn't about to concede so easily. 'Never admit anything, least of all your guilt or defeat', hadn't that been their maxim, back at Hogwarts? He couldn't remember. Dumbledore had said his memories would return, over time… but had been cagey when Sirius had asked how long it'd take. "Bah." He was about to launch into a tirade about being Gryffindors when the fireplace in the hall lit up. Harry!
He bounded over - bounded? He changed back again and spread his arms… and almost hugged Dumbledore. Sirius managed to turn his gesture in a credible bow, though. "Welcome to my humble and curse-infested home."
"Thank you, Sirius. Remus." The Headmaster smiled - he probably hadn't been fooled - and stepped to the side. A second later, a body shot out of the fireplace and into the hall.
Sirius eyes widened. "Harry?"
Harry - Dumbledore wouldn't have brought a stranger, would he? - sat up, rubbing the back of his head and mumbled what Sirius was certain were curses Sirius's mother would be appalled to hear. His godson really took after him! "Yes? Sorry about that; magical travel doesn't agree with me. Apart from brooms." He stood up. "Mr Black…?" he trailed off as he offered his hand.
Sirius grabbed and shook it, enthusiastically. "Call me Sirius! Or Padfoot. You look like James…"
"... except I've got my mother's eyes, I know," Harry interrupted him, then winced. "Sorry, I just hear that all the time."
Sirius chuckled. "Well, it's true." He hadn't lost those most precious memories. His godson was cheeky too! "I'm sorry for not meeting with you sooner… I was in prison. Unjustly, you know."
"Yes. The Headmaster explained it to me."
"Did he?" Sirius glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded. One weight off his chest, he guessed - his memories were a bit spotty, after all. With that out of the way, it was time to talk about the main topic. He forced himself to smile widely again. "Good. Now… as soon as I'm officially exonerated, I'll take custody of you and fulfill my duties as your godfather!" Harry looked surprised, and Sirius felt his stomach drop. "If you want me to, I mean…" he added in a smaller voice. Harry hated him!
"Ah… I think I do, yes." Harry nodded. "Though we might get to know each other first?"
Sirius refrained from turning that into a double-entendre and nodded. "Have I mentioned I'm rich?" Kids liked gold, didn't they? "If you need anything, you just have to ask; the Black fortune is at your disposal!" That should help his godson see that he was the best choice as his guardian.
Harry looked surprised again. "Err… how rich?"
Sirius grinned - honestly, this time. "Well… I've heard you know Malfoy, right?" Judging by the scowl on his godson's face, he did know the tosser. Wait, that would be the tosser's son. But, like father, like son… unless it was Sirius; he was an exception. He shook his head. "Anyway, we're far richer than them!" Unless his family had managed to squander the entire fortune before they had all died off. But that was unlikely - as this cesspit of a house proved, they had lived more than frugally in his absence. Probably.
"Well, it wouldn't be for me… and it would be very expensive, but I have this friend, my best friend - my best female friend - and…"
"Say no more!" Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "Spending gold to impress your girlfriend is always a worthy expense!" Harry was his godfather's godson!
"Err... she's not my girlfriend," Harry said.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Sirius could see that Remus had his face covered by his hands.
"What?"
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1993
Harry Potter stared at Sirius Black - his godfather, the Headmaster had said - as the man looked first confused, then concerned and almost afraid. His clothes looked new, but Black looked haggard, his face pale and hollow-cheeked - a weird contrast with his well-kept beard.
"What?" Black repeated himself, looking from Dumbledore to the other wizard - whose name Harry hadn't yet been told - and back. He wasn't looking at Harry, though.
"Harry's twelve," the other man said.
"Thirteen," Harry corrected him. He wasn't twelve any more.
The other man was showing his teeth, too. "Thirteen. That's not an age to... spend gold on a girl." That made the offer to help Hermione sound… dirty.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Harry's friend's situation is a little more complicated than it may appear."
"She helped save me from one of Malfoy's plots, and, in revenge, Malfoy's father had her framed for theft, and ruined her family," Harry explained. "Her family was sentenced to pay a huge fine."
Black nodded, apparently taking this at face value. "That sounds like the Wizengamot I know. Or rather, the Wizengamot I never knew, since I didn't get a trial."
For a moment, silence filled the room - a rather dark and dusty entrance hall, complete with a big stairway leading up to the first floor. Though the wall at the back looked new. Harry looked at the third man again. "So… who're you?"
The man took a deep breath, but it was Black who spoke up: "That's Remus. Remus Lupin. He was one of your parents' best friends. We were inseparable in our Hogwarts years. If not for me, he'd have been your godfather." Black was talking almost as fast as Hermione in a rush, Harry thought. And he was smiling widely again. "You may be wondering why we didn't visit you, after the war." Harry hadn't but he hadn't known about Lupin until now.
"Sirius!" Lupin hissed.
Black was undeterred, wrapping his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Well, I was in prison, as you know. Innocent, though. And Remus is a werewolf."
"Sirius!" Lupin literally growled.
"He's only dangerous for about three days a month - like witches - but since werewolves are considered dark creatures, and he couldn't afford the Wolfsbane Potion, he felt too bad to visit you." Black nodded. "That has changed, though, since he now has a job. He'll be your new Defence teacher!"
"Ah." Harry didn't know what else to say. He had no idea about werewolves, other than muggle movies and comics.
"Oh…" Sirius blinked. "Please don't tell anyone about his furry little problem, will you? That could get him fired. People are afraid of werewolves."
"An unfounded, but unfortunately common, prejudice," Dumbledore said. "Werewolves are wizards like you or me. Only under the full moon, three nights per month, do they transform. And only in their cursed form can they spread the curse. Even without the Wolfsbane Potion, which grants them control over their cursed forms, they can take precautions to avoid endangering others during that time."
"Ah." That made sense to Harry. At least for the moment.
"I'm very sorry I didn't visit you," Lupin said, shaking off Black's arm. "I was in a bad place, after the war. I had lost all my friends, or so I thought, and…" He shrugged and didn't meet Harry's eyes.
"It's alright," Harry said. He wasn't certain if he meant it, but Lupin looked rather pitiful.
"So… that's settled. Let me show you the house! At least the safe parts. Which aren't that many, but we're working on it!" Black exclaimed after a moment.
"The safe parts?"
"Oh, yeah. Most of the house is littered with traps and curses. My parents went a little crazy before their death."
Harry silently wondered if that ran in the family as he followed the two strange men to the kitchen.
*****
"What are your impressions of your godfather and your future teacher?" Dumbledore asked Harry after they arrived in the small park near Privet Drive.
Harry shook his head before answering - Side-Along-Apparition didn't agree with him either. "They seem…" He searched for a diplomatic way to say 'mental'. "...to have gone through a lot?"
The Headmaster sighed. "Indeed. Both of them suffered a lot after the war, and little blame can be applied to them for it."
Harry made a noncommittal sound.
"You may be sceptical, understandably so, but I can assure you that they are both good men - although fallen on hard times. Sirius has spent more than a decade under the cruel attention of the Dementors, and Remus has been struggling with his curse since he was a child, always afraid of being hated and feared by everyone should his secret be revealed." He looked sternly at Harry.
"I won't tell anyone!" Harry quickly said.
With a smile, Dumbledore continued: "Few knew about his secret and did not fear him. Your parents were among them, and they and most of his other friends were lost in the war. In addition to that, Remus has spent all these years hating his best remaining friend, thinking he was the traitor responsible for all of this. That burdens him more than anything, I presume."
"I guess so." Harry could understand that, but he still felt some resentment. If he had known about his parents, about magic earlier…
For a few minutes, they walked towards his relatives' home in silence. "Will I be living with my godfather once he is cleared?"
"Only if you want to," the Headmaster said. With a wry smile, he added: "And not before the house has been thoroughly cleared of curses and traps - and dust and dirt."
"So… shortly before I graduate?"
Dumbledore laughed. "You may be underestimating what magic can achieve, my boy. I estimate that you could, if you want to, spend Christmas with Sirius in comfort and safety."
That would mean he could see Hermione more often, Harry thought. Sirius lived in London, after all - much closer to her new home. And… "Sir. Do you think my godfather will help Hermione?"
"I have no doubt. Sirius is a very generous person, and keenly aware that your friend was framed as a result of her helping you. As well as that, Sirius has suffered a grave injustice at the hands of the Ministry himself, just like Miss Granger. Such a shared experience will make him rather sympathetic, I think. He cannot currently access most of his family's fortune, but once he has been exonerated, that will change."
"But it's a huge sum." Harry had thought he was rich, after seeing his vault, but he couldn't have covered the Grangers' debts even if he spent all his gold.
"Your godfather was not lying when he boasted about his wealth. He can afford it - though it will certainly not be a trifle, not even for the famous Black family fortune."
That sounded good. "How long will that take?"
"Not too long. Pettigrew's trial will be held this week, and Sirius's should follow soon afterwards."
Harry felt relieved. That meant he could tell Hermione the good news before he went to Hogwarts. If everything went well.
*****
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, August 23rd, 1993
"The boys are in the garden, weeding, my dear. We didn't expect you this early."
"Thank you, Mrs Weasley. I'll go find them, then."
Previously, meeting the Weasleys hadn't made Hermione Granger feel so conflicted. On the one hand, she hated the pity Mrs Weasley was showing her. She didn't need the witch's pity - especially not since the Weasleys weren't really better off than her own parents. On the other hand, Ron's mum had accepted her without reservations, convinced of her innocence. And shared her ire at the Malfoys. And the Weasleys knew what it meant to be poor. Although they had had a longer time to get used to it. A much longer time.
She stepped out on the porch of the house and looked at the nearby pond, then closed her eyes and faced the sun for a moment. Autumn was fast approaching, and you should use an opportunity when it presented itself, as Mr Fletcher was fond of saying. Provided it was safe to do so, of course.
But she hadn't come here to sunbathe - and how she missed her summers in France! She had come to see her best friends. Shaking her head, she walked out to the garden. Harry and Ron stood there, looking at something in Ron's hand. A gnome, she realised when she reached them.
"Harry! Ron!"
"Hermione!" the two chorused. She hugged Harry while Ron disposed of the gnome in his hand by throwing it over the fence before hugging her as well. He seemed to have grown and put on some muscle during his time in Egypt. And he had gotten a tan - or at least what people with his skin tone had after a long time in the sun.
She buried the jealousy thoughts of Egypt caused her to feel, then frowned. "Shouldn't you turn them around a few times, to prevent them from coming back to the garden?"
"Well, yes. But one gnome more or less won't matter. Can't get rid of them for good anyway." Ron shrugged.
Harry laughed. "Yes. I was tempted to get some for my aunt's garden, but Ron persuaded me not to."
"Really, mate - you don't want to degnome your garden every day next summer!"
"Well… if all goes well, I won't be living there next summer," Harry said.
"Oh?" What had happened? Hermione hadn't heard anything about this.
"Yes. My godfather, Sirius Black, has offered to take custody of me."
"What?" She stared at him as his serious expression gave way to a smirk.
"Didn't I mention that?" He was even laughing now. At her.
"No, you didn't." She pursed her lips. "And why would you want to live with an escaped mass murderer who wants to kill you?" Unless that wasn't true. Hermione knew very well how wizarding justice worked.
"Well, he's innocent, for one thing," Harry said.
"Yes," Ron cut in. "The real murderer was Scabbers!"
"What?" His rat?
"Yes!" Her friend was nodding emphatically. "He was an animagus. A wizard named Peter Pettigrew."
One of Black's supposed victims, she remembered. "Like Professor McGonagall?"
"Yes. He's been hiding as Percy's and my pet for years!" Ron shuddered and looked like he wanted to retch. "Black recognised him from that picture in the Prophet, broke out and told Dumbledore. And when we got back from Egypt, Dumbledore was waiting for us. Scabbers tried to run, but the Headmaster had him stunned, petrified and bound in an instant. Too bad he didn't kill the rat!" he added with a scowl.
"If he had died, then Sirius would have trouble proving his innocence." Harry was frowning at Ron.
"He slept in my bed!" Ron retorted.
Hermione wasn't about to get into that argument. She could understand wanting revenge. All too well. "So, you'll be moving to Black's home then?"
"I'm not certain yet." Harry sighed. "I'd like to leave the Dursleys, of course, and they would be happy to see me go, but… Sirius is not exactly… well, he's been locked up for over ten years in Azkaban, and it shows."
Hermione winced. That probably meant Harry's godfather was dangerously unstable.
"I've heard people go crazy in Azkaban after a year!" Ron had the grace to blush when Hermione and Harry both glared at him. "Sorry."
"Dumbledore says he'll get better, but…" Harry shrugged. "I guess I have to see how he is come Christmas." He smiled at her. "But there's good news for you!"
"Yes?"
"Sirius is rich - really rich. He can pay your debts! And he said he'll do it," Harry added.
Her friend sounded excited, but Hermione was sceptical. Or cautious. "It's a huge sum."
"He's much richer than the Malfoys."
"Oh." He could afford it, then. And without ruining himself, unlike Harry. "But would he want to spend so much gold on a stranger? Once he is feeling better."
Harry blinked. "Well, I think so. If he wants me to live with him, he better do it!"
"Harry!" She frowned at him. "You can't decide whether or not you'll live with him over whether or not he pays my debts!"
"Sure I can! If he doesn't want to help you after you got into trouble for saving me, then he obviously doesn't care about me that much!" Harry grinned at her.
"He's got you there, Hermione." Ron grinned as well.
She huffed, but there wasn't much she could say refute that. And, if she was honest with herself, she didn't really want to say anything to refute it either.
If Harry's godfather paid her debts, then she didn't have to feel that guilty any more for wrecking her parents' lives.
"So… how about a quick game of Quidditch?" Ron asked. "The weather's perfect for it, and Mum won't have lunch ready for an hour or so - Dad's going to be late, seeing as he has to talk to the DMLE about Scabbers."
"Well…" Harry glanced at her, then at Ron.
"Sure," Hermione said, "let's do it!" She tried to sound as enthusiastic as she could. The surprised - or even shocked - expressions on her friends' faces helped.
"Really?" Ron was gaping at her.
"Yes, really." Hermione smiled. Mr Fletcher had told her to get better at flying - a good thief needed to be a good broom flyer as well. Apparition and Portkeys could be blocked much more easily than a fast broom.
She would simply have to get a better broom than the decrepit ones she had flown at Hogwarts.
*****
London, Enfield, August 23rd, 1993
Hermione Granger doubted that she would ever be any good at Quidditch. Even now, many hours after the game, she felt despondent when thinking about it. She had done embarrassingly badly in every position they had put her. They had finally settled on her being Keeper, since 'she might block a Quaffle by accident, at least', as Ginny had put it, the little traitor. She set her jaw - she would master broom riding. She had to. And no piece of wood would get the better of her. She was a witch!
And she was procrastinating, she added to herself, sighing, when she glanced at her parents. Her mum was sitting at the table, going over bills, and her dad was reading a magazine. Shaking her head, she stood up. She had to do this.
"Mum? Dad?"
They looked at her, and she couldn't help feeling that their tired smiles hid their justified anger at her. It was her fault, after all, that they had been ruined. Financially, at least. "Yes, dear?"
She took a deep breath. She had debated this - it was just hearsay, although Harry wouldn't lie to her - but her parents needed to know. If only to give them some hope. "There is a possibility that my debts will soon be paid."
"What?" Her parents looked more alarmed and suspicious than hopeful, she noticed.
"Harry has recently reconnected with his godfather, who has offered to pay my debts, since this all started when I helped save Harry. He hasn't got control of his family fortune yet, though - some legal entanglements need to be resolved first." That was a good, neutral way to speak about a charge of mass murder, she thought. Her parents didn't need to know every detail, after all. "That shouldn't take too long, though." Her smile faltered a little when her parents still didn't look like they believed her.
"Dear, we're talking about a huge sum - a real fortune. For normal people, at least," her mum said. "People don't pay that much to friends of their godchildren. No matter how rich they are."
"And even if that man did - and you haven't mentioned his name yet, I noticed," her father said, and she winced in response, "you - we - would simply owe him. Even if he said we wouldn't. There's always a catch."
She pressed her lips together. "His name is Sirius Black."
"The wanted murderer?" Her mother gasped.
"He was framed," Hermione said.
"Framed?" He father sounded even more sceptical.
"Yes, framed. But they caught the real culprit, and so he'll be exonerated soon."
Her father's scoff told her enough about his faith in wizarding justice.
"And he was in that wizard prison, with the Dementors?" Her mum's face and tone told her that she knew what that meant for Black's mental health.
"Yes."
Her parents exchanged a glance she knew very well. They didn't believe her. But she would prove them wrong. She would set this right, no matter what it took. And she would make Malfoy and the others pay for their crimes!
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, August 25th, 1993
"This is your first time at the Ministry of Magic, right?"
Harry Potter nodded at Mr Weasley without really looking at him - he was busy taking in the sights in the Atrium. So many wizards were bustling about, coming and going from the half a dozen or more fireplaces lined up along one side - the same fireplaces from which he, Ron, Percy and Ron's dad had just stepped out, or, in Harry's case, stumbled out. And there was a big marble fountain with golden statues in the middle of the hall, between them and their goal - which seemed to be a lift guarded by two wizards in grey robes.
"Those are Hit-Wizards," Percy said - he must have noticed Harry's glance. "They're wizards who specialise in magical combat, unlike Aurors."
"Aurors are the police, right?" Harry asked. He had seen them, in their red robes, when they'd arrested Hermione.
"Yes," Mr Weasley answered. "There aren't as many Hit-Wizards as Auros - they mostly guard the Ministry and Azkaban."
"In times of peace there is not much need of Hit-Wizards. Certainly not enough to justify the expense of paying a large number of them," Percy cut in, in his typical, slightly pompous, manner.
"That might be true, but it means that when you suddenly need more Hit-Wizards, you have to hire and train them first," his dad retorted. "It's better to spend more gold in peace than needed than to spend Auror lives in war." He sounded unusually serious to Harry - but then, they were here on serious business.
"Henry. Bertie." Mr Weasley nodded at the two Hit-Wizards.
"Arthur," the one on the left, Henry, responded. "Here for the trial?"
Mr Weasley nodded. "Yes."
"Nasty business. You know the way."
The doors opened, and the four stepped into the cabin. Once the lift was moving, Mr Weasley sighed. "What's wrong, Dad?" Ron asked.
"It's nothing."
The three boys exchanged glances. Harry was certain it wasn't nothing, but it wasn't as if he could push Mr Weasley. And neither Ron nor Percy seemed willing to pry either.
He shelved the thought when they arrived on the Wizengamot's floor. There were more guards here - both Hit-Wizards and Aurors - and they were quickly ushered to the seats for the audience, which Harry found were in the topmost row of the Wizengamot Chamber.
Most of the seats were already occupied - but a number of people offered him their spot when they recognised him. For once, Harry was glad about his fame, though he could have done without the whispers behind his back. Or, as he realised when he overheard some 'didn't notice him for over ten years…' comments, behind the Weasleys' backs.
He was distracted by Mr Weasley pointing out various members of the Wizengamot as they started to file in.
"There's Augusta Longbottom. She is the proxy for her grandson, until he comes of age."
"Neville will be a member of the Wizengamot?" Harry asked. It was hard to imagine the rather shy boy in this Chamber, mingling with the other impressive wizards.
"Technically, he already is, but he cannot vote until he is seventeen years old," Percy explained. "So his grandmother votes for him until then."
"There's Malfoy, the bloody bastard," Ron spat through clenched teeth.
That was the man who had forced Hermione out of Hogwarts, Harry thought as he stared at the blond wizard. He looked very similar to Draco - just taller, and even more arrogant, in his opinion. Harry wished he could curse the git.
"Must be hard for him, judging a fellow Death Eater," Ron muttered.
"He was under the Imperius," Percy said, not bothering to hide his doubt. "Officially."
"That's enough, boys," Mr Weasley said. "This is not the place for such talk."
Chastised, the three remained silent until the chamber had filed and the trial began.
Harry didn't pay much attention to the opening - he focused on Pettigrew, chained to the accused's chair, down below, in the centre of the chamber, flanked by two Aurors. The wizard who had betrayed his parents and framed his godfather looked pitiful. A small, cringing man in tattered robes, stringy, unkempt hair falling to his shoulders. And his face… He looked like the rat he had been for so many years, Harry thought.
"...accused of treason, twelve counts of murder and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. How do you plead?"
"N-not g-guilty!" Pettigrew stammered. "I'm innocent! It was all Black!"
While Pettigrew's plea was noted down and his personal information confirmed, Harry leaned over and asked Mr Weasley: "Treason?"
"Supporting the Dark Lord is considered treason," Ron's dad whispered back.
A stern-looking woman with a monocle was leading the interrogation. "Did you willingly join the Dark Lord?"
"No! No! I didn't join him! It was all Black! He forced me!"
"Did you willingly take his Dark Mark?"
"No! I didn't! I was under the Imperius!"
"Did you betray the location of James, Lily and Harry Potter to the Dark Lord?"
"No, it was Black! He is the traitor."
Harry clenched his teeth. Whatever small amount of pity he had felt for the miserable wizard down there had vanished. "Damn liar!" he muttered as Pettigrew tried to blame his godfather for all his crimes.
"I hope he gets the Kiss!" Ron whispered, glaring at the man.
With Pettigrew denying every charge, the interrogation didn't take long, and Madam Bones, the Head of the DMLE - Mr Weasley had pointed her out to him earlier - stood to address the Wizengamot.
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! You have heard the denials of the accused. He claims he had been placed under the Imperius Curse by Black and forced to join the Dark Lord, to take his mark and to betray the Potters. He spins a tale about how he barely escaped Black after the murder of the Potters, and how Black just failed to kill him while murdering a dozen muggles! And yet he cannot explain how he was able to escape Black if he were under the Imperius Curse. Or why he didn't come forward after Black's arrest - nor went to St Mungo's to have his finger regrown."
"I was afraid for my life!" Pettigrew yelled. "I knew Black would escape! He..."
A flick of the left Auror's wand cut Pettigrew off. "Silencing Charm," Percy mumbled.
Madam Bones continued unperturbed. "But, most importantly, he cannot explain why he hid as a rat among a wizarding family for twelve years, living as the pet of two of the family's sons, spending years at Hogwarts, in close proximity to Dumbledore himself, but never daring to seek the Chief Warlock's protection. He has not offered to testify under Veritaserum either.
"Honoured members of the Wizengamot! The man bears the Dark Mark. His behaviour cannot be explained by him being under the Imperius Curse, nor by him being afraid of Black - not after the Dark Lord had been killed and Black had been sent to Azkaban. No, the only explanation for the accused's actions is that he was a follower of the Dark Lord. If there is any doubt about this man's guilt, which I do not believe there is, then I ask for an interrogation under Veritaserum. Otherwise I ask for a guilty verdict, and for the accused to be imprisoned in Azkaban for the rest of his natural life."
Harry noticed that many were nodding in agreement with the witch as she sat down. Even Malfoy!
The Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, rose from his seat. "Mr Pettigrew, what do you have to say in reply to that?"
Mr Weasley whistled. "No one is willing to speak for him. That's not surprising, given the charges."
"Don't they have lawyers?" Harry asked. He was no expert, but the accused had a right to a lawyer. At least on the telly.
"Lawyers?" Mr Weasley shook his head. "This is not a muggle court. Only members of the Wizengamot have the right to speak here. Apart from witnesses and the representative of the DMLE."
"Ah." Harry nodded.
Down below, Pettigrew was blathering: "I'm innocent! It was all Black's fault! He imperiused me! I couldn't help it! I was so afraid, even with him in Azkaban! I knew he would escape! He had even fooled Dumbledore! I… I… I'm innocent!" He broke down in tears and sobbed in his chair.
The Minister rose from his seat again. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! Those among you in favour of clearing the accused of all charges, light your wands."
Very few wands lit up in response. Pettigrew wailed.
"Those among you in favour of conviction, light your wands."
The entire chamber seemed to light up as dozens of lit wands were raised.
"The accused has been found guilty of all charges. Does the Wizengamot wish to alter the requested sentence?" One wand was raised in response. "The chair recognises Mr Malfoy."
Murmurings filled the chamber as Malfoy's father stood up. "Honoured members of the Wizengamot! The crimes this man has committed are without peer. Not only has he betrayed the Potters, whose son saved us all from the Dark Lord, but he also framed the scion of the Black family, a man who should be sitting among us now as the Head of his family, causing him to be imprisoned, despite his innocence, in Azkaban for twelve years! The Chief Warlock himself reminded us just recently of the fate of a prisoner of Azkaban; I do not think I need to add anything to that. For crimes such as these, the Dementor's Kiss is the only appropriate punishment."
The murmurs grew louder. Harry stared, his mouth hanging open. Malfoy had been the last wizard he had expected to ask, no, demand that.
"Blimey!" Ron muttered. "I didn't expect that!"
"It helps to distance him from Pettigrew," Mr Weasley explained. "He only escaped prison himself because he claimed to have been imperiused."
"One rat sacrificing another rat to save himself." Ron scoffed.
When the majority of the Wizengamot followed Malfoy's suggestion and, once again, many wands lit up the chamber, Mr Weasley stood up. "Come on, boys. You don't want to see what comes next." Ron opened his mouth, probably to protest, but his dad glared at him. "No, you really don't want to see that, Ron. Come on."
They were not the only ones in the audience to leave.
*****
London, Greenwich, August 26th, 1993
Sirius Black Innocent! Peter Pettigrew the Real Killer! Sentenced to Dementor's Kiss!
Hermione Granger shook her head as she read the front page of the Daily Prophet. "How quickly justice is done if you're a pureblood and rich," she muttered, more than a bit envious of Black's good fortune.
"That's the way things are in Wizarding Britain," Mr Fletcher responded. "The rich get off. Though I wager that it's the same among muggles."
She hadn't expected him to overhear her - he had been reading the sports section in his favourite armchair and had seemed to be focused on the Quidditch scores. Another lesson in not trusting appearances. And he wasn't exactly wrong. "Yes, but it's not usually that blatant," she admitted. "Although that might be because there are too many newspapers and other media in the UK to be bought off." She was getting a tad too cynical for her age, she thought. But the things the article had said about the Weasleys, the hints about how they had to be either stupid, or would have known about Pettigrew… Someone wanted Ron's family to suffer for this, and she was certain she knew who.
Mr Fletcher laughed. "Yeah. Though the Prophet is an equal opportunity newspaper - if you have the gold, they'll write what you want." He put his own newspaper down. "But isn't this good news?"
"It is." Hermione was already feeling guilty about her envy. "Mr Black offered to pay my debts."
"Did he, now?" Mr Fletcher tilted his head sideways. "That's shockingly generous of him."
Hermione frowned at the wizard's tone. "Harry asked him to, and Mr Black thinks the world of his godson." And, from what Harry had told her, he felt terribly guilty about the death of Harry's parents.
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "That's a hell of a sum to pay to get into your godson's good graces - even if he's the Boy-Who-Lived. On the other hand, the Black fortune is legendary. More than once I toyed with the notion of breaking into the house. But it was too dangerous." He stared at her. "The Blacks earned their reputation as one of the most dangerous families in Britain. They know more dark curses than any other family, and they know how to use them as well. Black's cousin Bellatrix was the Dark Lord's right hand. Deadliest witch in decades. And Black's got a reputation as well." He snorted. "I bet that also played a role in his exoneration - he wasn't present at his trial, but remained in hiding. So everyone knew that if they voted against him, he would know - and could get at them. Or their families. If you steal from the likes of him, you have to make dead certain that no one knows it was you, or they'll hunt you down and kill you - slowly."
She didn't think planning to rob Harry's godfather was a good idea - especially not after his generous offer. "He seems like a good man. He fought the Dark Lord, until he was unjustly imprisoned without trial."
"I've met him a few times in the past," he answered. Hermione filed that away with the other information her tutor had let slip about his past. "Brave and brash, the stereotypical Gryffindor - though that was before he went to Azkaban. That changes a man."
Hermione knew that as well. "He might change his opinion about me too, once he recovers from that ordeal."
Mr Fletcher laughed again. "You don't 'recover' from bleedin' Azkaban. I 'aven't yet met anyone who did."
She nodded.
"But it affects people differently. Most go mad in there, but some come out broken, and some come out… nastier. Crazier. Knew one cutpurse, got caught once too many times, and spent a year in Azkaban. 'E came back a killer. Didn't cut purses any more - 'e cut people. Ta pieces. Took an Auror down with 'im when they ran 'im down." He was staring at the wall now. "Never thought bleedin' Cuttin' Curses coulda done that."
She shivered. "Well, Dumbledore thinks Mr Black is safe to be around."
Mr Fletcher scoffed. After a moment, he took a deep breath, and continued, his accent gone again. "Even if Black pays your debt, even if he says it's a gift, you'll owe him. You'll owe him big." He grinned. "You want to get even with people - for good or ill."
She couldn't deny that. "I plan to get the gold back from the pureblood bigots anyway. With interest."
He laughed, but not in a patronising way. "And with that said, let's get started on today's lesson. Today, we'll study the Supersensory Charm. It's not third year material, but after seeing how you did in your tests, I don't doubt that you'll cast it easily."
Hermione smiled - she had done well in her mock-exams. Not as well as she would have had she stayed at Hogwarts, of course. But more than well enough. And she was determined to keep that up. She had to if she wanted to get her revenge.
*****
Hogwarts Express, September 1st, 1993
Harry Potter was looking out of the window, watching the landscape pass as the train wound its way up north, towards Scotland. Ron was reading the latest issue of Quidditch Weekly for the third time - today. "You know," the redhead suddenly spoke up, "usually, Mum asks me if I've packed all my things. Today, she asked if I remembered the advanced locking charm Bill taught us in Egypt."
Harry remembered the scene - he had been present, after all. And Mrs Weasley had been adamant that neither her children nor Harry would be framed as thieves. "Hermione wasn't that impressed by the charm, though."
"She's Hermione. The charm will keep Slytherins out, at least."
Harry could have pointed out that Hermione had been the one Malfoy and the other Slytherins had framed, but that wouldn't have served any purpose. He had to trust that the measures the Headmaster had said he had taken would prevent them from repeating their foul plot. "We'll still have to be on our guard."
"Can't trust the slimy snakes," Ron agreed.
Hermione would have told them that snakes weren't slimy, Harry thought. He sighed. At least they could meet her on Hogsmeade Weekends. Probably in the local bookshop, he thought with a grin, then frowned - she might not have the money to buy the books she wanted. Harry did, though. He couldn't pay her debts, but he could at least pay for her books.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door started to rattle - someone was trying to get in. He heard some incantations as he drew his wand, noting that Ron had done the same, and loudly asked: "Who's there?"
"Open up, Potter! Or are you scared?"
Malfoy. Harry snarled. He wanted to hex the git.
"Do it yourself. Or are you too stupid to open a door, Malfoy? Need your father to do it?" Ron yelled back.
"You… just you wait! Granger's gone, and you're next!"
"He doesn't even bother lying about it," Harry muttered as Malfoy tried once more to open the door, before moving away.
"Everyone knows it was him anyway. Everyone who counts, at least." Ron scoffed.
Harry nodded, but he knew that enough students believed that Hermione had really stolen from the Slytherins. Or wanted to believe that.
*****
Hogwarts, September 2nd, 1993
"Have you heard? Malfoy got detention! On the very first day of classes!" Ron yelled with a wide smile as Harry came down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room from their dorm .
"For the rest of the week!" Lavender cut in, nodding several times. "Parvati heard it from Padma, who heard it from Zabini." The witch lowered her voice until half the room was crowding around her. "He threatened that second year muggleborn, Colin Creevey, who went and told McGonagall. And an hour later, Snape's tearing strips off Malfoy's hide."
"Snape? Punishing Malfoy?" Harry shook his head. He couldn't believe that.
"Zabini said that Snape told the Slytherins that if he had to punish them because they went against the Headmaster's rules, then he'd make them suffer even more for the humiliation," Lavender went on.
"Zabini is a snake. He probably wants us to think that," Ron said, scowling.
"Even Snape fears Dumbledore." Neville shook his head, then cringed when he realised he had the room's attention. He continued, though: "And Dumbledore was very clear at the feast that anyone trying to get others in trouble would regret it."
"Malfoy was rather quiet at dinner," Harry pointed out. "And the Slytherins didn't jeer at us either."
"Well, good!" Ron huffed. "They should expel him. And the rest of his snakes."
"Not Zabini, though. He's dreamy!" Lavender said with a smile.
"He's a snake!" Ron yelled.
Harry slipped away while Ron and Lavender started to argue about Zabini. Lupin had asked Harry to meet him after dinner, and Harry didn't want to discuss how fanciable Zabini was, or how stupid it was to trust a Slytherin.
*****
"Ah, there you are, Harry. Come in." Lupin sounded even more tired than he had an hour ago, in their first Defence lesson of the year.
Harry had barely taken a step inside when he found himself gathered in a tight hug. "Harry! How do you like being back at Hogwarts?" Sirius Black was apparently visiting his old friend and in a chipper mood.
"Hi, Sirius," Harry said after he had been put back down on the ground. He glanced around. Lupin's quarters were adjacent to the Defence classroom, and he was familiar with them, having helped Lockhart with his fan mail last year. Lupin didn't seem to have made many changes - other than the massive cage in the corner. There would be a full moon tonight, he remembered. "It's weird to be here without Hermione. And the rumours are running wild about the Slytherins."
"Oh! Just like James, when Lily had been sick for a week!" Sirius said, nodding with a grin before blinking. "Or was that the Easter break?" His eyes lost their focus, and Harry didn't catch what he was mumbling under his breath.
Lupin cleared his throat, drawing Harry's attention. "The Headmaster has made clear that he will not tolerate another incident such as what happened to Miss Granger. Apart from having instructed the house-elves and rearranged the portraits to keep an eye on the dorms and the students between classes, he has also had a quiet word with each Head of House, or so I gather, to ensure they will keep their students under control."
Sirius snorted, apparently no longer lost in his thoughts. "The only teacher with whom he needed to speak was Snape. Bloody... bastard," he finished, and Harry caught Lupin glaring at his godfather.
"I heard Malfoy received detention." Harry tried to look as if he wasn't fishing for information.
"That is correct." Lupin looked grim. "He threatened students with expulsion, hinting that they would be exposed as criminals. The Headmaster wasn't amused."
"Bloody git! As rotten as his father," Sirius snarled. "Did I tell you that Lucius Malfoy is trying to prevent me from taking over my family's affairs? He has 'voiced concerns about my mental state'," he added with a sneer. "Call me crazy, will he? I'll show him crazy!"
"No, you won't," Lupin said firmly, despite his obvious physical discomfort. "That's exactly what he wants you to do. Dumbledore has said that the most Malfoy can do is delay your taking control of the Black fortune - as long as you don't play into his hands."
Sirius looked mulish, but nodded. Harry couldn't help feeling that Malfoy's depiction of Sirius's mental health wasn't completely wrong. "How long will that take?"
"A few months at most," Sirius said.
"Provided Sirius behaves," Lupin added.
"I've just been talking to a few of my soon to be honoured colleagues." Harry's godfather grinned widely and shrugged. "Told them my tale of woe from Azkaban, a few tales from the war… they were very understanding."
"Just be careful." Lupin sighed, as if he didn't think Sirius would manage.
"Anyway, I've not - just - visited dear Moony to see you and bore you with talk about politics," Sirius said, sitting down on the couch. "There's a more serious matter to discuss as well."
More serious than his godfather's gold and Malfoy's plots? Harry looked at him.
"We need to train you, Harry."
"Train me?"
"Yes. Dumbledore told us that Voldemort isn't dead, as most people think."
"I know. I met him last year." Harry pressed his lips together.
He remembered that grotesque figure stumbling out of the dungeons when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been caught out after curfew by Quirrell. It had come straight at them. "Inferi!" Quirrell had yelled and stepped into the thing's path, his wand flashing, but his curses had no effect on the attacker. Not before it had reached him and swatted him aside with inhuman force, smashing him against the stone wall. The sound of the teacher's head cracking open, the sight of the blood and brains on the wall… Harry shuddered at the memory. And that paled in comparison to the sound of two voices screaming themselves raw and the horrid smell as the creature was burned alive by his own touch...
"Harry?"
"Harry!"
He shook his head. "I'm alright. Just remembering."
The two wizards exchanged a glance. "Anyway," Sirius said, "He is out there, a shade, a ghost, or something else, we don't know. But we do know that he wants to kill you. Almost did, too. Of course, we'll do our best to protect you, along with Dumbledore, but this is Voldemort we're talking about - our best may not be enough. And you can't depend on Lily's protection either. So you need training in Defence."
"You won't be able to take on the Dark Lord in a duel, of course," Lupin took over, "but it might be enough, combined with everything else, to escape him."
Harry slowly nodded. He had mixed feelings about this. On one hand it was refreshing to see that they were open and honest with him about his chances. On the other hand, it was also rather depressing.
"Mad-Eye Moody wanted to train you, said you had talent, but you're not yet ready for Moody's insane idea of 'training', Sirius went on. "Might as well face the Dark Lord - that might be less dangerous. So Moony and I will train you, a few evenings a week. Shouldn't cut into your Quidditch training sessions. Can't let the snakes win the cup, now, can we?"
Harry's godfather apparently didn't know the current team captain, Harry thought - Wood was a maniac when it came to training. But this was more important. But… "Can Ron join us? He was there too, when Voldemort attacked me. And he's my best friend." Best mate, in any case.
"Of course!" Sirius said at once with a wide smile. "Just like James and me!"
Harry didn't know if that was a good thing.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, September 4th, 1993
"Mr Smith?" Hermione tilted her head to the side, as she had practised. "I think this 'at 'ere looks best." She held her wand with two fingers as she pointed it at a wide-brimmed hat on the rack in Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions - apparently, pointing with your bare hand was considered a gaffe, as was holding your wand as if you were ready to cast a spell. She brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled brightly at her tutor.
"Ah." Mr Fletcher looked at her, then turned back to the saleswitch with whom he had been chatting - flirting, Hermione thought, despite the age difference. "Pardon me a moment, dear. It looks like my charge has made her selection."
He walked over to her and bent a bit down to peer at the hat. "A classic, Miss Abel."
"Thank you, Mr Smith." Hermione dipped her head, slightly tilted still, and kept smiling as if she had just been praised for an excellent essay by Professor McGonagall.
"But it might not go too well with your robes." Mr Fletcher rubbed his chin. "Dear, do you have matching robes in stock? Elegant, but not too daring - nothing French, please."
The shop did have such robes in stock, of course, and Hermione found herself being fitted with new robes quickly enough. And they weren't at all daring, in her - admittedly uninformed - opinion.
"How did I do?" she asked half an hour later when they had left the shop and she noticed Mr Fletcher subtly casting a privacy spell.
"Passable. The accent was still a little overdone, but that can be explained by being a recent arrival. You need to add just a hint of French, nothing more," Mr Fletcher said. "Remember: You're a young witch born out of wedlock, and you're trying your best to fit in in your father's country."
She snorted, but kept her vapid smile in place. At least the wig she was wearing didn't itch and the fake glasses were charmed to be near weightless. "It seems as if I just have to act as if I don't care about anything but appearances."
"Appearances are crucial in our business," her tutor chided her. "You need to fit in perfectly, so no one will ever suspect you of having even the slightest nefarious thought."
She had known that, though acting like some of the girls in her dorm - her former dorm - grated. "And do I have to flirt with the saleswitches too?"
He laughed. "No. But you need to know how to treat the staff. Friendly enough so they don't despise you, but also with the right amount of aloofness to fit your role as a pureblood." He snorted. "You can't afford to underestimate the staff. Even house-elves, whose limited magic barely makes them more competent than muggle servants, can spoil a heist. They are too weak to stop you, or even slow you down, but they are sneaky, generally know their master's house better than the owners themselves, and all they need to do is to sound an alarm to ruin your day. They, like human servants, see much more than their masters suspect. And most of them gossip like schoolgirls." He grinned. "You'll find that out yourself, when you're learning how to act as a maid."
"I can't wait." She didn't care to hide her lack of enthusiasm.
He chuckled, presumably at her expression - she had remembered to pout, to stay in her role, instead of scowling. "Oh, it's not that bad. Only fools mistreat their servants, and such fools rarely have anything worth the effort - or if they do, posing as their servant isn't necessary."
She huffed. "Why do wizards even have servants? There's a spell for everything." She had seen Mrs Weasley do the work of half a dozen housewives in an afternoon using magic.
"Status, of course. Whether it's a house-elf, who generally are limited to the oldest families, or human servants, having others serve you is a status symbol. Some purebloods claim it allows them to focus their magic on important things instead of wasting it on trivial chores, but that's hogwash. It's not as if you have a limited amount of magic at your disposal."
"You get tired, though," Hermione retorted. At least she felt winded after a long practice session.
"Yes. But that's mental and physical exhaustion. And the harder you train, the less exhausted you'll be when it counts."
His grin widened a bit, and she knew there was a hard practice session in her near future.
*****
Hogwarts, September 6th, 1993
"Are you OK, mate?" Ron asked as he and Harry Potter made their way from the Gryffindor tower to Lupin's quarters.
"Do I look like I'm OK?" Harry shot back, a little more heated than he'd wanted.
"You look like you've been used as a practice target for a swarm of Bludgers." Ron was as blunt as ever.
"That's exactly what happened," Harry answered. "Wood wanted to 'stress-test' your brothers and released eight Bludgers."
"What? That's stupid! There's never more than two of them in play!"
"That's Wood." Harry sneered as he imitated his team captain's speech: "'If you can defend our Seeker against eight Bludgers, you'll have no problem at all when there are only two of them!' the bloke said. And, as we found out, they can't defend me against eight Bludgers. And I can't dodge that many either." He rubbed his shoulder, which, even after a visit to the infirmary, still hurt. At least the Bludgers had been training balls, not the real deal, or he'd be drinking Skele-Gro for days.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron shook his head. "I'm almost sorry I missed practice. But I needed to finish my Transfiguration homework. Percy insisted."
Harry groaned. He had yet to finish his.
*****
"Hello, Harry. Good evening, Mr Weasley."
"Ah. Hi, Harry. Ron."
Lupin's greeting was as cordial as ever, but Sirius took a deep breath before addressing them, Harry noticed, and didn't seem to be too happy to see him. His godfather hadn't stood to greet him, and he had a glass filled with amber liquid in his hand - drinking before dinner usually meant bad news when Uncle Vernon did it.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked. He didn't think refusing to to go along with Sirius's plan to use detentions as a cover for his training was the reason for the other wizard's mood; Harry couldn't afford to get a reputation as a troublemaker with Malfoy around.
"Wrong?" Sirius scoffed. "Nothing's wrong… but nothing's right either!" He downed his glass and then coughed fire. "You haven't heard then."
"No. We were in the Infirmary," Harry said. "Quidditch training accident!" he hastily added when Sirius's head whipped around and the man drew his wand while rising from his seat.
"Ah." Sirius sat down again. "Someone stole my revenge. Again!"
"I told you: Such talk will make you a suspect!" Lupin glared at Sirius, then sighed when the latter simply glared back. "Barty Crouch was found dead in his home."
Harry had never heard of Barty Crouch, and his face must have shown that, since Lupin elaborated. "He was the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, but before that, he was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."
"He was the bastard who threw me into Azkaban without a trial!" Sirius hissed. "And now he's dead, like Wormtail - and I didn't get to kill either of them!"
Harry really hoped that his godfather had a good alibi, because it seemed as if Sirius would be the main suspect.
*****
Chapter 4: Adapting
Starfox5
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Chapter 4: Adapting
Hogwarts, September 16th, 1993
Double Potions had been weird, Ron Weasley thought as he left the classroom. Snape hadn't been acting like the slimy git he was. Not as usual, at least. He had still nearly cursed Neville when the Gryffindor had mixed up slicing and dicing, and his comment when Lavender had managed to dip her hair into her potion by accident had left the witch in tears, but that was normal. But he had shown the same vicious attitude towards the snakes as well. It seemed the first week hadn't been a fluke, then. The Headmaster might really be keeping the snakes on a short leash, and had Snape do it too. And the git must hate it, Ron thought with a smirk.
He still wasn't the only one among the Gryffindors to sigh with relief when they reached the school's courtyard - no one smart trusted the snakes. They had demonstrated just how rotten they were last year. First the plot against Harry, and then Hermione.
"This Sunday is Hermione's birthday," Harry said as they walked towards the Gryffindor dorms. "Have you gotten her a gift yet?"
"Percy's old Transfiguration notes," Ron answered. "She'll like them, I think." His brother had made a copy of them, to be exact, but that shouldn't matter.
"Oh." Harry looked impressed. "That was a good idea. I bought her a copy of the new Defence book when I bought mine."
Not second-hand, Ron would have bet. But his gift was probably more useful - Percy had noted down everything the teacher had said. He shrugged. "Is Hedwig back yet?"
Harry blinked. "She should be. I'll go check the Owlery!" He looked at Ron. "Are you coming?"
Ron grimaced. "I can't. I have to get a book from the library first."
"What?" Harry stared at him.
"Percy wanted a few favours in exchange for his notes." Ron felt a bit angry - both at the indirect admission that he hadn't spent money on Hermione's gift and at Harry's obvious surprise at him heading to the library.
"Alright. See you later then."
"Be careful." You couldn't trust the snakes. Sooner or later, Malfoy would try something again.
"Of course." Harry grinned. "Moody gave me a few tips, remember?"
"Yeah." Ron had heard the story a few times now, and still wasn't certain if he should be jealous or glad that he hadn't met the man. His friend nodded, and went off towards the Owlery.
Ron sighed and headed towards the library. Percy was riding him hard, and not just for the notes. His brother was also nagging him to study and do his homework. Like a male, older Hermione.
He crossed the courtyard, then took a left, into one of the less used hallways. If people were after you, you couldn't be predictable. Growing up with his elder brothers had taught him that.
"Hello, Ron!"
The cheerful greeting from the side corridor he had been passing took him by surprise, and he jerked, almost fumbling his wand in the process. "What?"
"Not 'what', at least I don't think so. 'Who', probably." A young witch stepped up to him, seemingly uncaring of his aimed wand. He recognised her.
"Luna." Luna Lovegood. Second-year Ravenclaw.
"Yes." She nodded, beaming at him. "I wasn't sure whether you'd recognise me - we haven't seen each other for a while."
Ron fought not to wince. The Lovegoods lived near the Weasleys - closer than the Diggorys, even - and Luna had often been over at The Burrow, playing with Ginny. And with him, more often than not. But since Luna's mother had died, a few years ago, she hadn't come over any more. Mum had said Mr Lovegood had become 'weird'. He nodded. "Yes. Things have been busy, too."
She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Daddy told me all about your fight with the troll possessed by the Dark Lord. To turn him into stone with a mirror, how clever!"
"Err…" That wasn't how it had happened. The troll hadn't been possessed either. "Something like that."
"And the revelation about your pet! To think it was responsible for the breaking up of The Hobgoblins!"
"The what?" Ron felt lost. What was she talking about?
"The Hobgoblins! The famous band. They broke up after their singer was imprisoned in Azkaban. Of course, they claimed he was dead, but that was just a cover up to hide the scandal that Stubby Boardman had been framed for murder - though they didn't know that he had been framed, so they probably thought he was a murderer." She blinked slowly. "Although, while heinous and evil, I can somewhat understand why your pet would do such a thing after Stubby Boardman used a dark ritual to turn it into a half-man. For a rat, that must have felt like being a werewolf, suddenly having a human body half of the time. And as a rat, it couldn't have understood human laws either."
"Ah." Ron now remembered why his mum had broken off contact with the Lovegoods. Ginny had started to talk like Luna.
She wrinkled her nose. "It's so sad that it was Kissed. Now we cannot ask its perspective - which would have been fascinating. Although I now wonder… if the Dementor's Kiss worked, it must have had a soul. And rats don't have souls." She gasped. "Did Boardman use a dark ritual to graft a human soul on to the rat?"
"I don't think so," Ron said, forcing himself to keep smiling politely. "Dumbledore would have noticed."
"But Dumbledore didn't notice Malfoy's plot either," Luna retorted. "He might need to replace his glasses." She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. Ron found himself leaning towards her almost against his will. "He is a Seer who can see alternate worlds. Worlds where the sky is pink, for example, and only fishes use wands. But he needs his special glasses to see our world."
Ron tried to find a way to lose the girl without insulting her. "Well… I need to go to the library. Percy needs a book before dinner. You know how he is."
"Oh? What a coincidence! I'm on my way to the library as well!" She held up her book bag, which seemed to rival Hermione's in size. "Someone must have stolen all The Quibbler issues there, so I need to replace them. We can't let the students grow up ignorant!"
"Of course." If in doubt, smiling and nodding was a good answer, Ron knew. It worked on parents and hopefully on weird witches as well.
"Nargles might have taken the issues - they were not placed in boxes kept locked with butterbeer corks. They like to steal things and hide them around the school. They've done that to me very often."
"Nargles?"
"Small invisible flying magical creatures. They like to hide in people's hair and steal their common sense if they can't steal other things. Daddy did a series on them in The Quibbler. Have you read the articles?"
"No, I haven't."
"You should. I lost a lot of things to them in Hogwarts, and I would have lost even more if I hadn't been able to use the right sort of protections." Luna blinked. "Although they haven't stolen anything from me since term started. Maybe the Headmaster managed to drive them off?"
"Probably." Ron remembered that last year Ginny had said something about Luna missing clothes. He frowned. "Are you certain that the thieves were Nargles?"
Luna nodded rapidly. "Yes. Who else would steal my clothes and shoes? It's not as if they are expensive, and any witch who wanted her own could duplicate them instead."
Ron could think of a few people who would steal things just to hurt someone, but they were in Slytherin. He wouldn't have expected their ilk to be in Ravenclaw as well.
They reached the library after Luna had told him all about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks as well. "Do you need help distributing the issues?" Ron asked, feeling a little guilty about ignoring the girl.
"Thank you, but no. I have everything here. Go and fetch Percy's book!" Luna beamed at him. "It was nice talking to you again. Can you give Ginny my regards?"
"Sure."
Seeing her smile at him made him feel even more guilty.
London, Greenwich, September 17th, 1993
Hermione Granger pointed her wand at the newspaper lying on the kitchen counter and concentrated.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
The paper twitched and slid towards her - a few inches. She clenched her teeth and tried again.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
This time the issue made it all the way off the counter, landing on the floor. She thought she heard an amused snort behind her. Snarling, she focused on that irritating excuse for a newspaper. She wanted to read it. She wanted it, period.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
The newspaper flew towards her, landing on top of the dinner table, amidst her 'homework'.
"Impressive."
She turned her head and glared at Mr Fletcher with narrowed eyes. "It was supposed to land in my hand."
"Then you need to practise more." A flick of his wand and the newspaper shot off the table and slammed against the wall in the kitchen. A silent Banishing Charm, Hermione noted.
Huffing, she tried again.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
It took her half an hour until the newspaper landed in her hand, but she did it. Smiling proudly, she held it up.
"Impressive - for a third year." Her tutor nodded. "Although you'll need to be able to summon things from farther away for that spell to be useful in the field."
She frowned. "Aren't most valuables protected against that charm?" He had mentioned that, a few weeks ago.
"Not all of them. Many wizards trust their wards to keep thieves out and their belongings in, so they do not use additional protections in their homes - they want to be able to summon their things, you see."
"Ah."
"Indeed. Theoretically, even the average wizard could protect his home quite effectively against thieves. But all the security measures would inconvenience them - they would have to get up and pick up everything by hand, and would have to use Unlocking Charms and recast their Locking Charms all the time for even the simplest things. So most don't." He grinned. "Most don't have anything worth breaking into their homes for, of course, but even the rich purebloods are often lazy and leave holes in their protection."
"Ah!" That made sense. "You don't want to open a safe each time you want to use your silverware."
"Exactly - unless you have servants to do it for you. Or you use conjured silverware anyway. Each mark is different - and has different protections."
"But everyone has wards on their homes, right?" They needed to, to keep other wizards from apparating into their houses, or vanishing their doors or walls.
"Yes. Some wizards might try to hide as muggles, and forego wards so they don't give them away, but that's the same as dropping your gold in the forest and hoping that no one finds it." He scoffed. "Some tried that - hiding as muggles - in the war. They were found, though."
"How?" She would have thought that it would be hard to find anyone among sixty million muggles.
"Friends betrayed them - willingly or not."
"Ah." He had lectured her often that humans were the weak spot in many protection schemes. And, if she was understanding him correctly, he had lost friends during the war who had been trying to hide like that. Another puzzle piece fit into her mental picture of her tutor. "So… Once I'm through the wards, I could try a Summoning Charm and hope I get lucky?"
"You'll have to know what you're after - and that it's not covered by an alarm charm."
Which meant it was a bad idea. She frowned.
"Mind you, there are things you can sell - or use for your heist - that usually aren't protected against Summoning Charms. Keys, for example."
"What?" That made no sense at all!
He laughed. "I told you - wizards are lazy. They don't want to search for their keys, and want to be able to summon them."
"But those kind of wizards usually don't have much worth stealing, right?"
"You're learning!" He grinned and went back to his own reading.
Hermione opened the newspaper. The front page was full of speculation about Barty Crouch's murder. Speculation she had read a few times already. "You'd think they would have found a more interesting topic by now," she muttered.
"Not if they are getting paid to repeat themselves," Mr Fletcher said without looking up from his book. "The more they hint that Black had a reason to murder Crouch, the better for Malfoy."
She clenched her teeth. Malfoy again! "Mr Black was able to clear his name before, and quickly."
"That was because the Ministry had Pettigrew, and Dumbledore threw his weight behind Black. And Malfoy probably decided that he could use the affair to hurt the Weasleys." Her tutor shrugged. "But this? Black has an alibi, and a good one - Dumbledore himself testified that he was in Hogwarts at the time of the murder - so they can't arrest him. But the Prophet can speculate about Black's involvement as much as they want and get paid for it - the only way Black could shut them up would be to produce the actual murderer. Veritaserum won't prove anything after his stint in Azkaban; the Dementors left his memory with more holes than a sieve."
To lose her happiest memories, of her family and friends… Hermione shuddered. "But who could have done it? The wards were intact, weren't they?"
"Yeah, they were." Mr Fletcher nodded. "Not a trace of manipulation. Which means that this was either done by a good Curse-Breaker, or by someone who was keyed into the wards."
"But Crouch was living alone, with just a house-elf, who was killed as well." Hermione had followed the case.
"Yes. So that leaves either one of his friends or acquaintances who visited him - which is not a long list, but does include a few very influential people - or a Curse-Breaker. Or a good thief." He chuckled at her expression. "Good thieves are among the best Curse-Breakers, since they have to know how to disable curses and traps, and slip or break through wards. And they live as dangerously as Curse-Breakers, too."
She sniffed. It wasn't the first time he had hinted at the dangers of thieving. If she were frightened off by danger, she would have left Hogwarts after the troll. "So, when do we start on Curse-Breaking?"
He laughed, but it sounded a bit forced to her. "Once you have finished your third year material."
Hermione huffed and pushed the Daily Prophet away. Time to study some more.
Hogwarts, September 19th, 1993
"Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you asked your godfather to include me in this training?"
Harry Potter was impressed by how much breath Ron had left - Harry had trouble just breathing, so he nodded. "Yes." After another gulp of air, he added: "Often."
"I'll take it all back, mate." Ron groaned as he slowly sat up.
"No returns!" Harry mumbled, getting up himself. He wasn't about to do this alone.
"Get up, you two! Death Eaters won't give you any time to rest and recover!" Sirius yelled at them. A flick of his wand, and a few Stinging Hexes followed.
Harry rolled to the side, but Ron was a little too slow, and yelped when he got hit. "I wasn't even ready!" Ron complained.
"There are no rules in a fight!" Sirius shook his head. "We're not duelling here. There's no referee stepping in."
"So far we haven't done any fighting, just running," Harry muttered.
"We haven't even learned how to cast a Shield Charm," Ron added.
"And you won't until you can move without attracting curses." Sirius scoffed. "We're not teaching you how to hex Slytherins in the hallways, but how to survive when Death Eaters come after you. And that means running the hell away without being hit."
Remus sighed. "What Sirius should be saying is that this is the first step. We're deliberately not teaching you how to cast a shield, or any curses, until you have learned how to move in a fight. Many of your enemies will be using the Unforgivables, and no shield protects against them. The only defences are hard cover - or not being hit."
"And you're not good enough at Transfiguration or Conjuration to make your own cover," Sirius added.
"Yet," Harry muttered. He would be good enough as soon as possible - he was sick of getting hit without being able to hit back.
"So, we're playing dodge the Bludger…" Ron sighed.
"You aren't dodging the curses; you're dodging the caster. Unless it's long range, most spells will be too fast for you to spot them and get out of the way. But when you're not at the spot at which the enemy is aiming, the effect is the same. It's much harder to hit a moving target than a stationary one. Which means you need to keep moving, and in an unpredictable way, preferably at an angle too," Remus explained.
"Which you haven't managed yet," Sirius cut in.
"You've been getting better at it, though," Remus added with a smile.
"Just wait until we get to curse you back!" Ron said.
Sirius laughed. "You'll have to master the Shield Charm first. And that'll take a while. A long while if what we've seen so far is the best you have. So, I'm not really worried."
Harry glanced at Ron, who nodded at him as they lined up again opposite the two older wizards in the Defence classroom.
Sirius and Remus might stick to their program of Moving, Shielding and then Cursing. But Harry and Ron were also learning spells in the normal Defence lessons. And they could ask Ron's brothers for some help too.
They would get back at their 'teachers'.
London, East End, September 19th, 1993
"Alright, this looks like a good spot." Mr Fletcher nodded to himself.
"I guess that means you've been here before," Hermione said, looking around the abandoned plant.
He laughed. "Ah, yes. Good catch!"
Hermione sniffed - it was an easy deduction. Her tutor had stressed that a good thief had to prepare and case a joint in almost every lesson, and she doubted that he'd neglect his own rules. "And what are we doing here? Curse-Breaking?" she added, hoping she was correct - she wanted to finally learn how to break through wards.
"No." He shook his head. "You're not yet ready for that. No, you'll be learning… let's call it 'Defence against the Aurors'." He nodded at his own words.
"'Defence against the Aurors'?" That sounded… well, not too bad, actually, she thought.
"Yeah. The best defence is not to be seen in the first place, but sometimes that doesn't work. Plans can fail, people make mistakes, marks go home early, or it turns out the master of the house is having an affair with an servant in a supposedly unused guest room." He chuckled briefly. Hermione wondered how many of his examples he had experienced himself. "In that case you have to react quickly or you'll end up caught."
Hermione nodded and moved to a rusty machine to use as a makeshift desk so she could write this down.
"Best case is that whoever saw you runs away and calls the Aurors. That means you have enough time to get away before they arrive. But you have to react quickly - they won't take long." He frowned. "Never think that you just need a minute, that you 'ave enough time to take what you came for! If someone discovers you, get the 'ell away!"
"Noted."
He snorted. "It's worse if the mark attacks you and calls the Aurors at the same time - that makes getting away harder. And some naive thieves might think they just have to stun the mark, and then get on with the heist." He shook his head. "Never do that. No matter who discovered you, or what they do, you need to get away. They don't need to use the fireplace to call the Aurors; they can have alarm charms set up for that as well. Or someone else could be calling them."
Her planned retort died on her tongue and she underlined that point.
"But the worst case is when they attack you, but aren't calling the Aurors. That usually means that you are dealing with a criminal yourself - and they are generally willing to kill to protect their loot. Most Aurors are predictable - we know what they learn in training, and few ever develop their own spells or tactics. But dark wizards? The kind who would keep the Aurors from entering their homes even while it's being robbed? They will do their best to kill you."
Hermione underlined that note as well.
"So, let's look at what you can do to get away when the curses are flying at you. As I told ya, the best defence is not to be seen - so anything that conceals you will help a lot. If you use smoke, use coloured smoke - green, if possible. People will think it's poison, and will either flee or spend time countering it."
"Wouldn't walls be a better choice? They block spells," Hermione said.
"Until they meet a Blasting Curse, and you get showered with stone or metal splinters," Mr Fletcher retorted. "Don't get me wrong - walls have their place. If Killing Curses are being thrown around, you want something solid to cover you while you get away. And not everyone is willing to blow up their own house to get a thief. Many are, however."
"Thanks to Mending Charms," Hermione muttered.
"Yes." He grinned.
"And there are distractions. Conjured animals behind them, fake sounds, explosions - if you have the time, set up a distraction in advance that you can trigger when you need it."
Hermione had a few ideas.
"But sooner or later, it all comes down to how quick you are on your feet. The best distractions, cover and concealment are useless if you're not fast enough to get away, or don't know the right spells to create an escape route when you need one." He grinned. "And today, we're going to train the former."
His smile reminded her of the smiles of some of her muggle classmates when their teacher had them play prisonball in PE. She just knew that this would be a painful, exhausting lesson.
And, as usual, if she did say so herself, she was right.
Hogsmeade, October 30th, 1993
"Our first Hogsmeade weekend!" Ron had been repeating the phrase a few times on their way to the village.
Harry Potter nodded in agreement as his friend stuck his head out of their carriage again, to check how much longer it would be until they arrived.
Ron slid back into his seat. "You know, we could have visited before."
Harry frowned. "The tunnels Sirius showed us were meant to let us escape an attacker, not to visit Hogsmeade."
"That's why Sirius was grinning widely when he showed us how to enter, and told us three times that the tunnels lead to Hogsmeade?" Ron scoffed. "He might as well have told us to sneak out."
His godfather had probably been lost in his memories - or the remains of them - Harry thought. "He also told us several times each training session that we have to be careful because Voldemort is out there, just waiting for a mistake."
"If visiting Hogsmeade were a mistake we wouldn't be sitting here," Ron retorted.
"We're not exactly alone," Harry said.
"What?" Ron drew his wand and looked around. "Where? And how did you know?"
"One of them is up in the air on a broom, above us." Harry was guessing, but it was a good guess. The carriage hadn't seemed heavier than the other empty ones, and no one was inside. That left air cover as the best way to protect them.
Ron stuck his head out again and looked up. "Can't see anything."
"We would need the right spell for that," Harry said. "I guess Remus is waiting for us in Hogsmeade, to keep an eye on us." It wouldn't be unusual for a teacher to play chaperone - especially on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term.
Ron sighed, then perked up. "Well, it's a good thing."
Harry frowned. "Do you think we'll get attacked?
"Not by Voldemort. But the snakes might give us trouble."
Harry cursed - the Slytherins would indeed make trouble if they thought they could get away with it. Especially given Harry and Ron's plans for the visit.
"There she is! Hermione!" Ron was waving and yelling. If anyone in the school had not expected them to meet their friend, they would be proven wrong right now.
Harry smiled, though, instead of frowning - it wasn't as if they could have avoided that. For all the hype and excitement among the students, Hogsmeade was actually a tiny village, and there were only so many places you could visit - Harry and Ron had had to learn the layout of the village by heart so they wouldn't get lost in an emergency.
Their friend was waving at them too. Hermione was looking well, Harry thought - she was smiling and waving from her spot at the station. Her muggle clothes - jeans and sweater and a short jacket - looked nice, but they also made her stand out among the robes of the student and villagers.
"Harry! Ron!" She didn't move from her spot until they had reached her, but then she stepped up and hugged them - Harry first. She felt different in his arms, harder. But that might have just been the clothes, he reasoned as he rubbed one of his lingering bruises.
"Oof!" Ron yelped. "Careful with the side; it's still sore."
And there was her familiar frown, Harry thought. "What have you been doing?"
"Training," Ron said. "Defence."
"Yes. And Quidditch too, in my case," Harry added.
Their friend looked as if she was torn between telling them off for getting hurt - and playing a dangerous sport - and praising them for their studying. "Don't overdo it, though. It you keep getting hurt, there's something wrong."
"We're getting better, don't worry," Ron said, glancing at Harry.
Harry nodded - there was no need to tell her that their 'teachers' were stepping up their game accordingly. He cleared his throat. "So, where shall we go first?"
"Quidditch supplies!" Ron said quickly. "I've heard they have a Firebolt on display. The fastest broom on the market!"
"Oh? Sounds interesting," Hermione said. "Let's go take a look!"
Harry blinked, then exchanged a glance with Ron, who nodded at him as he was closing his own mouth. "Who're you and what have you done with the real Hermione?" Harry asked, with a smile to show that he was joking - she had been playing Quidditch with them, but she had done so badly, he had expected her to condemn flying as a stupid pastime.
"Really?" Hermione pouted. "Just because I'm not a Quidditch maniac doesn't mean that I loathe all brooms. I've been looking into brooms since I started learning how to fly. A Firebolt is, of course, far too expensive, but it is the best broom, and so a good yardstick." She shook her head at them. "Now let's go!"
That was the bossy girl they knew and liked. A few minutes later, they were standing in front of the shop.
"There it is!" Ron exclaimed, pressing both hands on the glass. "Look at it!"
It was impressive broom, Harry thought. Sleek, with an optimised shaft, a shiny footrest - it made his own Nimbus 2000 look like the Weasleys' car, in his opinion.
"I wonder," Hermione said, "if that's a real broom, or just a copy for advertising." She looked around. "Wouldn't they secure the broom much better if it was a real Firebolt?"
Harry hadn't thought of that. Ron shook his head. "What? They wouldn't do that… would they?"
Harry was about to answer when he spotted Malfoy and his cronies coming down the street. For a moment, he wanted to move away. Then he clenched his teeth. He wouldn't step out of their way. And Malfoy had seen him anyway.
"Hey, look, there's the thief, looking at a Firebolt. Planning to steal that one too? It's not as if you could afford even a rickety old Cleansweep, could you?"
While Hermione went red in the face and glared at the git, and the other Slytherins laughed too loudly for it to be natural, Harry gripped his wand inside his robes. Malfoy was going down!
"Mr Malfoy? Do I have to inform Professor Snape that you are making a spectacle of yourself in Hogsmeade?" Remus's cold voice - so unlike his usual tone - stopped the snakes in their tracks. Their teacher had appeared at the side alley next to the shop and was staring, no glaring, at the Slytherins.
"No, sir," Malfoy spat, barely remaining polite, and turned away. Remus nodded at Harry and his friends, then walked past.
"The bloody git's going to pay for this!" Ron hissed.
"You won't do anything to him. He's just waiting for that," Hermione whispered back. "Do you want his father to make more trouble for your family?" Then she glared at Harry. "Or you?"
Sirius would heartily approve, Harry thought, but he shook his head anyway. They had promised, after all.
But it grated, he thought as they walked towards the local book shop. It grated so much!
London, Enfield, December 25th, 1993
"Merry Christmas, Hermione!"
"Merry Christmas, Dad, Mum!"
Hermione Granger kept smiling and told herself that she wasn't materialistic. That she didn't care about money. There were more important things in life. Friendship, and justice, and… She sighed, then winced when she saw the glance her parents exchanged with each other.
And she winced even more when they caught her reaction. "Hermione… dear… it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself for…" Her dad trailed off.
"For ruining our family?" Hermione completed his sentence. She snorted.
"It wasn't your fault," her mum insisted.
"We're not exactly ruined. We have a steady income, a home, each other…"
Hermione almost rolled her eyes at her father. He was trying, but this wasn't a Disney movie. "We live in a small, cheap flat, we're hounded by goblin and muggle debt collectors, everything we earn above subsistence level gets seized, and everyone thinks I'm a criminal." She wasn't - not yet, at least.
"It's not that bad." Her mum shook her head.
"They took our books!" Hermione snarled. Their collections! Her prized books! Her childhood - for Heaven's sake, she sounded like an old woman!
"We can go to the library and borrow any book we want," her father retorted.
"It's not the same," Hermione muttered. It wasn't. The library was great, but some books you simply wanted to own, so you could read them whenever the mood struck you. She shook her head. "And books are just the tip of the iceberg. We had to move, you lost half your friends…"
"I prefer to say that they weren't our friends in the first place," her father said, with a toothy smile. "If losing our home was enough to make them cut us off."
"Probably thought we'd beg them for help," Mum whispered.
Hermione flinched at that. "I didn't beg!" Harry had asked his godfather. She hadn't asked him to do that.
"I know you didn't, dear," Her mum was just humouring her, though, or so Hermione thought.
"And it's not as if anything came of it anyway," Dad cut in.
"Mr Black's still fighting in court, but he'll win," Hermione said.
"And who told you that?"
"Harry." That didn't impress her parents, she knew. But Harry wouldn't lie to her - and even Mr Fletcher said that it would take far more than being slightly unhinged to lose control over the family fortune. Especially with Dumbledore backing Mr Black. Harry said that Malfoy simply wanted a bribe - a settlement to stop his obstruction. But apparently, Mr Black was determined not to give Malfoy a single Knut.
Hermione approved of that. Whole-heartedly.
"Now let's open the presents!" Mum said, with - in Hermione's opinion - forced cheer. There were very few presents, and all of them rather modest compared to their last Christmas.
Hermione played along, though - it was Christmas, after all. But she would remember this. And she would make it up to her parents. With dividends.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 25th, 1993
"Open them, Harry! All of them!"
His godfather was bouncing on his seat, Harry Potter noticed. Literally, after a spell from Remus.
"What? Moony!" Sirius pouted at his friend.
"Just a reminder to calm down." Remus smiled faintly. "It's Harry's first Christmas here."
"Might as well be mine," Sirius muttered. "My first Christmas at home without my evil family to ruin things. Figures that I didn't lose those memories in Azkaban."
Harry saw Remus wince at that, and, for a moment, silence filled the room. Some things they didn't talk about. Azkaban was one of them. Then Harry stepped forward. "Alright!" He reached out for one of the bigger packages with his name floating above it, then hesitated.
"Go on - I've ensured that they are safe." Remus smiled at him.
Sirius sniffed. "I wouldn't hex my godson."
But Sirius apparently had played 'pranks' on Harry's father numerous times - even if he couldn't remember most of them in detail. And Harry agreed with Remus - in private, of course - that it was better to be safe than sorry. Sirius was recovering from his ordeal, but it would take more time than a few months, and his memories might never return in full, so he was bound to be 'eccentric', as he called it.
Harry opened the package. Black and shiny cloth.
"New dress robes!" Sirius exclaimed. "Can't have you walk around in school robes, or transfigured robes!" His smile suddenly vanished. "I wanted to buy you a new broom, but Dumbledore and Remus said that I would only play into Malfoy's hands if I did that."
"He wanted to buy you a Firebolt," Remus explained.
Harry gasped. A Firebolt! But they were so expensive there wasn't even a price listed in the shop.
"See? I knew he wanted one!" Sirius exclaimed.
"Of course he wants one. But he wouldn't be happy if you had to beggar yourself for his gift." Remus's glance at Harry had him nodding in agreement.
"I thought most of your money was tied up in that court case," Harry said while he unfolded the robes.
"I could have managed," Sirius said.
"He was planning to sell the house." Remus added.
"What?" Harry blinked. The house had been improved drastically since his first visit - only parts of the basement were still off-limits - but much of the furniture was still very… disturbing. At least in Harry's opinion. "Who would want to buy it?" he said, then flinched - that had sounded bad.
"Malfoy, of course. Or rather, his wife, my dear cousin Narcissa." Sirius sneered. "She wants the Blacks' ancestral home. Malfoy offered to drop his case if I gave him the house. I wouldn't do that, of course - but selling it is not the same."
"Malfoy wouldn't want it if he wasn't planning something," Remus said.
"We don't know what."
"And until we do you shouldn't sell the house."
Sirius scoffed. Then he perked up. "Enough talk about Death Eaters! Now, before you open your next present, try on your new robes!"
Harry did so, and turned around. They did look sleek and expensive. Elegant, but he was no expert on wizarding fashion.
"Perfect!" Sirius grinned. "Now touch the top button with your wand and say 'change'!"
Harry did so - and found himself wearing a leather jacket. A stylish one - he knew that.
"See? You can use them to impress both witches and muggle girls! Or muggleborn witches!"
Sirius had said similar things before, so Harry didn't bother glaring at his godfather. Besides, he didn't think that he wanted to impress a girl who was impressed by gold.
"He's thirteen, Sirius," Remus pointed out. "At thirteen, you and James were banishing mudballs at girls. And that definitely didn't impress them. At all."
Sirius blinked and seemed to stare at nothing for a moment. Harry knew that meant that he was searching for another lost memory. Then his godfather grinned. "Well, that just means that I'm helping Harry to avoid making the same mistakes James and I did."
Harry wasn't certain that Sirius was actually helping in that area, but he laughed. It was Christmas, after all, a time to be happy with your family.
London, East End, January 3rd, 1994
Hermione Granger gasped as her left hand slipped on the wet roof and she almost lost her balance. And she cursed when she overcompensated, sliding down a foot or two before she could stop herself. Panting, she remained still for a few breaths. It wasn't the falling she feared - this abandoned office building of an equally abandoned plant was tall enough that Mr Fletcher would be able to catch her with a spell, and she had cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground as additional assurance. But she hated failing. Even a task as unfair as climbing without the help of magic.
She forced herself to move on. She was sweating, and if she stayed still any longer, she'd be cold and not just wet. There had to be spells to deal with that… but she had to focus on climbing right now. Free climbing, even. She reached out once again, and this time she kept her grip. Her left leg followed, finding purchase on a broken tile. Her right hand overtook her left, grabbing the edge of a hole in the roof. She had to pull up her right leg far more than was comfortable to find a foothold, but she managed it. Half a year ago, she wouldn't, and would have sprained something trying this. She had made progress. But she still didn't like it.
But she needed to be able to do this. Mr Fletcher said so, and her pride drove her on. Inch by inch, if needed. Until she finally reached the chimney and could relax. And start to breathe normally again.
"Well… you managed to reach the top. But you took your time doing it. And I don't think you need to hug the chimney that tightly. Your boyfriend might get jealous."
She turned her head to the side and glared at the spot where Mr Fletcher's voice was coming from. "Big talk coming from someone who used magic to get up here." A broom, if she wasn't mistaken - he was talking too casually for the alternative since levitating a board you were standing or sitting on required a lot of focus, and Mr Fletcher was no Dumbledore.
"Oh, don't worry, broom flying is next. But first, we, that is, you, will do this again, just a little faster."
She groaned in response. She had heard those words before. It was always just a bit faster. A bit longer. A bit harder.
He chuckled. "You'll be thanking me once you can easily outrun a mark - or an Auror - over the rooftops."
"Wouldn't they just apparate ahead? Or use a broom?" Hermione asked while she swung her leg over the ridge and drew her wand.
"Very few would risk apparating on a wet and slippery rooftop. And flying a broom is not that easy either, as you have demonstrated before."
She clenched her teeth - she had gotten better at flying. Just not good enough. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself off the ridge and slid down the roof, casting a Cushioning Charm at the ground when she slid over the eaves.
The second she spent in free fall was both terrifying and exciting, even after she had done it dozens of times. Then she hit the ground and performed a parachute landing fall, jumping to her feet before her tutor arrived at her side.
"Very good."
She smiled at the praise. She was getting better.
"But remember: Don't let anyone know you can do this. When the Aurors are hunting a roof-running thief you want to be known as a clumsy bookworm." He tapped his forehead. "You have to outthink your opponents from the start. As long as you're always at least one step ahead of them, they won't catch you. And it starts with keeping your identities separate."
"Yes," she forced through her clenched teeth. It made sense. It was logical. Obvious, even. But she hated downplaying her hard-earned athletic ability. The only thing she hated more was keeping her growing - even if slowly - skill on a broom a secret.
He laughed - he knew exactly what she was thinking. She had complained about it often enough.
London, East End, January 6th, 1994
"Alright. Begin."
Hermione Granger took a deep breath and cast the detection spell. Her vision was briefly filled with flickering patches of colours, blinding her, before the effect faded. She looked around - everything looked normal. As it should - the spell that allowed her to see spells and curses had a very short range. Which explained why Curse-Breakers lived a dangerous and often short life - the best traps took that range into account.
She focused her attention on the purse on the table in front of her. She could see the Extension Charm, which made it bigger on the inside. And there was a charm that allowed the owner to pull out what they wanted, without having to grope around inside. A variant of the Summoning Charm. But where was the curse protecting it?
She pointed her wand at it. She could simply try to end all spells, but that would be tricky - she didn't know how many spells were hidden under those two obvious ones. There had to be at least one. Well… there was one way to find out. She reached out with her hand... touching the purse, touching its strings… there! That was a spell reacting to her touch.
She grinned as she aimed her wand and ended it. Another touch showed no reaction. After a moment's hesitation, she opened the purse and pulled out a Knut. "Done!"
Mr Fletcher was frowning, though. "Yeah, you did it. But that was a risky method - triggering a response to spot the spell? That won't work with wards. And some nasty buggers curse their purses." He shook his head and pulled out another purse. "Do it again, but this time without triggering the protection spell on it. Triggering an Alarm Charm to find it defeats the purpose, you know."
She huffed - of course she knew that. Just as she knew that most purses wouldn't curse someone for touching them. But Mr Fletcher was correct. Sighing, she tried again.
Hogwarts, February 20th, 1994
When he saw Sirius's wand light up, Harry Potter threw himself forward and down, clenching his teeth when he rolled over his shoulder on the hard stone floor. He used his momentum to jump up, and dove for the floor again right away, changing his direction, then rolled along the floor a yard until he was behind a pillar. Panting, he grinned - that had been two, maybe three spells that had missed him. He glanced to his side. Ron was faring well against Remus too, though Harry's friend slid into cover on his belly, which had to hurt - more than Harry's shoulder, at least.
"Alright, that was a good showing," Sirius declared. Harry didn't move - his godfather hadn't said that the exercise was over. Remus coughed. Harry heard Sirius sigh. "Alright - the test is over. You did well."
Harry grinned at Ron as they slowly stood up and left their respective cover. "So, will you now teach us how to curse back? I mean, how to 'slow pursuers down' and 'make them seek cover'?" Harry asked, grinning widely.
"No." Sirius shook his head.
"You said that once we could dodge - make ourselves difficult targets -" Ron corrected himself before Remus could do it, "you'd teach us how to strike back too!"
"Yes, we did. And we will," Harry's godfather said. "But you're not yet ready. You are hard to hit with spells like a Stunner, or similar curses, but…" His wand flicked, and Harry jumped to the side as before, but this time, liquid splashed over him before he finished his roll.
No, not liquid - paint, he realised a second later.
Sirius was grinning widely. "As you can see, there are spells that are a bit harder to avoid. Spells that cause explosions, spells that create clouds of poison - or waves. And we'll train until you can move without thinking about it."
Harry groaned, then cast a Cleaning Charm on himself. He had feeling he would be doing that very often in the future.
"Merlin's beard!" Ron complained when they were walking back to their dorm afterwards, "I was so happy that we'd finally learn something…else."
Harry nodded. Playing target for his teachers wasn't much fun. Even if it was effective. But it hurt, and the ointments could only do so much. "Well, we've been learning hexes and jinxes in Defence." And on their own.
"Nothing really useful, though," Ron said.
Harry knew what his friend really meant: Nothing really dangerous. He shrugged. "It's a start." And he knew Sirius and Remus were right: Trying to duel a Death Eater would be stupid. For now, at least. But it still galled not to be allowed to strike back. "Well, you know…" he trailed off when he spotted movement ahead of them. Was that? It was. "Snakes ahead," he whispered.
"I've seen them," Ron whispered back. "Four of them. Malfoy."
Harry clenched his teeth. The smart thing would be to avoid them - he doubted that the Slytherins had seen them yet; they hadn't been training to spot ambushes. He and Ron could just duck into a side corridor and take a little detour.
But he was sick of avoiding the Slytherins. And sick of avoiding Malfoy. He had avoided Dudley too often, back in Little Whinging. Before Hogwarts. "Let's keep walking. We've done nothing wrong," he said. "Besides, there's a portrait watching the hallway."
Ron drew a loud breath, then nodded. "Alright, mate."
They walked forward, and Harry could see the exact moment Malfoy and the others - Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson - noticed him. They jerked and stopped walking. Parkinson stuck her hand into her bag, probably going for her wand. Harry's was already in hand, but pointed at the ground.
"Potter. Skulking around in the evening, like a thief?" Malfoy sneered at them.
Harry had wanted to ignore the snakes. Just walk past them, as if they didn't matter - and they didn't. But this… He scoffed. "Careful, Malfoy. Wouldn't want to get detention for threatening students, and ruin Slytherin's chances for the cup. Oh, wait - you already did that by yourself."
Ron added: "Funny how that works when you can't cheat and lie any more."
"I've heard Snape was so sick of how far behind they are, he wanted to withdraw his house from the cup, but Dumbledore wouldn't let him." Harry hadn't just learned self-defence from his godfather; Sirius was an incurable gossip as well - as long as the topic interested him. And the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherins definitely did. "Something about learning a lesson."
Parkinson scoffed. "Like the lesson Granger, the cheat and thief, learned?"
Harry wanted to hex the stupid witch, but he controlled himself. The teachers had cracked down on 'altercations'.
"Been visiting your crazy godfather? Holding his hand so he doesn't break down crying when it's dark outside?"
Harry clenched his teeth together. Then he felt Ron's hand on his shoulder. "Mate, let's go - it stinks like Thestral shit here," his friend said, wrinkling his nose. "Or Slytherins."
Harry laughed. Joking about Malfoy's detentions with Hagrid never got old.
"You… you…"
"Yes, Malfoy?"
"What are you standing around for? Waiting so you can curse us in the back?" Malfoy said after a moment.
"No. That's what you do. And when it doesn't work, you go whining to your dad." Harry scoffed.
They stared at each other. Everyone had their wands in hand.
"And you go running to the teachers as soon as someone doesn't think you're that great," Malfoy retorted. "And you're not great - you're both poor excuses for wizards! Bloo… bloody poor excuses!"
"Oh yeah? Who challenged us to a duel and then didn't show up? You're a bloody coward, Malfoy! Even when you outnumber us, you don't dare do anything until we turn our backs to you!" Ron yelled back.
"Don't talk to Draco like that!" Parkinson huffed and glared at them.
"Oh… is she your new mum? Gonna hide behind her skirt too?" Ron laughed.
Harry was surprised when that was enough for Malfoy to attack them. But even surprised, he was already moving when he saw Malfoy's wand starting to rise.
"Densaugeo!" The spell went wide - Malfoy was no Sirius or Remus.
"Furnunculus!" Parkinson was a bit slower, and casting at Ron, who was already in cover.
"Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!"
"Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!"
And then it was over. Crabbe and Goyle hadn't even managed to draw their wands. "Wow… he fights like he smells," Ron quoted his brothers. "Would be so easy to hex him now," he added, crouching down next to Malfoy's paralysed form.
"No," Harry interjected. "Let's just wait for the teachers to sort this out." He wasn't really worried - the portrait had seen everything, after all. And if he got detention for provoking the git, well - Sirius had already said he wanted a cover for their lessons.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 19th, 1994
"Ah, Miss Granger! Welcome to my humble home!" Mr Black said, bowing with a flourish.
Harry's godfather didn't look like his mugshot, Hermione Granger thought. Instead, he looked older, and much more elegant. She returned his bow - and almost winced when she saw his eyebrows rise in surprise; she should have acted a little more muggleborn. To cover her lapse, she used her most posh accent. "I'm grateful for your invitation, Mr Black."
"Anything for my godson's best friend. Best female friend."
She nodded. "Will Harry be joining us?"
His smile vanished, replaced by a fierce scowl. "No. Ever since Harry schooled his son, Malfoy's been making a fuss about 'special privileges', and so we didn't want to risk sneaking him out."
She had heard about that. And berated the boys for provoking Malfoy.
Mr Black sighed, then beamed at her. "But enough of that! Please, let me show you the living room." She hesitated just a moment, and he added with a grin she could only describe as 'roguish': "It's perfectly safe - whatever Harry said."
Hermione laughed despite herself, and his eyes seem to light up. "So... you're not a serious as he said."
"What?" She pursed her lips. "I presume that this was in response to me letting him know my opinion about his altercation with Mr Malfoy."
"You are correct. Although one could say that he was defending your honour."
She was perfectly capable of defending her own honour. Outside the judicial system of Wizarding Britain, at least. Or would be soon. She didn't say that, though. They reached an elegant living room. Very 'muggle', in Hermione's now - thanks to Mr Fletcher - rather well-informed opinion.
"So, I am certain Harry's already told you - Malfoy lost in court. I'm now in full control of the considerable Black fortune." Mr Black was smiling widely, if a bit toothily.
"He did inform me, yes."
"Which means that I am now in a position to fulfil my promise to pay your debts." His smile lost the teeth.
She didn't ask if he knew how much he was offering to pay - Harry had said that his godfather knew the size of the debt. "That is very generous of you, sir."
He made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "Bah. I can afford it. Just the sight of my bigoted family portraits getting spitting mad at the thought of all that ill-gotten gold being used to help a muggleborn witch is worth it." The teeth were back.
She could understand the desire for revenge. Very well. And yet… "There are a few complications, you could say. Or things to consider."
"Yes?" He was frowning again - he seemed to have a mercurial temper. Probably a result from his time in Azkaban. She didn't think she wanted him angry with her.
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "First, all the money would go straight to the despicable people who framed me." And to see them actually profit like that… she grew angry just thinking about it.
He slowly nodded. "I can see that. And yet, isn't letting your family live like they used to worth more than denying them some gold?"
'Some gold' - Hermione had to struggle not to react to that. "It would be - if we actually could return to our former life without having to explain to the government from whence all that money came." If you were framed as a thief, the government tended to be suspicious of a sudden influx of cash - or, worse, actual gold.
He looked confused, and so she explained further: "The tax office would demand an accounting."
Mr Black shrugged. "That can be worked around. My family has some experience in those sorts of things."
"Money laundering?"
"Let's just say that, in the past, my family wasn't quite as compliant with Gringott's monopoly on exchanging muggle money for gold, and vice versa."
"Ah." Circumventing the barriers put in place to control the wizard economy - as much as it could be called that - was indeed a tricky affair. The goblins were aware of the danger uncontrolled money transactions posed to their livelihood, even if most wizards never gave it a thought.
"I see you're familiar with the matter," Mr Black said after a moment.
"Yes."
They exchanged grins, though Hermione wasn't quite certain how much Mr Black knew of her current circumstances. Although if he was willing to spend a fortune on her, then he would have checked with Dumbledore to assure himself that she actually was innocent.
"And you're remarkably well versed in pureblood manners."
"At their core, they're not so different from muggle manners." Apart from all the customs involving magic and wands, of course.
"Dumbledore told me he arranged a tutor for you."
"Mr Smith, recently arrived from the New World." The lie came easily to her - she had told it a dozen times in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. "Second, there's a danger that Malfoy might make another attempt to deprive you of your control over your family fortune, should you spend so much gold on me."
He shook his head. "Not so soon after he lost. That's not done." He frowned. "But we might want to spread the payments out a little."
"There's also the matter of our reputations. If you spend so much gold on my debts, people will assume you have other motives than simply the desire to help a friend of your godson."
"You mean they will wonder if you're sleeping with Harry, myself, or both." She didn't expect him to state it that crudely, and it must have shown on her face since he laughed. "They said worse about me and James, when I ran away from home and went to the Potters."
"Ah."
"So I don't really care. And, forgive my bluntness, but your reputation is already in tatters in certain circles." Mr Black sounded as if that was not really important, though.
"I'm aware of that."
"So, unless you value your pride more than your family's good fortune, I do not think there is any reason to reject my offer."
He had her there. Ultimately, she didn't want to owe anyone. And for that kind of help, she would owe Mr Black. But he was right - she couldn't let her parents suffer the consequences of her own actions. And mistakes. "You are correct. I therefore accept your generous offer."
He raised his wand. "There's one condition."
Ah. She hadn't expected this to come up that soon. "Yes?"
"I want to meet your tutor. I need to know if he can be trusted. There is a lot of gold at stake, after all."
"Of course." Hermione kept smiling, though she wasn't really certain how that would play out.
Hogwarts, September 16th, 1993
Double Potions had been weird, Ron Weasley thought as he left the classroom. Snape hadn't been acting like the slimy git he was. Not as usual, at least. He had still nearly cursed Neville when the Gryffindor had mixed up slicing and dicing, and his comment when Lavender had managed to dip her hair into her potion by accident had left the witch in tears, but that was normal. But he had shown the same vicious attitude towards the snakes as well. It seemed the first week hadn't been a fluke, then. The Headmaster might really be keeping the snakes on a short leash, and had Snape do it too. And the git must hate it, Ron thought with a smirk.
He still wasn't the only one among the Gryffindors to sigh with relief when they reached the school's courtyard - no one smart trusted the snakes. They had demonstrated just how rotten they were last year. First the plot against Harry, and then Hermione.
"This Sunday is Hermione's birthday," Harry said as they walked towards the Gryffindor dorms. "Have you gotten her a gift yet?"
"Percy's old Transfiguration notes," Ron answered. "She'll like them, I think." His brother had made a copy of them, to be exact, but that shouldn't matter.
"Oh." Harry looked impressed. "That was a good idea. I bought her a copy of the new Defence book when I bought mine."
Not second-hand, Ron would have bet. But his gift was probably more useful - Percy had noted down everything the teacher had said. He shrugged. "Is Hedwig back yet?"
Harry blinked. "She should be. I'll go check the Owlery!" He looked at Ron. "Are you coming?"
Ron grimaced. "I can't. I have to get a book from the library first."
"What?" Harry stared at him.
"Percy wanted a few favours in exchange for his notes." Ron felt a bit angry - both at the indirect admission that he hadn't spent money on Hermione's gift and at Harry's obvious surprise at him heading to the library.
"Alright. See you later then."
"Be careful." You couldn't trust the snakes. Sooner or later, Malfoy would try something again.
"Of course." Harry grinned. "Moody gave me a few tips, remember?"
"Yeah." Ron had heard the story a few times now, and still wasn't certain if he should be jealous or glad that he hadn't met the man. His friend nodded, and went off towards the Owlery.
Ron sighed and headed towards the library. Percy was riding him hard, and not just for the notes. His brother was also nagging him to study and do his homework. Like a male, older Hermione.
He crossed the courtyard, then took a left, into one of the less used hallways. If people were after you, you couldn't be predictable. Growing up with his elder brothers had taught him that.
"Hello, Ron!"
The cheerful greeting from the side corridor he had been passing took him by surprise, and he jerked, almost fumbling his wand in the process. "What?"
"Not 'what', at least I don't think so. 'Who', probably." A young witch stepped up to him, seemingly uncaring of his aimed wand. He recognised her.
"Luna." Luna Lovegood. Second-year Ravenclaw.
"Yes." She nodded, beaming at him. "I wasn't sure whether you'd recognise me - we haven't seen each other for a while."
Ron fought not to wince. The Lovegoods lived near the Weasleys - closer than the Diggorys, even - and Luna had often been over at The Burrow, playing with Ginny. And with him, more often than not. But since Luna's mother had died, a few years ago, she hadn't come over any more. Mum had said Mr Lovegood had become 'weird'. He nodded. "Yes. Things have been busy, too."
She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! Daddy told me all about your fight with the troll possessed by the Dark Lord. To turn him into stone with a mirror, how clever!"
"Err…" That wasn't how it had happened. The troll hadn't been possessed either. "Something like that."
"And the revelation about your pet! To think it was responsible for the breaking up of The Hobgoblins!"
"The what?" Ron felt lost. What was she talking about?
"The Hobgoblins! The famous band. They broke up after their singer was imprisoned in Azkaban. Of course, they claimed he was dead, but that was just a cover up to hide the scandal that Stubby Boardman had been framed for murder - though they didn't know that he had been framed, so they probably thought he was a murderer." She blinked slowly. "Although, while heinous and evil, I can somewhat understand why your pet would do such a thing after Stubby Boardman used a dark ritual to turn it into a half-man. For a rat, that must have felt like being a werewolf, suddenly having a human body half of the time. And as a rat, it couldn't have understood human laws either."
"Ah." Ron now remembered why his mum had broken off contact with the Lovegoods. Ginny had started to talk like Luna.
She wrinkled her nose. "It's so sad that it was Kissed. Now we cannot ask its perspective - which would have been fascinating. Although I now wonder… if the Dementor's Kiss worked, it must have had a soul. And rats don't have souls." She gasped. "Did Boardman use a dark ritual to graft a human soul on to the rat?"
"I don't think so," Ron said, forcing himself to keep smiling politely. "Dumbledore would have noticed."
"But Dumbledore didn't notice Malfoy's plot either," Luna retorted. "He might need to replace his glasses." She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. Ron found himself leaning towards her almost against his will. "He is a Seer who can see alternate worlds. Worlds where the sky is pink, for example, and only fishes use wands. But he needs his special glasses to see our world."
Ron tried to find a way to lose the girl without insulting her. "Well… I need to go to the library. Percy needs a book before dinner. You know how he is."
"Oh? What a coincidence! I'm on my way to the library as well!" She held up her book bag, which seemed to rival Hermione's in size. "Someone must have stolen all The Quibbler issues there, so I need to replace them. We can't let the students grow up ignorant!"
"Of course." If in doubt, smiling and nodding was a good answer, Ron knew. It worked on parents and hopefully on weird witches as well.
"Nargles might have taken the issues - they were not placed in boxes kept locked with butterbeer corks. They like to steal things and hide them around the school. They've done that to me very often."
"Nargles?"
"Small invisible flying magical creatures. They like to hide in people's hair and steal their common sense if they can't steal other things. Daddy did a series on them in The Quibbler. Have you read the articles?"
"No, I haven't."
"You should. I lost a lot of things to them in Hogwarts, and I would have lost even more if I hadn't been able to use the right sort of protections." Luna blinked. "Although they haven't stolen anything from me since term started. Maybe the Headmaster managed to drive them off?"
"Probably." Ron remembered that last year Ginny had said something about Luna missing clothes. He frowned. "Are you certain that the thieves were Nargles?"
Luna nodded rapidly. "Yes. Who else would steal my clothes and shoes? It's not as if they are expensive, and any witch who wanted her own could duplicate them instead."
Ron could think of a few people who would steal things just to hurt someone, but they were in Slytherin. He wouldn't have expected their ilk to be in Ravenclaw as well.
They reached the library after Luna had told him all about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks as well. "Do you need help distributing the issues?" Ron asked, feeling a little guilty about ignoring the girl.
"Thank you, but no. I have everything here. Go and fetch Percy's book!" Luna beamed at him. "It was nice talking to you again. Can you give Ginny my regards?"
"Sure."
Seeing her smile at him made him feel even more guilty.
*****
London, Greenwich, September 17th, 1993
Hermione Granger pointed her wand at the newspaper lying on the kitchen counter and concentrated.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
The paper twitched and slid towards her - a few inches. She clenched her teeth and tried again.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
This time the issue made it all the way off the counter, landing on the floor. She thought she heard an amused snort behind her. Snarling, she focused on that irritating excuse for a newspaper. She wanted to read it. She wanted it, period.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
The newspaper flew towards her, landing on top of the dinner table, amidst her 'homework'.
"Impressive."
She turned her head and glared at Mr Fletcher with narrowed eyes. "It was supposed to land in my hand."
"Then you need to practise more." A flick of his wand and the newspaper shot off the table and slammed against the wall in the kitchen. A silent Banishing Charm, Hermione noted.
Huffing, she tried again.
"Accio Daily Prophet!"
It took her half an hour until the newspaper landed in her hand, but she did it. Smiling proudly, she held it up.
"Impressive - for a third year." Her tutor nodded. "Although you'll need to be able to summon things from farther away for that spell to be useful in the field."
She frowned. "Aren't most valuables protected against that charm?" He had mentioned that, a few weeks ago.
"Not all of them. Many wizards trust their wards to keep thieves out and their belongings in, so they do not use additional protections in their homes - they want to be able to summon their things, you see."
"Ah."
"Indeed. Theoretically, even the average wizard could protect his home quite effectively against thieves. But all the security measures would inconvenience them - they would have to get up and pick up everything by hand, and would have to use Unlocking Charms and recast their Locking Charms all the time for even the simplest things. So most don't." He grinned. "Most don't have anything worth breaking into their homes for, of course, but even the rich purebloods are often lazy and leave holes in their protection."
"Ah!" That made sense. "You don't want to open a safe each time you want to use your silverware."
"Exactly - unless you have servants to do it for you. Or you use conjured silverware anyway. Each mark is different - and has different protections."
"But everyone has wards on their homes, right?" They needed to, to keep other wizards from apparating into their houses, or vanishing their doors or walls.
"Yes. Some wizards might try to hide as muggles, and forego wards so they don't give them away, but that's the same as dropping your gold in the forest and hoping that no one finds it." He scoffed. "Some tried that - hiding as muggles - in the war. They were found, though."
"How?" She would have thought that it would be hard to find anyone among sixty million muggles.
"Friends betrayed them - willingly or not."
"Ah." He had lectured her often that humans were the weak spot in many protection schemes. And, if she was understanding him correctly, he had lost friends during the war who had been trying to hide like that. Another puzzle piece fit into her mental picture of her tutor. "So… Once I'm through the wards, I could try a Summoning Charm and hope I get lucky?"
"You'll have to know what you're after - and that it's not covered by an alarm charm."
Which meant it was a bad idea. She frowned.
"Mind you, there are things you can sell - or use for your heist - that usually aren't protected against Summoning Charms. Keys, for example."
"What?" That made no sense at all!
He laughed. "I told you - wizards are lazy. They don't want to search for their keys, and want to be able to summon them."
"But those kind of wizards usually don't have much worth stealing, right?"
"You're learning!" He grinned and went back to his own reading.
Hermione opened the newspaper. The front page was full of speculation about Barty Crouch's murder. Speculation she had read a few times already. "You'd think they would have found a more interesting topic by now," she muttered.
"Not if they are getting paid to repeat themselves," Mr Fletcher said without looking up from his book. "The more they hint that Black had a reason to murder Crouch, the better for Malfoy."
She clenched her teeth. Malfoy again! "Mr Black was able to clear his name before, and quickly."
"That was because the Ministry had Pettigrew, and Dumbledore threw his weight behind Black. And Malfoy probably decided that he could use the affair to hurt the Weasleys." Her tutor shrugged. "But this? Black has an alibi, and a good one - Dumbledore himself testified that he was in Hogwarts at the time of the murder - so they can't arrest him. But the Prophet can speculate about Black's involvement as much as they want and get paid for it - the only way Black could shut them up would be to produce the actual murderer. Veritaserum won't prove anything after his stint in Azkaban; the Dementors left his memory with more holes than a sieve."
To lose her happiest memories, of her family and friends… Hermione shuddered. "But who could have done it? The wards were intact, weren't they?"
"Yeah, they were." Mr Fletcher nodded. "Not a trace of manipulation. Which means that this was either done by a good Curse-Breaker, or by someone who was keyed into the wards."
"But Crouch was living alone, with just a house-elf, who was killed as well." Hermione had followed the case.
"Yes. So that leaves either one of his friends or acquaintances who visited him - which is not a long list, but does include a few very influential people - or a Curse-Breaker. Or a good thief." He chuckled at her expression. "Good thieves are among the best Curse-Breakers, since they have to know how to disable curses and traps, and slip or break through wards. And they live as dangerously as Curse-Breakers, too."
She sniffed. It wasn't the first time he had hinted at the dangers of thieving. If she were frightened off by danger, she would have left Hogwarts after the troll. "So, when do we start on Curse-Breaking?"
He laughed, but it sounded a bit forced to her. "Once you have finished your third year material."
Hermione huffed and pushed the Daily Prophet away. Time to study some more.
*****
Hogwarts, September 19th, 1993
"Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you asked your godfather to include me in this training?"
Harry Potter was impressed by how much breath Ron had left - Harry had trouble just breathing, so he nodded. "Yes." After another gulp of air, he added: "Often."
"I'll take it all back, mate." Ron groaned as he slowly sat up.
"No returns!" Harry mumbled, getting up himself. He wasn't about to do this alone.
"Get up, you two! Death Eaters won't give you any time to rest and recover!" Sirius yelled at them. A flick of his wand, and a few Stinging Hexes followed.
Harry rolled to the side, but Ron was a little too slow, and yelped when he got hit. "I wasn't even ready!" Ron complained.
"There are no rules in a fight!" Sirius shook his head. "We're not duelling here. There's no referee stepping in."
"So far we haven't done any fighting, just running," Harry muttered.
"We haven't even learned how to cast a Shield Charm," Ron added.
"And you won't until you can move without attracting curses." Sirius scoffed. "We're not teaching you how to hex Slytherins in the hallways, but how to survive when Death Eaters come after you. And that means running the hell away without being hit."
Remus sighed. "What Sirius should be saying is that this is the first step. We're deliberately not teaching you how to cast a shield, or any curses, until you have learned how to move in a fight. Many of your enemies will be using the Unforgivables, and no shield protects against them. The only defences are hard cover - or not being hit."
"And you're not good enough at Transfiguration or Conjuration to make your own cover," Sirius added.
"Yet," Harry muttered. He would be good enough as soon as possible - he was sick of getting hit without being able to hit back.
"So, we're playing dodge the Bludger…" Ron sighed.
"You aren't dodging the curses; you're dodging the caster. Unless it's long range, most spells will be too fast for you to spot them and get out of the way. But when you're not at the spot at which the enemy is aiming, the effect is the same. It's much harder to hit a moving target than a stationary one. Which means you need to keep moving, and in an unpredictable way, preferably at an angle too," Remus explained.
"Which you haven't managed yet," Sirius cut in.
"You've been getting better at it, though," Remus added with a smile.
"Just wait until we get to curse you back!" Ron said.
Sirius laughed. "You'll have to master the Shield Charm first. And that'll take a while. A long while if what we've seen so far is the best you have. So, I'm not really worried."
Harry glanced at Ron, who nodded at him as they lined up again opposite the two older wizards in the Defence classroom.
Sirius and Remus might stick to their program of Moving, Shielding and then Cursing. But Harry and Ron were also learning spells in the normal Defence lessons. And they could ask Ron's brothers for some help too.
They would get back at their 'teachers'.
*****
London, East End, September 19th, 1993
"Alright, this looks like a good spot." Mr Fletcher nodded to himself.
"I guess that means you've been here before," Hermione said, looking around the abandoned plant.
He laughed. "Ah, yes. Good catch!"
Hermione sniffed - it was an easy deduction. Her tutor had stressed that a good thief had to prepare and case a joint in almost every lesson, and she doubted that he'd neglect his own rules. "And what are we doing here? Curse-Breaking?" she added, hoping she was correct - she wanted to finally learn how to break through wards.
"No." He shook his head. "You're not yet ready for that. No, you'll be learning… let's call it 'Defence against the Aurors'." He nodded at his own words.
"'Defence against the Aurors'?" That sounded… well, not too bad, actually, she thought.
"Yeah. The best defence is not to be seen in the first place, but sometimes that doesn't work. Plans can fail, people make mistakes, marks go home early, or it turns out the master of the house is having an affair with an servant in a supposedly unused guest room." He chuckled briefly. Hermione wondered how many of his examples he had experienced himself. "In that case you have to react quickly or you'll end up caught."
Hermione nodded and moved to a rusty machine to use as a makeshift desk so she could write this down.
"Best case is that whoever saw you runs away and calls the Aurors. That means you have enough time to get away before they arrive. But you have to react quickly - they won't take long." He frowned. "Never think that you just need a minute, that you 'ave enough time to take what you came for! If someone discovers you, get the 'ell away!"
"Noted."
He snorted. "It's worse if the mark attacks you and calls the Aurors at the same time - that makes getting away harder. And some naive thieves might think they just have to stun the mark, and then get on with the heist." He shook his head. "Never do that. No matter who discovered you, or what they do, you need to get away. They don't need to use the fireplace to call the Aurors; they can have alarm charms set up for that as well. Or someone else could be calling them."
Her planned retort died on her tongue and she underlined that point.
"But the worst case is when they attack you, but aren't calling the Aurors. That usually means that you are dealing with a criminal yourself - and they are generally willing to kill to protect their loot. Most Aurors are predictable - we know what they learn in training, and few ever develop their own spells or tactics. But dark wizards? The kind who would keep the Aurors from entering their homes even while it's being robbed? They will do their best to kill you."
Hermione underlined that note as well.
"So, let's look at what you can do to get away when the curses are flying at you. As I told ya, the best defence is not to be seen - so anything that conceals you will help a lot. If you use smoke, use coloured smoke - green, if possible. People will think it's poison, and will either flee or spend time countering it."
"Wouldn't walls be a better choice? They block spells," Hermione said.
"Until they meet a Blasting Curse, and you get showered with stone or metal splinters," Mr Fletcher retorted. "Don't get me wrong - walls have their place. If Killing Curses are being thrown around, you want something solid to cover you while you get away. And not everyone is willing to blow up their own house to get a thief. Many are, however."
"Thanks to Mending Charms," Hermione muttered.
"Yes." He grinned.
"And there are distractions. Conjured animals behind them, fake sounds, explosions - if you have the time, set up a distraction in advance that you can trigger when you need it."
Hermione had a few ideas.
"But sooner or later, it all comes down to how quick you are on your feet. The best distractions, cover and concealment are useless if you're not fast enough to get away, or don't know the right spells to create an escape route when you need one." He grinned. "And today, we're going to train the former."
His smile reminded her of the smiles of some of her muggle classmates when their teacher had them play prisonball in PE. She just knew that this would be a painful, exhausting lesson.
And, as usual, if she did say so herself, she was right.
*****
Hogsmeade, October 30th, 1993
"Our first Hogsmeade weekend!" Ron had been repeating the phrase a few times on their way to the village.
Harry Potter nodded in agreement as his friend stuck his head out of their carriage again, to check how much longer it would be until they arrived.
Ron slid back into his seat. "You know, we could have visited before."
Harry frowned. "The tunnels Sirius showed us were meant to let us escape an attacker, not to visit Hogsmeade."
"That's why Sirius was grinning widely when he showed us how to enter, and told us three times that the tunnels lead to Hogsmeade?" Ron scoffed. "He might as well have told us to sneak out."
His godfather had probably been lost in his memories - or the remains of them - Harry thought. "He also told us several times each training session that we have to be careful because Voldemort is out there, just waiting for a mistake."
"If visiting Hogsmeade were a mistake we wouldn't be sitting here," Ron retorted.
"We're not exactly alone," Harry said.
"What?" Ron drew his wand and looked around. "Where? And how did you know?"
"One of them is up in the air on a broom, above us." Harry was guessing, but it was a good guess. The carriage hadn't seemed heavier than the other empty ones, and no one was inside. That left air cover as the best way to protect them.
Ron stuck his head out again and looked up. "Can't see anything."
"We would need the right spell for that," Harry said. "I guess Remus is waiting for us in Hogsmeade, to keep an eye on us." It wouldn't be unusual for a teacher to play chaperone - especially on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term.
Ron sighed, then perked up. "Well, it's a good thing."
Harry frowned. "Do you think we'll get attacked?
"Not by Voldemort. But the snakes might give us trouble."
Harry cursed - the Slytherins would indeed make trouble if they thought they could get away with it. Especially given Harry and Ron's plans for the visit.
*****
"There she is! Hermione!" Ron was waving and yelling. If anyone in the school had not expected them to meet their friend, they would be proven wrong right now.
Harry smiled, though, instead of frowning - it wasn't as if they could have avoided that. For all the hype and excitement among the students, Hogsmeade was actually a tiny village, and there were only so many places you could visit - Harry and Ron had had to learn the layout of the village by heart so they wouldn't get lost in an emergency.
Their friend was waving at them too. Hermione was looking well, Harry thought - she was smiling and waving from her spot at the station. Her muggle clothes - jeans and sweater and a short jacket - looked nice, but they also made her stand out among the robes of the student and villagers.
"Harry! Ron!" She didn't move from her spot until they had reached her, but then she stepped up and hugged them - Harry first. She felt different in his arms, harder. But that might have just been the clothes, he reasoned as he rubbed one of his lingering bruises.
"Oof!" Ron yelped. "Careful with the side; it's still sore."
And there was her familiar frown, Harry thought. "What have you been doing?"
"Training," Ron said. "Defence."
"Yes. And Quidditch too, in my case," Harry added.
Their friend looked as if she was torn between telling them off for getting hurt - and playing a dangerous sport - and praising them for their studying. "Don't overdo it, though. It you keep getting hurt, there's something wrong."
"We're getting better, don't worry," Ron said, glancing at Harry.
Harry nodded - there was no need to tell her that their 'teachers' were stepping up their game accordingly. He cleared his throat. "So, where shall we go first?"
"Quidditch supplies!" Ron said quickly. "I've heard they have a Firebolt on display. The fastest broom on the market!"
"Oh? Sounds interesting," Hermione said. "Let's go take a look!"
Harry blinked, then exchanged a glance with Ron, who nodded at him as he was closing his own mouth. "Who're you and what have you done with the real Hermione?" Harry asked, with a smile to show that he was joking - she had been playing Quidditch with them, but she had done so badly, he had expected her to condemn flying as a stupid pastime.
"Really?" Hermione pouted. "Just because I'm not a Quidditch maniac doesn't mean that I loathe all brooms. I've been looking into brooms since I started learning how to fly. A Firebolt is, of course, far too expensive, but it is the best broom, and so a good yardstick." She shook her head at them. "Now let's go!"
That was the bossy girl they knew and liked. A few minutes later, they were standing in front of the shop.
"There it is!" Ron exclaimed, pressing both hands on the glass. "Look at it!"
It was impressive broom, Harry thought. Sleek, with an optimised shaft, a shiny footrest - it made his own Nimbus 2000 look like the Weasleys' car, in his opinion.
"I wonder," Hermione said, "if that's a real broom, or just a copy for advertising." She looked around. "Wouldn't they secure the broom much better if it was a real Firebolt?"
Harry hadn't thought of that. Ron shook his head. "What? They wouldn't do that… would they?"
Harry was about to answer when he spotted Malfoy and his cronies coming down the street. For a moment, he wanted to move away. Then he clenched his teeth. He wouldn't step out of their way. And Malfoy had seen him anyway.
"Hey, look, there's the thief, looking at a Firebolt. Planning to steal that one too? It's not as if you could afford even a rickety old Cleansweep, could you?"
While Hermione went red in the face and glared at the git, and the other Slytherins laughed too loudly for it to be natural, Harry gripped his wand inside his robes. Malfoy was going down!
"Mr Malfoy? Do I have to inform Professor Snape that you are making a spectacle of yourself in Hogsmeade?" Remus's cold voice - so unlike his usual tone - stopped the snakes in their tracks. Their teacher had appeared at the side alley next to the shop and was staring, no glaring, at the Slytherins.
"No, sir," Malfoy spat, barely remaining polite, and turned away. Remus nodded at Harry and his friends, then walked past.
"The bloody git's going to pay for this!" Ron hissed.
"You won't do anything to him. He's just waiting for that," Hermione whispered back. "Do you want his father to make more trouble for your family?" Then she glared at Harry. "Or you?"
Sirius would heartily approve, Harry thought, but he shook his head anyway. They had promised, after all.
But it grated, he thought as they walked towards the local book shop. It grated so much!
*****
London, Enfield, December 25th, 1993
"Merry Christmas, Hermione!"
"Merry Christmas, Dad, Mum!"
Hermione Granger kept smiling and told herself that she wasn't materialistic. That she didn't care about money. There were more important things in life. Friendship, and justice, and… She sighed, then winced when she saw the glance her parents exchanged with each other.
And she winced even more when they caught her reaction. "Hermione… dear… it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself for…" Her dad trailed off.
"For ruining our family?" Hermione completed his sentence. She snorted.
"It wasn't your fault," her mum insisted.
"We're not exactly ruined. We have a steady income, a home, each other…"
Hermione almost rolled her eyes at her father. He was trying, but this wasn't a Disney movie. "We live in a small, cheap flat, we're hounded by goblin and muggle debt collectors, everything we earn above subsistence level gets seized, and everyone thinks I'm a criminal." She wasn't - not yet, at least.
"It's not that bad." Her mum shook her head.
"They took our books!" Hermione snarled. Their collections! Her prized books! Her childhood - for Heaven's sake, she sounded like an old woman!
"We can go to the library and borrow any book we want," her father retorted.
"It's not the same," Hermione muttered. It wasn't. The library was great, but some books you simply wanted to own, so you could read them whenever the mood struck you. She shook her head. "And books are just the tip of the iceberg. We had to move, you lost half your friends…"
"I prefer to say that they weren't our friends in the first place," her father said, with a toothy smile. "If losing our home was enough to make them cut us off."
"Probably thought we'd beg them for help," Mum whispered.
Hermione flinched at that. "I didn't beg!" Harry had asked his godfather. She hadn't asked him to do that.
"I know you didn't, dear," Her mum was just humouring her, though, or so Hermione thought.
"And it's not as if anything came of it anyway," Dad cut in.
"Mr Black's still fighting in court, but he'll win," Hermione said.
"And who told you that?"
"Harry." That didn't impress her parents, she knew. But Harry wouldn't lie to her - and even Mr Fletcher said that it would take far more than being slightly unhinged to lose control over the family fortune. Especially with Dumbledore backing Mr Black. Harry said that Malfoy simply wanted a bribe - a settlement to stop his obstruction. But apparently, Mr Black was determined not to give Malfoy a single Knut.
Hermione approved of that. Whole-heartedly.
"Now let's open the presents!" Mum said, with - in Hermione's opinion - forced cheer. There were very few presents, and all of them rather modest compared to their last Christmas.
Hermione played along, though - it was Christmas, after all. But she would remember this. And she would make it up to her parents. With dividends.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 25th, 1993
"Open them, Harry! All of them!"
His godfather was bouncing on his seat, Harry Potter noticed. Literally, after a spell from Remus.
"What? Moony!" Sirius pouted at his friend.
"Just a reminder to calm down." Remus smiled faintly. "It's Harry's first Christmas here."
"Might as well be mine," Sirius muttered. "My first Christmas at home without my evil family to ruin things. Figures that I didn't lose those memories in Azkaban."
Harry saw Remus wince at that, and, for a moment, silence filled the room. Some things they didn't talk about. Azkaban was one of them. Then Harry stepped forward. "Alright!" He reached out for one of the bigger packages with his name floating above it, then hesitated.
"Go on - I've ensured that they are safe." Remus smiled at him.
Sirius sniffed. "I wouldn't hex my godson."
But Sirius apparently had played 'pranks' on Harry's father numerous times - even if he couldn't remember most of them in detail. And Harry agreed with Remus - in private, of course - that it was better to be safe than sorry. Sirius was recovering from his ordeal, but it would take more time than a few months, and his memories might never return in full, so he was bound to be 'eccentric', as he called it.
Harry opened the package. Black and shiny cloth.
"New dress robes!" Sirius exclaimed. "Can't have you walk around in school robes, or transfigured robes!" His smile suddenly vanished. "I wanted to buy you a new broom, but Dumbledore and Remus said that I would only play into Malfoy's hands if I did that."
"He wanted to buy you a Firebolt," Remus explained.
Harry gasped. A Firebolt! But they were so expensive there wasn't even a price listed in the shop.
"See? I knew he wanted one!" Sirius exclaimed.
"Of course he wants one. But he wouldn't be happy if you had to beggar yourself for his gift." Remus's glance at Harry had him nodding in agreement.
"I thought most of your money was tied up in that court case," Harry said while he unfolded the robes.
"I could have managed," Sirius said.
"He was planning to sell the house." Remus added.
"What?" Harry blinked. The house had been improved drastically since his first visit - only parts of the basement were still off-limits - but much of the furniture was still very… disturbing. At least in Harry's opinion. "Who would want to buy it?" he said, then flinched - that had sounded bad.
"Malfoy, of course. Or rather, his wife, my dear cousin Narcissa." Sirius sneered. "She wants the Blacks' ancestral home. Malfoy offered to drop his case if I gave him the house. I wouldn't do that, of course - but selling it is not the same."
"Malfoy wouldn't want it if he wasn't planning something," Remus said.
"We don't know what."
"And until we do you shouldn't sell the house."
Sirius scoffed. Then he perked up. "Enough talk about Death Eaters! Now, before you open your next present, try on your new robes!"
Harry did so, and turned around. They did look sleek and expensive. Elegant, but he was no expert on wizarding fashion.
"Perfect!" Sirius grinned. "Now touch the top button with your wand and say 'change'!"
Harry did so - and found himself wearing a leather jacket. A stylish one - he knew that.
"See? You can use them to impress both witches and muggle girls! Or muggleborn witches!"
Sirius had said similar things before, so Harry didn't bother glaring at his godfather. Besides, he didn't think that he wanted to impress a girl who was impressed by gold.
"He's thirteen, Sirius," Remus pointed out. "At thirteen, you and James were banishing mudballs at girls. And that definitely didn't impress them. At all."
Sirius blinked and seemed to stare at nothing for a moment. Harry knew that meant that he was searching for another lost memory. Then his godfather grinned. "Well, that just means that I'm helping Harry to avoid making the same mistakes James and I did."
Harry wasn't certain that Sirius was actually helping in that area, but he laughed. It was Christmas, after all, a time to be happy with your family.
*****
London, East End, January 3rd, 1994
Hermione Granger gasped as her left hand slipped on the wet roof and she almost lost her balance. And she cursed when she overcompensated, sliding down a foot or two before she could stop herself. Panting, she remained still for a few breaths. It wasn't the falling she feared - this abandoned office building of an equally abandoned plant was tall enough that Mr Fletcher would be able to catch her with a spell, and she had cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground as additional assurance. But she hated failing. Even a task as unfair as climbing without the help of magic.
She forced herself to move on. She was sweating, and if she stayed still any longer, she'd be cold and not just wet. There had to be spells to deal with that… but she had to focus on climbing right now. Free climbing, even. She reached out once again, and this time she kept her grip. Her left leg followed, finding purchase on a broken tile. Her right hand overtook her left, grabbing the edge of a hole in the roof. She had to pull up her right leg far more than was comfortable to find a foothold, but she managed it. Half a year ago, she wouldn't, and would have sprained something trying this. She had made progress. But she still didn't like it.
But she needed to be able to do this. Mr Fletcher said so, and her pride drove her on. Inch by inch, if needed. Until she finally reached the chimney and could relax. And start to breathe normally again.
"Well… you managed to reach the top. But you took your time doing it. And I don't think you need to hug the chimney that tightly. Your boyfriend might get jealous."
She turned her head to the side and glared at the spot where Mr Fletcher's voice was coming from. "Big talk coming from someone who used magic to get up here." A broom, if she wasn't mistaken - he was talking too casually for the alternative since levitating a board you were standing or sitting on required a lot of focus, and Mr Fletcher was no Dumbledore.
"Oh, don't worry, broom flying is next. But first, we, that is, you, will do this again, just a little faster."
She groaned in response. She had heard those words before. It was always just a bit faster. A bit longer. A bit harder.
He chuckled. "You'll be thanking me once you can easily outrun a mark - or an Auror - over the rooftops."
"Wouldn't they just apparate ahead? Or use a broom?" Hermione asked while she swung her leg over the ridge and drew her wand.
"Very few would risk apparating on a wet and slippery rooftop. And flying a broom is not that easy either, as you have demonstrated before."
She clenched her teeth - she had gotten better at flying. Just not good enough. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself off the ridge and slid down the roof, casting a Cushioning Charm at the ground when she slid over the eaves.
The second she spent in free fall was both terrifying and exciting, even after she had done it dozens of times. Then she hit the ground and performed a parachute landing fall, jumping to her feet before her tutor arrived at her side.
"Very good."
She smiled at the praise. She was getting better.
"But remember: Don't let anyone know you can do this. When the Aurors are hunting a roof-running thief you want to be known as a clumsy bookworm." He tapped his forehead. "You have to outthink your opponents from the start. As long as you're always at least one step ahead of them, they won't catch you. And it starts with keeping your identities separate."
"Yes," she forced through her clenched teeth. It made sense. It was logical. Obvious, even. But she hated downplaying her hard-earned athletic ability. The only thing she hated more was keeping her growing - even if slowly - skill on a broom a secret.
He laughed - he knew exactly what she was thinking. She had complained about it often enough.
*****
London, East End, January 6th, 1994
"Alright. Begin."
Hermione Granger took a deep breath and cast the detection spell. Her vision was briefly filled with flickering patches of colours, blinding her, before the effect faded. She looked around - everything looked normal. As it should - the spell that allowed her to see spells and curses had a very short range. Which explained why Curse-Breakers lived a dangerous and often short life - the best traps took that range into account.
She focused her attention on the purse on the table in front of her. She could see the Extension Charm, which made it bigger on the inside. And there was a charm that allowed the owner to pull out what they wanted, without having to grope around inside. A variant of the Summoning Charm. But where was the curse protecting it?
She pointed her wand at it. She could simply try to end all spells, but that would be tricky - she didn't know how many spells were hidden under those two obvious ones. There had to be at least one. Well… there was one way to find out. She reached out with her hand... touching the purse, touching its strings… there! That was a spell reacting to her touch.
She grinned as she aimed her wand and ended it. Another touch showed no reaction. After a moment's hesitation, she opened the purse and pulled out a Knut. "Done!"
Mr Fletcher was frowning, though. "Yeah, you did it. But that was a risky method - triggering a response to spot the spell? That won't work with wards. And some nasty buggers curse their purses." He shook his head and pulled out another purse. "Do it again, but this time without triggering the protection spell on it. Triggering an Alarm Charm to find it defeats the purpose, you know."
She huffed - of course she knew that. Just as she knew that most purses wouldn't curse someone for touching them. But Mr Fletcher was correct. Sighing, she tried again.
*****
Hogwarts, February 20th, 1994
When he saw Sirius's wand light up, Harry Potter threw himself forward and down, clenching his teeth when he rolled over his shoulder on the hard stone floor. He used his momentum to jump up, and dove for the floor again right away, changing his direction, then rolled along the floor a yard until he was behind a pillar. Panting, he grinned - that had been two, maybe three spells that had missed him. He glanced to his side. Ron was faring well against Remus too, though Harry's friend slid into cover on his belly, which had to hurt - more than Harry's shoulder, at least.
"Alright, that was a good showing," Sirius declared. Harry didn't move - his godfather hadn't said that the exercise was over. Remus coughed. Harry heard Sirius sigh. "Alright - the test is over. You did well."
Harry grinned at Ron as they slowly stood up and left their respective cover. "So, will you now teach us how to curse back? I mean, how to 'slow pursuers down' and 'make them seek cover'?" Harry asked, grinning widely.
"No." Sirius shook his head.
"You said that once we could dodge - make ourselves difficult targets -" Ron corrected himself before Remus could do it, "you'd teach us how to strike back too!"
"Yes, we did. And we will," Harry's godfather said. "But you're not yet ready. You are hard to hit with spells like a Stunner, or similar curses, but…" His wand flicked, and Harry jumped to the side as before, but this time, liquid splashed over him before he finished his roll.
No, not liquid - paint, he realised a second later.
Sirius was grinning widely. "As you can see, there are spells that are a bit harder to avoid. Spells that cause explosions, spells that create clouds of poison - or waves. And we'll train until you can move without thinking about it."
Harry groaned, then cast a Cleaning Charm on himself. He had feeling he would be doing that very often in the future.
*****
"Merlin's beard!" Ron complained when they were walking back to their dorm afterwards, "I was so happy that we'd finally learn something…else."
Harry nodded. Playing target for his teachers wasn't much fun. Even if it was effective. But it hurt, and the ointments could only do so much. "Well, we've been learning hexes and jinxes in Defence." And on their own.
"Nothing really useful, though," Ron said.
Harry knew what his friend really meant: Nothing really dangerous. He shrugged. "It's a start." And he knew Sirius and Remus were right: Trying to duel a Death Eater would be stupid. For now, at least. But it still galled not to be allowed to strike back. "Well, you know…" he trailed off when he spotted movement ahead of them. Was that? It was. "Snakes ahead," he whispered.
"I've seen them," Ron whispered back. "Four of them. Malfoy."
Harry clenched his teeth. The smart thing would be to avoid them - he doubted that the Slytherins had seen them yet; they hadn't been training to spot ambushes. He and Ron could just duck into a side corridor and take a little detour.
But he was sick of avoiding the Slytherins. And sick of avoiding Malfoy. He had avoided Dudley too often, back in Little Whinging. Before Hogwarts. "Let's keep walking. We've done nothing wrong," he said. "Besides, there's a portrait watching the hallway."
Ron drew a loud breath, then nodded. "Alright, mate."
They walked forward, and Harry could see the exact moment Malfoy and the others - Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson - noticed him. They jerked and stopped walking. Parkinson stuck her hand into her bag, probably going for her wand. Harry's was already in hand, but pointed at the ground.
"Potter. Skulking around in the evening, like a thief?" Malfoy sneered at them.
Harry had wanted to ignore the snakes. Just walk past them, as if they didn't matter - and they didn't. But this… He scoffed. "Careful, Malfoy. Wouldn't want to get detention for threatening students, and ruin Slytherin's chances for the cup. Oh, wait - you already did that by yourself."
Ron added: "Funny how that works when you can't cheat and lie any more."
"I've heard Snape was so sick of how far behind they are, he wanted to withdraw his house from the cup, but Dumbledore wouldn't let him." Harry hadn't just learned self-defence from his godfather; Sirius was an incurable gossip as well - as long as the topic interested him. And the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherins definitely did. "Something about learning a lesson."
Parkinson scoffed. "Like the lesson Granger, the cheat and thief, learned?"
Harry wanted to hex the stupid witch, but he controlled himself. The teachers had cracked down on 'altercations'.
"Been visiting your crazy godfather? Holding his hand so he doesn't break down crying when it's dark outside?"
Harry clenched his teeth together. Then he felt Ron's hand on his shoulder. "Mate, let's go - it stinks like Thestral shit here," his friend said, wrinkling his nose. "Or Slytherins."
Harry laughed. Joking about Malfoy's detentions with Hagrid never got old.
"You… you…"
"Yes, Malfoy?"
"What are you standing around for? Waiting so you can curse us in the back?" Malfoy said after a moment.
"No. That's what you do. And when it doesn't work, you go whining to your dad." Harry scoffed.
They stared at each other. Everyone had their wands in hand.
"And you go running to the teachers as soon as someone doesn't think you're that great," Malfoy retorted. "And you're not great - you're both poor excuses for wizards! Bloo… bloody poor excuses!"
"Oh yeah? Who challenged us to a duel and then didn't show up? You're a bloody coward, Malfoy! Even when you outnumber us, you don't dare do anything until we turn our backs to you!" Ron yelled back.
"Don't talk to Draco like that!" Parkinson huffed and glared at them.
"Oh… is she your new mum? Gonna hide behind her skirt too?" Ron laughed.
Harry was surprised when that was enough for Malfoy to attack them. But even surprised, he was already moving when he saw Malfoy's wand starting to rise.
"Densaugeo!" The spell went wide - Malfoy was no Sirius or Remus.
"Furnunculus!" Parkinson was a bit slower, and casting at Ron, who was already in cover.
"Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!"
"Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!"
And then it was over. Crabbe and Goyle hadn't even managed to draw their wands. "Wow… he fights like he smells," Ron quoted his brothers. "Would be so easy to hex him now," he added, crouching down next to Malfoy's paralysed form.
"No," Harry interjected. "Let's just wait for the teachers to sort this out." He wasn't really worried - the portrait had seen everything, after all. And if he got detention for provoking the git, well - Sirius had already said he wanted a cover for their lessons.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 19th, 1994
"Ah, Miss Granger! Welcome to my humble home!" Mr Black said, bowing with a flourish.
Harry's godfather didn't look like his mugshot, Hermione Granger thought. Instead, he looked older, and much more elegant. She returned his bow - and almost winced when she saw his eyebrows rise in surprise; she should have acted a little more muggleborn. To cover her lapse, she used her most posh accent. "I'm grateful for your invitation, Mr Black."
"Anything for my godson's best friend. Best female friend."
She nodded. "Will Harry be joining us?"
His smile vanished, replaced by a fierce scowl. "No. Ever since Harry schooled his son, Malfoy's been making a fuss about 'special privileges', and so we didn't want to risk sneaking him out."
She had heard about that. And berated the boys for provoking Malfoy.
Mr Black sighed, then beamed at her. "But enough of that! Please, let me show you the living room." She hesitated just a moment, and he added with a grin she could only describe as 'roguish': "It's perfectly safe - whatever Harry said."
Hermione laughed despite herself, and his eyes seem to light up. "So... you're not a serious as he said."
"What?" She pursed her lips. "I presume that this was in response to me letting him know my opinion about his altercation with Mr Malfoy."
"You are correct. Although one could say that he was defending your honour."
She was perfectly capable of defending her own honour. Outside the judicial system of Wizarding Britain, at least. Or would be soon. She didn't say that, though. They reached an elegant living room. Very 'muggle', in Hermione's now - thanks to Mr Fletcher - rather well-informed opinion.
"So, I am certain Harry's already told you - Malfoy lost in court. I'm now in full control of the considerable Black fortune." Mr Black was smiling widely, if a bit toothily.
"He did inform me, yes."
"Which means that I am now in a position to fulfil my promise to pay your debts." His smile lost the teeth.
She didn't ask if he knew how much he was offering to pay - Harry had said that his godfather knew the size of the debt. "That is very generous of you, sir."
He made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "Bah. I can afford it. Just the sight of my bigoted family portraits getting spitting mad at the thought of all that ill-gotten gold being used to help a muggleborn witch is worth it." The teeth were back.
She could understand the desire for revenge. Very well. And yet… "There are a few complications, you could say. Or things to consider."
"Yes?" He was frowning again - he seemed to have a mercurial temper. Probably a result from his time in Azkaban. She didn't think she wanted him angry with her.
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "First, all the money would go straight to the despicable people who framed me." And to see them actually profit like that… she grew angry just thinking about it.
He slowly nodded. "I can see that. And yet, isn't letting your family live like they used to worth more than denying them some gold?"
'Some gold' - Hermione had to struggle not to react to that. "It would be - if we actually could return to our former life without having to explain to the government from whence all that money came." If you were framed as a thief, the government tended to be suspicious of a sudden influx of cash - or, worse, actual gold.
He looked confused, and so she explained further: "The tax office would demand an accounting."
Mr Black shrugged. "That can be worked around. My family has some experience in those sorts of things."
"Money laundering?"
"Let's just say that, in the past, my family wasn't quite as compliant with Gringott's monopoly on exchanging muggle money for gold, and vice versa."
"Ah." Circumventing the barriers put in place to control the wizard economy - as much as it could be called that - was indeed a tricky affair. The goblins were aware of the danger uncontrolled money transactions posed to their livelihood, even if most wizards never gave it a thought.
"I see you're familiar with the matter," Mr Black said after a moment.
"Yes."
They exchanged grins, though Hermione wasn't quite certain how much Mr Black knew of her current circumstances. Although if he was willing to spend a fortune on her, then he would have checked with Dumbledore to assure himself that she actually was innocent.
"And you're remarkably well versed in pureblood manners."
"At their core, they're not so different from muggle manners." Apart from all the customs involving magic and wands, of course.
"Dumbledore told me he arranged a tutor for you."
"Mr Smith, recently arrived from the New World." The lie came easily to her - she had told it a dozen times in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. "Second, there's a danger that Malfoy might make another attempt to deprive you of your control over your family fortune, should you spend so much gold on me."
He shook his head. "Not so soon after he lost. That's not done." He frowned. "But we might want to spread the payments out a little."
"There's also the matter of our reputations. If you spend so much gold on my debts, people will assume you have other motives than simply the desire to help a friend of your godson."
"You mean they will wonder if you're sleeping with Harry, myself, or both." She didn't expect him to state it that crudely, and it must have shown on her face since he laughed. "They said worse about me and James, when I ran away from home and went to the Potters."
"Ah."
"So I don't really care. And, forgive my bluntness, but your reputation is already in tatters in certain circles." Mr Black sounded as if that was not really important, though.
"I'm aware of that."
"So, unless you value your pride more than your family's good fortune, I do not think there is any reason to reject my offer."
He had her there. Ultimately, she didn't want to owe anyone. And for that kind of help, she would owe Mr Black. But he was right - she couldn't let her parents suffer the consequences of her own actions. And mistakes. "You are correct. I therefore accept your generous offer."
He raised his wand. "There's one condition."
Ah. She hadn't expected this to come up that soon. "Yes?"
"I want to meet your tutor. I need to know if he can be trusted. There is a lot of gold at stake, after all."
"Of course." Hermione kept smiling, though she wasn't really certain how that would play out.
*****
Chapter 5: Rumours and Revelations
Starfox5
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Chapter 5: Rumours and Revelations
Near Tilbury, Essex, Britain, March 20th, 1994
"Ah." He sighed contentedly as he savoured the taste of a good port. He hadn't had any in a long time - he hadn't been able to indulge in any of his vices during his captivity. His jailers had seen to that. But they had paid for it. Paid for every miserable year he had spent imprisoned, isolated, suffering.
He raised his glass at the figure lying on the floor. "I commend you - you have good taste in wine." He took another sip. "If only you had had an equally good taste in friends." He shook his head with mock regret and sighed deeply. "I would still do what I have come here to do, but I would sincerely loathe your loss. There are too few wizards or witches who know their wines. Too many simply drink whatever is sold in their favourite tavern, never knowing the pleasures of which they deprive themselves."
He checked his watch - one of the few things he had kept from his family home, before he had cleansed it, then looked at the witch on the floor again. Her eyes moved frantically. They had stopped glaring at him an hour or two ago. Soon they would be filled with despair and anguish. And pain.
"You know, in my youth, I had even entertained the thought of creating a wizarding variant of this wine. Seek out some Portuguese wizard - or a witch," he added with a grin, "and improve upon it by adding magic. But that was before the war, of course. I was so naive, back then. Almost innocent." He grinned at the witch, and she paled.
He pulled back. "Don't worry about that. I'm not interested. Unlike others, I stayed faithful." Not that he had had any opportunities to stray, of course. Only his thoughts had been free, and even they hadn't remained so for long. "Not many did, you know. Too many repudiated him, when the situation looked bleak. Lost their faith. Lost their hope. Lost their pride. Lied and betrayed their way to freedom. Turned their back on their comrades and cause. Turned their back on HIM!" He yelled the last word, anger and rage filling him. They would pay. All of them would pay for their betrayal. Their desertions. They and their kin. Their blood would pay for their sins.
He took a few deep breaths to calm down. He couldn't be angry. Not when he would be needed soon for the ritual.
"They were worse than our enemies, you know? They, at least, faced us openly. Showed some courage, even if they were misguided in their allegiance. But those who abandoned us, and him, when the tide turned against us… they are unworthy!" He emptied his glass and bent down again. "Like your nephew. Did you know that he supported my master?" Her eyes seemed to widen, he thought, but that might just be an illusion - the full Body-Bind Curse held her paralysed. "Not with his wand, not him, the coward! And seldom enough with gold. No, he simply paid lip service to our cause. Always talking, but never doing anything, never proving himself!" He chuckled. "Well, now he is serving our master, body and soul."
Not forever, of course. Not even with the ritual that would soon take place, at the exact time of the equinox, when night and day were in perfect balance. Great things could be achieved on such a date, under the omen of spring's renewal and rebirth.
He frowned. If they could do this at Samhain, when the barriers between the dead and the living loosened, they could achieve even greater deeds - but Samhain had been tainted! Cursed those many years ago, when his master had been defeated by a wicked trap.
No, it had to be spring, not autumn. A new beginning. A new life. Paid for and nurtured by the sacrifice of another life, of course, since everything had its price. It wouldn't hold forever. Bagnold's body would succumb to his master's power, too weak to contain his spirit. But it would last long enough for his master to achieve his goals.
With his help, of course. He checked his watch again. Almost eight o'clock. Half an hour to the equinox. He stood up and flicked his wand, and Millicent Bagnold rose in the air, following him to her study, where they had prepared the circle for the ritual. Where his master was waiting in a rotting, misshapen body.
He knocked before entering, of course - to barge in on the Dark Lord was unthinkable. "My Lord?"
"Enter, Barty."
He obeyed.
Inside, Alphons Bagnold, the former Minister's nephew, was stuck to the floor, surrounded by runes and candles, in the middle of a web of finely etched grooves. His eyes were dim - he was unconscious. A mercy he deserved as little as he deserved the honour of surrendering his body to the Dark Lord, but needs must - if he struggled too much, he might manage to disturb the ritual.
Barty ignored the stench from the Dark Lord's current shell as he bowed to him. He had smelled worse in Azkaban, and the rotting husk would last long enough for his master to possess Bagnold. And that body wouldn't degrade so quickly.
His master nodded at him, the bloated head with two overlapping faces moving slowly, and then pointed at the circle. It was time.
Barty levitated Bagnold to the sacrifice's spot, a space surrounded by seven bowls filled with dried crocus petals. He dropped her there, and stuck her to the stone, then turned to face his master, who took his place in the centre of the circle, next to Bagnold's nephew.
"Begin!"
He obeyed. His wand rose, and he started chanting the spell. One by one, the candles lit up, followed by the bowls' contents. Soon smoke dimmed the lights, and he turned around, raising his wand as his chanting grew louder. A slashing motion, and Bagnold's throat was cut, her blood flowing, gushing into the deep groove beneath her head.
Soon, the blood was spreading, filling every groove, every rune, empowering the circle with life and death. Focusing the magic on his master.
He was shouting the words now, his wand moving frantically, cutting the very air surrounding him. In front of him, the husk holding his master's spirit was collapsing, fading, as the magic of the ritual took effect.
And then, finally, a green shade rose, floated above the circle in a moment of splendour, shining with power, before descending on Alphons Bagnold, sinking into the body.
And when the body started to move - unmarred by any outward sign of the possession - and shining eyes gazed upon him with pride, Barty Crouch Jr fell to his knees, feeling happier than ever in his life.
"My Lord!"
Hogwarts, March 21st, 1994
Millicent Bagnold Murdered! Nephew Shocked! Black's Revenge?
Harry Potter stared at the headline of the Daily Prophet, then at Remus, sitting at the staff table. The teacher's face seemed set in stone.
"Blimey! Wasn't Sirius joking about killing Bagnold?" Ron muttered at his side.
"Yes," Harry pressed out through clenched teeth. "He was joking."
"Doesn't look like many believe that," Ron whispered.
His friend was right, Harry realised - all around them, students were whispering, and sneaking glances at him. And at Remus. The Gryffindors were trying to be discreet, at least, but the other tables… He could imagine what Malfoy was whispering to the other Slytherins.
"Do you think they'll arrest him?"
"They can't! They have no proof," Harry blurted out. Then, realising how that could be taken, he quickly added: "He's innocent. He didn't do it."
"I believe you, mate." Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "But the others…"
"Sod the lot of them!" Harry muttered. "And sod Snape!" The Potions Master was reading the Daily Prophet in a rather obvious way, and his shocked expression was so at odds with his usual controlled manner, Harry just knew it was fake. Maybe Snape had killed the former Minister, to frame Sirius?
"Wow… two Hit-Wizards on protection detail slain. Her house burned down. And on the Spring Equinox. They speculate about dark rituals," Ron commented.
Harry scoffed. "They speculate about my godfather!"
"But that had to be a seriously powerful wizard." Ron winced when Harry glared at him for his choice of words. "Not many of them around."
"It wasn't Sirius. It was probably Malfoy's father." Harry stared at the Slytherin, and noted with some satisfaction that the git wasn't able to meet his eyes. "He has the most to gain if Sirius gets thrown into prison again."
"Or Kissed," Ron said.
Harry really hoped that the Headmaster would be able to handle this new problem. He couldn't lose his godfather. He wouldn't.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 21st, 1994
"Welcome to my humble home, Miss Granger, Mr Smith."
Mr Black wasn't quite at ease this time, Hermione Granger noticed. His manners were still impeccable, but he was far tenser than during her first visit to his home. And his smile seemed forced. She had expected that, though, after those articles in the Prophet which all but accused him of murdering Millicent Bagnold.
"Mr Black." Mr Fletcher used his faint American accent again and bowed a little stiffly.
"Thank you for inviting us," Hermione said when she bowed herself.
Mr Black led them straight to his living room and filled a glass with Firewhisky before asking if his guests wanted a drink as well.
"Water, please," Mr Fletcher said, after a moment. He eyed the bottle, though, Hermione noticed. She would have to ask if it was a particularly expensive brand.
"For me as well, thank you," she said herself.
Mr Black drank half his glass in one go, flames shooting out of his mouth in response, then nodded at Mr Fletcher. "So, you're Miss Granger's tutor. You look familiar."
"I hear that from time to time. My family was originally from England, so I might have distant relatives here."
"The Smith family?" Mr Black tilted his head while swishing the whisky in his glass. "They're an old pureblood family."
Her tutor smiled and spread his hands. "In the New World we didn't care much about old blood."
"Ah. You're from one of the muggleborn enclaves then?" Mr Black took another sip from his glass. He seemed more relaxed now. Or he simply controlled himself better, Hermione couldn't tell.
"I travelled."
"I assumed as much - muggleborns don't generally care much about pureblood manners."
"Their loss. Without an open mind, one misses many opportunities. Such as travelling to the Old World, and working as a tutor." Mr Fletcher seemed tenser now, though.
"And you picked Miss Granger as your first student. Pro bono, I assume." Mr Black hadn't missed that particular hole in her tutor's cover story.
"An old acquaintance referred her to me."
"An acquaintance we share." Harry's godfather nodded. "He assured me that you could be trusted, and yet he was not very informative."
"He values discretion. As do I." Mr Fletcher was now showing his teeth when he smiled.
"You look really familiar. I'm certain that I would recognise you if I had all my memories." Mr Black lost his smile. "Who are you?" Mr Fletcher hesitated, and Mr Black scoffed. "Come, now! We know each other. Dumbledore even said he trusted you - which means you're either a friend of his, or an Order member. Do you expect me to pay a fortune in gold without verifying who is involved?"
Hermione's eyes widened for a moment. Order? She glanced at her tutor, who seemed to know what Mr Black was talking about.
"If my association with my pupil becomes known it could have quite the negative effect on her reputation and life. You should be aware of how appearances matter."
Harry's godfather scoffed. "Malfoy's trying to pin Bagnold's death on me, but all the gold in England won't help him there. Dumbledore has the situation under control."
"But it doesn't make rebuilding your life any easier, does it?" Mr Fletcher retorted.
"No. But I have to point out that not getting my gold will not make rebuilding any easier either." Mr Black leaned forward. "Her reputation is already in tatters, and can't really get any worse in good society. Is your secrecy worth keeping her in debt?"
"She'd owe you."
"Better me than Malfoy's friends." Mr Black smiled.
That was true, Hermione thought. She knew that Harry had a lot of influence on his godfather, and apparently, so did Dumbledore. But she wouldn't press her tutor. As Mr Black had pointed out - she would owe the gold to someone anyway, and her tutor was her best chance at getting revenge.
Mr Fletcher sighed. "Yes. I'm Fletcher. I worked for Dumbledore in the war."
Mr Black blinked, then seemed to freeze for a few moments before smiling. "Ah, the thief!" Almost happily, he added: "I haven't forgotten you!"
"You almost did," her tutor shot back.
"The Dementors took the happy memories."
The two men nodded at each other. Once more, Hermione felt left out.
"With your curiosity satisfied, how will you be running this?" Mr Fletcher asked.
"Ah, I'll pay her creditors. I'll claim I'm doing this to protect my godson. They'll understand - or will think they do." Mr Black grinned and emptied his glass. "That takes care of the wizarding side of the problem. I'll funnel some gold to her under the guise of hiring her parents as my personal dentists." He shivered as he said that.
Hermione almost frowned - even in Wizarding Britain, muggle dentists had a reputation. Wholly undeserved, as she had tried to tell her muggle friends so many times in the past! She smiled instead, though. "Thank you, Mr Black."
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I can afford it." He lifted his glass to his lips, then seemed to realise that it was empty. He summoned the bottle and refilled his glass. "To this motley collection of crooks!" he said, raising it in a toast he seemed to find very funny.
Hermione politely raised her glass.
He took a large sip, then looked at her. "So, does Harry know what you're learning?"
Hermione froze for a moment. Of course he'd realise, knowing her tutor! She shook her head. "No, he does not."
"And you don't want him to know." That wasn't a question.
"No. If something happens…"
Mr Black nodded. He would understand that, Hermione thought.
She realised that he hadn't asked if she would change her plans and stop being Mr Fletcher's pupil - or was that apprentice now? - either. Of course, he would understand her desire for revenge better than anyone else, she thought.
London, Merton, April 25th, 1994
"Well, I like it!" Hermione Granger declared, standing in the middle of the living room of the house she and her parents were viewing.
The estate agent was smiling at her in in a rather patronising way. "It is a nice house, isn't it?"
Hermione put on her best imitation of Mr Fletcher acting all professional. "Indeed. It's close to both a bus stop and the tube while the neighborhood offers good shopping opportunities for the basic necessities without having to use transportation. It's true that the pipes and electrics, as well as the central heating, could have used a little more maintenance over the last few years. But the layout is practical for a family of three, and offers us a good amount of flexibility." Such as space for rebuilding their libraries, and a discreet room to practise her magic. And she could use Mending Charms on the house anyway.
The woman looked to be taken aback by her appraisal, but quickly recovered. "Indeed - you have a good eye for houses, Miss Granger. Have you considered becoming an estate agent?"
Her parents smiled, although rather weakly, at that. "The house does look nice," her father said. "Better than the last one you showed us. But I think we should discuss the price."
As the adults started to haggle, Hermione wandered into the back yard. The lawn had been mowed, but the flowerbeds had been neglected, in her opinion. But the fence was high enough to frustrate curious neighbours, and there was enough space for more than a few chairs and a table.
And the house was close enough to their former home in Kingston upon Thames that she and her parents could easily visit the few friends who hadn't abandoned them. Maybe use a little of the money her dad was currently saving by haggling over the price of the house for a nice car. Show their old acquaintances that their financial difficulties had been overcome. It wouldn't help her own reputation, but at least her parents would be seen as hard-working, successful professionals who had handled the troubles their criminal daughter had caused for the family and not as fools, or even accomplices, who had been ruined by their adolescent daughter's crimes.
It wasn't as if she would be be making many new friends here anyway - between studying and training, she hadn't much time for such things. Her revenge on all those who had wronged her came first.
London, Enfield, April 25th, 1994
"You don't look as happy as I would have expected," Hermione Granger said as soon as she and her parents had returned to their rented flat. She narrowed her eyes when they glanced at each other before looking at her. "What's wrong? The house is nice. Bigger than our old one, even! And the neighborhood is nice too!"
"It's not the house, dear," her mum said.
"Is it the new practice? Mr Black said he'll cover the difference, until you've rebuilt your client base."
Her dad coughed. "It's Mr Black, actually."
"I told you that he was framed! He's no criminal!" Even though the Black family had a very nasty - and, according to Mr Fletcher, well-deserved - reputation. But both the Headmaster and Mr Fletcher trusted Mr Black - although in her tutor's case with some reservations. As Mr Fletcher told her, Azkaban changed a wizard. "You didn't say anything when he paid my debts!"
"Would it have mattered? The transaction was done entirely in Wizarding Britain. With wizarding money," her dad pointed out.
"And we agreed that it was better to owe a friend of Mr Dumbledore instead of those nasty purebloods," her mum added.
"So what's the problem?" Hermione couldn't see it.
"People don't spend that much money out of the goodness of their hearts." Her dad shook his head. "They expect something in return."
"I know that." She wasn't naive, after all. Not any more. And Mr Fletcher had told her the same.
"But you said that he had spent twelve years in Azkaban," her mum went on. "And you were quite clear how horrible the conditions for the prisoners were there, when you told us how you barely escaped imprisonment there."
"Yes." Maybe she shouldn't have been that frank about Azkaban.
"So, do you see why we are somewhat concerned about owing a man who spent so much time there a debt?" her dad cut in.
"You think he's crazy," Hermione said, pursing her lips.
"You were the one who told us that most prisoners lost their minds within a year." He looked at her.
"He didn't. He's an exception." She had spoken to the man, and while he certainly did show signs of the effects of his ordeal, he wasn't crazy. "And he's getting treatment too - he's been seeing a Healer for almost a year." She was being generous there, but Harry had told her Sirius was getting help and was steadily getting better.
"We're just concerned that he might change his views." Her mum smiled. "He might regret his generous actions once he's thinking more clearly."
"He won't. He did it for Harry, because I'm his friend and saved him from a plot, and he loves his godson very much." Hermione smiled, but she could see that this argument hadn't convinced her parents.
"There's another thing, too," her mum said after a moment.
"What?" What else had Hermione missed.
"Your education."
"Is this about going to a muggle school? I told you, I'm not giving up magic!" She had thought her parents understood that.
"We know. But there are other schools than Hogwarts. You told us about the French one, Beauxbatons," her mum said. She didn't mention the one in the New World, of course - Hermione had told them about the state of Magical North America, and how dangerous their constant wars were.
She had - on their last vacation in France. "Yes."
"So, you could go to that school, instead of learning with a tutor here, and getting frustrated at your lack of progress." Mum nodded when Hermione flinched. "We do overhear you often enough, dear."
"I see." She took a deep breath. "Theoretically, I could go to Beauxbatons. Mr Dumbledore would certainly vouch for me. But," she continued when her parents kept looking at her, "I would have to study in French. That would hinder my education as well." And she would have to fit into a new school as a muggleborn, with a reputation as a thief. She doubted that many of the students would trust her, no matter what Dumbledore said - and muggleborns in Magical France had it worse than in Wizarding Britain. "And here I have the support of my old teachers at Hogwarts. I think overall, I'll do better here than abroad, even if it is not entirely optimal."
"Are you certain?" her mum asked. "You could learn French easily, I know. And it would be a new start as well."
Hermione shook her head. "It wouldn't be a new start. The Magical World is small and transfers are very rare - we haven't had any at Hogwarts for ages. People would quickly find out why I left Hogwarts." She sighed and smiled weakly at her parents. "I can't run away from this."
And she wouldn't, even if she could. Mr Fletcher might not be the best Transfiguration or Charms teacher, but he was an expert thief. And for her revenge, Hermione needed what he could teach her. Going to Beauxbatons wouldn't help her goals.
Hogsmeade, April 30th, 1994
As the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter had been getting used to being stared at by random wizards and witches. Or being thanked for something he didn't remember doing, and strongly suspected had actually been done by his parents. He didn't like his fame, but he could handle it.
These days, though, things were different. As he was walking through Hogsmeade with Ron, towards the Hog's Head Inn, people didn't just stare, but whispered, and judging by the way they were avoiding his eyes when he looked at them, they weren't being complimentary.
"I wish I had learned the Supersensory Charm," he muttered.
Ron scoffed. "We already know what they're saying - the same things as the idiots at Hogwarts."
Harry sighed and nodded. Ron was right. Remus and Dumbledore had told him that he should ignore the rumours. But when he heard 'Black', he still stopped and turned towards the witch who had said the name loud enough to be overheard. "Yes? What did you say?"
She looked embarrassed, wringing her hands. "Nothing."
He was so fed up with the rumours. Malfoy was a git, but he at least told Harry to his face what he thought of Harry's friends and family. Harry took a step towards the witch. "Really? I thought I heard you talking about my godfather. You know, Sirius Black."
"The murderer!" one of the other witches, an older one, nearby hissed.
Harry raised his voice. "He is no murderer! He was framed by Pettigrew!"
While the witch he had addressed first took a few steps back, all but fleeing, the other witch stood her ground. "And then he broke out of Azkaban and murdered Crouch and Bagnold!"
"That's not true! Dumbledore vouched for him!" Harry yelled.
"Yeah!" Ron chimed in. "Are you doubting Dumbledore?"
A wizard scoffed at that. "He vouched for Snape as well!" Harry was too angry at the rumours about his godfather to flinch at that.
The older witch added: "And Bagnold's nephew said that she was afraid of Black!"
"He also said that he doesn't want to accuse Sirius!" Harry clenched his teeth. He wanted to hex the stupid witch.
"Of course he'd say that! He's afraid of Black as well!" The wizard shook his head. "And you should be afraid of him too!"
"I'm not afraid of him!" Harry retorted. "Someone's framing him again. And you're all helping!"
"Of course you'd defend him! You defended your thieving friend as well!"
Harry whirled around. Malfoy was there, with Parkinson and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. The git sneered at him and Ron. Harry almost hexed him, but managed to control himself.
"You know that Hermione is innocent! You framed her!" Ron yelled. His friend had his hand in his pocket, on his wand, Harry realised - like himself.
"Innocent? Granger? Hah! Why do you think Black would pay so much gold for her, huh?" Draco scoffed. "Is she already paying him back, or does she wait for you?"
That… that… Harry snapped his wrist and his wand shot out of its holster. Malfoy would pay! But before he or Ron could curse the bugger, a loud voice cut through the whispers and murmurs: "Stop it!"
Harry froze - that was Remus. And he was angry.
"Mr Malfoy! Spreading filthy rumours about others?" The professor glared at the Slytherin. "About your mother's cousin?"
"I didn't!" the blond git protested.
"I heard you, and I know what you said - and what you meant." Remus scoffed. "Your Hogsmeade privileges are revoked until further notice, and you have detention today and tomorrow. Return to the castle at once!"
"But… you can't do that. My father…"
"Your father will do what?" Remus bared his teeth, and the Slytherin fell silent. "Go!"
Malfoy slunk away. Crabbe and Goyle followed, and, after a moment, Parkinson did as well.
"And you two! Stow your wands!" Remus snapped at Harry and Ron.
Harry slowly did so - he was still trembling with anger at Malfoy's words. Ron muttered a curse under his breath.
"Now get going, everyone!" Remus said.
Harry clenched his teeth, but obeyed. Hermione was waiting for them at the Hog's Head Inn, after all.
And now he knew why she hadn't wanted to wait at the train station.
"Hermione!" Harry barely noticed the rest of the dingy and probably dirty room as he made a beeline towards his best female friend.
"Hi, Harry! Hi, Ron!" She smiled at them as she stood up, then hugged them. "Thank you!" Harry knew she wasn't just talking about meeting her.
"Are those new robes?" Ron asked once they were sitting down. Harry stopped glaring at the whispering witches at the next table and looked himself. They did indeed seem to be new.
"Used ones I repaired," Hermione explained.
"Ah." Ron nodded in apparent sympathy. "They look fine, though."
"So, how are you doing?" Hermione asked after they had ordered three Butterbeers from the old bartender.
Harry glanced at Ron, then shrugged. "Same old." He didn't want to mention the rumours. She probably knew about them already.
"We're studying for the exams. Percy is pushing us hard," Ron added.
"Good!" Hermione said, beaming at them. "Exams are important."
Harry didn't think he should mention that Sirius had told him that all he had to worry about were the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. "I'm looking forward to moving in with Sirius." Though Dumbledore had mentioned some unspecified complications, the Headmaster had also said he would be handling them.
"I'm studying as well, of course. And we've started to move into our new house," Hermione said, smiling widely. "It'll take some time until we've furnished it, but we have the basics. I just wish I could conjure furniture."
"Lots of bookshelves?" Harry grinned while Ron chuckled.
Hermione didn't laugh, though. "I don't need that many bookshelves - I haven't replaced my collection, yet."
Harry winced. He had forgotten about that. "Well, you'll get them in time, right?"
"I guess so…" Hermione sighed. "It's just… replacing books I liked but won't read again feels wasteful. But I still miss them, even though it's not as if I have much time to read anyway, not with all the studying. But, speaking of studying," she added as she pulled out some parchment from her robes, "I wanted to compare some notes."
She was smiling at them so earnestly, Harry couldn't help smiling back, even if he wanted wince at the thought of their Hogsmeade meeting turning into a study session.
"Blimey! I mean… sure." Ron's smile seemed rather more forced to Harry.
But, he reminded himself, this was their best friend. And it was good to see her act so normal again. Well worth a little sacrifice.
Especially with all those rumours going around.
Hogwarts, June 16th, 1994
"Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat." The Headmaster gestured at one of the chairs in front of his desk.
"You wanted to speak to me, sir?" Harry Potter asked as soon as his backside touched the chair. Gryffindor was holding their own leaving party this evening, and he would rather not miss the start - most of the good food, the stuff brought in by the twins from Hogsmeade, would vanish quickly.
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I will try not to take too long, so you will be able to partake in the little feast your house is preparing." He was smiling as he said it, so Harry didn't flinch that much. "I was a Gryffindor too," the Headmaster went on, "I am quite familiar with the unofficial traditions. As is Minerva."
"Ah." Harry had trouble imagining the stern Head of Gryffindor House tolerating the kind of party that would soon start, but he nodded anyway.
Dumbledore grew serious, though. "I have called you to my office because I have an important favour to ask of you. You are aware that Voldemort is not quite as dead as many believe."
"Yes." Of course he was - the Dark Lord had tried to kill him, after all. "And you said that the Ministry wouldn't believe me if we told them."
"Some would, some would not. The Minister is among the latter - I have sounded him out, and he was not receptive to the possibility of danger. Fortunately, others in positions of authority are not as willfully blind, albeit for their own reasons. There is also the danger that such news would alert the Dark Lord's followers - those not already aware of his presence."
"Yes." Harry didn't know much about politics, so he had to trust Dumbledore there.
"Rest assured, as soon as I have proof of Voldemort's return that I can present to the Ministry, I will do so, It is, partially, for this I have called you to my office."
Harry blinked.
"There are ways to view and even copy memories with magic. I think your memories of your encounters with Voldemort would be useful to prepare for his next move. Although I would understand if you would prefer to keep your memories private - especially of such traumatising events."
"I only remember the attack in my first year," Harry said. He didn't remember the night his parents were murdered. Just… bad dreams.
"I see. I will show you how to copy that memory." The Headmaster cleared his throat. "There is another matter related to this. The protection your mother's sacrifice granted you against Voldemort."
"Yes?" Harry resisted the urge to rub his scar - the visible reminder of him surviving the Killing Curse.
"When I brought you to your relatives' house, I tied the protection to the home. I thought it best to ensure that your relatives would be protected as well, as long as they lived there."
His mother's protection was tied to his aunt's home? Harry stared at the old wizard.
Dumbledore sighed. "I didn't know better at the time, and I tried to rectify my mistake during the last few months so you could live with your godfather, but as it turned out, after so many years, moving the protection again proved beyond my power. I apologise for that."
"What does that mean?" Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut. The Headmaster couldn't mean that...
Dumbledore smiled. "It means we have to be clever."
London, Merton, June 27th, 1994
Hermione Granger almost crumpled up the sheet with the results from her 'exams'. She had failed. Well, she would have passed the exams, of course, but her grades… She clenched her teeth. She hadn't expected all Outstandings - that hadn't been realistic - and she had focused on Charms and Transfiguration, where she had achieved Outstandings according to the Hogwarts teachers, and she had been told to hold back in Defence. She hadn't really expected an Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures, not with just books to study and no actual creatures, and the same was true for Herbology, but… she had had an Outstanding in Astronomy in her first year, and had managed to keep that in her last 'exam'. Now it was down to Exceeds Expectations, and closer to Acceptable than Outstanding. And her grade in 'Muggle Studies' was an insult! She was a muggleborn! And it seemed that the Divination teacher was a friend of Snape's - both had left rather scathing grades and comments.
At least she had History of Magic with a solid Exceeds Expectations, and the same grade, if less solid, in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.
But she had studied so hard… She managed not to cry, despite wanting to. She would not let Malfoy's plot ruin her life, and her grades! This was just a setback! She would do better!
And she'd start right now!
She quickly wrote a note for her parents - 'gone to see my tutor' - and left the house.
London, Greenwich, June 27th, 1994
"Those are very respectable results," Mr Fletcher said. "I should be flattered as your tutor, although most of that was your own effort."
"I had better grades in my first year, and last year. There's a downward trend." A clear one - next year, she would have mostly Acceptables and Exceeds Expectations, if she couldn't change this!
"You didn't have as many subjects last year. And you spent more time at Hogwarts." Mr Fletcher leaned back in his favourite seat as she paced in front of him.
"That's no excuse!" she spat. "They'll think I cheated!" Snape would spread the word about her grades, she just knew it!
"Those are reasons, not excuses," he chided her, and his slightly sharper tone made her swallow her reply. "There's only so much time to study and practice, and both of us do not spend all of it preparing for your exams."
She sighed. She was learning a lot from her tutor that she couldn't show at an exam. "I know, but…"
"No but. You need to set priorities. Drop useless subjects like Muggle Studies and Divination. Astronomy as well."
She gasped. "Astronomy is a core subject!"
He sneered. "Astronomy is a waste of time. It's like Latin for muggles - its use is severely limited outside a few specialised fields. Thievery is not such a field."
"But the constellations affect our magic!" She had learned that in her first year.
"Yes. But in a negligible way. Did McGonagall or Flitwick ever tell you to watch the constellations before casting a spell? Or even mention such effects?"
She blinked. "No."
"Don't you think they would do that if it was important?"
"I thought that would come in later years."
He shook his head. "It doesn't. Astronomy is a core subject at Hogwarts because some important wizard or witch in the past decreed it so, and it became a tradition. Drop it. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are much more important."
She frowned. Dropping a subject - worse, dropping three subjects! - felt wrong. As if she was giving up. Admitting that she couldn't do what others did.
"Besides, you'll need to focus on your upcoming special exam."
"What?" She stared at her grinning tutor. "Another exam? When?"
"Right now," he said, standing up.
She squeaked with surprise. "But… I'm not prepared!" She hadn't studied!
"You should be - if you listened to me, and learned my lessons." His grin widened. "Now come - it's a practical exam!"
"But…"
She was still mumbling protests as she followed him outside the flat.
London, East End, June 27th, 1994
She was familiar with abandoned office building Mr Fletcher had prepared for her test - she had climbed it often in the past and had entered through all its doors and windows at least once.
"I've prepared the building as if it were an average wizard building," her tutor said, leaning against the wall of the plant behind them. Which meant there would be wards, and probably Locking Charms. And maybe a basic alarm charm. "Treat this as a real heist. But skip the subtle casing - no one's watching. The target's a chest."
Hermione bit her lower lip as she studied the building. She could go through the door, of course - but that would be too obvious. So, the windows then. Upper floor - near the downspout. But she had to get through the wards first.
A detection spell later, she was slowly approaching the building until she could spot the wards - they were covering the walls, the most simple and common anchoring. It didn't take her long to spot the weak points, and even less time to weaken the wards to the point that she could slip through them, and touch the wall without getting hurt. Which meant she could climb it.
She jumped up and stretched her arms, her hands gripping the upper ledge of the window. She pulled herself up, putting her feet on the windowsill, then reached for the downspout. A few seconds later, she was shimmying up the wall to the first floor.
Now came the tricky part. She could use a Sticking Charm, but that would mean she wouldn't be able to instantly drop to the ground if there was trouble. So she held on to the spout with her left hand, one foot planted on the upper ledge of the window beneath her, the other jammed in the corner formed by the spout and the wall, and studied the window. A Locking Charm and a basic alarm charm. Uncommon for an average house. Unless… it could be the room of a small child, where the parents were afraid of the window being opened by accidental magic. Which meant it was better to avoid the risk of running into more monitoring spells inside.
She flipped her wand back into its holster with a flick of her wrist, then climbed up to the roof, and down the other side. A few spells later, she was inside the building. Now she just had to find the chest. And avoid all the traps her tutor had set. Which would be easy, as long as she was patient and didn't rush.
Fifteen minutes later, she had found the chest - in the basement, of course - and disarmed the alarm charms on it. A minute later, she was out of the house, the chest floating behind her.
And she was smiling widely - that had been fun.
London, Merton, July 2nd, 1994
Hermione's new home looked nice, Harry Potter thought when he approached the gate. He hadn't entirely trusted Sirius's description - his godfather was no expert on muggles houses. Or muggles in general. It didn't make up for all she had lost, of course.
But it was a start. Or so he hoped, as he rang the doorbell.
Ten seconds later the door opened.
"Harry!" Hermione stood there, beaming at him. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he noticed, despite the warm weather. She probably wasn't getting out much, Harry thought.
"Hi, Hermione."
"Come in!" She grabbed his hand and almost dragged him inside - she had grown stronger, he realised. "Dad's in the office, working." She frowned. "But Mum's here. Mum! It's Harry!"
Mrs Granger arrived in the doorway to the living room. "Hello, Harry."
"I'm giving him the tour," Hermione declared in that familiar tone that wouldn't allow any objections. "That's the living room. We're still replacing our library, of course, so the selection is rather scarce."
There were more books than Harry had ever seen at the Dursleys, including Dudley's comic books, so he nodded and smiled as she led him through the house, pointing out everything, from appliances to furniture.
Her own room, which they visited last, after a stop in the kitchen, where Hermione grabbed sandwiches and colas, did look a bit bare - Harry would have expected there to be many more books.
She must have noticed his surprise because she bit her lip before saying: "I didn't want to get my books back before my parents replaced their collections."
Which of course meant that she would have loved to replace her lost books, but still blamed herself for Malfoy's plot, Harry thought. Once again, though, he didn't say anything, and simply nodded.
"So, how are you doing, living with your godfather?"
Harry sighed. "I'm just half-living with him for the next few weeks."
"What?" She was staring at him, her glass in hand.
"I'm sleeping in my room at the Dursleys," he explained. "My mother's protection, which saved me from Voldemort twice so far, is tied to the house there, and in order to keep it, I have to spend a certain number of nights under their roof." He grimaced. "Dumbledore tried to move it, but it's stuck."
Hermione shook her head. "That's awful!"
"It's not bad, actually. Sirius side-along-apparates me straight to my room each evening, and I really just sleep there." He pulled out the mirror his godfather had given him. "I can call him on the mirror in the morning, and I'm back home a moment later. I haven't even seen my relatives since we set that up."
"You can communicate through that mirror?" Hermione stared at it, then at him.
"Oh, yes." Harry smiled - of course she'd be interested in that. "Let me show you."
He activated the mirror. A moment later, Sirius's face appeared. "That was a quick visit. Did their parents catch you in bed?"
"Sirius!" Harry gasped at his godfather. "That's a tasteless joke!" He glanced at Hermione. As he had expected, she looked angry. "I just wanted to show her the mirror."
"Ah! Hello, Miss Granger!" His godfather waved at Hermione, apparently unconcerned about the insinuations he had just made.
"Hello, Mr Black." Hermione was smiling politely.
Of course, Harry thought, she wouldn't dare to tell off Sirius after he had paid her family's debts. But there were other ways to get back at his godfather. He grinned. "Sirius created the mirror, Hermione. Impressive, isn't it?"
"Oh? Really? How did you do it? Did you use a Protean Charm?" As expected, Hermione's curiosity was much stronger than her obligation towards Harry's godfather, and she was soon pestering Sirius with detailed questions.
And Harry's expression as he looked over his friend's shoulder at his godfather left no question that Sirius better answer each and every one of them, if he knew what was good for him.
Dartmoor, Devon, Britain, August 25th, 1994
Hermione Granger had never seen so many wizards and witches in one place - not even in Diagon Alley. The sheer number of Quidditch fans who had gathered to watch the World Cup finals boggled the mind.
She wasn't openly gaping, of course - Mr Fletcher had seen to that. A witch of good breeding always kept her composure. And a good thief never gave herself away by acting out of character.
"Wow!"
Harry, of course, was neither a witch of good breeding, nor a thief, and was openly staring. Well, even Ron looked like he was impressed, if not as overwhelmed as Harry.
"Looks like a decent turnout," Mr Black commented, as if this was just any other event.
She caught Harry frown at his godfather. "Compared to which other World Cup you've attended? You were bouncing off the walls when you had secured tickets for us!"
"That was in private," Mr Black stated. "I would never act like that in public."
Harry looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. Hermione knew that Mr Black couldn't afford to look anything but his best, not when so many in Britain suspected him to be a deranged murderer. It was a sobering thought, but a few minutes later, when they were walking through the area where the food and souvenir vendors had set up their shops, Hermione was again feeling as happy as she was acting. There was just so much to see and browse.
Though when she saw the looks their small group was attracting from some people, she wished Mr Fletcher had already taught her how to pickpocket - they deserved to lose some of their valuables as punishment for their stupidity and bigotry!
Fortunately, the native idiots were a minority at the World Cup - wizards from all over the world had travelled to Britain to attend! She saw so many different robes and other clothes… or, in one case, what looked like body paint and some scraps of leather. That wizard attracted a lot of attention, she noticed. Mainly from witches.
But the main attraction was, of course, Quidditch! Most of the spectators were wearing at least one piece of Quidditch merchandise - many wore more. She saw a number who were decked out in full Quidditch gear, and might have been mistaken for players - but everyone knew the players' faces, of course: They were displayed on floating posters at many stands, their pictures winking and waving.
"Oh, Viktor Krum!" Ron exclaimed, pointing at one of those. Indeed, there was the Bulgarian Seeker, although he seemed to be scowling more than smiling.
"Best Seeker of the Cup," Ron said. Harry nodded, as did Mr Black.
"But the rest of his team is not as good," Hermione commented. "They'll need luck to win if they meet a good Chaser line up." She noticed the boys were staring at her. "What?"
Ron grinned suddenly. "We turned Hermione in a Quidditch fan!"
Harry laughed. "What was it you called it in our first year? 'The most nonsensical game one could think of'?"
"Miss Granger!" Now Mr Black was gasping at her, and the two boys were laughing. Hermione pouted - but she was happy. She had missed her friends, and the light banter. And she would miss them again, in a few days, when their fourth year at Hogwarts would start.
But for now she was having fun with her friends!
"No!" Harry Potter yelled with half the stadium as Krum dove towards the ground. He couldn't catch the Snitch, not when his team was behind by more than a hundred and fifty points! He couldn't end the match like that!
But Krum did. Ireland won the Quidditch World Cup, even though Krum had caught the Snitch. The green-clad Irish fans erupted in loud cheers, and once again, leprechauns bounced through the stadium, dropping fake gold coins all over the audience as the Irish team flew a victory lap.
And Ron's brothers, a few rows down, hugged and slapped each other on the back. Harry hadn't known that they were fans of the Irish team.
"Why did he do that?" Ron asked. "His team could have come back!"
Harry had to chuckle - that was something only a die-hard Cannons fan would think. "No, they wouldn't. The Irish Seeker is not as good as Krum, but he's no slouch - sooner or later, he'd have caught the Snitch."
Sirius agreed. "Yes. Better to end it on his own terms, I say."
"That will make a number of people who bet on the outcome rather unhappy," Hermione added. "The odds for such an outcome were rather bad."
"Miss Granger! First you condemn the greatest game ever invented, and now you turn out to have a gambling problem?" Sirius sighed theatrically, then started chuckling.
Harry saw Hermione stare at his godfather, then set her jaw. In a prim and proper voice, she countered: "I think, Mr Black, you are projecting your own issues here."
"Maybe…" Sirius drawled, shaking his head. "But let's go down to our tent. The after-match party won't start until later, and we can use a bit of rest. And we might check up on the Weasleys, to assure them that we didn't lose Ron in the crowd."
Ron scoffed at that. "Mum thinks I'm as bad as the twins."
They stepped over the gold, and around a few people who were collecting the gold. "Don't they know that it'll vanish in a few hours?" Harry wondered aloud.
"I think they do - but they might hope that not everyone can spot leprechaun gold," Sirius said. "They can spend a lot of gold in an hour if they're smart."
"And if they find a merchant too stupid or inexperienced to check for that," Hermione added. "A simple Dispelling Charm would make it vanish."
"A few will be too greedy to check. And too excited about the Cup," Sirius said, shrugging.
"Not everyone is used to having much gold," Ron remarked. He sounded more than a bit defensive - probably remembering how he had gathered the leprechaun gold dropped before the match had started, Harry thought, until Hermione had told him that it was fake.
They reached the exit of the VIP stands from which they had been watching the match. Unfortunately, the Malfoys reached the exit at the same time.
"Narcissa. Lucius. And little Draco. Good afternoon." Sirius's smile was polite, but his tone could have frozen water, Harry thought.
"Sirius." Mr and Mrs Malfoy nodded in greeting, smiling politely, but Draco scowled. Only after a glare from his mother did he return the greeting.
Which prompted a wave of polite greetings as honest as the leprechaun's gold from everyone else present - with the exception of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards on guard, of course. And Remus, who was using Harry's cloak to hide himself as he acted as their bodyguard.
"Bloody gits!" Ron muttered as soon as they were out of earshot, and on their way to their tent. "Think they're better just 'cause they're rich!"
Harry nodded, then caught his godfather casting a privacy spell.
"Gold does buy power and influence," Hermione pointed out. "And as they have demonstrated in the past, it also buys you judges," she added in a bitter tone.
"That's true, but gold has drawbacks as well. If you buy yourself out of trouble all the time, you're bound to become lazy. Just look at Draco - he's a pale shadow of his father. Or rather, an even paler shadow. Probably Narcissa's influence - she was always the one to rely on our family name and gold, too." He shook his head. "Say what you want about Bellatrix, but she made a name for herself with her wand. And Andromeda defied my whole family when she married Ted. Narcissa?" He sneered. "She simply did as she was told, and let my father and uncle sort out any problems. That's not how you become a dangerous witch."
"Influence is dangerous enough, though," Hermione retorted.
"And gold does come in very handy," Harry added. "My relatives were far more willing to 'shelter me', as my aunt put it, once they were promised gold in return." If only they could use leprechaun gold for that!
Sirius shrugged. "All the gold in Britain won't save you from Voldemort. It just makes you a bigger target." He grinned. "Now let's see if someone tampered with our decoy tent!"
No one had tampered with the tent they had publicly set up. Or rather, no one had tampered with the wards protecting it, or so Sirius told them a bit later. "Too bad - I hoped we'd find Skeeter twitching on the ground."
Hermione nodded her firm agreement to that. "I wish!"
Harry Potter was struck by how similar their expressions were. If they ever caught Skeeter with an excuse to curse the witch… He shuddered, then cleared his throat. "So, can we go meet the Weasleys now?"
"Of course. Let's be off."
They wouldn't be meeting the Weasleys at their tent, but inside the - well-guarded, Sirius had said - private tent the Ministry had set up for the Minister and his guests.
"We're attracting a lot of attention," Harry remarked on the way there. They were turning heads in the crowd, and whispers followed them.
"Well… you're the Boy-Who-Lived. News has spread about your presence. And you're in the company of the two most infamous framed innocents in Britain." Sirius chuckled, but it felt forced. "So, of course we'll cause tongues to wag."
"Yeah, but still…"
"And witches to stare," Sirius interrupted him with a grin. Harry grumbled. "Well, mostly at your handsome godfather. But you'll be soon having to drive them off with your wand, trust me. James was the same, and you..."
"...look just like him," Harry finished for Sirius.
Hermione snorted, but Ron looked jealous. Harry sighed - it wasn't his fault. And it was kind of creepy how even older witches stared at him. Like that one there. She looked pretty out of it. Maybe drunk… but she had a wand out. And she was raising it...
He was moving before the wand was pointed at him, dropping to the ground. A curse flew over his head, and he heard a cry behind him while he flicked his own wand. Sirius's curse hit the witch before his own spell, or Ron's - and the witch was thrown back by what Harry knew wasn't a Disarming Charm, or a Stunner.
People were screaming now. Aurors were arriving. But Harry simply stared at the witch on the ground. Unmoving. Bleeding.
Had Sirius killed her?
"Harry, are you alright? We need to leave now!" Sirius was grabbing him, holding a Portkey.
But if they left… it would look bad. For Sirius. "We need to tell them what happened!" Harry blurted out. Sirius hesitated. Aurors were moving towards them. With drawn wands, of course.
And then Madam Bones arrived, with even more Aurors. And Hit-Wizards. "What's going on here? Dawlish!" she snapped.
An Auror jerked. "Someone - possibly Black - cursed Bertha Jorkins. She's dead, ma'am. There's another cursed victim, but he's alive."
"She tried to kill me! Jorkins, that is!" Harry yelled. "But she missed and hit the wizard behind me! Then we cursed her!"
When everyone turned to look at him, Harry wished Dumbledore were here. He would sort this out. But he wasn't. And so Harry raised his chin and looked straight at Bones. "I can give you my memory of the event. She attacked us."
When she nodded at him, he slowly raised his wand to his temple. And he hoped this would be enough to counter the lies others would try to spread about this.
Near Tilbury, Essex, Britain, March 20th, 1994
"Ah." He sighed contentedly as he savoured the taste of a good port. He hadn't had any in a long time - he hadn't been able to indulge in any of his vices during his captivity. His jailers had seen to that. But they had paid for it. Paid for every miserable year he had spent imprisoned, isolated, suffering.
He raised his glass at the figure lying on the floor. "I commend you - you have good taste in wine." He took another sip. "If only you had had an equally good taste in friends." He shook his head with mock regret and sighed deeply. "I would still do what I have come here to do, but I would sincerely loathe your loss. There are too few wizards or witches who know their wines. Too many simply drink whatever is sold in their favourite tavern, never knowing the pleasures of which they deprive themselves."
He checked his watch - one of the few things he had kept from his family home, before he had cleansed it, then looked at the witch on the floor again. Her eyes moved frantically. They had stopped glaring at him an hour or two ago. Soon they would be filled with despair and anguish. And pain.
"You know, in my youth, I had even entertained the thought of creating a wizarding variant of this wine. Seek out some Portuguese wizard - or a witch," he added with a grin, "and improve upon it by adding magic. But that was before the war, of course. I was so naive, back then. Almost innocent." He grinned at the witch, and she paled.
He pulled back. "Don't worry about that. I'm not interested. Unlike others, I stayed faithful." Not that he had had any opportunities to stray, of course. Only his thoughts had been free, and even they hadn't remained so for long. "Not many did, you know. Too many repudiated him, when the situation looked bleak. Lost their faith. Lost their hope. Lost their pride. Lied and betrayed their way to freedom. Turned their back on their comrades and cause. Turned their back on HIM!" He yelled the last word, anger and rage filling him. They would pay. All of them would pay for their betrayal. Their desertions. They and their kin. Their blood would pay for their sins.
He took a few deep breaths to calm down. He couldn't be angry. Not when he would be needed soon for the ritual.
"They were worse than our enemies, you know? They, at least, faced us openly. Showed some courage, even if they were misguided in their allegiance. But those who abandoned us, and him, when the tide turned against us… they are unworthy!" He emptied his glass and bent down again. "Like your nephew. Did you know that he supported my master?" Her eyes seemed to widen, he thought, but that might just be an illusion - the full Body-Bind Curse held her paralysed. "Not with his wand, not him, the coward! And seldom enough with gold. No, he simply paid lip service to our cause. Always talking, but never doing anything, never proving himself!" He chuckled. "Well, now he is serving our master, body and soul."
Not forever, of course. Not even with the ritual that would soon take place, at the exact time of the equinox, when night and day were in perfect balance. Great things could be achieved on such a date, under the omen of spring's renewal and rebirth.
He frowned. If they could do this at Samhain, when the barriers between the dead and the living loosened, they could achieve even greater deeds - but Samhain had been tainted! Cursed those many years ago, when his master had been defeated by a wicked trap.
No, it had to be spring, not autumn. A new beginning. A new life. Paid for and nurtured by the sacrifice of another life, of course, since everything had its price. It wouldn't hold forever. Bagnold's body would succumb to his master's power, too weak to contain his spirit. But it would last long enough for his master to achieve his goals.
With his help, of course. He checked his watch again. Almost eight o'clock. Half an hour to the equinox. He stood up and flicked his wand, and Millicent Bagnold rose in the air, following him to her study, where they had prepared the circle for the ritual. Where his master was waiting in a rotting, misshapen body.
He knocked before entering, of course - to barge in on the Dark Lord was unthinkable. "My Lord?"
"Enter, Barty."
He obeyed.
Inside, Alphons Bagnold, the former Minister's nephew, was stuck to the floor, surrounded by runes and candles, in the middle of a web of finely etched grooves. His eyes were dim - he was unconscious. A mercy he deserved as little as he deserved the honour of surrendering his body to the Dark Lord, but needs must - if he struggled too much, he might manage to disturb the ritual.
Barty ignored the stench from the Dark Lord's current shell as he bowed to him. He had smelled worse in Azkaban, and the rotting husk would last long enough for his master to possess Bagnold. And that body wouldn't degrade so quickly.
His master nodded at him, the bloated head with two overlapping faces moving slowly, and then pointed at the circle. It was time.
Barty levitated Bagnold to the sacrifice's spot, a space surrounded by seven bowls filled with dried crocus petals. He dropped her there, and stuck her to the stone, then turned to face his master, who took his place in the centre of the circle, next to Bagnold's nephew.
"Begin!"
He obeyed. His wand rose, and he started chanting the spell. One by one, the candles lit up, followed by the bowls' contents. Soon smoke dimmed the lights, and he turned around, raising his wand as his chanting grew louder. A slashing motion, and Bagnold's throat was cut, her blood flowing, gushing into the deep groove beneath her head.
Soon, the blood was spreading, filling every groove, every rune, empowering the circle with life and death. Focusing the magic on his master.
He was shouting the words now, his wand moving frantically, cutting the very air surrounding him. In front of him, the husk holding his master's spirit was collapsing, fading, as the magic of the ritual took effect.
And then, finally, a green shade rose, floated above the circle in a moment of splendour, shining with power, before descending on Alphons Bagnold, sinking into the body.
And when the body started to move - unmarred by any outward sign of the possession - and shining eyes gazed upon him with pride, Barty Crouch Jr fell to his knees, feeling happier than ever in his life.
"My Lord!"
*****
Hogwarts, March 21st, 1994
Millicent Bagnold Murdered! Nephew Shocked! Black's Revenge?
Harry Potter stared at the headline of the Daily Prophet, then at Remus, sitting at the staff table. The teacher's face seemed set in stone.
"Blimey! Wasn't Sirius joking about killing Bagnold?" Ron muttered at his side.
"Yes," Harry pressed out through clenched teeth. "He was joking."
"Doesn't look like many believe that," Ron whispered.
His friend was right, Harry realised - all around them, students were whispering, and sneaking glances at him. And at Remus. The Gryffindors were trying to be discreet, at least, but the other tables… He could imagine what Malfoy was whispering to the other Slytherins.
"Do you think they'll arrest him?"
"They can't! They have no proof," Harry blurted out. Then, realising how that could be taken, he quickly added: "He's innocent. He didn't do it."
"I believe you, mate." Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "But the others…"
"Sod the lot of them!" Harry muttered. "And sod Snape!" The Potions Master was reading the Daily Prophet in a rather obvious way, and his shocked expression was so at odds with his usual controlled manner, Harry just knew it was fake. Maybe Snape had killed the former Minister, to frame Sirius?
"Wow… two Hit-Wizards on protection detail slain. Her house burned down. And on the Spring Equinox. They speculate about dark rituals," Ron commented.
Harry scoffed. "They speculate about my godfather!"
"But that had to be a seriously powerful wizard." Ron winced when Harry glared at him for his choice of words. "Not many of them around."
"It wasn't Sirius. It was probably Malfoy's father." Harry stared at the Slytherin, and noted with some satisfaction that the git wasn't able to meet his eyes. "He has the most to gain if Sirius gets thrown into prison again."
"Or Kissed," Ron said.
Harry really hoped that the Headmaster would be able to handle this new problem. He couldn't lose his godfather. He wouldn't.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 21st, 1994
"Welcome to my humble home, Miss Granger, Mr Smith."
Mr Black wasn't quite at ease this time, Hermione Granger noticed. His manners were still impeccable, but he was far tenser than during her first visit to his home. And his smile seemed forced. She had expected that, though, after those articles in the Prophet which all but accused him of murdering Millicent Bagnold.
"Mr Black." Mr Fletcher used his faint American accent again and bowed a little stiffly.
"Thank you for inviting us," Hermione said when she bowed herself.
Mr Black led them straight to his living room and filled a glass with Firewhisky before asking if his guests wanted a drink as well.
"Water, please," Mr Fletcher said, after a moment. He eyed the bottle, though, Hermione noticed. She would have to ask if it was a particularly expensive brand.
"For me as well, thank you," she said herself.
Mr Black drank half his glass in one go, flames shooting out of his mouth in response, then nodded at Mr Fletcher. "So, you're Miss Granger's tutor. You look familiar."
"I hear that from time to time. My family was originally from England, so I might have distant relatives here."
"The Smith family?" Mr Black tilted his head while swishing the whisky in his glass. "They're an old pureblood family."
Her tutor smiled and spread his hands. "In the New World we didn't care much about old blood."
"Ah. You're from one of the muggleborn enclaves then?" Mr Black took another sip from his glass. He seemed more relaxed now. Or he simply controlled himself better, Hermione couldn't tell.
"I travelled."
"I assumed as much - muggleborns don't generally care much about pureblood manners."
"Their loss. Without an open mind, one misses many opportunities. Such as travelling to the Old World, and working as a tutor." Mr Fletcher seemed tenser now, though.
"And you picked Miss Granger as your first student. Pro bono, I assume." Mr Black hadn't missed that particular hole in her tutor's cover story.
"An old acquaintance referred her to me."
"An acquaintance we share." Harry's godfather nodded. "He assured me that you could be trusted, and yet he was not very informative."
"He values discretion. As do I." Mr Fletcher was now showing his teeth when he smiled.
"You look really familiar. I'm certain that I would recognise you if I had all my memories." Mr Black lost his smile. "Who are you?" Mr Fletcher hesitated, and Mr Black scoffed. "Come, now! We know each other. Dumbledore even said he trusted you - which means you're either a friend of his, or an Order member. Do you expect me to pay a fortune in gold without verifying who is involved?"
Hermione's eyes widened for a moment. Order? She glanced at her tutor, who seemed to know what Mr Black was talking about.
"If my association with my pupil becomes known it could have quite the negative effect on her reputation and life. You should be aware of how appearances matter."
Harry's godfather scoffed. "Malfoy's trying to pin Bagnold's death on me, but all the gold in England won't help him there. Dumbledore has the situation under control."
"But it doesn't make rebuilding your life any easier, does it?" Mr Fletcher retorted.
"No. But I have to point out that not getting my gold will not make rebuilding any easier either." Mr Black leaned forward. "Her reputation is already in tatters, and can't really get any worse in good society. Is your secrecy worth keeping her in debt?"
"She'd owe you."
"Better me than Malfoy's friends." Mr Black smiled.
That was true, Hermione thought. She knew that Harry had a lot of influence on his godfather, and apparently, so did Dumbledore. But she wouldn't press her tutor. As Mr Black had pointed out - she would owe the gold to someone anyway, and her tutor was her best chance at getting revenge.
Mr Fletcher sighed. "Yes. I'm Fletcher. I worked for Dumbledore in the war."
Mr Black blinked, then seemed to freeze for a few moments before smiling. "Ah, the thief!" Almost happily, he added: "I haven't forgotten you!"
"You almost did," her tutor shot back.
"The Dementors took the happy memories."
The two men nodded at each other. Once more, Hermione felt left out.
"With your curiosity satisfied, how will you be running this?" Mr Fletcher asked.
"Ah, I'll pay her creditors. I'll claim I'm doing this to protect my godson. They'll understand - or will think they do." Mr Black grinned and emptied his glass. "That takes care of the wizarding side of the problem. I'll funnel some gold to her under the guise of hiring her parents as my personal dentists." He shivered as he said that.
Hermione almost frowned - even in Wizarding Britain, muggle dentists had a reputation. Wholly undeserved, as she had tried to tell her muggle friends so many times in the past! She smiled instead, though. "Thank you, Mr Black."
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I can afford it." He lifted his glass to his lips, then seemed to realise that it was empty. He summoned the bottle and refilled his glass. "To this motley collection of crooks!" he said, raising it in a toast he seemed to find very funny.
Hermione politely raised her glass.
He took a large sip, then looked at her. "So, does Harry know what you're learning?"
Hermione froze for a moment. Of course he'd realise, knowing her tutor! She shook her head. "No, he does not."
"And you don't want him to know." That wasn't a question.
"No. If something happens…"
Mr Black nodded. He would understand that, Hermione thought.
She realised that he hadn't asked if she would change her plans and stop being Mr Fletcher's pupil - or was that apprentice now? - either. Of course, he would understand her desire for revenge better than anyone else, she thought.
*****
London, Merton, April 25th, 1994
"Well, I like it!" Hermione Granger declared, standing in the middle of the living room of the house she and her parents were viewing.
The estate agent was smiling at her in in a rather patronising way. "It is a nice house, isn't it?"
Hermione put on her best imitation of Mr Fletcher acting all professional. "Indeed. It's close to both a bus stop and the tube while the neighborhood offers good shopping opportunities for the basic necessities without having to use transportation. It's true that the pipes and electrics, as well as the central heating, could have used a little more maintenance over the last few years. But the layout is practical for a family of three, and offers us a good amount of flexibility." Such as space for rebuilding their libraries, and a discreet room to practise her magic. And she could use Mending Charms on the house anyway.
The woman looked to be taken aback by her appraisal, but quickly recovered. "Indeed - you have a good eye for houses, Miss Granger. Have you considered becoming an estate agent?"
Her parents smiled, although rather weakly, at that. "The house does look nice," her father said. "Better than the last one you showed us. But I think we should discuss the price."
As the adults started to haggle, Hermione wandered into the back yard. The lawn had been mowed, but the flowerbeds had been neglected, in her opinion. But the fence was high enough to frustrate curious neighbours, and there was enough space for more than a few chairs and a table.
And the house was close enough to their former home in Kingston upon Thames that she and her parents could easily visit the few friends who hadn't abandoned them. Maybe use a little of the money her dad was currently saving by haggling over the price of the house for a nice car. Show their old acquaintances that their financial difficulties had been overcome. It wouldn't help her own reputation, but at least her parents would be seen as hard-working, successful professionals who had handled the troubles their criminal daughter had caused for the family and not as fools, or even accomplices, who had been ruined by their adolescent daughter's crimes.
It wasn't as if she would be be making many new friends here anyway - between studying and training, she hadn't much time for such things. Her revenge on all those who had wronged her came first.
*****
London, Enfield, April 25th, 1994
"You don't look as happy as I would have expected," Hermione Granger said as soon as she and her parents had returned to their rented flat. She narrowed her eyes when they glanced at each other before looking at her. "What's wrong? The house is nice. Bigger than our old one, even! And the neighborhood is nice too!"
"It's not the house, dear," her mum said.
"Is it the new practice? Mr Black said he'll cover the difference, until you've rebuilt your client base."
Her dad coughed. "It's Mr Black, actually."
"I told you that he was framed! He's no criminal!" Even though the Black family had a very nasty - and, according to Mr Fletcher, well-deserved - reputation. But both the Headmaster and Mr Fletcher trusted Mr Black - although in her tutor's case with some reservations. As Mr Fletcher told her, Azkaban changed a wizard. "You didn't say anything when he paid my debts!"
"Would it have mattered? The transaction was done entirely in Wizarding Britain. With wizarding money," her dad pointed out.
"And we agreed that it was better to owe a friend of Mr Dumbledore instead of those nasty purebloods," her mum added.
"So what's the problem?" Hermione couldn't see it.
"People don't spend that much money out of the goodness of their hearts." Her dad shook his head. "They expect something in return."
"I know that." She wasn't naive, after all. Not any more. And Mr Fletcher had told her the same.
"But you said that he had spent twelve years in Azkaban," her mum went on. "And you were quite clear how horrible the conditions for the prisoners were there, when you told us how you barely escaped imprisonment there."
"Yes." Maybe she shouldn't have been that frank about Azkaban.
"So, do you see why we are somewhat concerned about owing a man who spent so much time there a debt?" her dad cut in.
"You think he's crazy," Hermione said, pursing her lips.
"You were the one who told us that most prisoners lost their minds within a year." He looked at her.
"He didn't. He's an exception." She had spoken to the man, and while he certainly did show signs of the effects of his ordeal, he wasn't crazy. "And he's getting treatment too - he's been seeing a Healer for almost a year." She was being generous there, but Harry had told her Sirius was getting help and was steadily getting better.
"We're just concerned that he might change his views." Her mum smiled. "He might regret his generous actions once he's thinking more clearly."
"He won't. He did it for Harry, because I'm his friend and saved him from a plot, and he loves his godson very much." Hermione smiled, but she could see that this argument hadn't convinced her parents.
"There's another thing, too," her mum said after a moment.
"What?" What else had Hermione missed.
"Your education."
"Is this about going to a muggle school? I told you, I'm not giving up magic!" She had thought her parents understood that.
"We know. But there are other schools than Hogwarts. You told us about the French one, Beauxbatons," her mum said. She didn't mention the one in the New World, of course - Hermione had told them about the state of Magical North America, and how dangerous their constant wars were.
She had - on their last vacation in France. "Yes."
"So, you could go to that school, instead of learning with a tutor here, and getting frustrated at your lack of progress." Mum nodded when Hermione flinched. "We do overhear you often enough, dear."
"I see." She took a deep breath. "Theoretically, I could go to Beauxbatons. Mr Dumbledore would certainly vouch for me. But," she continued when her parents kept looking at her, "I would have to study in French. That would hinder my education as well." And she would have to fit into a new school as a muggleborn, with a reputation as a thief. She doubted that many of the students would trust her, no matter what Dumbledore said - and muggleborns in Magical France had it worse than in Wizarding Britain. "And here I have the support of my old teachers at Hogwarts. I think overall, I'll do better here than abroad, even if it is not entirely optimal."
"Are you certain?" her mum asked. "You could learn French easily, I know. And it would be a new start as well."
Hermione shook her head. "It wouldn't be a new start. The Magical World is small and transfers are very rare - we haven't had any at Hogwarts for ages. People would quickly find out why I left Hogwarts." She sighed and smiled weakly at her parents. "I can't run away from this."
And she wouldn't, even if she could. Mr Fletcher might not be the best Transfiguration or Charms teacher, but he was an expert thief. And for her revenge, Hermione needed what he could teach her. Going to Beauxbatons wouldn't help her goals.
*****
Hogsmeade, April 30th, 1994
As the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter had been getting used to being stared at by random wizards and witches. Or being thanked for something he didn't remember doing, and strongly suspected had actually been done by his parents. He didn't like his fame, but he could handle it.
These days, though, things were different. As he was walking through Hogsmeade with Ron, towards the Hog's Head Inn, people didn't just stare, but whispered, and judging by the way they were avoiding his eyes when he looked at them, they weren't being complimentary.
"I wish I had learned the Supersensory Charm," he muttered.
Ron scoffed. "We already know what they're saying - the same things as the idiots at Hogwarts."
Harry sighed and nodded. Ron was right. Remus and Dumbledore had told him that he should ignore the rumours. But when he heard 'Black', he still stopped and turned towards the witch who had said the name loud enough to be overheard. "Yes? What did you say?"
She looked embarrassed, wringing her hands. "Nothing."
He was so fed up with the rumours. Malfoy was a git, but he at least told Harry to his face what he thought of Harry's friends and family. Harry took a step towards the witch. "Really? I thought I heard you talking about my godfather. You know, Sirius Black."
"The murderer!" one of the other witches, an older one, nearby hissed.
Harry raised his voice. "He is no murderer! He was framed by Pettigrew!"
While the witch he had addressed first took a few steps back, all but fleeing, the other witch stood her ground. "And then he broke out of Azkaban and murdered Crouch and Bagnold!"
"That's not true! Dumbledore vouched for him!" Harry yelled.
"Yeah!" Ron chimed in. "Are you doubting Dumbledore?"
A wizard scoffed at that. "He vouched for Snape as well!" Harry was too angry at the rumours about his godfather to flinch at that.
The older witch added: "And Bagnold's nephew said that she was afraid of Black!"
"He also said that he doesn't want to accuse Sirius!" Harry clenched his teeth. He wanted to hex the stupid witch.
"Of course he'd say that! He's afraid of Black as well!" The wizard shook his head. "And you should be afraid of him too!"
"I'm not afraid of him!" Harry retorted. "Someone's framing him again. And you're all helping!"
"Of course you'd defend him! You defended your thieving friend as well!"
Harry whirled around. Malfoy was there, with Parkinson and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. The git sneered at him and Ron. Harry almost hexed him, but managed to control himself.
"You know that Hermione is innocent! You framed her!" Ron yelled. His friend had his hand in his pocket, on his wand, Harry realised - like himself.
"Innocent? Granger? Hah! Why do you think Black would pay so much gold for her, huh?" Draco scoffed. "Is she already paying him back, or does she wait for you?"
That… that… Harry snapped his wrist and his wand shot out of its holster. Malfoy would pay! But before he or Ron could curse the bugger, a loud voice cut through the whispers and murmurs: "Stop it!"
Harry froze - that was Remus. And he was angry.
"Mr Malfoy! Spreading filthy rumours about others?" The professor glared at the Slytherin. "About your mother's cousin?"
"I didn't!" the blond git protested.
"I heard you, and I know what you said - and what you meant." Remus scoffed. "Your Hogsmeade privileges are revoked until further notice, and you have detention today and tomorrow. Return to the castle at once!"
"But… you can't do that. My father…"
"Your father will do what?" Remus bared his teeth, and the Slytherin fell silent. "Go!"
Malfoy slunk away. Crabbe and Goyle followed, and, after a moment, Parkinson did as well.
"And you two! Stow your wands!" Remus snapped at Harry and Ron.
Harry slowly did so - he was still trembling with anger at Malfoy's words. Ron muttered a curse under his breath.
"Now get going, everyone!" Remus said.
Harry clenched his teeth, but obeyed. Hermione was waiting for them at the Hog's Head Inn, after all.
And now he knew why she hadn't wanted to wait at the train station.
*****
"Hermione!" Harry barely noticed the rest of the dingy and probably dirty room as he made a beeline towards his best female friend.
"Hi, Harry! Hi, Ron!" She smiled at them as she stood up, then hugged them. "Thank you!" Harry knew she wasn't just talking about meeting her.
"Are those new robes?" Ron asked once they were sitting down. Harry stopped glaring at the whispering witches at the next table and looked himself. They did indeed seem to be new.
"Used ones I repaired," Hermione explained.
"Ah." Ron nodded in apparent sympathy. "They look fine, though."
"So, how are you doing?" Hermione asked after they had ordered three Butterbeers from the old bartender.
Harry glanced at Ron, then shrugged. "Same old." He didn't want to mention the rumours. She probably knew about them already.
"We're studying for the exams. Percy is pushing us hard," Ron added.
"Good!" Hermione said, beaming at them. "Exams are important."
Harry didn't think he should mention that Sirius had told him that all he had to worry about were the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. "I'm looking forward to moving in with Sirius." Though Dumbledore had mentioned some unspecified complications, the Headmaster had also said he would be handling them.
"I'm studying as well, of course. And we've started to move into our new house," Hermione said, smiling widely. "It'll take some time until we've furnished it, but we have the basics. I just wish I could conjure furniture."
"Lots of bookshelves?" Harry grinned while Ron chuckled.
Hermione didn't laugh, though. "I don't need that many bookshelves - I haven't replaced my collection, yet."
Harry winced. He had forgotten about that. "Well, you'll get them in time, right?"
"I guess so…" Hermione sighed. "It's just… replacing books I liked but won't read again feels wasteful. But I still miss them, even though it's not as if I have much time to read anyway, not with all the studying. But, speaking of studying," she added as she pulled out some parchment from her robes, "I wanted to compare some notes."
She was smiling at them so earnestly, Harry couldn't help smiling back, even if he wanted wince at the thought of their Hogsmeade meeting turning into a study session.
"Blimey! I mean… sure." Ron's smile seemed rather more forced to Harry.
But, he reminded himself, this was their best friend. And it was good to see her act so normal again. Well worth a little sacrifice.
Especially with all those rumours going around.
*****
Hogwarts, June 16th, 1994
"Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat." The Headmaster gestured at one of the chairs in front of his desk.
"You wanted to speak to me, sir?" Harry Potter asked as soon as his backside touched the chair. Gryffindor was holding their own leaving party this evening, and he would rather not miss the start - most of the good food, the stuff brought in by the twins from Hogsmeade, would vanish quickly.
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I will try not to take too long, so you will be able to partake in the little feast your house is preparing." He was smiling as he said it, so Harry didn't flinch that much. "I was a Gryffindor too," the Headmaster went on, "I am quite familiar with the unofficial traditions. As is Minerva."
"Ah." Harry had trouble imagining the stern Head of Gryffindor House tolerating the kind of party that would soon start, but he nodded anyway.
Dumbledore grew serious, though. "I have called you to my office because I have an important favour to ask of you. You are aware that Voldemort is not quite as dead as many believe."
"Yes." Of course he was - the Dark Lord had tried to kill him, after all. "And you said that the Ministry wouldn't believe me if we told them."
"Some would, some would not. The Minister is among the latter - I have sounded him out, and he was not receptive to the possibility of danger. Fortunately, others in positions of authority are not as willfully blind, albeit for their own reasons. There is also the danger that such news would alert the Dark Lord's followers - those not already aware of his presence."
"Yes." Harry didn't know much about politics, so he had to trust Dumbledore there.
"Rest assured, as soon as I have proof of Voldemort's return that I can present to the Ministry, I will do so, It is, partially, for this I have called you to my office."
Harry blinked.
"There are ways to view and even copy memories with magic. I think your memories of your encounters with Voldemort would be useful to prepare for his next move. Although I would understand if you would prefer to keep your memories private - especially of such traumatising events."
"I only remember the attack in my first year," Harry said. He didn't remember the night his parents were murdered. Just… bad dreams.
"I see. I will show you how to copy that memory." The Headmaster cleared his throat. "There is another matter related to this. The protection your mother's sacrifice granted you against Voldemort."
"Yes?" Harry resisted the urge to rub his scar - the visible reminder of him surviving the Killing Curse.
"When I brought you to your relatives' house, I tied the protection to the home. I thought it best to ensure that your relatives would be protected as well, as long as they lived there."
His mother's protection was tied to his aunt's home? Harry stared at the old wizard.
Dumbledore sighed. "I didn't know better at the time, and I tried to rectify my mistake during the last few months so you could live with your godfather, but as it turned out, after so many years, moving the protection again proved beyond my power. I apologise for that."
"What does that mean?" Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut. The Headmaster couldn't mean that...
Dumbledore smiled. "It means we have to be clever."
*****
London, Merton, June 27th, 1994
Hermione Granger almost crumpled up the sheet with the results from her 'exams'. She had failed. Well, she would have passed the exams, of course, but her grades… She clenched her teeth. She hadn't expected all Outstandings - that hadn't been realistic - and she had focused on Charms and Transfiguration, where she had achieved Outstandings according to the Hogwarts teachers, and she had been told to hold back in Defence. She hadn't really expected an Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures, not with just books to study and no actual creatures, and the same was true for Herbology, but… she had had an Outstanding in Astronomy in her first year, and had managed to keep that in her last 'exam'. Now it was down to Exceeds Expectations, and closer to Acceptable than Outstanding. And her grade in 'Muggle Studies' was an insult! She was a muggleborn! And it seemed that the Divination teacher was a friend of Snape's - both had left rather scathing grades and comments.
At least she had History of Magic with a solid Exceeds Expectations, and the same grade, if less solid, in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.
But she had studied so hard… She managed not to cry, despite wanting to. She would not let Malfoy's plot ruin her life, and her grades! This was just a setback! She would do better!
And she'd start right now!
She quickly wrote a note for her parents - 'gone to see my tutor' - and left the house.
*****
London, Greenwich, June 27th, 1994
"Those are very respectable results," Mr Fletcher said. "I should be flattered as your tutor, although most of that was your own effort."
"I had better grades in my first year, and last year. There's a downward trend." A clear one - next year, she would have mostly Acceptables and Exceeds Expectations, if she couldn't change this!
"You didn't have as many subjects last year. And you spent more time at Hogwarts." Mr Fletcher leaned back in his favourite seat as she paced in front of him.
"That's no excuse!" she spat. "They'll think I cheated!" Snape would spread the word about her grades, she just knew it!
"Those are reasons, not excuses," he chided her, and his slightly sharper tone made her swallow her reply. "There's only so much time to study and practice, and both of us do not spend all of it preparing for your exams."
She sighed. She was learning a lot from her tutor that she couldn't show at an exam. "I know, but…"
"No but. You need to set priorities. Drop useless subjects like Muggle Studies and Divination. Astronomy as well."
She gasped. "Astronomy is a core subject!"
He sneered. "Astronomy is a waste of time. It's like Latin for muggles - its use is severely limited outside a few specialised fields. Thievery is not such a field."
"But the constellations affect our magic!" She had learned that in her first year.
"Yes. But in a negligible way. Did McGonagall or Flitwick ever tell you to watch the constellations before casting a spell? Or even mention such effects?"
She blinked. "No."
"Don't you think they would do that if it was important?"
"I thought that would come in later years."
He shook his head. "It doesn't. Astronomy is a core subject at Hogwarts because some important wizard or witch in the past decreed it so, and it became a tradition. Drop it. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are much more important."
She frowned. Dropping a subject - worse, dropping three subjects! - felt wrong. As if she was giving up. Admitting that she couldn't do what others did.
"Besides, you'll need to focus on your upcoming special exam."
"What?" She stared at her grinning tutor. "Another exam? When?"
"Right now," he said, standing up.
She squeaked with surprise. "But… I'm not prepared!" She hadn't studied!
"You should be - if you listened to me, and learned my lessons." His grin widened. "Now come - it's a practical exam!"
"But…"
She was still mumbling protests as she followed him outside the flat.
*****
London, East End, June 27th, 1994
She was familiar with abandoned office building Mr Fletcher had prepared for her test - she had climbed it often in the past and had entered through all its doors and windows at least once.
"I've prepared the building as if it were an average wizard building," her tutor said, leaning against the wall of the plant behind them. Which meant there would be wards, and probably Locking Charms. And maybe a basic alarm charm. "Treat this as a real heist. But skip the subtle casing - no one's watching. The target's a chest."
Hermione bit her lower lip as she studied the building. She could go through the door, of course - but that would be too obvious. So, the windows then. Upper floor - near the downspout. But she had to get through the wards first.
A detection spell later, she was slowly approaching the building until she could spot the wards - they were covering the walls, the most simple and common anchoring. It didn't take her long to spot the weak points, and even less time to weaken the wards to the point that she could slip through them, and touch the wall without getting hurt. Which meant she could climb it.
She jumped up and stretched her arms, her hands gripping the upper ledge of the window. She pulled herself up, putting her feet on the windowsill, then reached for the downspout. A few seconds later, she was shimmying up the wall to the first floor.
Now came the tricky part. She could use a Sticking Charm, but that would mean she wouldn't be able to instantly drop to the ground if there was trouble. So she held on to the spout with her left hand, one foot planted on the upper ledge of the window beneath her, the other jammed in the corner formed by the spout and the wall, and studied the window. A Locking Charm and a basic alarm charm. Uncommon for an average house. Unless… it could be the room of a small child, where the parents were afraid of the window being opened by accidental magic. Which meant it was better to avoid the risk of running into more monitoring spells inside.
She flipped her wand back into its holster with a flick of her wrist, then climbed up to the roof, and down the other side. A few spells later, she was inside the building. Now she just had to find the chest. And avoid all the traps her tutor had set. Which would be easy, as long as she was patient and didn't rush.
Fifteen minutes later, she had found the chest - in the basement, of course - and disarmed the alarm charms on it. A minute later, she was out of the house, the chest floating behind her.
And she was smiling widely - that had been fun.
*****
London, Merton, July 2nd, 1994
Hermione's new home looked nice, Harry Potter thought when he approached the gate. He hadn't entirely trusted Sirius's description - his godfather was no expert on muggles houses. Or muggles in general. It didn't make up for all she had lost, of course.
But it was a start. Or so he hoped, as he rang the doorbell.
Ten seconds later the door opened.
"Harry!" Hermione stood there, beaming at him. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he noticed, despite the warm weather. She probably wasn't getting out much, Harry thought.
"Hi, Hermione."
"Come in!" She grabbed his hand and almost dragged him inside - she had grown stronger, he realised. "Dad's in the office, working." She frowned. "But Mum's here. Mum! It's Harry!"
Mrs Granger arrived in the doorway to the living room. "Hello, Harry."
"I'm giving him the tour," Hermione declared in that familiar tone that wouldn't allow any objections. "That's the living room. We're still replacing our library, of course, so the selection is rather scarce."
There were more books than Harry had ever seen at the Dursleys, including Dudley's comic books, so he nodded and smiled as she led him through the house, pointing out everything, from appliances to furniture.
Her own room, which they visited last, after a stop in the kitchen, where Hermione grabbed sandwiches and colas, did look a bit bare - Harry would have expected there to be many more books.
She must have noticed his surprise because she bit her lip before saying: "I didn't want to get my books back before my parents replaced their collections."
Which of course meant that she would have loved to replace her lost books, but still blamed herself for Malfoy's plot, Harry thought. Once again, though, he didn't say anything, and simply nodded.
"So, how are you doing, living with your godfather?"
Harry sighed. "I'm just half-living with him for the next few weeks."
"What?" She was staring at him, her glass in hand.
"I'm sleeping in my room at the Dursleys," he explained. "My mother's protection, which saved me from Voldemort twice so far, is tied to the house there, and in order to keep it, I have to spend a certain number of nights under their roof." He grimaced. "Dumbledore tried to move it, but it's stuck."
Hermione shook her head. "That's awful!"
"It's not bad, actually. Sirius side-along-apparates me straight to my room each evening, and I really just sleep there." He pulled out the mirror his godfather had given him. "I can call him on the mirror in the morning, and I'm back home a moment later. I haven't even seen my relatives since we set that up."
"You can communicate through that mirror?" Hermione stared at it, then at him.
"Oh, yes." Harry smiled - of course she'd be interested in that. "Let me show you."
He activated the mirror. A moment later, Sirius's face appeared. "That was a quick visit. Did their parents catch you in bed?"
"Sirius!" Harry gasped at his godfather. "That's a tasteless joke!" He glanced at Hermione. As he had expected, she looked angry. "I just wanted to show her the mirror."
"Ah! Hello, Miss Granger!" His godfather waved at Hermione, apparently unconcerned about the insinuations he had just made.
"Hello, Mr Black." Hermione was smiling politely.
Of course, Harry thought, she wouldn't dare to tell off Sirius after he had paid her family's debts. But there were other ways to get back at his godfather. He grinned. "Sirius created the mirror, Hermione. Impressive, isn't it?"
"Oh? Really? How did you do it? Did you use a Protean Charm?" As expected, Hermione's curiosity was much stronger than her obligation towards Harry's godfather, and she was soon pestering Sirius with detailed questions.
And Harry's expression as he looked over his friend's shoulder at his godfather left no question that Sirius better answer each and every one of them, if he knew what was good for him.
*****
Dartmoor, Devon, Britain, August 25th, 1994
Hermione Granger had never seen so many wizards and witches in one place - not even in Diagon Alley. The sheer number of Quidditch fans who had gathered to watch the World Cup finals boggled the mind.
She wasn't openly gaping, of course - Mr Fletcher had seen to that. A witch of good breeding always kept her composure. And a good thief never gave herself away by acting out of character.
"Wow!"
Harry, of course, was neither a witch of good breeding, nor a thief, and was openly staring. Well, even Ron looked like he was impressed, if not as overwhelmed as Harry.
"Looks like a decent turnout," Mr Black commented, as if this was just any other event.
She caught Harry frown at his godfather. "Compared to which other World Cup you've attended? You were bouncing off the walls when you had secured tickets for us!"
"That was in private," Mr Black stated. "I would never act like that in public."
Harry looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. Hermione knew that Mr Black couldn't afford to look anything but his best, not when so many in Britain suspected him to be a deranged murderer. It was a sobering thought, but a few minutes later, when they were walking through the area where the food and souvenir vendors had set up their shops, Hermione was again feeling as happy as she was acting. There was just so much to see and browse.
Though when she saw the looks their small group was attracting from some people, she wished Mr Fletcher had already taught her how to pickpocket - they deserved to lose some of their valuables as punishment for their stupidity and bigotry!
Fortunately, the native idiots were a minority at the World Cup - wizards from all over the world had travelled to Britain to attend! She saw so many different robes and other clothes… or, in one case, what looked like body paint and some scraps of leather. That wizard attracted a lot of attention, she noticed. Mainly from witches.
But the main attraction was, of course, Quidditch! Most of the spectators were wearing at least one piece of Quidditch merchandise - many wore more. She saw a number who were decked out in full Quidditch gear, and might have been mistaken for players - but everyone knew the players' faces, of course: They were displayed on floating posters at many stands, their pictures winking and waving.
"Oh, Viktor Krum!" Ron exclaimed, pointing at one of those. Indeed, there was the Bulgarian Seeker, although he seemed to be scowling more than smiling.
"Best Seeker of the Cup," Ron said. Harry nodded, as did Mr Black.
"But the rest of his team is not as good," Hermione commented. "They'll need luck to win if they meet a good Chaser line up." She noticed the boys were staring at her. "What?"
Ron grinned suddenly. "We turned Hermione in a Quidditch fan!"
Harry laughed. "What was it you called it in our first year? 'The most nonsensical game one could think of'?"
"Miss Granger!" Now Mr Black was gasping at her, and the two boys were laughing. Hermione pouted - but she was happy. She had missed her friends, and the light banter. And she would miss them again, in a few days, when their fourth year at Hogwarts would start.
But for now she was having fun with her friends!
*****
"No!" Harry Potter yelled with half the stadium as Krum dove towards the ground. He couldn't catch the Snitch, not when his team was behind by more than a hundred and fifty points! He couldn't end the match like that!
But Krum did. Ireland won the Quidditch World Cup, even though Krum had caught the Snitch. The green-clad Irish fans erupted in loud cheers, and once again, leprechauns bounced through the stadium, dropping fake gold coins all over the audience as the Irish team flew a victory lap.
And Ron's brothers, a few rows down, hugged and slapped each other on the back. Harry hadn't known that they were fans of the Irish team.
"Why did he do that?" Ron asked. "His team could have come back!"
Harry had to chuckle - that was something only a die-hard Cannons fan would think. "No, they wouldn't. The Irish Seeker is not as good as Krum, but he's no slouch - sooner or later, he'd have caught the Snitch."
Sirius agreed. "Yes. Better to end it on his own terms, I say."
"That will make a number of people who bet on the outcome rather unhappy," Hermione added. "The odds for such an outcome were rather bad."
"Miss Granger! First you condemn the greatest game ever invented, and now you turn out to have a gambling problem?" Sirius sighed theatrically, then started chuckling.
Harry saw Hermione stare at his godfather, then set her jaw. In a prim and proper voice, she countered: "I think, Mr Black, you are projecting your own issues here."
"Maybe…" Sirius drawled, shaking his head. "But let's go down to our tent. The after-match party won't start until later, and we can use a bit of rest. And we might check up on the Weasleys, to assure them that we didn't lose Ron in the crowd."
Ron scoffed at that. "Mum thinks I'm as bad as the twins."
They stepped over the gold, and around a few people who were collecting the gold. "Don't they know that it'll vanish in a few hours?" Harry wondered aloud.
"I think they do - but they might hope that not everyone can spot leprechaun gold," Sirius said. "They can spend a lot of gold in an hour if they're smart."
"And if they find a merchant too stupid or inexperienced to check for that," Hermione added. "A simple Dispelling Charm would make it vanish."
"A few will be too greedy to check. And too excited about the Cup," Sirius said, shrugging.
"Not everyone is used to having much gold," Ron remarked. He sounded more than a bit defensive - probably remembering how he had gathered the leprechaun gold dropped before the match had started, Harry thought, until Hermione had told him that it was fake.
They reached the exit of the VIP stands from which they had been watching the match. Unfortunately, the Malfoys reached the exit at the same time.
"Narcissa. Lucius. And little Draco. Good afternoon." Sirius's smile was polite, but his tone could have frozen water, Harry thought.
"Sirius." Mr and Mrs Malfoy nodded in greeting, smiling politely, but Draco scowled. Only after a glare from his mother did he return the greeting.
Which prompted a wave of polite greetings as honest as the leprechaun's gold from everyone else present - with the exception of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards on guard, of course. And Remus, who was using Harry's cloak to hide himself as he acted as their bodyguard.
"Bloody gits!" Ron muttered as soon as they were out of earshot, and on their way to their tent. "Think they're better just 'cause they're rich!"
Harry nodded, then caught his godfather casting a privacy spell.
"Gold does buy power and influence," Hermione pointed out. "And as they have demonstrated in the past, it also buys you judges," she added in a bitter tone.
"That's true, but gold has drawbacks as well. If you buy yourself out of trouble all the time, you're bound to become lazy. Just look at Draco - he's a pale shadow of his father. Or rather, an even paler shadow. Probably Narcissa's influence - she was always the one to rely on our family name and gold, too." He shook his head. "Say what you want about Bellatrix, but she made a name for herself with her wand. And Andromeda defied my whole family when she married Ted. Narcissa?" He sneered. "She simply did as she was told, and let my father and uncle sort out any problems. That's not how you become a dangerous witch."
"Influence is dangerous enough, though," Hermione retorted.
"And gold does come in very handy," Harry added. "My relatives were far more willing to 'shelter me', as my aunt put it, once they were promised gold in return." If only they could use leprechaun gold for that!
Sirius shrugged. "All the gold in Britain won't save you from Voldemort. It just makes you a bigger target." He grinned. "Now let's see if someone tampered with our decoy tent!"
*****
No one had tampered with the tent they had publicly set up. Or rather, no one had tampered with the wards protecting it, or so Sirius told them a bit later. "Too bad - I hoped we'd find Skeeter twitching on the ground."
Hermione nodded her firm agreement to that. "I wish!"
Harry Potter was struck by how similar their expressions were. If they ever caught Skeeter with an excuse to curse the witch… He shuddered, then cleared his throat. "So, can we go meet the Weasleys now?"
"Of course. Let's be off."
They wouldn't be meeting the Weasleys at their tent, but inside the - well-guarded, Sirius had said - private tent the Ministry had set up for the Minister and his guests.
"We're attracting a lot of attention," Harry remarked on the way there. They were turning heads in the crowd, and whispers followed them.
"Well… you're the Boy-Who-Lived. News has spread about your presence. And you're in the company of the two most infamous framed innocents in Britain." Sirius chuckled, but it felt forced. "So, of course we'll cause tongues to wag."
"Yeah, but still…"
"And witches to stare," Sirius interrupted him with a grin. Harry grumbled. "Well, mostly at your handsome godfather. But you'll be soon having to drive them off with your wand, trust me. James was the same, and you..."
"...look just like him," Harry finished for Sirius.
Hermione snorted, but Ron looked jealous. Harry sighed - it wasn't his fault. And it was kind of creepy how even older witches stared at him. Like that one there. She looked pretty out of it. Maybe drunk… but she had a wand out. And she was raising it...
He was moving before the wand was pointed at him, dropping to the ground. A curse flew over his head, and he heard a cry behind him while he flicked his own wand. Sirius's curse hit the witch before his own spell, or Ron's - and the witch was thrown back by what Harry knew wasn't a Disarming Charm, or a Stunner.
People were screaming now. Aurors were arriving. But Harry simply stared at the witch on the ground. Unmoving. Bleeding.
Had Sirius killed her?
"Harry, are you alright? We need to leave now!" Sirius was grabbing him, holding a Portkey.
But if they left… it would look bad. For Sirius. "We need to tell them what happened!" Harry blurted out. Sirius hesitated. Aurors were moving towards them. With drawn wands, of course.
And then Madam Bones arrived, with even more Aurors. And Hit-Wizards. "What's going on here? Dawlish!" she snapped.
An Auror jerked. "Someone - possibly Black - cursed Bertha Jorkins. She's dead, ma'am. There's another cursed victim, but he's alive."
"She tried to kill me! Jorkins, that is!" Harry yelled. "But she missed and hit the wizard behind me! Then we cursed her!"
When everyone turned to look at him, Harry wished Dumbledore were here. He would sort this out. But he wasn't. And so Harry raised his chin and looked straight at Bones. "I can give you my memory of the event. She attacked us."
When she nodded at him, he slowly raised his wand to his temple. And he hoped this would be enough to counter the lies others would try to spread about this.
*****
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Chapter 6: Dances and Deceptions
Starfox5
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Chapter 6: Dances and Deceptions
London, Ministry of Magic, August 27th, 1994
"Yes, I've heard about the attack on the Boy-Who-Lived! A terrible tragedy!"
He smiled politely at the witch, even though the question was asinine - an attack on the Boy-Who-Lived, at the Quidditch World Cup? Every wizarding newspaper in the world had covered it. In detail. Even The Quibbler, though that magazine claimed the whole incident was a botched assassination attempt by the goblins on Minister Fudge - according to the article, the goblins had ordered Jorkins to attack the most important wizard in Britain, and she had misunderstood their intent.
"Indeed, a terrible tragedy! To think that the poor, imperiused witch was killed in cold blood…" Madam Umbridge sighed theatrically, and for a moment, he was reminded of a toad preparing to croak. Although the witch's squat appearance was not as loathsome as her character, in his opinion - she was a toady with a penchant for backstabbing her betters.
Nevertheless, she was a useful creature. As the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, she would allow him to influence Fudge without being connected to him. "To be fair, Black couldn't have known that," he pointed out. "And seeing what her curse did to that unfortunate fellow from Ireland, I cannot fault him for overreacting." He shook his head in apparent compassion and understanding.
Umbridge's fake smile slipped a bit. "But did he know that, or did he simply curse her, without even noticing what curse she had cast? By all accounts, he struck with a lethal curse, without taking into account that this could have just been a misunderstanding, or a miscast by a drunk." She clicked her tongue as she shook her head. "What if it had been an innocent child, playing with their first wand?"
"I do not think Black would kill a child," he stated, sincerely even - Black was too weak to do such a thing, no matter the situation. "He did this to protect his godson, after all - the boy to whom we all owe so much."
That didn't please the witch, he could tell. Her eyes almost disappeared when she frowned. "But aren't you worried? Bertha was Mr Crouch's secretary. She's been handling his estate, just as you've been handling your aunt's."
She wasn't as subtle as she thought. He gasped. "Do you mean those crimes might be linked?"
"Do you think they could be? You would know best, wouldn't you?"
He pretended to consider this. "I still haven't dealt with all of my aunt's affairs - it's hard, with the fire having destroyed so much - but I haven't found anything linking her with Mr Crouch. I do not think there is any financial motive there. For all her political achievements, my aunt lived a frugal life. No, if there is a connection, then it has to be something else, something personal, perhaps."
Her smile grew wider. "Ah… maybe revenge?"
"The only one with a - far-fetched, I have to say - motive would be Black. But why would he force the poor witch to attack him, in public, so he could kill her? Wouldn't it have been much easier to simply have her disappear? A magical accident, easily accepted by the Ministry? You would have to have a very deranged mind to arrange such a public murder, with all the risks that entails. And Black was said to have recovered remarkably well from his ordeal in Azkaban." He emphasised 'said' just a little, as if he had simply sought a more precise word. But the witch had understood his apparently accidental meaning.
"Maybe we need to have him examined again. Black is not just the Head of his family, but also the guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived. That much responsibility might be too much for him. It wouldn't be the first time that someone couldn't handle such stress." Umbridge's attempt to sound sympathetic wasn't very convincing, in his opinion.
"I wouldn't know," he said. "I only knew him, briefly, at Hogwarts, and there he had no responsibilities at all."
"Oh, I've heard the stories. He was the last student anyone would have made a prefect, or given any form of authority." She smiled.
"But that was when he was young. He has certainly changed since then. I mean, he was in Azkaban." He didn't have to force himself to wince when he mentioned the prison - his most loyal followers were still suffering there, hanging onto the shreds of their sanity through the merest hint of his presence in their marks. He would save them as soon as he could do so without endangering his plans.
And there would be a reckoning with those who had repudiated him to save themselves, those who had abandoned him. They would answer to him, and they would have to struggle to gain his forgiveness, and even more to regain his favour. Lucius had a lot of explaining to do for his behaviour at Pettigrew's trial.
"Oh, indeed. He has changed - but maybe not for the better." Umbridge's smile was sickly sweet. "But I think that's a matter of concern for the DMLE, not for either of us."
He nodded in agreement. "Certainly. Which brings me to a matter that concerns us, or rather, the Minister."
"Oh?" She tensed and eyed him.
"Yes!" He nodded eagerly. "I've mentioned that I've been going through my aunt's documents, to settle her estate, haven't I?"
"Yes, you did. But you said most of it was lost with your aunt's house."
"Oh, yes. But she had a chest full of correspondence in her basement, protected from fire." He sighed. "I hoped that it would concern her finances, but it's all about politics, as far as I can tell - I have only skimmed the letters, you know."
He now had her full attention. "Political correspondence?"
"Yes. Letters, to and from Dumbledore, and others. I thought the Minister would know best if those should be handed to the Ministry's archives, since he is her successor."
"Definitely!" She was beaming now, probably drooling at the thought of getting her hands on material that could be used to blackmail her rivals.
He pulled out a shrunken chest. "It's all there - all the letters I found."
And some that his aunt had never willingly written. But which appeared as authentic as the others.
He watched the witch leave for a moment, before turning around and making his way to the Atrium of the Ministry. Dumbledore and a few of his other enemies would have a devil of a time trying to explain the contents of those letters. But even if they could prove that the letters were forgeries, no one would suspect earnest young Alphons Bagnold, who was defending Black and Dumbledore at every opportunity, even if his efforts sometimes seemed to unintentionally backfire.
The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled widely. Things were progressing as planned.
London, Merton, September 1st, 1994
Hermione Granger checked the clock on her desk. The desk was new, but the clock was a used one she had found in a flea market. Completely mechanical, it would work inside wards as well, so she wouldn't have to abandon it when the day came that she had her own flat. Eleven o'clock. The Hogwarts Express would be pulling out of the station now. With Harry, Ron and the other students. Without her.
She sighed. Last year, she had thought it would get easier with time, but it hadn't. It still hurt to think that her friends would be at Hogwarts, without her. Learning magic with hundreds of other students. Having access to that amazing library. Having fun without being thought a delinquent who almost ruined her family.
Of course, she and her parents had told their friends and acquaintances that the matter had been settled, that the mistake had been rectified, but… 'audacter calumniare, semper aliquid haeret', as her father had put it. Slander boldly, something always sticks.
And something had stuck. Not as bad as it had stuck in Wizarding Britain, of course. There she was not just a thief, but a gold-digging mudblood as well. At least among those who believed the Prophet and that muckraker Skeeter. That, unfortunately, included a lot of the British wizards and witches. Mr Black - he had told her to call him 'Sirius', but that felt uncomfortable - had mentioned he'd be able to do something about that, but that it would have to wait until he had dealt with his own troubles with the press. She'd wish Skeeter would fall over dead except that would cause even more trouble for Harry's godfather.
Sighing again, she tried to focus on her studies once more. Her last exams had proven that she needed to work harder if she wanted to keep up with the others at Hogwarts.
And she would keep up. At least in the important and useful subjects. She'd not let the other witches, especially the Ravenclaws, look down on her and call her a cheater or a failure! The thought of them being all smug at Hogwarts, while she was stuck here… some of them would probably even try to replace her, 'help' Harry, and Ron, with their homework, hang out with them…
She realised she was clenching her teeth and forced herself to relax. It wouldn't be like that. Harry and Ron were her best friends. They would not replace her.
Hogwarts, September 2nd, 1994
"Krum's coming to Hogwarts! For the entire year!"
Even a day after it had been announced at the start-of-term feast, Ron was still excited about his idol spending a year at Hogwarts. The better part of a year, Hermione would have corrected them, if she were present, Harry Potter added in his thoughts. The delegations from the other schools wouldn't actually arrive until a month into term, due to scheduling conflicts and other such things.
"Yes," Harry agreed, "If Oliver was still here we'd be training every evening 'so we won't look bad in front of Krum'." He snorted. "Even so, Angelina has already said we'll train more often than she had originally planned - with Krum here, she expects scouts to attend the matches. Don't ask me why."
"Why wouldn't they? Scouting Hogwarts gives them an excuse to meet Krum," Ron said. "It's what I'd do."
His friend was right, Harry had to admit. "And there's also the fact that we'll play Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as well."
"Yes! Almost double the Quidditch matches this year!"
Ron was still smiling widely when they knocked at the door to the Defence classroom. Sirius opened the door, a wild grin on his face. "Ah! Here to see our newest celebrity? Come in!" He turned around as soon as the door closed. "Remus! Two more fans!"
Harry heard a groan from behind the door to Remus's quarters, followed by: "Ignore him, please. He's been insufferable all day." as the other wizard stepped into the room.
"What? Why wouldn't I be excited over the fact that, for the first time in a year, a member of my family has received good press?" Sirius scoffed, but he was still smiling.
"All I did was start my second year of teaching," Remus said.
"You beat the Dark Lord's curse! The first Defence teacher to last more than a year in decades!" Sirius laughed. "They'll call you the 'Professor-Who-Taught' soon!"
Remus rolled his eyes at his friend, but Harry had the impression that he wasn't quite as annoyed as he acted. "Enough of that. We've more important matters to discuss." Remus turned to Harry and Ron. "You've heard about the Tournament."
Harry nodded.
"Dumbledore's discovered a curse on the Goblet of Fire, the artefact that will choose the champions. He took a few days to remove it," Remus said. "If the curse had been triggered…" He shook his head, his expression tense. "It would have been very bad. The Headmaster's certain that it was the work of the Dark Lord."
Harry clenched his teeth. "So he's attacking Hogwarts, then?" Which meant Voldemort would be gunning for him.
"Anything that goes wrong at Hogwarts while the eyes of Europe are on us will lessen Dumbledore's influence on the Ministry," Sirius added. "Especially if some of our guests get hurt. So keep your eyes open. It won't be just Malfoy trying to attack you this year."
"We can easily handle him," Ron said, scoffing. Harry nodded - the git was no match for them.
"I meant either Malfoy," Sirius corrected them. "And the Dark Lord's worse. He managed to curse an artefact stored in a Ministry vault without anyone noticing. He might even be able to sneak into Hogwarts."
Ron muttered a curse under his breath. His good mood was entirely gone now.
And so was Harry's.
Hogwarts, October 1st, 1994
"There's two more great things we can enjoy this year," Ron said between two mouthfuls of roast beef at the 'Welcome Feast' for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students.
"Which are?" Harry Potter asked, refilling his own plate. There hadn't been many good things so far this term, in his opinion. Voldemort hadn't done anything yet, but the constant threat, the constant nagging fear of an attack… he shook his head. Tonight, at least, he wanted to focus on having fun.
"We have more feasts than normal - and we have stunning visitors!" Ron nodded towards the Ravenclaw table, where the students from Beauxbatons were seated.
Harry made a noncommittal sound, glancing at Durmstrang's Headmaster, who was seated next to Dumbledore at the staff table. To have another supposedly reformed Death Eater at the school had also put a damper on his mood.
"I thought Krum staying at Hogwarts was the best thing this year, but those witches…" Ron sighed with a - in Harry's opinion - silly grin on his face.
"Ron's gone gaga, like everyone else, over the Veela," Ginny cut in. Harry looked at the redheaded witch and saw that she was sneering and glaring at the witch in question. A quick glance told him that she wasn't the only witch at their table glaring at the Ravenclaw table.
"Fleur Delacour…" Ron sighed again.
"As if a Veela would bother with you!" Ginny huffed. "She's three years older than you, too!" With a deep scowl, she added: "But everyone's panting after her!"
"I'm not," Harry defended himself.
"Well, you're the exception." Ginny beamed at him. "Her Veela allure must not work on you."
"Sirius said there is no such thing as Veela allure," Harry said. "They're just very beautiful." And his godfather claimed that he had extensively researched and examined the matter.
Now Ginny was scowling at him as well. Sirius had been right, Harry thought - witches were very fickle.
London, Greenwich, October 10th, 1994
Bagnold Feared that Dumbledore Sacrificed Political Rivals during War!
Hermione Granger wished that she also had a subscription to the Daily Prophet as she craned her neck in an attempt to read the front page of the newspaper held by her tutor. She could make out an old picture of the late Millicent Bagnold, and another one, more recent, of Dumbledore, but not the article itself.
But to let anyone at the Prophet have her address would be a very bad idea. She didn't want to see pictures of her family or their new home in the newspaper, nor Skeeter following her parents around and making up lies about their lives. Well, she could buy her own newspaper in Diagon Alley, if she really needed to.
And judging by the way Mr Fletcher's fingers were almost tearing this issue of the Prophet apart, she might have to do that today, if she ever wanted to actually read the article. She was about to point this out when she caught a glimpse a of Mr Fletcher's expression, and closed her mouth. He looked absolutely furious. It would be better, she decided on the spot, not to bother him and to focus on her studies instead.
"Yes?" But, of course, her tutor was practicing what he preached, and had noticed her abandoned attempt to talk to him. She really needed to learn how to be more inconspicuous.
She considered practicing her lying, but decided against it. She was, had been, a Gryffindor, after all. "I was wondering about that article."
Her tutor stared at her for a moment. She realised that she was biting her lower lip and forced herself to stop. He had mentioned this habit of hers before, as a 'tell'.
When she was about to bite her lip again, tells be damned, he sighed. "Someone dug up Bagnold's old letters, and the Prophet caught wind of it." He threw the newspaper on the table. "Read for yourself."
She eagerly grabbed the issue and refrained from smoothing out the wrinkled edges where Mr Fletcher had held it.
"Letters recently discovered... survived the fire in her house… correspondence with Dumbledore during the Blood War… concerns about Dumbledore's reaction to the civilian casualties… mentioned a disturbing letter from Dumbledore…"
"A letter conveniently missing from the stack," Mr Fletcher cut in. He still looked furious.
She cleared her throat. "What do you make of this?" A nice, neutral question.
He scoffed. "The Prophet's reading a lot into Bagnold's letter, and speculates even more about the missing letter from Dumbledore."
"They all but accuse the Headmaster of sacrificing his political rivals to the Death Eaters," Hermione pointed out.
He scoffed and stared at the wall behind her. "A lot of people were murdered in the war. The Death Eaters struck at anyone opposing them - or those refusing to support them. And they had their choice of targets." Hermione saw that he was slowly shaking his head. He still wasn't looking at her. "Dumbledore couldn't be everywhere, of course, and the Death Eaters counted on that. He had to 'make hard choices'." Mr Fletcher practically spat the last part out.
She bit her lower lip, not caring that it was a tell. She wanted to know what had happened to Mr Fletcher in the war. And yet, she dreaded knowing it as well.
"Yeah," he continued, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, "Dumbledore made hard choices, he effin' did. And an effin' whole lot of innocents died because of it." He shook his head again. "Only natural that he'd pick his friends over his enemies, course. But he couldn't even protect all of his friends. Or their families." Hermione almost missed his last words - they were spoken in a much softer tone.
He suddenly stood up. "I gotta … check up on somethin'. Study Transfiguration until tomorrow." Hermione drew breath to ask him to stay, but he apparated out of his flat before she could say anything.
Sighing, and wondering what exactly he was doing - and hoping he wasn't about to go drinking, though it would be understandable, if he had lost his family in the war - she returned to the article. Bagnold's nephew was quoted as saying that he was shocked at the allegations, and said that his aunt must have been imperiused to forge the letters by her murderer, 'because Dumbledore would never do such a thing'.
Hermione winced - Mr Bagnold meant well, but he wasn't helping. That wasn't an argument that would convince anyone. Quite the contrary, actually. Though the speculation that Dumbledore murdered his rivals and framed the Death Eaters, attributed to 'anonymous sources', sounded far too far-fetched too.
Some of the public would still believe it, of course. British wizards and witches seemed eager to assume the worst, she thought.
Hogsmeade, October 25th, 1994
"Harry! Ron!" Hermione Granger hugged first Harry, then Ron as soon as they entered the Hog's Head Inn. They were filling out, she noticed with surprise. "You've been training hard," she remarked, reaching out to squeeze Harry's biceps. She quickly released him when she realised what she was doing and mumbled an apology.
"Oh, Sirius and Remus are pushing us hard," Ron said. "Of course, Harry's also doing Quidditch, and Angelina seems like a worthy successor to Oliver."
"She's not as bad," Harry corrected his friend as they took their seats.
"Could've fooled me," Ron retorted. "You certainly look as exhausted after training as you did last year."
Hermione laughed, even though she once more felt jealous and sad about not being at Hogwarts with them. "So, what else is new? You didn't have trouble with Malfoy again, did you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, he's been behaving since the last time. Maybe Remus's detention convinced him to stop being an arse."
"No." Ron shook his head. "He's too busy cozying up to Durmstrang's students to bother with us."
"To Krum, you mean." Harry grinned.
Ron scowled. "For such a great Seeker, Krum has really bad taste in friends."
"Well, Durmstrang doesn't even allow muggleborns to attend," Hermione pointed out. "He might feel Slytherins are kindred spirits."
"I hope Harry beats him at the match," Ron muttered.
Harry didn't look like he expected to beat the world-class Seeker, in Hermione's opinion. His next comment proved her right. "Yeah, I'll beat him, right after you convince Delacour to go out with you."
"At least I'm not moping because the witch I like already has a boyfriend!" Ron shot back.
Hermione blinked. Harry was interested in a witch? Who was that witch?
Before she could ask, Harry snorted. "I didn't know that Cho was with Cedric, and I'm over her anyway."
Hermione smiled. That was good - she didn't want her friends to mope over witches. It was petty, but she knew that if Harry and Ron had girlfriends, they would want to go with them to Hogsmeade, and not with her. And she didn't want them to meet her out of pity.
"You're over her?" Ron's tone was rather doubtful.
"Yes." Harry shrugged. "Sirius said that you should never go after a witch who's taken, not unless you are really in love. And if you're asking yourself whether you are in love, then you aren't. Or something like that." He perked up. "He said I should go after the Patil twins, anyway."
Hermione felt her smile slip. For all that she and her family owed Mr Black, she felt that Harry's godfather was not an entirely good influence on her best friend. A change of topic was in order, she decided.
"So… do you know how the visiting students compare with Hogwarts' own?"
Hogwarts, October 31st, 1994
The Goblet stood on its pedestal, the flames within throwing a flickering light on the ceiling above. It looked remarkably harmless for its rumoured powers, Harry Potter thought when he glanced at it. And it looked remarkably harmless for a potentially cursed object, too.
"Mate, stop staring at the Goblet!" Ron whispered. "Dumbledore said it was safe."
Apparently, Harry hadn't been as subtle as he had thought. He looked at his friend and sighed. "I can't help it." It was Halloween too. The anniversary of his parents' murder at the hand of the dark wizard who had cursed the Goblet. "Dumbledore might have overlooked something." He might have been distracted by the allegations in the Prophet. The newspaper had stopped their thinly-veiled campaign, but according to Sirius, it had required Dumbledore to have a personal talk with the Prophet's owner.
"It wasn't just him, you know," Ron said while finishing his second serving of the filet mignon the elves had prepared for today's feast. "They brought in Curse-Breakers too, Bill told me. No one found anything. And they even tested it." He grinned. "Apparently, Dumbledore would be Hogwarts' champion if he was a student - who'd have thought!"
Harry forced himself to chuckle. He had known that already, too. But this was Voldemort - Dumbledore's equal. He had already managed to sneak into Hogwarts and attack Harry once, under Dumbledore's nose. If not for his mother's protection, Harry would have died. And probably Ron, too.
But so far nothing had happened. Not when the Goblet had been lit, and not when the various older students had dropped their names into it. Or when those who were too young to take part but had tried anyway had been repelled. Like Ron's brothers. He took a deep breath, then grinned. "Well, stop glancing at Delacour. She might take offense, and from what Sirius told us, angry Veela are definitely not safe."
Ron snorted. "I'm not glancing at her. I'm over her."
"You mean your desire not to be left drooling and stammering has finally grown stronger than your desire to ogle her?" Harry said, a bit more sharply than he had intended. It was Halloween, after all. Not his most favourite day in the year. At all.
"At least I tried to talk to her. You slunk away unseen when you saw Chang with Diggory," Ron shot back.
"I was being discreet," Harry defended himself. It hadn't been his finest hour. But it beat being embarrassed in public.
"Some Gryffindor you are!" Ron scoffed.
His friend was grinning, though it was a sore spot for him, Harry knew. "Speaking of… what are you going to do about the Yule Ball?"
"What do you mean? Do you wonder who I will ask to be my date? Or whether I managed to transfigure my robes into something more fashionable?"
"The first," Harry said. "The latter is hopeless. Not even Dumbledore could manage that."
"He wouldn't even try - he'd like the robes." Ron snorted. "I thought Fred and George had pranked me, you know, when I saw the robes."
"So did I," Harry said.
"But I'll manage," Ron went on. Which meant he didn't want Harry's help. Or Sirius's. "Maybe I'll ask Hermione on our next Hogsmeade weekend for a few tips. She has done her own robes, hasn't she?"
"I think she only mended them." Hermione wasn't exactly a witch obsessed with fashion, Harry knew. "You might be better off asking Lavender, or Parvati."
"That's not a good idea," Ron said, wincing. "That would make asking either to be my date a little embarrassing."
Harry nodded - that was true. Not that asking a witch out wasn't already embarrassing anyway. He snuck a glance at Parvati, who was talking - and giggling - with Lavender. What if she laughed at him? He wanted to ask her or her sister in private, but… asking them to step out for a minute would be the same as asking her straight out; everyone knew what that meant these days.
Which was another thing to consider: Time was running short. Harry wasn't the only wizard who needed a date for the Yule Ball, after all.
He was still pondering how to handle this problem when Dumbledore stood up from his seat and announced that the Goblet would now select the champions.
Harry held his breath for the whole drawing, but it went according to plan. And the champions chosen were no surprise either: Delacour, Krum and Diggory.
Harry looked away when Cho kissed Diggory in celebration.
Hogwarts, November 20th, 1994
Hermione Granger was impressed when she saw the stadium that had been erected near Hogwarts. It was not as big as the one at the Quidditch World Cup, but it certainly dwarfed the stands at Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch. And it had been erected in a few weeks, since she hadn't seen it on her last visit to Hogsmeade.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Ron said, walking next to her. "Percy told me that the Ministry had a special task force to build this, drawn from the one at the World Cup. They couldn't simply conjure stands, since a single Dispelling Charm could have caused a catastrophe."
That sounded like a direct quote from his studious brother. "Was he involved?" she asked. Percy had started at the Ministry this year.
"Only a little. He's working in the Wizengamot Administration Services."
So, office gossip, or paperwork related to the event, Hermione thought. Good to know either way - as her tutor had told her, good thieves needed to know everything about their marks. She suspected, after hearing the examples he had used to make his point, that he had unknowingly robbed an Auror once. "I'm glad to hear that he's doing well."
"You and my mum both," Ron said, sighing. "She wrote me a whole letter about Percy - she wants me to follow his example."
"Well, it's safer than Curse-Breaking or working with dragons," she pointed out.
"Sure. But it's also boring. Percy loves his work, but I'm not him."
No, Ron wasn't Percy, Hermione agreed. "Where's Harry?" She had expected both of them to meet her at the gates.
"He's guarding our seats. With so many visitors, we thought the Boy-Who-Lived might be needed for that."
She glanced at Ron and nodded. "His godfather is coming as well then?"
"Yes. He's already up there with Harry." Ron nodded towards the towering side walls of the stadium.
And, Hermione thought, Mr Black was probably drawing his own share of glances and sneers. Like herself. She sniffed and raised her chin. So be it - she knew that she was innocent. She had done nothing of which she should be ashamed. And she might have been expelled from Hogwarts, but she didn't have to be a student to watch the Triwizard Tournament. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
They reached their seats a few minutes later, and Hermione saw that Ron hadn't been exaggerating - they were among the best seats in the stadium, right at the field. And there was Harry!
"Hi, Harry!" She hugged him, then nodded at his godfather. "Mr Black."
"Miss Granger." Mr Black nodded back at her, barely hiding his grin. She clenched her teeth.
"Hi, Hermione." Ron's sister was there as well.
"Hi, Ginny."
"Hello." And a blonde witch Hermione didn't know. "I'm Luna Lovegood, Ginny's neighbour."
"Ah. I'm Hermione Granger."
"I know. My father wrote about you." Luna nodded her head several times. "Worst Nargles infestation in ten years."
"Nargles?" Hermione blinked. Lovegood... Ah, The Quibbler! She smiled politely. She wasn't certain if such creatures existed - but she wouldn't rule it out either; she had 'known' that there was no magic, after all, until she had received her Hogwarts letter - but The Quibbler hadn't slandered her.
Luna was already explaining everything Hermione had ever wanted to know about Nargles, and then some. Ron glared at his sister, who glared back, and Harry grinned.
It felt so much like being back at school, Hermione had to turn away and focus on the arena to distract herself as soon as the blonde witch had finished.
Fortunately, the first task of the tournament was a captivating sight. In the middle of the arena, walls had been erected to form three lanes - one for each champion - lined with obstacles ranging from ornate gates to simple-looking pits. And all lanes led into the same building.
Hermione Granger wished that she could observe the spells on the lanes - she could spot signs of Extension Charms, and, thanks to Harry's Omnioculars which she had borrowed, she could spot the runework indicating complex curses on the gates, but without her detection spell, she couldn't really study the traps and other obstacles.
Though she assumed that even if her detection spell had had the range to reach the arena's centre, Dumbledore would have blocked it to prevent cheating. So her best hope was that the organisers had thought to cater to those 'with a more discerning eye for protections and curses', as Mr Fletcher had put it, as well as to those wishing to see daring and spectacular spellwork.
She knew her tutor was also attending the event, but she hadn't seen him so far. He had told her that he would be mingling with the purebloods to socialise as 'Mr Smith' in the hope of establishing a few contacts. Without her, of course - a pureblood of good standing couldn't be seen with a convicted and expelled thief if they hoped to gain acceptance in those circles.
She could have come with him in disguise, but she wouldn't have been able to be with her friends in that case. And as tempting as it might be to see how Harry and Ron would react to her disguise, she much preferred to be with them as their friend instead of meeting them as a snobby pureblood witch.
"Did you spot Malfoy?" Harry asked, interrupting her attempt to figure out what obstacle a seemingly bare patch of sand was - quicksand seemed too obvious.
"No." She shook her head. "I wasn't looking for him, though."
"He's in the Ministry's section with his father," Harry said.
"Cozying up to the Minister, I bet," Hermione said, zooming in on that area. And there they were, with Mrs Malfoy. All clad in the latest robes from Paris, as far as she could tell with only Witch Weekly to go on.
"Of course. Trying to further erode Dumbledore's influence," Mr Black cut in. "And Dumbledore is too decent to simply tell off the Ministry and the press."
Ron nodded. "Percy said the bribes were so large, even the post owls were getting new perches. He got one of the old perches for our family owl."
So that hadn't been a joke from Ron's brother. Hermione should have expected that - Percy was very unlike his brothers, after all. And he certainly wasn't the kind of wizard who would look the other way, not even for family. Or, knowing the twins, especially not for family. "Aren't they afraid of your reputation?" she asked. "Or your family's?"
Mr Black scowled. "Not enough, or too much, it seems. With Crouch and Bagnold murdered under mysterious circumstances, Malfoy isn't the only one who has realised that if anything happens to him or his friends, I'll be blamed." He sighed. "It doesn't help that I'm the last Black - if there were more of us, those Bowtruckles would be too scared to try anything. I would pull Andromeda back into the fold, but with my current reputation, that would harm her family more than it would help me."
Hermione wondered what that meant for Harry's reputation, since her friend was living with Mr Black, but she knew better than to ask - Harry was fiercely protective of his godfather. Even if the man was not a good influence on her friend.
Before the mood could get even worse, though, the voice of Ludo Bagman filled the stadium. "Good afternoon, everyone! Welcome to the first task of the reborn Triwizard Tournament!"
"Damn bloke cheated my brothers out of their winnings at the World Cup," she heard Ron mutter while Bagman prattled on about the Ministry's achievements.
Hermione would have pointed out that nomen est omens in this case - Mr Fletcher had said a 'bagman' was a term used among criminals for someone handling dirty gold - but she didn't want to appear too informed about the slang used by criminals. So she simply nodded as she made a mental note - Bagman might be an easy mark to blackmail, if needed.
"...so, our champions have to race each other through these lanes which are filled with the deadliest curses and traps ever seen in Britain! Will they be up to the challenge, or will they fall prey to the dangers of this task? But even if they reach the goal, they will still have to face the task's ultimate challenge - the mysterious last guardian!"
Which meant it was either an animal or an enchanted, animated construct, Hermione thought.
Ron snorted. "He's a bad liar. Percy told me that the tasks are safe. They look dangerous, but they're no worse than a Quidditch match."
That made sense, Hermione thought. Although as the tournament's deadly history proved, it hadn't always been the case. Then she clapped and cheered with the others for the Champions - and especially for Cedric Diggory. He was a really handsome wizard, she couldn't help noticing. Chang was a lucky witch.
"And they're off!" Bagman yelled.
The champions stepped over the starting line, and dark flames sprang up in front of them. Cursed fire, Hermione thought. The Flame-Freezing Charm wouldn't help there. Maybe some conjured clay, to smother them?
The champions, meanwhile, had their own solutions. Delacour created fire herself - caught in a bubble, Hermione noted - and forced the fire to burn out in seconds by consuming all the oxygen around. Diggory conjured a stone tube and created a safe way through the flames and Krum dug a tunnel with his wand.
They hadn't advanced very far, though - next came the first gate. Krum tried to simply blow his away, but that backfired - literally. The Bulgarian had been ready for that, though - his Shield Charm weathered the blast, and he was flinging his next spells at the gate a moment later. But melting it down didn't work either. Delacour and Diggory were taking the more conventional approach, their wands trailing over the gate's surface, tracking the runes engraved into the metal. The Veela soon started tapping the different runes, until the gate opened. Diggory tried the same, but must have made a mistake - he was pushed back as if hit by a Bludger, and almost sent tumbling into the fire behind him - though, Hermione noted, the distance had been lengthened considerably thanks to Extension Charms that might have been conditionally activated.
He tried again, and passed through the gate at roughly the same time as Krum's latest curse managed to wreck his, and the two wizards rushed on. Delacour meanwhile had proven to be the bigger raptor when faced with a swarm of Bloodravens and had sent the birds flying by transforming. While Bagman wondered aloud if this was cheating, Krum hit his own swarm with an Acid Cloud Spell - Luna loudly protested such cruelty - and Diggory distracted his opponents with a conjured slab of bloody meat.
Delacour was still in the lead, though, and had reached the patch of sand Hermione had been wondering about. The French witch hesitated a moment, then cast a spell at the sand - which erupted into a dense cloud. For an instant, Hermione thought it had been a Reductor or Blasting Curse. But the cloud started to move - towards the champion. It was a miniature sandstorm, Hermione realised. And it engulfed Delacour before she could react.
Hermione wasn't the only one who gasped. But mere seconds later, the sand was swept up into the air by a sudden whirlwind, revealing the Veela only slightly worse for the wear - her robes had been ripped in spots, and her hair was a mess, but she seemed unhurt with the exception of a few scrapes as she continued the race. There were a few catcalls among the cheers, Hermione noted. None from her friends, though.
Delacour lost most of her lead when Diggory transfigured the sand into stone without slowing down and Krum blew the sand away. All three were now faced with another gate - one covered with glowing runes. Obvious distractions, Hermione thought. But then, this was a spectator event, so those runes might be used to make it easier for the audience to follow the champions' actions.
She'd find out soon enough, she knew - the champions were already casting. Hermione started to take notes. Her tutor had been correct - this was not just entertaining, but educational as well. Especially for a budding thief.
"Oh… that had to hurt! Looks like Diggory didn't quite dodge that tail swipe!"
Bagman sounded almost gleeful, Harry Potter thought when the Hufflepuff champion was thrown in the air and landed hard on the extended stone floor where the last part of the task took place. He seemed to almost bounce.
"It moves like a real dragon," Ron commented. "Charlie told me about the tail swipes the Welsh Greens like to do."
"It's a construct created by Dumbledore," Hermione added, "so of course it will be very close to a real dragon. I guess Hagrid helped as well."
"I don't think so," Ron said. "If he had the thing would have already maimed a champion or two."
Harry laughed at that. Ron was probably correct; Hagrid had some rather… peculiar views of what was considered dangerous. The construct was holding back in order to not kill any of the contestants. Then he had to wince when Krum blew one foreleg of the dragon-construct's away, but paid for it when the construct breathed fire at him. The Bulgarian's robes caught fire, but he managed to roll away and started dousing himself with water.
"Krum's on fire today!" was Bagman's comment - not as funny as the wizard apparently thought.
"Look at Delacour!" Ron yelled suddenly, and Harry jerked. Where was… there! The French champion had used the construct's damage and distraction, and had changed into her raptor form again, diving at the box the dragon was guarding. The construct's tail snapped up, but the Veela avoided it, pulled up in time to miss the ground, as Wood used to call almost crashing, and snagged the box right from its pedestal.
"And Delacour uses the opportunity created by Krum and Diggory to sweep in and snatch victory from the jaws of the dragon! A daring but successful move! Beauxbatons' champion wins the first task!"
It had been an entertaining event, Harry thought as he clapped and cheered for the champions, but he couldn't help wondering how he would have done. He didn't know much about Runes or Arithmancy, but his and Ron's training had taught them how to dodge and fight - and he thought he would have done better at dodging, at least, than either Diggory or Krum. Maybe he'd throw his name into the Goblet next time.
Hogwarts, November 22nd, 1994
"There they are," Ron whispered unnecessarily - Harry Potter had spotted them already. "And they're alone, just like Sirius's map showed."
Harry knew that Sirius and Remus had created - or recreated; the first had apparently been lost in their seventh year - that map to help keep him safe. But he was certain that his godfather wouldn't mind Harry and Ron using the map to ask girls out without humiliating themselves - Sirius had hinted at using the map to peep on witches as a student himself, after all. Hermione, of course, would have scolded him for this. But she wasn't there, he thought, feeling the familiar sense of regret.
Then he focused on the task at hand. They couldn't miss this opportunity - it had been pure luck that they had overheard Parvati complaining about having to give her sister some of the sweets her mother had sent her. "Let's go," he whispered as he straightened and checked his appearance for the last time. No wrinkles or dirt on his new robes or shoes. And his hair better stay in the shape it was meant to be - he had paid enough for the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Ron ran his hands over his own robes - Harry didn't know if his friend had transfigured his eyesores, or had someone else do it for him, but he looked stylish. Or dapper, as Sirius had called it.
"Alright." Ron sounded a little nervous, Harry thought - just like himself.
"Just act natural," he repeated his godfather's advice, talking as much to his friend as to himself.
"There's nothing natural about this," Ron muttered as they turned around the corner.
Harry forced himself to smile. "Ah, there you are!" he said, maybe a little too loud and too cheerful. "We've been looking for you."
"Hello, Parvati, Padma," Ron added.
The two witches exchanged a glance, then smiled. That was a good thing, Harry thought. Probably.
"You've been looking for us?" Parvati's smile widened. Harry felt suddenly less certain that this was a good sign. Too many teeth, he thought.
But he was a Gryffindor, and the only thing more humiliating than being turned down would be to slink away without asking. He cleared his throat, then bowed with a flourish to Parvati. "Would you do me the honour of agreeing to go to the Yule Ball with me?" The old forms, just like Sirius had taught them.
Ron mirrored him with Padma, bowing as soon as Harry had straightened again.
The two witches weren't looking as smug any more, he thought. They seemed surprised, but they were still smiling. It looked as if Sirius's advice had been right - you couldn't overdo it when courting witches.
He still waited with bated breath while Parvati looked at her sister, then back at him. But she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."
It wasn't quite the correct form to agree to his invitation, it lacked the curtsey, but Harry didn't care. She had said yes.
And, judging by Ron's wide smile, so had her sister.
"You honour me, my lady. My wand is yours." Harry bowed again. The forms sounded rather pompous to him, but apparently, Parvati liked that kind of talk.
Just like Sirius had predicted. Harry wouldn't ever doubt his godfather again. Not when it concerned witches, at least - his other advice sometimes seemed a little questionable.
London, Merton, December 25th, 1994
Lying in bed, having slept in, Hermione Granger knew she should be happy. She had a new home, her family's financial troubles had been solved - mostly - and this Christmas saw all their book collections, if not fully restored, at least making good progress towards that goal.
And yet, despite all the positive changes compared to last year's Christmas, she wasn't happy. Not really. While she was celebrating Christmas with her parents, her friends were at Hogwarts, preparing to attend the Yule Ball. With the Patil twins.
Well, she thought with a glance at her alarm clock, they wouldn't be getting ready just yet. It was still morning, after all. But Parvati might already be fretting over her appearance with Lavender - those two witches certainly had spent a lot of time on such things when Hermione had been at Hogwarts, and she doubted that they would have changed in the years since.
She sighed. She was being catty. And petty. She had changed a lot herself, after all, since her second year. But then - Hermione had been forced to, after she had been expelled. She doubted that anything similar had happened to Parvati or Lavender. People were supposed to be ruled by their hormones in puberty, after all, and those two witches had already been obsessed with boys back then, so they had probably become even worse.
She certainly paid more attention to boys now herself, she had to admit, and not just because her tutor wanted her to always be aware of her surroundings, and to learn how to manipulate others. She wanted to be at the Yule Ball, dancing with Harry and Ron… Her eyes widened when she realised that she was jealous.
She wasn't just petty and catty, she was even jealous of her friends' dates! Not even the fact that Mr Fletcher had managed to secure invitations to the New Year's Ball at Smith Manor - his mingling at the first task had been quite successful - was much of a consolation. Her friends wouldn't be there, and even if they were to attend, Hermione would be in disguise.
Hermione leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn't looking forward to celebrating Christmas in this mood. But she couldn't help it - she wanted to be at the Yule Ball. With her friends. Not alone with her parents.
But she would at least act as if she was happy. Her parents didn't deserve to have their holiday ruined by her petty mood. Especially not after what they had gone through due to her mistakes.
And, she added in her thoughts, if she managed to fool her parents, then she should be able to fool anyone else as well.
Hogwarts, December 25th, 1994
The Yule Ball really was a 'grand affair', as Sirius had put it, Harry Potter had to admit. The Great Hall had been turned into a ballroom, with a dance floor polished almost to a mirror sheen and matching decorations. It almost outshone the guests themselves, many of them clad in some of the most beautiful and stylish robes he had seen so far. Though Delacour's robes would have stood out even if worn by a plain witch. Worn by the Veela champion, they had caused a few accidents already.
"Oh, look, there's Padma!" Parvati, hanging on his arm, said excitedly. "Let's go talk with her for a bit."
She didn't wait for an answer and started tugging on his arm. Harry simply nodded and went along with her - as he had done for the whole evening so far. Sirius had said to let the witch lead anywhere other than on the dance floor, after all. His godfather had also said to let the witch think she was leading when it came to more intimate affairs, but Harry hadn't quite figured out how to achieve that.
On the way to Padma and Ron, he grabbed another pâté en croûte from one of the trays floating around. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves - they had prepared delicacies from Britain, France and Eastern Europe, and if something wasn't available they somehow produced it within minutes. He was already feeling stuffed, and he and Parvati had just circled the room once, so far - they had been dancing longer than he had expected, based on Sirius's tales. Padma and Ron hadn't been on the dance floor as long, Harry had noted as well.
"Oh, did you see Sally-Anne's robes?" Parvati remarked. "I didn't know Perry's had such nice robes. Everyone said it was Madam Malkin's, or nothing. But Madam Malkin's selection is rather British-centred, and I wanted Indian-style robes."
"I didn't know either," Harry said. He hadn't known that 'Perry's' was a tailor in Diagon Alley, nor that his robes were thought inferior to Madam Malkin's until today. Nor did he really care about robes. Well, apart from how nice they looked on witches. But according to Sirius it would be both impolite and stupid to point that out. He also had said to flatter their dates often, and so Harry added: "A good decision, in my humble opinion. They suit you very well." Sirius would said something more… well, Sirius, but Harry couldn't bring himself to say the lines his godfather would say. They would get him hexed. Boy-Who-Lived or not.
"Thank you," Parvati beamed at him, and Harry felt both more confident and more nervous at the same time.
They passed a group of older wizards and Harry heard the buzzing sound of privacy spells until they gave them a wider berth, which led them closer to the drapes covering the walls that showed animated scenes of Hogwarts's history. Hermione would have loved them, Harry thought, and she would have quoted Hogwarts: A History verbatim. His friend probably wouldn't have danced at all - if she had even bothered to attend.
Although if she had, she would have talked about something other than robes and relationships, he added to himself as they reached Padma and Ron.
"Padma! There you are! How do you like the ball so far?" Parvati asked, and Harry felt her grip on his arm tighten just a little. "I just love the orchestra; we've been dancing almost nonstop."
Harry nodded, once more glad that Sirius had taught him and Ron how to dance as well.
"It is nice," Padma said, "but I wouldn't want to spend all my time on the dance floor. This is a unique opportunity to talk to foreign witches and wizards. The differences in their views on spells and customs are simply fascinating."
That sounded like something Hermione would say, Harry thought. Though even with her slight overbite, she wouldn't have shown quite that many teeth while smiling. And Parvati's smile was matching Padma's. He glanced at Ron, whose own smile looked a little forced, and said: "Oh, it looks like Diggory took a break from dancing for a while. I wanted to talk to him about the last match we played against each other."
Parvati looked at him, then at Diggory, who was talking with Krum, and beamed at him again. "Oh, yes, let's go! Have a nice evening, Padma, Ron!"
Indeed, Harry thought as they left his friend and his date behind, letting the witch think she was leading worked well.
"I had a marvelous time, Harry!" Parvati said as they walked back towards the Gryffindor dorms later.
"I simply did my best to measure up to you, my lady," Harry answered, nodding his head at her. It was, ironically, completely true. Parvati wasn't the most stimulating conversationalist, but she could dance very well, and she was very pretty, too. "I do hope that I did not disappoint you," he went on, still channeling the forms Sirius had drilled him and Ron in.
"Oh, no! You're a great dancer. And great company," the witch said. "You do your reputation proud."
Harry hadn't known he had a reputation - not as a dancer or as company, at least. But he was pleased anyway. "Not as great as you. You were the centre of attention wherever we went." That wasn't quite true - no witch would draw much attention next to Delacour, of course, unless she was hexing the Veela, and the champions drew the most attention to begin with. But it wasn't quite a lie either. As Sirius would have said, it was a 'polite truth'.
The kind of flattery that impressed witches into showing some affection, his godfather had said. And it seemed Parvati was slowing her steps as they neared Gryffindor Tower. And looking around. They were alone, Harry knew - his Defence training had emphasised such awareness.
Parvati must have come to the same conclusion, since she stopped and leaned against the wall as if taking a breather. "The evening was almost perfect," she said, smiling at him.
"Almost?" He tilted his head slightly.
"Something's been missing, so far." She licked her lips as she kept smiling.
Ah. Harry hoped that he wasn't misreading her intentions as he took a step closer to her, their chests almost touching. "And that would be?" he asked, leaning in.
For a moment, she seemed to hesitate. Then her arms went up around his neck, and their lips met. Mostly.
But Sirius had told him about the way first kisses usually went, and what to do. By the time they entered the Gryffindor dorms, they were quite proficient kissers, at least in Harry's admittedly inexperienced opinion.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 28th, 1994
"So, how was the Yule Ball?" Hermione Granger asked as she sat down on the bed in Harry's room. Which was quite a lot bigger than her parents' bedroom in their new house, she noted. She kept her voice light and her tone casual. She was just making conversation and not desperate to find out what she had missed.
"Well, it wasn't too bad, I guess," Ron said, sitting in a chair at Harry's desk. He shrugged. "We danced, we chatted, we ate good food. I had expected more, though."
That didn't sound that great, Hermione thought. Then she looked at Harry, who was sitting down on the bed as well. He had an almost dreamy smile she didn't think she would like.
"Oh, I had a lot of fun with Parvati. She is a good dancer," her friend said.
"What he means is that they snogged," Ron said.
Hermione was glad for Mr Fletcher's training since she kept smiling politely even though she felt as if she had just been jinxed. "Oh?"
"We kissed," Harry said, rolling his eyes at Ron. "After the ball. That was all that happened."
"Well, according to Parvati, it was a bit more than a simple kiss," Ron shot back. "A lot more."
"You asked her?" Hermione blurted out.
"No. I heard it from Ginny," her friend clarified. "Apparently Parvati gave a detailed account of Harry's kissing skills to the entire dorm."
"We really just kissed." Harry was actually blushing, Hermione noted.
Ron snorted. "Mate, that wasn't just a peck on the cheek. You've got a girlfriend. She's already planning your next Hogsmeade weekend."
Hermione felt like she had been hexed. If Harry had a girlfriend - especially someone like Parvati - then he'd want to spend his weekends with her, and not with Hermione. She had known that this would happen, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.
Harry glared at Ron, but didn't say anything. Especially not something like 'I won't let her do that.'
Ron grinned. "Hey, you 'just kissed' her."
Harry scoffed. "You'd have done the same in my place."
"Maybe. Padma just gave me a peck on the cheek." Ron shrugged, a bit too casually in Hermione's opinion. "But she was more interested in the other schools and their differences to Hogwarts than in me anyway. She reminded me of you, actually," he added, smiling at Hermione. "But for her looks, of course." He smiled wistfully. Harry nodded in apparent agreement - of course, he was dating Padma's identical twin.
Hermione wanted to hex both of them for that. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't really show how much she had changed and that she could dress up as well as any pureblood witch, not without revealing her training. If her friends could see her in one of her disguises they wouldn't treat her like that.
For a moment she enjoyed the fantasy of approaching Harry and Ron at a masquerade ball, in daring robes, a mysterious beauty flirting with them, leading them on, then leaving them. Their reactions would be priceless. She almost missed Harry's next comment. "What?"
"Well, I said I'll be attending the Smith's New Year's Ball with Parvati. Sirius got us invitations." Harry smiled, and Hermione hoped it was because Sirius's reputation was apparently improving, and not because he was looking forward to snogging with Parvati. Or more.
Then she realised what that meant. Harry would be at the same ball she was supposed to attend in disguise.
She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But she had to inform Mr Fletcher as soon as possible.
Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1994
"Thank you, sir." Hermione Granger smiled and curtseyed. "You're a very skilled dancer."
Her dance partner, an older cousin of Zacharias Smith, beamed at her. "You're talented as well. Would you like to take a little break in the winter garden?" He stepped a bit closer and reached out with his arm for her waist as he asked, apparently assuming she would agree.
But she had anticipated that - the wizard's hands had shown a tendency to roam a little on the dance floor - and deftly avoided him with a twist of her hips and a step back masked as another curtsey. "Thank you, but I think my tutor might want a word."
For a moment, his smile faded - he likely hadn't expected a refugee from the Colonies to react like that - but he quickly smiled again, bowing. "Of course. May I have the honour of another dance with you afterwards?"
"If possible, yes," she answered, deliberately not using the proper forms. A few slips were expected of her cover, after all.
She made her way to Mr Fletcher, who saw her coming and excused himself from the three older wizards he was talking to and met her halfway. "Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Merriweather?"
"Oh, it's marvelous!" she said, in a tone she imagined an impressed witch who cared about such things would use. Like Lavender or Parvati. In a lower voice, she added: "Another one wanted to 'take a break in the winter garden'."
"That's to be expected. They think you'll be easier to seduce, not knowing the local customs. And of course, your robes support such assumptions. That's why I chose them." He frowned. "But I should consider assumptions of ignorance as an insult to my reputation as a tutor. After all, I'm a distant relative of our hosts."
Hermione wanted to shake her head - she wouldn't have expected anyone to fall for the 'I'm a distant relative from the New World' scam, but apparently, Zacharias Smith's family was not overly suspicious.
"Did you approach your beau yet?" Mr Fletcher asked.
Hermione drew a deep breath. "No, not yet." She was wearing a blonde wig, coloured contact lenses and muggle makeup that made her look very different from her usual looks, in addition to dress robes with a neckline that drew attention away from her face, but Harry was her best friend and had known her for years. Even with a Shrinking Charm having taken care - temporarily, alas! - of her slight overbite, and the spell on her robes adding more bust, he might recognise her. At least her voice was disguised by a Volubilis Potion.
"Well, the ball's halfway over, and the Boy-Who-Lived is very popular. You should get a move on, Miss." In a softer tone, he added: "You've been training for over a year for this. You're ready. He won't recognise you, trust me." He held out his arm, "I'll introduce you."
She shot him a look but he simply kept smiling until she sighed and hooked her arm into his. Harry was just stepping off the dance floor, with Parvati hanging on his arm as if she would stumble and fall if she let him go. The witch had been glued to his side for the whole evening, basking in the Boy-Who-Lived's fame.
Well, Hermione thought, time to test just how much Harry liked his new girlfriend. She put on her best smile and let Mr Fletcher guide her towards them. It was time to test what she had learned.
Harry Potter noticed the older wizard and the young witch making their way towards him and Parvati long before they reached them. After one and a half such evenings, he could spot people wanting to talk to him well enough. And judging by the sudden tension he felt on his arm, and the sniff he heard, Parvati had spotted them as well. Or rather, had spotted the young blonde in the rather daring robes.
"Is that her father, or her lover?" he heard Parvati whisper, right before the pair reached them.
"Mr Potter? I'm Mr Smith, a distant relative of our hosts. This is Miss Merriweather."
"Charmed," Harry said, shaking the man's hand before bowing to kiss the witch's. Which brought his eyes rather close to her chest, he noticed. Of which a lot was on display. He straightened. "This is my girlfriend, Miss Patil."
"Charmed." Parvati's smile was as sincere as Snape complimenting a Gryffindor.
"Miss Merriweather has recently arrived from the New World, and I've been tutoring her so she can fit into British society," Mr Smith explained.
The witch nodded. "He's a very good teacher. I would have been lost without him." She sighed, which did interesting things to her neckline. "Of course, even in the New World, with all our troubles, we've heard of you." She shook her head. "You've lived through so much tragedy! I admire your strength." She smiled at him. She had bright blue eyes, he noticed, belatedly. And a nice smile too. And a rather husky voice. She was no Delacour, but then, no one else was.
"Many lost family in the war," he answered.
She nodded as if he had said something profound and twirled a strand of her long hair around a finger. "We've had wars of our own, but not such bloody ones. Not usually, at least."
Well, everyone knew about that, too, Harry thought. Magical North America's East Coast was like Magical Europe's Balkans - always on the brink of a war, if not already fighting. Mr Smith seemed to have spotted someone else he might want to talk to, and Harry quickly asked, mostly to keep the conversation going a little longer: "Will you be attending Hogwarts next year?" Her age was hard to tell, but if she needed a tutor, then she couldn't be that old, or so he thought.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. I already finished my education. I would have loved to attend your school, though. It must be great."
"Best school in the world," Harry agreed. "You could visit it for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament."
"Maybe I will. That sounds very intriguing." She smiled at him. "I would need a guide, though," she added with a glance at her tutor. "Mr Smith didn't attend Hogwarts either."
Harry opened his mouth to volunteer - that was the polite thing to do, of course - but Parvati's sudden death grip on his arm distracted him long enough for the witch to speak up. "I'm certain there will be many students willing to give you a tour."
And there were the teeth again, Harry thought. He quickly looked around for Sirius and spotted his godfather talking to a pretty witch in a corner. Good enough. "I think my godfather wanted to talk to me. If you'll excuse us?" he nodded at Mr Smith and Miss Merriweather.
"Of course." Mr Smith nodded and led his student away as Harry tried to get his girlfriend to loosen her grip on his arm before he lost all feeling in the limb.
He still snuck a glance at Miss Merriweather's back as she walked away. Just to check if it matched her front.
It did.
London, Ministry of Magic, August 27th, 1994
"Yes, I've heard about the attack on the Boy-Who-Lived! A terrible tragedy!"
He smiled politely at the witch, even though the question was asinine - an attack on the Boy-Who-Lived, at the Quidditch World Cup? Every wizarding newspaper in the world had covered it. In detail. Even The Quibbler, though that magazine claimed the whole incident was a botched assassination attempt by the goblins on Minister Fudge - according to the article, the goblins had ordered Jorkins to attack the most important wizard in Britain, and she had misunderstood their intent.
"Indeed, a terrible tragedy! To think that the poor, imperiused witch was killed in cold blood…" Madam Umbridge sighed theatrically, and for a moment, he was reminded of a toad preparing to croak. Although the witch's squat appearance was not as loathsome as her character, in his opinion - she was a toady with a penchant for backstabbing her betters.
Nevertheless, she was a useful creature. As the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, she would allow him to influence Fudge without being connected to him. "To be fair, Black couldn't have known that," he pointed out. "And seeing what her curse did to that unfortunate fellow from Ireland, I cannot fault him for overreacting." He shook his head in apparent compassion and understanding.
Umbridge's fake smile slipped a bit. "But did he know that, or did he simply curse her, without even noticing what curse she had cast? By all accounts, he struck with a lethal curse, without taking into account that this could have just been a misunderstanding, or a miscast by a drunk." She clicked her tongue as she shook her head. "What if it had been an innocent child, playing with their first wand?"
"I do not think Black would kill a child," he stated, sincerely even - Black was too weak to do such a thing, no matter the situation. "He did this to protect his godson, after all - the boy to whom we all owe so much."
That didn't please the witch, he could tell. Her eyes almost disappeared when she frowned. "But aren't you worried? Bertha was Mr Crouch's secretary. She's been handling his estate, just as you've been handling your aunt's."
She wasn't as subtle as she thought. He gasped. "Do you mean those crimes might be linked?"
"Do you think they could be? You would know best, wouldn't you?"
He pretended to consider this. "I still haven't dealt with all of my aunt's affairs - it's hard, with the fire having destroyed so much - but I haven't found anything linking her with Mr Crouch. I do not think there is any financial motive there. For all her political achievements, my aunt lived a frugal life. No, if there is a connection, then it has to be something else, something personal, perhaps."
Her smile grew wider. "Ah… maybe revenge?"
"The only one with a - far-fetched, I have to say - motive would be Black. But why would he force the poor witch to attack him, in public, so he could kill her? Wouldn't it have been much easier to simply have her disappear? A magical accident, easily accepted by the Ministry? You would have to have a very deranged mind to arrange such a public murder, with all the risks that entails. And Black was said to have recovered remarkably well from his ordeal in Azkaban." He emphasised 'said' just a little, as if he had simply sought a more precise word. But the witch had understood his apparently accidental meaning.
"Maybe we need to have him examined again. Black is not just the Head of his family, but also the guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived. That much responsibility might be too much for him. It wouldn't be the first time that someone couldn't handle such stress." Umbridge's attempt to sound sympathetic wasn't very convincing, in his opinion.
"I wouldn't know," he said. "I only knew him, briefly, at Hogwarts, and there he had no responsibilities at all."
"Oh, I've heard the stories. He was the last student anyone would have made a prefect, or given any form of authority." She smiled.
"But that was when he was young. He has certainly changed since then. I mean, he was in Azkaban." He didn't have to force himself to wince when he mentioned the prison - his most loyal followers were still suffering there, hanging onto the shreds of their sanity through the merest hint of his presence in their marks. He would save them as soon as he could do so without endangering his plans.
And there would be a reckoning with those who had repudiated him to save themselves, those who had abandoned him. They would answer to him, and they would have to struggle to gain his forgiveness, and even more to regain his favour. Lucius had a lot of explaining to do for his behaviour at Pettigrew's trial.
"Oh, indeed. He has changed - but maybe not for the better." Umbridge's smile was sickly sweet. "But I think that's a matter of concern for the DMLE, not for either of us."
He nodded in agreement. "Certainly. Which brings me to a matter that concerns us, or rather, the Minister."
"Oh?" She tensed and eyed him.
"Yes!" He nodded eagerly. "I've mentioned that I've been going through my aunt's documents, to settle her estate, haven't I?"
"Yes, you did. But you said most of it was lost with your aunt's house."
"Oh, yes. But she had a chest full of correspondence in her basement, protected from fire." He sighed. "I hoped that it would concern her finances, but it's all about politics, as far as I can tell - I have only skimmed the letters, you know."
He now had her full attention. "Political correspondence?"
"Yes. Letters, to and from Dumbledore, and others. I thought the Minister would know best if those should be handed to the Ministry's archives, since he is her successor."
"Definitely!" She was beaming now, probably drooling at the thought of getting her hands on material that could be used to blackmail her rivals.
He pulled out a shrunken chest. "It's all there - all the letters I found."
And some that his aunt had never willingly written. But which appeared as authentic as the others.
He watched the witch leave for a moment, before turning around and making his way to the Atrium of the Ministry. Dumbledore and a few of his other enemies would have a devil of a time trying to explain the contents of those letters. But even if they could prove that the letters were forgeries, no one would suspect earnest young Alphons Bagnold, who was defending Black and Dumbledore at every opportunity, even if his efforts sometimes seemed to unintentionally backfire.
The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled widely. Things were progressing as planned.
*****
London, Merton, September 1st, 1994
Hermione Granger checked the clock on her desk. The desk was new, but the clock was a used one she had found in a flea market. Completely mechanical, it would work inside wards as well, so she wouldn't have to abandon it when the day came that she had her own flat. Eleven o'clock. The Hogwarts Express would be pulling out of the station now. With Harry, Ron and the other students. Without her.
She sighed. Last year, she had thought it would get easier with time, but it hadn't. It still hurt to think that her friends would be at Hogwarts, without her. Learning magic with hundreds of other students. Having access to that amazing library. Having fun without being thought a delinquent who almost ruined her family.
Of course, she and her parents had told their friends and acquaintances that the matter had been settled, that the mistake had been rectified, but… 'audacter calumniare, semper aliquid haeret', as her father had put it. Slander boldly, something always sticks.
And something had stuck. Not as bad as it had stuck in Wizarding Britain, of course. There she was not just a thief, but a gold-digging mudblood as well. At least among those who believed the Prophet and that muckraker Skeeter. That, unfortunately, included a lot of the British wizards and witches. Mr Black - he had told her to call him 'Sirius', but that felt uncomfortable - had mentioned he'd be able to do something about that, but that it would have to wait until he had dealt with his own troubles with the press. She'd wish Skeeter would fall over dead except that would cause even more trouble for Harry's godfather.
Sighing again, she tried to focus on her studies once more. Her last exams had proven that she needed to work harder if she wanted to keep up with the others at Hogwarts.
And she would keep up. At least in the important and useful subjects. She'd not let the other witches, especially the Ravenclaws, look down on her and call her a cheater or a failure! The thought of them being all smug at Hogwarts, while she was stuck here… some of them would probably even try to replace her, 'help' Harry, and Ron, with their homework, hang out with them…
She realised she was clenching her teeth and forced herself to relax. It wouldn't be like that. Harry and Ron were her best friends. They would not replace her.
*****
Hogwarts, September 2nd, 1994
"Krum's coming to Hogwarts! For the entire year!"
Even a day after it had been announced at the start-of-term feast, Ron was still excited about his idol spending a year at Hogwarts. The better part of a year, Hermione would have corrected them, if she were present, Harry Potter added in his thoughts. The delegations from the other schools wouldn't actually arrive until a month into term, due to scheduling conflicts and other such things.
"Yes," Harry agreed, "If Oliver was still here we'd be training every evening 'so we won't look bad in front of Krum'." He snorted. "Even so, Angelina has already said we'll train more often than she had originally planned - with Krum here, she expects scouts to attend the matches. Don't ask me why."
"Why wouldn't they? Scouting Hogwarts gives them an excuse to meet Krum," Ron said. "It's what I'd do."
His friend was right, Harry had to admit. "And there's also the fact that we'll play Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as well."
"Yes! Almost double the Quidditch matches this year!"
Ron was still smiling widely when they knocked at the door to the Defence classroom. Sirius opened the door, a wild grin on his face. "Ah! Here to see our newest celebrity? Come in!" He turned around as soon as the door closed. "Remus! Two more fans!"
Harry heard a groan from behind the door to Remus's quarters, followed by: "Ignore him, please. He's been insufferable all day." as the other wizard stepped into the room.
"What? Why wouldn't I be excited over the fact that, for the first time in a year, a member of my family has received good press?" Sirius scoffed, but he was still smiling.
"All I did was start my second year of teaching," Remus said.
"You beat the Dark Lord's curse! The first Defence teacher to last more than a year in decades!" Sirius laughed. "They'll call you the 'Professor-Who-Taught' soon!"
Remus rolled his eyes at his friend, but Harry had the impression that he wasn't quite as annoyed as he acted. "Enough of that. We've more important matters to discuss." Remus turned to Harry and Ron. "You've heard about the Tournament."
Harry nodded.
"Dumbledore's discovered a curse on the Goblet of Fire, the artefact that will choose the champions. He took a few days to remove it," Remus said. "If the curse had been triggered…" He shook his head, his expression tense. "It would have been very bad. The Headmaster's certain that it was the work of the Dark Lord."
Harry clenched his teeth. "So he's attacking Hogwarts, then?" Which meant Voldemort would be gunning for him.
"Anything that goes wrong at Hogwarts while the eyes of Europe are on us will lessen Dumbledore's influence on the Ministry," Sirius added. "Especially if some of our guests get hurt. So keep your eyes open. It won't be just Malfoy trying to attack you this year."
"We can easily handle him," Ron said, scoffing. Harry nodded - the git was no match for them.
"I meant either Malfoy," Sirius corrected them. "And the Dark Lord's worse. He managed to curse an artefact stored in a Ministry vault without anyone noticing. He might even be able to sneak into Hogwarts."
Ron muttered a curse under his breath. His good mood was entirely gone now.
And so was Harry's.
*****
Hogwarts, October 1st, 1994
"There's two more great things we can enjoy this year," Ron said between two mouthfuls of roast beef at the 'Welcome Feast' for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students.
"Which are?" Harry Potter asked, refilling his own plate. There hadn't been many good things so far this term, in his opinion. Voldemort hadn't done anything yet, but the constant threat, the constant nagging fear of an attack… he shook his head. Tonight, at least, he wanted to focus on having fun.
"We have more feasts than normal - and we have stunning visitors!" Ron nodded towards the Ravenclaw table, where the students from Beauxbatons were seated.
Harry made a noncommittal sound, glancing at Durmstrang's Headmaster, who was seated next to Dumbledore at the staff table. To have another supposedly reformed Death Eater at the school had also put a damper on his mood.
"I thought Krum staying at Hogwarts was the best thing this year, but those witches…" Ron sighed with a - in Harry's opinion - silly grin on his face.
"Ron's gone gaga, like everyone else, over the Veela," Ginny cut in. Harry looked at the redheaded witch and saw that she was sneering and glaring at the witch in question. A quick glance told him that she wasn't the only witch at their table glaring at the Ravenclaw table.
"Fleur Delacour…" Ron sighed again.
"As if a Veela would bother with you!" Ginny huffed. "She's three years older than you, too!" With a deep scowl, she added: "But everyone's panting after her!"
"I'm not," Harry defended himself.
"Well, you're the exception." Ginny beamed at him. "Her Veela allure must not work on you."
"Sirius said there is no such thing as Veela allure," Harry said. "They're just very beautiful." And his godfather claimed that he had extensively researched and examined the matter.
Now Ginny was scowling at him as well. Sirius had been right, Harry thought - witches were very fickle.
*****
London, Greenwich, October 10th, 1994
Bagnold Feared that Dumbledore Sacrificed Political Rivals during War!
Hermione Granger wished that she also had a subscription to the Daily Prophet as she craned her neck in an attempt to read the front page of the newspaper held by her tutor. She could make out an old picture of the late Millicent Bagnold, and another one, more recent, of Dumbledore, but not the article itself.
But to let anyone at the Prophet have her address would be a very bad idea. She didn't want to see pictures of her family or their new home in the newspaper, nor Skeeter following her parents around and making up lies about their lives. Well, she could buy her own newspaper in Diagon Alley, if she really needed to.
And judging by the way Mr Fletcher's fingers were almost tearing this issue of the Prophet apart, she might have to do that today, if she ever wanted to actually read the article. She was about to point this out when she caught a glimpse a of Mr Fletcher's expression, and closed her mouth. He looked absolutely furious. It would be better, she decided on the spot, not to bother him and to focus on her studies instead.
"Yes?" But, of course, her tutor was practicing what he preached, and had noticed her abandoned attempt to talk to him. She really needed to learn how to be more inconspicuous.
She considered practicing her lying, but decided against it. She was, had been, a Gryffindor, after all. "I was wondering about that article."
Her tutor stared at her for a moment. She realised that she was biting her lower lip and forced herself to stop. He had mentioned this habit of hers before, as a 'tell'.
When she was about to bite her lip again, tells be damned, he sighed. "Someone dug up Bagnold's old letters, and the Prophet caught wind of it." He threw the newspaper on the table. "Read for yourself."
She eagerly grabbed the issue and refrained from smoothing out the wrinkled edges where Mr Fletcher had held it.
"Letters recently discovered... survived the fire in her house… correspondence with Dumbledore during the Blood War… concerns about Dumbledore's reaction to the civilian casualties… mentioned a disturbing letter from Dumbledore…"
"A letter conveniently missing from the stack," Mr Fletcher cut in. He still looked furious.
She cleared her throat. "What do you make of this?" A nice, neutral question.
He scoffed. "The Prophet's reading a lot into Bagnold's letter, and speculates even more about the missing letter from Dumbledore."
"They all but accuse the Headmaster of sacrificing his political rivals to the Death Eaters," Hermione pointed out.
He scoffed and stared at the wall behind her. "A lot of people were murdered in the war. The Death Eaters struck at anyone opposing them - or those refusing to support them. And they had their choice of targets." Hermione saw that he was slowly shaking his head. He still wasn't looking at her. "Dumbledore couldn't be everywhere, of course, and the Death Eaters counted on that. He had to 'make hard choices'." Mr Fletcher practically spat the last part out.
She bit her lower lip, not caring that it was a tell. She wanted to know what had happened to Mr Fletcher in the war. And yet, she dreaded knowing it as well.
"Yeah," he continued, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, "Dumbledore made hard choices, he effin' did. And an effin' whole lot of innocents died because of it." He shook his head again. "Only natural that he'd pick his friends over his enemies, course. But he couldn't even protect all of his friends. Or their families." Hermione almost missed his last words - they were spoken in a much softer tone.
He suddenly stood up. "I gotta … check up on somethin'. Study Transfiguration until tomorrow." Hermione drew breath to ask him to stay, but he apparated out of his flat before she could say anything.
Sighing, and wondering what exactly he was doing - and hoping he wasn't about to go drinking, though it would be understandable, if he had lost his family in the war - she returned to the article. Bagnold's nephew was quoted as saying that he was shocked at the allegations, and said that his aunt must have been imperiused to forge the letters by her murderer, 'because Dumbledore would never do such a thing'.
Hermione winced - Mr Bagnold meant well, but he wasn't helping. That wasn't an argument that would convince anyone. Quite the contrary, actually. Though the speculation that Dumbledore murdered his rivals and framed the Death Eaters, attributed to 'anonymous sources', sounded far too far-fetched too.
Some of the public would still believe it, of course. British wizards and witches seemed eager to assume the worst, she thought.
*****
Hogsmeade, October 25th, 1994
"Harry! Ron!" Hermione Granger hugged first Harry, then Ron as soon as they entered the Hog's Head Inn. They were filling out, she noticed with surprise. "You've been training hard," she remarked, reaching out to squeeze Harry's biceps. She quickly released him when she realised what she was doing and mumbled an apology.
"Oh, Sirius and Remus are pushing us hard," Ron said. "Of course, Harry's also doing Quidditch, and Angelina seems like a worthy successor to Oliver."
"She's not as bad," Harry corrected his friend as they took their seats.
"Could've fooled me," Ron retorted. "You certainly look as exhausted after training as you did last year."
Hermione laughed, even though she once more felt jealous and sad about not being at Hogwarts with them. "So, what else is new? You didn't have trouble with Malfoy again, did you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, he's been behaving since the last time. Maybe Remus's detention convinced him to stop being an arse."
"No." Ron shook his head. "He's too busy cozying up to Durmstrang's students to bother with us."
"To Krum, you mean." Harry grinned.
Ron scowled. "For such a great Seeker, Krum has really bad taste in friends."
"Well, Durmstrang doesn't even allow muggleborns to attend," Hermione pointed out. "He might feel Slytherins are kindred spirits."
"I hope Harry beats him at the match," Ron muttered.
Harry didn't look like he expected to beat the world-class Seeker, in Hermione's opinion. His next comment proved her right. "Yeah, I'll beat him, right after you convince Delacour to go out with you."
"At least I'm not moping because the witch I like already has a boyfriend!" Ron shot back.
Hermione blinked. Harry was interested in a witch? Who was that witch?
Before she could ask, Harry snorted. "I didn't know that Cho was with Cedric, and I'm over her anyway."
Hermione smiled. That was good - she didn't want her friends to mope over witches. It was petty, but she knew that if Harry and Ron had girlfriends, they would want to go with them to Hogsmeade, and not with her. And she didn't want them to meet her out of pity.
"You're over her?" Ron's tone was rather doubtful.
"Yes." Harry shrugged. "Sirius said that you should never go after a witch who's taken, not unless you are really in love. And if you're asking yourself whether you are in love, then you aren't. Or something like that." He perked up. "He said I should go after the Patil twins, anyway."
Hermione felt her smile slip. For all that she and her family owed Mr Black, she felt that Harry's godfather was not an entirely good influence on her best friend. A change of topic was in order, she decided.
"So… do you know how the visiting students compare with Hogwarts' own?"
*****
Hogwarts, October 31st, 1994
The Goblet stood on its pedestal, the flames within throwing a flickering light on the ceiling above. It looked remarkably harmless for its rumoured powers, Harry Potter thought when he glanced at it. And it looked remarkably harmless for a potentially cursed object, too.
"Mate, stop staring at the Goblet!" Ron whispered. "Dumbledore said it was safe."
Apparently, Harry hadn't been as subtle as he had thought. He looked at his friend and sighed. "I can't help it." It was Halloween too. The anniversary of his parents' murder at the hand of the dark wizard who had cursed the Goblet. "Dumbledore might have overlooked something." He might have been distracted by the allegations in the Prophet. The newspaper had stopped their thinly-veiled campaign, but according to Sirius, it had required Dumbledore to have a personal talk with the Prophet's owner.
"It wasn't just him, you know," Ron said while finishing his second serving of the filet mignon the elves had prepared for today's feast. "They brought in Curse-Breakers too, Bill told me. No one found anything. And they even tested it." He grinned. "Apparently, Dumbledore would be Hogwarts' champion if he was a student - who'd have thought!"
Harry forced himself to chuckle. He had known that already, too. But this was Voldemort - Dumbledore's equal. He had already managed to sneak into Hogwarts and attack Harry once, under Dumbledore's nose. If not for his mother's protection, Harry would have died. And probably Ron, too.
But so far nothing had happened. Not when the Goblet had been lit, and not when the various older students had dropped their names into it. Or when those who were too young to take part but had tried anyway had been repelled. Like Ron's brothers. He took a deep breath, then grinned. "Well, stop glancing at Delacour. She might take offense, and from what Sirius told us, angry Veela are definitely not safe."
Ron snorted. "I'm not glancing at her. I'm over her."
"You mean your desire not to be left drooling and stammering has finally grown stronger than your desire to ogle her?" Harry said, a bit more sharply than he had intended. It was Halloween, after all. Not his most favourite day in the year. At all.
"At least I tried to talk to her. You slunk away unseen when you saw Chang with Diggory," Ron shot back.
"I was being discreet," Harry defended himself. It hadn't been his finest hour. But it beat being embarrassed in public.
"Some Gryffindor you are!" Ron scoffed.
His friend was grinning, though it was a sore spot for him, Harry knew. "Speaking of… what are you going to do about the Yule Ball?"
"What do you mean? Do you wonder who I will ask to be my date? Or whether I managed to transfigure my robes into something more fashionable?"
"The first," Harry said. "The latter is hopeless. Not even Dumbledore could manage that."
"He wouldn't even try - he'd like the robes." Ron snorted. "I thought Fred and George had pranked me, you know, when I saw the robes."
"So did I," Harry said.
"But I'll manage," Ron went on. Which meant he didn't want Harry's help. Or Sirius's. "Maybe I'll ask Hermione on our next Hogsmeade weekend for a few tips. She has done her own robes, hasn't she?"
"I think she only mended them." Hermione wasn't exactly a witch obsessed with fashion, Harry knew. "You might be better off asking Lavender, or Parvati."
"That's not a good idea," Ron said, wincing. "That would make asking either to be my date a little embarrassing."
Harry nodded - that was true. Not that asking a witch out wasn't already embarrassing anyway. He snuck a glance at Parvati, who was talking - and giggling - with Lavender. What if she laughed at him? He wanted to ask her or her sister in private, but… asking them to step out for a minute would be the same as asking her straight out; everyone knew what that meant these days.
Which was another thing to consider: Time was running short. Harry wasn't the only wizard who needed a date for the Yule Ball, after all.
He was still pondering how to handle this problem when Dumbledore stood up from his seat and announced that the Goblet would now select the champions.
Harry held his breath for the whole drawing, but it went according to plan. And the champions chosen were no surprise either: Delacour, Krum and Diggory.
Harry looked away when Cho kissed Diggory in celebration.
*****
Hogwarts, November 20th, 1994
Hermione Granger was impressed when she saw the stadium that had been erected near Hogwarts. It was not as big as the one at the Quidditch World Cup, but it certainly dwarfed the stands at Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch. And it had been erected in a few weeks, since she hadn't seen it on her last visit to Hogsmeade.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Ron said, walking next to her. "Percy told me that the Ministry had a special task force to build this, drawn from the one at the World Cup. They couldn't simply conjure stands, since a single Dispelling Charm could have caused a catastrophe."
That sounded like a direct quote from his studious brother. "Was he involved?" she asked. Percy had started at the Ministry this year.
"Only a little. He's working in the Wizengamot Administration Services."
So, office gossip, or paperwork related to the event, Hermione thought. Good to know either way - as her tutor had told her, good thieves needed to know everything about their marks. She suspected, after hearing the examples he had used to make his point, that he had unknowingly robbed an Auror once. "I'm glad to hear that he's doing well."
"You and my mum both," Ron said, sighing. "She wrote me a whole letter about Percy - she wants me to follow his example."
"Well, it's safer than Curse-Breaking or working with dragons," she pointed out.
"Sure. But it's also boring. Percy loves his work, but I'm not him."
No, Ron wasn't Percy, Hermione agreed. "Where's Harry?" She had expected both of them to meet her at the gates.
"He's guarding our seats. With so many visitors, we thought the Boy-Who-Lived might be needed for that."
She glanced at Ron and nodded. "His godfather is coming as well then?"
"Yes. He's already up there with Harry." Ron nodded towards the towering side walls of the stadium.
And, Hermione thought, Mr Black was probably drawing his own share of glances and sneers. Like herself. She sniffed and raised her chin. So be it - she knew that she was innocent. She had done nothing of which she should be ashamed. And she might have been expelled from Hogwarts, but she didn't have to be a student to watch the Triwizard Tournament. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
They reached their seats a few minutes later, and Hermione saw that Ron hadn't been exaggerating - they were among the best seats in the stadium, right at the field. And there was Harry!
"Hi, Harry!" She hugged him, then nodded at his godfather. "Mr Black."
"Miss Granger." Mr Black nodded back at her, barely hiding his grin. She clenched her teeth.
"Hi, Hermione." Ron's sister was there as well.
"Hi, Ginny."
"Hello." And a blonde witch Hermione didn't know. "I'm Luna Lovegood, Ginny's neighbour."
"Ah. I'm Hermione Granger."
"I know. My father wrote about you." Luna nodded her head several times. "Worst Nargles infestation in ten years."
"Nargles?" Hermione blinked. Lovegood... Ah, The Quibbler! She smiled politely. She wasn't certain if such creatures existed - but she wouldn't rule it out either; she had 'known' that there was no magic, after all, until she had received her Hogwarts letter - but The Quibbler hadn't slandered her.
Luna was already explaining everything Hermione had ever wanted to know about Nargles, and then some. Ron glared at his sister, who glared back, and Harry grinned.
It felt so much like being back at school, Hermione had to turn away and focus on the arena to distract herself as soon as the blonde witch had finished.
*****
Fortunately, the first task of the tournament was a captivating sight. In the middle of the arena, walls had been erected to form three lanes - one for each champion - lined with obstacles ranging from ornate gates to simple-looking pits. And all lanes led into the same building.
Hermione Granger wished that she could observe the spells on the lanes - she could spot signs of Extension Charms, and, thanks to Harry's Omnioculars which she had borrowed, she could spot the runework indicating complex curses on the gates, but without her detection spell, she couldn't really study the traps and other obstacles.
Though she assumed that even if her detection spell had had the range to reach the arena's centre, Dumbledore would have blocked it to prevent cheating. So her best hope was that the organisers had thought to cater to those 'with a more discerning eye for protections and curses', as Mr Fletcher had put it, as well as to those wishing to see daring and spectacular spellwork.
She knew her tutor was also attending the event, but she hadn't seen him so far. He had told her that he would be mingling with the purebloods to socialise as 'Mr Smith' in the hope of establishing a few contacts. Without her, of course - a pureblood of good standing couldn't be seen with a convicted and expelled thief if they hoped to gain acceptance in those circles.
She could have come with him in disguise, but she wouldn't have been able to be with her friends in that case. And as tempting as it might be to see how Harry and Ron would react to her disguise, she much preferred to be with them as their friend instead of meeting them as a snobby pureblood witch.
"Did you spot Malfoy?" Harry asked, interrupting her attempt to figure out what obstacle a seemingly bare patch of sand was - quicksand seemed too obvious.
"No." She shook her head. "I wasn't looking for him, though."
"He's in the Ministry's section with his father," Harry said.
"Cozying up to the Minister, I bet," Hermione said, zooming in on that area. And there they were, with Mrs Malfoy. All clad in the latest robes from Paris, as far as she could tell with only Witch Weekly to go on.
"Of course. Trying to further erode Dumbledore's influence," Mr Black cut in. "And Dumbledore is too decent to simply tell off the Ministry and the press."
Ron nodded. "Percy said the bribes were so large, even the post owls were getting new perches. He got one of the old perches for our family owl."
So that hadn't been a joke from Ron's brother. Hermione should have expected that - Percy was very unlike his brothers, after all. And he certainly wasn't the kind of wizard who would look the other way, not even for family. Or, knowing the twins, especially not for family. "Aren't they afraid of your reputation?" she asked. "Or your family's?"
Mr Black scowled. "Not enough, or too much, it seems. With Crouch and Bagnold murdered under mysterious circumstances, Malfoy isn't the only one who has realised that if anything happens to him or his friends, I'll be blamed." He sighed. "It doesn't help that I'm the last Black - if there were more of us, those Bowtruckles would be too scared to try anything. I would pull Andromeda back into the fold, but with my current reputation, that would harm her family more than it would help me."
Hermione wondered what that meant for Harry's reputation, since her friend was living with Mr Black, but she knew better than to ask - Harry was fiercely protective of his godfather. Even if the man was not a good influence on her friend.
Before the mood could get even worse, though, the voice of Ludo Bagman filled the stadium. "Good afternoon, everyone! Welcome to the first task of the reborn Triwizard Tournament!"
"Damn bloke cheated my brothers out of their winnings at the World Cup," she heard Ron mutter while Bagman prattled on about the Ministry's achievements.
Hermione would have pointed out that nomen est omens in this case - Mr Fletcher had said a 'bagman' was a term used among criminals for someone handling dirty gold - but she didn't want to appear too informed about the slang used by criminals. So she simply nodded as she made a mental note - Bagman might be an easy mark to blackmail, if needed.
"...so, our champions have to race each other through these lanes which are filled with the deadliest curses and traps ever seen in Britain! Will they be up to the challenge, or will they fall prey to the dangers of this task? But even if they reach the goal, they will still have to face the task's ultimate challenge - the mysterious last guardian!"
Which meant it was either an animal or an enchanted, animated construct, Hermione thought.
Ron snorted. "He's a bad liar. Percy told me that the tasks are safe. They look dangerous, but they're no worse than a Quidditch match."
That made sense, Hermione thought. Although as the tournament's deadly history proved, it hadn't always been the case. Then she clapped and cheered with the others for the Champions - and especially for Cedric Diggory. He was a really handsome wizard, she couldn't help noticing. Chang was a lucky witch.
"And they're off!" Bagman yelled.
The champions stepped over the starting line, and dark flames sprang up in front of them. Cursed fire, Hermione thought. The Flame-Freezing Charm wouldn't help there. Maybe some conjured clay, to smother them?
The champions, meanwhile, had their own solutions. Delacour created fire herself - caught in a bubble, Hermione noted - and forced the fire to burn out in seconds by consuming all the oxygen around. Diggory conjured a stone tube and created a safe way through the flames and Krum dug a tunnel with his wand.
They hadn't advanced very far, though - next came the first gate. Krum tried to simply blow his away, but that backfired - literally. The Bulgarian had been ready for that, though - his Shield Charm weathered the blast, and he was flinging his next spells at the gate a moment later. But melting it down didn't work either. Delacour and Diggory were taking the more conventional approach, their wands trailing over the gate's surface, tracking the runes engraved into the metal. The Veela soon started tapping the different runes, until the gate opened. Diggory tried the same, but must have made a mistake - he was pushed back as if hit by a Bludger, and almost sent tumbling into the fire behind him - though, Hermione noted, the distance had been lengthened considerably thanks to Extension Charms that might have been conditionally activated.
He tried again, and passed through the gate at roughly the same time as Krum's latest curse managed to wreck his, and the two wizards rushed on. Delacour meanwhile had proven to be the bigger raptor when faced with a swarm of Bloodravens and had sent the birds flying by transforming. While Bagman wondered aloud if this was cheating, Krum hit his own swarm with an Acid Cloud Spell - Luna loudly protested such cruelty - and Diggory distracted his opponents with a conjured slab of bloody meat.
Delacour was still in the lead, though, and had reached the patch of sand Hermione had been wondering about. The French witch hesitated a moment, then cast a spell at the sand - which erupted into a dense cloud. For an instant, Hermione thought it had been a Reductor or Blasting Curse. But the cloud started to move - towards the champion. It was a miniature sandstorm, Hermione realised. And it engulfed Delacour before she could react.
Hermione wasn't the only one who gasped. But mere seconds later, the sand was swept up into the air by a sudden whirlwind, revealing the Veela only slightly worse for the wear - her robes had been ripped in spots, and her hair was a mess, but she seemed unhurt with the exception of a few scrapes as she continued the race. There were a few catcalls among the cheers, Hermione noted. None from her friends, though.
Delacour lost most of her lead when Diggory transfigured the sand into stone without slowing down and Krum blew the sand away. All three were now faced with another gate - one covered with glowing runes. Obvious distractions, Hermione thought. But then, this was a spectator event, so those runes might be used to make it easier for the audience to follow the champions' actions.
She'd find out soon enough, she knew - the champions were already casting. Hermione started to take notes. Her tutor had been correct - this was not just entertaining, but educational as well. Especially for a budding thief.
*****
"Oh… that had to hurt! Looks like Diggory didn't quite dodge that tail swipe!"
Bagman sounded almost gleeful, Harry Potter thought when the Hufflepuff champion was thrown in the air and landed hard on the extended stone floor where the last part of the task took place. He seemed to almost bounce.
"It moves like a real dragon," Ron commented. "Charlie told me about the tail swipes the Welsh Greens like to do."
"It's a construct created by Dumbledore," Hermione added, "so of course it will be very close to a real dragon. I guess Hagrid helped as well."
"I don't think so," Ron said. "If he had the thing would have already maimed a champion or two."
Harry laughed at that. Ron was probably correct; Hagrid had some rather… peculiar views of what was considered dangerous. The construct was holding back in order to not kill any of the contestants. Then he had to wince when Krum blew one foreleg of the dragon-construct's away, but paid for it when the construct breathed fire at him. The Bulgarian's robes caught fire, but he managed to roll away and started dousing himself with water.
"Krum's on fire today!" was Bagman's comment - not as funny as the wizard apparently thought.
"Look at Delacour!" Ron yelled suddenly, and Harry jerked. Where was… there! The French champion had used the construct's damage and distraction, and had changed into her raptor form again, diving at the box the dragon was guarding. The construct's tail snapped up, but the Veela avoided it, pulled up in time to miss the ground, as Wood used to call almost crashing, and snagged the box right from its pedestal.
"And Delacour uses the opportunity created by Krum and Diggory to sweep in and snatch victory from the jaws of the dragon! A daring but successful move! Beauxbatons' champion wins the first task!"
It had been an entertaining event, Harry thought as he clapped and cheered for the champions, but he couldn't help wondering how he would have done. He didn't know much about Runes or Arithmancy, but his and Ron's training had taught them how to dodge and fight - and he thought he would have done better at dodging, at least, than either Diggory or Krum. Maybe he'd throw his name into the Goblet next time.
*****
Hogwarts, November 22nd, 1994
"There they are," Ron whispered unnecessarily - Harry Potter had spotted them already. "And they're alone, just like Sirius's map showed."
Harry knew that Sirius and Remus had created - or recreated; the first had apparently been lost in their seventh year - that map to help keep him safe. But he was certain that his godfather wouldn't mind Harry and Ron using the map to ask girls out without humiliating themselves - Sirius had hinted at using the map to peep on witches as a student himself, after all. Hermione, of course, would have scolded him for this. But she wasn't there, he thought, feeling the familiar sense of regret.
Then he focused on the task at hand. They couldn't miss this opportunity - it had been pure luck that they had overheard Parvati complaining about having to give her sister some of the sweets her mother had sent her. "Let's go," he whispered as he straightened and checked his appearance for the last time. No wrinkles or dirt on his new robes or shoes. And his hair better stay in the shape it was meant to be - he had paid enough for the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Ron ran his hands over his own robes - Harry didn't know if his friend had transfigured his eyesores, or had someone else do it for him, but he looked stylish. Or dapper, as Sirius had called it.
"Alright." Ron sounded a little nervous, Harry thought - just like himself.
"Just act natural," he repeated his godfather's advice, talking as much to his friend as to himself.
"There's nothing natural about this," Ron muttered as they turned around the corner.
Harry forced himself to smile. "Ah, there you are!" he said, maybe a little too loud and too cheerful. "We've been looking for you."
"Hello, Parvati, Padma," Ron added.
The two witches exchanged a glance, then smiled. That was a good thing, Harry thought. Probably.
"You've been looking for us?" Parvati's smile widened. Harry felt suddenly less certain that this was a good sign. Too many teeth, he thought.
But he was a Gryffindor, and the only thing more humiliating than being turned down would be to slink away without asking. He cleared his throat, then bowed with a flourish to Parvati. "Would you do me the honour of agreeing to go to the Yule Ball with me?" The old forms, just like Sirius had taught them.
Ron mirrored him with Padma, bowing as soon as Harry had straightened again.
The two witches weren't looking as smug any more, he thought. They seemed surprised, but they were still smiling. It looked as if Sirius's advice had been right - you couldn't overdo it when courting witches.
He still waited with bated breath while Parvati looked at her sister, then back at him. But she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."
It wasn't quite the correct form to agree to his invitation, it lacked the curtsey, but Harry didn't care. She had said yes.
And, judging by Ron's wide smile, so had her sister.
"You honour me, my lady. My wand is yours." Harry bowed again. The forms sounded rather pompous to him, but apparently, Parvati liked that kind of talk.
Just like Sirius had predicted. Harry wouldn't ever doubt his godfather again. Not when it concerned witches, at least - his other advice sometimes seemed a little questionable.
*****
London, Merton, December 25th, 1994
Lying in bed, having slept in, Hermione Granger knew she should be happy. She had a new home, her family's financial troubles had been solved - mostly - and this Christmas saw all their book collections, if not fully restored, at least making good progress towards that goal.
And yet, despite all the positive changes compared to last year's Christmas, she wasn't happy. Not really. While she was celebrating Christmas with her parents, her friends were at Hogwarts, preparing to attend the Yule Ball. With the Patil twins.
Well, she thought with a glance at her alarm clock, they wouldn't be getting ready just yet. It was still morning, after all. But Parvati might already be fretting over her appearance with Lavender - those two witches certainly had spent a lot of time on such things when Hermione had been at Hogwarts, and she doubted that they would have changed in the years since.
She sighed. She was being catty. And petty. She had changed a lot herself, after all, since her second year. But then - Hermione had been forced to, after she had been expelled. She doubted that anything similar had happened to Parvati or Lavender. People were supposed to be ruled by their hormones in puberty, after all, and those two witches had already been obsessed with boys back then, so they had probably become even worse.
She certainly paid more attention to boys now herself, she had to admit, and not just because her tutor wanted her to always be aware of her surroundings, and to learn how to manipulate others. She wanted to be at the Yule Ball, dancing with Harry and Ron… Her eyes widened when she realised that she was jealous.
She wasn't just petty and catty, she was even jealous of her friends' dates! Not even the fact that Mr Fletcher had managed to secure invitations to the New Year's Ball at Smith Manor - his mingling at the first task had been quite successful - was much of a consolation. Her friends wouldn't be there, and even if they were to attend, Hermione would be in disguise.
Hermione leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn't looking forward to celebrating Christmas in this mood. But she couldn't help it - she wanted to be at the Yule Ball. With her friends. Not alone with her parents.
But she would at least act as if she was happy. Her parents didn't deserve to have their holiday ruined by her petty mood. Especially not after what they had gone through due to her mistakes.
And, she added in her thoughts, if she managed to fool her parents, then she should be able to fool anyone else as well.
*****
Hogwarts, December 25th, 1994
The Yule Ball really was a 'grand affair', as Sirius had put it, Harry Potter had to admit. The Great Hall had been turned into a ballroom, with a dance floor polished almost to a mirror sheen and matching decorations. It almost outshone the guests themselves, many of them clad in some of the most beautiful and stylish robes he had seen so far. Though Delacour's robes would have stood out even if worn by a plain witch. Worn by the Veela champion, they had caused a few accidents already.
"Oh, look, there's Padma!" Parvati, hanging on his arm, said excitedly. "Let's go talk with her for a bit."
She didn't wait for an answer and started tugging on his arm. Harry simply nodded and went along with her - as he had done for the whole evening so far. Sirius had said to let the witch lead anywhere other than on the dance floor, after all. His godfather had also said to let the witch think she was leading when it came to more intimate affairs, but Harry hadn't quite figured out how to achieve that.
On the way to Padma and Ron, he grabbed another pâté en croûte from one of the trays floating around. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves - they had prepared delicacies from Britain, France and Eastern Europe, and if something wasn't available they somehow produced it within minutes. He was already feeling stuffed, and he and Parvati had just circled the room once, so far - they had been dancing longer than he had expected, based on Sirius's tales. Padma and Ron hadn't been on the dance floor as long, Harry had noted as well.
"Oh, did you see Sally-Anne's robes?" Parvati remarked. "I didn't know Perry's had such nice robes. Everyone said it was Madam Malkin's, or nothing. But Madam Malkin's selection is rather British-centred, and I wanted Indian-style robes."
"I didn't know either," Harry said. He hadn't known that 'Perry's' was a tailor in Diagon Alley, nor that his robes were thought inferior to Madam Malkin's until today. Nor did he really care about robes. Well, apart from how nice they looked on witches. But according to Sirius it would be both impolite and stupid to point that out. He also had said to flatter their dates often, and so Harry added: "A good decision, in my humble opinion. They suit you very well." Sirius would said something more… well, Sirius, but Harry couldn't bring himself to say the lines his godfather would say. They would get him hexed. Boy-Who-Lived or not.
"Thank you," Parvati beamed at him, and Harry felt both more confident and more nervous at the same time.
They passed a group of older wizards and Harry heard the buzzing sound of privacy spells until they gave them a wider berth, which led them closer to the drapes covering the walls that showed animated scenes of Hogwarts's history. Hermione would have loved them, Harry thought, and she would have quoted Hogwarts: A History verbatim. His friend probably wouldn't have danced at all - if she had even bothered to attend.
Although if she had, she would have talked about something other than robes and relationships, he added to himself as they reached Padma and Ron.
"Padma! There you are! How do you like the ball so far?" Parvati asked, and Harry felt her grip on his arm tighten just a little. "I just love the orchestra; we've been dancing almost nonstop."
Harry nodded, once more glad that Sirius had taught him and Ron how to dance as well.
"It is nice," Padma said, "but I wouldn't want to spend all my time on the dance floor. This is a unique opportunity to talk to foreign witches and wizards. The differences in their views on spells and customs are simply fascinating."
That sounded like something Hermione would say, Harry thought. Though even with her slight overbite, she wouldn't have shown quite that many teeth while smiling. And Parvati's smile was matching Padma's. He glanced at Ron, whose own smile looked a little forced, and said: "Oh, it looks like Diggory took a break from dancing for a while. I wanted to talk to him about the last match we played against each other."
Parvati looked at him, then at Diggory, who was talking with Krum, and beamed at him again. "Oh, yes, let's go! Have a nice evening, Padma, Ron!"
Indeed, Harry thought as they left his friend and his date behind, letting the witch think she was leading worked well.
*****
"I had a marvelous time, Harry!" Parvati said as they walked back towards the Gryffindor dorms later.
"I simply did my best to measure up to you, my lady," Harry answered, nodding his head at her. It was, ironically, completely true. Parvati wasn't the most stimulating conversationalist, but she could dance very well, and she was very pretty, too. "I do hope that I did not disappoint you," he went on, still channeling the forms Sirius had drilled him and Ron in.
"Oh, no! You're a great dancer. And great company," the witch said. "You do your reputation proud."
Harry hadn't known he had a reputation - not as a dancer or as company, at least. But he was pleased anyway. "Not as great as you. You were the centre of attention wherever we went." That wasn't quite true - no witch would draw much attention next to Delacour, of course, unless she was hexing the Veela, and the champions drew the most attention to begin with. But it wasn't quite a lie either. As Sirius would have said, it was a 'polite truth'.
The kind of flattery that impressed witches into showing some affection, his godfather had said. And it seemed Parvati was slowing her steps as they neared Gryffindor Tower. And looking around. They were alone, Harry knew - his Defence training had emphasised such awareness.
Parvati must have come to the same conclusion, since she stopped and leaned against the wall as if taking a breather. "The evening was almost perfect," she said, smiling at him.
"Almost?" He tilted his head slightly.
"Something's been missing, so far." She licked her lips as she kept smiling.
Ah. Harry hoped that he wasn't misreading her intentions as he took a step closer to her, their chests almost touching. "And that would be?" he asked, leaning in.
For a moment, she seemed to hesitate. Then her arms went up around his neck, and their lips met. Mostly.
But Sirius had told him about the way first kisses usually went, and what to do. By the time they entered the Gryffindor dorms, they were quite proficient kissers, at least in Harry's admittedly inexperienced opinion.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 28th, 1994
"So, how was the Yule Ball?" Hermione Granger asked as she sat down on the bed in Harry's room. Which was quite a lot bigger than her parents' bedroom in their new house, she noted. She kept her voice light and her tone casual. She was just making conversation and not desperate to find out what she had missed.
"Well, it wasn't too bad, I guess," Ron said, sitting in a chair at Harry's desk. He shrugged. "We danced, we chatted, we ate good food. I had expected more, though."
That didn't sound that great, Hermione thought. Then she looked at Harry, who was sitting down on the bed as well. He had an almost dreamy smile she didn't think she would like.
"Oh, I had a lot of fun with Parvati. She is a good dancer," her friend said.
"What he means is that they snogged," Ron said.
Hermione was glad for Mr Fletcher's training since she kept smiling politely even though she felt as if she had just been jinxed. "Oh?"
"We kissed," Harry said, rolling his eyes at Ron. "After the ball. That was all that happened."
"Well, according to Parvati, it was a bit more than a simple kiss," Ron shot back. "A lot more."
"You asked her?" Hermione blurted out.
"No. I heard it from Ginny," her friend clarified. "Apparently Parvati gave a detailed account of Harry's kissing skills to the entire dorm."
"We really just kissed." Harry was actually blushing, Hermione noted.
Ron snorted. "Mate, that wasn't just a peck on the cheek. You've got a girlfriend. She's already planning your next Hogsmeade weekend."
Hermione felt like she had been hexed. If Harry had a girlfriend - especially someone like Parvati - then he'd want to spend his weekends with her, and not with Hermione. She had known that this would happen, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.
Harry glared at Ron, but didn't say anything. Especially not something like 'I won't let her do that.'
Ron grinned. "Hey, you 'just kissed' her."
Harry scoffed. "You'd have done the same in my place."
"Maybe. Padma just gave me a peck on the cheek." Ron shrugged, a bit too casually in Hermione's opinion. "But she was more interested in the other schools and their differences to Hogwarts than in me anyway. She reminded me of you, actually," he added, smiling at Hermione. "But for her looks, of course." He smiled wistfully. Harry nodded in apparent agreement - of course, he was dating Padma's identical twin.
Hermione wanted to hex both of them for that. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't really show how much she had changed and that she could dress up as well as any pureblood witch, not without revealing her training. If her friends could see her in one of her disguises they wouldn't treat her like that.
For a moment she enjoyed the fantasy of approaching Harry and Ron at a masquerade ball, in daring robes, a mysterious beauty flirting with them, leading them on, then leaving them. Their reactions would be priceless. She almost missed Harry's next comment. "What?"
"Well, I said I'll be attending the Smith's New Year's Ball with Parvati. Sirius got us invitations." Harry smiled, and Hermione hoped it was because Sirius's reputation was apparently improving, and not because he was looking forward to snogging with Parvati. Or more.
Then she realised what that meant. Harry would be at the same ball she was supposed to attend in disguise.
She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But she had to inform Mr Fletcher as soon as possible.
******
Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1994
"Thank you, sir." Hermione Granger smiled and curtseyed. "You're a very skilled dancer."
Her dance partner, an older cousin of Zacharias Smith, beamed at her. "You're talented as well. Would you like to take a little break in the winter garden?" He stepped a bit closer and reached out with his arm for her waist as he asked, apparently assuming she would agree.
But she had anticipated that - the wizard's hands had shown a tendency to roam a little on the dance floor - and deftly avoided him with a twist of her hips and a step back masked as another curtsey. "Thank you, but I think my tutor might want a word."
For a moment, his smile faded - he likely hadn't expected a refugee from the Colonies to react like that - but he quickly smiled again, bowing. "Of course. May I have the honour of another dance with you afterwards?"
"If possible, yes," she answered, deliberately not using the proper forms. A few slips were expected of her cover, after all.
She made her way to Mr Fletcher, who saw her coming and excused himself from the three older wizards he was talking to and met her halfway. "Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Merriweather?"
"Oh, it's marvelous!" she said, in a tone she imagined an impressed witch who cared about such things would use. Like Lavender or Parvati. In a lower voice, she added: "Another one wanted to 'take a break in the winter garden'."
"That's to be expected. They think you'll be easier to seduce, not knowing the local customs. And of course, your robes support such assumptions. That's why I chose them." He frowned. "But I should consider assumptions of ignorance as an insult to my reputation as a tutor. After all, I'm a distant relative of our hosts."
Hermione wanted to shake her head - she wouldn't have expected anyone to fall for the 'I'm a distant relative from the New World' scam, but apparently, Zacharias Smith's family was not overly suspicious.
"Did you approach your beau yet?" Mr Fletcher asked.
Hermione drew a deep breath. "No, not yet." She was wearing a blonde wig, coloured contact lenses and muggle makeup that made her look very different from her usual looks, in addition to dress robes with a neckline that drew attention away from her face, but Harry was her best friend and had known her for years. Even with a Shrinking Charm having taken care - temporarily, alas! - of her slight overbite, and the spell on her robes adding more bust, he might recognise her. At least her voice was disguised by a Volubilis Potion.
"Well, the ball's halfway over, and the Boy-Who-Lived is very popular. You should get a move on, Miss." In a softer tone, he added: "You've been training for over a year for this. You're ready. He won't recognise you, trust me." He held out his arm, "I'll introduce you."
She shot him a look but he simply kept smiling until she sighed and hooked her arm into his. Harry was just stepping off the dance floor, with Parvati hanging on his arm as if she would stumble and fall if she let him go. The witch had been glued to his side for the whole evening, basking in the Boy-Who-Lived's fame.
Well, Hermione thought, time to test just how much Harry liked his new girlfriend. She put on her best smile and let Mr Fletcher guide her towards them. It was time to test what she had learned.
*****
Harry Potter noticed the older wizard and the young witch making their way towards him and Parvati long before they reached them. After one and a half such evenings, he could spot people wanting to talk to him well enough. And judging by the sudden tension he felt on his arm, and the sniff he heard, Parvati had spotted them as well. Or rather, had spotted the young blonde in the rather daring robes.
"Is that her father, or her lover?" he heard Parvati whisper, right before the pair reached them.
"Mr Potter? I'm Mr Smith, a distant relative of our hosts. This is Miss Merriweather."
"Charmed," Harry said, shaking the man's hand before bowing to kiss the witch's. Which brought his eyes rather close to her chest, he noticed. Of which a lot was on display. He straightened. "This is my girlfriend, Miss Patil."
"Charmed." Parvati's smile was as sincere as Snape complimenting a Gryffindor.
"Miss Merriweather has recently arrived from the New World, and I've been tutoring her so she can fit into British society," Mr Smith explained.
The witch nodded. "He's a very good teacher. I would have been lost without him." She sighed, which did interesting things to her neckline. "Of course, even in the New World, with all our troubles, we've heard of you." She shook her head. "You've lived through so much tragedy! I admire your strength." She smiled at him. She had bright blue eyes, he noticed, belatedly. And a nice smile too. And a rather husky voice. She was no Delacour, but then, no one else was.
"Many lost family in the war," he answered.
She nodded as if he had said something profound and twirled a strand of her long hair around a finger. "We've had wars of our own, but not such bloody ones. Not usually, at least."
Well, everyone knew about that, too, Harry thought. Magical North America's East Coast was like Magical Europe's Balkans - always on the brink of a war, if not already fighting. Mr Smith seemed to have spotted someone else he might want to talk to, and Harry quickly asked, mostly to keep the conversation going a little longer: "Will you be attending Hogwarts next year?" Her age was hard to tell, but if she needed a tutor, then she couldn't be that old, or so he thought.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. I already finished my education. I would have loved to attend your school, though. It must be great."
"Best school in the world," Harry agreed. "You could visit it for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament."
"Maybe I will. That sounds very intriguing." She smiled at him. "I would need a guide, though," she added with a glance at her tutor. "Mr Smith didn't attend Hogwarts either."
Harry opened his mouth to volunteer - that was the polite thing to do, of course - but Parvati's sudden death grip on his arm distracted him long enough for the witch to speak up. "I'm certain there will be many students willing to give you a tour."
And there were the teeth again, Harry thought. He quickly looked around for Sirius and spotted his godfather talking to a pretty witch in a corner. Good enough. "I think my godfather wanted to talk to me. If you'll excuse us?" he nodded at Mr Smith and Miss Merriweather.
"Of course." Mr Smith nodded and led his student away as Harry tried to get his girlfriend to loosen her grip on his arm before he lost all feeling in the limb.
He still snuck a glance at Miss Merriweather's back as she walked away. Just to check if it matched her front.
It did.
*****
Chapter 7: Girl Trouble
Starfox5
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Chapter 7: Girl Trouble
Hogwarts, January 6th, 1995
They were kissing again! Snogging! In a corner of the common room, even!
Ginny Weasley closed her book. She couldn't do her homework with Harry and Parvati making such a spectacle of themselves near her. It was just too distracting. And too annoying. Her teeth were clenched as she left Gryffindor tower.
Outside in the hallway, she drew a deep breath and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. If anyone knew how much she wanted to be in Parvati's place… if her brothers knew… She shuddered. They'd tease her worse than they had done back when Harry had visited The Burrow for the first time.
Sighing, she started towards the library. She still had homework to do, and the library was the best place for that. Parvati certainly wouldn't be caught dead there. And Madam Pince wouldn't tolerate any fooling around.
And the library was quiet, Ginny thought as she entered. There would be no giggling witches talking loudly about snogging Harry. Bloody show-off! she thought as she sat down at the first free table.
Before she could even start on her homework, though, someone else sat down at her table. She looked up to give them a piece of her mind - she wasn't in the mood for company - but held her tongue when she saw it was Luna.
"Hello, Ginny," the other witch whispered. "Did you have a nice holiday?"
Ginny wanted to snap at her that no, she hadn't had a nice holiday. Not with Harry taking Parvati to the New Year's Ball at Smith Manor while she was stuck at The Burrow. But that wasn't Luna's fault. And she didn't want anyone to know how she felt about Harry's new girlfriend. So she shrugged. "The usual, I guess. What about you?"
"Oh, it was very nice. Well, apart from the Yule Ball, I guess. That was disappointing." Luna pouted. "I had hoped to attend, but the wizard who had asked me out had to take another witch to the ball on his parent's orders, and couldn't go with me."
"What?" Ginny had read about such things, in her mum's books, but to hear of it actually happening… "Who was that?"
"Michael Corner. He's a year above us, in Ravenclaw."
"That's sad." The Corners weren't an old pureblood family, Ginny knew. His parents shouldn't have put such pressure on him. Or he should have defied his parents, like the wizard always did in those novels. But not everyone was a Gryffindor.
"He hasn't taken it well either," Luna said. "He hasn't talked to me since he told me he couldn't take me to the ball."
That made Ginny wince with guilt - she hadn't talked to Luna in years after her mum had told her to avoid her friend. An order she had obeyed. Which, in hindsight, had been neither right nor brave. Hadn't Mum told them not to listen to others when the Prophet had been attacking Harry's godfather and Dumbledore? "I'm sorry," she pressed out through clenched teeth.
"I'm glad we're talking again," Luna said, smiling. "I was worried you didn't like me any more."
Seeing her friend smile at her like that, Ginny felt as if she had been hexed in the gut. Some Gryffindor she was! To fill the sudden silence, she said: "I went with Neville to the Yule Ball. Neville Longbottom." She shrugged. "He's nice and polite, but…"
"He doesn't make your tummy swirl?" Luna said.
Ginny blinked, then nodded. That was as good as any description. "Yes."
"Michael didn't make me feel that way either, but I would have liked to dance, I think." Luna sighed. "I would have loved it if Ron had asked me to the ball. But he had to ask out Padma so Harry could ask her sister."
Ginny blinked. "You fancy Ron?" Her brother?
"Yes." Luna nodded. "He's nice, he's funny, and he makes my tummy feel all weird."
"Yeah, he has a way with stomachs," Ginny mumbled. "Mostly his own."
"Well, you're his sister; you wouldn't notice that he's handsome too," Luna added, "since you've grown up with him. We rarely notice slow changes."
Ginny was still trying to understand how anyone could find her brother attractive. Well, he wasn't ugly, or so she had gathered from the gossip of the older girls, but still! He was no Harry Potter. "You're in luck then - he and Padma Patil didn't work out."
"That doesn't mean that he'll fancy me," Luna said, sighing again. "But it doesn't mean that he doesn't, either."
"Yeah." Ginny sighed. Unlike herself, Luna had a good chance of catching her wizard. It wasn't as if Ron had a lot of witches after him.
"What about you? Is there anyone who makes your tummy feel funny?" Luna leaned forward.
Ginny sighed. She didn't want to talk about this, with anyone. But… she owed Luna, and Luna had been open with her. And maybe it would help. "Yes, there is. But he's with another witch."
"Oh. Who is it?"
In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "Harry Potter."
"Ah." Luna nodded sagely. "Your one true love."
"What?"
"You were already in love with him when you were little. You heard all the stories about him." Luna smiled.
"That wasn't the real Harry Potter," Ginny protested. "And that was not love. I was just a silly little girl."
"And it's different now?" Luna cocked her head sideways, one of her Dirigible Plum earrings pulling straight up.
"Yes." She wasn't a little girl any more. "I know he's not the Boy-Who-Lived. Nor the boy from the stories. But he's handsome, kind, brave…" She shrugged. "I just know, you know?"
Luna nodded. "The heart knows, my mum used to say."
Which probably explained why that witch had married Luna's father, Ginny thought, then felt guilty. "Well… Harry's heart doesn't seem to know yet." At least she hoped so.
Luna shrugged. "Mummy also said that boys were slower. Daddy too."
Harry didn't seem to be slow at all, if Parvati's boasts were to be believed."So, what did you do during the holidays?" she asked to change the subject.
"I hunted Nargles. I thought that if they'd left Hogwarts, then they might have found other places to live. But Britain's quite large, and Daddy and I couldn't check that much of it." Luna pouted. Then she perked up. "But we've been tracking them in muggle newspapers. Unexplained thefts are on the rise! Sooner or later, we'll get them!" Then she sighed again, her shoulders slumping. "I felt a bit lonely, with all the Nargles having gone since the school year started."
"Well, they were probably afraid they'd get punished harshly when the Headmaster caught them," Ginny commented. She was feeling even worse now - Luna felt lonely when her belongings weren't being stolen?
Luna nodded. "Yes. I'm certain Dumbledore can see them with his enchanted glasses. I told Daddy to ask him for help in catching Nargles, but he didn't want to bother the Headmaster, not when he's so busy."
Ginny nodded. If she ever had the opportunity to hex Malfoy or Skeeter… Without any witnesses, and when they weren't expecting it, of course. She wasn't stupid. "Well, are you certain that there were any Nargles before?"
Luna frowned at her. "All the evidence points at their presence. And no one has ever been able to prove that they do not exist!"
Well, there wasn't much Ginny could say against that. Not that she wanted to argue with Luna in the first place. "But if the Nargles return to Hogwarts, please tell me."
"Of course!" Luna beamed at her.
Ginny nodded, satisfied. She might not be able to prove the existence of thieving animals, but she, and her brothers, would be able to do something about human thieves.
London, Merton, January 7th, 1995
She was growing into a woman, Hermione Granger thought, studying herself in the new mirror in her room. Well, her honesty compelled her to correct herself, she had started to, at least. Without the help from her enchanted robes, her bust wouldn't have drawn nearly as much attention as it had at the New Year's Ball. And her overbite was back - although slightly less pronounced. Mr Fletcher had told her that she should keep it as it was, since it would make it harder to associate her with her future disguises, but she had flat-out refused. She was a witch, and she drew the line at keeping this… blemish just for a marginally better disguise. In a year, her teeth would have 'grown in', and be perfectly proportioned for her face.
She snorted. Given how easy it was to shrink her teeth, it wouldn't be much help as a disguise anyway. At least in her opinion. Some of her friends might even wonder why she didn't get rid of it, resulting in them paying more attention to her appearance.
Not that that would be an entirely bad thing, she thought. She still had to smile whenever she remembered Harry's reaction to her appearance at the ball. Her magically enhanced appearance, alas. She doubted that Harry would be as impressed if he saw her rather less curvy figure right now. Which her deep sigh only emphasised. So much could be done with the right clothes, spells and makeup, and the attitude to go with them.
Although… she tilted her head to the side and put a hand on her hips, eyeing herself in the mirror. Even accounting for all those things, she didn't think Parvati had a better figure. All that climbing and running and jumping Mr Fletcher had her do each day had done a lot of good for her body. Though, she added with a critical eye at her bust, it hadn't done wonders for those parts of her body which could do with a bit more fat tissue. If only certain charms worked as well on flesh as they did on teeth…
On the other hand, that would probably lead to rather unpleasant incidents in a school full of teenagers. Worse than handing out Polyjuice Potion to first-years. Although… would the hormones of the new body influence the user? She had better research that before she used that potion herself. On the other hand, that might be a way to circumvent the usual protections against love potions...
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. "Hermione? Breakfast's ready."
"Coming, Mum!" she answered as she grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Another advantage of the grueling training regime her tutor had her go through - she had a healthy appetite.
Before she left her room, she made sure that her notes and robes were locked up. Her parents didn't know exactly what she was learning, and she would rather keep things that way. She had no doubt that neither of them would be thrilled at learning that she was studying how to dazzle men in the guise of a young naive witch. Or that she had tried her wiles on her best friend when he was attending a ball with his girlfriend.
And thoroughly enjoyed both his and Parvati's reactions.
London, Greenwich, January 7th, 1995
"So… given your performance at the ball," Mr Fletcher said as he leaned back in his seat, the Daily Prophet lying folded on his lap, "I think we need to talk a little about seducing and bedazzling marks."
Hermione Granger frowned. "You've already taught me that." She had been practising her 'innocently seductive act' for months, after all. "Unless you mean going further than that." He couldn't mean actually sleeping with someone, could he?
He coughed. "No, I'm not going to teach a girl how to sleep with marks." He muttered something under his breath that she didn't catch. "What I want to talk about - what I think we need to talk about - is the difference between seducing a mark and seducing a lover."
She frowned again, and he sighed. "What was the difference between your dance with Melchior Smith and your chat with Potter?"
"Smith wanted to sleep with me in the winter garden. Harry simply snuck a peek at my body," she answered. Well, more than a peek - he had been ogling her.
"That's true, but not what I meant. What was the difference between the two boys?"
"One was a creep trying to sleep with naive young witches, the other is a dear friend." With a jealous girlfriend.
"Almost. One was a mark, and one was a friend. And you shouldn't mix up the two. When you lead someone on to get into a manor, or to find out a secret, you need to be detached and to keep your goal in mind."
"You said that I should focus on thinking as the disguise, to better fool those who'd pry at my mind."
"That too." he frowned briefly. "What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't treat your friends like marks."
"It was just a prank!" she protested.
"It was," he agreed. "And a good test too. But… it's a slippery slope, there. Where does a harmless prank end and a con start?" He shook his head. "You don't want to end up manipulating all your friends as if they were marks, trust me. That's a good way to lose your friends. Even if they never find out you duped them, a friendship shouldn't be based on lies."
"I've no intention of doing that to Harry. I just wanted to show him that I'm a pretty witch too." Especially after what he had said about her.
"Good." He nodded. "You've got more important goals to achieve, after all."
Oh, yes, she did. Hermione grinned. If she could fool her best friend then she could certainly fool her enemies.
Hogwarts, January 9th, 1995
"Harry! Harry!"
Harry Potter jerked when he heard his girlfriend yell in the common room, and he drew his wand without thinking as he looked for the closest cover - a seat nearby. On his right side, Ron had done the same. But there was no threat that he could see, just Parvati heading towards him with a magazine in hand.
She didn't seem to have noticed Harry and Ron's reaction, though - or she was ignoring their drawn wands. It was hard to tell with her.
"Yes, Parvati?" he asked as he lowered his wand.
She thrust her magazine at him. "Did you see this? We're on the cover of Teen Witch Weekly!"
"Ah." He took the magazine and looked at the cover. It showed him and Parvati dancing at the New Year's Ball. Quite a good picture - both of them were smiling happily. 'In-depth article on page 5', the blurb next to the picture promised.
He opened the magazine while Parvati on one side and Ron on the other peered over his shoulder. He hoped that the article would be as flattering as the cover - his family could use all the good press they could get.
"Boy-Who-Lived took his girlfriend to another ball…" The article focused on his and Parvati's robes, their dancing, and that this was the second time they had appeared arm in arm, so the relationship was confirmed. Not much about Sirius, other than mentioning Harry's godfather's presence, and some speculation about his influence on Harry. But nothing negative, either. Which was a good sign.
He smiled at Parvati. "I'll have to show this to Sirius." Even though his godfather would tease him about it.
"Oh, yes! We should buy a few more copies!" Parvati hugged him. "This is great! I'll send one home to Mum! Padma will be so jealous!"
"Is there a picture of that foreign witch you met at the ball as well?" Ron asked. Harry's friend was craning his neck to look at the other pictures inside the magazine, and seemed to ignore the glare Parvati shot him.
"That hussy?" Harry winced. His girlfriend hadn't taken well to Miss Merriweather. Not at all. She wasn't smiling any more either. "No. She's not in any of the pictures," Parvati said in a tone that told Harry that she had thoroughly checked.
"Oh, too bad. I hoped to see for myself if she had been as stunning as they said," Ron, clueless about just what he was doing to Harry's relationship, said.
"People have been talking about her?" Parvati glanced at Harry.
"Not me!" he said quickly. Not to anyone but Sirius - and Ron. Who, Harry thought with a glare of his own at his friend, should know better than to talk about that witch.
"Ah…" Ron blinked, then shook his head. "No, Harry didn't say a word about her. I heard it from Smith."
Parvati sniffed. "You haven't said a word about her? After you almost hurt your neck staring at her backside when we left them?"
Harry winced again. Ron's lie had just made things worse. And the next weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend. He didn't know how Parvati would react to his plans to meet Hermione in the village.
He would have to ask Sirius how best to handle this if he didn't want to anger either witch.
Hogwarts, January 10th, 1995
"Sirius? Do you have a moment?" Harry Potter asked when that day's special lesson had ended.
"For you? Always!" His godfather said, beaming at him. Then he blinked. "Unless I'm currently enjoying the company of a pretty witch, and it's not an emergency, of course. In that case, you'll have to wait." He grinned widely.
Harry didn't roll his eyes, but sighed, then glanced over his shoulder at Ron. His friend was still repairing the desks he had set afire in an attempt to distract Remus and Sirius. Remus was doing his own part in restoring the Defence classroom to its prior state - combat training tended to be hard on the environment.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Trouble with Ron?" he asked in a lower voice.
"Not exactly," Harry said. "It's more like trouble with my girlfriend."
"Ah!" Sirius nodded sagely. "But it might concern him?" He gasped. "Oh… you're not dating both twins, are you? That would certainly cause some trouble, seeing as things didn't work out between him and the other twin."
"What?" Harry stared at Sirius, then glanced back. Ron was still busy, and didn't seem to have overheard them. "No, no!" He shook his head. "I wouldn't cheat on Parvati!"
"Good. Although a threesome with twins would certainly be among the best reasons for cheating on your girlfriend," Sirius once again nodded as if he had just stated something very profound, then laughed and shook his head. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood, Harry." He conjured a seat for himself, and one for Harry with a flick of his wrist. "Come, let's sit down and talk about this seriously."
Sometimes, his godfather's attempts at making light of serious problems were very annoying, Harry thought. He sighed and sank into the soft armchair. "Alright. You know about the New Year's Ball."
Sirius nodded with a wide grin. "Oh, yes! Who would have thought that Malfoy's attempts to destroy my reputation would have resulted in me being seen as so attractive to certain witches?"
"I don't mean that," Harry hastened to clarify. "I told you that Parvati was upset about our talk with that American witch."
"I thought she was upset about your flirting." Sirius frowned.
"I wasn't flirting," Harry said through clenched teeth. "Miss Merriweather was flirting." With him. As Parvati had explained to him. In detail. Several times. Loudly, too.
"Alright. So, your girlfriend was upset about another witch flirting with you. And you fear that means that she doesn't trust you." He nodded, rubbing his chin. "You might be correct, too." He sighed. "Witches are often very unreasonable when it comes to wizards being polite and sociable with other witches. The stories I could tell..." His eyes seemed to lose their focus as he trailed off.
Harry quickly spoke up before his godfather could get lost in what was left of his memories. Sirius was getting better, but he still had a long way to go, and he was bound to jumble the memories he had retained or recovered so far. At least that's what Remus had said, in private. "Well, Ron set her off again yesterday, when he asked if there was a picture of Miss Merriweather in that magazine." And she hadn't talked to him again until this morning.
"Chocolate and flowers," Sirius said.
"What?" Harry blinked.
"A tried and true way to get a witch to forgive you for whatever she thinks you have done. Or not done."
"Ah." Harry started to nod, then shook his head. "It's not about that. This weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend."
"Take her to Honeydukes then." Sirius nodded. "Best chocolate in the world. Don't let any Swiss or Belgian tell you otherwise! Although Madam Puddifoot's is better if you want to be intimate."
Harry clenched his teeth. "Please let me explain my problem before interrupting me." He took a deep breath. "Ron and I were going to meet Hermione in Hogsmeade."
Sirius nodded. "Ah."
"And I think Parvati expects me to take her to Hogsmeade. Alone."
"Yes, you are probably correct." Sirius rubbed his goatee. "Your friends, or your girlfriend - the age-old question any wizard has to answer one day." He sighed deeply. "I've been there myself."
"And what did you do?"
"I picked my friends, of course. Unless the witch was really pretty and really affectionate. In that case, I might have made a temporary exception," Sirius said. "But a few kisses in Puddifoot's aren't worth a friendship. Nothing is worth that, actually."
Harry stared at him. "And what if she dumps me over this?"
"Then you find another girlfriend who isn't so insecure and controlling." His godfather shrugged. "There are plenty of pretty witches in Hogwarts, and you're only in your fourth year."
"But…" He didn't want to break up with Parvati. She was pretty, and nice, when she wasn't angry at him. "I like her!"
"Enough to end your friendship with Ron and Hermione?" Sirius cocked his head to the side.
"What? Of course not!" The three of them had gone through so much together, to end their friendship was… Harry couldn't find the right word for how unthinkable it was.
"Then any girlfriend of yours has to accept that. She can be with you at Hogwarts every day - or night," Sirius added with a leer. He quickly grew serious again, though. "You can only meet Hermione on the Hogsmeade weekends, though. Under those circumstance, it would be very selfish of your girlfriend to expect you to spend the weekend with her instead of with your friends."
"Ah." Harry nodded. That made a lot of sense. But he didn't think Parvati would see it like that. On the other hand, she couldn't be jealous of Ron and Hermione, could she? Ron was his best mate, and Hermione… well, she was a witch, but she wasn't as pretty as Parvati. Or as Miss Merriweather. And she certainly didn't flirt with him! His girlfriend shouldn't be jealous of her. He smiled at his godfather. "Thanks! That really helped!"
"Anytime, Harry."
Hogsmeade, January 14th, 1995
"Are you alright?" Hermione Granger frowned as she looked at her best friend. Harry seemed to be a little distracted. And the Hog's Head Inn didn't offer many distractions. At least not in the afternoon - she had heard from her tutor that the pub wasn't a suitable place for a young lady once night had fallen.
"Huh? Yes. I'm just…" he trailed off. Another bad sign. Something was eating at him.
"He's worried that his girlfriend will hex him," Ron cut in.
"No, I'm not!" Harry responded, rather sharply, in Hermione's opinion.
"Why would your girlfriend want to hex you?" she asked, ignoring his claims to the contrary. If Parvati was abusing Harry...
"She said that she was fine with me meeting you," Harry said.
Hermione blinked. "You don't sound as if you believe that she's being sincere."
"Well… I thought she looked angry for a moment when I told her about our plans for today." Harry shrugged. "But I told her that you're my best friend, and unlike Parvati, I can't see you every day."
Hermione smiled at him. That was so sweet, to put her friendship over his girlfriend's desires. It was just like Harry.
"Well, according to Ginny, Parvati's not happy about it," Ron added. Hermione nodded in agreement - she had no doubt that the witch wanted to monopolise Harry's attention.
Harry shook his head. "She shouldn't be unhappy. There's no reason to be jealous of Hermione, and I told her that, too."
Hermione felt her smile slip a little. As with a similar statement before the ball, this flat declaration stung a little. More than a little, in fact. She might not have dressed up, but still! "Well, she might be feeling insecure. We've been best friends for years, and she's only been your girlfriend for a few weeks."
Harry frowned. "That's true, but you're completely different! I mean, she isn't jealous of Ron, is she?"
Hermione forced herself not to snap at Harry. Fortunately, Mr Fletcher had been teaching her how to maintain her composure and keep smiling even if she didn't feel like it. "Well, I would think that I've got a bit more in common with Parvati than with Ron, since I'm a witch and not a wizard," she pointed out. She almost pushed her chest out to emphasise the difference, but restrained herself. Not that her jumper was tight enough for that to work well anyway.
"Yes, but it's not as if I want to kiss you," Harry said. "Or you, Ron."
"You better not!" Ron laughed.
Hermione forced herself to join in. "Parvati should trust you then," she said. "It's not as if you're flirting with other witches, right?"
"No, I'm not." Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't cheat on my girlfriend."
"Unless they're pretty foreigners," Ron added.
"Oh?" Hermione looked at him. Was Harry flirting with the French witches at Hogwarts?
Harry sighed and glared at their friend. "I wasn't flirting with Miss Merriweather. She was flirting with me. Or rather, with the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Miss Merriweather?" Hermione tried to sound as casual as possible. That was the perfect occasion to find out what he thought about her!
"An American witch Harry met at the Smith's ball," Ron explained. "Apparently very pretty, and very flirty."
"Yes. Parvati was quite annoyed with her."
"Ah." Hermione pursed her lips to keep from smiling. So much for Harry's claim that he didn't want to kiss her!
On the other hand, it also meant that she needed to really dress up and be very forward to impress boys. Her mother's advice to 'just be yourself' obviously wasn't working.
Hermione didn't think that she liked what that said about her.
"Harry!"
Harry Potter jerked when he heard the loud voice, and had raised his wand before he recognised his girlfriend. She ignored that, as usual, and he barely had time to move it out of the way before she hugged him.
"Fancy meeting you here!" Parvati beamed at him from between two of the shelves in Tomes and Scrolls, and before he could say anything, she was kissing him. Passionately, as Sirius would say, meaning with tongue. And not just for a brief time, either. He was wrapping his arms around her when he heard Hermione clear her throat.
"Hello, Parvati."
His girlfriend pulled back from his embrace and smiled at her. "Hermione! You haven't changed at all! You've still got that wild mane."
"I could say the same," Hermione answered with a sweet smile of her own, though she was staring at Parvati's chest, Harry noticed. And her smile looked rather toothy, too. As did Parvati's.
"I thought I would buy a few books while you were with your friends," Parvati said. "I didn't know you'd come here as well."
"Ah, you must have forgotten how much I like books." Hermione took a step closer to him. "Harry knows that, of course, and offered to take me here."
"Ah, he is too kind. Generous too." Parvati nodded.
"Oh, yes."
Harry was certain that he was missing some context here. And he was also certain that if he didn't do something, hexes would fly soon - despite the two witches' smiles. Or because of them.
"So, let's look at the latest releases!" he said with forced cheer. "Where did Ron disappear to?"
"He went to the Quidditch section," Hermione said. "Let's join him - I think they have an illustrated book of the World Cup, with all the best plays."
"You're interested in Quidditch?" Parvati sounded surprised.
"Oh, yes - I was at the Cup with Harry."
"Ah." His girlfriend glanced at him.
"We were all there - Hermione, Ron, my godfather and I," Harry explained. It wasn't as if he had been there with just Hermione.
"Oh." Parvati suddenly smiled widely and hooked her arm into his. "Let's go then!"
Harry wasn't certain if he should be glad or concerned that Parvati had apparently decided to join their group.
He almost wished that Malfoy would show up to cause trouble. He knew how to handle the git, but he didn't know how to handle this situation.
Hermione Granger forced herself to smile at Harry's girlfriend, even though she really wanted to hex the witch. Parvati had shown quite some nerve, forcing herself on Harry when he was in Hogsmeade with her and Ron! And her poor friend must have lost all feeling in his left arm, judging by how tightly the obviously attention-craving witch was clinging to it.
That was as transparent as the 'chance meeting' in the bookshop earlier - as if Parvati would be caught dead in a bookshop, outside the cosmetic charms section, at least. Or maybe the Potions section, Hermione added in her head, so she could brew a love potion.
And now they were walking down the main road, and instead of chatting with Harry and Ron, she was forced to listen to the inane things Harry's girlfriend was spouting.
"Oh, look Harry - they have a sale on Sleekeazy's Hair Potion!" Parvati said, dragging Harry to the side, almost making him stumble.
Hermione clenched her teeth, then forced herself to keep smiling - she knew what was coming.
"Maybe Hermione would want to buy some? It's expensive, but I've heard it works wonders for even the worst hair!"
Yes - two barbs. One about her hair, and one about her finances. Hermione glanced towards Ron, who was frowning - since his family was poor, he would have likely caught the second barb. Unlike Harry.
"Really? Would you like some, Hermione? Sirius told me that it was invented by my family," Harry said, smiling at her.
He really was too nice, and too good for Parvati. Too clueless too, alas, Hermione thought. She shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but I would rather not disguise myself like that, she lied. "Imagine waking up next to your girlfriend in the morning, and discovering that her beauty was simply magic and cosmetics. Hypothetically speaking, of course," she added, with a smile and a glance at Parvati. "Besides, I happen to like my 'wild, untamed mane'. My mum said she had the same hair when she was a teenager, and as you know, her hair grew out nicely." She wasn't entirely lying there - though she doubted that her mum's hair had ever been as bad as hers, no matter what her mother claimed. She had seen pictures, after all!
Parvati, of course, was fuming behind her smiling and cosmetic-covered facade. Harry hadn't met her family, had he? "Ah, that's too bad. You'll be missing out on so much until that happens." The way the witch 'accidentally' pressed her modest bust into Harry's arm left no doubt in Hermione's mind what she meant.
She was strongly tempted to demonstrate just how much a few hairstyling charms could do, but that would not be a good idea - her future cover relied on Hermione Granger being a rather plain girl. Although, in hindsight, perhaps she shouldn't have dismissed the consequences this tactic would have on her social life as quickly as she had, almost two years ago. But, oh, to stroll through Hogsmeade in her guise as Merriweather, and accidentally stumble upon - or into! - the Boy-Who-lived….
She pushed the fantasy away as she shrugged. "It's not as if I have much free time anyway, with all the things I have to study on my own." She noted with satisfaction, though also with some guilt, that Harry and Ron looked sympathetic at this reminder of her circumstances.
Unfortunately, Parvati nodded in - apparent - sympathy as well, instead of falling for the bait and gloating. "And to think that Malfoy and his friends are still at Hogwarts! Fortunately, the Headmaster has cowed them."
"Yes," Ron cut in, laughing, "Snape must be having ulcers at having to punish the git on Dumbledore's orders!"
"Hasn't Malfoy learned his lesson yet?" Hermione asked. If she wanted to plan her revenge properly, she needed to learn all she could about her enemies.
Harry shrugged. "He hasn't done anything in public lately, but I don't think he has changed at all."
"He's still a git," Ron added. "But we're keeping an eye out for him and his ilk whenever we're outside the common room. If he tries anything..." - a flick of Ron's wrist made his wand appear in his hand. Enchanted quick-draw holster, Hermione noticed. Those were expensive - "...then we deal with him."
"Don't underestimate him," she cautioned her friends and Parvati. "He likes to target Harry and all his friends."
The other three nodded, but Hermione couldn't help feeling that they weren't as cautious as they should be. At least Harry and Ron were getting extracurricular defence training, so they should be OK. And so would Harry's girlfriend, if she kept clinging to him as she did.
Not even Parvati, Hermione added silently to herself as the witch in question dragged Harry over to a stall that sold scarves, deserved to become the next victim of Malfoy.
The witch would be safer if she and Harry broke up, of course, but Hermione couldn't mention that. Harry would probably think that he should stop seeing Hermione as well, to keep her safe.
She silently sighed as she followed her friends to the next stall. Harry was a great friend, but sometimes he was too nice and too dense.
Hogwarts, February 19th, 1995
"Good evening, sir."
"Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat."
Harry Potter sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk, a little nervous despite the Headmaster's friendly manner. He hadn't done anything - at least nothing he thought that the Headmaster would take offence to - but still…
"You may be wondering why I called you to my office."
And such remarks didn't help, Harry thought as he nodded. Had something happened to Sirius? But the Headmaster wouldn't be smiling in that case, would he?
"It concerns your mother's protection. As you know, I have been unable to move it from your aunt's home to Sirius's home."
Harry was all too aware of that. He shrugged. "We found a solution that allows me to keep the protection with the absolute minimum amount of contact with my relatives."
The Headmaster sighed as he inclined his head. "Indeed. It is not ideal, but workable at least."
"Did you find another solution?" Despite his feigned nonchalance, Harry would love to be able to completely avoid his relatives. Grimmauld Place felt like home, even with parts of it still filled with cursed items and unknown, but likely dark, knicknacks.
"I am sorry to say that I have not. Although I would like to research your protection further, with your permission of course - I do think that it warrants a closer look, given the Dark Lord's return. If we could duplicate it, the coming conflict would likely be much less costly that the last one." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "But given the extremely personal nature of your protection, I would understand if you would not wish this investigated further, since I cannot guarantee any results."
Harry stared at the Headmaster. As if he would be so selfish - he knew very well what terrible cost the last war had had. He, and his surviving family. "Please go ahead - I certainly won't oppose anything that can be used against Voldemort."
"Thank you, Harry." The Headmaster smiled. "But while I do not think this request will be problematic, there are things that could be useful in such a conflict, yet carry far too great a cost to be used. A cost that you might not realise until it is too late."
"You mean the Dark Arts?" Harry frowned - Sirius had mentioned using a few dark curses.
"Among other things. The Dark Arts are often just one step of a path many start with the best intentions. A slippery slope, if you want. People start making sacrifices, for expediency or effectiveness, convinced that the end justifies those means. They might even be correct, at the start. But slowly, step by step, sacrifice by sacrifice, they reach a point where that is no longer true - but few can bring themselves to abandon their chosen path then, since they fear such a decision would render their previous sacrifices useless."
Harry nodded at the Headmaster's earnest words, even though he wasn't certain if the old wizard was talking to him, or to himself.
"You do not think this could happen to you, do you?" Dumbledore asked with a sad smile.
"Well…" Harry shrugged. His parents had done everything, sacrificed themselves, to save him. Could he do any less, should it be needed, to save his family and friends?
"Ah, the confidence of youth." Dumbledore smiled, but he wasn't looking at Harry as he did so.
Harry cleared his throat. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Is that why you haven't, well, flattened Malfoy like a bug?" he quoted his godfather.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I see Sirius still likes colourful language." He shook his head. "But to answer your question: No, the reason I have not moved more, shall we say, more aggressively against Lucius, is not that I fear it would cause me to travel too far down the slippery slope I mentioned." His smile turned wry. "I am not boasting when I say that I know which lines I can cross, and which I cannot. No, the last war taught me, all too painfully, that I cannot shy away from doing what is needed, even if it might be questionable. The reason I haven't taken such actions as your godfather might be thinking of is that I do not desire to expose myself to the Dark Lord." He leaned back. "Voldemort is back in Britain. Too much has happened that shows his wandwork for any other explanation. But I do not know what his plans are, other than his obvious objectives, such as my death."
"And mine," Harry added.
Dumbledore nodded. "But what role does Lucius play? The Dark Lord is not above sacrificing his followers if he deems it needed. Is he waiting for me to take more direct action, so he can paint me as a criminal? Or has he prepared an ambush? Or is Lucius not aware of the Dark Lord's machinations, and acting on his own, as his behaviour during Peter's trial might indicate?" He spread his hands. "Without knowing more, I have to tread very carefully, lest I play into the Dark Lord's hands."
"Ah." That made sense, Harry thought. But it also meant that the situation was worse than he had thought. And that the Headmaster's request was even more important.
"Shall we start examining your mother's magnum opus then?" Dumbledore asked, drawing his wand.
Harry nodded.
Hogwarts, February 26th, 1995
"Oh… that had to hurt. Diggory failed to dispel the enchantment in that tube, and had to freeze the water below him to keep from falling out of the arena. Can he still continue? Yes, he can! Diggory is getting up! His leg looks broken, but… yes! He transfigured it to stone, and he's continuing!"
The Triwizard Tournament's second task wasn't quite as educational as the first - at least as far as her future career as a thief was concerned, Hermione Granger thought as she watched the Hogwarts Champion limp on. Unless she ever encountered a mansion made of enchanted water she had to break into. One enchanted with all the spells a Master of Transfiguration like Dumbledore could muster. She doubted that anyone else would use those spells for home defence - they were not lethal enough, she thought, for those who would would want to turn their home into a trap.
She looked at the other champions while Bagman prattled on about Diggory.
Krum was still literally going through the maze on a straight course, no matter if that led him down a tube made of water, or through a wall of enchanted ice. An unimaginative tactic, she thought, but as Diggory's example had just shown, not a bad tactic since the maze's paths were riddled with spells that required the contestants to deal with them.
Delacour, though, was navigating the maze in a more traditional way, using Divination to pick the best route - or so Hermione thought; she was once again reminded of the unfortunate fact that she wasn't able to study all the subjects she wanted. She could, of course, study them at a later date. Once those who had framed and slandered her were dealt with. The best revenge was living well, after all.
Diggory had been running through the maze like Delacour, but had then decided to take a shortcut through the second floor - and had almost fallen through the bottom floor when his spell had apparently created a larger hole than he had planned.
The task was visually very appealing, though - Dumbledore might have found twelve uses for Dragon blood, but he had found many more ways to enchant water, often with spectacular if - for the champions - rather stressful results.
Harry and Ron certainly seemed to love the spectacle. Parvati though… Hermione doubted that the girl was sparing any attention for the task, not when she was so busy watching her boyfriend as if he'd stray as soon as she took her eyes off him. The witch had trust issues, Hermione thought.
"Delacour is almost at the centre now! With the French witch so close to winning the task, can the other champions still challenge her? Krum seems unimpressed - probably; it's hard to tell with him. Diggory's been falling behind ever since he broke his leg, but with defeat looming, will he take another gamble? He's changing course… towards the red pipe. But that's away from the centre! What is he planning? Or did he fall victim to a Confundus trap? He's breaching the pipe! And he gets hit with high-pressure red water! No, he's riding the geyser - towards the centre of the maze. Or… no! He missed! Diggory goes out of bounds, and Delacour wins!"
The French among the audience - and many wizards, Hermione thought - broke out in cheers as the maze flowed away, leaving the Vela standing in the centre of the arena, holding the jewel that had been the task's prize.
"And Diggory goes into the Infirmary," Ron commented as everyone winced at the sound and sight of the Hufflepuff bouncing on the ice roof of the maze, before sliding off and hitting the ground below.
"The ground's covered with Cushioning Charms," Hermione pointed out. She was very familiar with those spells, from her climbing and flying training.
"Well, the roof isn't. That's worth a whole bottle of Skele-Gro," Harry retorted.
"You would know, mate," Ron said, earning himself a glare from both Harry and Parvati.
Hermione was tempted to ask if her friend regularly had to drink the potion to help his left arm recover from stress fractures, since Parvati seemed to be hanging on to it at every opportunity. She refrained from being so catty, though - she wasn't like Parvati.
"Let's go back to Hogwarts," Harry's girlfriend said as Diggory was levitated off the field, and Delacour proclaimed the victor, "I'm freezing."
Hermione doubted that - the witch was obviously soaking up Harry's body heat. She probably simply wanted to get rid of Hermione, who wasn't allowed into the school proper. So she smiled sweetly and drew her wand. "I can cast a Warming Charm on you. I didn't realise you hadn't learned that spell yet."
"It's part of the third year curriculum," Ginny cut in. "Did you forget how to cast it, Parvati? I thought that rumour that you had your sister take your exams for you was just malicious gossip." She laughed, but obviously just to be able to claim that she was only joking.
Parvati's answering smile was sickly-sweet. "Oh, I was actually trying to subtly remind my boyfriend that he should embrace me," she said.
Unfortunately, Harry seemed to believe her, Hermione noticed, since he quickly hugged the witch. Boys! "Let's just stay here for as bit," she said. "No one else is in a hurry to leave." Which was to be expected - since it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, the students weren't allowed into the village, and the visitors weren't allowed into the school, so everyone who was using this event as an opportunity to meet their family had to stay in the arena.
"Oh, look! It's a Grim!" Luna's delighted cry interrupted the squabble between Ginny and Parvati. Hermione turned around and saw the blonde was pointing at a pitch-black dog in the stands above them, probably looking for food.
"Merlin's Beard!" Ron didn't sound delighted at all. "She's right!"
"I think it's just a normal dog. Maybe a familiar," Harry said. He was glaring at the animal, though, Hermione saw. She understood the sentiment - the dog was massive, and would certainly do a Grim justice.
"Probably," she agreed. "It doesn't look aggressive, though." She had seen that dog before, after all, in Diagon Alley. Not that she'd mention that, though - she had been in her disguise as Merriweather.
As if it had heard her, the dog barked and jumped a few rows down, landing next to Harry. Parvati shrieked in response, but the animal ignored her, instead looking around.
Hermione smirked as Harry tried to calm down his easily startled girlfriend. Some Gryffindor, Parvati was! "He's probably hungry. Are you, boy?" she asked, holding out the remains of her meat pocket.
The dog sniffed her hand first, then grabbed the food - and Hermione almost shrieked herself when she realised just how big its jaws were. And then she did shriek when the dog started to slobber all over her.
And her traitorous friends just laughed!
London, Merton, February 28th, 1995
Hermione Granger was just about to solve the last Arithmancy task for her 'homework' when the doorbell interrupted her. Since both her parents were still at work, she sighed and went downstairs, wondering who was visiting them during the day.
A quick glance through the spyhole gave her the answer: Mr Black, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, and a wide smile. He knew her address - he had arranged the payment for the house, after all - but to show up like this… If it was him.
She opened the door with her left hand and aimed her wand at his face. "What did you say to me when we met for the first time?"
"Ah, Miss Granger! Welcome to my humble home!" he answered, tilting his head slightly. To his credit, he didn't even flinch and his grin didn't falter. Or maybe he didn't take her seriously, and was just humouring her. "And I said that you were not as serious as Harry had said."
Good enough, she decided and stepped aside. "Please enter, Mr Black."
"Thank you, Miss Merriweather," he said as he stepped inside.
Hermione froze for a moment, but recovered quickly. "I guess Mr Smith needs more students," she commented after closing the door. They had avoided him at the ball, but apparently, Mr Black had put two and two together.
"Ah… yes, he does." He nodded. "And not only because he obviously knows how to teach witches to present themselves to their best advantage," he added with a leer at her.
She glared at him, then pointed at the living room. "Please have a seat."
A few minutes later, he was sniffing at the glass of her dad's best whisky she had offered.
"It's not poisoned," she said. "Feel free to check."
He chuckled, but didn't follow her advice before taking a sip. "Ah… it tastes better than it smells," he said with an air entirely unsuited to a man dressed more like a biker than a rich gentleman. Apparently, her dad's best whisky wasn't good enough for the refined palate of the Head of the Black family.
"I wouldn't know. I've never tried it," she said.
"Ah… you need to try Ogden's Best."
"I prefer not to set my hair on fire while drinking," she retorted.
That made him laugh.
"So... what brings you to my family's humble home?" she asked once he had taken another sip from his glass. She had some suspicions.
"Well… I'm here to offer you my help." He smiled widely at her.
"Your help?" Hermione frowned. "You've already saved my family from ruin."
He dismissed that with a gesture, as if it hadn't been of any importance. "That was just gold. I want to help you with your 'education'." He leaned forward and folded his hands. "And your revenge, of course."
While she had no doubt that Mr Black would love to see those who had hurt her punished - Harry had told her his godfather's opinion of those old pureblood families - she also had no doubt that he wasn't here simply to offer his help. He wouldn't have had to meet her in private, without her tutor or parents present, otherwise. He probably wanted to use her for his own revenge. But she already owed him too much to turn him down anyway.
But she needed to know more. She shrugged. "You know that I'm far from being ready to take my revenge." Unfortunately, that was true. She was a good student, but Mr Fletcher had told her repeatedly that she wasn't yet ready for a real heist. Once she had learned to cast silently, though...
"I know. But Harry also told me that you're a genius. And Remus said you did very well, especially for a homeschooled student, from what he had seen in your exams."
She almost snarled at that comment. She wanted to excel without such a qualifier. "I'm flattered," she lied.
"Harry also told me that you're very competitive." His grin widened, and she frowned. She had thought she had worked on her tells.
But if that was how he wanted to play it… "What could you teach me that Mr Smith can't teach me?"
"It's not what I can teach you - I'm no thief, after all - but what I can offer you: Access to the Old Families and the Ministry." He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. "I'm the Head of the Black family. We might not be the oldest pureblood family, although my dead mother would dispute that, but we're the richest. As my assistant or secretary, for example, you'd have access to the Wizengamot and the Ministry. In my company, you'd have access to circles your tutor never will have." He frowned. "Though you probably have to grow up first before we can try that. I don't need that particular reputation to darken my name."
She clenched her teeth for a moment - she was growing up! - and controlled herself. He was tactless, but he was right - what he was offering would help her immensely. Even her tutor would have to see that - Mr Fletcher was always telling her that a thief used every advantage they could get without violating their rules. And he knew as well as Hermione that she couldn't really refuse Mr Black. Not after all the wizard had done for her and her family. And even less now that he had revealed what he knew about her.
And yet… She smiled. "There is one thing you can teach me, though. One thing I really need to learn."
"Yes?" Mr Black managed to make the single word sound lurid.
"You can teach me how to escape Azkaban."
Hogwarts, January 6th, 1995
They were kissing again! Snogging! In a corner of the common room, even!
Ginny Weasley closed her book. She couldn't do her homework with Harry and Parvati making such a spectacle of themselves near her. It was just too distracting. And too annoying. Her teeth were clenched as she left Gryffindor tower.
Outside in the hallway, she drew a deep breath and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. If anyone knew how much she wanted to be in Parvati's place… if her brothers knew… She shuddered. They'd tease her worse than they had done back when Harry had visited The Burrow for the first time.
Sighing, she started towards the library. She still had homework to do, and the library was the best place for that. Parvati certainly wouldn't be caught dead there. And Madam Pince wouldn't tolerate any fooling around.
And the library was quiet, Ginny thought as she entered. There would be no giggling witches talking loudly about snogging Harry. Bloody show-off! she thought as she sat down at the first free table.
Before she could even start on her homework, though, someone else sat down at her table. She looked up to give them a piece of her mind - she wasn't in the mood for company - but held her tongue when she saw it was Luna.
"Hello, Ginny," the other witch whispered. "Did you have a nice holiday?"
Ginny wanted to snap at her that no, she hadn't had a nice holiday. Not with Harry taking Parvati to the New Year's Ball at Smith Manor while she was stuck at The Burrow. But that wasn't Luna's fault. And she didn't want anyone to know how she felt about Harry's new girlfriend. So she shrugged. "The usual, I guess. What about you?"
"Oh, it was very nice. Well, apart from the Yule Ball, I guess. That was disappointing." Luna pouted. "I had hoped to attend, but the wizard who had asked me out had to take another witch to the ball on his parent's orders, and couldn't go with me."
"What?" Ginny had read about such things, in her mum's books, but to hear of it actually happening… "Who was that?"
"Michael Corner. He's a year above us, in Ravenclaw."
"That's sad." The Corners weren't an old pureblood family, Ginny knew. His parents shouldn't have put such pressure on him. Or he should have defied his parents, like the wizard always did in those novels. But not everyone was a Gryffindor.
"He hasn't taken it well either," Luna said. "He hasn't talked to me since he told me he couldn't take me to the ball."
That made Ginny wince with guilt - she hadn't talked to Luna in years after her mum had told her to avoid her friend. An order she had obeyed. Which, in hindsight, had been neither right nor brave. Hadn't Mum told them not to listen to others when the Prophet had been attacking Harry's godfather and Dumbledore? "I'm sorry," she pressed out through clenched teeth.
"I'm glad we're talking again," Luna said, smiling. "I was worried you didn't like me any more."
Seeing her friend smile at her like that, Ginny felt as if she had been hexed in the gut. Some Gryffindor she was! To fill the sudden silence, she said: "I went with Neville to the Yule Ball. Neville Longbottom." She shrugged. "He's nice and polite, but…"
"He doesn't make your tummy swirl?" Luna said.
Ginny blinked, then nodded. That was as good as any description. "Yes."
"Michael didn't make me feel that way either, but I would have liked to dance, I think." Luna sighed. "I would have loved it if Ron had asked me to the ball. But he had to ask out Padma so Harry could ask her sister."
Ginny blinked. "You fancy Ron?" Her brother?
"Yes." Luna nodded. "He's nice, he's funny, and he makes my tummy feel all weird."
"Yeah, he has a way with stomachs," Ginny mumbled. "Mostly his own."
"Well, you're his sister; you wouldn't notice that he's handsome too," Luna added, "since you've grown up with him. We rarely notice slow changes."
Ginny was still trying to understand how anyone could find her brother attractive. Well, he wasn't ugly, or so she had gathered from the gossip of the older girls, but still! He was no Harry Potter. "You're in luck then - he and Padma Patil didn't work out."
"That doesn't mean that he'll fancy me," Luna said, sighing again. "But it doesn't mean that he doesn't, either."
"Yeah." Ginny sighed. Unlike herself, Luna had a good chance of catching her wizard. It wasn't as if Ron had a lot of witches after him.
"What about you? Is there anyone who makes your tummy feel funny?" Luna leaned forward.
Ginny sighed. She didn't want to talk about this, with anyone. But… she owed Luna, and Luna had been open with her. And maybe it would help. "Yes, there is. But he's with another witch."
"Oh. Who is it?"
In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. "Harry Potter."
"Ah." Luna nodded sagely. "Your one true love."
"What?"
"You were already in love with him when you were little. You heard all the stories about him." Luna smiled.
"That wasn't the real Harry Potter," Ginny protested. "And that was not love. I was just a silly little girl."
"And it's different now?" Luna cocked her head sideways, one of her Dirigible Plum earrings pulling straight up.
"Yes." She wasn't a little girl any more. "I know he's not the Boy-Who-Lived. Nor the boy from the stories. But he's handsome, kind, brave…" She shrugged. "I just know, you know?"
Luna nodded. "The heart knows, my mum used to say."
Which probably explained why that witch had married Luna's father, Ginny thought, then felt guilty. "Well… Harry's heart doesn't seem to know yet." At least she hoped so.
Luna shrugged. "Mummy also said that boys were slower. Daddy too."
Harry didn't seem to be slow at all, if Parvati's boasts were to be believed."So, what did you do during the holidays?" she asked to change the subject.
"I hunted Nargles. I thought that if they'd left Hogwarts, then they might have found other places to live. But Britain's quite large, and Daddy and I couldn't check that much of it." Luna pouted. Then she perked up. "But we've been tracking them in muggle newspapers. Unexplained thefts are on the rise! Sooner or later, we'll get them!" Then she sighed again, her shoulders slumping. "I felt a bit lonely, with all the Nargles having gone since the school year started."
"Well, they were probably afraid they'd get punished harshly when the Headmaster caught them," Ginny commented. She was feeling even worse now - Luna felt lonely when her belongings weren't being stolen?
Luna nodded. "Yes. I'm certain Dumbledore can see them with his enchanted glasses. I told Daddy to ask him for help in catching Nargles, but he didn't want to bother the Headmaster, not when he's so busy."
Ginny nodded. If she ever had the opportunity to hex Malfoy or Skeeter… Without any witnesses, and when they weren't expecting it, of course. She wasn't stupid. "Well, are you certain that there were any Nargles before?"
Luna frowned at her. "All the evidence points at their presence. And no one has ever been able to prove that they do not exist!"
Well, there wasn't much Ginny could say against that. Not that she wanted to argue with Luna in the first place. "But if the Nargles return to Hogwarts, please tell me."
"Of course!" Luna beamed at her.
Ginny nodded, satisfied. She might not be able to prove the existence of thieving animals, but she, and her brothers, would be able to do something about human thieves.
******
London, Merton, January 7th, 1995
She was growing into a woman, Hermione Granger thought, studying herself in the new mirror in her room. Well, her honesty compelled her to correct herself, she had started to, at least. Without the help from her enchanted robes, her bust wouldn't have drawn nearly as much attention as it had at the New Year's Ball. And her overbite was back - although slightly less pronounced. Mr Fletcher had told her that she should keep it as it was, since it would make it harder to associate her with her future disguises, but she had flat-out refused. She was a witch, and she drew the line at keeping this… blemish just for a marginally better disguise. In a year, her teeth would have 'grown in', and be perfectly proportioned for her face.
She snorted. Given how easy it was to shrink her teeth, it wouldn't be much help as a disguise anyway. At least in her opinion. Some of her friends might even wonder why she didn't get rid of it, resulting in them paying more attention to her appearance.
Not that that would be an entirely bad thing, she thought. She still had to smile whenever she remembered Harry's reaction to her appearance at the ball. Her magically enhanced appearance, alas. She doubted that Harry would be as impressed if he saw her rather less curvy figure right now. Which her deep sigh only emphasised. So much could be done with the right clothes, spells and makeup, and the attitude to go with them.
Although… she tilted her head to the side and put a hand on her hips, eyeing herself in the mirror. Even accounting for all those things, she didn't think Parvati had a better figure. All that climbing and running and jumping Mr Fletcher had her do each day had done a lot of good for her body. Though, she added with a critical eye at her bust, it hadn't done wonders for those parts of her body which could do with a bit more fat tissue. If only certain charms worked as well on flesh as they did on teeth…
On the other hand, that would probably lead to rather unpleasant incidents in a school full of teenagers. Worse than handing out Polyjuice Potion to first-years. Although… would the hormones of the new body influence the user? She had better research that before she used that potion herself. On the other hand, that might be a way to circumvent the usual protections against love potions...
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. "Hermione? Breakfast's ready."
"Coming, Mum!" she answered as she grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Another advantage of the grueling training regime her tutor had her go through - she had a healthy appetite.
Before she left her room, she made sure that her notes and robes were locked up. Her parents didn't know exactly what she was learning, and she would rather keep things that way. She had no doubt that neither of them would be thrilled at learning that she was studying how to dazzle men in the guise of a young naive witch. Or that she had tried her wiles on her best friend when he was attending a ball with his girlfriend.
And thoroughly enjoyed both his and Parvati's reactions.
*****
London, Greenwich, January 7th, 1995
"So… given your performance at the ball," Mr Fletcher said as he leaned back in his seat, the Daily Prophet lying folded on his lap, "I think we need to talk a little about seducing and bedazzling marks."
Hermione Granger frowned. "You've already taught me that." She had been practising her 'innocently seductive act' for months, after all. "Unless you mean going further than that." He couldn't mean actually sleeping with someone, could he?
He coughed. "No, I'm not going to teach a girl how to sleep with marks." He muttered something under his breath that she didn't catch. "What I want to talk about - what I think we need to talk about - is the difference between seducing a mark and seducing a lover."
She frowned again, and he sighed. "What was the difference between your dance with Melchior Smith and your chat with Potter?"
"Smith wanted to sleep with me in the winter garden. Harry simply snuck a peek at my body," she answered. Well, more than a peek - he had been ogling her.
"That's true, but not what I meant. What was the difference between the two boys?"
"One was a creep trying to sleep with naive young witches, the other is a dear friend." With a jealous girlfriend.
"Almost. One was a mark, and one was a friend. And you shouldn't mix up the two. When you lead someone on to get into a manor, or to find out a secret, you need to be detached and to keep your goal in mind."
"You said that I should focus on thinking as the disguise, to better fool those who'd pry at my mind."
"That too." he frowned briefly. "What I'm trying to say is that you shouldn't treat your friends like marks."
"It was just a prank!" she protested.
"It was," he agreed. "And a good test too. But… it's a slippery slope, there. Where does a harmless prank end and a con start?" He shook his head. "You don't want to end up manipulating all your friends as if they were marks, trust me. That's a good way to lose your friends. Even if they never find out you duped them, a friendship shouldn't be based on lies."
"I've no intention of doing that to Harry. I just wanted to show him that I'm a pretty witch too." Especially after what he had said about her.
"Good." He nodded. "You've got more important goals to achieve, after all."
Oh, yes, she did. Hermione grinned. If she could fool her best friend then she could certainly fool her enemies.
*****
Hogwarts, January 9th, 1995
"Harry! Harry!"
Harry Potter jerked when he heard his girlfriend yell in the common room, and he drew his wand without thinking as he looked for the closest cover - a seat nearby. On his right side, Ron had done the same. But there was no threat that he could see, just Parvati heading towards him with a magazine in hand.
She didn't seem to have noticed Harry and Ron's reaction, though - or she was ignoring their drawn wands. It was hard to tell with her.
"Yes, Parvati?" he asked as he lowered his wand.
She thrust her magazine at him. "Did you see this? We're on the cover of Teen Witch Weekly!"
"Ah." He took the magazine and looked at the cover. It showed him and Parvati dancing at the New Year's Ball. Quite a good picture - both of them were smiling happily. 'In-depth article on page 5', the blurb next to the picture promised.
He opened the magazine while Parvati on one side and Ron on the other peered over his shoulder. He hoped that the article would be as flattering as the cover - his family could use all the good press they could get.
"Boy-Who-Lived took his girlfriend to another ball…" The article focused on his and Parvati's robes, their dancing, and that this was the second time they had appeared arm in arm, so the relationship was confirmed. Not much about Sirius, other than mentioning Harry's godfather's presence, and some speculation about his influence on Harry. But nothing negative, either. Which was a good sign.
He smiled at Parvati. "I'll have to show this to Sirius." Even though his godfather would tease him about it.
"Oh, yes! We should buy a few more copies!" Parvati hugged him. "This is great! I'll send one home to Mum! Padma will be so jealous!"
"Is there a picture of that foreign witch you met at the ball as well?" Ron asked. Harry's friend was craning his neck to look at the other pictures inside the magazine, and seemed to ignore the glare Parvati shot him.
"That hussy?" Harry winced. His girlfriend hadn't taken well to Miss Merriweather. Not at all. She wasn't smiling any more either. "No. She's not in any of the pictures," Parvati said in a tone that told Harry that she had thoroughly checked.
"Oh, too bad. I hoped to see for myself if she had been as stunning as they said," Ron, clueless about just what he was doing to Harry's relationship, said.
"People have been talking about her?" Parvati glanced at Harry.
"Not me!" he said quickly. Not to anyone but Sirius - and Ron. Who, Harry thought with a glare of his own at his friend, should know better than to talk about that witch.
"Ah…" Ron blinked, then shook his head. "No, Harry didn't say a word about her. I heard it from Smith."
Parvati sniffed. "You haven't said a word about her? After you almost hurt your neck staring at her backside when we left them?"
Harry winced again. Ron's lie had just made things worse. And the next weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend. He didn't know how Parvati would react to his plans to meet Hermione in the village.
He would have to ask Sirius how best to handle this if he didn't want to anger either witch.
*****
Hogwarts, January 10th, 1995
"Sirius? Do you have a moment?" Harry Potter asked when that day's special lesson had ended.
"For you? Always!" His godfather said, beaming at him. Then he blinked. "Unless I'm currently enjoying the company of a pretty witch, and it's not an emergency, of course. In that case, you'll have to wait." He grinned widely.
Harry didn't roll his eyes, but sighed, then glanced over his shoulder at Ron. His friend was still repairing the desks he had set afire in an attempt to distract Remus and Sirius. Remus was doing his own part in restoring the Defence classroom to its prior state - combat training tended to be hard on the environment.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Trouble with Ron?" he asked in a lower voice.
"Not exactly," Harry said. "It's more like trouble with my girlfriend."
"Ah!" Sirius nodded sagely. "But it might concern him?" He gasped. "Oh… you're not dating both twins, are you? That would certainly cause some trouble, seeing as things didn't work out between him and the other twin."
"What?" Harry stared at Sirius, then glanced back. Ron was still busy, and didn't seem to have overheard them. "No, no!" He shook his head. "I wouldn't cheat on Parvati!"
"Good. Although a threesome with twins would certainly be among the best reasons for cheating on your girlfriend," Sirius once again nodded as if he had just stated something very profound, then laughed and shook his head. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood, Harry." He conjured a seat for himself, and one for Harry with a flick of his wrist. "Come, let's sit down and talk about this seriously."
Sometimes, his godfather's attempts at making light of serious problems were very annoying, Harry thought. He sighed and sank into the soft armchair. "Alright. You know about the New Year's Ball."
Sirius nodded with a wide grin. "Oh, yes! Who would have thought that Malfoy's attempts to destroy my reputation would have resulted in me being seen as so attractive to certain witches?"
"I don't mean that," Harry hastened to clarify. "I told you that Parvati was upset about our talk with that American witch."
"I thought she was upset about your flirting." Sirius frowned.
"I wasn't flirting," Harry said through clenched teeth. "Miss Merriweather was flirting." With him. As Parvati had explained to him. In detail. Several times. Loudly, too.
"Alright. So, your girlfriend was upset about another witch flirting with you. And you fear that means that she doesn't trust you." He nodded, rubbing his chin. "You might be correct, too." He sighed. "Witches are often very unreasonable when it comes to wizards being polite and sociable with other witches. The stories I could tell..." His eyes seemed to lose their focus as he trailed off.
Harry quickly spoke up before his godfather could get lost in what was left of his memories. Sirius was getting better, but he still had a long way to go, and he was bound to jumble the memories he had retained or recovered so far. At least that's what Remus had said, in private. "Well, Ron set her off again yesterday, when he asked if there was a picture of Miss Merriweather in that magazine." And she hadn't talked to him again until this morning.
"Chocolate and flowers," Sirius said.
"What?" Harry blinked.
"A tried and true way to get a witch to forgive you for whatever she thinks you have done. Or not done."
"Ah." Harry started to nod, then shook his head. "It's not about that. This weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend."
"Take her to Honeydukes then." Sirius nodded. "Best chocolate in the world. Don't let any Swiss or Belgian tell you otherwise! Although Madam Puddifoot's is better if you want to be intimate."
Harry clenched his teeth. "Please let me explain my problem before interrupting me." He took a deep breath. "Ron and I were going to meet Hermione in Hogsmeade."
Sirius nodded. "Ah."
"And I think Parvati expects me to take her to Hogsmeade. Alone."
"Yes, you are probably correct." Sirius rubbed his goatee. "Your friends, or your girlfriend - the age-old question any wizard has to answer one day." He sighed deeply. "I've been there myself."
"And what did you do?"
"I picked my friends, of course. Unless the witch was really pretty and really affectionate. In that case, I might have made a temporary exception," Sirius said. "But a few kisses in Puddifoot's aren't worth a friendship. Nothing is worth that, actually."
Harry stared at him. "And what if she dumps me over this?"
"Then you find another girlfriend who isn't so insecure and controlling." His godfather shrugged. "There are plenty of pretty witches in Hogwarts, and you're only in your fourth year."
"But…" He didn't want to break up with Parvati. She was pretty, and nice, when she wasn't angry at him. "I like her!"
"Enough to end your friendship with Ron and Hermione?" Sirius cocked his head to the side.
"What? Of course not!" The three of them had gone through so much together, to end their friendship was… Harry couldn't find the right word for how unthinkable it was.
"Then any girlfriend of yours has to accept that. She can be with you at Hogwarts every day - or night," Sirius added with a leer. He quickly grew serious again, though. "You can only meet Hermione on the Hogsmeade weekends, though. Under those circumstance, it would be very selfish of your girlfriend to expect you to spend the weekend with her instead of with your friends."
"Ah." Harry nodded. That made a lot of sense. But he didn't think Parvati would see it like that. On the other hand, she couldn't be jealous of Ron and Hermione, could she? Ron was his best mate, and Hermione… well, she was a witch, but she wasn't as pretty as Parvati. Or as Miss Merriweather. And she certainly didn't flirt with him! His girlfriend shouldn't be jealous of her. He smiled at his godfather. "Thanks! That really helped!"
"Anytime, Harry."
*****
Hogsmeade, January 14th, 1995
"Are you alright?" Hermione Granger frowned as she looked at her best friend. Harry seemed to be a little distracted. And the Hog's Head Inn didn't offer many distractions. At least not in the afternoon - she had heard from her tutor that the pub wasn't a suitable place for a young lady once night had fallen.
"Huh? Yes. I'm just…" he trailed off. Another bad sign. Something was eating at him.
"He's worried that his girlfriend will hex him," Ron cut in.
"No, I'm not!" Harry responded, rather sharply, in Hermione's opinion.
"Why would your girlfriend want to hex you?" she asked, ignoring his claims to the contrary. If Parvati was abusing Harry...
"She said that she was fine with me meeting you," Harry said.
Hermione blinked. "You don't sound as if you believe that she's being sincere."
"Well… I thought she looked angry for a moment when I told her about our plans for today." Harry shrugged. "But I told her that you're my best friend, and unlike Parvati, I can't see you every day."
Hermione smiled at him. That was so sweet, to put her friendship over his girlfriend's desires. It was just like Harry.
"Well, according to Ginny, Parvati's not happy about it," Ron added. Hermione nodded in agreement - she had no doubt that the witch wanted to monopolise Harry's attention.
Harry shook his head. "She shouldn't be unhappy. There's no reason to be jealous of Hermione, and I told her that, too."
Hermione felt her smile slip a little. As with a similar statement before the ball, this flat declaration stung a little. More than a little, in fact. She might not have dressed up, but still! "Well, she might be feeling insecure. We've been best friends for years, and she's only been your girlfriend for a few weeks."
Harry frowned. "That's true, but you're completely different! I mean, she isn't jealous of Ron, is she?"
Hermione forced herself not to snap at Harry. Fortunately, Mr Fletcher had been teaching her how to maintain her composure and keep smiling even if she didn't feel like it. "Well, I would think that I've got a bit more in common with Parvati than with Ron, since I'm a witch and not a wizard," she pointed out. She almost pushed her chest out to emphasise the difference, but restrained herself. Not that her jumper was tight enough for that to work well anyway.
"Yes, but it's not as if I want to kiss you," Harry said. "Or you, Ron."
"You better not!" Ron laughed.
Hermione forced herself to join in. "Parvati should trust you then," she said. "It's not as if you're flirting with other witches, right?"
"No, I'm not." Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't cheat on my girlfriend."
"Unless they're pretty foreigners," Ron added.
"Oh?" Hermione looked at him. Was Harry flirting with the French witches at Hogwarts?
Harry sighed and glared at their friend. "I wasn't flirting with Miss Merriweather. She was flirting with me. Or rather, with the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Miss Merriweather?" Hermione tried to sound as casual as possible. That was the perfect occasion to find out what he thought about her!
"An American witch Harry met at the Smith's ball," Ron explained. "Apparently very pretty, and very flirty."
"Yes. Parvati was quite annoyed with her."
"Ah." Hermione pursed her lips to keep from smiling. So much for Harry's claim that he didn't want to kiss her!
On the other hand, it also meant that she needed to really dress up and be very forward to impress boys. Her mother's advice to 'just be yourself' obviously wasn't working.
Hermione didn't think that she liked what that said about her.
*****
"Harry!"
Harry Potter jerked when he heard the loud voice, and had raised his wand before he recognised his girlfriend. She ignored that, as usual, and he barely had time to move it out of the way before she hugged him.
"Fancy meeting you here!" Parvati beamed at him from between two of the shelves in Tomes and Scrolls, and before he could say anything, she was kissing him. Passionately, as Sirius would say, meaning with tongue. And not just for a brief time, either. He was wrapping his arms around her when he heard Hermione clear her throat.
"Hello, Parvati."
His girlfriend pulled back from his embrace and smiled at her. "Hermione! You haven't changed at all! You've still got that wild mane."
"I could say the same," Hermione answered with a sweet smile of her own, though she was staring at Parvati's chest, Harry noticed. And her smile looked rather toothy, too. As did Parvati's.
"I thought I would buy a few books while you were with your friends," Parvati said. "I didn't know you'd come here as well."
"Ah, you must have forgotten how much I like books." Hermione took a step closer to him. "Harry knows that, of course, and offered to take me here."
"Ah, he is too kind. Generous too." Parvati nodded.
"Oh, yes."
Harry was certain that he was missing some context here. And he was also certain that if he didn't do something, hexes would fly soon - despite the two witches' smiles. Or because of them.
"So, let's look at the latest releases!" he said with forced cheer. "Where did Ron disappear to?"
"He went to the Quidditch section," Hermione said. "Let's join him - I think they have an illustrated book of the World Cup, with all the best plays."
"You're interested in Quidditch?" Parvati sounded surprised.
"Oh, yes - I was at the Cup with Harry."
"Ah." His girlfriend glanced at him.
"We were all there - Hermione, Ron, my godfather and I," Harry explained. It wasn't as if he had been there with just Hermione.
"Oh." Parvati suddenly smiled widely and hooked her arm into his. "Let's go then!"
Harry wasn't certain if he should be glad or concerned that Parvati had apparently decided to join their group.
He almost wished that Malfoy would show up to cause trouble. He knew how to handle the git, but he didn't know how to handle this situation.
*****
Hermione Granger forced herself to smile at Harry's girlfriend, even though she really wanted to hex the witch. Parvati had shown quite some nerve, forcing herself on Harry when he was in Hogsmeade with her and Ron! And her poor friend must have lost all feeling in his left arm, judging by how tightly the obviously attention-craving witch was clinging to it.
That was as transparent as the 'chance meeting' in the bookshop earlier - as if Parvati would be caught dead in a bookshop, outside the cosmetic charms section, at least. Or maybe the Potions section, Hermione added in her head, so she could brew a love potion.
And now they were walking down the main road, and instead of chatting with Harry and Ron, she was forced to listen to the inane things Harry's girlfriend was spouting.
"Oh, look Harry - they have a sale on Sleekeazy's Hair Potion!" Parvati said, dragging Harry to the side, almost making him stumble.
Hermione clenched her teeth, then forced herself to keep smiling - she knew what was coming.
"Maybe Hermione would want to buy some? It's expensive, but I've heard it works wonders for even the worst hair!"
Yes - two barbs. One about her hair, and one about her finances. Hermione glanced towards Ron, who was frowning - since his family was poor, he would have likely caught the second barb. Unlike Harry.
"Really? Would you like some, Hermione? Sirius told me that it was invented by my family," Harry said, smiling at her.
He really was too nice, and too good for Parvati. Too clueless too, alas, Hermione thought. She shook her head. "Thank you for the offer, but I would rather not disguise myself like that, she lied. "Imagine waking up next to your girlfriend in the morning, and discovering that her beauty was simply magic and cosmetics. Hypothetically speaking, of course," she added, with a smile and a glance at Parvati. "Besides, I happen to like my 'wild, untamed mane'. My mum said she had the same hair when she was a teenager, and as you know, her hair grew out nicely." She wasn't entirely lying there - though she doubted that her mum's hair had ever been as bad as hers, no matter what her mother claimed. She had seen pictures, after all!
Parvati, of course, was fuming behind her smiling and cosmetic-covered facade. Harry hadn't met her family, had he? "Ah, that's too bad. You'll be missing out on so much until that happens." The way the witch 'accidentally' pressed her modest bust into Harry's arm left no doubt in Hermione's mind what she meant.
She was strongly tempted to demonstrate just how much a few hairstyling charms could do, but that would not be a good idea - her future cover relied on Hermione Granger being a rather plain girl. Although, in hindsight, perhaps she shouldn't have dismissed the consequences this tactic would have on her social life as quickly as she had, almost two years ago. But, oh, to stroll through Hogsmeade in her guise as Merriweather, and accidentally stumble upon - or into! - the Boy-Who-lived….
She pushed the fantasy away as she shrugged. "It's not as if I have much free time anyway, with all the things I have to study on my own." She noted with satisfaction, though also with some guilt, that Harry and Ron looked sympathetic at this reminder of her circumstances.
Unfortunately, Parvati nodded in - apparent - sympathy as well, instead of falling for the bait and gloating. "And to think that Malfoy and his friends are still at Hogwarts! Fortunately, the Headmaster has cowed them."
"Yes," Ron cut in, laughing, "Snape must be having ulcers at having to punish the git on Dumbledore's orders!"
"Hasn't Malfoy learned his lesson yet?" Hermione asked. If she wanted to plan her revenge properly, she needed to learn all she could about her enemies.
Harry shrugged. "He hasn't done anything in public lately, but I don't think he has changed at all."
"He's still a git," Ron added. "But we're keeping an eye out for him and his ilk whenever we're outside the common room. If he tries anything..." - a flick of Ron's wrist made his wand appear in his hand. Enchanted quick-draw holster, Hermione noticed. Those were expensive - "...then we deal with him."
"Don't underestimate him," she cautioned her friends and Parvati. "He likes to target Harry and all his friends."
The other three nodded, but Hermione couldn't help feeling that they weren't as cautious as they should be. At least Harry and Ron were getting extracurricular defence training, so they should be OK. And so would Harry's girlfriend, if she kept clinging to him as she did.
Not even Parvati, Hermione added silently to herself as the witch in question dragged Harry over to a stall that sold scarves, deserved to become the next victim of Malfoy.
The witch would be safer if she and Harry broke up, of course, but Hermione couldn't mention that. Harry would probably think that he should stop seeing Hermione as well, to keep her safe.
She silently sighed as she followed her friends to the next stall. Harry was a great friend, but sometimes he was too nice and too dense.
*****
Hogwarts, February 19th, 1995
"Good evening, sir."
"Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat."
Harry Potter sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk, a little nervous despite the Headmaster's friendly manner. He hadn't done anything - at least nothing he thought that the Headmaster would take offence to - but still…
"You may be wondering why I called you to my office."
And such remarks didn't help, Harry thought as he nodded. Had something happened to Sirius? But the Headmaster wouldn't be smiling in that case, would he?
"It concerns your mother's protection. As you know, I have been unable to move it from your aunt's home to Sirius's home."
Harry was all too aware of that. He shrugged. "We found a solution that allows me to keep the protection with the absolute minimum amount of contact with my relatives."
The Headmaster sighed as he inclined his head. "Indeed. It is not ideal, but workable at least."
"Did you find another solution?" Despite his feigned nonchalance, Harry would love to be able to completely avoid his relatives. Grimmauld Place felt like home, even with parts of it still filled with cursed items and unknown, but likely dark, knicknacks.
"I am sorry to say that I have not. Although I would like to research your protection further, with your permission of course - I do think that it warrants a closer look, given the Dark Lord's return. If we could duplicate it, the coming conflict would likely be much less costly that the last one." Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. "But given the extremely personal nature of your protection, I would understand if you would not wish this investigated further, since I cannot guarantee any results."
Harry stared at the Headmaster. As if he would be so selfish - he knew very well what terrible cost the last war had had. He, and his surviving family. "Please go ahead - I certainly won't oppose anything that can be used against Voldemort."
"Thank you, Harry." The Headmaster smiled. "But while I do not think this request will be problematic, there are things that could be useful in such a conflict, yet carry far too great a cost to be used. A cost that you might not realise until it is too late."
"You mean the Dark Arts?" Harry frowned - Sirius had mentioned using a few dark curses.
"Among other things. The Dark Arts are often just one step of a path many start with the best intentions. A slippery slope, if you want. People start making sacrifices, for expediency or effectiveness, convinced that the end justifies those means. They might even be correct, at the start. But slowly, step by step, sacrifice by sacrifice, they reach a point where that is no longer true - but few can bring themselves to abandon their chosen path then, since they fear such a decision would render their previous sacrifices useless."
Harry nodded at the Headmaster's earnest words, even though he wasn't certain if the old wizard was talking to him, or to himself.
"You do not think this could happen to you, do you?" Dumbledore asked with a sad smile.
"Well…" Harry shrugged. His parents had done everything, sacrificed themselves, to save him. Could he do any less, should it be needed, to save his family and friends?
"Ah, the confidence of youth." Dumbledore smiled, but he wasn't looking at Harry as he did so.
Harry cleared his throat. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
"Is that why you haven't, well, flattened Malfoy like a bug?" he quoted his godfather.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I see Sirius still likes colourful language." He shook his head. "But to answer your question: No, the reason I have not moved more, shall we say, more aggressively against Lucius, is not that I fear it would cause me to travel too far down the slippery slope I mentioned." His smile turned wry. "I am not boasting when I say that I know which lines I can cross, and which I cannot. No, the last war taught me, all too painfully, that I cannot shy away from doing what is needed, even if it might be questionable. The reason I haven't taken such actions as your godfather might be thinking of is that I do not desire to expose myself to the Dark Lord." He leaned back. "Voldemort is back in Britain. Too much has happened that shows his wandwork for any other explanation. But I do not know what his plans are, other than his obvious objectives, such as my death."
"And mine," Harry added.
Dumbledore nodded. "But what role does Lucius play? The Dark Lord is not above sacrificing his followers if he deems it needed. Is he waiting for me to take more direct action, so he can paint me as a criminal? Or has he prepared an ambush? Or is Lucius not aware of the Dark Lord's machinations, and acting on his own, as his behaviour during Peter's trial might indicate?" He spread his hands. "Without knowing more, I have to tread very carefully, lest I play into the Dark Lord's hands."
"Ah." That made sense, Harry thought. But it also meant that the situation was worse than he had thought. And that the Headmaster's request was even more important.
"Shall we start examining your mother's magnum opus then?" Dumbledore asked, drawing his wand.
Harry nodded.
*****
Hogwarts, February 26th, 1995
"Oh… that had to hurt. Diggory failed to dispel the enchantment in that tube, and had to freeze the water below him to keep from falling out of the arena. Can he still continue? Yes, he can! Diggory is getting up! His leg looks broken, but… yes! He transfigured it to stone, and he's continuing!"
The Triwizard Tournament's second task wasn't quite as educational as the first - at least as far as her future career as a thief was concerned, Hermione Granger thought as she watched the Hogwarts Champion limp on. Unless she ever encountered a mansion made of enchanted water she had to break into. One enchanted with all the spells a Master of Transfiguration like Dumbledore could muster. She doubted that anyone else would use those spells for home defence - they were not lethal enough, she thought, for those who would would want to turn their home into a trap.
She looked at the other champions while Bagman prattled on about Diggory.
Krum was still literally going through the maze on a straight course, no matter if that led him down a tube made of water, or through a wall of enchanted ice. An unimaginative tactic, she thought, but as Diggory's example had just shown, not a bad tactic since the maze's paths were riddled with spells that required the contestants to deal with them.
Delacour, though, was navigating the maze in a more traditional way, using Divination to pick the best route - or so Hermione thought; she was once again reminded of the unfortunate fact that she wasn't able to study all the subjects she wanted. She could, of course, study them at a later date. Once those who had framed and slandered her were dealt with. The best revenge was living well, after all.
Diggory had been running through the maze like Delacour, but had then decided to take a shortcut through the second floor - and had almost fallen through the bottom floor when his spell had apparently created a larger hole than he had planned.
The task was visually very appealing, though - Dumbledore might have found twelve uses for Dragon blood, but he had found many more ways to enchant water, often with spectacular if - for the champions - rather stressful results.
Harry and Ron certainly seemed to love the spectacle. Parvati though… Hermione doubted that the girl was sparing any attention for the task, not when she was so busy watching her boyfriend as if he'd stray as soon as she took her eyes off him. The witch had trust issues, Hermione thought.
"Delacour is almost at the centre now! With the French witch so close to winning the task, can the other champions still challenge her? Krum seems unimpressed - probably; it's hard to tell with him. Diggory's been falling behind ever since he broke his leg, but with defeat looming, will he take another gamble? He's changing course… towards the red pipe. But that's away from the centre! What is he planning? Or did he fall victim to a Confundus trap? He's breaching the pipe! And he gets hit with high-pressure red water! No, he's riding the geyser - towards the centre of the maze. Or… no! He missed! Diggory goes out of bounds, and Delacour wins!"
The French among the audience - and many wizards, Hermione thought - broke out in cheers as the maze flowed away, leaving the Vela standing in the centre of the arena, holding the jewel that had been the task's prize.
"And Diggory goes into the Infirmary," Ron commented as everyone winced at the sound and sight of the Hufflepuff bouncing on the ice roof of the maze, before sliding off and hitting the ground below.
"The ground's covered with Cushioning Charms," Hermione pointed out. She was very familiar with those spells, from her climbing and flying training.
"Well, the roof isn't. That's worth a whole bottle of Skele-Gro," Harry retorted.
"You would know, mate," Ron said, earning himself a glare from both Harry and Parvati.
Hermione was tempted to ask if her friend regularly had to drink the potion to help his left arm recover from stress fractures, since Parvati seemed to be hanging on to it at every opportunity. She refrained from being so catty, though - she wasn't like Parvati.
"Let's go back to Hogwarts," Harry's girlfriend said as Diggory was levitated off the field, and Delacour proclaimed the victor, "I'm freezing."
Hermione doubted that - the witch was obviously soaking up Harry's body heat. She probably simply wanted to get rid of Hermione, who wasn't allowed into the school proper. So she smiled sweetly and drew her wand. "I can cast a Warming Charm on you. I didn't realise you hadn't learned that spell yet."
"It's part of the third year curriculum," Ginny cut in. "Did you forget how to cast it, Parvati? I thought that rumour that you had your sister take your exams for you was just malicious gossip." She laughed, but obviously just to be able to claim that she was only joking.
Parvati's answering smile was sickly-sweet. "Oh, I was actually trying to subtly remind my boyfriend that he should embrace me," she said.
Unfortunately, Harry seemed to believe her, Hermione noticed, since he quickly hugged the witch. Boys! "Let's just stay here for as bit," she said. "No one else is in a hurry to leave." Which was to be expected - since it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, the students weren't allowed into the village, and the visitors weren't allowed into the school, so everyone who was using this event as an opportunity to meet their family had to stay in the arena.
"Oh, look! It's a Grim!" Luna's delighted cry interrupted the squabble between Ginny and Parvati. Hermione turned around and saw the blonde was pointing at a pitch-black dog in the stands above them, probably looking for food.
"Merlin's Beard!" Ron didn't sound delighted at all. "She's right!"
"I think it's just a normal dog. Maybe a familiar," Harry said. He was glaring at the animal, though, Hermione saw. She understood the sentiment - the dog was massive, and would certainly do a Grim justice.
"Probably," she agreed. "It doesn't look aggressive, though." She had seen that dog before, after all, in Diagon Alley. Not that she'd mention that, though - she had been in her disguise as Merriweather.
As if it had heard her, the dog barked and jumped a few rows down, landing next to Harry. Parvati shrieked in response, but the animal ignored her, instead looking around.
Hermione smirked as Harry tried to calm down his easily startled girlfriend. Some Gryffindor, Parvati was! "He's probably hungry. Are you, boy?" she asked, holding out the remains of her meat pocket.
The dog sniffed her hand first, then grabbed the food - and Hermione almost shrieked herself when she realised just how big its jaws were. And then she did shriek when the dog started to slobber all over her.
And her traitorous friends just laughed!
*****
London, Merton, February 28th, 1995
Hermione Granger was just about to solve the last Arithmancy task for her 'homework' when the doorbell interrupted her. Since both her parents were still at work, she sighed and went downstairs, wondering who was visiting them during the day.
A quick glance through the spyhole gave her the answer: Mr Black, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, and a wide smile. He knew her address - he had arranged the payment for the house, after all - but to show up like this… If it was him.
She opened the door with her left hand and aimed her wand at his face. "What did you say to me when we met for the first time?"
"Ah, Miss Granger! Welcome to my humble home!" he answered, tilting his head slightly. To his credit, he didn't even flinch and his grin didn't falter. Or maybe he didn't take her seriously, and was just humouring her. "And I said that you were not as serious as Harry had said."
Good enough, she decided and stepped aside. "Please enter, Mr Black."
"Thank you, Miss Merriweather," he said as he stepped inside.
Hermione froze for a moment, but recovered quickly. "I guess Mr Smith needs more students," she commented after closing the door. They had avoided him at the ball, but apparently, Mr Black had put two and two together.
"Ah… yes, he does." He nodded. "And not only because he obviously knows how to teach witches to present themselves to their best advantage," he added with a leer at her.
She glared at him, then pointed at the living room. "Please have a seat."
A few minutes later, he was sniffing at the glass of her dad's best whisky she had offered.
"It's not poisoned," she said. "Feel free to check."
He chuckled, but didn't follow her advice before taking a sip. "Ah… it tastes better than it smells," he said with an air entirely unsuited to a man dressed more like a biker than a rich gentleman. Apparently, her dad's best whisky wasn't good enough for the refined palate of the Head of the Black family.
"I wouldn't know. I've never tried it," she said.
"Ah… you need to try Ogden's Best."
"I prefer not to set my hair on fire while drinking," she retorted.
That made him laugh.
"So... what brings you to my family's humble home?" she asked once he had taken another sip from his glass. She had some suspicions.
"Well… I'm here to offer you my help." He smiled widely at her.
"Your help?" Hermione frowned. "You've already saved my family from ruin."
He dismissed that with a gesture, as if it hadn't been of any importance. "That was just gold. I want to help you with your 'education'." He leaned forward and folded his hands. "And your revenge, of course."
While she had no doubt that Mr Black would love to see those who had hurt her punished - Harry had told her his godfather's opinion of those old pureblood families - she also had no doubt that he wasn't here simply to offer his help. He wouldn't have had to meet her in private, without her tutor or parents present, otherwise. He probably wanted to use her for his own revenge. But she already owed him too much to turn him down anyway.
But she needed to know more. She shrugged. "You know that I'm far from being ready to take my revenge." Unfortunately, that was true. She was a good student, but Mr Fletcher had told her repeatedly that she wasn't yet ready for a real heist. Once she had learned to cast silently, though...
"I know. But Harry also told me that you're a genius. And Remus said you did very well, especially for a homeschooled student, from what he had seen in your exams."
She almost snarled at that comment. She wanted to excel without such a qualifier. "I'm flattered," she lied.
"Harry also told me that you're very competitive." His grin widened, and she frowned. She had thought she had worked on her tells.
But if that was how he wanted to play it… "What could you teach me that Mr Smith can't teach me?"
"It's not what I can teach you - I'm no thief, after all - but what I can offer you: Access to the Old Families and the Ministry." He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. "I'm the Head of the Black family. We might not be the oldest pureblood family, although my dead mother would dispute that, but we're the richest. As my assistant or secretary, for example, you'd have access to the Wizengamot and the Ministry. In my company, you'd have access to circles your tutor never will have." He frowned. "Though you probably have to grow up first before we can try that. I don't need that particular reputation to darken my name."
She clenched her teeth for a moment - she was growing up! - and controlled herself. He was tactless, but he was right - what he was offering would help her immensely. Even her tutor would have to see that - Mr Fletcher was always telling her that a thief used every advantage they could get without violating their rules. And he knew as well as Hermione that she couldn't really refuse Mr Black. Not after all the wizard had done for her and her family. And even less now that he had revealed what he knew about her.
And yet… She smiled. "There is one thing you can teach me, though. One thing I really need to learn."
"Yes?" Mr Black managed to make the single word sound lurid.
"You can teach me how to escape Azkaban."
*****
Chapter 8: Forked Paths
Starfox5
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Chapter 8: Forked Paths
Near Barnstaple, Devon, Britain, March 21st, 1995
Tonks - just Tonks, no first name, thank you very much - was very glad she was a metamorphmagus. It meant she wasn't pale or even green in the face as she stared at the most horrible sight she had ever seen. It looked like someone had painted the entire room with blood. It smelled like it as well. And the body parts strewn across on the floor…
A rough voice distracted her before she could shudder and ruin the tough image she had, so far, managed to present to the other Aurors at the scene. "Are you reconsidering your decision to become an Auror, rookie?"
Frowning she turned around and glared at her former instructor. "No, Auror Moody, I'm not," she said, trying to sound like her mum when she was lecturing someone.
He laughed at her attitude, as she had known he would. "That's the spirit, lass! Two Hit-Wizards lost their breakfasts just outside. Damn rookies couldn't even manage to vanish the vomit in time."
"What are they doing at a crime scene anyway?" she said. Everyone, even rookies like herself, knew that Hit-Wizards were good for one thing only, and that was guarding Azkaban. Anything that required more finesse than pointing a wand at someone and cursing them was beyond the grey robes.
"Fudge's spooked, apparently, and had a squad of them detached to the Corps, to 'bolster our ranks'." He walked past her, his artificial eye spinning madly as usual. "So… what do you make of this?" He asked after half a minute.
She took a deep breath - through her mouth - before answering. "Someone massacred the Outterridge family." Father, mother, and seven-year-old daughter. They had found the heads mostly intact.
"Tell me something that's not so obvious even a Hit-Wizard would spot it!" he interrupted her with a bark.
She swallowed her angry retort and continued: "The murderer used dark curses, probably to keep them alive while they were cut apart. Since this was done on the day of the Spring Equinox, this might have been a dark ritual. The blood wasn't splashed around in a recognisable pattern, though, which might indicate that this was an attempt to make an ordinary murder look like a dark ritual."
"Or it was a crazed killer revelling in literal bloodlust."
She looked at the old Auror and narrowed her eyes. His scarred face had the same expression as when he tested her in training. "Such crimes usually have a build-up."
"Could be a foreigner. Or someone who managed to control himself, until he broke."
He was baiting her. She shook her head. "You don't believe that."
"You're right, I don't." He scoffed. "This is a set up. But this is not someone trying to mask an ordinary murder as a dark ritual." He knelt down, moving easily despite his artificial leg. "This is the work of someone trying to cover up a dark ritual."
"What?" She blinked.
"Someone's been too clever here - the murderer knows how the Corps investigates, and has prepared accordingly. I bet we'll find 'evidence' that Outterridge was involved in some shady dealings, or borrowed gold from the wrong people. Maybe even find a 'dark wizard' killed by a failed ritual."
Tonks slowly nodded. She was too smart to tell Moody that this sounded too paranoid even for him. It looked like the other veteran Aurors had been correct - her old instructor was losing it. That was probably why they had pulled him from the academy last year.
He chuckled. "You don't believe me."
She cursed internally. He might be losing it, but he was still too damn sharp. "It does sound a little far-fetched."
"You would think that, wouldn't you?" He snorted, and tapped his scarred cheek right under his enchanted eye. "But you won't have spotted that the blood we see here is not from the Outterridges."
"What?" She looked around the room again. "They tested the blood. It matches the family's blood type."
"It certainly matches their blood type. But there's also some faint residue from a stasis spell." He smiled, which twisted his face into a grimace. "And why would anyone try to preserve blood, right before they splash it around, if not to hide the fact that the blood wasn't taken from the victims at the exact time of the Spring Equinox?"
"That's not proof."
"You're right it ain't. But I'll get a colleague of mine analyse the blood and flesh we have here. And I'll bet you Galleons to Knuts that he'll tell me they don't match." He shook his head. "This is one clever bastard here. But we'll get him."
So, the murderer wanted blood. And wanted to hide that he needed blood. And it was done on Spring Equinox. Just like Bagnold's murder last year. By someone very clever.
She had to ask her mother about the family spells - and about her cousin.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 26th, 1995
Tonks had to suppress a shudder when she approached the ancestral home of the Black Family. Which would have been her family, too, if not for her mother's decision to marry her father. She had never been inside the house, but she had heard stories from her mum. The kind of stories that veterans told rookies to haze them. But Mum had been serious.
But so was Tonks - she was an Auror, and she wouldn't be frightened away by either a cursed house, or a possibly murderous cousin who went crazy in Azkaban. She would get to the bottom of this!
Steeling herself, she tapped the door with her wand. Half a minute later, it was opened, and she found herself staring at an old house-elf.
"What's the half-blood who shouldn't be darkening the family's doorstep doing here?"
Oh, yes - she had heard stories about the elf too. Fortunately, house-elves were harmless, barely more dangerous than unarmed muggles. "I'm expected by the Head of the Family," Tonks answered.
"Stupid Master is tarnishing the family name," the elf grumbled, but he stepped aside so she could enter.
The entrance hall didn't look like the stories she had heard. It must have been freshly painted, she thought. That didn't have to mean anything, of course.
"Ah, Nymphadora! Welcome to my humble home!" And there he was. Sirius Black. The Head of the Family by virtue of being the last Black. The only wizard to have ever escaped Azkaban. And the suspect in a number of murders.
"It's Tonks," she said through clenched teeth. "Just Tonks." Her mum must have been hit by a Confundus Charm when she had named her, she thought.
"Ah." His smile grew more polite, and he bowed. "Shall we retire to the sitting room?"
"Thank you."
A minute later, both were seated in a surprisingly cozy-looking room. Even more surprisingly, there were a number of muggle newspapers and magazines next to the Prophet and… Teen Witch Weekly?
He must have noticed her look, since he laughed. "Ah, my secretary has a subscription."
"You have a secretary?" Who was reading Teen Witch Weekly?
"Yes. I found myself somewhat challenged by all the paperwork and forms required to handle the family businesses, and so I hired a bright young witch to help me out."
"Ah." That explained it.
"Nothing of that sort," Black said, frowning. "She's far too young for my taste. Very bright, though."
"Ah." She wasn't certain if he was telling the truth, but it sounded suspicious either way. "What's her name? I might have known her at Hogwarts."
"Hermione Granger. I trust you're aware of her circumstances."
She knew of that witch, but not from her time at Hogwarts. "Yes. Are you already making her work off the gold you paid for her debts?"
"I'm offering her the chance to put her talents to good use. I would certainly not hold my good deed over her head." He was all hurt innocence. "And once you meet her, you'll know that really, nothing of the sort you might suspect is happening. I'm only interested in her intelligence."
Her mum had told her about that, too. And she had seen the pictures. "She's not pretty enough for you."
"That's a harsh thing to say about a young witch. Not everyone can change their looks at will."
Tonks shrugged. It wasn't her fault that she was a metamorphmagus, and after seven years surrounded by jealous witches at Hogwarts, her cousin's disapproval didn't even register. "Everyone can be pretty with some effort," she said, the platitude rolling easily off her tongue.
"Maybe." He shrugged as well. "You mentioned that you wanted to talk to me about a family affair?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "You've heard about the Equinox Massacre."
"Yes." He sighed. "Your colleagues already questioned me. Dawlish is such a bore."
He was correct, but Tonks wouldn't speak poorly of a fellow Auror with an outsider.
"I have an alibi, though."
"Yes. You spent the entire night at Hogwarts. As if you knew that something might happen." Which was very suspicious.
"I suspected something like this would happen, given last year's events." He smiled at her.
"Are you also aware that Black family spells were used in the crime?"
"I wasn't told that." He rubbed his beard. "But it doesn't surprise me, either. I have expected that as well."
"Auntie Narcissa has an alibi as well," she retorted. "As does her husband."
"Narcissa is more likely to curse herself than her victim, should she use such spells. She was never the most talented of witches." He scoffed in dismissal.
"Who do you suspect then?" She glared at him.
"Well… I think that's a matter best discussed with someone else."
She tensed up. Was he working with someone? Had he taught the spells to someone else? Maybe his friend Lupin? Were those sordid rumours about them true, too? Was he trying to lure her into a trap? "Mum knows I'm here," she said.
He laughed at that. "You're the second paranoid witch I've met this month." He shook his head. "No, we're going to see Dumbledore. And he'll tell you who has been murdering people and trying to frame me."
Once again, Tonks was glad that she was a metamorphmagus. It made it a bit easier to hide her reaction.
London, Greenwich, March 28th, 1995
"That was a failure. Do it again!" With an almost negligent wave of his wand, the room was once again filled with stains of all sorts.
Her tutor wasn't happy with her, Hermione Granger had realised. Mr Fletcher had been a tad curt with her today, and didn't seem to be as patient as he usually was. But he was still a far cry from Snape. And her cleaning charm had been rather sloppy, if she was honest with herself. That spell wouldn't have cleaned up every trace of her presence in an entire room.
She took a deep breath, bit her lower lip so she wouldn't even whisper the incantation and focused on her goal again. Then she swished her wand back and forth and flicked it twice, before pointing it at the ground with a stabbing motion.
The stains closest to her seemed to jump up from the carpet, dust and fluids gathering in the air. The stains on the furniture and walls were slower, but they too flew up and towards the growing ball of dirt that was floating near the tip of her wand.
She held her concentration, almost biting her lip bloody, until no more dirt and specks joined the ball in the air, then lifted her wand and stabbed towards the dirt.
"Evanesco!"
The dirt and fluids vanished before they hit ground. Hermione let out a relieved breath.
"Better," came her tutor's grudging acknowledgement. "But the Vanishing Charm wasn't cast silently."
The task had been to cast the cleaning charm silently. But mentioning that would make her seem petty - and she needed to be able to cast both silently if she wanted to use them on a heist, Hermione knew. So she nodded in agreement while he once more filled the room with stains of all sorts, and readied herself for the next attempt.
"Are you angry with me?" she asked an hour and countless spells later, when both her tutor and herself were sitting in the - now thoroughly cleaned - kitchen, waiting for the water to boil - Mr Fletcher refused to use charms for making tea, claiming that the results were inferior to doing it by hand. Hermione hadn't been able to taste the difference, but knew better than to say so.
She saw him press his lips together for a moment before answering. He was angry. "No. Not at you."
"At my decision to accept Mr Black's offer, then?" she said, sounding steadier than she felt.
"No. You couldn't have refused him. The bastard knows you owe him. And still he let you know that he had recognised you." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Effin' Bludger gave ya no choice."
Hermione was aware of that. She knew that she wasn't in a position to refuse Mr Black much. Not any reasonable demands, or offers, at least - she doubted that Harry would be very supportive if Hermione complained about his godfather being helpful. "I've given this a great deal of thought, but I haven't found the catch. His offer sounds very sensible and helpful, and his motive appears plausible as well."
Her tutor snorted. "You mean, what does he get out of this that made him come on so strongly?" She nodded. "Information, control and deniability."
The water was boiling now and Hermione stood to prepare the tea. She didn't have to ask him how he liked it. "He already had control." A fortune in Galleons, spent on her family, gave Mr Black all the leverage over her that he could ever need. Hermione paid her debts, for good or ill.
"Not enough. By involving himself in our business, by helping you as he's offered, he ensures that he knows a lot about our plans. Not just broad strokes, but the details. Timing. Preparations. And if he controls your, our access to the Ministry and the Wizengamot, then he has a great deal more direct influence than someone who simply pays our bills."
"He would always have controlled access to information and locations we wouldn't have without him," Hermione pointed out. That wasn't exactly the same as restricting their access.
Mr Fletcher sighed. "Yes, that's true. His offer is sensible and helpful. Far too helpful to refuse. But it also means that he's just acquired a 'deniable asset', as the muggles would say."
"As his secretary, I'm not exactly 'a deniable asset'," Hermione retorted. "He would have a hard time distancing himself from me." She put his cup down in front of him, briefly wondering if Mr Black expected her to serve tea as well. Probably not, given his reaction to her dad's whisky.
Her tutor chuckled. "He can easily claim you that you seduced him. Not now, of course, but in a few years, when you're ready to go on heists."
She frowned - she wasn't a little girl anymore! She was no Delacour, but she had drawn more than just Harry's attention at the New Year's Ball. He didn't have to act as if her seducing anyone was completely implausible. And she planned to be ready for a real heist much earlier than in a few years.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Mr Fletcher said, and she wondered for a moment if he had caught on to what she had been thinking. Then he continued: "You saw how many witches were interested in him at the New Year's Ball. Rich, handsome, a tragic past, and the head of one of the oldest pureblood families? With Dumbledore vouching for him to counter Malfoy's rumours, Black'll have his pick of witches for years. He won't bother you."
"Good to know." It was good. And she didn't really fear that - a word to Harry would put a stop to such demands, she was certain. But to be dismissed out of hand like that… she was a witch too! And she was growing up!
"You don't sound that happy about it." He was looking at her intently.
"I'm not interested in him," she was quick to explain. "But shouldn't I be able to pose as his escort? In a few years, I mean. That's what we've been training for, after all."
He sighed. "Yes. But you'll also know better than to fall for the likes of Black."
"I'm not falling for him. Or for anyone," she corrected him. "It's all an act." He had told and taught her that himself, after all. Even if he hadn't actually taught her that much yet.
"Even with your friend?" He didn't have to say which friend.
"Yes. It was just a prank." Mostly on Parvati, too. Hermione wouldn't toy with Harry's heart.
Her tutor didn't look entirely convinced, but he dropped the topic as they both enjoyed their tea.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 8th, 1995
Deep down, Harry Potter still didn't consider Grimmauld Place his home. It was just too good to be true - like magic. Sometimes he dreamed that it had all been a mistake, that he had to return to Privet Drive. And he found himself in front of his aunt's house, trunk at his feet. Usually, it was raining too. Just as he had had, although rarely, nightmares in his first year at Hogwarts, where they took his wand and sent him back, with Snape and Malfoy cackling as he was sent out the gate to find his own way home - to Privet Drive. The effect of a dozen years spent with relatives who didn't like him and were afraid of magic didn't disappear overnight.
He was getting better, though. Just as, Harry added to himself when he heard his godfather in the hallway, Sirius was.
"Ah, there you are!" Sirius said, standing in the doorway.
"In my room, yes. Shocking, isn't it?" Harry closed his now empty trunk and slid it to the wall opposite his bed.
Sirius snorted. "Sassy like James. Did I tell you the story of how he once got a week's detention for talking back to McGonagall?"
He had - or tried to. Twice. Harry nodded, though. "Oh, yes. I certainly won't make that mistake myself."
Sirius chuckled. "We were a right bunch of rascals. Called ourselves 'Marauders', even. Drove Lily spare when she was a prefect. She could never catch us, thanks to the map, and James used to tease her so much..." He blinked. "Ah, speaking of witches. You know how I told you that you have the run of the house, with the exception of my own room and Remus's?"
"Yes. And Regulus's." Harry really didn't want to incur the wrath of Kreacher, who had turned the room of Sirius's dead brother into a family shrine.
"Bah! That damn crazy elf needs to let go." Sirius shook his head. "Anyway, the room at the north-eastern corner is now occupied as well, so if you're going to ravish your girlfriend, you can't use that one."
"What?" Harry couldn't claim that he had no intentions of getting more intimate with Parvati - those dreams were far more frequent than his nightmares, after all - but he hadn't actually… "I mean, whose room is it?"
"Hermione's."
He blinked. "Hermione's living here? What happened to her home?"
"Didn't I tell you?" Sirius frowned. "I thought I did. I'm rather certain that I did, actually."
"No, you didn't," Harry said. And why hadn't she told him? It had to have happened after the last Hogsmeade weekend in March. "What happened?"
"I hired her as my secretary."
"You what?" Harry Potter stared at his godfather. He shook his head before Sirius could repeat himself. "Why?"
Sirius shrugged. "Well, I need help dealing with the family businesses. My parents were a little disorganised in their last years."
Since Sirius was among the least-organised men Harry knew - he would have driven Harry's aunt spare in a single day - that probably meant that 'complete and utter chaos' would better describe the state of the family finances. "I mean, why hire her? She's…" He trailed off. Hermione wasn't at school anymore, though she should be. "I mean… she's my age!"
"Well, mostly because she's your best friend. That means I can trust her." Sirius said. He grinned. "You wouldn't want me to accidentally hire a thief, would you?"
"Of course not!" Harry scoffed. "But why is she living here?" And what would her parents think about that? A boarding school was one thing, but living with your employer?
"Oh, she isn't living here. That's her office."
"Ah." That made more sense.
"Disappointed?" Sirius grinned again.
"No." Although… if Hermione did live here, down the hallway from his room, it would be a little like Hogwarts. Hogwarts… he winced.
"What's wrong?" Sirius frowned at him. "I thought you'd be happy to see your best female friend more often."
"I am!" Harry was quick to assure him. "But Parvati won't be happy. She thinks Hermione is jealous of her." Of course, Parvati thought that every unattached witch, and a fair number of those who had boyfriends, was jealous of her - she had said so a few times.
Sirius rubbed his goatee. "Sounds like Parvati is jealous of Hermione."
Harry had occasionally had the same thought. He sighed and sat down on his bed. "Great. I wish they would get along. I'm not going to abandon my best friend for my girlfriend."
His godfather shrugged, then stepped into his room and walked towards him. "Of course not! Your girlfriend probably is just insecure."
"But why?" Harry shook his head. "Parvati is one of the prettiest witches in Hogwarts! And Hermione… well…" Hermione wasn't ugly, but she certainly wasn't as beautiful as Parvati. Or Lavender. Or Cho.
Sirius laughed again. "She's not much of a looker, I'll admit, but I'm certain that with the right spells and robes, she could be stunning."
Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather. Sometimes Sirius's jokes were rather bad.
"I'm serious, Harry." Like now. His godfather sighed. "Your friend isn't trying to look pretty. Your girlfriend, though, is. And she probably knows how much of a difference even a little effort can make."
Harry scoffed. "Even if that were true" - and he doubted it - "then the fact that Hermione doesn't make an effort to be pretty should show Parvati that she has nothing to fear." After all, if Hermione were interested in Harry, or anyone else, she would be trying to look pretty, wouldn't she?
Sirius spread his hands. "Witches aren't rational. Especially not when it concerns love and relationships. Ah, the times I have been unjustly punished by a witch for something that was no fault of my own…"
"Well, Hermione's not working full-time for you, right?" Parvati would accept that.
"No. That would cut into her study time far too much, or so I've been told." Sirius laughed again. Harry laughed as well - that was just what Hermione would say.
He was still smiling even after Sirius had left to check on dinner.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 11th, 1995
Seeing his best female friend working in his godfather's library - their library, Harry Potter corrected himself - still felt weird. Not as weird as seeing magic at Privet Drive, of course. And it was a good sort of weird, too. Generally.
But probably not today, he thought. "Hello, Hermione."
She looked up, and he could see how her slight frown at being interrupted was replaced by a smile once she saw it was him. Just like it had been back at Hogwarts.
"Hi, Harry! I didn't know you were up already - I arrived a little early today, so I can be certain of finishing my work before your girlfriend arrives."
He winced despite her cheerful tone. Or because of it. "You know, you don't have to leave before Parvati arrives."
"I know. But I don't want to ruin your day with her." She shook her head. "You know how she is. With me, I mean."
"Well… if you made a little effort to be nicer to her…" He trailed off when he saw how she was narrowing her eyes.
"I've made every effort to be nice to her. Even when she butted in on our Hogsmeade weekend," Hermione snapped. "And don't tell me that she hadn't planned to meet us - Parvati? In a book shop? Hah!"
He pressed his lips together. "That's not exactly being nice."
"She isn't here, is she?" She sniffed. "At least I'm being honest."
Her tone implied that she didn't think that Parvati was honest with him. Hermione was not entirely wrong there, Harry knew. "She isn't nasty about you behind your back."
"Not with you, you mean." Hermione held up her hand before Harry could answer that. "Please, let's not go there. We both know that if she sees me here, there'll be a scene. At the very least, she'll be angry, and that would ruin your day."
He sighed. "I just want my girlfriend and my best friend to get along."
"Oh?" She grinned suddenly. "Did something happen to Ron?"
"My best female friend, then," he corrected himself.
She nodded. "Anyway, I do have to study too - my tutor's not too happy about my part-time job."
"Alright." It wasn't - she could study here, with him even. Like before. But he wouldn't press her.
"Besides," she added, "I'll probably be here every day, so we'll see each other often during the holiday. We can easily spend time together - maybe go out to eat?"
"Of course!" He agreed and was rewarded with a wide smile.
Hermione Granger felt a little guilty as she watched Harry leave. Just a little, though.
Despite her aspersions, Hermione knew that Parvati wasn't actually stupid. The other witch would quickly find out about Hermione's new job. And that she had a room in Harry's home. Probably from Harry himself - her friend couldn't keep secrets. Parvati's reaction wouldn't be pretty, Hermione thought.
But that wasn't her fault. Mr Black had decided to employ her, after all. And had arranged a room for her. If there was anyone Parvati could legitimately blame, it was Harry's godfather. But if she actually were to blame Mr Black, Harry's reaction wouldn't be pretty. And that would be Parvati's own fault.
She sniffed. If Paravati knew that Hermione was 'Miss Merriweather'... She chuckled, imagining the other witch's reaction. If only she could visit Harry in her disguise while Parvati was here… see how the witch liked someone else crashing her date!
Well, Harry and she weren't dating, of course. This was about their friendship. If Parvati couldn't accept that Harry had a best female friend, then she wasn't the right witch for Harry. If only Harry would realise that as well!
Sighing, she focused on her work once more. She hadn't been lying when she had told Harry that she had to study today - Mr Fletcher was a demanding tutor, if much friendlier than Snape. And Hermione wanted to get as far as possible with cataloguing the Black family library before noon.
After all, she would need to know what books were available before she could use the library for her own studies.
"Hi, Parvati!" Harry Potter smiled as he helped his girlfriend up - Parvati was as prone to stumbling while travelling through the Floo network as he was. An endearing trait, in his opinion.
"Hi, Harry!"
His smile grew when she hugged him. He could feel her chest press into his, could smell her hair, feel the warmth of her breath on his neck… he loved her! Alas, all too soon, after a peck on his cheek, she pulled away. "Are those new robes?" he asked.
She nodded. "I persuaded Mum to buy them." She turned around, showing off her clothes. "They're spelled so they can be worn no matter the weather, too!"
"Must have been expensive," he said. His school robes didn't have such features.
"Mum did it. We'll be learning that in seventh year. Together with advanced housekeeping spells."
He'd have to ask Sirius then. "Let's go to my room. We can pass by the kitchen and get Kreacher to bring us drinks."
"Kreacher?"
"Our house-elf. He grumbles and curses a lot, but he's very old."
"Oh, a house-elf? Of course, the Blacks would have one."
He shrugged. He wasn't used to having a servant to call on himself. "He's been working for the family all his life. Air-tight contract, too." Which was probably why Sirius hadn't fired the elf yet. The Blacks hadn't been fond of servants leaving and spilling their secrets. After Harry's godfather had told him how his ancestors had dealt with servants they didn't trust any more, Harry hadn't wanted to visit the basement for a while. It wasn't a topic he wanted to talk about.
But before he could lead Parvati to his room - she was already on his arm - the fireplace flared up, and what looked like a tangled mess of limbs rolled out of it. Parvati gasped, but Harry had already drawn his wand - no one but a few select friends of the family could enter through the fireplace uninvited; Harry had had to let Parvati in.
"Ugh… Oh! Hi! You must be Harry!" the visitor - a witch, Harry noticed - said while she stood up. "I'm Tonks. Sirius's cousin." He blinked at her, and she frowned. "Hasn't he told you about me?"
"No, he hasn't," Harry answered, keeping his wand trained on her. "Kreacher! Tell Sirius that we have a visitor!" he said.
"So… are you going to keep your wand pointed at me until Sirius arrives?" Tonks said.
"Yes." Of course he was.
"Lupin must have been trained by Moody," he heard her mutter. "I'm an Auror, you know. You can trust me."
He didn't roll his eyes at that remark. He simply kept staring at her.
"You and Moody will get along just fine," she said.
Sirius arrived before Harry could ask about this 'Moody'. "Ah, there you are, Tonks!" It was her, then.
"You didn't tell your godson that you're expecting me! And you didn't tell me that he's paranoid!"
Harry's godfather shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind. I would blame my secretary, if I weren't certain that I didn't tell her to tell him either."
"You have a house-elf and a secretary?" Parvati sounded very impressed.
"Part-time. I hired Harry's friend, Hermione. Or Miss Granger, as she insists while we're working."
"What?" Harry felt Parvati's grip on his arm tighten again.
This wasn't how he had wanted to tell her about Hermione's new job.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 15th, 1995
"Come in, Miss Granger," Mr Black said, with what Hermione Granger had come to realise was his usual grin.
"Good afternoon, Mr Black," she said, entering the house. No one else was in the entrance hall, but that didn't have to mean anything given the size of the house.
"Harry's not here. His girlfriend dragged him off to Diagon Alley for what I suspect will be a lengthy shopping trip followed by dinner." Mr Black must have noticed her glancing around, and she pressed her lips together in frustration. She had to get better at casing joints. Although she also took note that Harry's godfather talked of Parvati as 'Harry's girlfriend'. And the way he slightly curled his upper lip when he spoke. "She really didn't like that you're working for me."
"I know. Harry told me," Hermione answered in a neutral tone.
He nodded. "It was a memorable spat. She reminds me of my aunt - smiling, but you can smell the vitriol behind her facade. So unlike my mother, who didn't really try to be polite when she was enraged. Poor Tonks was caught in the middle, so to speak. She and Remus are keeping an eye on them right now, so you don't have to worry."
"Good. The Dark Lord might try to use such an opportunity."
"Indeed." His grin insinuated other dangers they were to guard Harry against. He had been doing that a lot this week.
Hermione didn't take the bait. "Which means no one will disturb us."
"How forward of you, Miss Granger! That must be your American origins." He even acted as if he was shocked.
"You know what I mean." She didn't roll her eyes at her employer. She wanted to, though - he wasn't as witty as he thought he was.
"I do. But do you?"
"Yes. We have a deal, after all."
"We do indeed." He grew serious. "Pacta sunt servanda."
Deals had to be kept. She nodded in agreement with the warning.
"Let's head to my study. No one would ever think to find me there," he added with a grin.
The study was a marked contrast to the rest of the house. It was dark, from the wooden panels on the walls to the thick carpet covering most of the stone floor and the old furniture, everything was either black or dark grey. "The interior designer must have taken the family name as a theme," Sirius remarked as he sat down in one of the armchairs in the room.
Hermione Granger sat down in the one opposite his. "I should catalogue those as well," she said, nodding towards the shelves full of books that covered the back wall.
"You'd need to be a Black to pick those up without getting cursed." He snorted. "Marrying into the family counts, if you want to propose."
This time she rolled her eyes. "Curses can be broken."
"Ouch! That hurt almost as much as Lily's hex when I asked her out while drunk!" He was grinning, though.
She chuckled at that.
"Anyway. You're here to find out how to escape Azkaban."
"Yes." Finally. She leaned forward a little.
"What do you know about animagi?"
Her eyes widened. Mr Black was an animagus? They were very rare. Then she caught herself. "An animagus is a wizard or witch able to turn into an animal while keeping their mental faculties." Which was how it differed from normal Transfigurations. "They are limited to one form, and can mimic any of the animal's abilities - although no animagus has yet been known to take the form of a magical animal, so it's unknown whether this extends to magical abilities. All British animagi have to be registered with the Ministry. Failing to do so is punishable by law."
He smiled. "I see McGonagall still introduces herself using her animal form."
She nodded - seeing her teacher turn into a cat and back was what had prompted her to read up on animagi, back in her first year. "I take it Azkaban's cells aren't warded against animagi, then."
"They're not warded against animals. By design, or so I think - when the prison was established a few hundred years ago, no one wanted to protect the prisoners from rats and bugs."
"It would have to be a rather small animal to escape the prison. Probably a bird," she said. They could easily fly away and reach land.
"Or a skilled wizard who knows how to make his way off an island." He sounded a little sharper there. Had that hurt his pride? She took note of that as well. "But I think you know how to break out of a building - it is, after all, almost the same as breaking into a building, just in reverse."
It wasn't quite that simple, and she hadn't finished her training yet, but she nodded anyway. "But I don't know how to become an animagus." The material she had found at Hogwarts had been noticeably bereft of that information.
"That's not a surprise - Britain, and Europe, has a rather dim view of the art." Mr Black grinned. "Most think it goes back to the Intervention in Africa. The native wizards were often animagi, and used their powers when fighting the ICW's forces. And of course there's the American shamans, who also are noted for the animagi among their ranks - and for fighting European wizards in defence of their lands. That's why they have to register in Britain."
"That's not the whole truth, though?"
"No, it's not." He leaned back. "Becoming an animagus changes you. Animals are not people. They are ruled by their instincts. An animagus will, on some level, always feel the urge to act as their animal form - or rather, as they think the animal would react."
"A psychological effect then?" She could handle that.
He frowned. "Probably. Lily said the same. But don't underestimate the effect."
She made a noncommittal noise of agreement.
He stared at her, then sighed. "Anyway, there are two basic methods to become an animagus. The Inner Path, and the Outer Path. Or the Spirit Animal Path and the Skinwalker Path. The Inner Path focuses on discovering your 'Spirit Animal' - the animal that embodies your soul, as some wizards see it. Through meditation and various other methods, you strengthen that part of your soul until it grows so strong that it can change your form to match it." He grinned. "It involves a lot of giving in to urges, and acting impulsively. The things we got up to..." He sighed. "By the time you have become an animagus, you'll have changed in other ways as well."
"Professor McGonagall doesn't act like a cat," Hermione pointed out. "Quite the contrary, actually." The stern witch was one of the least playful people Hermione knew.
"Oh, she doesn't act like a cat - but I bet you Galleons to Knuts that she wants to. I would even say that she overcompensates for her animal urges, which is why she's such a…" He shrugged. "You know."
"Ah." That was a danger to avoid as well, she thought.
"But the important thing is that you can't choose your Spirit Animal - it represents who you are, not who you want to be." He sighed again. "We should should have realised something was wrong with Wormtail, when he was revealed to be a rat. We were so stupid…" He trailed off, and his eyes seemed to lose their focus.
She didn't want to sit there while he got lost in his memories - even though they apparently were slowly coming back. She cleared her throat. "You mentioned a second method."
"Yes, I did. I don't know that much about it, though. As you may have noted, I chose the other method."
"But you studied it before you made a choice." It was what she would have done.
"Yes." He took a deep breath. "As you may suspect, not every wizard is happy with the form the Inner Path reveals. If you want to defend your tribe against invaders, turning into a doe doesn't really help. So, some American shamans developed the Skinwalker method. You're not discovering your inner animal there - you're forcing yourself to turn into an animal by changing into its skin. Literally, or so I surmise."
"That sounds like a rather… practical method," she said. Why bother with your, or gamble on having a useful, spirit animal, if you could pick the form you wanted? Be the animal you wanted to be. People changed, after all.
"Well, the mental effects are even stronger, since there's more of a gap to bridge, so to speak. And since this method is usually chosen by wizards who want to fight…"
"I see." That could be troublesome.
"It's why Skinwalkers are so easily mistaken for werewolves. They often act the same when in animal form. Some also claim that this method is part of the Dark Arts, since it involves catching and sacrificing the animal you want to turn into - by skinning it, or so I read."
She nodded. Those were considerable drawbacks. She was confident that she could handle the mental effects as well as McGonagall did, but if the effect was akin to a werewolf's rage...
"There's one advantage, though - you can become a skinwalker at any age, while the Spirit Animal Path requires a younger, more flexible mind. Hence why shamans are considered adults after their spirit quest."
"Ah." So, there was a time limit, if she wanted to use the safer method.
"But in either case, you'll find that some other magic disciplines will be much harder to master - such as Occlumency or Legilimency. An animagus's mind is not well-suited for disciplines that require an exact and ordered mind."
She hadn't expected that. Mr Fletcher had told her about Occlumency and Legilimency, and both sounded very useful. She bit her lower lip. Was she willing to sacrifice such potentially useful skills?
"On the other hand, that very same quality makes an animagus's mind hard to read. Legilimency doesn't deal well with unstructured minds. That's why no one sane tries to read an animal's mind. And Dementors ignore you in your animal form."
"Ah." That changed things, of course. She slowly nodded. "I will have to give this some thought." Smiling widely, she added: "I don't suppose you have any reading material?"
He laughed as he nodded.
London, Diagon Alley, April 15th, 1995
"Oh, look! They've got the new summer robes!"
Harry Potter didn't mind shopping with his girlfriend, nor did he mind her enthusiasm when she spotted something of interest - even if his arm had started to hurt a bit, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone after Ron's joke. He actually liked Parvati's passion.
He could do without the crowds, though. He wanted to be with his girlfriend, not the whole Alley. That he knew that Remus and Tonks were acting as his bodyguards didn't help either. Remus was hidden by Harry's own cloak, and Tonks could be anyone in the crowd. It wouldn't be as bad if he wasn't famous, though.
"What do you think?" Parvati was beaming at him while holding a pair of robes. He had missed her question, he realised. But she must have asked which one looked better on her.
"The red one looks better."
Since she blinked before frowning, she probably had asked him something else. Or she disagreed with his choice. He checked the time on his watch. Three in the afternoon. "How about some ice-cream?" Ice-cream was almost as good as chocolate to make up for whatever you had done wrong, Sirius had taught him.
And his godfather had been correct, Harry knew, as Parvati's eyes seemed to light up and she smiled again. "I'd love to. Fortescue's is great!"
It was also very popular, which meant there'd be a crowd. "Have you tried muggle ice-cream? There's this new brand, from the US. They have very original types of ice-cream." He had seen an ad in the newspaper.
And her smile vanished. She wasn't very adventurous. "I love Fortescue's recipes. Let's go there!"
"Alright." He could tolerate the crowds there.
Ten minutes later, they were seated outside of the parlour and eating a large bowl of Fortescue's latest creation - Parvati's choice, of course. "Isn't this much better than any muggle ice-cream?" his girlfriend asked.
He nodded, slightly distracted when he saw her lick a speck of whipped cream from her lips. "Have you tried muggle ice-cream?"
"Yes. It was rather bland. Watery. Like frozen syrup." She sniffed. "It can't compare to this." She took another spoonful, closing her eyes and sighing in apparent bliss as she swallowed it.
He swallowed dryly at the sight, then pouted when he caught her smirking at his reaction. "Such a tease," he whispered.
She hummed, then leaned forward and responded in a whisper: "You like me like that."
He nodded - she was correct.
Parvati grinned. "Maybe we should head back to your home?" She glanced around. "It would be more private."
"Ah…" Harry forced himself to smile. "We might want to wait a bit longer - Sirius has an important meeting today."
She looked puzzled. "But if he's busy we'll have more privacy. He wouldn't want to drag you into the meeting, would he?"
He didn't want to lie to her and so he hesitated in answering. "Well…"
And she was frowning at him. "It's her, isn't it? He's meeting Hermione, and you're afraid that there'll be a scene."
She made his friend's name sound like a curse, Harry noticed. "It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that! Whenever we meet she acts all jealous, as if she has a monopoly on you. She needs to accept that I'm your girlfriend!"
"She has accepted that," he retorted. "She simply wants you to accept that she's my best friend. My best female friend."
"And what about me?" She glared at him.
"You're my girlfriend," he answered. Honesty was the best policy unless you had something to hide, according to Sirius.
Apparently, Parvati didn't share that opinion, since she huffed, shot him another glare and stabbed her spoon into the bowl with enough force to cause an entire scoop to fall out of it.
He sighed. "I don't know what your problem is with her…"
"My problem with her," she interrupted him in that clipped tone she used when she was angry, "is that she is trying to steal my boyfriend, and my boyfriend is too dim to realise it!"
"Hey!" He wasn't dim! "She doesn't flirt with me!" He shook his head emphatically. "Trust me! I've seen her every day this week, she helped me with my homework, she ate dinner with us almost every evening, we've spent hours together - if she were trying to seduce me, then I would have noticed."
She looked even more angry. "You've spent hours together? Every day?"
"Well, I won't see her much any more once we're back at Hogwarts," he defended himself.
"I see. I'm good enough to spend time with when you can't be with her?"
"It's not like that!" he protested. This was going wrong. She made it sound as if he was cheating on her by spending time with Hermione. "I just want to spend time with my friend when I can."
"And when you can't, you're coming to see me." Her lips trembled. "Would you have gone out with me today, if she weren't meeting your godfather?"
Would he? Harry wasn't entirely certain. But before he could answer, she shook her head.
"You can't have both of us, Harry! That won't work. I'm not going to share you!"
"But it's not like that!"
She wasn't really listening, though.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 17th, 1995
Boy-Who-Cheats? Harry Potter Between Two Witches
"What? Gimme that!" Harry Potter ripped the Daily Prophet out of his godfather's hands as soon as he had spotted the headline.
"Hey!" Sirius protested. "You spilled the tea, too!"
Harry ignored him and focused on skimming the article. It was another sordid oeuvre by Rita Skeeter, and managed to both cast doubts on Harry's fidelity and character and portray Hermione as a homewrecking gold-digger.
"I'll kill her for this!" he spat.
"Who?" Sirius asked.
"Skeeter!" Harry clenched his teeth. "Who else? That muckraker has gone too far!"
"Ah." Sirius sighed. "Alas, honour duels have been outlawed in Wizarding Britain since 1812, when a duel between Aloysius Nott and Lisa Parkinson caused a fire that almost destroyed Diagon Alley."
"What? How could a fire do that?"
"It was Fiendfyre, of course," Sirius explained. "Which was outlawed after that incident as well. Anyway, if you kill Skeeter, it'll be a crime."
"I didn't mean it literally," Harry said. "But this… this…" He threw the newspaper down on the table.
"What's wrong?" Remus asked, entering the kitchen. He looked tired and weary from his transformation the night before, but then, he had looked like that Saturday too, and still had gone out to protect Harry during his disastrous date with Parvati.
"Skeeter's calling me a cheater and Hermione a…" he trailed off, not wanting to call her names. "...gold-digger." Harry shook his head. "She's making out Hermione to be this seductive beauty who ensnared me with her wiles. As if anyone who knows her could believe that!" Hermione was about as far from a femme fatale as you could be.
"Well, most don't know her," Remus said, taking a seat and grabbing the Prophet.
"And those who think they know her might be mistaken," Sirius added with a grin.
"Exactly!" Harry nodded at his godfather. "They don't know her just because they saw her at Hogwarts years ago!"
"But how did she know about your row with Parvati?" Remus had read the article and was now looking at him, Harry realised. "Didn't you cast privacy spells?"
"We taught them to you for that reason, you know. Well, also so you could talk dirty with your girlfriend privately in public. Or something like that," Sirius added.
"I did!" Harry remembered it clearly. "Either someone defeated the spells, or…" He stopped when he came to an uncomfortable conclusion.
"...or your girlfriend told the wrong people," Sirius finished for him.
Harry winced. Parvati was a gossip - but would she spread the news of their row? Although the article did make her out to be the blameless victim. The poor honest witch undermined by male infidelity and muggleborn treachery. "If she told Skeeter about us, then we're through!" he declared.
London, Merton, April 20th, 1995
Lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling of her room, Hermione Granger sighed. Almost a week had passed since Mr Black had told her about animagi, and she still hadn't been able to make a decision. Well, she had decided to become an animagus - the benefits outweighed the drawbacks. Especially for a budding thief. To be able to sneak around as an animal was worth the loss of Legilimency. Which was, according to what she had researched, far less reliable than its reputation anyway - it didn't allow actual mind reading; at most it allowed one to discern surface thoughts and emotions. And she was confident that she could defeat Legilimency attempts without Occlumency. Her mental discipline was strong, after all.
She didn't fear the mental side effects Mr Black had told her about either. If she could act rationally during puberty, with her hormones were running wild, then she could certainly handle some subconscious urges.
No, what she hadn't been able to decide was which method she wanted to use. The Spirit Animal Path or the Skinwalker Path.
The Spirit Animal Path was, at first sight, the obvious choice. Not only were the mental effects lesser, but Mr Black had used it himself, and would be able to provide instructions and support for her. She wouldn't have to use questionable magic either - it required no sacrifice. She had read up on the rituals various cultures used for the Skinwalker Path in the various books Mr Black had loaned her, and they had all made her feel rather queasy.
But the Spirit Animal Path had one disadvantage: She couldn't choose her animal form. Her research, as well as Mr Black's personal experience, agreed on that. And as pathetic as it was, she wasn't certain she would like whatever animal was supposed to represent her soul. A corporeal Patronus was supposed to show one's 'inner animal', which was probably the spirit animal in question, but it was one of the most difficult spells to master according to what she had read. By the time she had managed that feat, she might be too old for the Spirit Animal Path anyway.
She wanted to be a cat, like McGonagall - graceful, elegant, and agile. Or maybe a bird - to be able to fly, to soar above the land... A dog would be acceptable, she thought. Loyal and brave. Even a badger - tough and grumpy, but agile as well.
But what if she was something useless? Like a deer? Or a mule? She didn't think she was a mule, even if she was a little stubborn, but… it wasn't as if she was well-acquainted with her soul or subconscious. She didn't know much about psychology…
Hermione closed her eyes. If only she could influence… Her eyes shot open. She could! That was what psychology was about - among other things. She jumped off her bed and raced downstairs.
She had books to buy!
Hogwarts, June 1st, 1995
"What are you thinking about?"
Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter looked up from the Daily Prophet article - the latest on the 'Dumbledore scandal' - at which he had been scowling when he heard his girlfriend's question. Had Parvati already finished her essay? She had asked him to read it to check for mistakes. A glance told him that she hadn't. She was looking at him with a rather intense expression, though.
"I'm wondering why Skeeter hasn't been fired yet," he said. As Sirius had taught him, honesty was the best policy if you hadn't done anything wrong.
She tensed - after talking to her he now believed that she hadn't talked to the insufferable witch, but it still was a sore subject - she hadn't reacted well to him suspecting her. And he hadn't taken well to her reaction. "She's just reporting what others said."
"Have you read the article?" he asked, a little sharper than he had wanted.
She shrugged. "Yes."
"It's full of veiled accusations and rampant speculation about what crimes Dumbledore might have committed," Harry spat. "Malfoy probably paid Skeeter for it, just like he paid her to ruin Sirius's and Hermione's reputations!" As soon as he said the words he regretted them - Parvati glared at him, and he winced when he saw how thin her lips now were.
"It's always about Hermione, isn't it? Dumbledore, Sirius, no matter what, it's always about her!"
"No, it's not! But she is a part of this. This whole thing started with Malfoy framing her." That was the truth!
"No, you just think it's about her! Malfoy didn't like Dumbledore long before Hermione had even heard of Hogwarts, and the Bagnold letters were written twenty years ago!" Parvati was almost snarling. "Don't you care about anyone or anything else?"
"Of course, but she's my best friend. Best female friend," he added. "Obviously she's important to me."
"And I'm your girlfriend!"
"They didn't mention you in the article," he pointed out, logically.
"So? Don't you care for me? Am I not important to you? Don't you love me?" She stood up, her hands on her hips.
He noticed everyone in the room was staring at them. "I do. But that doesn't mean I'll neglect my friends."
"But you're neglecting me!"
"I'm not!" He was sitting with her while she did her homework, after all!
"You are!" Her chest was heaving. Then she huffed and raised her chin - he noticed that he had stood up as well during their argument. "I told you before: I'm not sharing you! Choose! Either her... or me!"
He gaped at her. How could she ask, no, demand that of him? He looked at her, noticed her expression, the way her eyes had narrowed, the way her mouth was set. She was serious, he realised. Well, so was he. He stared straight into her eyes.
"If that's what you want," Harry said in a flat voice, ignoring how her eyes widened in surprise, "then I choose her."
Hogwarts, June 21st, 1995
"Why's the third task on a Wednesday?" Harry Potter asked as he sat down in the stands of the arena. "The first two tasks were on Sundays."
"It's the Summer Solstice," Sirius explained. "An auspicious date to hold a magical event. And most shops have closed anyway, so it's as good as a Sunday."
The crowd certainly didn't look any smaller than before, Harry thought.
"Well, if it was a real Sunday we wouldn't have had lessons in the morning," Ron said. "So, it's certainly not as good as a Sunday." He must have caught a glance from Hermione since he quickly added: "It's better, of course, since we have lessons!"
After a second of silence, Hermione started to giggle and Ron laughed. Harry joined in a moment later. It wasn't that funny, but he didn't want his ex-girlfriend to think he was miserable without her.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked in a low voice, interrupting his thoughts.
"Yes," he answered, trying to sound convincing. "Why wouldn't I be alright?"
"You've steadfastly avoided looking to your left," she said.
That was where Parvati and her friends were sitting. Busted. He sighed. "It's her fault, anyway." She had told him to choose between Hermione and her. As Sirius had taught him: Teenage girlfriends didn't last. Friendships did. Like Hermione's.
She smiled. "I know. But it still hurts to see her, right?"
"Yes." But he was getting better.
Her hand moved a few inches, probably to touch him, but then stopped, and he saw her frown. He knew what she was thinking - if she touched him, Skeeter would have another article out tomorrow.
She narrowed her eyes, huffed and squeezed his arm. "She'll write her lies anyway."
"Right."
"But you'll get over her. It's not as if she's the only pretty girl at Hogwarts."
He returned her warm smile. "You're right. There are lots of pretty girls who aren't so…" He sought the right word.
"...insecure, petty and jealous?" Hermione asked with a sweet smile.
He chuckled. "I guess. And witches who don't believe everything that the Prophet publishes. Or Teen Witch Weekly."
"Oh, I'm not certain of that. How many pretty witches are smart enough to make up their own minds?" Hermione asked.
"Well… Susan Bones is very pretty, and as the niece of the Head of the DMLE, she should know how many lies the Prophet publishes," Harry pointed out. Amelia Bones certainly had her fair share of bad press. "And Padma is as pretty as Parvati, but as a Ravenclaw she is smart." He saw that she was frowning, and hastened to add: "I've talked to her; she blames her sister, not me, for the breakup."
"Ah." Hermione still looked less than happy. But before Harry could reassure her that he wasn't about to make a stupid mistake, the third task started.
And watching the three champions do everything they could think of to snatch the cup from the centre, except for attacking each other, was far too exciting and entertaining to worry about girl troubles. Even with Bagman's commentary.
"And Diggory summons a pack of wolves - within the rules, as long as they're not ordered to attack Krum. But they're obviously blocking Krum's approach. Krum's trying to go around them, but Delacour's been busy conjuring a veritable maze on his flank, so that way's blocked! And Delacour's making a grab using her wings… Oh! Looks like Diggory or Krum had been sneaky - invisible walls and high-speed flying don't go well together. Delacour looks a bit like my old Seeker after he fell for a Wronski Feint.
"And Diggory is blasting his way to the centre. Two walls left… one… and the last one exploded in his face. What a clever trap! Krum's conjured a metal cage too, directly over Diggory. Since the back is open, it's not an attack - technically. But it means Krum has passed Diggory, and the walls around the centre are down. He reaches for the cup, and… oh, the cup drops to the ground before he can grab it - and slides towards Delacour inside a tube made out of ice. That's one well-timed transfiguration! She holds out her hand and grabs the cup. Delacour… no, there's no fanfare! That's not the cup, that's a copy! Where is the real cup? Diggory has it! Diggory switched the cup right before Delacour snatched it! Diggory wins! Hogwarts wins!"
"Hogwarts wins!"
"Hufflepuff wins!"
"Play it again!"
"Please don't!" Harry Potter heard Ron mutter under his breath as the Hufflepuff table once more gathered around the recorder. "That's what, the fifth time they're listening to it? It's as if they hadn't watched it just a few hours ago!"
Harry shrugged. "Well, it's not as if Hufflepuff's won anything in years. They'll want to celebrate this as much as possible." He filled his plate with a third helping - the Victory Feast was as excellent as he had come to expect from the Hogwarts kitchen staff.
Ron scoffed. "It's also rather rude towards our guests."
"I'm certain that they would have done the same," Ginny cut in. "Especially Delacour." The witch sniffed and sent a glare at the Ravenclaw table.
Harry didn't want to discuss the French champion's possible faults, so he shrugged. "I wouldn't knoOW!"
His head erupted in pain and it was all he could do not to scream. Something ran down his face - blood, he realised when he saw the drops on the table. His scar was bleeding. He reached up to touch it, then everything went black.
Near Barnstaple, Devon, Britain, March 21st, 1995
Tonks - just Tonks, no first name, thank you very much - was very glad she was a metamorphmagus. It meant she wasn't pale or even green in the face as she stared at the most horrible sight she had ever seen. It looked like someone had painted the entire room with blood. It smelled like it as well. And the body parts strewn across on the floor…
A rough voice distracted her before she could shudder and ruin the tough image she had, so far, managed to present to the other Aurors at the scene. "Are you reconsidering your decision to become an Auror, rookie?"
Frowning she turned around and glared at her former instructor. "No, Auror Moody, I'm not," she said, trying to sound like her mum when she was lecturing someone.
He laughed at her attitude, as she had known he would. "That's the spirit, lass! Two Hit-Wizards lost their breakfasts just outside. Damn rookies couldn't even manage to vanish the vomit in time."
"What are they doing at a crime scene anyway?" she said. Everyone, even rookies like herself, knew that Hit-Wizards were good for one thing only, and that was guarding Azkaban. Anything that required more finesse than pointing a wand at someone and cursing them was beyond the grey robes.
"Fudge's spooked, apparently, and had a squad of them detached to the Corps, to 'bolster our ranks'." He walked past her, his artificial eye spinning madly as usual. "So… what do you make of this?" He asked after half a minute.
She took a deep breath - through her mouth - before answering. "Someone massacred the Outterridge family." Father, mother, and seven-year-old daughter. They had found the heads mostly intact.
"Tell me something that's not so obvious even a Hit-Wizard would spot it!" he interrupted her with a bark.
She swallowed her angry retort and continued: "The murderer used dark curses, probably to keep them alive while they were cut apart. Since this was done on the day of the Spring Equinox, this might have been a dark ritual. The blood wasn't splashed around in a recognisable pattern, though, which might indicate that this was an attempt to make an ordinary murder look like a dark ritual."
"Or it was a crazed killer revelling in literal bloodlust."
She looked at the old Auror and narrowed her eyes. His scarred face had the same expression as when he tested her in training. "Such crimes usually have a build-up."
"Could be a foreigner. Or someone who managed to control himself, until he broke."
He was baiting her. She shook her head. "You don't believe that."
"You're right, I don't." He scoffed. "This is a set up. But this is not someone trying to mask an ordinary murder as a dark ritual." He knelt down, moving easily despite his artificial leg. "This is the work of someone trying to cover up a dark ritual."
"What?" She blinked.
"Someone's been too clever here - the murderer knows how the Corps investigates, and has prepared accordingly. I bet we'll find 'evidence' that Outterridge was involved in some shady dealings, or borrowed gold from the wrong people. Maybe even find a 'dark wizard' killed by a failed ritual."
Tonks slowly nodded. She was too smart to tell Moody that this sounded too paranoid even for him. It looked like the other veteran Aurors had been correct - her old instructor was losing it. That was probably why they had pulled him from the academy last year.
He chuckled. "You don't believe me."
She cursed internally. He might be losing it, but he was still too damn sharp. "It does sound a little far-fetched."
"You would think that, wouldn't you?" He snorted, and tapped his scarred cheek right under his enchanted eye. "But you won't have spotted that the blood we see here is not from the Outterridges."
"What?" She looked around the room again. "They tested the blood. It matches the family's blood type."
"It certainly matches their blood type. But there's also some faint residue from a stasis spell." He smiled, which twisted his face into a grimace. "And why would anyone try to preserve blood, right before they splash it around, if not to hide the fact that the blood wasn't taken from the victims at the exact time of the Spring Equinox?"
"That's not proof."
"You're right it ain't. But I'll get a colleague of mine analyse the blood and flesh we have here. And I'll bet you Galleons to Knuts that he'll tell me they don't match." He shook his head. "This is one clever bastard here. But we'll get him."
So, the murderer wanted blood. And wanted to hide that he needed blood. And it was done on Spring Equinox. Just like Bagnold's murder last year. By someone very clever.
She had to ask her mother about the family spells - and about her cousin.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 26th, 1995
Tonks had to suppress a shudder when she approached the ancestral home of the Black Family. Which would have been her family, too, if not for her mother's decision to marry her father. She had never been inside the house, but she had heard stories from her mum. The kind of stories that veterans told rookies to haze them. But Mum had been serious.
But so was Tonks - she was an Auror, and she wouldn't be frightened away by either a cursed house, or a possibly murderous cousin who went crazy in Azkaban. She would get to the bottom of this!
Steeling herself, she tapped the door with her wand. Half a minute later, it was opened, and she found herself staring at an old house-elf.
"What's the half-blood who shouldn't be darkening the family's doorstep doing here?"
Oh, yes - she had heard stories about the elf too. Fortunately, house-elves were harmless, barely more dangerous than unarmed muggles. "I'm expected by the Head of the Family," Tonks answered.
"Stupid Master is tarnishing the family name," the elf grumbled, but he stepped aside so she could enter.
The entrance hall didn't look like the stories she had heard. It must have been freshly painted, she thought. That didn't have to mean anything, of course.
"Ah, Nymphadora! Welcome to my humble home!" And there he was. Sirius Black. The Head of the Family by virtue of being the last Black. The only wizard to have ever escaped Azkaban. And the suspect in a number of murders.
"It's Tonks," she said through clenched teeth. "Just Tonks." Her mum must have been hit by a Confundus Charm when she had named her, she thought.
"Ah." His smile grew more polite, and he bowed. "Shall we retire to the sitting room?"
"Thank you."
A minute later, both were seated in a surprisingly cozy-looking room. Even more surprisingly, there were a number of muggle newspapers and magazines next to the Prophet and… Teen Witch Weekly?
He must have noticed her look, since he laughed. "Ah, my secretary has a subscription."
"You have a secretary?" Who was reading Teen Witch Weekly?
"Yes. I found myself somewhat challenged by all the paperwork and forms required to handle the family businesses, and so I hired a bright young witch to help me out."
"Ah." That explained it.
"Nothing of that sort," Black said, frowning. "She's far too young for my taste. Very bright, though."
"Ah." She wasn't certain if he was telling the truth, but it sounded suspicious either way. "What's her name? I might have known her at Hogwarts."
"Hermione Granger. I trust you're aware of her circumstances."
She knew of that witch, but not from her time at Hogwarts. "Yes. Are you already making her work off the gold you paid for her debts?"
"I'm offering her the chance to put her talents to good use. I would certainly not hold my good deed over her head." He was all hurt innocence. "And once you meet her, you'll know that really, nothing of the sort you might suspect is happening. I'm only interested in her intelligence."
Her mum had told her about that, too. And she had seen the pictures. "She's not pretty enough for you."
"That's a harsh thing to say about a young witch. Not everyone can change their looks at will."
Tonks shrugged. It wasn't her fault that she was a metamorphmagus, and after seven years surrounded by jealous witches at Hogwarts, her cousin's disapproval didn't even register. "Everyone can be pretty with some effort," she said, the platitude rolling easily off her tongue.
"Maybe." He shrugged as well. "You mentioned that you wanted to talk to me about a family affair?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "You've heard about the Equinox Massacre."
"Yes." He sighed. "Your colleagues already questioned me. Dawlish is such a bore."
He was correct, but Tonks wouldn't speak poorly of a fellow Auror with an outsider.
"I have an alibi, though."
"Yes. You spent the entire night at Hogwarts. As if you knew that something might happen." Which was very suspicious.
"I suspected something like this would happen, given last year's events." He smiled at her.
"Are you also aware that Black family spells were used in the crime?"
"I wasn't told that." He rubbed his beard. "But it doesn't surprise me, either. I have expected that as well."
"Auntie Narcissa has an alibi as well," she retorted. "As does her husband."
"Narcissa is more likely to curse herself than her victim, should she use such spells. She was never the most talented of witches." He scoffed in dismissal.
"Who do you suspect then?" She glared at him.
"Well… I think that's a matter best discussed with someone else."
She tensed up. Was he working with someone? Had he taught the spells to someone else? Maybe his friend Lupin? Were those sordid rumours about them true, too? Was he trying to lure her into a trap? "Mum knows I'm here," she said.
He laughed at that. "You're the second paranoid witch I've met this month." He shook his head. "No, we're going to see Dumbledore. And he'll tell you who has been murdering people and trying to frame me."
Once again, Tonks was glad that she was a metamorphmagus. It made it a bit easier to hide her reaction.
*****
London, Greenwich, March 28th, 1995
"That was a failure. Do it again!" With an almost negligent wave of his wand, the room was once again filled with stains of all sorts.
Her tutor wasn't happy with her, Hermione Granger had realised. Mr Fletcher had been a tad curt with her today, and didn't seem to be as patient as he usually was. But he was still a far cry from Snape. And her cleaning charm had been rather sloppy, if she was honest with herself. That spell wouldn't have cleaned up every trace of her presence in an entire room.
She took a deep breath, bit her lower lip so she wouldn't even whisper the incantation and focused on her goal again. Then she swished her wand back and forth and flicked it twice, before pointing it at the ground with a stabbing motion.
The stains closest to her seemed to jump up from the carpet, dust and fluids gathering in the air. The stains on the furniture and walls were slower, but they too flew up and towards the growing ball of dirt that was floating near the tip of her wand.
She held her concentration, almost biting her lip bloody, until no more dirt and specks joined the ball in the air, then lifted her wand and stabbed towards the dirt.
"Evanesco!"
The dirt and fluids vanished before they hit ground. Hermione let out a relieved breath.
"Better," came her tutor's grudging acknowledgement. "But the Vanishing Charm wasn't cast silently."
The task had been to cast the cleaning charm silently. But mentioning that would make her seem petty - and she needed to be able to cast both silently if she wanted to use them on a heist, Hermione knew. So she nodded in agreement while he once more filled the room with stains of all sorts, and readied herself for the next attempt.
*****
"Are you angry with me?" she asked an hour and countless spells later, when both her tutor and herself were sitting in the - now thoroughly cleaned - kitchen, waiting for the water to boil - Mr Fletcher refused to use charms for making tea, claiming that the results were inferior to doing it by hand. Hermione hadn't been able to taste the difference, but knew better than to say so.
She saw him press his lips together for a moment before answering. He was angry. "No. Not at you."
"At my decision to accept Mr Black's offer, then?" she said, sounding steadier than she felt.
"No. You couldn't have refused him. The bastard knows you owe him. And still he let you know that he had recognised you." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Effin' Bludger gave ya no choice."
Hermione was aware of that. She knew that she wasn't in a position to refuse Mr Black much. Not any reasonable demands, or offers, at least - she doubted that Harry would be very supportive if Hermione complained about his godfather being helpful. "I've given this a great deal of thought, but I haven't found the catch. His offer sounds very sensible and helpful, and his motive appears plausible as well."
Her tutor snorted. "You mean, what does he get out of this that made him come on so strongly?" She nodded. "Information, control and deniability."
The water was boiling now and Hermione stood to prepare the tea. She didn't have to ask him how he liked it. "He already had control." A fortune in Galleons, spent on her family, gave Mr Black all the leverage over her that he could ever need. Hermione paid her debts, for good or ill.
"Not enough. By involving himself in our business, by helping you as he's offered, he ensures that he knows a lot about our plans. Not just broad strokes, but the details. Timing. Preparations. And if he controls your, our access to the Ministry and the Wizengamot, then he has a great deal more direct influence than someone who simply pays our bills."
"He would always have controlled access to information and locations we wouldn't have without him," Hermione pointed out. That wasn't exactly the same as restricting their access.
Mr Fletcher sighed. "Yes, that's true. His offer is sensible and helpful. Far too helpful to refuse. But it also means that he's just acquired a 'deniable asset', as the muggles would say."
"As his secretary, I'm not exactly 'a deniable asset'," Hermione retorted. "He would have a hard time distancing himself from me." She put his cup down in front of him, briefly wondering if Mr Black expected her to serve tea as well. Probably not, given his reaction to her dad's whisky.
Her tutor chuckled. "He can easily claim you that you seduced him. Not now, of course, but in a few years, when you're ready to go on heists."
She frowned - she wasn't a little girl anymore! She was no Delacour, but she had drawn more than just Harry's attention at the New Year's Ball. He didn't have to act as if her seducing anyone was completely implausible. And she planned to be ready for a real heist much earlier than in a few years.
"Oh, don't worry about that," Mr Fletcher said, and she wondered for a moment if he had caught on to what she had been thinking. Then he continued: "You saw how many witches were interested in him at the New Year's Ball. Rich, handsome, a tragic past, and the head of one of the oldest pureblood families? With Dumbledore vouching for him to counter Malfoy's rumours, Black'll have his pick of witches for years. He won't bother you."
"Good to know." It was good. And she didn't really fear that - a word to Harry would put a stop to such demands, she was certain. But to be dismissed out of hand like that… she was a witch too! And she was growing up!
"You don't sound that happy about it." He was looking at her intently.
"I'm not interested in him," she was quick to explain. "But shouldn't I be able to pose as his escort? In a few years, I mean. That's what we've been training for, after all."
He sighed. "Yes. But you'll also know better than to fall for the likes of Black."
"I'm not falling for him. Or for anyone," she corrected him. "It's all an act." He had told and taught her that himself, after all. Even if he hadn't actually taught her that much yet.
"Even with your friend?" He didn't have to say which friend.
"Yes. It was just a prank." Mostly on Parvati, too. Hermione wouldn't toy with Harry's heart.
Her tutor didn't look entirely convinced, but he dropped the topic as they both enjoyed their tea.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 8th, 1995
Deep down, Harry Potter still didn't consider Grimmauld Place his home. It was just too good to be true - like magic. Sometimes he dreamed that it had all been a mistake, that he had to return to Privet Drive. And he found himself in front of his aunt's house, trunk at his feet. Usually, it was raining too. Just as he had had, although rarely, nightmares in his first year at Hogwarts, where they took his wand and sent him back, with Snape and Malfoy cackling as he was sent out the gate to find his own way home - to Privet Drive. The effect of a dozen years spent with relatives who didn't like him and were afraid of magic didn't disappear overnight.
He was getting better, though. Just as, Harry added to himself when he heard his godfather in the hallway, Sirius was.
"Ah, there you are!" Sirius said, standing in the doorway.
"In my room, yes. Shocking, isn't it?" Harry closed his now empty trunk and slid it to the wall opposite his bed.
Sirius snorted. "Sassy like James. Did I tell you the story of how he once got a week's detention for talking back to McGonagall?"
He had - or tried to. Twice. Harry nodded, though. "Oh, yes. I certainly won't make that mistake myself."
Sirius chuckled. "We were a right bunch of rascals. Called ourselves 'Marauders', even. Drove Lily spare when she was a prefect. She could never catch us, thanks to the map, and James used to tease her so much..." He blinked. "Ah, speaking of witches. You know how I told you that you have the run of the house, with the exception of my own room and Remus's?"
"Yes. And Regulus's." Harry really didn't want to incur the wrath of Kreacher, who had turned the room of Sirius's dead brother into a family shrine.
"Bah! That damn crazy elf needs to let go." Sirius shook his head. "Anyway, the room at the north-eastern corner is now occupied as well, so if you're going to ravish your girlfriend, you can't use that one."
"What?" Harry couldn't claim that he had no intentions of getting more intimate with Parvati - those dreams were far more frequent than his nightmares, after all - but he hadn't actually… "I mean, whose room is it?"
"Hermione's."
He blinked. "Hermione's living here? What happened to her home?"
"Didn't I tell you?" Sirius frowned. "I thought I did. I'm rather certain that I did, actually."
"No, you didn't," Harry said. And why hadn't she told him? It had to have happened after the last Hogsmeade weekend in March. "What happened?"
"I hired her as my secretary."
"You what?" Harry Potter stared at his godfather. He shook his head before Sirius could repeat himself. "Why?"
Sirius shrugged. "Well, I need help dealing with the family businesses. My parents were a little disorganised in their last years."
Since Sirius was among the least-organised men Harry knew - he would have driven Harry's aunt spare in a single day - that probably meant that 'complete and utter chaos' would better describe the state of the family finances. "I mean, why hire her? She's…" He trailed off. Hermione wasn't at school anymore, though she should be. "I mean… she's my age!"
"Well, mostly because she's your best friend. That means I can trust her." Sirius said. He grinned. "You wouldn't want me to accidentally hire a thief, would you?"
"Of course not!" Harry scoffed. "But why is she living here?" And what would her parents think about that? A boarding school was one thing, but living with your employer?
"Oh, she isn't living here. That's her office."
"Ah." That made more sense.
"Disappointed?" Sirius grinned again.
"No." Although… if Hermione did live here, down the hallway from his room, it would be a little like Hogwarts. Hogwarts… he winced.
"What's wrong?" Sirius frowned at him. "I thought you'd be happy to see your best female friend more often."
"I am!" Harry was quick to assure him. "But Parvati won't be happy. She thinks Hermione is jealous of her." Of course, Parvati thought that every unattached witch, and a fair number of those who had boyfriends, was jealous of her - she had said so a few times.
Sirius rubbed his goatee. "Sounds like Parvati is jealous of Hermione."
Harry had occasionally had the same thought. He sighed and sat down on his bed. "Great. I wish they would get along. I'm not going to abandon my best friend for my girlfriend."
His godfather shrugged, then stepped into his room and walked towards him. "Of course not! Your girlfriend probably is just insecure."
"But why?" Harry shook his head. "Parvati is one of the prettiest witches in Hogwarts! And Hermione… well…" Hermione wasn't ugly, but she certainly wasn't as beautiful as Parvati. Or Lavender. Or Cho.
Sirius laughed again. "She's not much of a looker, I'll admit, but I'm certain that with the right spells and robes, she could be stunning."
Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather. Sometimes Sirius's jokes were rather bad.
"I'm serious, Harry." Like now. His godfather sighed. "Your friend isn't trying to look pretty. Your girlfriend, though, is. And she probably knows how much of a difference even a little effort can make."
Harry scoffed. "Even if that were true" - and he doubted it - "then the fact that Hermione doesn't make an effort to be pretty should show Parvati that she has nothing to fear." After all, if Hermione were interested in Harry, or anyone else, she would be trying to look pretty, wouldn't she?
Sirius spread his hands. "Witches aren't rational. Especially not when it concerns love and relationships. Ah, the times I have been unjustly punished by a witch for something that was no fault of my own…"
"Well, Hermione's not working full-time for you, right?" Parvati would accept that.
"No. That would cut into her study time far too much, or so I've been told." Sirius laughed again. Harry laughed as well - that was just what Hermione would say.
He was still smiling even after Sirius had left to check on dinner.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 11th, 1995
Seeing his best female friend working in his godfather's library - their library, Harry Potter corrected himself - still felt weird. Not as weird as seeing magic at Privet Drive, of course. And it was a good sort of weird, too. Generally.
But probably not today, he thought. "Hello, Hermione."
She looked up, and he could see how her slight frown at being interrupted was replaced by a smile once she saw it was him. Just like it had been back at Hogwarts.
"Hi, Harry! I didn't know you were up already - I arrived a little early today, so I can be certain of finishing my work before your girlfriend arrives."
He winced despite her cheerful tone. Or because of it. "You know, you don't have to leave before Parvati arrives."
"I know. But I don't want to ruin your day with her." She shook her head. "You know how she is. With me, I mean."
"Well… if you made a little effort to be nicer to her…" He trailed off when he saw how she was narrowing her eyes.
"I've made every effort to be nice to her. Even when she butted in on our Hogsmeade weekend," Hermione snapped. "And don't tell me that she hadn't planned to meet us - Parvati? In a book shop? Hah!"
He pressed his lips together. "That's not exactly being nice."
"She isn't here, is she?" She sniffed. "At least I'm being honest."
Her tone implied that she didn't think that Parvati was honest with him. Hermione was not entirely wrong there, Harry knew. "She isn't nasty about you behind your back."
"Not with you, you mean." Hermione held up her hand before Harry could answer that. "Please, let's not go there. We both know that if she sees me here, there'll be a scene. At the very least, she'll be angry, and that would ruin your day."
He sighed. "I just want my girlfriend and my best friend to get along."
"Oh?" She grinned suddenly. "Did something happen to Ron?"
"My best female friend, then," he corrected himself.
She nodded. "Anyway, I do have to study too - my tutor's not too happy about my part-time job."
"Alright." It wasn't - she could study here, with him even. Like before. But he wouldn't press her.
"Besides," she added, "I'll probably be here every day, so we'll see each other often during the holiday. We can easily spend time together - maybe go out to eat?"
"Of course!" He agreed and was rewarded with a wide smile.
*****
Hermione Granger felt a little guilty as she watched Harry leave. Just a little, though.
Despite her aspersions, Hermione knew that Parvati wasn't actually stupid. The other witch would quickly find out about Hermione's new job. And that she had a room in Harry's home. Probably from Harry himself - her friend couldn't keep secrets. Parvati's reaction wouldn't be pretty, Hermione thought.
But that wasn't her fault. Mr Black had decided to employ her, after all. And had arranged a room for her. If there was anyone Parvati could legitimately blame, it was Harry's godfather. But if she actually were to blame Mr Black, Harry's reaction wouldn't be pretty. And that would be Parvati's own fault.
She sniffed. If Paravati knew that Hermione was 'Miss Merriweather'... She chuckled, imagining the other witch's reaction. If only she could visit Harry in her disguise while Parvati was here… see how the witch liked someone else crashing her date!
Well, Harry and she weren't dating, of course. This was about their friendship. If Parvati couldn't accept that Harry had a best female friend, then she wasn't the right witch for Harry. If only Harry would realise that as well!
Sighing, she focused on her work once more. She hadn't been lying when she had told Harry that she had to study today - Mr Fletcher was a demanding tutor, if much friendlier than Snape. And Hermione wanted to get as far as possible with cataloguing the Black family library before noon.
After all, she would need to know what books were available before she could use the library for her own studies.
*****
"Hi, Parvati!" Harry Potter smiled as he helped his girlfriend up - Parvati was as prone to stumbling while travelling through the Floo network as he was. An endearing trait, in his opinion.
"Hi, Harry!"
His smile grew when she hugged him. He could feel her chest press into his, could smell her hair, feel the warmth of her breath on his neck… he loved her! Alas, all too soon, after a peck on his cheek, she pulled away. "Are those new robes?" he asked.
She nodded. "I persuaded Mum to buy them." She turned around, showing off her clothes. "They're spelled so they can be worn no matter the weather, too!"
"Must have been expensive," he said. His school robes didn't have such features.
"Mum did it. We'll be learning that in seventh year. Together with advanced housekeeping spells."
He'd have to ask Sirius then. "Let's go to my room. We can pass by the kitchen and get Kreacher to bring us drinks."
"Kreacher?"
"Our house-elf. He grumbles and curses a lot, but he's very old."
"Oh, a house-elf? Of course, the Blacks would have one."
He shrugged. He wasn't used to having a servant to call on himself. "He's been working for the family all his life. Air-tight contract, too." Which was probably why Sirius hadn't fired the elf yet. The Blacks hadn't been fond of servants leaving and spilling their secrets. After Harry's godfather had told him how his ancestors had dealt with servants they didn't trust any more, Harry hadn't wanted to visit the basement for a while. It wasn't a topic he wanted to talk about.
But before he could lead Parvati to his room - she was already on his arm - the fireplace flared up, and what looked like a tangled mess of limbs rolled out of it. Parvati gasped, but Harry had already drawn his wand - no one but a few select friends of the family could enter through the fireplace uninvited; Harry had had to let Parvati in.
"Ugh… Oh! Hi! You must be Harry!" the visitor - a witch, Harry noticed - said while she stood up. "I'm Tonks. Sirius's cousin." He blinked at her, and she frowned. "Hasn't he told you about me?"
"No, he hasn't," Harry answered, keeping his wand trained on her. "Kreacher! Tell Sirius that we have a visitor!" he said.
"So… are you going to keep your wand pointed at me until Sirius arrives?" Tonks said.
"Yes." Of course he was.
"Lupin must have been trained by Moody," he heard her mutter. "I'm an Auror, you know. You can trust me."
He didn't roll his eyes at that remark. He simply kept staring at her.
"You and Moody will get along just fine," she said.
Sirius arrived before Harry could ask about this 'Moody'. "Ah, there you are, Tonks!" It was her, then.
"You didn't tell your godson that you're expecting me! And you didn't tell me that he's paranoid!"
Harry's godfather shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind. I would blame my secretary, if I weren't certain that I didn't tell her to tell him either."
"You have a house-elf and a secretary?" Parvati sounded very impressed.
"Part-time. I hired Harry's friend, Hermione. Or Miss Granger, as she insists while we're working."
"What?" Harry felt Parvati's grip on his arm tighten again.
This wasn't how he had wanted to tell her about Hermione's new job.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 15th, 1995
"Come in, Miss Granger," Mr Black said, with what Hermione Granger had come to realise was his usual grin.
"Good afternoon, Mr Black," she said, entering the house. No one else was in the entrance hall, but that didn't have to mean anything given the size of the house.
"Harry's not here. His girlfriend dragged him off to Diagon Alley for what I suspect will be a lengthy shopping trip followed by dinner." Mr Black must have noticed her glancing around, and she pressed her lips together in frustration. She had to get better at casing joints. Although she also took note that Harry's godfather talked of Parvati as 'Harry's girlfriend'. And the way he slightly curled his upper lip when he spoke. "She really didn't like that you're working for me."
"I know. Harry told me," Hermione answered in a neutral tone.
He nodded. "It was a memorable spat. She reminds me of my aunt - smiling, but you can smell the vitriol behind her facade. So unlike my mother, who didn't really try to be polite when she was enraged. Poor Tonks was caught in the middle, so to speak. She and Remus are keeping an eye on them right now, so you don't have to worry."
"Good. The Dark Lord might try to use such an opportunity."
"Indeed." His grin insinuated other dangers they were to guard Harry against. He had been doing that a lot this week.
Hermione didn't take the bait. "Which means no one will disturb us."
"How forward of you, Miss Granger! That must be your American origins." He even acted as if he was shocked.
"You know what I mean." She didn't roll her eyes at her employer. She wanted to, though - he wasn't as witty as he thought he was.
"I do. But do you?"
"Yes. We have a deal, after all."
"We do indeed." He grew serious. "Pacta sunt servanda."
Deals had to be kept. She nodded in agreement with the warning.
"Let's head to my study. No one would ever think to find me there," he added with a grin.
*****
The study was a marked contrast to the rest of the house. It was dark, from the wooden panels on the walls to the thick carpet covering most of the stone floor and the old furniture, everything was either black or dark grey. "The interior designer must have taken the family name as a theme," Sirius remarked as he sat down in one of the armchairs in the room.
Hermione Granger sat down in the one opposite his. "I should catalogue those as well," she said, nodding towards the shelves full of books that covered the back wall.
"You'd need to be a Black to pick those up without getting cursed." He snorted. "Marrying into the family counts, if you want to propose."
This time she rolled her eyes. "Curses can be broken."
"Ouch! That hurt almost as much as Lily's hex when I asked her out while drunk!" He was grinning, though.
She chuckled at that.
"Anyway. You're here to find out how to escape Azkaban."
"Yes." Finally. She leaned forward a little.
"What do you know about animagi?"
Her eyes widened. Mr Black was an animagus? They were very rare. Then she caught herself. "An animagus is a wizard or witch able to turn into an animal while keeping their mental faculties." Which was how it differed from normal Transfigurations. "They are limited to one form, and can mimic any of the animal's abilities - although no animagus has yet been known to take the form of a magical animal, so it's unknown whether this extends to magical abilities. All British animagi have to be registered with the Ministry. Failing to do so is punishable by law."
He smiled. "I see McGonagall still introduces herself using her animal form."
She nodded - seeing her teacher turn into a cat and back was what had prompted her to read up on animagi, back in her first year. "I take it Azkaban's cells aren't warded against animagi, then."
"They're not warded against animals. By design, or so I think - when the prison was established a few hundred years ago, no one wanted to protect the prisoners from rats and bugs."
"It would have to be a rather small animal to escape the prison. Probably a bird," she said. They could easily fly away and reach land.
"Or a skilled wizard who knows how to make his way off an island." He sounded a little sharper there. Had that hurt his pride? She took note of that as well. "But I think you know how to break out of a building - it is, after all, almost the same as breaking into a building, just in reverse."
It wasn't quite that simple, and she hadn't finished her training yet, but she nodded anyway. "But I don't know how to become an animagus." The material she had found at Hogwarts had been noticeably bereft of that information.
"That's not a surprise - Britain, and Europe, has a rather dim view of the art." Mr Black grinned. "Most think it goes back to the Intervention in Africa. The native wizards were often animagi, and used their powers when fighting the ICW's forces. And of course there's the American shamans, who also are noted for the animagi among their ranks - and for fighting European wizards in defence of their lands. That's why they have to register in Britain."
"That's not the whole truth, though?"
"No, it's not." He leaned back. "Becoming an animagus changes you. Animals are not people. They are ruled by their instincts. An animagus will, on some level, always feel the urge to act as their animal form - or rather, as they think the animal would react."
"A psychological effect then?" She could handle that.
He frowned. "Probably. Lily said the same. But don't underestimate the effect."
She made a noncommittal noise of agreement.
He stared at her, then sighed. "Anyway, there are two basic methods to become an animagus. The Inner Path, and the Outer Path. Or the Spirit Animal Path and the Skinwalker Path. The Inner Path focuses on discovering your 'Spirit Animal' - the animal that embodies your soul, as some wizards see it. Through meditation and various other methods, you strengthen that part of your soul until it grows so strong that it can change your form to match it." He grinned. "It involves a lot of giving in to urges, and acting impulsively. The things we got up to..." He sighed. "By the time you have become an animagus, you'll have changed in other ways as well."
"Professor McGonagall doesn't act like a cat," Hermione pointed out. "Quite the contrary, actually." The stern witch was one of the least playful people Hermione knew.
"Oh, she doesn't act like a cat - but I bet you Galleons to Knuts that she wants to. I would even say that she overcompensates for her animal urges, which is why she's such a…" He shrugged. "You know."
"Ah." That was a danger to avoid as well, she thought.
"But the important thing is that you can't choose your Spirit Animal - it represents who you are, not who you want to be." He sighed again. "We should should have realised something was wrong with Wormtail, when he was revealed to be a rat. We were so stupid…" He trailed off, and his eyes seemed to lose their focus.
She didn't want to sit there while he got lost in his memories - even though they apparently were slowly coming back. She cleared her throat. "You mentioned a second method."
"Yes, I did. I don't know that much about it, though. As you may have noted, I chose the other method."
"But you studied it before you made a choice." It was what she would have done.
"Yes." He took a deep breath. "As you may suspect, not every wizard is happy with the form the Inner Path reveals. If you want to defend your tribe against invaders, turning into a doe doesn't really help. So, some American shamans developed the Skinwalker method. You're not discovering your inner animal there - you're forcing yourself to turn into an animal by changing into its skin. Literally, or so I surmise."
"That sounds like a rather… practical method," she said. Why bother with your, or gamble on having a useful, spirit animal, if you could pick the form you wanted? Be the animal you wanted to be. People changed, after all.
"Well, the mental effects are even stronger, since there's more of a gap to bridge, so to speak. And since this method is usually chosen by wizards who want to fight…"
"I see." That could be troublesome.
"It's why Skinwalkers are so easily mistaken for werewolves. They often act the same when in animal form. Some also claim that this method is part of the Dark Arts, since it involves catching and sacrificing the animal you want to turn into - by skinning it, or so I read."
She nodded. Those were considerable drawbacks. She was confident that she could handle the mental effects as well as McGonagall did, but if the effect was akin to a werewolf's rage...
"There's one advantage, though - you can become a skinwalker at any age, while the Spirit Animal Path requires a younger, more flexible mind. Hence why shamans are considered adults after their spirit quest."
"Ah." So, there was a time limit, if she wanted to use the safer method.
"But in either case, you'll find that some other magic disciplines will be much harder to master - such as Occlumency or Legilimency. An animagus's mind is not well-suited for disciplines that require an exact and ordered mind."
She hadn't expected that. Mr Fletcher had told her about Occlumency and Legilimency, and both sounded very useful. She bit her lower lip. Was she willing to sacrifice such potentially useful skills?
"On the other hand, that very same quality makes an animagus's mind hard to read. Legilimency doesn't deal well with unstructured minds. That's why no one sane tries to read an animal's mind. And Dementors ignore you in your animal form."
"Ah." That changed things, of course. She slowly nodded. "I will have to give this some thought." Smiling widely, she added: "I don't suppose you have any reading material?"
He laughed as he nodded.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, April 15th, 1995
"Oh, look! They've got the new summer robes!"
Harry Potter didn't mind shopping with his girlfriend, nor did he mind her enthusiasm when she spotted something of interest - even if his arm had started to hurt a bit, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone after Ron's joke. He actually liked Parvati's passion.
He could do without the crowds, though. He wanted to be with his girlfriend, not the whole Alley. That he knew that Remus and Tonks were acting as his bodyguards didn't help either. Remus was hidden by Harry's own cloak, and Tonks could be anyone in the crowd. It wouldn't be as bad if he wasn't famous, though.
"What do you think?" Parvati was beaming at him while holding a pair of robes. He had missed her question, he realised. But she must have asked which one looked better on her.
"The red one looks better."
Since she blinked before frowning, she probably had asked him something else. Or she disagreed with his choice. He checked the time on his watch. Three in the afternoon. "How about some ice-cream?" Ice-cream was almost as good as chocolate to make up for whatever you had done wrong, Sirius had taught him.
And his godfather had been correct, Harry knew, as Parvati's eyes seemed to light up and she smiled again. "I'd love to. Fortescue's is great!"
It was also very popular, which meant there'd be a crowd. "Have you tried muggle ice-cream? There's this new brand, from the US. They have very original types of ice-cream." He had seen an ad in the newspaper.
And her smile vanished. She wasn't very adventurous. "I love Fortescue's recipes. Let's go there!"
"Alright." He could tolerate the crowds there.
Ten minutes later, they were seated outside of the parlour and eating a large bowl of Fortescue's latest creation - Parvati's choice, of course. "Isn't this much better than any muggle ice-cream?" his girlfriend asked.
He nodded, slightly distracted when he saw her lick a speck of whipped cream from her lips. "Have you tried muggle ice-cream?"
"Yes. It was rather bland. Watery. Like frozen syrup." She sniffed. "It can't compare to this." She took another spoonful, closing her eyes and sighing in apparent bliss as she swallowed it.
He swallowed dryly at the sight, then pouted when he caught her smirking at his reaction. "Such a tease," he whispered.
She hummed, then leaned forward and responded in a whisper: "You like me like that."
He nodded - she was correct.
Parvati grinned. "Maybe we should head back to your home?" She glanced around. "It would be more private."
"Ah…" Harry forced himself to smile. "We might want to wait a bit longer - Sirius has an important meeting today."
She looked puzzled. "But if he's busy we'll have more privacy. He wouldn't want to drag you into the meeting, would he?"
He didn't want to lie to her and so he hesitated in answering. "Well…"
And she was frowning at him. "It's her, isn't it? He's meeting Hermione, and you're afraid that there'll be a scene."
She made his friend's name sound like a curse, Harry noticed. "It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that! Whenever we meet she acts all jealous, as if she has a monopoly on you. She needs to accept that I'm your girlfriend!"
"She has accepted that," he retorted. "She simply wants you to accept that she's my best friend. My best female friend."
"And what about me?" She glared at him.
"You're my girlfriend," he answered. Honesty was the best policy unless you had something to hide, according to Sirius.
Apparently, Parvati didn't share that opinion, since she huffed, shot him another glare and stabbed her spoon into the bowl with enough force to cause an entire scoop to fall out of it.
He sighed. "I don't know what your problem is with her…"
"My problem with her," she interrupted him in that clipped tone she used when she was angry, "is that she is trying to steal my boyfriend, and my boyfriend is too dim to realise it!"
"Hey!" He wasn't dim! "She doesn't flirt with me!" He shook his head emphatically. "Trust me! I've seen her every day this week, she helped me with my homework, she ate dinner with us almost every evening, we've spent hours together - if she were trying to seduce me, then I would have noticed."
She looked even more angry. "You've spent hours together? Every day?"
"Well, I won't see her much any more once we're back at Hogwarts," he defended himself.
"I see. I'm good enough to spend time with when you can't be with her?"
"It's not like that!" he protested. This was going wrong. She made it sound as if he was cheating on her by spending time with Hermione. "I just want to spend time with my friend when I can."
"And when you can't, you're coming to see me." Her lips trembled. "Would you have gone out with me today, if she weren't meeting your godfather?"
Would he? Harry wasn't entirely certain. But before he could answer, she shook her head.
"You can't have both of us, Harry! That won't work. I'm not going to share you!"
"But it's not like that!"
She wasn't really listening, though.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 17th, 1995
Boy-Who-Cheats? Harry Potter Between Two Witches
"What? Gimme that!" Harry Potter ripped the Daily Prophet out of his godfather's hands as soon as he had spotted the headline.
"Hey!" Sirius protested. "You spilled the tea, too!"
Harry ignored him and focused on skimming the article. It was another sordid oeuvre by Rita Skeeter, and managed to both cast doubts on Harry's fidelity and character and portray Hermione as a homewrecking gold-digger.
"I'll kill her for this!" he spat.
"Who?" Sirius asked.
"Skeeter!" Harry clenched his teeth. "Who else? That muckraker has gone too far!"
"Ah." Sirius sighed. "Alas, honour duels have been outlawed in Wizarding Britain since 1812, when a duel between Aloysius Nott and Lisa Parkinson caused a fire that almost destroyed Diagon Alley."
"What? How could a fire do that?"
"It was Fiendfyre, of course," Sirius explained. "Which was outlawed after that incident as well. Anyway, if you kill Skeeter, it'll be a crime."
"I didn't mean it literally," Harry said. "But this… this…" He threw the newspaper down on the table.
"What's wrong?" Remus asked, entering the kitchen. He looked tired and weary from his transformation the night before, but then, he had looked like that Saturday too, and still had gone out to protect Harry during his disastrous date with Parvati.
"Skeeter's calling me a cheater and Hermione a…" he trailed off, not wanting to call her names. "...gold-digger." Harry shook his head. "She's making out Hermione to be this seductive beauty who ensnared me with her wiles. As if anyone who knows her could believe that!" Hermione was about as far from a femme fatale as you could be.
"Well, most don't know her," Remus said, taking a seat and grabbing the Prophet.
"And those who think they know her might be mistaken," Sirius added with a grin.
"Exactly!" Harry nodded at his godfather. "They don't know her just because they saw her at Hogwarts years ago!"
"But how did she know about your row with Parvati?" Remus had read the article and was now looking at him, Harry realised. "Didn't you cast privacy spells?"
"We taught them to you for that reason, you know. Well, also so you could talk dirty with your girlfriend privately in public. Or something like that," Sirius added.
"I did!" Harry remembered it clearly. "Either someone defeated the spells, or…" He stopped when he came to an uncomfortable conclusion.
"...or your girlfriend told the wrong people," Sirius finished for him.
Harry winced. Parvati was a gossip - but would she spread the news of their row? Although the article did make her out to be the blameless victim. The poor honest witch undermined by male infidelity and muggleborn treachery. "If she told Skeeter about us, then we're through!" he declared.
*****
London, Merton, April 20th, 1995
Lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling of her room, Hermione Granger sighed. Almost a week had passed since Mr Black had told her about animagi, and she still hadn't been able to make a decision. Well, she had decided to become an animagus - the benefits outweighed the drawbacks. Especially for a budding thief. To be able to sneak around as an animal was worth the loss of Legilimency. Which was, according to what she had researched, far less reliable than its reputation anyway - it didn't allow actual mind reading; at most it allowed one to discern surface thoughts and emotions. And she was confident that she could defeat Legilimency attempts without Occlumency. Her mental discipline was strong, after all.
She didn't fear the mental side effects Mr Black had told her about either. If she could act rationally during puberty, with her hormones were running wild, then she could certainly handle some subconscious urges.
No, what she hadn't been able to decide was which method she wanted to use. The Spirit Animal Path or the Skinwalker Path.
The Spirit Animal Path was, at first sight, the obvious choice. Not only were the mental effects lesser, but Mr Black had used it himself, and would be able to provide instructions and support for her. She wouldn't have to use questionable magic either - it required no sacrifice. She had read up on the rituals various cultures used for the Skinwalker Path in the various books Mr Black had loaned her, and they had all made her feel rather queasy.
But the Spirit Animal Path had one disadvantage: She couldn't choose her animal form. Her research, as well as Mr Black's personal experience, agreed on that. And as pathetic as it was, she wasn't certain she would like whatever animal was supposed to represent her soul. A corporeal Patronus was supposed to show one's 'inner animal', which was probably the spirit animal in question, but it was one of the most difficult spells to master according to what she had read. By the time she had managed that feat, she might be too old for the Spirit Animal Path anyway.
She wanted to be a cat, like McGonagall - graceful, elegant, and agile. Or maybe a bird - to be able to fly, to soar above the land... A dog would be acceptable, she thought. Loyal and brave. Even a badger - tough and grumpy, but agile as well.
But what if she was something useless? Like a deer? Or a mule? She didn't think she was a mule, even if she was a little stubborn, but… it wasn't as if she was well-acquainted with her soul or subconscious. She didn't know much about psychology…
Hermione closed her eyes. If only she could influence… Her eyes shot open. She could! That was what psychology was about - among other things. She jumped off her bed and raced downstairs.
She had books to buy!
*****
Hogwarts, June 1st, 1995
"What are you thinking about?"
Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter looked up from the Daily Prophet article - the latest on the 'Dumbledore scandal' - at which he had been scowling when he heard his girlfriend's question. Had Parvati already finished her essay? She had asked him to read it to check for mistakes. A glance told him that she hadn't. She was looking at him with a rather intense expression, though.
"I'm wondering why Skeeter hasn't been fired yet," he said. As Sirius had taught him, honesty was the best policy if you hadn't done anything wrong.
She tensed - after talking to her he now believed that she hadn't talked to the insufferable witch, but it still was a sore subject - she hadn't reacted well to him suspecting her. And he hadn't taken well to her reaction. "She's just reporting what others said."
"Have you read the article?" he asked, a little sharper than he had wanted.
She shrugged. "Yes."
"It's full of veiled accusations and rampant speculation about what crimes Dumbledore might have committed," Harry spat. "Malfoy probably paid Skeeter for it, just like he paid her to ruin Sirius's and Hermione's reputations!" As soon as he said the words he regretted them - Parvati glared at him, and he winced when he saw how thin her lips now were.
"It's always about Hermione, isn't it? Dumbledore, Sirius, no matter what, it's always about her!"
"No, it's not! But she is a part of this. This whole thing started with Malfoy framing her." That was the truth!
"No, you just think it's about her! Malfoy didn't like Dumbledore long before Hermione had even heard of Hogwarts, and the Bagnold letters were written twenty years ago!" Parvati was almost snarling. "Don't you care about anyone or anything else?"
"Of course, but she's my best friend. Best female friend," he added. "Obviously she's important to me."
"And I'm your girlfriend!"
"They didn't mention you in the article," he pointed out, logically.
"So? Don't you care for me? Am I not important to you? Don't you love me?" She stood up, her hands on her hips.
He noticed everyone in the room was staring at them. "I do. But that doesn't mean I'll neglect my friends."
"But you're neglecting me!"
"I'm not!" He was sitting with her while she did her homework, after all!
"You are!" Her chest was heaving. Then she huffed and raised her chin - he noticed that he had stood up as well during their argument. "I told you before: I'm not sharing you! Choose! Either her... or me!"
He gaped at her. How could she ask, no, demand that of him? He looked at her, noticed her expression, the way her eyes had narrowed, the way her mouth was set. She was serious, he realised. Well, so was he. He stared straight into her eyes.
"If that's what you want," Harry said in a flat voice, ignoring how her eyes widened in surprise, "then I choose her."
*****
Hogwarts, June 21st, 1995
"Why's the third task on a Wednesday?" Harry Potter asked as he sat down in the stands of the arena. "The first two tasks were on Sundays."
"It's the Summer Solstice," Sirius explained. "An auspicious date to hold a magical event. And most shops have closed anyway, so it's as good as a Sunday."
The crowd certainly didn't look any smaller than before, Harry thought.
"Well, if it was a real Sunday we wouldn't have had lessons in the morning," Ron said. "So, it's certainly not as good as a Sunday." He must have caught a glance from Hermione since he quickly added: "It's better, of course, since we have lessons!"
After a second of silence, Hermione started to giggle and Ron laughed. Harry joined in a moment later. It wasn't that funny, but he didn't want his ex-girlfriend to think he was miserable without her.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked in a low voice, interrupting his thoughts.
"Yes," he answered, trying to sound convincing. "Why wouldn't I be alright?"
"You've steadfastly avoided looking to your left," she said.
That was where Parvati and her friends were sitting. Busted. He sighed. "It's her fault, anyway." She had told him to choose between Hermione and her. As Sirius had taught him: Teenage girlfriends didn't last. Friendships did. Like Hermione's.
She smiled. "I know. But it still hurts to see her, right?"
"Yes." But he was getting better.
Her hand moved a few inches, probably to touch him, but then stopped, and he saw her frown. He knew what she was thinking - if she touched him, Skeeter would have another article out tomorrow.
She narrowed her eyes, huffed and squeezed his arm. "She'll write her lies anyway."
"Right."
"But you'll get over her. It's not as if she's the only pretty girl at Hogwarts."
He returned her warm smile. "You're right. There are lots of pretty girls who aren't so…" He sought the right word.
"...insecure, petty and jealous?" Hermione asked with a sweet smile.
He chuckled. "I guess. And witches who don't believe everything that the Prophet publishes. Or Teen Witch Weekly."
"Oh, I'm not certain of that. How many pretty witches are smart enough to make up their own minds?" Hermione asked.
"Well… Susan Bones is very pretty, and as the niece of the Head of the DMLE, she should know how many lies the Prophet publishes," Harry pointed out. Amelia Bones certainly had her fair share of bad press. "And Padma is as pretty as Parvati, but as a Ravenclaw she is smart." He saw that she was frowning, and hastened to add: "I've talked to her; she blames her sister, not me, for the breakup."
"Ah." Hermione still looked less than happy. But before Harry could reassure her that he wasn't about to make a stupid mistake, the third task started.
And watching the three champions do everything they could think of to snatch the cup from the centre, except for attacking each other, was far too exciting and entertaining to worry about girl troubles. Even with Bagman's commentary.
*****
"And Diggory summons a pack of wolves - within the rules, as long as they're not ordered to attack Krum. But they're obviously blocking Krum's approach. Krum's trying to go around them, but Delacour's been busy conjuring a veritable maze on his flank, so that way's blocked! And Delacour's making a grab using her wings… Oh! Looks like Diggory or Krum had been sneaky - invisible walls and high-speed flying don't go well together. Delacour looks a bit like my old Seeker after he fell for a Wronski Feint.
"And Diggory is blasting his way to the centre. Two walls left… one… and the last one exploded in his face. What a clever trap! Krum's conjured a metal cage too, directly over Diggory. Since the back is open, it's not an attack - technically. But it means Krum has passed Diggory, and the walls around the centre are down. He reaches for the cup, and… oh, the cup drops to the ground before he can grab it - and slides towards Delacour inside a tube made out of ice. That's one well-timed transfiguration! She holds out her hand and grabs the cup. Delacour… no, there's no fanfare! That's not the cup, that's a copy! Where is the real cup? Diggory has it! Diggory switched the cup right before Delacour snatched it! Diggory wins! Hogwarts wins!"
"Hogwarts wins!"
"Hufflepuff wins!"
"Play it again!"
"Please don't!" Harry Potter heard Ron mutter under his breath as the Hufflepuff table once more gathered around the recorder. "That's what, the fifth time they're listening to it? It's as if they hadn't watched it just a few hours ago!"
Harry shrugged. "Well, it's not as if Hufflepuff's won anything in years. They'll want to celebrate this as much as possible." He filled his plate with a third helping - the Victory Feast was as excellent as he had come to expect from the Hogwarts kitchen staff.
Ron scoffed. "It's also rather rude towards our guests."
"I'm certain that they would have done the same," Ginny cut in. "Especially Delacour." The witch sniffed and sent a glare at the Ravenclaw table.
Harry didn't want to discuss the French champion's possible faults, so he shrugged. "I wouldn't knoOW!"
His head erupted in pain and it was all he could do not to scream. Something ran down his face - blood, he realised when he saw the drops on the table. His scar was bleeding. He reached up to touch it, then everything went black.
*****
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Chapter 9: Investigations
Starfox5
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Chapter 9: Investigations
Outside Stafford, Staffordshire, Britain, June 22nd, 1995
Amelia Bones returned the greetings of the Aurors guarding the crime scene, but her attention was on the house in front of her. Or rather, on its wards. Her enchanted monocle might not be as powerful or versatile as Alastor's artificial eye, but it was more than able to show her that the house's defences were still active. Whoever had murdered Alphons Bagnold hadn't broken through the wards. Which meant that someone had let the killer inside. And seeing as Alphons had been living alone, odds were that it had been him.
A quick survey of the garden told her that the Aurors had the scene covered; she didn't see any blind spots. She almost grinned - she had been the Head of the DMLE for years, but she still thought like the Head Auror. And the Corps knew it, of course.
Her successor knew it as well. But Rufus ran a tight ship - even tighter, or so she had heard, than her own, back in the day. Which would serve both of them well in dealing with this latest mess.
She entered the house and wished she had cast a Bubble-Head Charm - the smell of blood was overwhelming. She didn't let any discomfort show on her face, of course - she had a reputation to maintain. Although… the smell shouldn't be that strong, she thought - not hours after the deed. The blood should have dried up already.
Frowning, she turned to the Auror casting detection spells in the entrance hall. "Where's the Head Auror?"
The witch turned around and gasped - Amelia made a note that the Auror had apparently missed her presence, too focused on her work. Not the best habit for someone working in the field. "Ma'am! He's in the basement. Where the murder happened."
Amelia gave her a curt nod, then went downstairs. Rufus was there, as was Alastor - as she had expected. Both were standing on a floating board so they wouldn't disturb the pool of blood the ground had been turned into. Alastor was grinning at her despite - or because of - the gruesome scene.
"I was right, Amelia! That's Outterridge blood there." He pointed his wand at the blood. "Some of it, at least. Quite the mess."
"That's an understatement," Rufus said. The Head Auror was frowning at Alastor - by custom, in this situation subordinates didn't speak up until asked. But the old Auror didn't care much about custom, and he was too experienced and valuable to be disciplined over it. "We've called in the Department of Mysteries, but according to preliminary investigations" - he glanced at Alastor - "this contains the blood of at least half a dozen individuals."
"And the liquified remains of Alphons Bagnold," Alastor added.
"Liquified?" Transfiguring a corpse into blood wasn't that difficult, however she knew of only one spell that could do this to a living human.
"Aye." The old Auror lost his smile. "I checked the residue three times. The murderer used the Bloodfall Curse."
She drew a hissing breath, uncaring of the stench now. There was only one person who had used that spell in the last war. She looked at Rufus. "Check if Bellatrix Lestrange is still in her cell."
Rufus nodded. Alastor scoffed. "Not even the Hit-Wizards are so incompetent as to miss another escape. That wasn't Lestrange's work anyway. It's too neat."
"Neat?" Rufus stared at his nominal subordinate, then pointedly looked at the gory liquid covering the floor.
"Yes. Neat. No signs of excessive torture. No blown up furniture. No torn off limbs. Just a big puddle of blood." The scarred Auror shook his head. "Not her style. And that was before she was sent to Azkaban." Amelia had to agree - Lestrange had been unhinged even then, and wouldn't have gotten better. Alastor went on: "This here was done by someone else who knew the spell. And there aren't many left alive who were ever taught it."
"Black," Rufus said. "It's a family spell. But he has an alibi." They would have checked that already, of course. And the alibis of the remaining Blacks.
"Dumbledore's vouching for him again?" Amelia asked.
"Not just him. Apparently, Potter had an accident at school last evening, and Black spent the night in the infirmary there," Rufus said.
"Could be Polyjuice Potion, of course," Alastor cut in, earning him another glare from Rufus, "but I doubt that Albus would have let that fool him. He isn't that old yet." He chuckled.
"He could have taught the spell to someone," Rufus said. That Black had sent hired wands after Bagnold and Crouch was one of the more popular theories in the Corps.
"If he's making the effort of using someone else to commit murder so he has an alibi, making them use a Black family spell would be a rather dumb move," Alastor pointed out. Given how paranoid the man was, Amelia suspected he was just playing advocatus diaboli to ruffle Rufus's feathers.
"Unless Black is trying to be too clever, and expects us to assume that," Rufus shot back. "He spent over ten years in Azkaban - he can't be sane. And," he added with a sneer, "he still hasn't told us who helped him escape. Anyone who'd spring Black from Azkaban would commit murder as well."
Amelia had to agree, at least partially, there - you couldn't trust Black. His claim that he couldn't remember how he had disappeared from Azkaban was a laughably transparent attempt to protect his helper. Who, she suspected, was Lupin. Or even Dumbledore himself - the Chief Warlock had lately shown a rather antagonistic attitude towards the Wizengamot's justice.
Alastor shrugged. "I'm not gonna drop him as a suspect. But I think there's more to this than just revenge. Or at least, it's not Black's revenge."
"Who else could it be?" Rufus scoffed. "Some hitherto unknown Death Eater who has waited until Black escaped from Azkaban to frame him?"
"I'm not even discounting the Dark Lord himself - or his ghost." Alastor grinned. "He certainly would have the motive."
Amelia would have dismissed this as a joke, or a paranoid delusion, if not for the fact that Alastor was one of Dumbledore's oldest friends.
But she didn't know what was more dangerous - a returned Dark Lord, or a Chief Warlock trying to fake such a threat to regain the influence he had lost since the last war.
Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1995
Harry Potter woke up with a headache. A terrible, pounding headache - he hadn't felt that bad since… He drew a hissing breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He hadn't felt a pain this bad since his first year. Since Voldemort had tried to kill him.
"Harry?"
Sirius! He opened his eyes. His godfather was sitting next to his bed - he was in the infirmary - and Sirius looked almost as bad as Harry felt. Disheveled. Exhausted. And his expression…
"Did… did anyone die?" Harry asked.
"What? No." Sirius shook his head. "You collapsed during the Victory Feast. And your scar split open and bled all over…" He shook his head. "Pomfrey fixed you up, though."
The Victory Feast. Harry had been eating, next to Ron, and suddenly… He winced. Yes, there had been blood. On his face, on the table, and on the floor. Pools of blood. No… that hadn't been in the Great Hall. That had been… he didn't know where. He hadn't been there before, that much he knew. But… he touched his forehead and discovered that a bandage covered his scar.
"Pomfrey couldn't close the wound. But the bleeding has stopped now," Sirius explained. "She was quite miffed that she had to use 'muggle methods'."
"I can imagine." Harry forced himself to chuckle, then hissed at the pain that caused.
"Do you want a potion for the pain?" his godfather asked.
"Will it do anything?" Harry had his doubts. This reeked of the Dark Arts.
"It shouldn't hurt," Sirius answered.
That sounded less than reassuring, Harry thought. On the other hand, he doubted that he could get any worse. Short of dying, of course. So he nodded. "Yes, please."
"Don't worry, it'll stay our secret. You can tell the witches that you toughed it out." Sirius grinned - though it looked very forced to Harry - and handed him a small vial.
Harry downed the vial and to his surprise, the pain receded until it was a dull ache. He sighed and closed his eyes again for a moment.
"Did it work?"
"Yes." Harry started to nod, then froze when that caused the pain to flare up. "I'm feeling better, but not well yet."
"Good. I wouldn't have liked having to buy muggle remedies. Did you know that you need permission to buy muggle medicines?" Sirius scoffed. "And they threatened to call the police when I tried to offer them more gold."
"What did you do?" Had his godfather been mistaken for a drug addict, or worse?
"Oh, I wanted to buy some muggle pills. Lily had told me that they worked… something." Sirius blinked. "Or was it… some sex pill? Something like that." He nodded. "They didn't want to sell me the pills, though."
Harry was certain that his godfather was mixing up memories again, but nodded anyway. "Do you know what happened?"
"Dumbledore said the Dark Lord affected you through your scar." Sirius was looking at him.
Harry almost nodded, but stopped in time. "Something like that. My scar hurts like it did after he attacked me in first year."
Sirius mumbled a curse under his breath that Harry didn't quite catch. "How could he do that? Was he among the guests? Or the students? Dumbledore said he had strengthened the wards!"
"I don't think so. It felt... " Harry sighed. "He wasn't at Hogwarts. I don't think so. I saw blood. Lots of blood."
Sirius looked grim and bared his teeth. "Merlin's balls! There was a murder last night. A bloody murder."
"What? You said no one died!" Harry hissed when his forehead hurt again.
"Not at Hogwarts. But Bagnold's nephew was killed. Apparently with a Black Family curse that turns the victim to blood. On Solstice."
"When I collapsed?"
Sirius nodded. "We have to tell Dumbledore at once. I'll get him." He patted Harry's arm, then left.
Sirius didn't take long - he returned with the Headmaster after a few minutes. "Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said, with his usual smile.
"Afternoon?" Harry turned his head, hissing at the pain that caused. It was true - the sun was in the west already. "I was asleep that long?"
"You needed the rest," the Headmaster said. "Poppy and I agreed on that." He sat down in the chair Sirius had vacated. "How do you feel?"
"Better." Harry took a deep breath. "I think I saw Voldemort murder someone - I don't remember much, or all that clearly, but there was a lot of blood. It was… a basement, I think. There was another man, too." He was remembering a few more details as he spoke. "The floor was… covered in blood." His scar was hurting again, but he pressed on. "There was a body on the floor, and…" He clenched his teeth. This was important, but he couldn't remember exactly what he had seen.
"Don't force yourself, Harry," the Headmaster said in his calm, gentle voice. "It appears that you saw Tom murder someone."
Harry closed his eyes. That sounded… "I'm not sure…" He now knew how Sirius must so often feel, he realised, and snorted.
"There is a way to check your memories," Dumbledore went on. "You can copy them with your wand, and they can be observed by others with a special device. I hesitate to ask this of you, but…"
Harry stared at him. They would need his memories to foil whatever the Dark Lord was doing.
"Tell me what to do!"
Half an hour later, Harry felt sick. It was one thing to remember what he had seen, it was another to see it happen again. All that blood… He managed not to throw up as he withdrew from the Headmaster's Pensieve, where his memory had been placed, but it was a near thing.
Even Dumbledore looked grim now when he and Sirius withdrew as well. "While the memories were rather fragmented, they were enough to confirm what I suspected," he said. "Voldemort has regained a real body and is no longer limited to possessing victims."
Sirius almost seemed to growl. "Well, at least we can clear my name. Bellatrix must have taught the Dark Lord the spell."
"We can't use this," Dumbledore said.
"What? Why not? It's not too detailed, but you can see the spell being cast. It proves that it wasn't me!" Sirius bared his teeth again.
"Using Harry's memories would also reveal his connection to the Dark Lord," Dumbledore pointed out.
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. If Voldemort found out about this… that he could be affected through the scar… "But... I collapsed in in the Great Hall," he pointed out. "In the middle of the Victory Feast." That must have been a spectacle.
"Indeed - outside Hufflepuff's dorms, your unfortunate incident is probably the talk of the school," Dumbledore said. "We might have to fabricate a cover story, to explain how you collapsed at the same time as Bagnold was killed. Fortunately, the Solstice is a traditional time for rituals of all sorts, so it shouldn't be too suspicious that this happened at the same time as the Dark Lord's ritual."
"Can we frame Malfoy?" Harry asked. "He already poisoned me in second year."
Dumbledore chuckled. "As fitting as that might be, I think the risk that Lucius would be able to clear his son of such an accusation would be too great. It would be better to blame unknown assailants."
"Sic the Aurors on those 'imperiused' Death Eaters. They might even uncover some actual crimes," Sirius said.
That sounded like a great idea, Harry thought. Some good might come from this bloody murder.
London, Merton, June 22nd, 1995
If Hermione Granger had been a cat, then the two people who had just rang the doorbell would have caused her hackles to rise. She observed them through the spyhole. A man and a woman, young to middle age, in clothes that were a tad too conservative for their age - she would have pegged them as the police, if not for the lack of a car in the drive.
Aurors then. Probably. If she acted as if she wasn't at home they might simply enter - there were no wards to stop them. She could flee, of course - her escape tunnel hadn't gone past the planning stage; she needed the plans of the neighbouring houses to dig it without destabilising any of them - but she had a broom stashed in her room, ready to fly out of the window. But they might be expecting that.
And, she told herself as she opened the door - her wand in hand, though - she hadn't done anything illegal since her expulsion. Well, not anything really illegal.
She put on her best smile. "Yes?"
"Miss Granger?" the woman asked.
"Yes?"
The woman tapped her jacket, and a badge appeared. "I'm Auror Bracken, this is my partner, Auror Fawley." Pureblood names, Hermione thought. Bracken wasn't an Old Family, but Fawley was - but of course, the Auror might not be from the main branch. "We would like you to come to the Ministry to answer a few questions."
"Questions?" She tried to sound naive and dumb. "About what?"
"A possible crime," Fawley cut in, in a rather curt tone. He made a good 'bad cop', Hermione thought. But then, he could be a bad cop.
She narrowed her eyes. "Am I under arrest? Is someone trying to frame me again?"
"You're not under arrest, but we would appreciate your cooperation," Bracken said, with a polite smile. "It concerns your friend Mr Potter."
She felt as if her stomach tied itself into a knot. "Has something happened to Harry?"
"We cannot discuss this in the middle of the street," Bracken said.
"Or in your home," Fawley added, with a sneer.
She wanted to go to Grimmauld Place and ask Mr Black, but he wouldn't be there if anything had happened to Harry. And Mr Fletcher had been clear that cooperation with the authorities was the best course of action, as long as they didn't have anything on her. And while she couldn't dismiss the possibility of another attempt to frame her, she doubted that they would use Harry for that. "Of course. But I'll need to inform my employer that I'll be absent today, or he might get worried. It'll only take a minute to send him an owl."
They knew, of course, for whom she was working. And they didn't like that fact, but they couldn't do anything about it.
It was almost funny, Hermione thought as she wrote a note for Mr Black - she hadn't expected to be arrested even before she actually stole anything.
"Where were you yesterday between six in the evening and midnight?"
"At home. I've told you that already. Twice." Hermione Granger didn't bother refraining from rolling her eyes. Bracken and Fawley had at least been professional, even though Fawley might not actually have been faking his apparent dislike of her. But Dawlish, who had taken over her interrogation, was repeating his question for the second time. She couldn't think of what he might plan on accomplishing by doing this.
"Did you cast any spells?" He sounded boring as well, and spoke just a smidgen too slowly for her taste.
"No."
"Really? You spent the entire evening without casting a single spell?"
"I'm a muggleborn. We do that all the time." She smiled sweetly at him.
"You replaced your wand, though." Dawlish didn't seem to notice her mood.
"Of course. I'm a witch, after all."
"That would imply a desire to cast spells." He acted like a dog too dumb to realise that a plastic bone wasn't edible.
"I'm underage." She was propping her head up with one arm. "And I wasn't with my tutor yesterday evening."
"Your wand is free of the Trace." He glared at her.
"I bought it like that. Perfectly legal." Which she was certain other young wizards and witches with the means to buy a second wand were aware of as well. "Are you accusing me of breaking the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery? I thought this was about whatever happened to Harry. Which you still haven't told me anything about." She was getting more and more worried. What had happened to her best friend?
"You claim you didn't cast any spells but your wand shows that it was used."
"Yes. I used it to cast spells while with my tutor." She bit her lower lip before she openly insulted the man. Maybe that was his game - to get her angry and frustrated enough to lose her temper and slip up. She might have to revise her estimate of him if that was the case.
"Can anyone confirm your claim?"
"You can ask my parents."
"They're muggles."
"Yes. I'm a muggleborn." She almost asked if he was a blood purist.
"They might not have noticed magic, or they might have been obliviated."
"To hide underage magic?" She scoffed at him. That was absurd! "Just what kind of spell do you think I cast?"
"That's classified."
"I didn't cast any spells. I have told you that several times. Unless you have a question you haven't asked before, I want to leave now. I need to find out what happened to my friend!" She stood up, glaring at the man. If Harry had been hurt, and they had kept this from her because of stupid prejudice and bigotry...
"Your friend was struck by a dark curse yesterday evening."
"What?" She gasped. Harry! "Where is he!"
"That's classified."
She wanted to hex the man, but she didn't have her wand on her. So she glared at him, raised her chin and crossed her arms. "I want to leave now."
"There are still a few more questions you need to answer…" Dawlish trailed off when the door opened.
"Let the lass go, Dawlish," an old, scarred man said. "Her wand's clean and she's got an alibi." He had an artificial eye, Hermione noticed. She stiffened and felt her stomach drop a little. This was 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Mr Fletcher had told her a lot about this Auror. One of the best in the Ministry, and no one knew exactly what his enchanted eye could do.
"She's a suspect," Dawlish retorted.
"Even if Skeeter's articles weren't utter rubbish, the lass's too young to be able to curse anyone through the wards of Hogwarts." Moody chuckled. "And Skeeter's claiming that she cheated for her grades anyway." The witch would pay for that, too, Hermione thought. "Merlin's arse, Dawlish! I didn't think you were dumb enough to take the Daily Prophet's slander as evidence!"
"What?" Dawlish stood up, sneering. "And who was the one who hexed two post owls because he thought they were disguised assassins?"
"Constant vigilance, Dawlish!" Moody retorted, tapping his eye. Hermione resolved not to approach the man in animal form, should she manage to become an animagus.
"That's what I'm doing!" the other Auror protested. "I'd have expected you to back me up here!"
Moody scoffed. "I checked her wand, I checked her clothes, I checked her hair. No residue of any dark magic. Dumbledore and Black also vouch for her." His face broke into a frightening grin. "Besides, we have a list of other suspects to investigate and interrogate. People with the experience to cast dark curses, even. Now, send the lass on her way so she can check up on her friend before she curses you. She looks like she really wants to, too." He chuckled again. "The boy's fine, lass."
He was half-right - Hermione wanted to curse them both. That old Auror had used his eye to spy on her! Mr Fletcher had told her that Moody could see through robes. But she knew better than to start anything in the middle of the Auror offices, of course - even if she had had her wand.
And she needed to get out of here so she could see how Harry was doing! She knew just how bad 'fine' could be when it was about Harry!
Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1995
"Harry!"
Harry Potter looked up from the game of chess he was playing with Ron when he heard a familiar but unexpected yell. Hermione had arrived in the infirmary. And she was headed straight for him with a rather worried and worrying expression on her face. "Hello, Hermione," he said quickly. "I'm fine." It had been the wrong thing to say, he realised a second too late.
"Fine?" she all but growled, only taking her eyes off him for a moment to return Ron's greetings. "You said that when you were half-dead in our first year! Or when you had half your bones broken in our second year!"
Harry heard Ron mutter "Blimey!" as his friend grabbed the chessboard and put it on the side. "I'm going to be fine?" he said, turning it into a question almost against his will. "Honest! They'll release me tomorrow." Which meant it wasn't as bad as the two times she had just brought up.
She huffed and sat down, mumbling something he didn't quite catch. "So what happened? All I've been told is that you were cursed."
"Dumbledore said it was some sort of pain curse." Harry drew his wand. "I bled because I hit my head on the table when I collapsed from the pain and it ripped my scar open." A nice explanation that made it harder to connect him to the blood spilled by Voldemort - or Sirius's family. He cast a privacy spell. "That's the cover story."
Hermione frowned. "And what really happened?"
Harry tapped his forehead - next to the bandage. "My scar's a link to Voldemort. He went through a really dark ritual to get a new body, and I was affected by the dark curses he used." When he saw her horrified expression, he quickly added: "It was just a vision, very fragmented, of what he saw. A few seconds. My scar bled, but that was all."
"And it hurt a lot, or the Headmaster wouldn't be claiming that it was a pain curse." She narrowed her eyes at him. Busted!
Harry winced - his friend was too smart to be deceived like that. He shrugged. "I've had worse."
She snorted, but didn't pursue the topic any further. "As long as you're safe. As safe as you can be, with the Dark Lord back in a body. It's not simple possession then?"
Harry shook his head. "No. My mother's protection should still keep me safe, but the scar's a weakness."
"Well, it also serves as a Dark Lord detector," Ron said, grinning. "If it hurts, Voldemort's close."
Harry snorted. They had found that out in their first year. "Yeah."
Hermione, of course, didn't see the humour. "Really."
Ron shrugged. "Yes. A bit of pain can save his life."
"That's what Sirius says about training, too," Harry pointed out. Then he blinked when he suddenly thought of something. "Are you allowed to visit? You know, with you…" He trailed off.
Hermione scoffed. "I'm not actually certain whether visits are allowed or not. But I snuck in through a tunnel Mr Black showed me. Officially, I'm not here. If any Aurors ask, I'm at Grimmauld Place."
"Why would Aurors ask about you?" Ron looked puzzled.
"Apparently, I'm a suspect in the case," Hermione said with a sneer. "They already questioned me."
"What?" Harry shook his head - it didn't hurt any more - and scoffed. "That's absurd!"
"I bet it was Malfoy!" Ron cut in. "Trying to frame you for his own crimes. Lucius Malfoy," he added.
"It's possible. Auror Moody seems to have squashed the investigation, though," Hermione explained. "He's a friend of Dumbledore's, so he might know what really happened."
Harry smiled - at least the Headmaster was still looking out for Hermione. "Yes. Tonks told me stories about 'Mad-Eye' and his enchanted eye."
"Can it look through clothes?" Hermione asked quickly.
"I'm not certain. It can look through walls, though…" Harry trailed off, considering the implications of that.
"Blimey! That would be really useful!" Ron said. When Hermione glared at him, he added: "I mean to spot if someone's hiding something. Or ambushes."
Hermione didn't look convinced. "Well, we don't have an enchanted eye," Harry said. "And even if we had one, I prefer using my own eyes." Even if he needed glasses. "Not to peep on anyone, of course. And certainly not on you, believe me!" He wouldn't do that to his best friend.
She didn't look any happier, though - quite the contrary, actually. But before he could reassure her, the door to the infirmary opened.
He aimed his wand at it, just in case, and Ron moved in front of Hermione, but it was just Ginny.
"Harry?" she asked. "Oh, hi, Hermione!"
"She's not here, if anyone asks," Ron said. "Especially if it's an Auror."
"Oh." Ginny nodded, then looked determined. "Of course."
"Whatcha doing here?" Ron asked, not quite glaring at his sister, Harry noted.
"I just wanted to visit Harry." Ginny looked at him. "But I can come back later, if you want to be alone with your friends."
"We might be here until curfew," Ron said.
"So?" Ginny raised her chin slightly, meeting her brother's eyes.
"No, no, you can stay, of course," Harry quickly said. He didn't want them to argue. And it would be terribly rude to send Ginny away after she had come to visit him.
Ginny beamed at him. "Thanks, Harry."
Harry noticed a bit belatedly that there were just two chairs for visitors. Before he could summon a third, though, Ginny had already sat down on his bed. "How are you doing, Harry?"
"I'm fine. Pomfrey's letting me out of here tomorrow morning," he said. She nodded - apparently, not everyone had to question him.
"Good, I was very worried. No one told us anything." She pouted at Ron.
"No one knew anything," Ron said. "Dumbledore had to investigate. Someone cast a pain curse at Harry."
Ginny gasped, and Harry was quick to assure her that he wasn't in pain any more. It was nice to see someone other than his closest friends care about him. Especially if it was a pretty girl.
Ginny had filled out a little, or more than a little, since last summer, too, he realised. And she also got along well with Hermione. "Do you want some Honeydukes?" he asked. "Sirius brought some for me this afternoon, but he bought too much." As usual. They still had a few dozen boxes of Mars Bars at Grimmauld Place, after Harry had mentioned that he liked them.
"Oh! Thank you!" She beamed at him again.
Both Ron and Hermione didn't look happy, though, he noticed. Of course - he should have offered them chocolates as well. He quickly corrected his oversight, but judging by their slightly forced smiles, he wasn't entirely successful.
London, Merton, June 23rd, 1995
"Hermione?"
Sitting on the couch in the living room, Hermione Granger looked up from her book when she heard her mum call her name. "Yes?"
"You've been reading a lot of books about cats. Magazines too."
Hermione nodded. She had to research her future spirit animal, after all - knowing as much as possible couldn't hurt when she was about to become an animagus. But her parents didn't know that. "I'm interested in cats."
"We noticed," her father cut in, lowering The Times. "But we've also noticed that you haven't asked us if you could have a cat. You're not hiding a kitten somewhere, are you?" He grinned, but she didn't think he was entirely joking.
"No, I'm not." She shook her head.
"But do you want one?" Her mum asked. "We certainly could accommodate a pet."
"And you're old enough that you won't forget to feed it," her dad added.
She scowled at him - she had forgotten to water her first plant, but she had been four years old at the time! She sighed as he laughed. "I'm not certain, actually. I wouldn't see much of it, not between my studies and my work." And didn't that sound weird, to talk about her work when she hadn't even taken her O.W.L.s yet?
"So, you're studying cats without actually wanting one?" Her mum sounded rather doubtful.
"I'm still trying to make up my mind. I want to know more about cats before deciding whether or not I want one." And she wasn't entirely convinced that having an actual cat when she was planning to turn into a cat herself was a good idea - at the very least, the poor thing would be terribly confused. What if it suddenly thought she was another cat, and not its owner? The thought of having to establish a pecking order with her pet seemed absurd.
"Just don't mix it up with your psychology studies," her dad said, "or you might start to think like a cat."
Hermione forced herself to laugh - that was exactly what she was trying to do, after all.
"And act like a cat, too!" Her dad went on with an exaggerated look at her mum: "Can you imagine the size of her hairballs?"
It wasn't funny, Hermione thought as she glared at her parents. Not funny at all!
London, Merton, June 27th, 1995
Her research had confirmed what she had already known, Hermione Granger thought as she put down her last book on cats on her desk and looked over her notes. Cats were widely known as agile, flexible, graceful and elegant.
She was agile and flexible as well - thanks to Mr Fletcher's training. Not on the level of a cat, of course - that was physically impossible. But she could run over most roofs these days, like a cat on the prowl. And, she thought with a satisfied smile, she was graceful and elegant when she wanted to be. Miss Merriweather had proved that.
Stretching in front of her mirror, even striking a few poses, she nodded. Those aspects of a cat she had down pat. Or, she added to herself with a sigh, her secret identity as a budding thief had them. Hermione Granger was decidedly lacking in grace and elegance as well as athletic ability. Or so everyone but her tutor and her employer thought. Even and especially her best friends.
At least the cat's reputation for fastidiously keeping itself clean fit her perfectly. And the curiosity for which cats were notorious aligned well with her own desire to know as much as possible about everything. And, she added with a frown, her frustration at not being able to study all of the subjects offered at Hogwarts.
She glanced at the books on psychology she'd read. They hadn't proved to be as useful as she'd hoped, but at least autosuggestion should work - while she had her doubts about the method's effectiveness for physical ailments, she merely needed to affect her subconscious, which should be easy.
Easy, she thought with a glance at the cat toys she had spread out on her bed, but potentially embarrassing as well. If her parents caught her doing this, they'd never let her live it down. At least she was too old to accidentally turn herself into a cat. That wouldn't just be embarrassing, but very dangerous as well.
But her parents were at work and wouldn't barge in on her. So she sat down on her bed, surrounded by the cat toys, closed her eyes, and thought like a cat. Or tried to. It still felt silly to her, no matter how often she told herself that it was useful and necessary. She also found herself wondering what Harry and Ron were up to. They had exams this week at Hogwarts. Had they studied enough? With all the troubles and distractions at Hogwarts?
Such as Ginny. Ron's little sister couldn't have been more obvious in her attempts to seduce Harry if she had thrown herself at Hermione's friend. And the witch probably would have done just that, Hermione thought, if Harry hadn't been hurt.
At least Ginny wouldn't try to come between Harry and his friends, Hermione thought. If the little witch knew what was good for her. Then Hermione blinked. She was certainly feeling rather catty when thinking about Ginny.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 2nd 1995
"You know," Harry Potter said, catching his breath after he had just been slammed - again - into the wall of the training room Sirius had installed in their home, "most people don't use their summer holidays to study and train harder than they did at school."
His godfather snorted. "Most people aren't the personal enemy of the Dark Lord."
"I'm not exactly doing well against you right now, so how can I beat the Dark Lord?" Harry took his time getting up, rolling his right shoulder to check if it had been hurt. He stiffened and winced, the probed it with his left hand.
"Are you alright?" Sirius asked, suddenly concerned. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He stepped closer.
Just what Harry had been hoping for. "I don't know… it hurts when I move…" He flicked his wand up. "Stupefy!"
"Wha…" Sirius's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but Harry's spell hit him before he could react and he dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Harry smiled widely - he had finally managed to get his godfather.
"That was a dirty trick," Sirius complained a few minutes later, after Harry had woken him up.
Harry shrugged. "You've told me often enough that there are no rules in a real fight."
"That trick won't work on Voldemort," Sirius retorted.
Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't say that - he struck me as the gloating type." Admittedly, he hadn't met the Dark Lord that often, but still. "But everything else wasn't working against you, so I doubt that it would work on him either."
"You're still learning - and you've made a lot of progress. I doubt there's anyone in your year who could beat you," Sirius said. "Or in the year above you."
"Great. I can defeat teenagers." Harry scoffed. "Let's hope that Voldemort sends Malfoy after me."
"You mean his son?"
"Of course."
"I think your owl could beat him," Sirius said, grinning. "Lucius must be wondering what went wrong with his son."
"He isn't that bad," Harry said, "he knows a number of curses, but unless he has been sandbagging in Defence for the entire year, he doesn't know how to fight."
Sirius looked confused for a moment, then he nodded. "I doubt that he managed to fool Remus." He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "But don't forget that you're protected by Lily's blood - the Dark Lord won't be able to harm you directly."
Harry snorted. "Ron and Hermione came up with a dozen ways to hurt me indirectly."
"And that's why we're training so hard." Sirius nodded with an exaggerated smile. Then he grew serious. "And you already knew all that. What's bothering you?"
Harry sighed. "It's a girl." He sat down on the bench at the side of the room.
"You're bothered by a girl?" Sirius asked with a grin, sitting down next to him.
Harry scowled at him. Could he be serious for once? "No. I like this girl, but I'm not sure if I should ask her to be my girlfriend."
"Why not? Do you think she doesn't like you?"
"No, no." Harry shook his head. "I think - actually, I'm pretty sure - that she likes me as well." At least he didn't think he had misread her interest.
"So what's the problem? Is she already taken?"
"No. She's Ginny Weasley." Harry looked at the floor.
"The cute redhead? Ron's sister?"
"Yes. And that's the problem." Harry sighed again. "What if this goes wrong, and she ends up hating me like Parvati?"
"I told you, I don't think Parvati really hates you. She hasn't tried to curse you, after all," Sirius said.
Harry shot him a glare. "She isn't a Black," he said curtly. "But I'm not worried about curses." No matter what stories Ron told about Ginny. "I'm worried about making visits to The Burrow awkward, and how a breakup would affect me and Ron."
"You're afraid that if you break up with Ginny, Ron will stop being your friend?" Sirius sounded incredulous.
"Yes," Harry pressed out. He was worried - Ron was his best friend, but Ginny was Ron's sister - wouldn't he naturally side with her, instead of with Harry?
His godfather shook his head. "Don't worry. Unless you cheat on her, or do anything similarly stupid, Ron will back you."
"But she's his sister!" Harry almost yelled. "Family."
"Ah." Sirius took a deep breath. "That's not how it works."
"You said family comes first," Harry retorted. And the Weasleys were a very tight-knit family.
"And that's true - for serious things and problems." Sirius shrugged. "Unless you get her pregnant, this isn't really serious. You're teenagers, after all. And Ron knows her - he'll understand, and back you." He grinned widely, showing his teeth. "You were an only child, so you don't know what it's like to have siblings. Trust me, I'd have backed any witch who broke up with Regulus. And not just so I could console her and show her that not all Blacks are that bad," he added with a rather lecherous expression.
Harry would have mentioned that Regulus had been a Death Eater, but Sirius's family was a touchy subject, one only worsened by his godfather's memory problems, so he simply nodded.
"Of course, Molly will take her little girl's side, so you'd probably have some trouble at The Burrow anyway, for a while," Sirius added, almost as an afterthought. "But then, that's no reason not to try your luck with Ginny. She's a redhead; you'll probably get into trouble if she likes you and you don't like her back. Witch scorned, and all that." He nodded sagely.
Harry pressed his lips together. He needed another opinion. His godfather's wasn't very helpful right now. And he certainly couldn't talk about this with Ron. And he didn't think Remus had much experience with teenage relationships, not according to Sirius's stories.
That left his other best friend. He nodded - Hermione would be able to help him.
London, Greenwich, July 2nd, 1995
"Well, at least the downward trend has been stopped." Hermione Granger didn't quite sigh, but she felt like doing so as she dropped the letter with the results of her 'exams' on the table in her tutor's kitchen. Technically - she had taken fewer subjects, after all.
Mr Fletcher picked it up. "Outstandings in Charms and Transfiguration, Exceeds Expectations in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and History of Magic. Acceptables in Potions, Care for Magical Creatures and Defence."
"Those don't count," she snapped. "Snape hates muggleborns and didn't grade me fairly, and I had to hold back in Defence." She frowned at him - he had ordered her to do that.
"Yes, and for very good reasons. If Black managed to see through your disguise then you have to be even more careful."
"Not even Harry recognised me - and Mr Black only recognised me because I was with you at the ball." She scoffed and poured herself some tea.
He grinned, acknowledging her point. "Yes. But if he can make the connection, then so can others. Which is why you need to have a very different appearance and manners as Miss Granger."
"Frumpy, plain, unfit for Quidditch, and a little bit of a nag, I know." This time she did sigh.
"Just don't overdo it either. Your friends might grow suspicious."
"My friends would grow tired of me if I overdid it." And she had her pride, too - she was a witch, after all! "But at least Skeeter has been completely fooled," she added, clenching her teeth together. That witch would pay for her lies!
"I've read the article too. You should be happy about it," Mr Fletcher said. He wasn't grinning, but she was certain that he found this amusing. "She completely absolves you of any involvement in the attack on Potter."
"Because I'm 'too incompetent to handle such advanced magic' and had 'obviously cheated to earn my grades at Hogwarts'," Hermione spat. She forced herself to relax her grip on her cup before she spilled - or even broke - it.
"To be thought stupid and incompetent is a great cover. I'm working on establishing that Mr Smith isn't very good with a wand myself," he said as he grabbed a cup of tea for himself.
"But you aren't thought a cheat and a failure."
"That wouldn't be helpful for my cover. Good families wouldn't send their daughters and sons to be tutored by me if they thought ill of me."
"And my reputation helps my cover? I'm supposed to be Mr Black's secretary."
"Black's a rogue and a rake. Of course he'd hire a witch like you."
"That doesn't exactly make me appear innocent."
"You don't need to appear innocent. Just incompetent."
Which, Hermione realised, would be harder than she'd thought.
"Now stop frowning - it's time for your practical exam."
Hermione had expected that, after last year's surprise exam. But she still felt nervous when she saw her tutor's grin.
Cuxton, Kent, Britain, July 2nd, 1995
As she was finding her balance after once more having experienced Side-Along Apparition, Hermione Granger reaffirmed her vow to master Apparition this year. Even if it was supposed to feel as unpleasant as Side-Along Apparition, at least she would have some control over it.
She took a deep breath and looked around. They were at the coast, on a hill. She looked around. East Coast. Kent or Norfolk, probably, since the sea was to the north, and it was too warm for Scotland.
"Welcome to Cuxton, Kent," Mr Fletcher confirmed her guess. "Home to a few thousand muggles - and one wizard family of modest means." He pointed at a very old looking farm house at the foot of the hill. "The Allisters. Pureblood, but not of the Old Families - their ancestors married too many muggles. Kind of like the Weasleys."
"That doesn't sound as if they are bigots."
"Oh, they aren't. Decent folk. Farmers - potion ingredients. Not on the level of the Longbottoms, or the Malfoys, but they make a living."
She studied the house, waiting for Mr Fletcher to explain what he expected of her. He couldn't want her to steal from decent people, could he? That would go against his own rules.
"Now, your task is to break into the house without triggering the wards and steal something they won't miss. Something they will think has been disposed of or mislaid."
She drew a breath through clenched teeth. A real theft, this time. In a real house. "Do I have to case the joint?"
He shook his head. "No. That would take too much time. I did it for you. The inhabitants of the house are Margaret and Andrew Allister. Married, two children - who have already left home. Since it's a Sunday afternoon, Margaret is off having tea with her friends and Andrew is using the opportunity to listen to muggle music, which his wife can't stand." When she glanced at him, he chuckled. "I gather that she means rock 'n' roll."
"Ah." Hermione nodded, her attention focused on the house below. One wizard, distracted by listening to music. He'd be in the kitchen or living room. Which meant the best route would be to enter through the roof, after getting through the wards. "When will his wife be back?"
"She usually returns in time to cook dinner. Six o'clock."
She checked her watch. That meant she had three hours. Plenty of time, if the wards were weak. But this was an old house. The wards wouldn't be that weak. Still… he wouldn't set her a task that she couldn't do. She could do this. She just had to apply what she had learned. She studied the lay of the farm. If the wardline followed a traditional pattern, then… there!
Hermione shrugged out of her robes, leaving her in a black turtleneck and matching jeans. She pulled a balaclava on, hiding both her face and her hair - just in case her spells failed. Then she twirled her wand around herself, casting a Disillusionment Charm. A moment later she was on her way down to the target. When she turned around to look back, her tutor had vanished. Probably disillusioned himself, to watch her work.
She hadn't seen any sign of a dog, and Mr Fletcher hadn't mentioned one either, but she still drank a potion to suppress her scent before approaching the area. This would be an expensive test, she realised. But she wanted to impress her tutor. Show him that she was ready for a real heist. At least ready to help him.
The fence surrounding the yard was no obstacle; she dropped to the ground and crawled under it. Then she used the - she hoped former - outhouse as cover to approach the house. She was disillusioned, but it never hurt to be extra careful.
She cast her detection spell at twenty yards from where she expected the wardline to be - they would have buried stones, at the time the house was built, instead of anchoring the wards to the walls. It took her a minute to sneak close enough with that spell up to confirm her guess. Both her guesses, actually - these were old wards. Not as powerful - and, so she hoped, not as lethal - as the wards protecting the Old Families' manors, but they were composed of many layers, making them far more difficult to circumvent than the wards Mr Fletcher had set for her last exam.
But she could do this! She would do this!
She took a deep breath to calm down, then focused on the layers of the ward. An Alarm Spell was the most obvious. It probably served to announce visitors. The Muggle-Repelling Charm she could ignore. The same went for the Vermin-Repelling Charm. But the Shocking Spell and the Banishing Charm… whoever had cast them had known what they were doing. They were linked; dispelling one would trigger the other.
She had learned how to deal with linked charms, though dispelling them wouldn't be a good idea - the goal was to sneak in and out without the Allisters realising that she had been there, and dismantling the core of their wards would certainly alert them to the break in. Licking her lips, she started to adjust the spells, twisting and prodding them, tweaking and pulling, until she had created a blind spot she could sneak through.
Blinking, she realised that she was sweating and breathing heavily - that had taken more out of her than she had expected. A glance at her watch told her that it taken her more time, too - almost an hour. She forced herself to calm down. She still had plenty of time before Mrs Allister returned.
She waited until she was breathing normally, then crawled forward. When her hand crossed the wardline she tensed - but nothing happened. No alarm, no spark, no sudden flight back out of the warded area. She had done it! She was inside the wards!
Now she just had to break into the house.
It took another five yards crawling on her belly to reach the wall - which, she checked, wasn't protected by spells. The windows were, though - basic alarm charms and locking spells. Someone had not trusted the ward, or maybe Mrs Allister had been used to doing those spells in her home before moving into her husband's. It didn't matter - Hermione had learned how to deal with those over a year ago.
A flick of her wrist conjured a plank underneath her. She tapped it with her wand, disillusioning it, before levitating it - and her with it - upwards. She could have climbed as well, but this was quieter, and would leave fewer traces.
The attic had a small, dusty window - but Hermione would fit through it without the help of spells. There were no spells protecting this window. Maybe her hypothesis that Mrs Allister was simply in the habit of 'locking up' the house as if it had a more modern ward scheme was correct. She would have to ask Mr Fletcher afterwards.
She didn't use a spell on the window either - she opened it with a few tools a skilled muggle burglar would have been familiar with and stuck her head inside. The floor was covered with dust; walking on it was out, then. She carefully maneuvered her floating plank through the window, with her on it, then closed the window before floating to the trapdoor leading downstairs. That wasn't protected with spells either and the hinges looked well-oiled, so she reached down and slowly opened it until she could peer through the gap.
Below was a dark stairway. She could hear loud music now as well - as Mr Fletcher had predicted. Although it wasn't rock 'n' roll; it was punk. The Sex Pistols. She closed the trapdoor again and looked around. She was surrounded by knick-knacks and other things usually dumped in the attic instead of being disposed of. For a moment, she remembered going through her old home's attic, and throwing away so many things, then she refocused on her task. She could simply grab a knick-knack here; judging by the dust covering everything, the Allisters didn't use or need anything up here any more, and didn't care enough to protect them either.
But… she bit her lower lip. That would be easy. Too easy. She wanted to excel. To impress her tutor. Show him that she had what it took to do real heists. Nodding slowly, she opened the trapdoor again, opening it fully this time. The stairway was clean, so she left her plank floating in the attic and carefully closed the trapdoor behind her, then snuck downstairs.
The music came from the living room. The door was halfway open; she could see crossed legs, one foot whipping, from her spot. She moved towards the kitchen, holding her breath as she crossed the open door. She made it! The kitchen was similar to the one in The Burrow. Ice Box. Stove. Cupboard. Pantry. Where… there! The saucer filled with Knuts, for the Daily Prophet. Grinning, she checked for spells, then grabbed one Knut and stuck it in her pocket.
She turned around, and her eyes widened: Mr Allister was just leaving the living room - and headed towards the kitchen! She almost gasped, but held her breath. She had to get out of his way, and hide - her charm might not fool him if he got too close. But where? The pantry? The door might creak - it was an old door, and…
It was an old house - with a low ceiling! She climbed on the table, reaching up to touch the ceiling. Two quick, silent Sticking Charms later, she was stuck to it, her heart racing while she struggled to breathe silently.
Mr Allister entered the kitchen, his head whipping back and forth. He was even singing along! She saw him reach for the teapot and held her breath. If he set the pan on the stove and left… He didn't. He sat down and waited.
By the time Mr Allister had finished brewing his tea, and left for the living room again, Hermione wanted to hex him for his off-key singing.
Five minutes later, when she was floating out of the attic window, down to the weak spot she had left in the wards, her heart was still racing.
That had been exhilarating!
Her tutor was indeed impressed, both by her plan and her quick reaction to Mr Allister heading to the kitchen. He was also, or so Hermione thought, impressed by her decision to steal a single Knut - which she would mark with a spell and keep as a souvenir. She would even have turned it into a necklace if that wouldn't have been suspicious.
But he wasn't terribly impressed, not at all, that he had been able to watch her without her being aware of his presence. Apparently, he had, while preparing her exam, attuned himself to the wards so he could slip in and out without being detected. Something, Hermione had to reluctantly agree, she should have expected. It was only logical, after all.
He still gave her an Outstanding, but, as he put it, it was a little closer to Exceeds Expectation than she liked.
Hermione vowed to do better next time.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 3rd, 1995
"Hermione! I've been waiting for you!"
Hermione Granger was both surprised and pleased by Harry's enthusiastic greeting when she entered Mr Black and Harry's house. "Hi, Harry!" She beamed at him. "You've been waiting for me?"
He nodded. "Yes. I need to talk to you." He glanced around and added: "In private."
If not for her training under her tutor, Hermione would have gasped at that. He wanted to talk to her, in private? Had he finally realised that she was a pretty witch too? Then she reminded herself that that would mean that she had failed in her disguise. Which would be a very bad thing. Even though Harry would certainly keep her secret - it was Sirius's too - and maybe that would let them grow even closer…
By the time they had reached his room, Hermione had almost convinced herself that this - obviously hypothetical scenario - wouldn't be a bad thing. Not really.
"So," she said, sitting down on Harry's bed, "you wanted to talk to me?" He looked slightly nervous - which was a good thing, too, or so she thought,
He nodded several times, taking a seat in his chair. "Yes. You're the only one I can talk to about this."
That… didn't sound good. "Yes?" she prompted him, feeling her stomach drop.
Harry took a deep breath. "I think I fancy Ginny." Definitely not a good thing, Hermione thought. "And I think she might fancy me."
The girl was all but throwing herself at him, Hermione knew. Harry really was clueless - which had to be the fault of his relatives. And probably Mr Black's. She nodded slowly.
"And you and her get along well. Much better than with Parvati," Harry added.
That wasn't a high bar, Hermione thought. And she wasn't certain that she and Ginny would get along well if the other witch became Harry's girlfriend. She didn't say either, though, and nodded again. She had learned to lie, after all. "So, you fancy each other." And to smile even if she didn't feel like smiling. He couldn't be asking what she thought he was, could he?
"Yes. Probably." He took another deep breath. "But… she's Ron's sister. And I don't know how he and his family will react should we break up. Me and Ginny, I mean." He smiled at her. "So, I wanted to ask you for advice. Should I ask her out anyway? Do you think Ron would be angry?"
He was! Hermione wanted to hex him. Instead, she asked: "Do you mean that he might get angry at you for dating his sister, or angry at you for - hypothetically - breaking up with her?"
"Ah… both? I've never had a sibling, you know. I don't know how that works."
She didn't point out that she was an only child as well. Or that it wasn't a good sign that he was already thinking about a breakup before he had actually asked the witch out. Her best friend had asked her for her advice, and she owed him both honesty and her best effort. And maybe a jinx or hex for asking this of her.
She pushed a stray lock out of her face as she answered: "Well, I think that your fear of another bad breakup isn't a sufficient reason to stop you from entering a new relationship. As long as you're honest with her, then the Weasleys and Ron shouldn't hate you if things don't work out between you and Ginny." They shouldn't, but that didn't mean they wouldn't. With the obvious exception of Ron, she didn't know the Weasleys that well. "Of course, if you cheat on her, or treat her badly, take her for granted, or simply want to sleep with her…"
"Of course not!" he exclaimed, but she noted he was blushing as well. "I wouldn't do that to a girl!"
"You'd better not," she said, a little more sharply than she wanted. "Ginny's got a temper too."
"Oh, I know." His expression didn't look like he thought that that was a bad thing. He stood up and moved towards her. "Thank you! I'll ask her to be my girlfriend tomorrow, when I go over to The Burrow."
"I'm glad I could help," Hermione lied with a smile as he hugged her.
Maybe she could ask her tutor to use Harry for her next practical exam?
Outside Stafford, Staffordshire, Britain, June 22nd, 1995
Amelia Bones returned the greetings of the Aurors guarding the crime scene, but her attention was on the house in front of her. Or rather, on its wards. Her enchanted monocle might not be as powerful or versatile as Alastor's artificial eye, but it was more than able to show her that the house's defences were still active. Whoever had murdered Alphons Bagnold hadn't broken through the wards. Which meant that someone had let the killer inside. And seeing as Alphons had been living alone, odds were that it had been him.
A quick survey of the garden told her that the Aurors had the scene covered; she didn't see any blind spots. She almost grinned - she had been the Head of the DMLE for years, but she still thought like the Head Auror. And the Corps knew it, of course.
Her successor knew it as well. But Rufus ran a tight ship - even tighter, or so she had heard, than her own, back in the day. Which would serve both of them well in dealing with this latest mess.
She entered the house and wished she had cast a Bubble-Head Charm - the smell of blood was overwhelming. She didn't let any discomfort show on her face, of course - she had a reputation to maintain. Although… the smell shouldn't be that strong, she thought - not hours after the deed. The blood should have dried up already.
Frowning, she turned to the Auror casting detection spells in the entrance hall. "Where's the Head Auror?"
The witch turned around and gasped - Amelia made a note that the Auror had apparently missed her presence, too focused on her work. Not the best habit for someone working in the field. "Ma'am! He's in the basement. Where the murder happened."
Amelia gave her a curt nod, then went downstairs. Rufus was there, as was Alastor - as she had expected. Both were standing on a floating board so they wouldn't disturb the pool of blood the ground had been turned into. Alastor was grinning at her despite - or because of - the gruesome scene.
"I was right, Amelia! That's Outterridge blood there." He pointed his wand at the blood. "Some of it, at least. Quite the mess."
"That's an understatement," Rufus said. The Head Auror was frowning at Alastor - by custom, in this situation subordinates didn't speak up until asked. But the old Auror didn't care much about custom, and he was too experienced and valuable to be disciplined over it. "We've called in the Department of Mysteries, but according to preliminary investigations" - he glanced at Alastor - "this contains the blood of at least half a dozen individuals."
"And the liquified remains of Alphons Bagnold," Alastor added.
"Liquified?" Transfiguring a corpse into blood wasn't that difficult, however she knew of only one spell that could do this to a living human.
"Aye." The old Auror lost his smile. "I checked the residue three times. The murderer used the Bloodfall Curse."
She drew a hissing breath, uncaring of the stench now. There was only one person who had used that spell in the last war. She looked at Rufus. "Check if Bellatrix Lestrange is still in her cell."
Rufus nodded. Alastor scoffed. "Not even the Hit-Wizards are so incompetent as to miss another escape. That wasn't Lestrange's work anyway. It's too neat."
"Neat?" Rufus stared at his nominal subordinate, then pointedly looked at the gory liquid covering the floor.
"Yes. Neat. No signs of excessive torture. No blown up furniture. No torn off limbs. Just a big puddle of blood." The scarred Auror shook his head. "Not her style. And that was before she was sent to Azkaban." Amelia had to agree - Lestrange had been unhinged even then, and wouldn't have gotten better. Alastor went on: "This here was done by someone else who knew the spell. And there aren't many left alive who were ever taught it."
"Black," Rufus said. "It's a family spell. But he has an alibi." They would have checked that already, of course. And the alibis of the remaining Blacks.
"Dumbledore's vouching for him again?" Amelia asked.
"Not just him. Apparently, Potter had an accident at school last evening, and Black spent the night in the infirmary there," Rufus said.
"Could be Polyjuice Potion, of course," Alastor cut in, earning him another glare from Rufus, "but I doubt that Albus would have let that fool him. He isn't that old yet." He chuckled.
"He could have taught the spell to someone," Rufus said. That Black had sent hired wands after Bagnold and Crouch was one of the more popular theories in the Corps.
"If he's making the effort of using someone else to commit murder so he has an alibi, making them use a Black family spell would be a rather dumb move," Alastor pointed out. Given how paranoid the man was, Amelia suspected he was just playing advocatus diaboli to ruffle Rufus's feathers.
"Unless Black is trying to be too clever, and expects us to assume that," Rufus shot back. "He spent over ten years in Azkaban - he can't be sane. And," he added with a sneer, "he still hasn't told us who helped him escape. Anyone who'd spring Black from Azkaban would commit murder as well."
Amelia had to agree, at least partially, there - you couldn't trust Black. His claim that he couldn't remember how he had disappeared from Azkaban was a laughably transparent attempt to protect his helper. Who, she suspected, was Lupin. Or even Dumbledore himself - the Chief Warlock had lately shown a rather antagonistic attitude towards the Wizengamot's justice.
Alastor shrugged. "I'm not gonna drop him as a suspect. But I think there's more to this than just revenge. Or at least, it's not Black's revenge."
"Who else could it be?" Rufus scoffed. "Some hitherto unknown Death Eater who has waited until Black escaped from Azkaban to frame him?"
"I'm not even discounting the Dark Lord himself - or his ghost." Alastor grinned. "He certainly would have the motive."
Amelia would have dismissed this as a joke, or a paranoid delusion, if not for the fact that Alastor was one of Dumbledore's oldest friends.
But she didn't know what was more dangerous - a returned Dark Lord, or a Chief Warlock trying to fake such a threat to regain the influence he had lost since the last war.
*****
Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1995
Harry Potter woke up with a headache. A terrible, pounding headache - he hadn't felt that bad since… He drew a hissing breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He hadn't felt a pain this bad since his first year. Since Voldemort had tried to kill him.
"Harry?"
Sirius! He opened his eyes. His godfather was sitting next to his bed - he was in the infirmary - and Sirius looked almost as bad as Harry felt. Disheveled. Exhausted. And his expression…
"Did… did anyone die?" Harry asked.
"What? No." Sirius shook his head. "You collapsed during the Victory Feast. And your scar split open and bled all over…" He shook his head. "Pomfrey fixed you up, though."
The Victory Feast. Harry had been eating, next to Ron, and suddenly… He winced. Yes, there had been blood. On his face, on the table, and on the floor. Pools of blood. No… that hadn't been in the Great Hall. That had been… he didn't know where. He hadn't been there before, that much he knew. But… he touched his forehead and discovered that a bandage covered his scar.
"Pomfrey couldn't close the wound. But the bleeding has stopped now," Sirius explained. "She was quite miffed that she had to use 'muggle methods'."
"I can imagine." Harry forced himself to chuckle, then hissed at the pain that caused.
"Do you want a potion for the pain?" his godfather asked.
"Will it do anything?" Harry had his doubts. This reeked of the Dark Arts.
"It shouldn't hurt," Sirius answered.
That sounded less than reassuring, Harry thought. On the other hand, he doubted that he could get any worse. Short of dying, of course. So he nodded. "Yes, please."
"Don't worry, it'll stay our secret. You can tell the witches that you toughed it out." Sirius grinned - though it looked very forced to Harry - and handed him a small vial.
Harry downed the vial and to his surprise, the pain receded until it was a dull ache. He sighed and closed his eyes again for a moment.
"Did it work?"
"Yes." Harry started to nod, then froze when that caused the pain to flare up. "I'm feeling better, but not well yet."
"Good. I wouldn't have liked having to buy muggle remedies. Did you know that you need permission to buy muggle medicines?" Sirius scoffed. "And they threatened to call the police when I tried to offer them more gold."
"What did you do?" Had his godfather been mistaken for a drug addict, or worse?
"Oh, I wanted to buy some muggle pills. Lily had told me that they worked… something." Sirius blinked. "Or was it… some sex pill? Something like that." He nodded. "They didn't want to sell me the pills, though."
Harry was certain that his godfather was mixing up memories again, but nodded anyway. "Do you know what happened?"
"Dumbledore said the Dark Lord affected you through your scar." Sirius was looking at him.
Harry almost nodded, but stopped in time. "Something like that. My scar hurts like it did after he attacked me in first year."
Sirius mumbled a curse under his breath that Harry didn't quite catch. "How could he do that? Was he among the guests? Or the students? Dumbledore said he had strengthened the wards!"
"I don't think so. It felt... " Harry sighed. "He wasn't at Hogwarts. I don't think so. I saw blood. Lots of blood."
Sirius looked grim and bared his teeth. "Merlin's balls! There was a murder last night. A bloody murder."
"What? You said no one died!" Harry hissed when his forehead hurt again.
"Not at Hogwarts. But Bagnold's nephew was killed. Apparently with a Black Family curse that turns the victim to blood. On Solstice."
"When I collapsed?"
Sirius nodded. "We have to tell Dumbledore at once. I'll get him." He patted Harry's arm, then left.
Sirius didn't take long - he returned with the Headmaster after a few minutes. "Good afternoon, Harry," Dumbledore said, with his usual smile.
"Afternoon?" Harry turned his head, hissing at the pain that caused. It was true - the sun was in the west already. "I was asleep that long?"
"You needed the rest," the Headmaster said. "Poppy and I agreed on that." He sat down in the chair Sirius had vacated. "How do you feel?"
"Better." Harry took a deep breath. "I think I saw Voldemort murder someone - I don't remember much, or all that clearly, but there was a lot of blood. It was… a basement, I think. There was another man, too." He was remembering a few more details as he spoke. "The floor was… covered in blood." His scar was hurting again, but he pressed on. "There was a body on the floor, and…" He clenched his teeth. This was important, but he couldn't remember exactly what he had seen.
"Don't force yourself, Harry," the Headmaster said in his calm, gentle voice. "It appears that you saw Tom murder someone."
Harry closed his eyes. That sounded… "I'm not sure…" He now knew how Sirius must so often feel, he realised, and snorted.
"There is a way to check your memories," Dumbledore went on. "You can copy them with your wand, and they can be observed by others with a special device. I hesitate to ask this of you, but…"
Harry stared at him. They would need his memories to foil whatever the Dark Lord was doing.
"Tell me what to do!"
*****
Half an hour later, Harry felt sick. It was one thing to remember what he had seen, it was another to see it happen again. All that blood… He managed not to throw up as he withdrew from the Headmaster's Pensieve, where his memory had been placed, but it was a near thing.
Even Dumbledore looked grim now when he and Sirius withdrew as well. "While the memories were rather fragmented, they were enough to confirm what I suspected," he said. "Voldemort has regained a real body and is no longer limited to possessing victims."
Sirius almost seemed to growl. "Well, at least we can clear my name. Bellatrix must have taught the Dark Lord the spell."
"We can't use this," Dumbledore said.
"What? Why not? It's not too detailed, but you can see the spell being cast. It proves that it wasn't me!" Sirius bared his teeth again.
"Using Harry's memories would also reveal his connection to the Dark Lord," Dumbledore pointed out.
Harry felt a chill run down his spine. If Voldemort found out about this… that he could be affected through the scar… "But... I collapsed in in the Great Hall," he pointed out. "In the middle of the Victory Feast." That must have been a spectacle.
"Indeed - outside Hufflepuff's dorms, your unfortunate incident is probably the talk of the school," Dumbledore said. "We might have to fabricate a cover story, to explain how you collapsed at the same time as Bagnold was killed. Fortunately, the Solstice is a traditional time for rituals of all sorts, so it shouldn't be too suspicious that this happened at the same time as the Dark Lord's ritual."
"Can we frame Malfoy?" Harry asked. "He already poisoned me in second year."
Dumbledore chuckled. "As fitting as that might be, I think the risk that Lucius would be able to clear his son of such an accusation would be too great. It would be better to blame unknown assailants."
"Sic the Aurors on those 'imperiused' Death Eaters. They might even uncover some actual crimes," Sirius said.
That sounded like a great idea, Harry thought. Some good might come from this bloody murder.
*****
London, Merton, June 22nd, 1995
If Hermione Granger had been a cat, then the two people who had just rang the doorbell would have caused her hackles to rise. She observed them through the spyhole. A man and a woman, young to middle age, in clothes that were a tad too conservative for their age - she would have pegged them as the police, if not for the lack of a car in the drive.
Aurors then. Probably. If she acted as if she wasn't at home they might simply enter - there were no wards to stop them. She could flee, of course - her escape tunnel hadn't gone past the planning stage; she needed the plans of the neighbouring houses to dig it without destabilising any of them - but she had a broom stashed in her room, ready to fly out of the window. But they might be expecting that.
And, she told herself as she opened the door - her wand in hand, though - she hadn't done anything illegal since her expulsion. Well, not anything really illegal.
She put on her best smile. "Yes?"
"Miss Granger?" the woman asked.
"Yes?"
The woman tapped her jacket, and a badge appeared. "I'm Auror Bracken, this is my partner, Auror Fawley." Pureblood names, Hermione thought. Bracken wasn't an Old Family, but Fawley was - but of course, the Auror might not be from the main branch. "We would like you to come to the Ministry to answer a few questions."
"Questions?" She tried to sound naive and dumb. "About what?"
"A possible crime," Fawley cut in, in a rather curt tone. He made a good 'bad cop', Hermione thought. But then, he could be a bad cop.
She narrowed her eyes. "Am I under arrest? Is someone trying to frame me again?"
"You're not under arrest, but we would appreciate your cooperation," Bracken said, with a polite smile. "It concerns your friend Mr Potter."
She felt as if her stomach tied itself into a knot. "Has something happened to Harry?"
"We cannot discuss this in the middle of the street," Bracken said.
"Or in your home," Fawley added, with a sneer.
She wanted to go to Grimmauld Place and ask Mr Black, but he wouldn't be there if anything had happened to Harry. And Mr Fletcher had been clear that cooperation with the authorities was the best course of action, as long as they didn't have anything on her. And while she couldn't dismiss the possibility of another attempt to frame her, she doubted that they would use Harry for that. "Of course. But I'll need to inform my employer that I'll be absent today, or he might get worried. It'll only take a minute to send him an owl."
They knew, of course, for whom she was working. And they didn't like that fact, but they couldn't do anything about it.
It was almost funny, Hermione thought as she wrote a note for Mr Black - she hadn't expected to be arrested even before she actually stole anything.
*****
"Where were you yesterday between six in the evening and midnight?"
"At home. I've told you that already. Twice." Hermione Granger didn't bother refraining from rolling her eyes. Bracken and Fawley had at least been professional, even though Fawley might not actually have been faking his apparent dislike of her. But Dawlish, who had taken over her interrogation, was repeating his question for the second time. She couldn't think of what he might plan on accomplishing by doing this.
"Did you cast any spells?" He sounded boring as well, and spoke just a smidgen too slowly for her taste.
"No."
"Really? You spent the entire evening without casting a single spell?"
"I'm a muggleborn. We do that all the time." She smiled sweetly at him.
"You replaced your wand, though." Dawlish didn't seem to notice her mood.
"Of course. I'm a witch, after all."
"That would imply a desire to cast spells." He acted like a dog too dumb to realise that a plastic bone wasn't edible.
"I'm underage." She was propping her head up with one arm. "And I wasn't with my tutor yesterday evening."
"Your wand is free of the Trace." He glared at her.
"I bought it like that. Perfectly legal." Which she was certain other young wizards and witches with the means to buy a second wand were aware of as well. "Are you accusing me of breaking the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery? I thought this was about whatever happened to Harry. Which you still haven't told me anything about." She was getting more and more worried. What had happened to her best friend?
"You claim you didn't cast any spells but your wand shows that it was used."
"Yes. I used it to cast spells while with my tutor." She bit her lower lip before she openly insulted the man. Maybe that was his game - to get her angry and frustrated enough to lose her temper and slip up. She might have to revise her estimate of him if that was the case.
"Can anyone confirm your claim?"
"You can ask my parents."
"They're muggles."
"Yes. I'm a muggleborn." She almost asked if he was a blood purist.
"They might not have noticed magic, or they might have been obliviated."
"To hide underage magic?" She scoffed at him. That was absurd! "Just what kind of spell do you think I cast?"
"That's classified."
"I didn't cast any spells. I have told you that several times. Unless you have a question you haven't asked before, I want to leave now. I need to find out what happened to my friend!" She stood up, glaring at the man. If Harry had been hurt, and they had kept this from her because of stupid prejudice and bigotry...
"Your friend was struck by a dark curse yesterday evening."
"What?" She gasped. Harry! "Where is he!"
"That's classified."
She wanted to hex the man, but she didn't have her wand on her. So she glared at him, raised her chin and crossed her arms. "I want to leave now."
"There are still a few more questions you need to answer…" Dawlish trailed off when the door opened.
"Let the lass go, Dawlish," an old, scarred man said. "Her wand's clean and she's got an alibi." He had an artificial eye, Hermione noticed. She stiffened and felt her stomach drop a little. This was 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Mr Fletcher had told her a lot about this Auror. One of the best in the Ministry, and no one knew exactly what his enchanted eye could do.
"She's a suspect," Dawlish retorted.
"Even if Skeeter's articles weren't utter rubbish, the lass's too young to be able to curse anyone through the wards of Hogwarts." Moody chuckled. "And Skeeter's claiming that she cheated for her grades anyway." The witch would pay for that, too, Hermione thought. "Merlin's arse, Dawlish! I didn't think you were dumb enough to take the Daily Prophet's slander as evidence!"
"What?" Dawlish stood up, sneering. "And who was the one who hexed two post owls because he thought they were disguised assassins?"
"Constant vigilance, Dawlish!" Moody retorted, tapping his eye. Hermione resolved not to approach the man in animal form, should she manage to become an animagus.
"That's what I'm doing!" the other Auror protested. "I'd have expected you to back me up here!"
Moody scoffed. "I checked her wand, I checked her clothes, I checked her hair. No residue of any dark magic. Dumbledore and Black also vouch for her." His face broke into a frightening grin. "Besides, we have a list of other suspects to investigate and interrogate. People with the experience to cast dark curses, even. Now, send the lass on her way so she can check up on her friend before she curses you. She looks like she really wants to, too." He chuckled again. "The boy's fine, lass."
He was half-right - Hermione wanted to curse them both. That old Auror had used his eye to spy on her! Mr Fletcher had told her that Moody could see through robes. But she knew better than to start anything in the middle of the Auror offices, of course - even if she had had her wand.
And she needed to get out of here so she could see how Harry was doing! She knew just how bad 'fine' could be when it was about Harry!
*****
Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1995
"Harry!"
Harry Potter looked up from the game of chess he was playing with Ron when he heard a familiar but unexpected yell. Hermione had arrived in the infirmary. And she was headed straight for him with a rather worried and worrying expression on her face. "Hello, Hermione," he said quickly. "I'm fine." It had been the wrong thing to say, he realised a second too late.
"Fine?" she all but growled, only taking her eyes off him for a moment to return Ron's greetings. "You said that when you were half-dead in our first year! Or when you had half your bones broken in our second year!"
Harry heard Ron mutter "Blimey!" as his friend grabbed the chessboard and put it on the side. "I'm going to be fine?" he said, turning it into a question almost against his will. "Honest! They'll release me tomorrow." Which meant it wasn't as bad as the two times she had just brought up.
She huffed and sat down, mumbling something he didn't quite catch. "So what happened? All I've been told is that you were cursed."
"Dumbledore said it was some sort of pain curse." Harry drew his wand. "I bled because I hit my head on the table when I collapsed from the pain and it ripped my scar open." A nice explanation that made it harder to connect him to the blood spilled by Voldemort - or Sirius's family. He cast a privacy spell. "That's the cover story."
Hermione frowned. "And what really happened?"
Harry tapped his forehead - next to the bandage. "My scar's a link to Voldemort. He went through a really dark ritual to get a new body, and I was affected by the dark curses he used." When he saw her horrified expression, he quickly added: "It was just a vision, very fragmented, of what he saw. A few seconds. My scar bled, but that was all."
"And it hurt a lot, or the Headmaster wouldn't be claiming that it was a pain curse." She narrowed her eyes at him. Busted!
Harry winced - his friend was too smart to be deceived like that. He shrugged. "I've had worse."
She snorted, but didn't pursue the topic any further. "As long as you're safe. As safe as you can be, with the Dark Lord back in a body. It's not simple possession then?"
Harry shook his head. "No. My mother's protection should still keep me safe, but the scar's a weakness."
"Well, it also serves as a Dark Lord detector," Ron said, grinning. "If it hurts, Voldemort's close."
Harry snorted. They had found that out in their first year. "Yeah."
Hermione, of course, didn't see the humour. "Really."
Ron shrugged. "Yes. A bit of pain can save his life."
"That's what Sirius says about training, too," Harry pointed out. Then he blinked when he suddenly thought of something. "Are you allowed to visit? You know, with you…" He trailed off.
Hermione scoffed. "I'm not actually certain whether visits are allowed or not. But I snuck in through a tunnel Mr Black showed me. Officially, I'm not here. If any Aurors ask, I'm at Grimmauld Place."
"Why would Aurors ask about you?" Ron looked puzzled.
"Apparently, I'm a suspect in the case," Hermione said with a sneer. "They already questioned me."
"What?" Harry shook his head - it didn't hurt any more - and scoffed. "That's absurd!"
"I bet it was Malfoy!" Ron cut in. "Trying to frame you for his own crimes. Lucius Malfoy," he added.
"It's possible. Auror Moody seems to have squashed the investigation, though," Hermione explained. "He's a friend of Dumbledore's, so he might know what really happened."
Harry smiled - at least the Headmaster was still looking out for Hermione. "Yes. Tonks told me stories about 'Mad-Eye' and his enchanted eye."
"Can it look through clothes?" Hermione asked quickly.
"I'm not certain. It can look through walls, though…" Harry trailed off, considering the implications of that.
"Blimey! That would be really useful!" Ron said. When Hermione glared at him, he added: "I mean to spot if someone's hiding something. Or ambushes."
Hermione didn't look convinced. "Well, we don't have an enchanted eye," Harry said. "And even if we had one, I prefer using my own eyes." Even if he needed glasses. "Not to peep on anyone, of course. And certainly not on you, believe me!" He wouldn't do that to his best friend.
She didn't look any happier, though - quite the contrary, actually. But before he could reassure her, the door to the infirmary opened.
He aimed his wand at it, just in case, and Ron moved in front of Hermione, but it was just Ginny.
"Harry?" she asked. "Oh, hi, Hermione!"
"She's not here, if anyone asks," Ron said. "Especially if it's an Auror."
"Oh." Ginny nodded, then looked determined. "Of course."
"Whatcha doing here?" Ron asked, not quite glaring at his sister, Harry noted.
"I just wanted to visit Harry." Ginny looked at him. "But I can come back later, if you want to be alone with your friends."
"We might be here until curfew," Ron said.
"So?" Ginny raised her chin slightly, meeting her brother's eyes.
"No, no, you can stay, of course," Harry quickly said. He didn't want them to argue. And it would be terribly rude to send Ginny away after she had come to visit him.
Ginny beamed at him. "Thanks, Harry."
Harry noticed a bit belatedly that there were just two chairs for visitors. Before he could summon a third, though, Ginny had already sat down on his bed. "How are you doing, Harry?"
"I'm fine. Pomfrey's letting me out of here tomorrow morning," he said. She nodded - apparently, not everyone had to question him.
"Good, I was very worried. No one told us anything." She pouted at Ron.
"No one knew anything," Ron said. "Dumbledore had to investigate. Someone cast a pain curse at Harry."
Ginny gasped, and Harry was quick to assure her that he wasn't in pain any more. It was nice to see someone other than his closest friends care about him. Especially if it was a pretty girl.
Ginny had filled out a little, or more than a little, since last summer, too, he realised. And she also got along well with Hermione. "Do you want some Honeydukes?" he asked. "Sirius brought some for me this afternoon, but he bought too much." As usual. They still had a few dozen boxes of Mars Bars at Grimmauld Place, after Harry had mentioned that he liked them.
"Oh! Thank you!" She beamed at him again.
Both Ron and Hermione didn't look happy, though, he noticed. Of course - he should have offered them chocolates as well. He quickly corrected his oversight, but judging by their slightly forced smiles, he wasn't entirely successful.
*****
London, Merton, June 23rd, 1995
"Hermione?"
Sitting on the couch in the living room, Hermione Granger looked up from her book when she heard her mum call her name. "Yes?"
"You've been reading a lot of books about cats. Magazines too."
Hermione nodded. She had to research her future spirit animal, after all - knowing as much as possible couldn't hurt when she was about to become an animagus. But her parents didn't know that. "I'm interested in cats."
"We noticed," her father cut in, lowering The Times. "But we've also noticed that you haven't asked us if you could have a cat. You're not hiding a kitten somewhere, are you?" He grinned, but she didn't think he was entirely joking.
"No, I'm not." She shook her head.
"But do you want one?" Her mum asked. "We certainly could accommodate a pet."
"And you're old enough that you won't forget to feed it," her dad added.
She scowled at him - she had forgotten to water her first plant, but she had been four years old at the time! She sighed as he laughed. "I'm not certain, actually. I wouldn't see much of it, not between my studies and my work." And didn't that sound weird, to talk about her work when she hadn't even taken her O.W.L.s yet?
"So, you're studying cats without actually wanting one?" Her mum sounded rather doubtful.
"I'm still trying to make up my mind. I want to know more about cats before deciding whether or not I want one." And she wasn't entirely convinced that having an actual cat when she was planning to turn into a cat herself was a good idea - at the very least, the poor thing would be terribly confused. What if it suddenly thought she was another cat, and not its owner? The thought of having to establish a pecking order with her pet seemed absurd.
"Just don't mix it up with your psychology studies," her dad said, "or you might start to think like a cat."
Hermione forced herself to laugh - that was exactly what she was trying to do, after all.
"And act like a cat, too!" Her dad went on with an exaggerated look at her mum: "Can you imagine the size of her hairballs?"
It wasn't funny, Hermione thought as she glared at her parents. Not funny at all!
*****
London, Merton, June 27th, 1995
Her research had confirmed what she had already known, Hermione Granger thought as she put down her last book on cats on her desk and looked over her notes. Cats were widely known as agile, flexible, graceful and elegant.
She was agile and flexible as well - thanks to Mr Fletcher's training. Not on the level of a cat, of course - that was physically impossible. But she could run over most roofs these days, like a cat on the prowl. And, she thought with a satisfied smile, she was graceful and elegant when she wanted to be. Miss Merriweather had proved that.
Stretching in front of her mirror, even striking a few poses, she nodded. Those aspects of a cat she had down pat. Or, she added to herself with a sigh, her secret identity as a budding thief had them. Hermione Granger was decidedly lacking in grace and elegance as well as athletic ability. Or so everyone but her tutor and her employer thought. Even and especially her best friends.
At least the cat's reputation for fastidiously keeping itself clean fit her perfectly. And the curiosity for which cats were notorious aligned well with her own desire to know as much as possible about everything. And, she added with a frown, her frustration at not being able to study all of the subjects offered at Hogwarts.
She glanced at the books on psychology she'd read. They hadn't proved to be as useful as she'd hoped, but at least autosuggestion should work - while she had her doubts about the method's effectiveness for physical ailments, she merely needed to affect her subconscious, which should be easy.
Easy, she thought with a glance at the cat toys she had spread out on her bed, but potentially embarrassing as well. If her parents caught her doing this, they'd never let her live it down. At least she was too old to accidentally turn herself into a cat. That wouldn't just be embarrassing, but very dangerous as well.
But her parents were at work and wouldn't barge in on her. So she sat down on her bed, surrounded by the cat toys, closed her eyes, and thought like a cat. Or tried to. It still felt silly to her, no matter how often she told herself that it was useful and necessary. She also found herself wondering what Harry and Ron were up to. They had exams this week at Hogwarts. Had they studied enough? With all the troubles and distractions at Hogwarts?
Such as Ginny. Ron's little sister couldn't have been more obvious in her attempts to seduce Harry if she had thrown herself at Hermione's friend. And the witch probably would have done just that, Hermione thought, if Harry hadn't been hurt.
At least Ginny wouldn't try to come between Harry and his friends, Hermione thought. If the little witch knew what was good for her. Then Hermione blinked. She was certainly feeling rather catty when thinking about Ginny.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 2nd 1995
"You know," Harry Potter said, catching his breath after he had just been slammed - again - into the wall of the training room Sirius had installed in their home, "most people don't use their summer holidays to study and train harder than they did at school."
His godfather snorted. "Most people aren't the personal enemy of the Dark Lord."
"I'm not exactly doing well against you right now, so how can I beat the Dark Lord?" Harry took his time getting up, rolling his right shoulder to check if it had been hurt. He stiffened and winced, the probed it with his left hand.
"Are you alright?" Sirius asked, suddenly concerned. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" He stepped closer.
Just what Harry had been hoping for. "I don't know… it hurts when I move…" He flicked his wand up. "Stupefy!"
"Wha…" Sirius's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but Harry's spell hit him before he could react and he dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Harry smiled widely - he had finally managed to get his godfather.
*****
"That was a dirty trick," Sirius complained a few minutes later, after Harry had woken him up.
Harry shrugged. "You've told me often enough that there are no rules in a real fight."
"That trick won't work on Voldemort," Sirius retorted.
Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't say that - he struck me as the gloating type." Admittedly, he hadn't met the Dark Lord that often, but still. "But everything else wasn't working against you, so I doubt that it would work on him either."
"You're still learning - and you've made a lot of progress. I doubt there's anyone in your year who could beat you," Sirius said. "Or in the year above you."
"Great. I can defeat teenagers." Harry scoffed. "Let's hope that Voldemort sends Malfoy after me."
"You mean his son?"
"Of course."
"I think your owl could beat him," Sirius said, grinning. "Lucius must be wondering what went wrong with his son."
"He isn't that bad," Harry said, "he knows a number of curses, but unless he has been sandbagging in Defence for the entire year, he doesn't know how to fight."
Sirius looked confused for a moment, then he nodded. "I doubt that he managed to fool Remus." He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "But don't forget that you're protected by Lily's blood - the Dark Lord won't be able to harm you directly."
Harry snorted. "Ron and Hermione came up with a dozen ways to hurt me indirectly."
"And that's why we're training so hard." Sirius nodded with an exaggerated smile. Then he grew serious. "And you already knew all that. What's bothering you?"
Harry sighed. "It's a girl." He sat down on the bench at the side of the room.
"You're bothered by a girl?" Sirius asked with a grin, sitting down next to him.
Harry scowled at him. Could he be serious for once? "No. I like this girl, but I'm not sure if I should ask her to be my girlfriend."
"Why not? Do you think she doesn't like you?"
"No, no." Harry shook his head. "I think - actually, I'm pretty sure - that she likes me as well." At least he didn't think he had misread her interest.
"So what's the problem? Is she already taken?"
"No. She's Ginny Weasley." Harry looked at the floor.
"The cute redhead? Ron's sister?"
"Yes. And that's the problem." Harry sighed again. "What if this goes wrong, and she ends up hating me like Parvati?"
"I told you, I don't think Parvati really hates you. She hasn't tried to curse you, after all," Sirius said.
Harry shot him a glare. "She isn't a Black," he said curtly. "But I'm not worried about curses." No matter what stories Ron told about Ginny. "I'm worried about making visits to The Burrow awkward, and how a breakup would affect me and Ron."
"You're afraid that if you break up with Ginny, Ron will stop being your friend?" Sirius sounded incredulous.
"Yes," Harry pressed out. He was worried - Ron was his best friend, but Ginny was Ron's sister - wouldn't he naturally side with her, instead of with Harry?
His godfather shook his head. "Don't worry. Unless you cheat on her, or do anything similarly stupid, Ron will back you."
"But she's his sister!" Harry almost yelled. "Family."
"Ah." Sirius took a deep breath. "That's not how it works."
"You said family comes first," Harry retorted. And the Weasleys were a very tight-knit family.
"And that's true - for serious things and problems." Sirius shrugged. "Unless you get her pregnant, this isn't really serious. You're teenagers, after all. And Ron knows her - he'll understand, and back you." He grinned widely, showing his teeth. "You were an only child, so you don't know what it's like to have siblings. Trust me, I'd have backed any witch who broke up with Regulus. And not just so I could console her and show her that not all Blacks are that bad," he added with a rather lecherous expression.
Harry would have mentioned that Regulus had been a Death Eater, but Sirius's family was a touchy subject, one only worsened by his godfather's memory problems, so he simply nodded.
"Of course, Molly will take her little girl's side, so you'd probably have some trouble at The Burrow anyway, for a while," Sirius added, almost as an afterthought. "But then, that's no reason not to try your luck with Ginny. She's a redhead; you'll probably get into trouble if she likes you and you don't like her back. Witch scorned, and all that." He nodded sagely.
Harry pressed his lips together. He needed another opinion. His godfather's wasn't very helpful right now. And he certainly couldn't talk about this with Ron. And he didn't think Remus had much experience with teenage relationships, not according to Sirius's stories.
That left his other best friend. He nodded - Hermione would be able to help him.
*****
London, Greenwich, July 2nd, 1995
"Well, at least the downward trend has been stopped." Hermione Granger didn't quite sigh, but she felt like doing so as she dropped the letter with the results of her 'exams' on the table in her tutor's kitchen. Technically - she had taken fewer subjects, after all.
Mr Fletcher picked it up. "Outstandings in Charms and Transfiguration, Exceeds Expectations in Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and History of Magic. Acceptables in Potions, Care for Magical Creatures and Defence."
"Those don't count," she snapped. "Snape hates muggleborns and didn't grade me fairly, and I had to hold back in Defence." She frowned at him - he had ordered her to do that.
"Yes, and for very good reasons. If Black managed to see through your disguise then you have to be even more careful."
"Not even Harry recognised me - and Mr Black only recognised me because I was with you at the ball." She scoffed and poured herself some tea.
He grinned, acknowledging her point. "Yes. But if he can make the connection, then so can others. Which is why you need to have a very different appearance and manners as Miss Granger."
"Frumpy, plain, unfit for Quidditch, and a little bit of a nag, I know." This time she did sigh.
"Just don't overdo it either. Your friends might grow suspicious."
"My friends would grow tired of me if I overdid it." And she had her pride, too - she was a witch, after all! "But at least Skeeter has been completely fooled," she added, clenching her teeth together. That witch would pay for her lies!
"I've read the article too. You should be happy about it," Mr Fletcher said. He wasn't grinning, but she was certain that he found this amusing. "She completely absolves you of any involvement in the attack on Potter."
"Because I'm 'too incompetent to handle such advanced magic' and had 'obviously cheated to earn my grades at Hogwarts'," Hermione spat. She forced herself to relax her grip on her cup before she spilled - or even broke - it.
"To be thought stupid and incompetent is a great cover. I'm working on establishing that Mr Smith isn't very good with a wand myself," he said as he grabbed a cup of tea for himself.
"But you aren't thought a cheat and a failure."
"That wouldn't be helpful for my cover. Good families wouldn't send their daughters and sons to be tutored by me if they thought ill of me."
"And my reputation helps my cover? I'm supposed to be Mr Black's secretary."
"Black's a rogue and a rake. Of course he'd hire a witch like you."
"That doesn't exactly make me appear innocent."
"You don't need to appear innocent. Just incompetent."
Which, Hermione realised, would be harder than she'd thought.
"Now stop frowning - it's time for your practical exam."
Hermione had expected that, after last year's surprise exam. But she still felt nervous when she saw her tutor's grin.
*****
Cuxton, Kent, Britain, July 2nd, 1995
As she was finding her balance after once more having experienced Side-Along Apparition, Hermione Granger reaffirmed her vow to master Apparition this year. Even if it was supposed to feel as unpleasant as Side-Along Apparition, at least she would have some control over it.
She took a deep breath and looked around. They were at the coast, on a hill. She looked around. East Coast. Kent or Norfolk, probably, since the sea was to the north, and it was too warm for Scotland.
"Welcome to Cuxton, Kent," Mr Fletcher confirmed her guess. "Home to a few thousand muggles - and one wizard family of modest means." He pointed at a very old looking farm house at the foot of the hill. "The Allisters. Pureblood, but not of the Old Families - their ancestors married too many muggles. Kind of like the Weasleys."
"That doesn't sound as if they are bigots."
"Oh, they aren't. Decent folk. Farmers - potion ingredients. Not on the level of the Longbottoms, or the Malfoys, but they make a living."
She studied the house, waiting for Mr Fletcher to explain what he expected of her. He couldn't want her to steal from decent people, could he? That would go against his own rules.
"Now, your task is to break into the house without triggering the wards and steal something they won't miss. Something they will think has been disposed of or mislaid."
She drew a breath through clenched teeth. A real theft, this time. In a real house. "Do I have to case the joint?"
He shook his head. "No. That would take too much time. I did it for you. The inhabitants of the house are Margaret and Andrew Allister. Married, two children - who have already left home. Since it's a Sunday afternoon, Margaret is off having tea with her friends and Andrew is using the opportunity to listen to muggle music, which his wife can't stand." When she glanced at him, he chuckled. "I gather that she means rock 'n' roll."
"Ah." Hermione nodded, her attention focused on the house below. One wizard, distracted by listening to music. He'd be in the kitchen or living room. Which meant the best route would be to enter through the roof, after getting through the wards. "When will his wife be back?"
"She usually returns in time to cook dinner. Six o'clock."
She checked her watch. That meant she had three hours. Plenty of time, if the wards were weak. But this was an old house. The wards wouldn't be that weak. Still… he wouldn't set her a task that she couldn't do. She could do this. She just had to apply what she had learned. She studied the lay of the farm. If the wardline followed a traditional pattern, then… there!
Hermione shrugged out of her robes, leaving her in a black turtleneck and matching jeans. She pulled a balaclava on, hiding both her face and her hair - just in case her spells failed. Then she twirled her wand around herself, casting a Disillusionment Charm. A moment later she was on her way down to the target. When she turned around to look back, her tutor had vanished. Probably disillusioned himself, to watch her work.
She hadn't seen any sign of a dog, and Mr Fletcher hadn't mentioned one either, but she still drank a potion to suppress her scent before approaching the area. This would be an expensive test, she realised. But she wanted to impress her tutor. Show him that she was ready for a real heist. At least ready to help him.
The fence surrounding the yard was no obstacle; she dropped to the ground and crawled under it. Then she used the - she hoped former - outhouse as cover to approach the house. She was disillusioned, but it never hurt to be extra careful.
She cast her detection spell at twenty yards from where she expected the wardline to be - they would have buried stones, at the time the house was built, instead of anchoring the wards to the walls. It took her a minute to sneak close enough with that spell up to confirm her guess. Both her guesses, actually - these were old wards. Not as powerful - and, so she hoped, not as lethal - as the wards protecting the Old Families' manors, but they were composed of many layers, making them far more difficult to circumvent than the wards Mr Fletcher had set for her last exam.
But she could do this! She would do this!
She took a deep breath to calm down, then focused on the layers of the ward. An Alarm Spell was the most obvious. It probably served to announce visitors. The Muggle-Repelling Charm she could ignore. The same went for the Vermin-Repelling Charm. But the Shocking Spell and the Banishing Charm… whoever had cast them had known what they were doing. They were linked; dispelling one would trigger the other.
She had learned how to deal with linked charms, though dispelling them wouldn't be a good idea - the goal was to sneak in and out without the Allisters realising that she had been there, and dismantling the core of their wards would certainly alert them to the break in. Licking her lips, she started to adjust the spells, twisting and prodding them, tweaking and pulling, until she had created a blind spot she could sneak through.
Blinking, she realised that she was sweating and breathing heavily - that had taken more out of her than she had expected. A glance at her watch told her that it taken her more time, too - almost an hour. She forced herself to calm down. She still had plenty of time before Mrs Allister returned.
She waited until she was breathing normally, then crawled forward. When her hand crossed the wardline she tensed - but nothing happened. No alarm, no spark, no sudden flight back out of the warded area. She had done it! She was inside the wards!
Now she just had to break into the house.
It took another five yards crawling on her belly to reach the wall - which, she checked, wasn't protected by spells. The windows were, though - basic alarm charms and locking spells. Someone had not trusted the ward, or maybe Mrs Allister had been used to doing those spells in her home before moving into her husband's. It didn't matter - Hermione had learned how to deal with those over a year ago.
A flick of her wrist conjured a plank underneath her. She tapped it with her wand, disillusioning it, before levitating it - and her with it - upwards. She could have climbed as well, but this was quieter, and would leave fewer traces.
The attic had a small, dusty window - but Hermione would fit through it without the help of spells. There were no spells protecting this window. Maybe her hypothesis that Mrs Allister was simply in the habit of 'locking up' the house as if it had a more modern ward scheme was correct. She would have to ask Mr Fletcher afterwards.
She didn't use a spell on the window either - she opened it with a few tools a skilled muggle burglar would have been familiar with and stuck her head inside. The floor was covered with dust; walking on it was out, then. She carefully maneuvered her floating plank through the window, with her on it, then closed the window before floating to the trapdoor leading downstairs. That wasn't protected with spells either and the hinges looked well-oiled, so she reached down and slowly opened it until she could peer through the gap.
Below was a dark stairway. She could hear loud music now as well - as Mr Fletcher had predicted. Although it wasn't rock 'n' roll; it was punk. The Sex Pistols. She closed the trapdoor again and looked around. She was surrounded by knick-knacks and other things usually dumped in the attic instead of being disposed of. For a moment, she remembered going through her old home's attic, and throwing away so many things, then she refocused on her task. She could simply grab a knick-knack here; judging by the dust covering everything, the Allisters didn't use or need anything up here any more, and didn't care enough to protect them either.
But… she bit her lower lip. That would be easy. Too easy. She wanted to excel. To impress her tutor. Show him that she had what it took to do real heists. Nodding slowly, she opened the trapdoor again, opening it fully this time. The stairway was clean, so she left her plank floating in the attic and carefully closed the trapdoor behind her, then snuck downstairs.
The music came from the living room. The door was halfway open; she could see crossed legs, one foot whipping, from her spot. She moved towards the kitchen, holding her breath as she crossed the open door. She made it! The kitchen was similar to the one in The Burrow. Ice Box. Stove. Cupboard. Pantry. Where… there! The saucer filled with Knuts, for the Daily Prophet. Grinning, she checked for spells, then grabbed one Knut and stuck it in her pocket.
She turned around, and her eyes widened: Mr Allister was just leaving the living room - and headed towards the kitchen! She almost gasped, but held her breath. She had to get out of his way, and hide - her charm might not fool him if he got too close. But where? The pantry? The door might creak - it was an old door, and…
It was an old house - with a low ceiling! She climbed on the table, reaching up to touch the ceiling. Two quick, silent Sticking Charms later, she was stuck to it, her heart racing while she struggled to breathe silently.
Mr Allister entered the kitchen, his head whipping back and forth. He was even singing along! She saw him reach for the teapot and held her breath. If he set the pan on the stove and left… He didn't. He sat down and waited.
By the time Mr Allister had finished brewing his tea, and left for the living room again, Hermione wanted to hex him for his off-key singing.
Five minutes later, when she was floating out of the attic window, down to the weak spot she had left in the wards, her heart was still racing.
That had been exhilarating!
*****
Her tutor was indeed impressed, both by her plan and her quick reaction to Mr Allister heading to the kitchen. He was also, or so Hermione thought, impressed by her decision to steal a single Knut - which she would mark with a spell and keep as a souvenir. She would even have turned it into a necklace if that wouldn't have been suspicious.
But he wasn't terribly impressed, not at all, that he had been able to watch her without her being aware of his presence. Apparently, he had, while preparing her exam, attuned himself to the wards so he could slip in and out without being detected. Something, Hermione had to reluctantly agree, she should have expected. It was only logical, after all.
He still gave her an Outstanding, but, as he put it, it was a little closer to Exceeds Expectation than she liked.
Hermione vowed to do better next time.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 3rd, 1995
"Hermione! I've been waiting for you!"
Hermione Granger was both surprised and pleased by Harry's enthusiastic greeting when she entered Mr Black and Harry's house. "Hi, Harry!" She beamed at him. "You've been waiting for me?"
He nodded. "Yes. I need to talk to you." He glanced around and added: "In private."
If not for her training under her tutor, Hermione would have gasped at that. He wanted to talk to her, in private? Had he finally realised that she was a pretty witch too? Then she reminded herself that that would mean that she had failed in her disguise. Which would be a very bad thing. Even though Harry would certainly keep her secret - it was Sirius's too - and maybe that would let them grow even closer…
By the time they had reached his room, Hermione had almost convinced herself that this - obviously hypothetical scenario - wouldn't be a bad thing. Not really.
"So," she said, sitting down on Harry's bed, "you wanted to talk to me?" He looked slightly nervous - which was a good thing, too, or so she thought,
He nodded several times, taking a seat in his chair. "Yes. You're the only one I can talk to about this."
That… didn't sound good. "Yes?" she prompted him, feeling her stomach drop.
Harry took a deep breath. "I think I fancy Ginny." Definitely not a good thing, Hermione thought. "And I think she might fancy me."
The girl was all but throwing herself at him, Hermione knew. Harry really was clueless - which had to be the fault of his relatives. And probably Mr Black's. She nodded slowly.
"And you and her get along well. Much better than with Parvati," Harry added.
That wasn't a high bar, Hermione thought. And she wasn't certain that she and Ginny would get along well if the other witch became Harry's girlfriend. She didn't say either, though, and nodded again. She had learned to lie, after all. "So, you fancy each other." And to smile even if she didn't feel like smiling. He couldn't be asking what she thought he was, could he?
"Yes. Probably." He took another deep breath. "But… she's Ron's sister. And I don't know how he and his family will react should we break up. Me and Ginny, I mean." He smiled at her. "So, I wanted to ask you for advice. Should I ask her out anyway? Do you think Ron would be angry?"
He was! Hermione wanted to hex him. Instead, she asked: "Do you mean that he might get angry at you for dating his sister, or angry at you for - hypothetically - breaking up with her?"
"Ah… both? I've never had a sibling, you know. I don't know how that works."
She didn't point out that she was an only child as well. Or that it wasn't a good sign that he was already thinking about a breakup before he had actually asked the witch out. Her best friend had asked her for her advice, and she owed him both honesty and her best effort. And maybe a jinx or hex for asking this of her.
She pushed a stray lock out of her face as she answered: "Well, I think that your fear of another bad breakup isn't a sufficient reason to stop you from entering a new relationship. As long as you're honest with her, then the Weasleys and Ron shouldn't hate you if things don't work out between you and Ginny." They shouldn't, but that didn't mean they wouldn't. With the obvious exception of Ron, she didn't know the Weasleys that well. "Of course, if you cheat on her, or treat her badly, take her for granted, or simply want to sleep with her…"
"Of course not!" he exclaimed, but she noted he was blushing as well. "I wouldn't do that to a girl!"
"You'd better not," she said, a little more sharply than she wanted. "Ginny's got a temper too."
"Oh, I know." His expression didn't look like he thought that that was a bad thing. He stood up and moved towards her. "Thank you! I'll ask her to be my girlfriend tomorrow, when I go over to The Burrow."
"I'm glad I could help," Hermione lied with a smile as he hugged her.
Maybe she could ask her tutor to use Harry for her next practical exam?
*****
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Chapter 10: Summer of Change
Starfox5
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Chapter 10: Summer of Change
Hogwarts, July 4th, 1995
"Thank you for coming, Remus, Sirius. Please have a seat."
Remus Lupin nodded at Dumbledore in return and sat down in front of the Headmaster's desk. Sirius was a little more vocal: "You couldn't keep us out of this war if you tried!" he declared. The two of them had acted just the same on those occasions when they had been called into the Headmaster's office as students.
"That is not my intention, I assure you." Dumbledore smiled at them.
"Although I would have expected a meeting of the entire Order by now, seeing as the Dark Lord's back in a body of his own," Sirius added. "I don't think everyone else has suddenly lost their nerve."
Remus agreed with his friend. The Order of the Phoenix had suffered serious casualties during the last war, but there had been over a dozen left last he knew.
"No, they have not. I am happy to say that they are as committed to fighting the Dark Lord as they were twenty years ago." Dumbledore sighed. "But, as you two know, there is always the danger of someone, willingly or not, betraying us. I have therefore decided to re-form the Order as a group of smaller cells, each of them only being in contact with myself, but not with the others. That way, the effect of any treason will be limited."
"A little late," Sirius commented. "We already know most of the surviving Order members." And knowing that, it wouldn't be that hard to spot new members, Remus thought.
"You are correct. But you don't know the new members. And you will not know what the other cells are doing," Dumbledore said.
"That might be a mixed blessing," Remus said. "We might inadvertently hinder others." Or worse.
"I can only ask you to trust me that I will do my utmost to minimise that danger. Although I am not infallible." Dumbledore sighed. "But I do not see a better way."
"There's ways to keep people from talking. Willingly or unwillingly." Sirius was talking in a casual tone, but Remus knew him well; he could see the tension his friend was trying to hide.
"And we will not stoop to such measures," Dumbledore retorted. "Some prices are too high to be paid."
"Well, seeing as the Dark Lord hasn't used such measures himself, yet, I guess I can't argue with that." Sirius nodded. Remus tried not to show that not knowing what Sirius and Dumbledore were talking about irked, no, hurt him. He didn't like being excluded. He was already forced to suffer that as a werewolf. Always hiding part of himself, always afraid his secret would get out and those he had thought his friends would turn away in disgust, either because he was a Dark creature, or because he hadn't trusted them with his secret…
"For a cell we're a mite small, though," Sirius continued, interrupting Remus's thoughts. "We're both very skilled and talented, of course, but I guess you want us recruiting? Even if only so we can both order someone around?" He grinned widely.
"With the utmost caution only. Your task is the most crucial of all." Dumbledore had lost his smile.
Remus was confused. "I would have expected to serve as the Order's contact to the werewolves, to prevent the Dark Lord from recruiting them." That's what Dumbledore had asked from him in the last war, although Harry's defeat of Voldemort had ended that mission before Remus could begin it. "I assume that the Dark Lord's primary goal will be to build up his forces."
Dumbledore shook his head. "While I share your opinion about Voldemort's priorities, I do not think that sending you to contact the werewolf community would be a wise course of action."
"Why not?" It would have been the first time his curse would have been good for something, Remus thought.
"Back in the last war, you were just another werewolf. You had gone to Hogwarts, unlike most of those who share your affliction, but not many would have recognised you. But since you are the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, the first in decades to stay on for longer than a single year, that is no longer the case." Dumbledore sounded almost apologetic. "The risk that you would be exposed in order to force you to resign, further weakening my position, or simply out of envy of your good fortune, is too great."
"Yeah, Moony. We can't afford to lose you," Sirius chimed in.
"But that means leaving the other werewolves to Voldemort." Remus knew how hard it was for a werewolf to make a living - even if no one knew that he was afflicted, he had to keep his curse a secret, and lived in constant fear of being revealed as a dark creature. But those known to be werewolves had it even worse. And if the werewolves led by that rabid beast Greyback once again joined Voldemort, then every werewolf would suffer for it.
"I have no intention of ignoring them," Dumbledore said, "but your talents are needed elsewhere. Further, as long as the Dark Lord believes that we are unaware of his return, he will have to be very careful himself when recruiting followers."
He wasn't even a good enough werewolf to deal with others of his kind! Remus wanted to laugh at the bitter irony. "So, who will be contacting the werewolves?"
"An acquaintance of mine," the Headmaster answered. Which meant he wouldn't tell Remus.
"So we will protect Harry, then." Remus tried not to sound bitter. He wasn't certain that he succeeded.
Sirius at least acted as if he hadn't noticed. "Of course. And train him."
"He is the key to winning this war once and for all," Dumbledore stated. "Unfortunately, the Dark Lord is aware of this as well, although he hasn't yet realised that they share a deeper connection than he must have already suspected. That is why we cannot reveal his return yet. And while Harry is protected from Voldemort's spells and curses thanks to his mother's sacrifice, ordinary Death Eaters are not so hindered."
"And they know where to find him." Remus shook his head.
"Fortunately, my family has always been rather concerned about completely unprovoked attacks on them, so Grimmauld Place should be safe enough. And I took precautions in case Narcissa or Bellatrix should try anything." Sirius's grin was positively feral.
"Hogwarts's defences are not quite as lethal as those of your home, but they will rebuff even the Dark Lord himself," Dumbledore said. "Although he might plan to circumvent that by recruiting among the older students."
"Bloody snakes," Sirius muttered through clenched teeth.
That explained the focus on training, Remus thought. Harry would soon be able to deal with any attacks by students - provided they didn't use any dark items, of course.
"While it is very likely that a sizeable part of Slytherin house's students have sympathy for the Dark Lord's cause, it would be fatally shortsighted to assume that only Slytherins will heed the Dark Lord's call," Dumbledore said. Remus exchanged a glance with Sirius. They knew that all too well. "To quote an old friend of mine: Constant vigilance is needed," the Headmaster went on. "I am sorry to have to say it, but Harry will have to be very cautious. More cautious than others of his age."
Remus agreed. He only hoped that Harry would be mature enough to realise that too.
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 4th, 1995
Harry Potter told himself that he didn't have to be nervous. Ginny liked him. He was certain of that. She was always happy to see him and talk to him, and she smiled at him in that special way, and… he couldn't actually recall any other solid evidence that she liked him. He just thought she did, but maybe she was just being friendly to the best friend of her youngest brother? Then again, she didn't seem to particularly like Ron. And yet… if she liked him, wouldn't she have said something when he had been with Parvati? Or showed some jealousy? Of course, she had exchanged a few catty remarks with Parvati, but so had Hermione.
He sighed. What if Ginny didn't like him? What if she turned him down? Or worse, what if she laughed, thinking it was a joke?
"Mate, what's wrong? You've been staring at the shed for almost a minute," Ron's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Did you even hear me?"
Harry sighed. "Sorry Ron, I was… thinking," he finished lamely.
"Thinking? About, you know?" Ron asked, glancing back at the porch of The Burrow, where Tonks was chatting with Ron's oldest brother Bill, who was strengthening the wards over the summer.
"No, it's not about that, nor Voldemort," Harry said. Although he should consider that too, shouldn't he? Any girlfriend of his would be in danger, since Voldemort wanted him dead and wouldn't spare her. On the other hand, the Weasleys were among the most famous 'blood traitors', and Ron was his best friend, so Ginny was already in danger…
"So, what's this about? Better talk about it before you fly into the ground or get hit by a Bludger because you're distracted." Ron shouldered his broom.
Harry drew a hissing breath - he didn't really want to talk about this with Ron. On the other hand, maybe he should talk with Ron before he asked Ginny out. His friend might get angry otherwise. Or think Harry didn't trust him. He sighed, then cast a privacy spell.
Ron tensed at once and looked around for eavesdroppers, flicking his wand back and forth. "Looks clear," he announced after a few seconds.
Here goes nothing, Harry thought. "I'm thinking of asking Ginny to be my girlfriend."
Ron blinked at him, then sighed. "Oh." He sounded… almost resigned? Was that bad?
Harry quickly went on. "Yeah. I think she's cute, and she knows me, you know, and she seems to like me, and she's friendly, and she gets along well with Hermione." Ron seemed to be nibbling on his lower lip like Hermione right then. "Do you think she likes me?"
His friend wasn't answering. Harry could see his jaw muscles move, but Ron had stopped looking at him.
"Ron?" Harry asked, a little louder.
His friend didn't startle, though, unlike Harry earlier. But he sighed too. "Yeah. I reckon she likes you, mate."
Harry felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "You do? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Ron didn't sound altogether happy, though, Harry thought.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Did Ron fear that Harry would drop him and Hermione for Ginny? Or was he jealous that he hadn't found a girlfriend yet?
"Look, mate, just…" Ron sighed again. "It's nothing. Just don't get weird, alright?"
"Weird?"
"You know, snogging. In public," Harry's friend added quickly. "Some things I don't want to see Ginny doing."
"Ah. Of course not." Harry nodded. He wasn't much for public snogging either.
"Alright. So, let's fly a bit, until Ginny's back from Luna's." Ron mounted his broom and leapt into the air without waiting for Harry's answer.
"Harry! Hi!" Ginny beamed at him. She was wearing a casual robe, quite tight, Harry Potter noticed. And slit up to her knees, perhaps a little higher. A 'broom riding cut', as Parvati had once explained to him, for those witches who didn't ride side-saddle.
He buried the memory. He didn't want to think of his former girlfriend. Not now. Not ever. "Hi, Ginny." He tried to sound casual. Ron had said that she liked him, after all. There wasn't any reason to be nervous. "You've been at Luna's?" Smooth, he thought. Really smooth.
Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice. "Yes. Since Mum's not allowing us past the wards, I had to travel through the Floo network, but I wanted to visit her. She's going on an expedition with her father in a few days."
"Ah." Harry was a little envious. He was pretty much stuck at home or The Burrow, or similarly warded places, until it was time to return to Hogwarts. On the other hand, he would miss his friends, especially Hermione. "Do you think they'll manage to catch one of the animals they're looking for?"
Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. They haven't found any so far."
"Ah," Harry said eloquently. "So…" he looked around. Ron was pointedly reading his Quidditch magazine. Tonks winked at him from the couch, over whatever book she was reading. Apparently, she knew what he was about to do. Or wanted him to think she did. And Mrs Weasley was in the kitchen talking to Bill.
"So?" Ginny asked, with a slight grin. Or perhaps it was a smile.
He took a deep breath. "Let's go out on the porch? It's a bit loud in here."
"Loud?" She blinked. Then her eyes widened. "Ah… of course!" She nodded enthusiastically and was out of the door in a second.
Harry followed her outside, taking a few deep breaths. He could do this. It was easy. He just had to ask her without sounding like an idiot. Or like Zabini the smarmy git who Parvati was now fawning over. "So… I was wondering…"
"Yes?" She was licking her lips. She had put on a little makeup, he noticed. A year ago, he wouldn't have.
Here goes, he thought. "Well, I think you're cute, and nice, and a great flyer. And I like hanging out with you." He swallowed. "So… would you like to go out with me?"
"Yes! I mean, yes, I would."
Harry hesitated a moment, then took a step closer and opened his arms. She hugged him almost as hard as Hermione, and he wondered why he had ever doubted that she liked him.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 6th, 1995
Waiting at the door of Mr Black and Harry's home, Hermione Granger realised that despite working there for a few months now, she still lacked a key for the house. Which was a little weird, given the fact that the wards allowed her inside. Not that the lack of a key would stop her, if she really wanted to get inside, she added to herself with a faint grin. All the dark curses on those windows, however, would.
After about a minute had passed since she had rung the doorbell, Kreacher opened the door. The elf had probably been waiting more than half that time right by the door, Hermione thought. Mr Black had had to order him to stop insulting her, but the little cretin had found other ways to try and make her feel unwelcome.
He wouldn't succeed, though. "Hello, Kreacher!" she called out with an extra wide smile, and, as expected, he was scowling fiercely when he stepped aside to let her enter. "Is Mr Black in his study?"
The elf nodded, almost slamming the door closed.
"Thank you, I know the way." She nodded at him as she passed. Maybe she should pat his head next time? One way or another, the elf would learn to respect her.
Mr Black was sitting behind his desk as she entered, but stood at once - manners had been drilled into him with hexes and curses, he had once explained to her. "Hello, Miss Granger. As usual, it's a pleasure to see you," he said as he bowed to her as if they were at a reception hosted by one of the Old Families. His grin was out of place, though.
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Black." She curtseyed in return. Ever since her last refusal to call him Sirius, he had started to overdo the Old Family airs in an attempt to make her give in. She wouldn't, of course.
"Please, have a seat!" he said, gesturing at the couch. "You're here as my guest, after all, not as my secretary. Although," he added with a frown, "there are some notes I think you might go over after we're done."
"Of course, Mr Black." She sat down gracefully, crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap.
Mr Black narrowed his eyes slightly, then grinned again. "You wouldn't be as formal if Harry were around," he said as Kreacher entered with a tray.
Of course not - she couldn't act like Miss Merriweather when she was with Harry! Unless she was acting as Miss Merriweather. "He's not here, then?" she asked, with her head tilted to the side. "No sugar, please," she added when Kreacher tried to turn her tea into syrup while serving her.
"He's at The Burrow. Visiting his new girlfriend." Sirius sighed theatrically. "Ah, young love!"
"Ah." Hermione kept her expression neutral. Ginny was a nice girl, and would treat Harry right. And it wasn't as if she wanted Harry to be at home when Mr Black was teaching her illegal magic.
"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?" Mr Black was grinning widely.
"No. As a matter of fact, I told Harry that he should ask Ginny out." She smiled politely.
"You also tried to seduce him under the very eyes of his last girlfriend."
"I was merely testing my disguise and acting skills," she replied, perhaps a little stiffly. Was he implying that she couldn't have seduced Harry if she had wanted to?
"Of course." His amused expression didn't change. He was!
She swallowed her first retort, and simply nodded. She wasn't here to talk about Harry. Or his new girlfriend. Harry did enough of that when he was around. "I've decided to pursue the Spirit Animal Path," she said.
"A wise decision." Mr Black nodded. "I and my friends decided the same, after all." His 'wise mentor' impression needed some work, Hermione thought - he was smiling too widely. "Now, as a responsible tutor, I have to ask: Are you aware of all the legal, magical and mental risks this will incur?"
"Yes." Compared to her decision to rob entire Old Families blind, becoming an illegal animagus wasn't really much to quibble about. And Hermione was certain that she could handle any mental or magical challenges.
"Good! Now, a few ground rules: You don't try to change without me present. Partial transformations are not something to take lightly. Especially if they involve your wand arm."
He seemed to be speaking from personal experience. Hermione nodded - that made sense.
"Further, you don't talk to anyone about this. You don't show off to anyone, either. Not even to Harry."
That made sense too, even if she didn't like it. "My tutor might have to know, once we start doing real work."
"Maybe. I'll decide once we reach that point."
Once she was an animagus, it wouldn't be his decision any more. Hermione nodded anyway. "Haven't you told Harry about your own animagus form?" The way Mr Black doted on Harry, and loved to tell the stories he remembered of his friendship with Harry's parents, she would have expected him to inform Harry about such an important part of his past.
He shook his head, sighing. His shoulders slumped, too. "I wanted to, but Dumbledore warned me off before I even met Harry for the first time after my breakout. Harry just thinks I'm some nosy dog who likes him."
"He warned you?"
"Yes. He said Harry should be trained in Occlumency first, so as not to endanger me." He scoffed. "I bet he knew - or at least suspected - about Harry's connection to the Dark Lord!"
"I hadn't heard that Harry was to receive such training." Had Harry been holding out on her? The thought hurt, even though she was keeping secrets from him as well.
"No. He was a little too young. Still is, actually, but we'll start next school year anyway."
She could understand that after hearing about Harry's collapse on the Summer Solstice.
He straightened. "Well, we've gathered here to teach you how to turn into an animal. You know the theory already." Of course she did. "You know you can't choose your spirit animal." She nodded. But she could influence her own self-image. Which should influence whatever form her spirit animal would take. Or had taken. "That said, everyone imagines themselves as a certain animal anyway. Sometimes it even turns out to be the right animal. What did you choose?"
"A cat."
He seemed surprised. "A cat? Not an owl? You know, symbol of wisdom, flight, and very inconspicuous thanks to the abundance of post owls?"
She had thought about that, of course. "I can use a broom if I need to fly." Or climb, or levitate. "But an owl wouldn't be too useful since people are aware of their magical nature - and of the dangers they can cause. Most of the places I would want to break into will be warded against owls."
"That's true. Kreacher fetches our own mail from the perch outside, after all. Still, a cat?"
He shouldn't sound so sceptical, she thought, then shrugged. "I've always loved cats. They're graceful, elegant, good climbers, very agile - and most people love cats too." And she wanted to be a cat, not a bird.
"And vain. And catty." He grinned widely again.
She didn't deign to respond to that. "And will you show me your animal form?" After all, he would need to demonstrate the transformation, if he truly wanted to teach her, instead of simply providing her with notes and advice.
Instead of answering, his form blurred, and Hermione was faced with a huge, black dog grinning at her from Mr Black's seat and showing a row of large, gleaming white teeth.
A familiar dog, she realised, remembering the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. "You! It was you! You slobbered all over me!" she exclaimed.
The dog barked, then grinned again, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, before jumping off the seat and trying to sniff her hand and leg.
If Hermione had been a cat, she would have raked her claws across his nose!
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Lose your sense of self. Lose the trappings of your consciousness. Focus on your soul, on what you are when reduced to your soul. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Hermione Granger was sitting cross-legged on the floor in Mr Black's study, with her back straight and her eyes closed. Just as the books on meditation she had read had said.
Focus on your soul. On your essential self. Shed all the trappings of society. Forget all the desires brought on by others. Focus on yourself. Focus on your innermost self. Focus on your essence. Your spirit. Your centre. You.
Just you.
She folded her hands in her lap, her thumbs touching. She felt herself breathing, slowly. Regularly. Nothing else mattered. There was just she, and she alone.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"So, any progress? Do you feel furry yet? Catty? Any cravings for cream, or chasing rodents?"
She whipped her head round and glared at Mr Black. "No. I'm still working on finding my centre."
"Well, you'll need to postpone that. Harry's going to be back soon."
"What?" She stared at him with wide eyes, then blinked. "What happened?" Had there been an attack?
"Nothing. It's time for him to return home, so I can take him to the Dursleys for the night."
"What?" She looked at her watch. He was correct. She drew a deep breath. More than an hour had passed, without her noticing? That had to be a good sign, Hermione thought.
Then she noticed the rubber mouse on the floor and narrowed her eyes. "Very funny," she said in the most flat voice she could manage.
"Oh, that's not meant to be funny. It'll help you. We had a lot of such toys, back in the day. I found my animal when I woke up with a rubber bone in my mouth." Mr Black chuckled. "My friends made fun of me for weeks. Couldn't eat a meal without someone trying to sneak a dog treat on my plate. Or transfiguring the food into a chew toy." He rubbed his chin. "Of course, if you turned out to be an owl, you'd attack the toy too, I think."
She wouldn't. She would be a cat. A graceful, elegant feline.
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 23rd, 1995
"Watch out!"
"Block him!"
"How?"
Harry Potter barely heard the shouts from the other players as he dove towards the rings, Quaffle tucked under his right arm as if he was playing rugby. Fred flew towards him, trying to intercept him, but Harry flew straight at him, rolling at the last second when the other wizard flinched, his boots missing Fred's head by inches.
He finished the roll in the perfect spot for a throw, and let the Quaffle fly - straight at Ron, as it turned out. His friend had no problem blocking the shot.
And Ron passed the Quaffle to George, who passed to Ginny, who took off like a rocket - her slim build might be a disadvantage when jostling against another player, but it meant she was faster than anyone else on the same broom.
Even faster than Harry, not that he didn't try to catch her anyway - she looked great when flying, even from behind. Those slightly too tight Quidditch robes, and her back…
He was grinning as he gave chase, despite the fact that he knew he couldn't stop her, not with the lead she had. He came close, though, when she slowed down a little to aim. Unfortunately, she sent the Quaffle at Percy's rings before he reached her, and Percy was no Ron - he missed his block.
"Yes!" Ginny raised her fist in triumph. "That's five-two for us!"
She was just so beautiful, Harry thought, when she was smiling with a flushed face, the wind causing her long hair to fly, and pressing her robes against her chest...
"Well, that's what you get when you turn a Seeker into a Chaser," George complained.
"Oh, he's chasing Ginny alright," Fred retorted with a chuckle. "It's just that he's focused on her and not the Quaffle."
Ginny glared at her brothers. "You cut that out! We won fair and square!"
"Sure, Ginny," George said. "And he isn't staring at your backside right now either, hm?"
She glanced over her shoulder, and Harry smiled, hoping his blush would be attributed to the exertion of the game.
"Well, you two insisted on splitting up Harry, Ginny and me," Ron cut in, pulling his helmet off and running his hand through his hair. "Just because we trounced you twice in a row."
"That's just because we're playing without Bludgers. We can't really play to our strengths like this," George said.
"I blame Percy, actually," Fred objected. "He's almost as bad as Hermione."
"Must be all the studying," George said, sagely. "Ruins any talent for Quidditch."
Percy rolled his eyes at them. "I blocked most of your shots, Fred."
"So you admit to going easy on her!" Fred quickly said.
"No, I don't. I just pointed out that I wasn't the reason for our loss," Percy retorted. The twins weren't listening, though, and he quickly gave up. "So, that's it for me. I wouldn't want to be late for dinner."
"Oh, better not! She made it extra-specially for you!" George said. "The lost son, returning home, after he cruelly left his family!"
"I'm visiting every Sunday," Percy pointed out. "And unlike Bill and Charlie, I even stayed in Britain!"
"But you never call, or visit as often as you could!" Fred shook his head. "Probably having a sordid affair with a stack of parchment in London!"
"I'm taking my work seriously, and not as a joke!"
"But jokes will be our work!"
"That joke isn't funny."
Harry chuckled as he followed Ron and Ginny to the Burrow, leaving the bickering older Weasleys behind. This was his best summer ever! He had a great girlfriend, he saw his best friends almost every day, and in a week, he wouldn't have to sleep at the Dursleys any more either.
And judging by the glance and smile Ginny shot at him when they landed, they'd meet for a little snogging later!
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th, 1995
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on your soul. Focus on yourself. Focus on your inner spirit. Your inner cat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in… Sigh.
Hermione Granger slumped, then leaned back against the wall in Mr Black's study. She wasn't getting anywhere. She wasn't seeing even a hint of progress. She wasn't even certain that she was getting better at meditation - the frustration she was currently feeling seemed rather counterproductive.
"You know, we took months to find our spirit animal," Mr Black remarked, seemingly without looking up from the magazine he was reading on the couch in the room.
His presence, even if needed to deal with any magical mishaps, not that this was likely given her lack of progress, wasn't helping, in her opinion. What self-respecting cat would appear in a room with a very large dog? A dog with a very bad reputation, too! She sighed, unwilling to admit that she had expected to be quicker. Judging by his wide grin, he wasn't fooled anyway.
"You'll get there, don't worry. After all, James and I managed as well." His tone was encouraging, but his smile carried a hint of a rebuke.
Hermione didn't pout in return. "It's just that… I would have expected something to happen by now. Even a mishap. Anything."
"Maybe your spirit animal isn't a cat? You might be barking up the wrong tree. Although, with cats, it would be miaowing down from the wrong tree."
She rolled her eyes at his mangling of the metaphor and started to meditate again. At least she had enough time, seeing as Harry seemed to be living at The Burrow these days.
And she could only imagine what he and Ginny were up to during those visits. Realising that she was clenching her teeth, she forced herself to relax again. Just like her books said.
Near Blagdon Hill, Devon, Britain, July 29th, 1995
Hermione Granger held her breath as she pushed the shaft of her broom down, entering a steep dive. Five hundred yards to the target. Five hundred and fifty to the ground. Or so she guessed - but she had trained to estimate distances.
Four hundred yards. She saw something move near the target, and started to roll. Two red flashes flew past her - colour jinxes. Disillusioned caster. She pushed the shaft further down, rushing almost vertically downwards. Three hundred yards to the ground. Two hundred. One hundred and fifty. She started to pull up and her muscles strained against gravity and inertia. For a horrible moment, she feared that she had overestimated her strength. The ground was rapidly coming closer. Much quicker than she had thought.
But she managed to level out her broom in time - fifty yards above the ground. Right at the same height of the target, even. Panting through clenched teeth, she leaned forward, lowering both air resistance and her profile, and pressed forward, banking left and right and rolling as more colourful flashes flew towards her. Some came uncomfortably close, but none touched her shield.
Almost there! Less than a hundred yards! She did another barrel roll, avoiding the next volley, then released the shaft with her right hand. A flick of her wrist later she was holding her wand. A whispered incantation, and the Chameleon-Tongue Spell shot towards the target, a sticky line wrapping itself around a small red box as she veered hard to the right.
As she had expected, a volley of jinxes cut through the air right between her and the target - if not for her manoeuvre, she would have been hit by at least one of them. Though none hit the box either, as a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed as she sped away, diving another twenty yards towards the ground.
But the glance also confirmed that the jinxes were not letting up - and coming closer. Their caster was on a broom as well! She gritted her teeth and started to jink and roll. She just had to reach that tree on the hill, and she'd win.
But the direct path was too open. If she flew evasively, she wouldn't be able to keep her distance. And the closer he got, the better her pursuer's chance were of hitting her. Taking a deep breath, she veered to the right, towards a copse of trees.
Trying not to think of the Star Wars speeder chase, she flew around the copse, then, once she glimpsed an open path, through it. No spells flew past her, so her pursuer would be trying to gain the height for a dive at her.
But she hadn't slowed down, and by the time she left the cover of the trees, he was too far behind to catch her.
Hermione raised her fist in triumph when she flew past the finishing line, smiling widely as she slowed down and turned around in time to greet her pursuer.
Mr Fletcher was shaking his head as he dismounted his broom. "That was a little bit too darin' for a mere test, girl."
She shrugged as casually as she could manage while still high on adrenaline. "I didn't actually fly through the copse; I simply skirted its edge."
He snorted. "No wonder ya were sorted inta Gryffindor. But it wasn't just the detour through the woods. Your first dive was cuttin' it fine too."
"I had it all planned out," she lied. Then she looked back at the 'track'. "I guess we'll need to clean up the splashes left by the spells."
"Yes. This area is covered by Muggle-Repelling Charms, and very few wizards and witches know about it, but you know the rule."
"Leave no trace," she answered.
"Yes." He looked at the small valley himself. "Hasn't changed much, I guess."
"You've been here before?" she asked. "I mean, before you prepared this for my test."
For a moment, he seemed to freeze, and when he answered in a rougher voice than usual, he wasn't looking at her. "Yes. It's been a long time, though. Damn long time."
For a moment, she wanted to ask when he had been here the last time. Had he grown up here? Or had he trained another thief here? But his expression…
Hermione nodded, and then mounted her broom. Those spots and stains wouldn't clean themselves. Good training for the field, though.
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1995
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Harry! Happy birthday to you!"
Harry Potter stared at the cake. Mrs Weasley - he had trouble thinking of her as 'Molly', as she asked - had outdone herself. The cake was massive. Easily large enough, in his opinion, to feed double the number of guests present. Fifteen candles burned brightly - the twins' attempts to tamper with them had been foiled by Mr Weasley - and everyone was singing, off-key in most cases.
He didn't mind the cacophony at all - it reminded him of the school song at Hogwarts. He took a deep breath, then blew all the candles out at once, to the applause of everyone present.
"Well done, mate!" Ron said, clapping his shoulder. Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Thanks," Harry said, but his attention was on Ginny, who had wrapped her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture and pulled her closer while Mrs Weasley started to cut the cake.
The first slice went to him, slowly floating towards him on a small plate. He offered the first piece to Ginny, though, and, before he realised it, they were feeding each other. He was about to wipe away the speck of whipped cream that had ended up on the tip of her nose with his index finger when Neville addressed him.
"Harry?"
"Yes?" He wasn't annoyed at the interruption, just… slightly miffed, maybe.
"I wanted to thank you for your invitation," Neville said. "Yeah, thanks!" Seamus and Dean chimed in, waving their forks. Between them, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and the Weasleys, maybe the cake was just the right size, Harry thought.
"Of course, guys," Harry said.
"I just wish you had invited more birds," Seamus said. "And all of them are already taken," he added with a nod towards the porch, where the twins were flirting with Angelina, Alicia and Katie.
"You know, a girl doesn't have to be taken to turn you down," Dean pointed out with a grin.
"Leave me to my delusions!" Seamus elbowed his friend.
Dean sighed and turned to Harry. "He asked out every pretty witch present. And all of them shot him down. That has to be a new record."
Seamus scoffed. "As long as I keep asking girls, sooner or later one will say yes."
"Or hex you."
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
The two left them, probably to get another slice or two of the cake. Neville and Ron had wandered off as well, leaving Harry and Ginny by themselves. "I'm so happy I've got you," Harry whispered, pulling her close again.
"You should be!" Ginny said, then giggled and hugged him. "I'm happy to have you too."
"Although…" Harry looked around, then lowered his voice. "I do feel a little guilty, being so happy when Ron and Hermione haven't found anyone."
"It's not your fault." Ginny shook her head, then pouted at him.
"It actually is," Harry said. "Apparently, being my best friend means he wouldn't work out with Lavender." Who was Parvati's best friend.
"Ron asked her out?" Ginny blinked.
"Well, what he he told me was that Lavender thought he was cute, but she picked Parvati over him."
"Good!" Ginny was scowling fiercely now. "She isn't right for him!"
Harry fought not to wince. If she felt that strongly about this... "I can't really fault her for picking her best friend over a potential boyfriend." He had done the same, after all.
"What? No, not that. But Ron wouldn't be happy with her," Ginny declared in a tone that brooked no dissension.
"Why do you think that? Because she's so close to Parvati?"
Ginny shook her head. "She's just not right for him." She looked away. "She doesn't like Quidditch, for example."
"I've seen her read Quidditch Weekly," Harry said. Back when he had been with Parvati.
"She likes Quidditch Players," Ginny said. "Not Quidditch." Harry thought that would help Ron's chances, seeing as he was about to succeed Oliver as the team's Keeper - there certainly wasn't anyone better around in Gryffindor - but before he could voice that thought Ginny pulled on his arm. "Come on, let's get a game started!"
That was another advantage of The Burrow had over Grimmauld Place, Harry thought - you could play Quidditch here.
Picked last, and put into reserve. For a moment, Hermione Granger had felt as if she had been back in primary school. Once again, she had been picked last for every team in P.E. As if being smart meant that you were bad at sports!
Well, she actually hadn't been very good at them. But that had been back then. Before she had started to train as a thief. Nowadays? She narrowed her eyes as she studied the two teams playing above her on the Weasleys' pitch. Well, she wasn't as good as Harry. But no one was. The twins said Charlie might be, but without seeing the man fly, she wouldn't be able to tell. And Hermione's training hadn't focused on playing Quidditch, so she certainly couldn't expect to beat people who had been training for years in the hope of becoming professional players.
But if she were playing seriously, she certainly wouldn't be a liability! Not that she could, of course - her tutor's orders had been clear. If she broke her cover over such a small thing, then she certainly wouldn't be ready for a real heist.
But it was so annoying, to hold back and play the clumsy old Hermione!
"Hey, Hermione!"
Almost as annoying as Seamus, she thought as she turned her head. "Yes?"
The boy sat down next to her. "You're a reserve player too, huh?"
"Yes," she said, curtly.
"Don't take it to heart," he said, in a rather patronising tone, in her opinion, "all of them are maniacs who want to win at all costs." He was sitting a little too close as well, she noticed.
She shrugged and lied. "I don't mind. It's fun to simply watch, too. They rarely have enough guests for two full teams."
"Yeah. It's more fun to watch in good company, of course." He smiled at her. "You know, we all miss you at Hogwarts."
She wanted to groan at his transparent attempt to butter her up. "Well, apart from Parvati and her friends. And the Slytherins. And some of the Ravenclaws."
"Ah… yes." He didn't lose his smile. "But those who count are missing you."
"I would certainly hope so." She looked up. Alicia had scored again. Ron was doing well as Keeper, too. Even Harry and Ginny were playing seriously, and not flirting with each other. Or feeding each other cake as if they were on honeymoon.
Her curt tone obviously hadn't managed to dissuade him. Either he was that dense, or he simply didn't care. "So… do you have a boyfriend?"
She considered lying, but discarded the thought. It wasn't worth the trouble. "No."
"Ah, I thought so. Most boys just care about appearances, you know." He nodded slowly at his own words. "I'm not one of them, though. I care about a girl's personality. I think we would make a nice couple."
She almost couldn't believe it - he called her ugly and asked her out in the same breath! She wanted to hex him badly. No one would judge her for it! No witch, at least. But… she smiled sweetly as she had a better idea. "I'm sorry, but between my work and my studies, I don't have time for a relationship," she said and patted his shoulder.
"Not even for the summer?" He smiled at her. "One month. Consider it a holiday?"
Her smile grew less sweet. "No, not even one month," she said, her tone leaving no doubt how she meant that.
He shrugged. "Ah, well. I tried."
As he stood up and walked back to the house, Hermione patted her pocket, which now contained most of the money from his wallet.
Hogwarts, September 3rd, 1995
"Occlumency is often touted as the art of protecting your mind from intrusions - the counter to Legilimency. But just as Legilimency does not exactly let you read someone's mind, this definition of Occlumency is somewhat incorrect."
Harry Potter frowned at the Headmaster's explanation. "Incorrect?" he asked, seeing as Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for a question.
"Yes. Many describe Occlumency as building a wall around your thoughts. That is simply a mental construct - a sort of crutch. At its core, Occlumency does not protect your mind - it allows you to know your own mind. The protection it provides stems from the fact that a skilled Occlumens will know their own mind so well that they can detect any intrusions, no matter how small or subtle. In theory, at least," Dumbledore added with a wry smile. "In practice, no one is perfect. Not even I, despite decades of experience."
"That doesn't sound very promising, sir," Harry said, then pressed his lips together. He didn't want to sound ungrateful - the Headmaster was spending a lot of his time to help him with this, after all - but he had hoped for something more… effective. He had to deal with the Dark Lord, after all.
"Oh, it is effective. I have no doubt that it will adequately protect your mind from Tom's intrusions. But it's not perfect, lest you grow complacent."
There was no danger of that, Harry thought. He'd have to learn Occlumency first to grow complacent. Not that he would ever fall into that trap knowing that the Dark Lord himself was after him. "I've also heard that you clear your mind with it."
"Another mental crutch, I would say. Ultimately, both a wall and a clear mind make it easier to detect an intrusion - by spotting a hole in the wall, to use the metaphor, or by removing any metaphysical cover, so to speak, which an intruder could use." He smiled. "For a mental art, those are quite the physical images, are they not?"
"Yes." Harry nodded. What else could he say?
"But that is the very reason why such mental crutches result in defences with inherent weaknesses. In a battle between minds, everything is possible. Limiting your imagination by using such physical metaphors is not a good course of action." The Headmaster sighed. "That so many practitioners of the art use them is likely because so few really wish, or can stand, even, to truly know their own minds."
Harry wasn't quite certain that he wanted to know his own mind that well either. Some of the dreams he had had lately were very embarrassing. Exciting, but embarrassing. Weird too, at least sometimes. "It isn't as if I have a choice, though."
Once more Dumbledore sighed, before smiling sadly at him. "No, I do not suppose that you do. Shall we start then?"
Harry swallowed dryly, then nodded.
London, Merton, September 18th, 1995
Hermione Granger tossed the rubber mouse through the air and watched it bounce on the floor once. Her inner cat remained unaffected. Not that she had expected anything else - she wasn't making any progress in her 'spirit quest'. Combing her hair several times a day hadn't brought her any closer to feeling like a cat either, although it seemed to have helped with taming her hair - unless that was simply the first sign that her mum hadn't been lying to her when she had told Hermione that she would grow out of her hair troubles. Which, in retrospect, seemed like a pun worthy of Mr Black.
Napping in the sun felt nice, if she managed to forget her troubles. Otherwise it was just time lost. At least meditating helped her to keep a positive outlook. Mostly. She sighed and leaned back on her bed, stretching a little. She didn't feel the urge to hunt anything, either. Well, she often wanted to hex Kreacher, but that was because the elf still sneered at her whenever they met. Which, fortunately, wasn't that often now that she had a key to Grimmauld Place.
Unfortunately, with Harry back at Hogwarts, she didn't see him any more either. Hermione frowned - she hadn't seen him that often anyway, not since Ginny had become his girlfriend. Harry had practically started living at The Burrow, even though he would see his girlfriend every day once they were back at Hogwarts. Was seeing Ginny every day now, Hermione corrected herself, frowning.
At least she'd see him next weekend in Hogsmeade. They might even celebrate her birthday. Her wistful smile disappeared when she imagined watching Harry and Ginny feed each other cake again. That wasn't what she wanted on her birthday! They could show some restraint, instead of showing off like that. That was something she would have expected Parvati to do, not Ginny.
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Mum?" She looked up as her mum stepped inside her room.
"You're still in your pajamas?"
"It's still early," Hermione defended herself. And she liked wearing them too - sleek, black silk pajamas which felt wonderful on her skin.
"It's almost noon," her mum said dryly.
"What?" Hermione stared at her clock. She could have sworn it was earlier…
"Anyway, get dressed, lunch will be ready soon." Her mum knelt down to pick up the discarded toy mouse, then looked at her with her eyebrows raised.
Hermione met her mum's eyes until the older woman turned away.
"Dear, we think it's time for you to get a cat," her father said at the table.
"I told you, I don't want to get a cat," Hermione said.
"Hermione, you bought more than a dozen books on cats, more cat toys than that, even, and you spend entire afternoons at Mrs Attenborough's who owns three cats," her mum said as she gathered the plates on the table.
Hermione had done that to observe cats and get more insight into their behaviour. She clenched her teeth. "I like her cats." Mrs Attenborough was a terrible bore, but her cats were nice. Spoiled, though. And they were warming up to her, but that might have just been because of the treats she brought them.
"You even bought cat treats," her father cut in.
She winced - trying those had not been one of her better ideas to get closer to her inner cat.
"Dear, it's obvious that you want a cat of your own. And despite your past experiences, I'm certain that you can handle one. Even with your studies and your work, it wouldn't be neglected either - they sleep most of the time anyway."
"Not all cats do," Hermione protested. Cats weren't lazy!
"Well, the ones my parents had did," her father retorted, picking up the casserole from the table. "Anyway, I don't know why you are so afraid of getting one."
"I'm not afraid, I'm just…" she trailed off. Why didn't she want a cat? Just because she feared that things could go wrong once she was one herself? Of a territory dispute with her pet? She shrugged. "It's a big responsibility." She gathered the glasses and carried them over to the dishwasher.
"You're a responsible girl," her dad said.
"Well, apart from sleeping until noon lately," her mum added. "It's a good thing neither Mr Smith nor Mr Black expects you to start working early in the morning."
Hermione sniffed. She got up early enough, and she was working diligently. That she didn't have to leave her bed for it wasn't her fault! "And you think I should get a cat."
"It would make sense," her mum said, putting the rest of the silverware into the dishwasher. "You're acting like someone who wants to swim, but won't get into the water."
"We're a little concerned, you see," her dad added. "If you're bent on becoming a crazy cat lady at your age, you should at least have a cat."
Hermione glared at him. "I'm not trying to become a crazy cat lady, thank you very much!" Although maybe she should have been a tad more discreet with her attempts to become more cat-like. She sighed. "But you might be correct." Having a cat of her own might help her with her plans. If she was honest with herself, her fear of trouble with her pet was irrational. She would just have to be ready to deal with any unforeseen consequences of her inevitable success. "But," she added, "we'll buy one in Diagon Alley. They're used to magic."
"Why is that a concern?" her dad asked.
"I'm not going to stay a teenager forever," Hermione said. "And when I move into a flat of my own, it'll be a magical flat." She had a room of her own already, at Grimmauld Place, but this wasn't the time to mention that.
"Ah." Her parents exchanged a glance, but didn't comment on whatever they were thinking. Did they expect that she would keep living with them? She didn't need the telly so much that she would keep living like a muggle forever.
London, Diagon Alley, September 19th, 1995
He - definitely a he - was the ugliest cat she had ever seen. He was fat, squat, with a face that looked like it had been squished as a kitten and stuck that way, orange-brown fur that seemed to be sporting half-hearted attempts at stripes and wasn't short enough nor long enough, and he had legs that were slightly bent, and a little too short for his size. He was also larger than any other cat she had seen in the Magical Menagerie, or anywhere. And he was staring at her from the shelf he had jumped on, unconcerned about the boxes of pet food that had fallen down as a result.
"No! Get down! Miss, don't step any closer - he has a nasty temper and likes to scratch customers! How did he get loose, anyway?"
Hermione Granger ignored the clerk's yelling and stepped up to the tomcat, craning her neck to look straight into his eyes. He didn't move and returned the stare.
"Miss! Watch out!"
"Hermione?" Her mum sounded worried.
She didn't care. He was the most un-catlike cat she had ever seen. Almost like a miniature bulldog in a cat's fur. Nothing like the kitten her mum had pointed out, or Mrs Attenborough's purebred cats. He was neither elegant nor graceful, if his jump was any measure.
But she knew for certain that she'd buy him.
"I'll call you Crookshanks!" she declared, smiling widely.
The clerk looked astonished and her parents exchanged another of those weird, concerned glances. Hermione didn't care. She had found her cat!
London, Merton, September 20th, 1995
Crookshanks fit into the house as if he had been born there, Hermione Granger thought after a day with her new pet. He didn't care for all the toys she had collected, and he pointedly ignored the scratching post as well as the cushion he was supposed to sleep on. Hermione hoped that the tree in the garden would survive his attentions, and she was glad that her bed was large enough for the two of them.
But he acted as if he owned the house. When he strolled through the rooms after his arrival, he didn't seem to be so much exploring as conquering the place, Hermione thought. He might look like his father wasn't a Kneazle, as the clerk in the Magical Menagerie had claimed, but a bulldog - and an ugly bulldog, at that - but he acted as if that didn't matter at all. He strutted as if he was a prized purebred tomcat. When he smashed one of Mum's prized vases - which Hermione quickly repaired with the Mending Charm before her mum noticed - he looked at her as if that was her fault, and not the result of his own jump missing the mark. He certainly didn't lack confidence.
Which, she thought, watching him curled up on her bed, napping without a care, was a lesson worth considering.
As was taking a nap herself.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 25th, 1995
"You look different. Did something happen in Hogsmeade?" Mr Black asked as he opened the door to his study for Hermione Granger.
"No." She shook her head. They had celebrated her birthday, and while Harry and Ginny had been as obnoxiously sweet together as she had expected, it had been tolerable. Ron hadn't complained either - though her other best friend had been somewhat distracted by Luna trying to fit him with an 'Anti-Nargle-Device' which looked as if it had been made of Butterbeer corks and tinsel. Hermione had seen stranger things.
"Are you certain? No sudden revelations? Urges?"
"No." She glared at him, and he shrugged. He had been dropping such hints for a while now, and she had grown tired of them. "I have a cat now, though. A half-Kneazle, to be exact."
"Oh?" He cocked his head sideways as he closed the door. "A cute little kitten?"
She snorted. "Hardly. He's a grown tomcat. Adorable, though."
"I'll have to visit then, if only to meet the one male creature who finally managed to capture your heart!" Mr Black declared pompously.
"Not as a dog," she warned him. "Or you might get scratched. Crookshanks has a temper, and doesn't suffer fools lightly." It wasn't his fault that the stupid postman got scratched - you didn't just pet a cat. And you certainly didn't insult them!
"'Crookshanks'?" he grinned. "Now I definitely have to meet him. He sounds like my kind of cat."
"You're a dog," she pointed out.
"Why yes, I am." He transformed into a dog without ever losing his shameless grin and barked at her.
She rolled her eyes at him and unrolled the yoga mat she meditated on with a flick of her wand. She almost hoped that he'd try to sneak into her garden as a dog - Crookshank would maul him.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Get in touch with your inner cat. Feel like a cat. Be a cat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Hermione Granger's next breath was a sigh. This felt like another pointless evening spent sitting on the floor. She could do something else. Something more productive. Or something more relaxing. Why should she follow Mr Black's instructions, anyway? He was a dog, not a cat. Who'd ever heard of a dog teaching a cat anything?
She snorted. Maybe she could take a nap while sitting. It certainly would be a more productive use of her time, and she doubted Mr Black would notice anything amiss - he was a dog, after all. And what did she care if he noticed? She was doing this for herself, not for anyone else.
She sneered. He probably still thought she was an owl, the stupid dog. She wasn't an owl, though, nor any silly bird. She was a cat. Self-reliant, proud and smart. Unlike a dog, she didn't need either pack or owner, and certainly not a leash. She could do what she wanted, go where she wanted. If she wanted to take a nap, then she would do so.
And if she wanted to bloody that dog's nose, she would do so!
Hermione Granger blinked. She was… stuck to the wall? And Mr Black was holding his nose. Why were half his papers scattered around the room?
And… was that blood under her nails?
Hogwarts, July 4th, 1995
"Thank you for coming, Remus, Sirius. Please have a seat."
Remus Lupin nodded at Dumbledore in return and sat down in front of the Headmaster's desk. Sirius was a little more vocal: "You couldn't keep us out of this war if you tried!" he declared. The two of them had acted just the same on those occasions when they had been called into the Headmaster's office as students.
"That is not my intention, I assure you." Dumbledore smiled at them.
"Although I would have expected a meeting of the entire Order by now, seeing as the Dark Lord's back in a body of his own," Sirius added. "I don't think everyone else has suddenly lost their nerve."
Remus agreed with his friend. The Order of the Phoenix had suffered serious casualties during the last war, but there had been over a dozen left last he knew.
"No, they have not. I am happy to say that they are as committed to fighting the Dark Lord as they were twenty years ago." Dumbledore sighed. "But, as you two know, there is always the danger of someone, willingly or not, betraying us. I have therefore decided to re-form the Order as a group of smaller cells, each of them only being in contact with myself, but not with the others. That way, the effect of any treason will be limited."
"A little late," Sirius commented. "We already know most of the surviving Order members." And knowing that, it wouldn't be that hard to spot new members, Remus thought.
"You are correct. But you don't know the new members. And you will not know what the other cells are doing," Dumbledore said.
"That might be a mixed blessing," Remus said. "We might inadvertently hinder others." Or worse.
"I can only ask you to trust me that I will do my utmost to minimise that danger. Although I am not infallible." Dumbledore sighed. "But I do not see a better way."
"There's ways to keep people from talking. Willingly or unwillingly." Sirius was talking in a casual tone, but Remus knew him well; he could see the tension his friend was trying to hide.
"And we will not stoop to such measures," Dumbledore retorted. "Some prices are too high to be paid."
"Well, seeing as the Dark Lord hasn't used such measures himself, yet, I guess I can't argue with that." Sirius nodded. Remus tried not to show that not knowing what Sirius and Dumbledore were talking about irked, no, hurt him. He didn't like being excluded. He was already forced to suffer that as a werewolf. Always hiding part of himself, always afraid his secret would get out and those he had thought his friends would turn away in disgust, either because he was a Dark creature, or because he hadn't trusted them with his secret…
"For a cell we're a mite small, though," Sirius continued, interrupting Remus's thoughts. "We're both very skilled and talented, of course, but I guess you want us recruiting? Even if only so we can both order someone around?" He grinned widely.
"With the utmost caution only. Your task is the most crucial of all." Dumbledore had lost his smile.
Remus was confused. "I would have expected to serve as the Order's contact to the werewolves, to prevent the Dark Lord from recruiting them." That's what Dumbledore had asked from him in the last war, although Harry's defeat of Voldemort had ended that mission before Remus could begin it. "I assume that the Dark Lord's primary goal will be to build up his forces."
Dumbledore shook his head. "While I share your opinion about Voldemort's priorities, I do not think that sending you to contact the werewolf community would be a wise course of action."
"Why not?" It would have been the first time his curse would have been good for something, Remus thought.
"Back in the last war, you were just another werewolf. You had gone to Hogwarts, unlike most of those who share your affliction, but not many would have recognised you. But since you are the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, the first in decades to stay on for longer than a single year, that is no longer the case." Dumbledore sounded almost apologetic. "The risk that you would be exposed in order to force you to resign, further weakening my position, or simply out of envy of your good fortune, is too great."
"Yeah, Moony. We can't afford to lose you," Sirius chimed in.
"But that means leaving the other werewolves to Voldemort." Remus knew how hard it was for a werewolf to make a living - even if no one knew that he was afflicted, he had to keep his curse a secret, and lived in constant fear of being revealed as a dark creature. But those known to be werewolves had it even worse. And if the werewolves led by that rabid beast Greyback once again joined Voldemort, then every werewolf would suffer for it.
"I have no intention of ignoring them," Dumbledore said, "but your talents are needed elsewhere. Further, as long as the Dark Lord believes that we are unaware of his return, he will have to be very careful himself when recruiting followers."
He wasn't even a good enough werewolf to deal with others of his kind! Remus wanted to laugh at the bitter irony. "So, who will be contacting the werewolves?"
"An acquaintance of mine," the Headmaster answered. Which meant he wouldn't tell Remus.
"So we will protect Harry, then." Remus tried not to sound bitter. He wasn't certain that he succeeded.
Sirius at least acted as if he hadn't noticed. "Of course. And train him."
"He is the key to winning this war once and for all," Dumbledore stated. "Unfortunately, the Dark Lord is aware of this as well, although he hasn't yet realised that they share a deeper connection than he must have already suspected. That is why we cannot reveal his return yet. And while Harry is protected from Voldemort's spells and curses thanks to his mother's sacrifice, ordinary Death Eaters are not so hindered."
"And they know where to find him." Remus shook his head.
"Fortunately, my family has always been rather concerned about completely unprovoked attacks on them, so Grimmauld Place should be safe enough. And I took precautions in case Narcissa or Bellatrix should try anything." Sirius's grin was positively feral.
"Hogwarts's defences are not quite as lethal as those of your home, but they will rebuff even the Dark Lord himself," Dumbledore said. "Although he might plan to circumvent that by recruiting among the older students."
"Bloody snakes," Sirius muttered through clenched teeth.
That explained the focus on training, Remus thought. Harry would soon be able to deal with any attacks by students - provided they didn't use any dark items, of course.
"While it is very likely that a sizeable part of Slytherin house's students have sympathy for the Dark Lord's cause, it would be fatally shortsighted to assume that only Slytherins will heed the Dark Lord's call," Dumbledore said. Remus exchanged a glance with Sirius. They knew that all too well. "To quote an old friend of mine: Constant vigilance is needed," the Headmaster went on. "I am sorry to have to say it, but Harry will have to be very cautious. More cautious than others of his age."
Remus agreed. He only hoped that Harry would be mature enough to realise that too.
*****
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 4th, 1995
Harry Potter told himself that he didn't have to be nervous. Ginny liked him. He was certain of that. She was always happy to see him and talk to him, and she smiled at him in that special way, and… he couldn't actually recall any other solid evidence that she liked him. He just thought she did, but maybe she was just being friendly to the best friend of her youngest brother? Then again, she didn't seem to particularly like Ron. And yet… if she liked him, wouldn't she have said something when he had been with Parvati? Or showed some jealousy? Of course, she had exchanged a few catty remarks with Parvati, but so had Hermione.
He sighed. What if Ginny didn't like him? What if she turned him down? Or worse, what if she laughed, thinking it was a joke?
"Mate, what's wrong? You've been staring at the shed for almost a minute," Ron's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Did you even hear me?"
Harry sighed. "Sorry Ron, I was… thinking," he finished lamely.
"Thinking? About, you know?" Ron asked, glancing back at the porch of The Burrow, where Tonks was chatting with Ron's oldest brother Bill, who was strengthening the wards over the summer.
"No, it's not about that, nor Voldemort," Harry said. Although he should consider that too, shouldn't he? Any girlfriend of his would be in danger, since Voldemort wanted him dead and wouldn't spare her. On the other hand, the Weasleys were among the most famous 'blood traitors', and Ron was his best friend, so Ginny was already in danger…
"So, what's this about? Better talk about it before you fly into the ground or get hit by a Bludger because you're distracted." Ron shouldered his broom.
Harry drew a hissing breath - he didn't really want to talk about this with Ron. On the other hand, maybe he should talk with Ron before he asked Ginny out. His friend might get angry otherwise. Or think Harry didn't trust him. He sighed, then cast a privacy spell.
Ron tensed at once and looked around for eavesdroppers, flicking his wand back and forth. "Looks clear," he announced after a few seconds.
Here goes nothing, Harry thought. "I'm thinking of asking Ginny to be my girlfriend."
Ron blinked at him, then sighed. "Oh." He sounded… almost resigned? Was that bad?
Harry quickly went on. "Yeah. I think she's cute, and she knows me, you know, and she seems to like me, and she's friendly, and she gets along well with Hermione." Ron seemed to be nibbling on his lower lip like Hermione right then. "Do you think she likes me?"
His friend wasn't answering. Harry could see his jaw muscles move, but Ron had stopped looking at him.
"Ron?" Harry asked, a little louder.
His friend didn't startle, though, unlike Harry earlier. But he sighed too. "Yeah. I reckon she likes you, mate."
Harry felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "You do? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Ron didn't sound altogether happy, though, Harry thought.
"What's wrong?" he asked. Did Ron fear that Harry would drop him and Hermione for Ginny? Or was he jealous that he hadn't found a girlfriend yet?
"Look, mate, just…" Ron sighed again. "It's nothing. Just don't get weird, alright?"
"Weird?"
"You know, snogging. In public," Harry's friend added quickly. "Some things I don't want to see Ginny doing."
"Ah. Of course not." Harry nodded. He wasn't much for public snogging either.
"Alright. So, let's fly a bit, until Ginny's back from Luna's." Ron mounted his broom and leapt into the air without waiting for Harry's answer.
*****
"Harry! Hi!" Ginny beamed at him. She was wearing a casual robe, quite tight, Harry Potter noticed. And slit up to her knees, perhaps a little higher. A 'broom riding cut', as Parvati had once explained to him, for those witches who didn't ride side-saddle.
He buried the memory. He didn't want to think of his former girlfriend. Not now. Not ever. "Hi, Ginny." He tried to sound casual. Ron had said that she liked him, after all. There wasn't any reason to be nervous. "You've been at Luna's?" Smooth, he thought. Really smooth.
Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice. "Yes. Since Mum's not allowing us past the wards, I had to travel through the Floo network, but I wanted to visit her. She's going on an expedition with her father in a few days."
"Ah." Harry was a little envious. He was pretty much stuck at home or The Burrow, or similarly warded places, until it was time to return to Hogwarts. On the other hand, he would miss his friends, especially Hermione. "Do you think they'll manage to catch one of the animals they're looking for?"
Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. They haven't found any so far."
"Ah," Harry said eloquently. "So…" he looked around. Ron was pointedly reading his Quidditch magazine. Tonks winked at him from the couch, over whatever book she was reading. Apparently, she knew what he was about to do. Or wanted him to think she did. And Mrs Weasley was in the kitchen talking to Bill.
"So?" Ginny asked, with a slight grin. Or perhaps it was a smile.
He took a deep breath. "Let's go out on the porch? It's a bit loud in here."
"Loud?" She blinked. Then her eyes widened. "Ah… of course!" She nodded enthusiastically and was out of the door in a second.
Harry followed her outside, taking a few deep breaths. He could do this. It was easy. He just had to ask her without sounding like an idiot. Or like Zabini the smarmy git who Parvati was now fawning over. "So… I was wondering…"
"Yes?" She was licking her lips. She had put on a little makeup, he noticed. A year ago, he wouldn't have.
Here goes, he thought. "Well, I think you're cute, and nice, and a great flyer. And I like hanging out with you." He swallowed. "So… would you like to go out with me?"
"Yes! I mean, yes, I would."
Harry hesitated a moment, then took a step closer and opened his arms. She hugged him almost as hard as Hermione, and he wondered why he had ever doubted that she liked him.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 6th, 1995
Waiting at the door of Mr Black and Harry's home, Hermione Granger realised that despite working there for a few months now, she still lacked a key for the house. Which was a little weird, given the fact that the wards allowed her inside. Not that the lack of a key would stop her, if she really wanted to get inside, she added to herself with a faint grin. All the dark curses on those windows, however, would.
After about a minute had passed since she had rung the doorbell, Kreacher opened the door. The elf had probably been waiting more than half that time right by the door, Hermione thought. Mr Black had had to order him to stop insulting her, but the little cretin had found other ways to try and make her feel unwelcome.
He wouldn't succeed, though. "Hello, Kreacher!" she called out with an extra wide smile, and, as expected, he was scowling fiercely when he stepped aside to let her enter. "Is Mr Black in his study?"
The elf nodded, almost slamming the door closed.
"Thank you, I know the way." She nodded at him as she passed. Maybe she should pat his head next time? One way or another, the elf would learn to respect her.
Mr Black was sitting behind his desk as she entered, but stood at once - manners had been drilled into him with hexes and curses, he had once explained to her. "Hello, Miss Granger. As usual, it's a pleasure to see you," he said as he bowed to her as if they were at a reception hosted by one of the Old Families. His grin was out of place, though.
"The pleasure is all mine, Mr Black." She curtseyed in return. Ever since her last refusal to call him Sirius, he had started to overdo the Old Family airs in an attempt to make her give in. She wouldn't, of course.
"Please, have a seat!" he said, gesturing at the couch. "You're here as my guest, after all, not as my secretary. Although," he added with a frown, "there are some notes I think you might go over after we're done."
"Of course, Mr Black." She sat down gracefully, crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap.
Mr Black narrowed his eyes slightly, then grinned again. "You wouldn't be as formal if Harry were around," he said as Kreacher entered with a tray.
Of course not - she couldn't act like Miss Merriweather when she was with Harry! Unless she was acting as Miss Merriweather. "He's not here, then?" she asked, with her head tilted to the side. "No sugar, please," she added when Kreacher tried to turn her tea into syrup while serving her.
"He's at The Burrow. Visiting his new girlfriend." Sirius sighed theatrically. "Ah, young love!"
"Ah." Hermione kept her expression neutral. Ginny was a nice girl, and would treat Harry right. And it wasn't as if she wanted Harry to be at home when Mr Black was teaching her illegal magic.
"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect?" Mr Black was grinning widely.
"No. As a matter of fact, I told Harry that he should ask Ginny out." She smiled politely.
"You also tried to seduce him under the very eyes of his last girlfriend."
"I was merely testing my disguise and acting skills," she replied, perhaps a little stiffly. Was he implying that she couldn't have seduced Harry if she had wanted to?
"Of course." His amused expression didn't change. He was!
She swallowed her first retort, and simply nodded. She wasn't here to talk about Harry. Or his new girlfriend. Harry did enough of that when he was around. "I've decided to pursue the Spirit Animal Path," she said.
"A wise decision." Mr Black nodded. "I and my friends decided the same, after all." His 'wise mentor' impression needed some work, Hermione thought - he was smiling too widely. "Now, as a responsible tutor, I have to ask: Are you aware of all the legal, magical and mental risks this will incur?"
"Yes." Compared to her decision to rob entire Old Families blind, becoming an illegal animagus wasn't really much to quibble about. And Hermione was certain that she could handle any mental or magical challenges.
"Good! Now, a few ground rules: You don't try to change without me present. Partial transformations are not something to take lightly. Especially if they involve your wand arm."
He seemed to be speaking from personal experience. Hermione nodded - that made sense.
"Further, you don't talk to anyone about this. You don't show off to anyone, either. Not even to Harry."
That made sense too, even if she didn't like it. "My tutor might have to know, once we start doing real work."
"Maybe. I'll decide once we reach that point."
Once she was an animagus, it wouldn't be his decision any more. Hermione nodded anyway. "Haven't you told Harry about your own animagus form?" The way Mr Black doted on Harry, and loved to tell the stories he remembered of his friendship with Harry's parents, she would have expected him to inform Harry about such an important part of his past.
He shook his head, sighing. His shoulders slumped, too. "I wanted to, but Dumbledore warned me off before I even met Harry for the first time after my breakout. Harry just thinks I'm some nosy dog who likes him."
"He warned you?"
"Yes. He said Harry should be trained in Occlumency first, so as not to endanger me." He scoffed. "I bet he knew - or at least suspected - about Harry's connection to the Dark Lord!"
"I hadn't heard that Harry was to receive such training." Had Harry been holding out on her? The thought hurt, even though she was keeping secrets from him as well.
"No. He was a little too young. Still is, actually, but we'll start next school year anyway."
She could understand that after hearing about Harry's collapse on the Summer Solstice.
He straightened. "Well, we've gathered here to teach you how to turn into an animal. You know the theory already." Of course she did. "You know you can't choose your spirit animal." She nodded. But she could influence her own self-image. Which should influence whatever form her spirit animal would take. Or had taken. "That said, everyone imagines themselves as a certain animal anyway. Sometimes it even turns out to be the right animal. What did you choose?"
"A cat."
He seemed surprised. "A cat? Not an owl? You know, symbol of wisdom, flight, and very inconspicuous thanks to the abundance of post owls?"
She had thought about that, of course. "I can use a broom if I need to fly." Or climb, or levitate. "But an owl wouldn't be too useful since people are aware of their magical nature - and of the dangers they can cause. Most of the places I would want to break into will be warded against owls."
"That's true. Kreacher fetches our own mail from the perch outside, after all. Still, a cat?"
He shouldn't sound so sceptical, she thought, then shrugged. "I've always loved cats. They're graceful, elegant, good climbers, very agile - and most people love cats too." And she wanted to be a cat, not a bird.
"And vain. And catty." He grinned widely again.
She didn't deign to respond to that. "And will you show me your animal form?" After all, he would need to demonstrate the transformation, if he truly wanted to teach her, instead of simply providing her with notes and advice.
Instead of answering, his form blurred, and Hermione was faced with a huge, black dog grinning at her from Mr Black's seat and showing a row of large, gleaming white teeth.
A familiar dog, she realised, remembering the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. "You! It was you! You slobbered all over me!" she exclaimed.
The dog barked, then grinned again, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, before jumping off the seat and trying to sniff her hand and leg.
If Hermione had been a cat, she would have raked her claws across his nose!
*****
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Lose your sense of self. Lose the trappings of your consciousness. Focus on your soul, on what you are when reduced to your soul. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Hermione Granger was sitting cross-legged on the floor in Mr Black's study, with her back straight and her eyes closed. Just as the books on meditation she had read had said.
Focus on your soul. On your essential self. Shed all the trappings of society. Forget all the desires brought on by others. Focus on yourself. Focus on your innermost self. Focus on your essence. Your spirit. Your centre. You.
Just you.
She folded her hands in her lap, her thumbs touching. She felt herself breathing, slowly. Regularly. Nothing else mattered. There was just she, and she alone.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
"So, any progress? Do you feel furry yet? Catty? Any cravings for cream, or chasing rodents?"
She whipped her head round and glared at Mr Black. "No. I'm still working on finding my centre."
"Well, you'll need to postpone that. Harry's going to be back soon."
"What?" She stared at him with wide eyes, then blinked. "What happened?" Had there been an attack?
"Nothing. It's time for him to return home, so I can take him to the Dursleys for the night."
"What?" She looked at her watch. He was correct. She drew a deep breath. More than an hour had passed, without her noticing? That had to be a good sign, Hermione thought.
Then she noticed the rubber mouse on the floor and narrowed her eyes. "Very funny," she said in the most flat voice she could manage.
"Oh, that's not meant to be funny. It'll help you. We had a lot of such toys, back in the day. I found my animal when I woke up with a rubber bone in my mouth." Mr Black chuckled. "My friends made fun of me for weeks. Couldn't eat a meal without someone trying to sneak a dog treat on my plate. Or transfiguring the food into a chew toy." He rubbed his chin. "Of course, if you turned out to be an owl, you'd attack the toy too, I think."
She wouldn't. She would be a cat. A graceful, elegant feline.
*****
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 23rd, 1995
"Watch out!"
"Block him!"
"How?"
Harry Potter barely heard the shouts from the other players as he dove towards the rings, Quaffle tucked under his right arm as if he was playing rugby. Fred flew towards him, trying to intercept him, but Harry flew straight at him, rolling at the last second when the other wizard flinched, his boots missing Fred's head by inches.
He finished the roll in the perfect spot for a throw, and let the Quaffle fly - straight at Ron, as it turned out. His friend had no problem blocking the shot.
And Ron passed the Quaffle to George, who passed to Ginny, who took off like a rocket - her slim build might be a disadvantage when jostling against another player, but it meant she was faster than anyone else on the same broom.
Even faster than Harry, not that he didn't try to catch her anyway - she looked great when flying, even from behind. Those slightly too tight Quidditch robes, and her back…
He was grinning as he gave chase, despite the fact that he knew he couldn't stop her, not with the lead she had. He came close, though, when she slowed down a little to aim. Unfortunately, she sent the Quaffle at Percy's rings before he reached her, and Percy was no Ron - he missed his block.
"Yes!" Ginny raised her fist in triumph. "That's five-two for us!"
She was just so beautiful, Harry thought, when she was smiling with a flushed face, the wind causing her long hair to fly, and pressing her robes against her chest...
"Well, that's what you get when you turn a Seeker into a Chaser," George complained.
"Oh, he's chasing Ginny alright," Fred retorted with a chuckle. "It's just that he's focused on her and not the Quaffle."
Ginny glared at her brothers. "You cut that out! We won fair and square!"
"Sure, Ginny," George said. "And he isn't staring at your backside right now either, hm?"
She glanced over her shoulder, and Harry smiled, hoping his blush would be attributed to the exertion of the game.
"Well, you two insisted on splitting up Harry, Ginny and me," Ron cut in, pulling his helmet off and running his hand through his hair. "Just because we trounced you twice in a row."
"That's just because we're playing without Bludgers. We can't really play to our strengths like this," George said.
"I blame Percy, actually," Fred objected. "He's almost as bad as Hermione."
"Must be all the studying," George said, sagely. "Ruins any talent for Quidditch."
Percy rolled his eyes at them. "I blocked most of your shots, Fred."
"So you admit to going easy on her!" Fred quickly said.
"No, I don't. I just pointed out that I wasn't the reason for our loss," Percy retorted. The twins weren't listening, though, and he quickly gave up. "So, that's it for me. I wouldn't want to be late for dinner."
"Oh, better not! She made it extra-specially for you!" George said. "The lost son, returning home, after he cruelly left his family!"
"I'm visiting every Sunday," Percy pointed out. "And unlike Bill and Charlie, I even stayed in Britain!"
"But you never call, or visit as often as you could!" Fred shook his head. "Probably having a sordid affair with a stack of parchment in London!"
"I'm taking my work seriously, and not as a joke!"
"But jokes will be our work!"
"That joke isn't funny."
Harry chuckled as he followed Ron and Ginny to the Burrow, leaving the bickering older Weasleys behind. This was his best summer ever! He had a great girlfriend, he saw his best friends almost every day, and in a week, he wouldn't have to sleep at the Dursleys any more either.
And judging by the glance and smile Ginny shot at him when they landed, they'd meet for a little snogging later!
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th, 1995
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on your soul. Focus on yourself. Focus on your inner spirit. Your inner cat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in… Sigh.
Hermione Granger slumped, then leaned back against the wall in Mr Black's study. She wasn't getting anywhere. She wasn't seeing even a hint of progress. She wasn't even certain that she was getting better at meditation - the frustration she was currently feeling seemed rather counterproductive.
"You know, we took months to find our spirit animal," Mr Black remarked, seemingly without looking up from the magazine he was reading on the couch in the room.
His presence, even if needed to deal with any magical mishaps, not that this was likely given her lack of progress, wasn't helping, in her opinion. What self-respecting cat would appear in a room with a very large dog? A dog with a very bad reputation, too! She sighed, unwilling to admit that she had expected to be quicker. Judging by his wide grin, he wasn't fooled anyway.
"You'll get there, don't worry. After all, James and I managed as well." His tone was encouraging, but his smile carried a hint of a rebuke.
Hermione didn't pout in return. "It's just that… I would have expected something to happen by now. Even a mishap. Anything."
"Maybe your spirit animal isn't a cat? You might be barking up the wrong tree. Although, with cats, it would be miaowing down from the wrong tree."
She rolled her eyes at his mangling of the metaphor and started to meditate again. At least she had enough time, seeing as Harry seemed to be living at The Burrow these days.
And she could only imagine what he and Ginny were up to during those visits. Realising that she was clenching her teeth, she forced herself to relax again. Just like her books said.
*****
Near Blagdon Hill, Devon, Britain, July 29th, 1995
Hermione Granger held her breath as she pushed the shaft of her broom down, entering a steep dive. Five hundred yards to the target. Five hundred and fifty to the ground. Or so she guessed - but she had trained to estimate distances.
Four hundred yards. She saw something move near the target, and started to roll. Two red flashes flew past her - colour jinxes. Disillusioned caster. She pushed the shaft further down, rushing almost vertically downwards. Three hundred yards to the ground. Two hundred. One hundred and fifty. She started to pull up and her muscles strained against gravity and inertia. For a horrible moment, she feared that she had overestimated her strength. The ground was rapidly coming closer. Much quicker than she had thought.
But she managed to level out her broom in time - fifty yards above the ground. Right at the same height of the target, even. Panting through clenched teeth, she leaned forward, lowering both air resistance and her profile, and pressed forward, banking left and right and rolling as more colourful flashes flew towards her. Some came uncomfortably close, but none touched her shield.
Almost there! Less than a hundred yards! She did another barrel roll, avoiding the next volley, then released the shaft with her right hand. A flick of her wrist later she was holding her wand. A whispered incantation, and the Chameleon-Tongue Spell shot towards the target, a sticky line wrapping itself around a small red box as she veered hard to the right.
As she had expected, a volley of jinxes cut through the air right between her and the target - if not for her manoeuvre, she would have been hit by at least one of them. Though none hit the box either, as a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed as she sped away, diving another twenty yards towards the ground.
But the glance also confirmed that the jinxes were not letting up - and coming closer. Their caster was on a broom as well! She gritted her teeth and started to jink and roll. She just had to reach that tree on the hill, and she'd win.
But the direct path was too open. If she flew evasively, she wouldn't be able to keep her distance. And the closer he got, the better her pursuer's chance were of hitting her. Taking a deep breath, she veered to the right, towards a copse of trees.
Trying not to think of the Star Wars speeder chase, she flew around the copse, then, once she glimpsed an open path, through it. No spells flew past her, so her pursuer would be trying to gain the height for a dive at her.
But she hadn't slowed down, and by the time she left the cover of the trees, he was too far behind to catch her.
Hermione raised her fist in triumph when she flew past the finishing line, smiling widely as she slowed down and turned around in time to greet her pursuer.
Mr Fletcher was shaking his head as he dismounted his broom. "That was a little bit too darin' for a mere test, girl."
She shrugged as casually as she could manage while still high on adrenaline. "I didn't actually fly through the copse; I simply skirted its edge."
He snorted. "No wonder ya were sorted inta Gryffindor. But it wasn't just the detour through the woods. Your first dive was cuttin' it fine too."
"I had it all planned out," she lied. Then she looked back at the 'track'. "I guess we'll need to clean up the splashes left by the spells."
"Yes. This area is covered by Muggle-Repelling Charms, and very few wizards and witches know about it, but you know the rule."
"Leave no trace," she answered.
"Yes." He looked at the small valley himself. "Hasn't changed much, I guess."
"You've been here before?" she asked. "I mean, before you prepared this for my test."
For a moment, he seemed to freeze, and when he answered in a rougher voice than usual, he wasn't looking at her. "Yes. It's been a long time, though. Damn long time."
For a moment, she wanted to ask when he had been here the last time. Had he grown up here? Or had he trained another thief here? But his expression…
Hermione nodded, and then mounted her broom. Those spots and stains wouldn't clean themselves. Good training for the field, though.
*****
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1995
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Harry! Happy birthday to you!"
Harry Potter stared at the cake. Mrs Weasley - he had trouble thinking of her as 'Molly', as she asked - had outdone herself. The cake was massive. Easily large enough, in his opinion, to feed double the number of guests present. Fifteen candles burned brightly - the twins' attempts to tamper with them had been foiled by Mr Weasley - and everyone was singing, off-key in most cases.
He didn't mind the cacophony at all - it reminded him of the school song at Hogwarts. He took a deep breath, then blew all the candles out at once, to the applause of everyone present.
"Well done, mate!" Ron said, clapping his shoulder. Hermione nodded in agreement.
"Thanks," Harry said, but his attention was on Ginny, who had wrapped her arm around his waist. He returned the gesture and pulled her closer while Mrs Weasley started to cut the cake.
The first slice went to him, slowly floating towards him on a small plate. He offered the first piece to Ginny, though, and, before he realised it, they were feeding each other. He was about to wipe away the speck of whipped cream that had ended up on the tip of her nose with his index finger when Neville addressed him.
"Harry?"
"Yes?" He wasn't annoyed at the interruption, just… slightly miffed, maybe.
"I wanted to thank you for your invitation," Neville said. "Yeah, thanks!" Seamus and Dean chimed in, waving their forks. Between them, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and the Weasleys, maybe the cake was just the right size, Harry thought.
"Of course, guys," Harry said.
"I just wish you had invited more birds," Seamus said. "And all of them are already taken," he added with a nod towards the porch, where the twins were flirting with Angelina, Alicia and Katie.
"You know, a girl doesn't have to be taken to turn you down," Dean pointed out with a grin.
"Leave me to my delusions!" Seamus elbowed his friend.
Dean sighed and turned to Harry. "He asked out every pretty witch present. And all of them shot him down. That has to be a new record."
Seamus scoffed. "As long as I keep asking girls, sooner or later one will say yes."
"Or hex you."
"Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
The two left them, probably to get another slice or two of the cake. Neville and Ron had wandered off as well, leaving Harry and Ginny by themselves. "I'm so happy I've got you," Harry whispered, pulling her close again.
"You should be!" Ginny said, then giggled and hugged him. "I'm happy to have you too."
"Although…" Harry looked around, then lowered his voice. "I do feel a little guilty, being so happy when Ron and Hermione haven't found anyone."
"It's not your fault." Ginny shook her head, then pouted at him.
"It actually is," Harry said. "Apparently, being my best friend means he wouldn't work out with Lavender." Who was Parvati's best friend.
"Ron asked her out?" Ginny blinked.
"Well, what he he told me was that Lavender thought he was cute, but she picked Parvati over him."
"Good!" Ginny was scowling fiercely now. "She isn't right for him!"
Harry fought not to wince. If she felt that strongly about this... "I can't really fault her for picking her best friend over a potential boyfriend." He had done the same, after all.
"What? No, not that. But Ron wouldn't be happy with her," Ginny declared in a tone that brooked no dissension.
"Why do you think that? Because she's so close to Parvati?"
Ginny shook her head. "She's just not right for him." She looked away. "She doesn't like Quidditch, for example."
"I've seen her read Quidditch Weekly," Harry said. Back when he had been with Parvati.
"She likes Quidditch Players," Ginny said. "Not Quidditch." Harry thought that would help Ron's chances, seeing as he was about to succeed Oliver as the team's Keeper - there certainly wasn't anyone better around in Gryffindor - but before he could voice that thought Ginny pulled on his arm. "Come on, let's get a game started!"
That was another advantage of The Burrow had over Grimmauld Place, Harry thought - you could play Quidditch here.
*****
Picked last, and put into reserve. For a moment, Hermione Granger had felt as if she had been back in primary school. Once again, she had been picked last for every team in P.E. As if being smart meant that you were bad at sports!
Well, she actually hadn't been very good at them. But that had been back then. Before she had started to train as a thief. Nowadays? She narrowed her eyes as she studied the two teams playing above her on the Weasleys' pitch. Well, she wasn't as good as Harry. But no one was. The twins said Charlie might be, but without seeing the man fly, she wouldn't be able to tell. And Hermione's training hadn't focused on playing Quidditch, so she certainly couldn't expect to beat people who had been training for years in the hope of becoming professional players.
But if she were playing seriously, she certainly wouldn't be a liability! Not that she could, of course - her tutor's orders had been clear. If she broke her cover over such a small thing, then she certainly wouldn't be ready for a real heist.
But it was so annoying, to hold back and play the clumsy old Hermione!
"Hey, Hermione!"
Almost as annoying as Seamus, she thought as she turned her head. "Yes?"
The boy sat down next to her. "You're a reserve player too, huh?"
"Yes," she said, curtly.
"Don't take it to heart," he said, in a rather patronising tone, in her opinion, "all of them are maniacs who want to win at all costs." He was sitting a little too close as well, she noticed.
She shrugged and lied. "I don't mind. It's fun to simply watch, too. They rarely have enough guests for two full teams."
"Yeah. It's more fun to watch in good company, of course." He smiled at her. "You know, we all miss you at Hogwarts."
She wanted to groan at his transparent attempt to butter her up. "Well, apart from Parvati and her friends. And the Slytherins. And some of the Ravenclaws."
"Ah… yes." He didn't lose his smile. "But those who count are missing you."
"I would certainly hope so." She looked up. Alicia had scored again. Ron was doing well as Keeper, too. Even Harry and Ginny were playing seriously, and not flirting with each other. Or feeding each other cake as if they were on honeymoon.
Her curt tone obviously hadn't managed to dissuade him. Either he was that dense, or he simply didn't care. "So… do you have a boyfriend?"
She considered lying, but discarded the thought. It wasn't worth the trouble. "No."
"Ah, I thought so. Most boys just care about appearances, you know." He nodded slowly at his own words. "I'm not one of them, though. I care about a girl's personality. I think we would make a nice couple."
She almost couldn't believe it - he called her ugly and asked her out in the same breath! She wanted to hex him badly. No one would judge her for it! No witch, at least. But… she smiled sweetly as she had a better idea. "I'm sorry, but between my work and my studies, I don't have time for a relationship," she said and patted his shoulder.
"Not even for the summer?" He smiled at her. "One month. Consider it a holiday?"
Her smile grew less sweet. "No, not even one month," she said, her tone leaving no doubt how she meant that.
He shrugged. "Ah, well. I tried."
As he stood up and walked back to the house, Hermione patted her pocket, which now contained most of the money from his wallet.
*****
Hogwarts, September 3rd, 1995
"Occlumency is often touted as the art of protecting your mind from intrusions - the counter to Legilimency. But just as Legilimency does not exactly let you read someone's mind, this definition of Occlumency is somewhat incorrect."
Harry Potter frowned at the Headmaster's explanation. "Incorrect?" he asked, seeing as Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for a question.
"Yes. Many describe Occlumency as building a wall around your thoughts. That is simply a mental construct - a sort of crutch. At its core, Occlumency does not protect your mind - it allows you to know your own mind. The protection it provides stems from the fact that a skilled Occlumens will know their own mind so well that they can detect any intrusions, no matter how small or subtle. In theory, at least," Dumbledore added with a wry smile. "In practice, no one is perfect. Not even I, despite decades of experience."
"That doesn't sound very promising, sir," Harry said, then pressed his lips together. He didn't want to sound ungrateful - the Headmaster was spending a lot of his time to help him with this, after all - but he had hoped for something more… effective. He had to deal with the Dark Lord, after all.
"Oh, it is effective. I have no doubt that it will adequately protect your mind from Tom's intrusions. But it's not perfect, lest you grow complacent."
There was no danger of that, Harry thought. He'd have to learn Occlumency first to grow complacent. Not that he would ever fall into that trap knowing that the Dark Lord himself was after him. "I've also heard that you clear your mind with it."
"Another mental crutch, I would say. Ultimately, both a wall and a clear mind make it easier to detect an intrusion - by spotting a hole in the wall, to use the metaphor, or by removing any metaphysical cover, so to speak, which an intruder could use." He smiled. "For a mental art, those are quite the physical images, are they not?"
"Yes." Harry nodded. What else could he say?
"But that is the very reason why such mental crutches result in defences with inherent weaknesses. In a battle between minds, everything is possible. Limiting your imagination by using such physical metaphors is not a good course of action." The Headmaster sighed. "That so many practitioners of the art use them is likely because so few really wish, or can stand, even, to truly know their own minds."
Harry wasn't quite certain that he wanted to know his own mind that well either. Some of the dreams he had had lately were very embarrassing. Exciting, but embarrassing. Weird too, at least sometimes. "It isn't as if I have a choice, though."
Once more Dumbledore sighed, before smiling sadly at him. "No, I do not suppose that you do. Shall we start then?"
Harry swallowed dryly, then nodded.
*****
London, Merton, September 18th, 1995
Hermione Granger tossed the rubber mouse through the air and watched it bounce on the floor once. Her inner cat remained unaffected. Not that she had expected anything else - she wasn't making any progress in her 'spirit quest'. Combing her hair several times a day hadn't brought her any closer to feeling like a cat either, although it seemed to have helped with taming her hair - unless that was simply the first sign that her mum hadn't been lying to her when she had told Hermione that she would grow out of her hair troubles. Which, in retrospect, seemed like a pun worthy of Mr Black.
Napping in the sun felt nice, if she managed to forget her troubles. Otherwise it was just time lost. At least meditating helped her to keep a positive outlook. Mostly. She sighed and leaned back on her bed, stretching a little. She didn't feel the urge to hunt anything, either. Well, she often wanted to hex Kreacher, but that was because the elf still sneered at her whenever they met. Which, fortunately, wasn't that often now that she had a key to Grimmauld Place.
Unfortunately, with Harry back at Hogwarts, she didn't see him any more either. Hermione frowned - she hadn't seen him that often anyway, not since Ginny had become his girlfriend. Harry had practically started living at The Burrow, even though he would see his girlfriend every day once they were back at Hogwarts. Was seeing Ginny every day now, Hermione corrected herself, frowning.
At least she'd see him next weekend in Hogsmeade. They might even celebrate her birthday. Her wistful smile disappeared when she imagined watching Harry and Ginny feed each other cake again. That wasn't what she wanted on her birthday! They could show some restraint, instead of showing off like that. That was something she would have expected Parvati to do, not Ginny.
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Mum?" She looked up as her mum stepped inside her room.
"You're still in your pajamas?"
"It's still early," Hermione defended herself. And she liked wearing them too - sleek, black silk pajamas which felt wonderful on her skin.
"It's almost noon," her mum said dryly.
"What?" Hermione stared at her clock. She could have sworn it was earlier…
"Anyway, get dressed, lunch will be ready soon." Her mum knelt down to pick up the discarded toy mouse, then looked at her with her eyebrows raised.
Hermione met her mum's eyes until the older woman turned away.
*****
"Dear, we think it's time for you to get a cat," her father said at the table.
"I told you, I don't want to get a cat," Hermione said.
"Hermione, you bought more than a dozen books on cats, more cat toys than that, even, and you spend entire afternoons at Mrs Attenborough's who owns three cats," her mum said as she gathered the plates on the table.
Hermione had done that to observe cats and get more insight into their behaviour. She clenched her teeth. "I like her cats." Mrs Attenborough was a terrible bore, but her cats were nice. Spoiled, though. And they were warming up to her, but that might have just been because of the treats she brought them.
"You even bought cat treats," her father cut in.
She winced - trying those had not been one of her better ideas to get closer to her inner cat.
"Dear, it's obvious that you want a cat of your own. And despite your past experiences, I'm certain that you can handle one. Even with your studies and your work, it wouldn't be neglected either - they sleep most of the time anyway."
"Not all cats do," Hermione protested. Cats weren't lazy!
"Well, the ones my parents had did," her father retorted, picking up the casserole from the table. "Anyway, I don't know why you are so afraid of getting one."
"I'm not afraid, I'm just…" she trailed off. Why didn't she want a cat? Just because she feared that things could go wrong once she was one herself? Of a territory dispute with her pet? She shrugged. "It's a big responsibility." She gathered the glasses and carried them over to the dishwasher.
"You're a responsible girl," her dad said.
"Well, apart from sleeping until noon lately," her mum added. "It's a good thing neither Mr Smith nor Mr Black expects you to start working early in the morning."
Hermione sniffed. She got up early enough, and she was working diligently. That she didn't have to leave her bed for it wasn't her fault! "And you think I should get a cat."
"It would make sense," her mum said, putting the rest of the silverware into the dishwasher. "You're acting like someone who wants to swim, but won't get into the water."
"We're a little concerned, you see," her dad added. "If you're bent on becoming a crazy cat lady at your age, you should at least have a cat."
Hermione glared at him. "I'm not trying to become a crazy cat lady, thank you very much!" Although maybe she should have been a tad more discreet with her attempts to become more cat-like. She sighed. "But you might be correct." Having a cat of her own might help her with her plans. If she was honest with herself, her fear of trouble with her pet was irrational. She would just have to be ready to deal with any unforeseen consequences of her inevitable success. "But," she added, "we'll buy one in Diagon Alley. They're used to magic."
"Why is that a concern?" her dad asked.
"I'm not going to stay a teenager forever," Hermione said. "And when I move into a flat of my own, it'll be a magical flat." She had a room of her own already, at Grimmauld Place, but this wasn't the time to mention that.
"Ah." Her parents exchanged a glance, but didn't comment on whatever they were thinking. Did they expect that she would keep living with them? She didn't need the telly so much that she would keep living like a muggle forever.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, September 19th, 1995
He - definitely a he - was the ugliest cat she had ever seen. He was fat, squat, with a face that looked like it had been squished as a kitten and stuck that way, orange-brown fur that seemed to be sporting half-hearted attempts at stripes and wasn't short enough nor long enough, and he had legs that were slightly bent, and a little too short for his size. He was also larger than any other cat she had seen in the Magical Menagerie, or anywhere. And he was staring at her from the shelf he had jumped on, unconcerned about the boxes of pet food that had fallen down as a result.
"No! Get down! Miss, don't step any closer - he has a nasty temper and likes to scratch customers! How did he get loose, anyway?"
Hermione Granger ignored the clerk's yelling and stepped up to the tomcat, craning her neck to look straight into his eyes. He didn't move and returned the stare.
"Miss! Watch out!"
"Hermione?" Her mum sounded worried.
She didn't care. He was the most un-catlike cat she had ever seen. Almost like a miniature bulldog in a cat's fur. Nothing like the kitten her mum had pointed out, or Mrs Attenborough's purebred cats. He was neither elegant nor graceful, if his jump was any measure.
But she knew for certain that she'd buy him.
"I'll call you Crookshanks!" she declared, smiling widely.
The clerk looked astonished and her parents exchanged another of those weird, concerned glances. Hermione didn't care. She had found her cat!
*****
London, Merton, September 20th, 1995
Crookshanks fit into the house as if he had been born there, Hermione Granger thought after a day with her new pet. He didn't care for all the toys she had collected, and he pointedly ignored the scratching post as well as the cushion he was supposed to sleep on. Hermione hoped that the tree in the garden would survive his attentions, and she was glad that her bed was large enough for the two of them.
But he acted as if he owned the house. When he strolled through the rooms after his arrival, he didn't seem to be so much exploring as conquering the place, Hermione thought. He might look like his father wasn't a Kneazle, as the clerk in the Magical Menagerie had claimed, but a bulldog - and an ugly bulldog, at that - but he acted as if that didn't matter at all. He strutted as if he was a prized purebred tomcat. When he smashed one of Mum's prized vases - which Hermione quickly repaired with the Mending Charm before her mum noticed - he looked at her as if that was her fault, and not the result of his own jump missing the mark. He certainly didn't lack confidence.
Which, she thought, watching him curled up on her bed, napping without a care, was a lesson worth considering.
As was taking a nap herself.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 25th, 1995
"You look different. Did something happen in Hogsmeade?" Mr Black asked as he opened the door to his study for Hermione Granger.
"No." She shook her head. They had celebrated her birthday, and while Harry and Ginny had been as obnoxiously sweet together as she had expected, it had been tolerable. Ron hadn't complained either - though her other best friend had been somewhat distracted by Luna trying to fit him with an 'Anti-Nargle-Device' which looked as if it had been made of Butterbeer corks and tinsel. Hermione had seen stranger things.
"Are you certain? No sudden revelations? Urges?"
"No." She glared at him, and he shrugged. He had been dropping such hints for a while now, and she had grown tired of them. "I have a cat now, though. A half-Kneazle, to be exact."
"Oh?" He cocked his head sideways as he closed the door. "A cute little kitten?"
She snorted. "Hardly. He's a grown tomcat. Adorable, though."
"I'll have to visit then, if only to meet the one male creature who finally managed to capture your heart!" Mr Black declared pompously.
"Not as a dog," she warned him. "Or you might get scratched. Crookshanks has a temper, and doesn't suffer fools lightly." It wasn't his fault that the stupid postman got scratched - you didn't just pet a cat. And you certainly didn't insult them!
"'Crookshanks'?" he grinned. "Now I definitely have to meet him. He sounds like my kind of cat."
"You're a dog," she pointed out.
"Why yes, I am." He transformed into a dog without ever losing his shameless grin and barked at her.
She rolled her eyes at him and unrolled the yoga mat she meditated on with a flick of her wand. She almost hoped that he'd try to sneak into her garden as a dog - Crookshank would maul him.
*****
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Get in touch with your inner cat. Feel like a cat. Be a cat. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Hermione Granger's next breath was a sigh. This felt like another pointless evening spent sitting on the floor. She could do something else. Something more productive. Or something more relaxing. Why should she follow Mr Black's instructions, anyway? He was a dog, not a cat. Who'd ever heard of a dog teaching a cat anything?
She snorted. Maybe she could take a nap while sitting. It certainly would be a more productive use of her time, and she doubted Mr Black would notice anything amiss - he was a dog, after all. And what did she care if he noticed? She was doing this for herself, not for anyone else.
She sneered. He probably still thought she was an owl, the stupid dog. She wasn't an owl, though, nor any silly bird. She was a cat. Self-reliant, proud and smart. Unlike a dog, she didn't need either pack or owner, and certainly not a leash. She could do what she wanted, go where she wanted. If she wanted to take a nap, then she would do so.
And if she wanted to bloody that dog's nose, she would do so!
Hermione Granger blinked. She was… stuck to the wall? And Mr Black was holding his nose. Why were half his papers scattered around the room?
And… was that blood under her nails?
*****
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Chapter 11: Breakthroughs
Starfox5
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Chapter 11: Breakthroughs
Dunstable, Bedfordshire, Britain, September 25th, 1995
Standing in the street of the muggle town, Corban Yaxley was nervous. Afraid, even. He shouldn't be - he was a skilled wizard. He had fought in the Blood War and had proved his mettle there. He had escaped being punished for his actions after the war's end as well, together with the rest of the smarter Death Eaters. And his current position in the DMLE, as well as his connections, assured that few would dare to anger him.
But none of that mattered right now. Not with his Dark Mark burning. Calling him to this old house tucked away in the heart of the town. He rubbed his left forearm, but the gesture didn't bring any relief. Only compliance would - and not even that might be enough, should this be the Dark Lord calling. But he was supposed to be dead. Defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived. Of course, there had been rumours in the last few years. But they had been only that - rumours. To think that the Dark Lord could have actually returned from death! But who else could control his Mark? If another Death Eater had found a way to use the Marks…
Maybe the Dark Lord hadn't died, he told himself. Maybe he had just been grievously cursed, and had taken this long to recover. He couldn't blame Corban for lying low in that case, could he?
The pain from his arm was growing stronger - he couldn't delay any longer, Corban knew. The punishment for such defiance would be horrible. Steeling himself, and trying not to show any sign of the pain he was feeling, he approached the door.
It had a knocker, like every decent wizarding house. None of those muggle contraptions Weasley was so fond of. The door opened a moment after he knocked. No one was there, but he heard a voice call out.
"Enter, Corban."
He didn't recognise the voice. Maybe someone had managed to find a way to control the Marks. It was plausible - he didn't know all of the Dark Lord's followers, after all. But whether this was the Dark Lord, or someone else, didn't change anything - he had no choice either way.
The door closed behind him with barely a sound. He found himself in an entrance hall far too large for the building - strong Extension Charms had been cast here. Another sign of the power of whoever had called him.
"Come, Corban," the voice rang out again. Not loud, but it carried some distance. It was a smooth voice, too. Cultured. Like his memory of the Dark Lord's. But it wasn't his. Another door opened, revealing a dark hallway.
Swallowing, he stepped through. He set his jaw as the pain grew slightly stronger. A door swung open at the end of the hallway. The room behind it was well-lit - a noticeable contrast with the dark, windowless corridor. He continued, drawing his wand as he walked towards the door, and stepped inside with his wand raised.
The man sitting in a plush chair inside the lavishly decorated room seemed entirely unconcerned about this - even though he hadn't drawn his own wand, as far as Corban could see. He was far too young to be the Dark Lord, too.
Then the man smiled, and Corban's arm seemed to burn from the inside. Despite his best efforts, he fell to his knees, his wand clattering on the floor. A guttural groan escaped his lips as the pain overwhelmed him. Who was this wizard to best him so easily?
When the man laughed, he knew. And felt as if he been dipped into ice water.
The Dark Lord had returned.
"I can, of course, understand why you didn't declare your allegiance to me after I seemed to have been defeated," the Dark Lord declared a few minutes later.
Corban nodded, still trembling. The pain had been as bad as the Torture Curse. He had been tempted to cut off his own arm to escape it, not that he had been able to move his limbs.
"But to do nothing? To not even move a finger to find me, even though I told you that not even death itself would be able to stop me?" The Dark Lord shook his head, his smile vanishing. "Didn't you have any faith in my claim? Or were you more concerned with your own advancement?"
Corban drew a shuddering breath. "Forgive me, milord. I was weak. There was no sign of you, and everyone was acting as if you were dead…"
"You were weak indeed. But I think you were more selfish than gullible, weren't you?"
"Milord…" He clutched his left arm. "Please forgive me!"
The Dark Lord twirled his wand - not the wand he had used in the war, Yaxley realised - and seemed to consider his plea. "I will - provided you do not fail me again."
Relief filled him. "I won't, milord! I swear it!"
"You swore an oath to me before. It didn't stop you from denying me." The Dark Lord sighed. "But others failed me as well. Not many remained faithful and loyal." Corban waited, holding his breath. "It will fall upon all of you to earn my forgiveness - and my favour. You have a high position in the DMLE."
"Yes, milord."
"That will be useful. If we want to save Britain from the mudblood filth, the Ministry is the key. Who controls the Ministry controls the country."
"Yes, milord."
The Dark Lord tapped his chin with the index finger of his free hand. "But my old foe has his supporters in the Ministry as well. Blood traitors and mudbloods. They will oppose us - unless dealt with." He stared straight at Corban, who felt a chill run down his spine. "That is where you come in."
"Yes, milord!"
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 25th, 1995
"What… what happened?" Hermione Granger asked, staring at Mr Black from where she was stuck on the wall in his study.
He pointed his wand at his nose, which both looked crooked and was bleeding, and cast two spells. "You tried to take my nose off!" he answered, after the part of his face in question had been fixed.
"I don't remember that!" she protested. Although it would explain the blood under her nails, she thought. "And you banished me at the wall and stuck me here?" she added indignantly. The nerve!
"It was the quickest way to deal with you. You were acting like a cat - hissing and scratching. And pouncing," Mr Black added, with a nod towards his desk and the scattered parchment surrounding it.
"I was?" Hermione blinked. But that meant… "I did it!" she cheered. "I discovered my inner animal! I'm a cat!" A graceful, elegant cat!
"You're an animal, at least," Mr Black said - a little sulkily, she thought. "A bloodthirsty one. You ignored all the toys I had laid out, and went straight for my throat."
"For your nose," she corrected him as she used her wand to unstick herself from the wall, pushing herself off it and landing gracefully on her feet the moment the spell was broken.
"And why would you have done that?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "I wasn't even doing anything. Suddenly, you started hissing, and when I looked up from my reading, I had a crazy witch on my desk swiping at my face!"
"Obviously, my inner cat felt threatened by the presence of a large dog." She smiled sweetly.
"That sounds more like what a badger would do," he retorted. "Cats are supposed to be smarter than that."
"Any animal that feels threatened has a flight or fight response. And if flight seems impossible..." She shrugged. "I'm not sure if my inner cat knows how to open doors locked with spells." She would certainly hope that her animal spirit was smart enough to open an unlocked door - even normal cats could do that!
He didn't look convinced. "And why would your 'inner cat' feel threatened by a loveable, friendly dog such as myself?"
"Well…" She felt her cheeks grow a little warm. "I may have thought earlier that you might deserve a swat across your nose. And my animal spirit might have acted on it." She shrugged. "No harm done, anyway."
"No harm? You drew blood! Almost broke my nose, too!"
He was right - Hermione still had blood under her nails! A quick Cleaning Charm dealt with that. And even for an animal, she had reacted a tad violently, she added to herself, feeling guilty.
He rubbed the sides of his nose with two fingers. "You bloody hit harder than James did when I enchanted the mirrors in the girls' bathroom to project images."
Any guilt she had been feeling evaporated in the face of her indignation. "You peeped on the witches at Hogwarts when they were changing and showering?"
"No!" He shook his head and took a step back.
"Why did you enchant the mirrors then?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"Well, I wanted to peep on them, but James didn't let me, so technically, I didn't peep." He smiled broadly.
She rolled her eyes at him. And the man wondered why any self-respecting cat would want to claw his nose off! Then she had a worrying thought. "I hope you're not trying to get Harry to do such things!"
"Don't worry, he would never do that!"
That sounded as if he had seriously considered it. But she could trust Harry, Hermione knew. And she had more important things on which to focus. She sniffed and shook her head. "Anyway - this is a breakthrough! I'm going to be an animagus!"
"You've taken your first step," he corrected her. "Now you have to learn how to change your form so it fits your spirit. Or there will be tales of a crazy witch acting like a cat." He rubbed his goatee. "Although I'm wondering how you, I mean, your 'inner cat' would have acted if Harry had been here."
She was wondering that herself, but this wasn't a subject she wanted to discuss with Mr Black. So she sniffed and pointed at the mess on the floor. "And I'm wondering how long you'll want to leave all your parchments in such disarray," she shot back.
"Well, sorting out my files and correspondence is what I hired a secretary for." He rubbed his nose. "Please take care of that while I go and check if my nose has healed correctly. After all," he added with a wide grin that showed his white teeth, "you scattered them when you jumped on the desk."
Even if she wanted to, she couldn't dispute that. Mr Black was such a lazy dog! But not even the rather daunting task of sorting out all the paperwork - again - could really dampen her spirits. She had done it! She had discovered her inner spirit animal! She would be an animagus in no time!
Hogwarts, September 29th, 1995
Harry Potter was standing in the middle of a wide, open field. A bare field. A bare field made of stone. Not even a mouse could be hiding here. Nothing could escape his gaze… unless it was behind him. He turned around. Nothing. He turned back. Then kept turning. He knew there would be an intrusion coming, but where? And when?
And suddenly, the Headmaster was standing there, next to him, smiling gently. Harry opened his eyes and scowled. "Failed again." At his exclamation, Fawkes trilled from his perch, then went back to grooming his wings.
"You have just started learning the art, my boy. Do not be too harsh with yourself," Dumbledore said from behind his desk. "I took a long time learning Occlumency myself."
Harry scoffed. "I bet you didn't make the very mistake your teacher told you to avoid." Visualising his mind as a real place.
"I did, actually - but because I, in a rather embarrassing bout of hubris, thought I knew better than a master of the art." The Headmaster sighed with a regretful smile. "Surprising the experts at my O.W.L. exams was, in hindsight, not an altogether beneficial thing."
Harry couldn't imagine the Headmaster making such a mistake - not really. He had trouble enough imagining Dumbledore as a young man, much less a student like him. "But you didn't have a mental link to the Dark Lord."
"I did not have to worry about Voldemort, no. But I had, although later in my life, somewhat similar trouble."
Harry frowned. What did the Headmaster… ah! "Grindelwald?"
Dumbledore nodded. "While we were not tied together by a scar, as you and Tom are, we had known each other before we finally met on the field of battle." He snorted softly. "But enough about the follies of my youth. I think we've made some progress today."
Harry shrugged. He would like to think so, but it didn't feel as if he had really learned anything this evening.
"Patience, Harry. You will learn Occlumency in time."
He scoffed. "I need to learn it before Voldemort comes after me."
"You will." Dumbledore sounded confident. Far more confident than Harry felt. But it was still reassuring to hear such words. "But before you go I'd like to take another look at your scar."
"My scar?" Harry blinked. "Of course." Maybe the Headmaster would find a way to sever the connection. He suppressed a shudder - thinking about how closely linked his and Tom's minds were was revolting.
"Thank you." Dumbledore drew his wand and stood up. "This might take a little while," he added while he was walking around his desk.
Harry didn't recognise any of the spells Dumbledore cast at his forehead. Too obscure, or too advanced, he guessed. Hermione would have loved to observe them, Harry thought, but she probably wouldn't have recognised many of them either. Maybe he should have bought her a book of exotic charms for her birthday, instead of the Defence manual Mr Lupin had recommended. But his friend had said that she wasn't doing that well in Defence Against the Dark Arts, hadn't she? His scar suddenly itching interrupted his line of thought. He clenched his teeth.
Dumbledore must have noticed, since the sensation faded quickly. "Did that hurt?" he asked.
Harry shook his head. "No. It itched, but that was all."
"Interesting."
"What did you find out, sir?" Harry asked. If the Headmaster had discovered something new about his scar…
His hopes were dashed, though. "It is too soon to know." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "But definitely interesting. Promising too, I think."
That sounded encouraging, Harry thought. If he could get rid of his scar… Of course, people said scars caused by dark curses couldn't be removed - but they had also said that you couldn't survive the Killing Curse. "It would be great if you could remove the scar," he said.
"It would also deprive us of a possible way to find out about the Dark Lord's plans," Dumbledore pointed out. "As with most things in life, nothing is entirely positive or negative."
Harry frowned at that.
Dumbledore sighed. "I have no intention of delaying any possible remedy to your condition, Harry. You have my word on that. To risk a child's life for such a questionable advantage…" He shook his head. "I was merely trying to point out that your current situation also offers something beneficial to us."
Harry nodded, if a little reluctantly. He wasn't a child any more, after all. And knowing what Voldemort was doing would be a decisive advantage, wouldn't it? Even if it was only limited to any rituals the Dark Lord might work, it would help. It might be worth the risk, he thought.
Since he was thoroughly sick of being unable to help others when needed.
London, Greenwich, September 29th, 1995
Walking down the street towards the house of her tutor, Hermione Granger felt both guilty and annoyed at having to hide her breakthrough from him. Guilty because it felt wrong to keep such a thing a secret from the man who was teaching her so much. And annoyed because she wanted to impress him. He still didn't think she was ready for a real heist!
Although the fact that she now had to keep secrets from her tutor was an annoyance in itself. She kept secrets from far too many people these days, Hermione realised. The person who knew the most about her true self was Mr Black. To think that Harry's exasperating godfather knew her better than Harry himself!
But she also knew that there were reasons for the secrecy. Sensible reasons. That didn't mean that she had to like them, of course.
She entered the flat, after checking the wards for signs of tampering, of course - Mr Fletcher had taught her that you should never apparate straight back to your home even if he hadn't taught her Apparition itself yet. Her tutor greeted her. "Hello, dear."
"Good afternoon." He looked… not exactly cagey. Certainly not agitated. But he was grinning, not smiling.
"Did something happen?" she asked as she put down her books on the table.
"You might say so." Definitely grinning.
"Something good?"
He slowly shrugged. "One might think so."
"That doesn't sound very reassuring. Or certain," she said, looking at him.
"Mr Smith was hired to tutor Mademoiselle Jeanne Dubois, the 'natural daughter' of Elias Selwyn, lest she embarrass the family when she makes her debut at the next New Year's Ball," Mr Fletcher explained. "She's French, you know."
"Oh." Hermione slowly drew a breath. "That will improve your cover, but it also means that you'll have to actually tutor her."
"Exactly." He nodded. "And I fear that I will have to combine your lessons on etiquette with hers, to save time."
Oh. "That means I will have to attend them in disguise myself."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "It's not ideal - but we can consider it more training, I think. And it'll improve your own cover."
"Should I use Miss Merriweather then?" That role was supposed to be a temporary cover only, Hermione knew.
"I think that would be best. Since you've left a memorable impression in some circles, I'd rather not have people ask my new student about my old one, and make her wonder why she never met her."
"Miss Merriweather could always return home," Hermione said. She was pleased to hear she left an impression, though.
"She could. But she's already established in Britain. I'd prefer to wait with introducing a new cover until I know Miss Dubois better, and can avoid possible trouble."
Hermione nodded in agreement. That made sense - it would be easier to create a new cover once they had the measure of Miss Dubois and, at that point, Miss Dubois could be used to strengthen the new cover identity.
But this new development also meant that she would have to keep even more secrets, Hermione realised - she would have to play a role even when studying!
London, Greenwich, October 2nd, 1995
"And this is Miss Merriweather, my first student," Mr Fletcher said, motioning towards Hermione Granger. "She's been a delight to teach, and she'll be able to give you her own perspective about fitting in British society."
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," Hermione Granger said with a smile.
"Good afternoon," Miss Dubois responded, smiling as well.
The French witch had a slight accent, though not as noticeable as Hermione had expected. She was beautiful, if not in Delacour's league, and had apparently just finished Beauxbatons this summer. And the robes she was wearing… "Are those the autumn line from Madam Malkin's?" Hermione asked.
Miss Dubois nodded. "Yes. My father took me there as soon as I arrived. They are supposed to be the height of fashion," she added, though Hermione thought she sounded less than convinced.
She snorted. "The height of fashion, even in Britain, is the latest robes from Paris, of course. But that would probably emphasise your origin, which your father might not want." She was wearing British robes herself, though not from the same line.
Miss Dubois laughed. "He did talk a lot about all things British - and the unattached sons of his friends. I think I would have a better chance of attracting any of them with more fashionable robes, however."
More revealing, in other words. Hermione Granger, staying in character, nodded. "Oh, yes!"
Mr Fletcher, also staying in character, shook his head. "A witch of good breeding dresses for the occasion. You wouldn't wear duelling robes to a ball, and you would not wear ball robes for a tutoring session."
"Unless it's about how to behave at a British ball," Hermione cut in with a grin, "or your tutor is a young and attractive wizard," she added.
Mr Fletcher frowned at her, but Miss Dubois laughed.
"So, what do you think?" Mr Fletcher asked once Miss Dubois - Jeanne, the French witch had asked Hermione to call her - had left.
"I like her," she answered. "Friendly, witty, a sense of humour…" She shrugged. "I wonder if she'll be happy in Wizarding Britain." She looked at her tutor; Jeanne hadn't mentioned why she was moving to Britain.
Mr Fletcher picked up on her unspoken question. "Selwyn lost his daughter in the last war. Collateral damage, as the muggles call it, in a battle in Diagon Alley," he added before Hermione could ask on which side the witch had fought. "Her mum wouldn't let Miss Dubois go to Britain for a variety of reasons, as far as I know. But the girl apparently preferred being a pureblood heir in Britain to a poor bastard witch in France, so once she finished her education, she went to her father."
Hermione frowned. That sounded a little too calculating for the charming witch she had met. On the other hand, if she was planning to support her mother after she inherited, then that would be rather calculating as well. She sighed with sudden realisation. "She pretty much played me, didn't she?"
Her tutor grinned. "And that is today's lesson: Never assume that you're the only one playing a role. Although," he added, "she might genuinely like you anyway."
"She might genuinely like Miss Merriweather," Hermione corrected him. She didn't think Jeanne would like her real, muggleborn self. Not with the reputation Hermione had acquired among the Old Families.
"Keep that in mind - you don't want to grow too close to her; that tends to threaten your cover."
She knew that already. It would have been nice to have a female friend, though. At least one who wasn't busy snogging with her best male friend most of the time. She shook her head. "Speaking of dressing for the occasion," she said, "I've been thinking about what to wear on a real heist." He made a noncommittal noise; he still hadn't told her when he would take her on a real heist. "I'm thinking of a catsuit." Leather would be more durable than a turtleneck and trousers, and harder to get a grip on as well - while she didn't expect many Aurors to grapple with her, conjured animals and even plants had to be taken into account. And it would be more stylish as well.
"A catsuit?" Judging by his tone he was aware of the term.
She nodded with a sly grin. "And a mask." Something more stylish than a balaclava - Hermione wanted to look like a classy thief, not a bank robber. "Enchanted, of course."
She already had a few ideas for spells she wanted to use.
Hogwarts, October 4th, 1995
"Alright you lot!" Harry Potter heard Angelina yell as he flew another lap around the the pitch after having captured the last training snitch that had been released, "Gather round!"
He guided his broom down to the stands, where the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were already assembled, and handed the snitch over to Ron, who put it into the box with the other balls. Ginny moved to hug him, but after Angelina glared at both of them, she just stood next to Harry.
"Now that everyone's here," Angelina started, "let's go over the session."
"Let's not," Ginny whispered.
"I know we have a few new players," Angelina said, glancing at Ron and Ginny, "and our star Seeker doesn't have the time to train as much as he should, but that was abysmal! We need to improve a lot to win the cup this year! So, we'll be holding extra training sessions as soon as I can get the pitch reserved!"
Harry held up his hand, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, Harry, I know you have all those 'special lessons' with Professor Lupin and the Headmaster. But we need to step up our training so we can flatten the other teams. Fortunately, you're our Seeker, so you can train by yourself if you can't attend all of the regular sessions. It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing."
"Ollie, is that you?" Fred asked and squinted in an exaggerated manner at their team captain before Harry could pointed out that learning how to defend himself was more important - it wasn't as if he could play Quidditch dead. "You look very different, but you sound the same. Transfiguration accident, or Polyjuice? I mean, we knew you were obsessed with Quidditch, but returning to Hogwarts in disguise to play for another year is perhaps a little excessive..."
"Very funny, Fred," Angelina shot back.
"Thank you, thank you!" Fred replied, smiling widely and bowing.
Harry had to snort at the sight, but noticed that neither Ron nor Ginny were laughing.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked half an hour later when the three of them were on their way back to the Gryffindor tower ahead of the rest of the team, with Ginny leaning into his side as they walked.
"I'm wrong!" Ron spat. "If the team's not doing well, then it's my fault. I'm the only new player. Angelina just didn't want to single me out."
"At least you're on the team!" Ginny scoffed. "I didn't even make the cut."
"You're a reserve," Harry pointed out. "The first since I joined the team. She wouldn't have done that if you were not good enough. The other Chasers are just better." He saw her scowling at him, and quickly added: "But they have more experience on the team - they've been playing together for years. Next year you'll be the second most experienced Chaser on the team."
Ginny snorted. "And I'll be playing with another inexperienced Chaser."
Harry pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "And you'll be playing with me."
"And if the Slytherins put a player into the infirmary, you'll get to play," Ron added. He still sounded rather down.
Harry released Ginny and addressed him: "Don't take Angelina's rant too seriously. She's just trying to make us train harder. If she really thought you were a bad Keeper, she would have told you. Loudly."
Ron sighed. "I just know I'll make a mistake and cost us the game. First Percy, then me."
"What about Percy?" Harry asked.
"Oh, you didn't tell him?" Ron looked at Ginny.
"No. There was no time before training," she answered.
"Tell me what?" Harry asked again.
"Percy's in trouble at the Ministry. According to Dad, he's being blamed for the accidental destruction of crucial documents."
"Percy accidentally destroyed documents?" Harry shook his head. That didn't sound like the most uptight Weasley he knew.
"Well, he says it wasn't his fault, but everyone is blaming him," Ron said. "Or so Dad told us in his letter."
"I hope he can sort this out," Harry said.
Ron nodded and Ginny made an agreeing noise.
They walked the rest of the way back to their dorms in silence.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 7th, 1995
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on your inner animal. Focus on your soul. The soul shapes the body. Adapts it. Changes it. Form follows spirit.
Hermione Granger reached out to her inner animal again, trying to connect with it without having it take over. She needed to take it over instead. Force her body to conform to her spirit. Mind over matter, in a way. It should be easy, given that her mind was her greatest strength.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Force the body to adapt. Force form to follow spirit. Fur and tail, claws and fang. A lithe, lethal shape.
She suddenly felt as if a wave of warm water had swept over her, leaving her tingling and… changed! She opened her eyes with a gasp. Had she done it?
"Wow!" she heard the dog, Mr Black, say. "That's the biggest cat I've ever seen! Weirdest looking, too."
She looked at him, sitting behind the cage he had conjured around his desk 'for my own safety', then at herself. And gasped again. Her hands were covered in fur. Fur the colour of her hair.
And not just her hands. As she quickly found out, all of her skin was entirely covered in fur. But nothing else had changed. She hadn't turned into a cat. She had just turned into a furry girl.
"It's an impressive first step," Mr Black said, not bothering to hide his amusement as he ran his wand over her body. "I would have expected you to grow claws or fangs, first. James grew antlers - tiny ones."
"And you?" Hermione asked, jerking and glaring at him when he poked her belly with the tip of his wand. "What was your first physical change?"
"Tongue," he said, bending forward and cocking his head to look at her shoulder. At least she hoped it was her shoulder, and he wasn't trying to look down her shirt.
"Really?" That sounded… dubious.
"Well, I think so. It certainly felt different. James blamed it on the hangover we had and said he didn't see any difference." She groaned at that. Couldn't the man be serious, for once? "My nose was my first physical change," he added after a snort.
"Ah." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "So, can you reverse this?" If he couldn't, she'd have to go to St Mungo's. And that would probably lead to another article in the Prophet - judging by all the information Skeeter had, she must have a network of informants covering all of Wizarding Britain.
"I think so." He straightened and nodded.
"You think so?" She raised an eyebrow, or would have, had they not be replaced with fur.
"Well, if my Transfiguration skills are not up to the task, we can simply shave you. Those spells I know by heart!"
She growled at him - this was not the place or time for jokes.
"Oh. We might need to check your throat too. That sounded very animal-like." He was grinning widely again.
Hermione gritted her teeth. No wonder her cat spirit wanted to maul the dog!
Crookshanks was waiting for her when she got home, perched on the fence. He jumped off and landed with a thud on the pavement as soon as she got closer, then came over to her to sniff her legs - and her hand once she bent down to scratch his head.
"So, do I pass inspection?" she asked, smiling at her pet. He was rather jealous, Hermione had noticed, of other cats, and didn't like their scent on her. And if any other cat dared to enter the yard… the first time that had happened, he had woken up the entire family.
Crookshanks sniffed, then studied her, then sniffed her leg again.
"What's wrong?" He wasn't hissing, so that was a good sign, but usually, he'd go on to the door, expecting her to follow and feed him first thing once inside. Oh. Of course! "That's my fur you're smelling," she said. "Better get used to it."
He miaowed then turned around and walked to the door, tail held high.
Hermione hoped that that was a good sign as well. She'd rather not have to explain to her parents why her cat was suddenly jealous of her. Not after she had to defend her wonderful pet against her parents' unfair, judgmental comments. It wasn't his fault that he looked like he did!
With her hair, Hermione could certainly sympathise.
And she had healed the small scratches Crookshanks had left on her dad's leg after he had accidentally sat on him. And thanks to the Mending Charm, his habit of using her mum's favorite armchair as a scratching post was no trouble either!
It wasn't as if Crookshank damaged books, after all.
Hogwarts, October 15th, 1995
It was quite unfair, Harry Potter thought as he tried to spot his opponent. Sirius was using Harry's own cloak against him. And his godfather was having far too much fun in this training session - or 'lesson in constant vigilance'. Harry still didn't know exactly what was so funny about that.
Where was Sirius? It was hard enough to spot him in normal training sessions, when he was using conjuration to gain cover and concealment, but now… "Keep your eyes open!" he whispered.
"That won't help much," Ron, at his side, whispered back. We can't see him, remember?"
And Harry doubted that they could hear Sirius. If at least they could use the Human-presence-revealing Spell… "Watch the ground! He can't fly and use the cloak!" He whispered.
"Good idea!" Ron agreed. "If the dust gets disturbed…"
"We need more dust," Harry said through clenched teeth. A flick of his wand conjured motes of dust that floated in the air.
"Gotcha." Ron added lights that made the motes sparkle slightly.
Now they had just to watch for disturbances in the air. You couldn't move easily without at least displacing the air. Maybe if they added some colour effect to the dust… Something caught his attention. Dust moving in the air! "There!" Harry yelled, swishing his wand. "Stupefy!"
"Stupefy!" Ron's Stunner was half a second behind Harry's, and slightly offset. Both passed through the area without hitting anything. But Harry was already casting the next. If they cast enough spells they were bound to hit some…
He felt a spell hit him - from behind! - and everything went dark.
Sirius's smiling face was the first thing Harry saw when he regained consciousness. "Good idea with the dust, Harry. But you forgot something."
"What?" Harry groaned and shook his head as he recovered fully from the Stunner with which Sirius had hit him. "How did you do that?"
"It was a diversion," Ron answered. "He made the air move there, and once we started casting, we didn't pay attention to our backs any more. Right?"
"Yes," Sirius admitted. "I realised what you were doing, and so I created exactly what you were expecting. And you fell for it."
"Hook, line and sinker." Harry sighed.
"Don't feel bad," Sirius said. "You two did very well. You worked together better than some Auror teams I've seen in my time." He frowned. "Granted, that was in the last months of the war, and they probably had less training than you two… Anyway, let's do it again!"
Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, then nodded. This time, they'd beat Sirius.
They didn't. But it was close - at least in his opinion.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 17th, 1995
Hermione Granger was about to sit down on her mat in Mr Black's study when he spoke up. "Before we start with your next attempt to save the gold for a fur coat, I have an important task for you."
"What do you need, sir?" She was curious about what he considered 'an important task'. As her nominal employer, he usually let her sort and file his mail, so he didn't have to read all of it, and check his bills. That she still attempted to keep his schedule was a testimony to her sense of duty - he certainly didn't seem to care much about most of his appointments. Or he simply liked to rile her up by pretending not to care about his own affairs as much as she did.
He swished his wand, and a stack of parchment flew over to her. "I need you to check this for signs of forgery and tampering."
She blinked. Why would… "You mean, you want my tutor to look it over." She didn't have any practical experience with forgery, after all. His grin told her she was correct. "I can ask him, but I can't promise anything." Mr Fletcher had made his opinion of Mr Black, and of such attempts to use him, clear, after all.
"I know. Which is why I expect you to ask very nicely. It concerns your other best friend's family, after all."
"Ron?" She connected the dots at once. "These are from Percy's office?" She stared at the stack in a new light.
"Copies."
"That might make spotting magical tampering difficult." While the Doubling Charm could create perfectly identical copies, they started to degrade at once, even if the rate of degradation was usually far too slow to affect anyone using a copied item.
"A very skilled wizard cast the charm." Mr Black grinned. "Unless you take weeks to check the parchments, any irregularities you detect won't be due to the spell."
"Ah." That meant Dumbledore was directly involved. And it explained how copies of such important and supposedly secret documents had appeared in Mr Black's hand. "I'll do what I can," she said.
"Good! Now let's start turning you into a furry little troublemaker again!"
The glare she sent him only made his grin grow wider. Sighing, she sat down on the mat and started to focus on the change, as she called it, again.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Have the form follow the spirit...
She had a tail. A swishing, human-sized tail she didn't seem to be able to control as she craned her neck to look at her backside. Mr Black coughed and she saw that he had conjured a large mirror. She ignored it, of course - she wanted to look at her tail, and not at her reflection!
She reached to her back and gripped her tail, trying to make sense of the confusing sensations that caused. "Weird. I can sense it, and sense through it, but I cannot control it," she remarked.
"That's a cat for you," Mr Black said. "You should really use the mirror, though." He was talking far too loudly too.
She huffed. If she wanted a mirror, she'd conjure one herself! "I'm fine," she said, pulling the tip of her tail towards her face to study it.
"That won't work with your ears, unless you manage to pull them off," he said.
"My ears?" She turned her head to look at the mirror and froze at the sight. Her tail escaped her grip as her hands rose to the sides of her head, confirming what she saw in her reflection.
She had cat ears.
Unfortunately, she didn't have cat claws, or she would have taught the snickering dog a lesson.
London, Greenwich, October 18th, 1995
"So, Black wants me to check this for signs of forgery or tampering." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack of parchment sitting on his desk as if it was the most offensive thing he had ever seen.
"Yes, sir," Hermione Granger said, struggling not to bite her lower lip as she stood next to him - her tutor had told her a few times that such habits got thieves recognised, unless they used them consciously to enhance their cover.
He scoffed and sat down in his favorite armchair. "Figures. I've expected such a 'request' for some time. He hasn't changed at all."
Hermione's eyes widened a little as she wondered if she would receive another tidbit of information about her tutor's mysterious past. "I wouldn't be able to tell," she said carefully. "I've only known him since his exoneration."
"But you know him quite well by now, don't you? Or you think you do," Mr Fletcher added with a snort.
She couldn't deny that, so she inclined her head in agreement.
"He shared a secret with you, and you think he's your best friend." Mr Fletcher said, glancing at her. He hadn't asked her to tell him what she was learning from Mr Black, not outright, but Hermione felt as if he expected her to share the information.
"No. I'm aware that he's using me." She wasn't a naive young girl.
"And he is trying to use me as his personal thief. Too noble to do his own dirty work, is he?"
"It's not for him," Hermione said, choosing her words with care, "It's for Mr Weasley and his son."
"That's the only reason I haven't vanished the parchments. Arthur's a good man."
Which implied that Mr Black wasn't, Hermione noted. And that Mr Fletcher knew Mr Weasley as well. Which meant that Mr Weasley had been a member of that mysterious 'Order' as well. And probably still was. "Yes, he is. Although he hasn't shared any secrets with me," she added.
Mr Fletcher chuckled. "He wouldn't. He's one of the most dependable men I know. Not as reckless as Black - and not as careless either."
She couldn't help herself. "That sounds like you're speaking from personal experience."
"That's not my secret to share." His smile was very thin.
Hermione knew what he meant. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "That doesn't have anything to do with this."
"Au contraire," he said, with a fake French accent, "as our dear Jeanne would say. It's all connected. Although it might not be Black's plan. He's as subtle as a dragon come feeding time."
"I think he changed after Azkaban," she retorted - Mr Black could be subtle, in her opinion.
"Perhaps." His tone told her that he didn't think she was correct. "But I've already heard about this affair - Mr Smith's relatives were delighted with the opportunity to wreck Arthur's career. They were not as crass as to call him a 'blood traitor' in my presence, but their sentiments were clear."
She almost gasped. "I didn't think the Smiths were that bad." Arrogant, yes, but such bigots as to resent another pureblood for his more liberal views?
"They weren't - or hid it well. Things have been changing lately." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack again. "This might be part of it." He sighed. "You can tell your employer that I'll be looking into it. For Arthur - not for him."
She didn't like the way Mr Fletcher stressed 'employer', as if she was more loyal to Mr Black than to him, but she nodded anyway. The most important thing was to help Ron's family.
Hogwarts, October 20th, 1995
Sitting in the Headmaster's office, Harry once again imagined his mind as the centre of a wide, open area where nothing could approach without being seen. But that wasn't true, was it? he suddenly thought. Training with Sirius had proved that you could approach unseen. And the Headmaster had snuck past his defences with Legilimency as well. So often, in fact, during their 'lessons' that Harry could no longer stand hearing the constant claims that few had Dumbledore's skill and experience any more - as if Harry didn't know that Voldemort certainly was among them.
But then, he and Ron had found a way to counter Sirius's stealth attacks, hadn't they? The key wasn't to watch out for anything catching your attention, but to remain aware of everything. He couldn't focus on an intrusion, he had to focus on himself. As if he was trying to spot Sirius's - or Remus's - next attack.
Because someone was trying to enter his mind, not sneaking up on something he guarded. He wasn't standing in an open field - everything was him. He was the field, in a way. Or his mind was.
He focused on that thought. Focused on his mind. Imagined it floating, isolated. No, not isolated - it was just that there was nothing else. No space for an intruder to wait and plan. There was just his mind, and a foreign influence.
He hadn't closed his eyes, but he didn't see the Headmaster's any more. He didn't see, he sensed. No - he simply was aware. He didn't care how; that would only create a weakness anyway.
And for the first time since he had started training, he sensed Dumbledore without the Headmaster making it obvious.
"Well done, Harry! You detected me - that is quite a feat."
"Thank you, sir." Dumbledore's praise was genuine, Harry Potter thought - unlike the last few sessions. He smiled, proud of his success. "I finally managed to wrap my mind around this."
"You managed to free your imagination from the physical limitations we so often place upon it."
Of course, Dumbledore would realise what he had done. Harry nodded.
"That is the first step towards mastering Occlumency - truly mastering it," Dumbledore went on. Harry blinked. What was… "Now we will focus on pushing intrusions out of your mind."
Oh. Of course. Harry felt very stupid for assuming that he had actually accomplished a lot. Seeing an attack didn't mean he could counter it - Sirius's lessons had taught him that as well. He sighed. "I suppose we'll start on that then?"
"Unless you are too tired to continue."
He shook his head. "No, I'm good."
Voldemort wouldn't let him rest or prepare, after all.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 24th, 1995
"Mr Smith has finished his examination of the documents you provided," Hermione Granger announced as soon as Mr Black had closed the door to his study.
"Oh?" He cocked his head sideways in apparent surprise.
She sighed at his antics. "I did call ahead and say that I had urgent news."
Mr Black shrugged. "That could have been about anything - boyfriends, rivals, robes. I don't claim to understand the priorities young witches have these days."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I would never bother you about such trivial things." She had far more important things to care about.
"It wouldn't be a bother at all, believe me." He grinned widely at her. "It would be good to have another point of view in addition to Harry's."
"Not everything is about Harry," she said firmly. Not in the way Mr Black insinuated, at least.
His grin widened. "Of course not."
Trying to make him understand that he was wrong would be pointless, and only encourage him, so she pulled the documents out of her pocket and unshrank them. "They were tampered with. Magically altered by a very skilled wizard," she said as she put them on his desk. "Mr Smith didn't recognise the caster, though."
"You can call him Mr Fletcher, you know. I already know his real name," Mr Black said as he sat down behind his desk.
That didn't mean she'd say it, of course - the best way to keep a cover or a secret was to never let either slip, no matter how safe it seemed. "Percy's signature was copied to the forms with a custom spell."
He nodded. "As expected." Leaning back, he sighed. "I wish your 'tutor' were here. While I do not doubt your talents, I would prefer to discuss details with him."
"I can ask him to meet with you," Hermione said. That seemed sensible to her, seeing that both men already knew each other. Far more sensible than using her as a go-between. "Unless you're meeting him in the Order," she added, as if it was an afterthought.
He laughed. "Nice try, Miss Merriweather." He quickly stopped, though. "But I've learned, at great cost, that secrets shouldn't be shared with anyone who doesn't need to know them," he added, looking at the wall behind her.
She shrugged. She knew that as well, but it irked her that she didn't know about the past that her tutor and her employer shared. It made dealing with both more difficult, too. "So, will that be enough to save Mr Weasley's career?"
"It'll help," Mr Black said in a rather non-committal tone. "We can't exactly use them to prove Percy's innocence, but we can use it to acquire some leverage."
Hermione nodded - as she had learned to her own detriment, in Wizarding Britain, having leverage was better than having proof of your innocence.
Mr Black swept the documents in his own pocket with a swish of his wand and stood. "Now, let's see what amusing mishap you'll produce this evening," he said with a wide grin. "Neither James nor I ever managed to accidentally vanish our clothes, after all."
She glared at him, flush with both anger and embarrassment, at the reminder of that particular incident. "That won't happen again," she said in a clipped tone, not bothering to point out that an animagus's clothes had to vanish for the duration of their transformation, so that had been at least a partial success. Even if it had been very embarrassing.
At least Mr Black couldn't tell Harry about it. That would have been horrible.
Hogwarts, November 20th, 1995
"The coast is clear," Harry Potter whispered, looking around the corner of the hallway leading to the Astronomy Tower.
"What?" Ginny asked in a whisper, right behind him.
"No one is around," he explained. The prefect patrol was over, and the next wouldn't come near this area for an hour - if they even bothered; some prefects were rather sloppy when it came to nightly patrols.
"Good. Let's go then!" She pushed past him, then threw a glance over her shoulder at him. "Unless you've got cold feet."
He chuckled - as if! - but he glanced at his map once more to check that no one was near them before he followed her. By the time he caught up to her she had already unlocked and opened the door to the tower.
"You'd think they'd make a little more of an effort to lock up the tower," he whispered as he stepped on to the stairway.
She grinned. "Who said they actually try to stop anyone? I consider it more of a test - if you can get into the tower, you're old enough for the tower. It's a Hogwarts tradition, after all!"
Harry smiled widely - that was a tradition he wholeheartedly approved of. "Let's go, then!"
"That's my line!"
They reached the top faster than Harry had ever managed for an Astronomy lesson. It was the new moon, so only the stars provided light, but they hadn't come here for the view.
"So…" Harry said, "we're here."
Ginny nodded. "Yes." She was licking her lips, he could see that even in the dim light. Was she nervous? They had come up here to snog, after all - it had been her idea, too. Or should he say something more romantic? Use the cold as an excuse to embrace her - even though Warming Charms dealt with it?
He snorted. This wasn't their first date. He reached out to her, pulling her into his arms. She made a throaty, almost moaning sound before their lips met, and then it was like in the broom cupboard two days ago. Better - it didn't smell like cleaning supplies.
When they broke the kiss, her hands were inside his shirt, and his were under her sweater, on her back, and both were breathing heavily. Their eyes met, and then they kissed again, and their hands started to wander.
Then his scar erupted in pain, and he felt blood running down his face. Ginny's shriek sounded weirdly muted, he thought as he fell to his knees. Then she wasn't there anymore, and he was staring at a man - a dead man. Or dying. So much blood. But he sensed the connection. He wasn't overwhelmed like last time.
"Harry! Merlin's beard! You're bleeding! We need to call a teacher!" He felt her hands grabbing his arm, trying to lift him. She almost broke his concentration.
Despite the pain, he raised his hand. "Stop, Ginny!" he pressed out through clenched teeth. "We'll go to Dumbledore." As soon as this was over and he could walk again.
And then he retched at what he saw.
"You had another vision."
"Yes, sir." Harry Potter said as he pressed a handkerchief against his bleeding scar. "I wasn't knocked unconscious this time, though. I didn't fight it either." He raised his wand. "I can copy the memory for you."
"Very impressive," Dumbledore said, "but please do not strain yourself overly."
Harry would have shaken his head, but that would hurt too much, so he simply extracted the memory and let it float into the vial on Dumbledore's desk. The effort made him feel light-headed, though, and he sagged in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Harry!" he heard Ginny exclaim.
"Do not worry, Miss Weasley. The wound looks far more serious than it is." Dumbledore sighed.
"That wasn't a pain curse," Ginny said. "He didn't hit his head this time. His scar just started bleeding. And you expected this."
Harry didn't know exactly if she was talking to him or the Headmaster, or both - but she sounded angry.
"The secrecy was - and still is - necessary," Dumbledore said. "For Harry's sake. His life depends on it."
Ginny gasped. She looked pale, Harry though. She wasn't the one bleeding, though. "I think I need to go to the Infirmary," he said.
"Poppy has been informed," Dumbledore explained. "I think we shall claim you two had an accident during a rendezvous… on top of the Astronomy Tower."
Harry gasped, then groaned at the pain this caused.
"Did you spy on us?" Ginny asked. She was angry again, or still, he realised.
"It was simply an educated guess," the Headmaster explained. "I was a student once myself. Of course you'll have to serve detention for that as well."
Ginny gasped again, but Harry couldn't care less right then.
London, Diagon Alley, November 20th, 1995
Hermione Granger slowly and carefully crept forward. She couldn't rush this - the roof she was on was slick with rain, and a slip could easily send her tumbling down two stories. Unless Mr Fletcher caught her. She buried that thought. This was her final test. She had to act as if she wasn't aware of her tutor's presence.
She reached the edge of the roof and peered down at the street below. At this time of the night, no shops or pubs were open - other than the Leaky Cauldron, which didn't seem to ever close - and so this part of Diagon Alley was dead, but there were still Aurors patrolling. Aurors who would take exception to a black-clad figure on a roof.
Even if she wasn't here to steal anything. This time. She just had to slip inside the wards and out again. She had done that before, and the wards on this building - which housed 'Henry's Hats' - weren't any stronger than those on the Allisters' house.
Below her was the window she had chosen as her point of entry. As she had found out during her preparations it led to a work room - no one would be there now. A last check of the Alley… she froze. Someone - two people - were walking down the street. Aurors? She knew their schedule, and they shouldn't be here.
For a moment, she was tempted to simply remain where she was. They couldn't see her from below, even if she weren't disillusioned. But she would be in range of a Human-presence-revealing spell. When on patrol, Aurors usually didn't cast such spells without a reason - but they usually weren't patrolling this part of the Alley at this time.
Silently cursing, she quickly climbed back to the ridge of the roof. She almost slipped in her haste, but managed to recover her footing, then pulled herself over the ridge and slid down the other side. She caught herself at the edge, then pressed herself against the tiles. Even if they cast the spell now, she wouldn't be in their range. And if she were, the marker wouldn't be high enough to be seen from the Alley side.
Or so she thought. She couldn't see the Aurors any more, but a quickly and silently cast Supersensory Charm let her hear them. As far as she could tell from their muttered complaints, their schedule had been changed to free up other Aurors for an emergency.
She sighed with relief - they weren't here for her - and waited until she couldn't hear their steps any more before returning to the other side of the roof. She had a test to pass, after all.
"Good thinkin' there," Mr Fletcher said an hour later, back in his flat. "Ya weren't careless, trustin' them to act as normal even though they had already changed their schedule."
Hermione nodded. As if she would be careless, after all his lessons about caution!
"Ya went through the wards quickly and without trouble, too."
"I had studied them beforehand."
"That ya did. And ya cased the joint thoroughly, and made a clear getaway." He smiled, though Hermione thought he looked a little sad. "I don't like to admit it, but you're ready to help with a real heist."
"Yes!" Hermione smiled widely, despite the qualification about helping. She had passed her tutor's final test!
"Don't get cocky, though," he added, shaking his head. "Especially since you haven't learned Apparition yet."
"I won't," she assured him. She had done it! She had passed!
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 21st, 1995
"What'll it be this time? Furry forepaws? A tail and cat legs? A cat's snout?"
Hermione Granger ignored Mr Black's prattle. She was close to mastering the change. She knew it. She had managed pretty much every body part so far. Just not all together, nor in the right size.
She closed her eyes and tuned the dog out. She was a cat. A graceful, smart, elegant cat. A cat who prowled the night. Like she had done last night. She remembered climbing on the roof, peering down at the stupid humans below her, a shadow in the night, too smart and too quick for them to see much less catch. She was a cat who went wherever she pleased and did whatever she wanted.
She… she blinked. The room had changed. The red and gold banner behind the dog was now greenish and gold. And the other colours seemed to have faded somewhat… She shot up - and found herself jumping. Higher than she had expected - and she landed on four paws. Gasping, she checked her body. She was a cat! A beautiful brown-haired cat!
"You did it!"
That was the dog. She looked at him. He was moving around his desk. His big, sturdy desk. With a gleeful yell, she jumped on the desk, startling him as she sent the parchment there flying as she moved towards him. She jumped off the desk as he stepped back and landed on his chest, her claws finding purchase on his shirt.
He even tried to shake her off, the dolt! But she dug her claws in - into his skin too - and held fast.
Then there was no shirt any more. Nor any wizard. Just a big, black dog. For a moment, they stared at each other.
And then the chase was on.
Dunstable, Bedfordshire, Britain, September 25th, 1995
Standing in the street of the muggle town, Corban Yaxley was nervous. Afraid, even. He shouldn't be - he was a skilled wizard. He had fought in the Blood War and had proved his mettle there. He had escaped being punished for his actions after the war's end as well, together with the rest of the smarter Death Eaters. And his current position in the DMLE, as well as his connections, assured that few would dare to anger him.
But none of that mattered right now. Not with his Dark Mark burning. Calling him to this old house tucked away in the heart of the town. He rubbed his left forearm, but the gesture didn't bring any relief. Only compliance would - and not even that might be enough, should this be the Dark Lord calling. But he was supposed to be dead. Defeated by the Boy-Who-Lived. Of course, there had been rumours in the last few years. But they had been only that - rumours. To think that the Dark Lord could have actually returned from death! But who else could control his Mark? If another Death Eater had found a way to use the Marks…
Maybe the Dark Lord hadn't died, he told himself. Maybe he had just been grievously cursed, and had taken this long to recover. He couldn't blame Corban for lying low in that case, could he?
The pain from his arm was growing stronger - he couldn't delay any longer, Corban knew. The punishment for such defiance would be horrible. Steeling himself, and trying not to show any sign of the pain he was feeling, he approached the door.
It had a knocker, like every decent wizarding house. None of those muggle contraptions Weasley was so fond of. The door opened a moment after he knocked. No one was there, but he heard a voice call out.
"Enter, Corban."
He didn't recognise the voice. Maybe someone had managed to find a way to control the Marks. It was plausible - he didn't know all of the Dark Lord's followers, after all. But whether this was the Dark Lord, or someone else, didn't change anything - he had no choice either way.
The door closed behind him with barely a sound. He found himself in an entrance hall far too large for the building - strong Extension Charms had been cast here. Another sign of the power of whoever had called him.
"Come, Corban," the voice rang out again. Not loud, but it carried some distance. It was a smooth voice, too. Cultured. Like his memory of the Dark Lord's. But it wasn't his. Another door opened, revealing a dark hallway.
Swallowing, he stepped through. He set his jaw as the pain grew slightly stronger. A door swung open at the end of the hallway. The room behind it was well-lit - a noticeable contrast with the dark, windowless corridor. He continued, drawing his wand as he walked towards the door, and stepped inside with his wand raised.
The man sitting in a plush chair inside the lavishly decorated room seemed entirely unconcerned about this - even though he hadn't drawn his own wand, as far as Corban could see. He was far too young to be the Dark Lord, too.
Then the man smiled, and Corban's arm seemed to burn from the inside. Despite his best efforts, he fell to his knees, his wand clattering on the floor. A guttural groan escaped his lips as the pain overwhelmed him. Who was this wizard to best him so easily?
When the man laughed, he knew. And felt as if he been dipped into ice water.
The Dark Lord had returned.
*****
"I can, of course, understand why you didn't declare your allegiance to me after I seemed to have been defeated," the Dark Lord declared a few minutes later.
Corban nodded, still trembling. The pain had been as bad as the Torture Curse. He had been tempted to cut off his own arm to escape it, not that he had been able to move his limbs.
"But to do nothing? To not even move a finger to find me, even though I told you that not even death itself would be able to stop me?" The Dark Lord shook his head, his smile vanishing. "Didn't you have any faith in my claim? Or were you more concerned with your own advancement?"
Corban drew a shuddering breath. "Forgive me, milord. I was weak. There was no sign of you, and everyone was acting as if you were dead…"
"You were weak indeed. But I think you were more selfish than gullible, weren't you?"
"Milord…" He clutched his left arm. "Please forgive me!"
The Dark Lord twirled his wand - not the wand he had used in the war, Yaxley realised - and seemed to consider his plea. "I will - provided you do not fail me again."
Relief filled him. "I won't, milord! I swear it!"
"You swore an oath to me before. It didn't stop you from denying me." The Dark Lord sighed. "But others failed me as well. Not many remained faithful and loyal." Corban waited, holding his breath. "It will fall upon all of you to earn my forgiveness - and my favour. You have a high position in the DMLE."
"Yes, milord."
"That will be useful. If we want to save Britain from the mudblood filth, the Ministry is the key. Who controls the Ministry controls the country."
"Yes, milord."
The Dark Lord tapped his chin with the index finger of his free hand. "But my old foe has his supporters in the Ministry as well. Blood traitors and mudbloods. They will oppose us - unless dealt with." He stared straight at Corban, who felt a chill run down his spine. "That is where you come in."
"Yes, milord!"
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 25th, 1995
"What… what happened?" Hermione Granger asked, staring at Mr Black from where she was stuck on the wall in his study.
He pointed his wand at his nose, which both looked crooked and was bleeding, and cast two spells. "You tried to take my nose off!" he answered, after the part of his face in question had been fixed.
"I don't remember that!" she protested. Although it would explain the blood under her nails, she thought. "And you banished me at the wall and stuck me here?" she added indignantly. The nerve!
"It was the quickest way to deal with you. You were acting like a cat - hissing and scratching. And pouncing," Mr Black added, with a nod towards his desk and the scattered parchment surrounding it.
"I was?" Hermione blinked. But that meant… "I did it!" she cheered. "I discovered my inner animal! I'm a cat!" A graceful, elegant cat!
"You're an animal, at least," Mr Black said - a little sulkily, she thought. "A bloodthirsty one. You ignored all the toys I had laid out, and went straight for my throat."
"For your nose," she corrected him as she used her wand to unstick herself from the wall, pushing herself off it and landing gracefully on her feet the moment the spell was broken.
"And why would you have done that?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "I wasn't even doing anything. Suddenly, you started hissing, and when I looked up from my reading, I had a crazy witch on my desk swiping at my face!"
"Obviously, my inner cat felt threatened by the presence of a large dog." She smiled sweetly.
"That sounds more like what a badger would do," he retorted. "Cats are supposed to be smarter than that."
"Any animal that feels threatened has a flight or fight response. And if flight seems impossible..." She shrugged. "I'm not sure if my inner cat knows how to open doors locked with spells." She would certainly hope that her animal spirit was smart enough to open an unlocked door - even normal cats could do that!
He didn't look convinced. "And why would your 'inner cat' feel threatened by a loveable, friendly dog such as myself?"
"Well…" She felt her cheeks grow a little warm. "I may have thought earlier that you might deserve a swat across your nose. And my animal spirit might have acted on it." She shrugged. "No harm done, anyway."
"No harm? You drew blood! Almost broke my nose, too!"
He was right - Hermione still had blood under her nails! A quick Cleaning Charm dealt with that. And even for an animal, she had reacted a tad violently, she added to herself, feeling guilty.
He rubbed the sides of his nose with two fingers. "You bloody hit harder than James did when I enchanted the mirrors in the girls' bathroom to project images."
Any guilt she had been feeling evaporated in the face of her indignation. "You peeped on the witches at Hogwarts when they were changing and showering?"
"No!" He shook his head and took a step back.
"Why did you enchant the mirrors then?" She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.
"Well, I wanted to peep on them, but James didn't let me, so technically, I didn't peep." He smiled broadly.
She rolled her eyes at him. And the man wondered why any self-respecting cat would want to claw his nose off! Then she had a worrying thought. "I hope you're not trying to get Harry to do such things!"
"Don't worry, he would never do that!"
That sounded as if he had seriously considered it. But she could trust Harry, Hermione knew. And she had more important things on which to focus. She sniffed and shook her head. "Anyway - this is a breakthrough! I'm going to be an animagus!"
"You've taken your first step," he corrected her. "Now you have to learn how to change your form so it fits your spirit. Or there will be tales of a crazy witch acting like a cat." He rubbed his goatee. "Although I'm wondering how you, I mean, your 'inner cat' would have acted if Harry had been here."
She was wondering that herself, but this wasn't a subject she wanted to discuss with Mr Black. So she sniffed and pointed at the mess on the floor. "And I'm wondering how long you'll want to leave all your parchments in such disarray," she shot back.
"Well, sorting out my files and correspondence is what I hired a secretary for." He rubbed his nose. "Please take care of that while I go and check if my nose has healed correctly. After all," he added with a wide grin that showed his white teeth, "you scattered them when you jumped on the desk."
Even if she wanted to, she couldn't dispute that. Mr Black was such a lazy dog! But not even the rather daunting task of sorting out all the paperwork - again - could really dampen her spirits. She had done it! She had discovered her inner spirit animal! She would be an animagus in no time!
*****
Hogwarts, September 29th, 1995
Harry Potter was standing in the middle of a wide, open field. A bare field. A bare field made of stone. Not even a mouse could be hiding here. Nothing could escape his gaze… unless it was behind him. He turned around. Nothing. He turned back. Then kept turning. He knew there would be an intrusion coming, but where? And when?
And suddenly, the Headmaster was standing there, next to him, smiling gently. Harry opened his eyes and scowled. "Failed again." At his exclamation, Fawkes trilled from his perch, then went back to grooming his wings.
"You have just started learning the art, my boy. Do not be too harsh with yourself," Dumbledore said from behind his desk. "I took a long time learning Occlumency myself."
Harry scoffed. "I bet you didn't make the very mistake your teacher told you to avoid." Visualising his mind as a real place.
"I did, actually - but because I, in a rather embarrassing bout of hubris, thought I knew better than a master of the art." The Headmaster sighed with a regretful smile. "Surprising the experts at my O.W.L. exams was, in hindsight, not an altogether beneficial thing."
Harry couldn't imagine the Headmaster making such a mistake - not really. He had trouble enough imagining Dumbledore as a young man, much less a student like him. "But you didn't have a mental link to the Dark Lord."
"I did not have to worry about Voldemort, no. But I had, although later in my life, somewhat similar trouble."
Harry frowned. What did the Headmaster… ah! "Grindelwald?"
Dumbledore nodded. "While we were not tied together by a scar, as you and Tom are, we had known each other before we finally met on the field of battle." He snorted softly. "But enough about the follies of my youth. I think we've made some progress today."
Harry shrugged. He would like to think so, but it didn't feel as if he had really learned anything this evening.
"Patience, Harry. You will learn Occlumency in time."
He scoffed. "I need to learn it before Voldemort comes after me."
"You will." Dumbledore sounded confident. Far more confident than Harry felt. But it was still reassuring to hear such words. "But before you go I'd like to take another look at your scar."
"My scar?" Harry blinked. "Of course." Maybe the Headmaster would find a way to sever the connection. He suppressed a shudder - thinking about how closely linked his and Tom's minds were was revolting.
"Thank you." Dumbledore drew his wand and stood up. "This might take a little while," he added while he was walking around his desk.
Harry didn't recognise any of the spells Dumbledore cast at his forehead. Too obscure, or too advanced, he guessed. Hermione would have loved to observe them, Harry thought, but she probably wouldn't have recognised many of them either. Maybe he should have bought her a book of exotic charms for her birthday, instead of the Defence manual Mr Lupin had recommended. But his friend had said that she wasn't doing that well in Defence Against the Dark Arts, hadn't she? His scar suddenly itching interrupted his line of thought. He clenched his teeth.
Dumbledore must have noticed, since the sensation faded quickly. "Did that hurt?" he asked.
Harry shook his head. "No. It itched, but that was all."
"Interesting."
"What did you find out, sir?" Harry asked. If the Headmaster had discovered something new about his scar…
His hopes were dashed, though. "It is too soon to know." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "But definitely interesting. Promising too, I think."
That sounded encouraging, Harry thought. If he could get rid of his scar… Of course, people said scars caused by dark curses couldn't be removed - but they had also said that you couldn't survive the Killing Curse. "It would be great if you could remove the scar," he said.
"It would also deprive us of a possible way to find out about the Dark Lord's plans," Dumbledore pointed out. "As with most things in life, nothing is entirely positive or negative."
Harry frowned at that.
Dumbledore sighed. "I have no intention of delaying any possible remedy to your condition, Harry. You have my word on that. To risk a child's life for such a questionable advantage…" He shook his head. "I was merely trying to point out that your current situation also offers something beneficial to us."
Harry nodded, if a little reluctantly. He wasn't a child any more, after all. And knowing what Voldemort was doing would be a decisive advantage, wouldn't it? Even if it was only limited to any rituals the Dark Lord might work, it would help. It might be worth the risk, he thought.
Since he was thoroughly sick of being unable to help others when needed.
*****
London, Greenwich, September 29th, 1995
Walking down the street towards the house of her tutor, Hermione Granger felt both guilty and annoyed at having to hide her breakthrough from him. Guilty because it felt wrong to keep such a thing a secret from the man who was teaching her so much. And annoyed because she wanted to impress him. He still didn't think she was ready for a real heist!
Although the fact that she now had to keep secrets from her tutor was an annoyance in itself. She kept secrets from far too many people these days, Hermione realised. The person who knew the most about her true self was Mr Black. To think that Harry's exasperating godfather knew her better than Harry himself!
But she also knew that there were reasons for the secrecy. Sensible reasons. That didn't mean that she had to like them, of course.
She entered the flat, after checking the wards for signs of tampering, of course - Mr Fletcher had taught her that you should never apparate straight back to your home even if he hadn't taught her Apparition itself yet. Her tutor greeted her. "Hello, dear."
"Good afternoon." He looked… not exactly cagey. Certainly not agitated. But he was grinning, not smiling.
"Did something happen?" she asked as she put down her books on the table.
"You might say so." Definitely grinning.
"Something good?"
He slowly shrugged. "One might think so."
"That doesn't sound very reassuring. Or certain," she said, looking at him.
"Mr Smith was hired to tutor Mademoiselle Jeanne Dubois, the 'natural daughter' of Elias Selwyn, lest she embarrass the family when she makes her debut at the next New Year's Ball," Mr Fletcher explained. "She's French, you know."
"Oh." Hermione slowly drew a breath. "That will improve your cover, but it also means that you'll have to actually tutor her."
"Exactly." He nodded. "And I fear that I will have to combine your lessons on etiquette with hers, to save time."
Oh. "That means I will have to attend them in disguise myself."
"Yeah." He shrugged. "It's not ideal - but we can consider it more training, I think. And it'll improve your own cover."
"Should I use Miss Merriweather then?" That role was supposed to be a temporary cover only, Hermione knew.
"I think that would be best. Since you've left a memorable impression in some circles, I'd rather not have people ask my new student about my old one, and make her wonder why she never met her."
"Miss Merriweather could always return home," Hermione said. She was pleased to hear she left an impression, though.
"She could. But she's already established in Britain. I'd prefer to wait with introducing a new cover until I know Miss Dubois better, and can avoid possible trouble."
Hermione nodded in agreement. That made sense - it would be easier to create a new cover once they had the measure of Miss Dubois and, at that point, Miss Dubois could be used to strengthen the new cover identity.
But this new development also meant that she would have to keep even more secrets, Hermione realised - she would have to play a role even when studying!
*****
London, Greenwich, October 2nd, 1995
"And this is Miss Merriweather, my first student," Mr Fletcher said, motioning towards Hermione Granger. "She's been a delight to teach, and she'll be able to give you her own perspective about fitting in British society."
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," Hermione Granger said with a smile.
"Good afternoon," Miss Dubois responded, smiling as well.
The French witch had a slight accent, though not as noticeable as Hermione had expected. She was beautiful, if not in Delacour's league, and had apparently just finished Beauxbatons this summer. And the robes she was wearing… "Are those the autumn line from Madam Malkin's?" Hermione asked.
Miss Dubois nodded. "Yes. My father took me there as soon as I arrived. They are supposed to be the height of fashion," she added, though Hermione thought she sounded less than convinced.
She snorted. "The height of fashion, even in Britain, is the latest robes from Paris, of course. But that would probably emphasise your origin, which your father might not want." She was wearing British robes herself, though not from the same line.
Miss Dubois laughed. "He did talk a lot about all things British - and the unattached sons of his friends. I think I would have a better chance of attracting any of them with more fashionable robes, however."
More revealing, in other words. Hermione Granger, staying in character, nodded. "Oh, yes!"
Mr Fletcher, also staying in character, shook his head. "A witch of good breeding dresses for the occasion. You wouldn't wear duelling robes to a ball, and you would not wear ball robes for a tutoring session."
"Unless it's about how to behave at a British ball," Hermione cut in with a grin, "or your tutor is a young and attractive wizard," she added.
Mr Fletcher frowned at her, but Miss Dubois laughed.
*****
"So, what do you think?" Mr Fletcher asked once Miss Dubois - Jeanne, the French witch had asked Hermione to call her - had left.
"I like her," she answered. "Friendly, witty, a sense of humour…" She shrugged. "I wonder if she'll be happy in Wizarding Britain." She looked at her tutor; Jeanne hadn't mentioned why she was moving to Britain.
Mr Fletcher picked up on her unspoken question. "Selwyn lost his daughter in the last war. Collateral damage, as the muggles call it, in a battle in Diagon Alley," he added before Hermione could ask on which side the witch had fought. "Her mum wouldn't let Miss Dubois go to Britain for a variety of reasons, as far as I know. But the girl apparently preferred being a pureblood heir in Britain to a poor bastard witch in France, so once she finished her education, she went to her father."
Hermione frowned. That sounded a little too calculating for the charming witch she had met. On the other hand, if she was planning to support her mother after she inherited, then that would be rather calculating as well. She sighed with sudden realisation. "She pretty much played me, didn't she?"
Her tutor grinned. "And that is today's lesson: Never assume that you're the only one playing a role. Although," he added, "she might genuinely like you anyway."
"She might genuinely like Miss Merriweather," Hermione corrected him. She didn't think Jeanne would like her real, muggleborn self. Not with the reputation Hermione had acquired among the Old Families.
"Keep that in mind - you don't want to grow too close to her; that tends to threaten your cover."
She knew that already. It would have been nice to have a female friend, though. At least one who wasn't busy snogging with her best male friend most of the time. She shook her head. "Speaking of dressing for the occasion," she said, "I've been thinking about what to wear on a real heist." He made a noncommittal noise; he still hadn't told her when he would take her on a real heist. "I'm thinking of a catsuit." Leather would be more durable than a turtleneck and trousers, and harder to get a grip on as well - while she didn't expect many Aurors to grapple with her, conjured animals and even plants had to be taken into account. And it would be more stylish as well.
"A catsuit?" Judging by his tone he was aware of the term.
She nodded with a sly grin. "And a mask." Something more stylish than a balaclava - Hermione wanted to look like a classy thief, not a bank robber. "Enchanted, of course."
She already had a few ideas for spells she wanted to use.
*****
Hogwarts, October 4th, 1995
"Alright you lot!" Harry Potter heard Angelina yell as he flew another lap around the the pitch after having captured the last training snitch that had been released, "Gather round!"
He guided his broom down to the stands, where the other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were already assembled, and handed the snitch over to Ron, who put it into the box with the other balls. Ginny moved to hug him, but after Angelina glared at both of them, she just stood next to Harry.
"Now that everyone's here," Angelina started, "let's go over the session."
"Let's not," Ginny whispered.
"I know we have a few new players," Angelina said, glancing at Ron and Ginny, "and our star Seeker doesn't have the time to train as much as he should, but that was abysmal! We need to improve a lot to win the cup this year! So, we'll be holding extra training sessions as soon as I can get the pitch reserved!"
Harry held up his hand, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, Harry, I know you have all those 'special lessons' with Professor Lupin and the Headmaster. But we need to step up our training so we can flatten the other teams. Fortunately, you're our Seeker, so you can train by yourself if you can't attend all of the regular sessions. It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing."
"Ollie, is that you?" Fred asked and squinted in an exaggerated manner at their team captain before Harry could pointed out that learning how to defend himself was more important - it wasn't as if he could play Quidditch dead. "You look very different, but you sound the same. Transfiguration accident, or Polyjuice? I mean, we knew you were obsessed with Quidditch, but returning to Hogwarts in disguise to play for another year is perhaps a little excessive..."
"Very funny, Fred," Angelina shot back.
"Thank you, thank you!" Fred replied, smiling widely and bowing.
Harry had to snort at the sight, but noticed that neither Ron nor Ginny were laughing.
*****
"What's wrong?" Harry asked half an hour later when the three of them were on their way back to the Gryffindor tower ahead of the rest of the team, with Ginny leaning into his side as they walked.
"I'm wrong!" Ron spat. "If the team's not doing well, then it's my fault. I'm the only new player. Angelina just didn't want to single me out."
"At least you're on the team!" Ginny scoffed. "I didn't even make the cut."
"You're a reserve," Harry pointed out. "The first since I joined the team. She wouldn't have done that if you were not good enough. The other Chasers are just better." He saw her scowling at him, and quickly added: "But they have more experience on the team - they've been playing together for years. Next year you'll be the second most experienced Chaser on the team."
Ginny snorted. "And I'll be playing with another inexperienced Chaser."
Harry pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "And you'll be playing with me."
"And if the Slytherins put a player into the infirmary, you'll get to play," Ron added. He still sounded rather down.
Harry released Ginny and addressed him: "Don't take Angelina's rant too seriously. She's just trying to make us train harder. If she really thought you were a bad Keeper, she would have told you. Loudly."
Ron sighed. "I just know I'll make a mistake and cost us the game. First Percy, then me."
"What about Percy?" Harry asked.
"Oh, you didn't tell him?" Ron looked at Ginny.
"No. There was no time before training," she answered.
"Tell me what?" Harry asked again.
"Percy's in trouble at the Ministry. According to Dad, he's being blamed for the accidental destruction of crucial documents."
"Percy accidentally destroyed documents?" Harry shook his head. That didn't sound like the most uptight Weasley he knew.
"Well, he says it wasn't his fault, but everyone is blaming him," Ron said. "Or so Dad told us in his letter."
"I hope he can sort this out," Harry said.
Ron nodded and Ginny made an agreeing noise.
They walked the rest of the way back to their dorms in silence.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 7th, 1995
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on your inner animal. Focus on your soul. The soul shapes the body. Adapts it. Changes it. Form follows spirit.
Hermione Granger reached out to her inner animal again, trying to connect with it without having it take over. She needed to take it over instead. Force her body to conform to her spirit. Mind over matter, in a way. It should be easy, given that her mind was her greatest strength.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Force the body to adapt. Force form to follow spirit. Fur and tail, claws and fang. A lithe, lethal shape.
She suddenly felt as if a wave of warm water had swept over her, leaving her tingling and… changed! She opened her eyes with a gasp. Had she done it?
"Wow!" she heard the dog, Mr Black, say. "That's the biggest cat I've ever seen! Weirdest looking, too."
She looked at him, sitting behind the cage he had conjured around his desk 'for my own safety', then at herself. And gasped again. Her hands were covered in fur. Fur the colour of her hair.
And not just her hands. As she quickly found out, all of her skin was entirely covered in fur. But nothing else had changed. She hadn't turned into a cat. She had just turned into a furry girl.
*****
"It's an impressive first step," Mr Black said, not bothering to hide his amusement as he ran his wand over her body. "I would have expected you to grow claws or fangs, first. James grew antlers - tiny ones."
"And you?" Hermione asked, jerking and glaring at him when he poked her belly with the tip of his wand. "What was your first physical change?"
"Tongue," he said, bending forward and cocking his head to look at her shoulder. At least she hoped it was her shoulder, and he wasn't trying to look down her shirt.
"Really?" That sounded… dubious.
"Well, I think so. It certainly felt different. James blamed it on the hangover we had and said he didn't see any difference." She groaned at that. Couldn't the man be serious, for once? "My nose was my first physical change," he added after a snort.
"Ah." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "So, can you reverse this?" If he couldn't, she'd have to go to St Mungo's. And that would probably lead to another article in the Prophet - judging by all the information Skeeter had, she must have a network of informants covering all of Wizarding Britain.
"I think so." He straightened and nodded.
"You think so?" She raised an eyebrow, or would have, had they not be replaced with fur.
"Well, if my Transfiguration skills are not up to the task, we can simply shave you. Those spells I know by heart!"
She growled at him - this was not the place or time for jokes.
"Oh. We might need to check your throat too. That sounded very animal-like." He was grinning widely again.
Hermione gritted her teeth. No wonder her cat spirit wanted to maul the dog!
*****
Crookshanks was waiting for her when she got home, perched on the fence. He jumped off and landed with a thud on the pavement as soon as she got closer, then came over to her to sniff her legs - and her hand once she bent down to scratch his head.
"So, do I pass inspection?" she asked, smiling at her pet. He was rather jealous, Hermione had noticed, of other cats, and didn't like their scent on her. And if any other cat dared to enter the yard… the first time that had happened, he had woken up the entire family.
Crookshanks sniffed, then studied her, then sniffed her leg again.
"What's wrong?" He wasn't hissing, so that was a good sign, but usually, he'd go on to the door, expecting her to follow and feed him first thing once inside. Oh. Of course! "That's my fur you're smelling," she said. "Better get used to it."
He miaowed then turned around and walked to the door, tail held high.
Hermione hoped that that was a good sign as well. She'd rather not have to explain to her parents why her cat was suddenly jealous of her. Not after she had to defend her wonderful pet against her parents' unfair, judgmental comments. It wasn't his fault that he looked like he did!
With her hair, Hermione could certainly sympathise.
And she had healed the small scratches Crookshanks had left on her dad's leg after he had accidentally sat on him. And thanks to the Mending Charm, his habit of using her mum's favorite armchair as a scratching post was no trouble either!
It wasn't as if Crookshank damaged books, after all.
*****
Hogwarts, October 15th, 1995
It was quite unfair, Harry Potter thought as he tried to spot his opponent. Sirius was using Harry's own cloak against him. And his godfather was having far too much fun in this training session - or 'lesson in constant vigilance'. Harry still didn't know exactly what was so funny about that.
Where was Sirius? It was hard enough to spot him in normal training sessions, when he was using conjuration to gain cover and concealment, but now… "Keep your eyes open!" he whispered.
"That won't help much," Ron, at his side, whispered back. We can't see him, remember?"
And Harry doubted that they could hear Sirius. If at least they could use the Human-presence-revealing Spell… "Watch the ground! He can't fly and use the cloak!" He whispered.
"Good idea!" Ron agreed. "If the dust gets disturbed…"
"We need more dust," Harry said through clenched teeth. A flick of his wand conjured motes of dust that floated in the air.
"Gotcha." Ron added lights that made the motes sparkle slightly.
Now they had just to watch for disturbances in the air. You couldn't move easily without at least displacing the air. Maybe if they added some colour effect to the dust… Something caught his attention. Dust moving in the air! "There!" Harry yelled, swishing his wand. "Stupefy!"
"Stupefy!" Ron's Stunner was half a second behind Harry's, and slightly offset. Both passed through the area without hitting anything. But Harry was already casting the next. If they cast enough spells they were bound to hit some…
He felt a spell hit him - from behind! - and everything went dark.
*****
Sirius's smiling face was the first thing Harry saw when he regained consciousness. "Good idea with the dust, Harry. But you forgot something."
"What?" Harry groaned and shook his head as he recovered fully from the Stunner with which Sirius had hit him. "How did you do that?"
"It was a diversion," Ron answered. "He made the air move there, and once we started casting, we didn't pay attention to our backs any more. Right?"
"Yes," Sirius admitted. "I realised what you were doing, and so I created exactly what you were expecting. And you fell for it."
"Hook, line and sinker." Harry sighed.
"Don't feel bad," Sirius said. "You two did very well. You worked together better than some Auror teams I've seen in my time." He frowned. "Granted, that was in the last months of the war, and they probably had less training than you two… Anyway, let's do it again!"
Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, then nodded. This time, they'd beat Sirius.
They didn't. But it was close - at least in his opinion.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 17th, 1995
Hermione Granger was about to sit down on her mat in Mr Black's study when he spoke up. "Before we start with your next attempt to save the gold for a fur coat, I have an important task for you."
"What do you need, sir?" She was curious about what he considered 'an important task'. As her nominal employer, he usually let her sort and file his mail, so he didn't have to read all of it, and check his bills. That she still attempted to keep his schedule was a testimony to her sense of duty - he certainly didn't seem to care much about most of his appointments. Or he simply liked to rile her up by pretending not to care about his own affairs as much as she did.
He swished his wand, and a stack of parchment flew over to her. "I need you to check this for signs of forgery and tampering."
She blinked. Why would… "You mean, you want my tutor to look it over." She didn't have any practical experience with forgery, after all. His grin told her she was correct. "I can ask him, but I can't promise anything." Mr Fletcher had made his opinion of Mr Black, and of such attempts to use him, clear, after all.
"I know. Which is why I expect you to ask very nicely. It concerns your other best friend's family, after all."
"Ron?" She connected the dots at once. "These are from Percy's office?" She stared at the stack in a new light.
"Copies."
"That might make spotting magical tampering difficult." While the Doubling Charm could create perfectly identical copies, they started to degrade at once, even if the rate of degradation was usually far too slow to affect anyone using a copied item.
"A very skilled wizard cast the charm." Mr Black grinned. "Unless you take weeks to check the parchments, any irregularities you detect won't be due to the spell."
"Ah." That meant Dumbledore was directly involved. And it explained how copies of such important and supposedly secret documents had appeared in Mr Black's hand. "I'll do what I can," she said.
"Good! Now let's start turning you into a furry little troublemaker again!"
The glare she sent him only made his grin grow wider. Sighing, she sat down on the mat and started to focus on the change, as she called it, again.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Have the form follow the spirit...
*****
She had a tail. A swishing, human-sized tail she didn't seem to be able to control as she craned her neck to look at her backside. Mr Black coughed and she saw that he had conjured a large mirror. She ignored it, of course - she wanted to look at her tail, and not at her reflection!
She reached to her back and gripped her tail, trying to make sense of the confusing sensations that caused. "Weird. I can sense it, and sense through it, but I cannot control it," she remarked.
"That's a cat for you," Mr Black said. "You should really use the mirror, though." He was talking far too loudly too.
She huffed. If she wanted a mirror, she'd conjure one herself! "I'm fine," she said, pulling the tip of her tail towards her face to study it.
"That won't work with your ears, unless you manage to pull them off," he said.
"My ears?" She turned her head to look at the mirror and froze at the sight. Her tail escaped her grip as her hands rose to the sides of her head, confirming what she saw in her reflection.
She had cat ears.
Unfortunately, she didn't have cat claws, or she would have taught the snickering dog a lesson.
*****
London, Greenwich, October 18th, 1995
"So, Black wants me to check this for signs of forgery or tampering." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack of parchment sitting on his desk as if it was the most offensive thing he had ever seen.
"Yes, sir," Hermione Granger said, struggling not to bite her lower lip as she stood next to him - her tutor had told her a few times that such habits got thieves recognised, unless they used them consciously to enhance their cover.
He scoffed and sat down in his favorite armchair. "Figures. I've expected such a 'request' for some time. He hasn't changed at all."
Hermione's eyes widened a little as she wondered if she would receive another tidbit of information about her tutor's mysterious past. "I wouldn't be able to tell," she said carefully. "I've only known him since his exoneration."
"But you know him quite well by now, don't you? Or you think you do," Mr Fletcher added with a snort.
She couldn't deny that, so she inclined her head in agreement.
"He shared a secret with you, and you think he's your best friend." Mr Fletcher said, glancing at her. He hadn't asked her to tell him what she was learning from Mr Black, not outright, but Hermione felt as if he expected her to share the information.
"No. I'm aware that he's using me." She wasn't a naive young girl.
"And he is trying to use me as his personal thief. Too noble to do his own dirty work, is he?"
"It's not for him," Hermione said, choosing her words with care, "It's for Mr Weasley and his son."
"That's the only reason I haven't vanished the parchments. Arthur's a good man."
Which implied that Mr Black wasn't, Hermione noted. And that Mr Fletcher knew Mr Weasley as well. Which meant that Mr Weasley had been a member of that mysterious 'Order' as well. And probably still was. "Yes, he is. Although he hasn't shared any secrets with me," she added.
Mr Fletcher chuckled. "He wouldn't. He's one of the most dependable men I know. Not as reckless as Black - and not as careless either."
She couldn't help herself. "That sounds like you're speaking from personal experience."
"That's not my secret to share." His smile was very thin.
Hermione knew what he meant. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. "That doesn't have anything to do with this."
"Au contraire," he said, with a fake French accent, "as our dear Jeanne would say. It's all connected. Although it might not be Black's plan. He's as subtle as a dragon come feeding time."
"I think he changed after Azkaban," she retorted - Mr Black could be subtle, in her opinion.
"Perhaps." His tone told her that he didn't think she was correct. "But I've already heard about this affair - Mr Smith's relatives were delighted with the opportunity to wreck Arthur's career. They were not as crass as to call him a 'blood traitor' in my presence, but their sentiments were clear."
She almost gasped. "I didn't think the Smiths were that bad." Arrogant, yes, but such bigots as to resent another pureblood for his more liberal views?
"They weren't - or hid it well. Things have been changing lately." Mr Fletcher looked at the stack again. "This might be part of it." He sighed. "You can tell your employer that I'll be looking into it. For Arthur - not for him."
She didn't like the way Mr Fletcher stressed 'employer', as if she was more loyal to Mr Black than to him, but she nodded anyway. The most important thing was to help Ron's family.
*****
Hogwarts, October 20th, 1995
Sitting in the Headmaster's office, Harry once again imagined his mind as the centre of a wide, open area where nothing could approach without being seen. But that wasn't true, was it? he suddenly thought. Training with Sirius had proved that you could approach unseen. And the Headmaster had snuck past his defences with Legilimency as well. So often, in fact, during their 'lessons' that Harry could no longer stand hearing the constant claims that few had Dumbledore's skill and experience any more - as if Harry didn't know that Voldemort certainly was among them.
But then, he and Ron had found a way to counter Sirius's stealth attacks, hadn't they? The key wasn't to watch out for anything catching your attention, but to remain aware of everything. He couldn't focus on an intrusion, he had to focus on himself. As if he was trying to spot Sirius's - or Remus's - next attack.
Because someone was trying to enter his mind, not sneaking up on something he guarded. He wasn't standing in an open field - everything was him. He was the field, in a way. Or his mind was.
He focused on that thought. Focused on his mind. Imagined it floating, isolated. No, not isolated - it was just that there was nothing else. No space for an intruder to wait and plan. There was just his mind, and a foreign influence.
He hadn't closed his eyes, but he didn't see the Headmaster's any more. He didn't see, he sensed. No - he simply was aware. He didn't care how; that would only create a weakness anyway.
And for the first time since he had started training, he sensed Dumbledore without the Headmaster making it obvious.
*****
"Well done, Harry! You detected me - that is quite a feat."
"Thank you, sir." Dumbledore's praise was genuine, Harry Potter thought - unlike the last few sessions. He smiled, proud of his success. "I finally managed to wrap my mind around this."
"You managed to free your imagination from the physical limitations we so often place upon it."
Of course, Dumbledore would realise what he had done. Harry nodded.
"That is the first step towards mastering Occlumency - truly mastering it," Dumbledore went on. Harry blinked. What was… "Now we will focus on pushing intrusions out of your mind."
Oh. Of course. Harry felt very stupid for assuming that he had actually accomplished a lot. Seeing an attack didn't mean he could counter it - Sirius's lessons had taught him that as well. He sighed. "I suppose we'll start on that then?"
"Unless you are too tired to continue."
He shook his head. "No, I'm good."
Voldemort wouldn't let him rest or prepare, after all.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 24th, 1995
"Mr Smith has finished his examination of the documents you provided," Hermione Granger announced as soon as Mr Black had closed the door to his study.
"Oh?" He cocked his head sideways in apparent surprise.
She sighed at his antics. "I did call ahead and say that I had urgent news."
Mr Black shrugged. "That could have been about anything - boyfriends, rivals, robes. I don't claim to understand the priorities young witches have these days."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I would never bother you about such trivial things." She had far more important things to care about.
"It wouldn't be a bother at all, believe me." He grinned widely at her. "It would be good to have another point of view in addition to Harry's."
"Not everything is about Harry," she said firmly. Not in the way Mr Black insinuated, at least.
His grin widened. "Of course not."
Trying to make him understand that he was wrong would be pointless, and only encourage him, so she pulled the documents out of her pocket and unshrank them. "They were tampered with. Magically altered by a very skilled wizard," she said as she put them on his desk. "Mr Smith didn't recognise the caster, though."
"You can call him Mr Fletcher, you know. I already know his real name," Mr Black said as he sat down behind his desk.
That didn't mean she'd say it, of course - the best way to keep a cover or a secret was to never let either slip, no matter how safe it seemed. "Percy's signature was copied to the forms with a custom spell."
He nodded. "As expected." Leaning back, he sighed. "I wish your 'tutor' were here. While I do not doubt your talents, I would prefer to discuss details with him."
"I can ask him to meet with you," Hermione said. That seemed sensible to her, seeing that both men already knew each other. Far more sensible than using her as a go-between. "Unless you're meeting him in the Order," she added, as if it was an afterthought.
He laughed. "Nice try, Miss Merriweather." He quickly stopped, though. "But I've learned, at great cost, that secrets shouldn't be shared with anyone who doesn't need to know them," he added, looking at the wall behind her.
She shrugged. She knew that as well, but it irked her that she didn't know about the past that her tutor and her employer shared. It made dealing with both more difficult, too. "So, will that be enough to save Mr Weasley's career?"
"It'll help," Mr Black said in a rather non-committal tone. "We can't exactly use them to prove Percy's innocence, but we can use it to acquire some leverage."
Hermione nodded - as she had learned to her own detriment, in Wizarding Britain, having leverage was better than having proof of your innocence.
Mr Black swept the documents in his own pocket with a swish of his wand and stood. "Now, let's see what amusing mishap you'll produce this evening," he said with a wide grin. "Neither James nor I ever managed to accidentally vanish our clothes, after all."
She glared at him, flush with both anger and embarrassment, at the reminder of that particular incident. "That won't happen again," she said in a clipped tone, not bothering to point out that an animagus's clothes had to vanish for the duration of their transformation, so that had been at least a partial success. Even if it had been very embarrassing.
At least Mr Black couldn't tell Harry about it. That would have been horrible.
*****
Hogwarts, November 20th, 1995
"The coast is clear," Harry Potter whispered, looking around the corner of the hallway leading to the Astronomy Tower.
"What?" Ginny asked in a whisper, right behind him.
"No one is around," he explained. The prefect patrol was over, and the next wouldn't come near this area for an hour - if they even bothered; some prefects were rather sloppy when it came to nightly patrols.
"Good. Let's go then!" She pushed past him, then threw a glance over her shoulder at him. "Unless you've got cold feet."
He chuckled - as if! - but he glanced at his map once more to check that no one was near them before he followed her. By the time he caught up to her she had already unlocked and opened the door to the tower.
"You'd think they'd make a little more of an effort to lock up the tower," he whispered as he stepped on to the stairway.
She grinned. "Who said they actually try to stop anyone? I consider it more of a test - if you can get into the tower, you're old enough for the tower. It's a Hogwarts tradition, after all!"
Harry smiled widely - that was a tradition he wholeheartedly approved of. "Let's go, then!"
"That's my line!"
They reached the top faster than Harry had ever managed for an Astronomy lesson. It was the new moon, so only the stars provided light, but they hadn't come here for the view.
"So…" Harry said, "we're here."
Ginny nodded. "Yes." She was licking her lips, he could see that even in the dim light. Was she nervous? They had come up here to snog, after all - it had been her idea, too. Or should he say something more romantic? Use the cold as an excuse to embrace her - even though Warming Charms dealt with it?
He snorted. This wasn't their first date. He reached out to her, pulling her into his arms. She made a throaty, almost moaning sound before their lips met, and then it was like in the broom cupboard two days ago. Better - it didn't smell like cleaning supplies.
When they broke the kiss, her hands were inside his shirt, and his were under her sweater, on her back, and both were breathing heavily. Their eyes met, and then they kissed again, and their hands started to wander.
Then his scar erupted in pain, and he felt blood running down his face. Ginny's shriek sounded weirdly muted, he thought as he fell to his knees. Then she wasn't there anymore, and he was staring at a man - a dead man. Or dying. So much blood. But he sensed the connection. He wasn't overwhelmed like last time.
"Harry! Merlin's beard! You're bleeding! We need to call a teacher!" He felt her hands grabbing his arm, trying to lift him. She almost broke his concentration.
Despite the pain, he raised his hand. "Stop, Ginny!" he pressed out through clenched teeth. "We'll go to Dumbledore." As soon as this was over and he could walk again.
And then he retched at what he saw.
*****
"You had another vision."
"Yes, sir." Harry Potter said as he pressed a handkerchief against his bleeding scar. "I wasn't knocked unconscious this time, though. I didn't fight it either." He raised his wand. "I can copy the memory for you."
"Very impressive," Dumbledore said, "but please do not strain yourself overly."
Harry would have shaken his head, but that would hurt too much, so he simply extracted the memory and let it float into the vial on Dumbledore's desk. The effort made him feel light-headed, though, and he sagged in his seat, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Harry!" he heard Ginny exclaim.
"Do not worry, Miss Weasley. The wound looks far more serious than it is." Dumbledore sighed.
"That wasn't a pain curse," Ginny said. "He didn't hit his head this time. His scar just started bleeding. And you expected this."
Harry didn't know exactly if she was talking to him or the Headmaster, or both - but she sounded angry.
"The secrecy was - and still is - necessary," Dumbledore said. "For Harry's sake. His life depends on it."
Ginny gasped. She looked pale, Harry though. She wasn't the one bleeding, though. "I think I need to go to the Infirmary," he said.
"Poppy has been informed," Dumbledore explained. "I think we shall claim you two had an accident during a rendezvous… on top of the Astronomy Tower."
Harry gasped, then groaned at the pain this caused.
"Did you spy on us?" Ginny asked. She was angry again, or still, he realised.
"It was simply an educated guess," the Headmaster explained. "I was a student once myself. Of course you'll have to serve detention for that as well."
Ginny gasped again, but Harry couldn't care less right then.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, November 20th, 1995
Hermione Granger slowly and carefully crept forward. She couldn't rush this - the roof she was on was slick with rain, and a slip could easily send her tumbling down two stories. Unless Mr Fletcher caught her. She buried that thought. This was her final test. She had to act as if she wasn't aware of her tutor's presence.
She reached the edge of the roof and peered down at the street below. At this time of the night, no shops or pubs were open - other than the Leaky Cauldron, which didn't seem to ever close - and so this part of Diagon Alley was dead, but there were still Aurors patrolling. Aurors who would take exception to a black-clad figure on a roof.
Even if she wasn't here to steal anything. This time. She just had to slip inside the wards and out again. She had done that before, and the wards on this building - which housed 'Henry's Hats' - weren't any stronger than those on the Allisters' house.
Below her was the window she had chosen as her point of entry. As she had found out during her preparations it led to a work room - no one would be there now. A last check of the Alley… she froze. Someone - two people - were walking down the street. Aurors? She knew their schedule, and they shouldn't be here.
For a moment, she was tempted to simply remain where she was. They couldn't see her from below, even if she weren't disillusioned. But she would be in range of a Human-presence-revealing spell. When on patrol, Aurors usually didn't cast such spells without a reason - but they usually weren't patrolling this part of the Alley at this time.
Silently cursing, she quickly climbed back to the ridge of the roof. She almost slipped in her haste, but managed to recover her footing, then pulled herself over the ridge and slid down the other side. She caught herself at the edge, then pressed herself against the tiles. Even if they cast the spell now, she wouldn't be in their range. And if she were, the marker wouldn't be high enough to be seen from the Alley side.
Or so she thought. She couldn't see the Aurors any more, but a quickly and silently cast Supersensory Charm let her hear them. As far as she could tell from their muttered complaints, their schedule had been changed to free up other Aurors for an emergency.
She sighed with relief - they weren't here for her - and waited until she couldn't hear their steps any more before returning to the other side of the roof. She had a test to pass, after all.
*****
"Good thinkin' there," Mr Fletcher said an hour later, back in his flat. "Ya weren't careless, trustin' them to act as normal even though they had already changed their schedule."
Hermione nodded. As if she would be careless, after all his lessons about caution!
"Ya went through the wards quickly and without trouble, too."
"I had studied them beforehand."
"That ya did. And ya cased the joint thoroughly, and made a clear getaway." He smiled, though Hermione thought he looked a little sad. "I don't like to admit it, but you're ready to help with a real heist."
"Yes!" Hermione smiled widely, despite the qualification about helping. She had passed her tutor's final test!
"Don't get cocky, though," he added, shaking his head. "Especially since you haven't learned Apparition yet."
"I won't," she assured him. She had done it! She had passed!
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 21st, 1995
"What'll it be this time? Furry forepaws? A tail and cat legs? A cat's snout?"
Hermione Granger ignored Mr Black's prattle. She was close to mastering the change. She knew it. She had managed pretty much every body part so far. Just not all together, nor in the right size.
She closed her eyes and tuned the dog out. She was a cat. A graceful, smart, elegant cat. A cat who prowled the night. Like she had done last night. She remembered climbing on the roof, peering down at the stupid humans below her, a shadow in the night, too smart and too quick for them to see much less catch. She was a cat who went wherever she pleased and did whatever she wanted.
She… she blinked. The room had changed. The red and gold banner behind the dog was now greenish and gold. And the other colours seemed to have faded somewhat… She shot up - and found herself jumping. Higher than she had expected - and she landed on four paws. Gasping, she checked her body. She was a cat! A beautiful brown-haired cat!
"You did it!"
That was the dog. She looked at him. He was moving around his desk. His big, sturdy desk. With a gleeful yell, she jumped on the desk, startling him as she sent the parchment there flying as she moved towards him. She jumped off the desk as he stepped back and landed on his chest, her claws finding purchase on his shirt.
He even tried to shake her off, the dolt! But she dug her claws in - into his skin too - and held fast.
Then there was no shirt any more. Nor any wizard. Just a big, black dog. For a moment, they stared at each other.
And then the chase was on.
*****
Chapter 12: Set-Up
Starfox5
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Chapter 12: Set-Up
London, Ministry for Magic, November 21st, 1995
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs Cornfoot." Auror Bertie Macmillan tried to sound as if he truly cared, even though he couldn't really be bothered sympathising with the recently widowed witch sitting across from him and crying into her handkerchief. Scrimgeour would be on his case if there was another complaint about his 'attitude'.
Mrs Cornfoot was frumpy, and had lost what appeal she once had - he remembered her being reasonably pretty at Hogwarts; she had been a year or two below him - in the last twenty or so years. No wonder her husband had gone looking for a good time in Knockturn Alley. He had found himself on the wrong end of a wand there, but such things happened.
True, the manner of the man's death had been rather more brutal than usual - they had taken more than a day to identify the victim due to the corpse's condition - but that was merely a detail. "But Knockturn Alley is a dangerous place for visitors. Your husband should have known better."
"But he knew that! And he wouldn't have gone to such a place anyway! Gregor wasn't like that!"
He disagreed, but didn't say so. In Mr Cornfoot's place, Bertie certainly would have preferred the company you found in Knockturn Alley's seedy pubs if he were saddled with a wife who was such a nag.
"He was a nature lover, Gregor was - we had a subscription to The Quibbler, you know! And he was so fond of looking for the rarest animals…" She broke down crying again.
"I'm certain he was," Bertie said, trying to sound sincere. The Quibbler… what a rag. It made the Prophet look good.
"Can I see him? They said they still needed his body…" She looked at him through watery eyes.
He almost said that she could have a piece or two as there were enough to go around, but that was a joke better saved for the Corps' break room. Civilians rarely appreciated such humour. "I don't yet know when the examination of your husband's body will be finished."
"Who would do such a thing…" She sobbed. "To him, of all people! He never hurt a fly!"
The ideal victim, then. Bertie personally thought it was a hag attack. Or a vampire trying to disguise his crime as one - you couldn't trust dark creatures. But that paranoid twit Brittlewinger suspected blood magic.
Bertie smiled with fake sympathy. "We'll do our best to bring the murderer to justice, Mrs Cornfoot." He wasn't lying - Bones herself was keeping an eye on the investigation, which meant Scrimgeour was riding the Aurors even harder than usual. Even Yaxley had poked his wand in. Bertie simply didn't think they would find anything. Vampires or hags, those kinds of creatures tended to disappear easily.
Well, he added with a glance at Macnair, who was apparently serving as an advisor for this investigation, maybe not that easily with the butcher on the case.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 21st, 1995
The dog had tried his best, but ultimately, dogs were inferior to cats - they couldn't climb. Hermione smirked at her nemesis from a safe perch on a shelf, far above his reach. Let the dog bark as much as he wanted - he was powerless!
Then the dog changed forms, and she hissed. That was cheating!
"I think that's enough," the dog said. "Not that I care, but Kreacher will have to work hard to repair everything that we wrecked."
She hissed again - what did she care about a creature barely above a mouse?
"I don't speak cat, but that didn't sound like you agree with me," the dog went on.
She sniffed in response. Was it her fault that the dog was too stupid to understand a civilised language? Then her eyes widened - the dog had just drawn a stick. And not the kind they liked to chase! She crouched, then jumped off the shelf just as the dog started to wave the stick around, landing on the nearby table. A swipe of her paw sent a vase tumbling - that should distract him - and she was off again, towards the doorway beckoning to her. Two yards, one yard… one yard… her paws had lost traction, she realised - she was floating!
And the dog was coming towards her. "I said enough, Miss Granger. Time to change back."
She hissed at him, her tail standing up and her ears laying back. She didn't want to change back! She was fine as she was!
He sighed. "Then you leave me no choice." He ignored her challenge to fight fairly and walked over to one of the shelves he hadn't toppled in his wild chase, making her float after him in the most undignified way possible. "Now where is it… there!"
He held up a book. "If you don't change back I'll burn this copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' from 1754!"
She gasped. How could he threaten that poor innocent book! The fiend! That was an irreplaceable copy! Then she blinked. Why did she care? She was a cat! No - she was a witch. An animagus. And Mr Black was threatening to burn a book!
"No!" she yelled, thrashing around. Where was her wand? There! A flick of her wrist had it in her hand, and she was about to cast when he cancelled his spell.
Unlike a cat, she didn't land gracefully on the floor. Painfully was a more correct description.
"There you are, Miss Granger! I almost feared that something went wrong and you had lost your mind."
"That's no reason to threaten a book," she retorted.
"Whatever works," he shot back with one of his infuriating grins. "James was never this much trouble - then again, he was a stag, not a cat."
"What do you mean?" Hermione Granger asked as she stood.
"We usually played outside."
Looking at the thoroughly devastated interior of the living room - apparently, she had managed to get the door of the study open - there wasn't much she could offer in her defence.
He sighed. "I think we need to talk about the mental effects of the change again."
Hermione nodded. That sounded like a very good idea.
While Mr Black was apparently unconcerned about the mess they had made, Hermione Granger cringed at the sight. They had left a trail of devastation leading from the study to the living room. Shelves had been toppled, shards from broken vases and knick-knacks covered the floor, a potted plant had been shredded…
"Almost looks like when my mother lost her temper after she heard that I was sorted into Gryffindor," Mr Black remarked as they passed the toppled umbrella stand - a disgusting hollowed out troll leg. "No, wait," he said, stopping suddenly.
Hermione froze and looked around, but she couldn't spot any threats. Then she glanced at Mr Black and saw that his eyes had lost their focus.
"No, that was what I imagined it to look like when my uncle told me. He promised to give me a copy of his memory, but…" He sighed. "He died before he managed."
Hermione made a non-committal noise - offering her condolences for a death more than twenty years past would have been weird, even if Mr Black seemed lost in his memories for a moment.
"Ah, well," he said, straightening, "shouldn't take Kreacher more than half the night to fix the place up."
"I wasn't aware that house-elves could use that sort of magic," Hermione said. "Mending Charms," she explained when she saw his puzzled look.
He laughed. "Oh, he can't do those. I'll decide in the morning what I'll mend, and what I'll get rid of. He'll probably try to glue some of the stuff left by my mother together and keep it." He must have caught her confusion - she had to work on her tells some more - since he added: "He worships my mother. He has a shrine to the old hag in his den. If he could do magic, he probably would try to raise her from the dead using some of the more vile rituals in our library."
Hermione hoped that he was joking. "And I broke some of those things…" she muttered.
"Oh, dont worry. He'll blame me, as usual. I think so at least."
That wasn't very reassuring. She'd have to watch her steps around the elf. Which would be good training, she tried to console herself.
They had reached the study, and she winced.
"Yes, if I didn't know better, I'd think you used the opportunity to thoroughly express your - utterly wrong, of course - opinion of my taste in interior design." Mr Black snorted.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I recall you causing most of the destruction," she said curtly.
"Well, I was chasing you, so it's your fault."
"What?" She glared at him, but he just laughed and righted his chair with a flick of his wand. She grudgingly followed his example.
"Now," he said, suddenly acting as if they were in class and he were the teacher, "what do you think happened?"
"I was overwhelmed by my inner animal following my first full transformation and instead of helping me, you decided to chase me as if you were a dog," she primly answered. A massive dog who had done most of the damage, too.
"You're correct - almost. You weren't overwhelmed by your inner animal, but by the instincts of your form." He leaned back. "When we change, those instincts allow us to move in our animal form as if we had been born like that. We don't have to learn how to walk, run, climb - or fly - as an animal. Simplified, we know how to act as an animal without having to think about it."
"It sounds like simply another name for the same effect." She had been correct, then, and so had her books.
"In a way," he admitted, grinning widely. "But the important point is that if we don't think, we'll act as an animal. A panicking animagus tends to act like a panicking animal."
"I wasn't panicking," she retorted. The dog might have significantly out-massed her slender form, but she hadn't been afraid of him. He was far too slow and clumsy to catch her.
"No? It certainly looked like that to me, chasing you," he said, chuckling. She sniffed in response. "But you were surprised by the change, probably confused as well, and let your instincts take over."
Which was generally a bad idea, as Hermione knew very well. "That doesn't explain your reaction," she said.
"I was just having fun chasing a pesky cat." He chuckled, presumably at her expression. "Both cats and dogs are predators. We like to chase things." She could imagine the dog chasing a car. "You'll have to watch out for string and mice."
"Pardon?"
"I'm not joking - not entirely," he added. "In our animal form, we're always just one slip away from acting on our instincts. Let your thoughts wander, and you'll find yourself eating a mouse."
"Speaking from experience?" she asked, grinning when he coughed. Then she remembered under what circumstances he had probably eaten mice. "Sorry."
"Huh?" He waved her apology away. "Anyway, you shouldn't have too much trouble controlling yourself, normally."
He made that sound as if it was a bad thing, Hermione thought. She nodded anyway - she wouldn't let her animal instincts get the better of her. Not again, at least.
"Now, change again, and let's see if you can keep your wits."
She sniffed at him - of course she would! - and focused on her transformation again. This time, it didn't take her more than a minute until she found herself sitting in a suddenly far too large chair. For a moment, she wanted to flee the dog's presence - not that he could catch her, anyway - but she controlled herself. She wasn't a cat, she was an animagus. A witch.
She looked at herself. She had brown semi-long fur, probably the same colour, or close, to her hair - cats saw colours differently. It looked like it had a slight green tone, so that would appear red to humans. Chestnut, maybe? She couldn't make out what breed she was. Probably mixed, she thought. She a very long and slightly bushy tail. Very attractive. She raised a forepaw and unsheathed her claws, studying them. They didn't need to be sharpened, not yet. She dug them into the seat anyway, to check how that felt.
A coughing noise from the dog interrupted her introspection. Her anger at the presumption was mollified, though, when she saw that he had conjured a large mirror for her, and she jumped off the seat to look at her reflection.
She was a fine cat. A very fine cat. Slender, with a thick, well-tended coat, long whiskers and pretty ears. Elegant and graceful, as she had known she would be. Perfect.
Then a far too large dog suddenly barked, far too close, and she was on top of the last shelf still standing in the room and hissing at the dog before she realised what had happened.
The dog changed into a sniggering wizard. "I think you need to work on not being startled so easily and losing control. But that shouldn't take long. Not with my help."
She wanted to scratch his nose again.
London, Merton, November 21st, 1995
Sitting on her bed in her pyjamas, Hermione Granger stared at Crookshanks. Her cat hadn't acted any differently towards her since she had returned home from Grimmauld Place. The tomcat was currently occupying her pillow and, by all appearances, enjoying a nap. She hadn't really expected anything else, of course - animals couldn't sense animagi, Mr Black had told her that - but Crookshanks was a half-Kneazle, and those were magical animals. And he was her familiar. Or should be - she hadn't found a clear definition of what made an animal a familiar, other than their owner stating so.
She sighed. Her parents didn't know what she had achieved - they couldn't know, of course, for their and her safety - and she couldn't tell anyone else either. Not Harry or Ron, nor Mr Fletcher. And now she couldn't even share her exploits with her cat.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She could transform, of course. She had done it several times this evening, without any serious issue. And without taking Mr Black's nose off. But he had warned her against changing without his supervision for another week or two. And he was the expert.
But she wanted to see Crookshanks's reaction to her transformation. Would he be confused? Or take it in stride? Or, she thought, wincing, would he react as he had reacted to other cats intruding on his new territory?
Maybe changing without supervision really wasn't a good idea…
She sighed again and grabbed her notebook. She should revise the theory of Apparition again - Mr Fletcher had said he'd start to teach her soon. And she suspected that even though he had pronounced her ready to help with a real heist, she wouldn't get to do anything actually important or dangerous until she could apparate.
Unless she could demonstrate another way to escape from a sticky situation… She bit her lower lip. Mr Black expected her to keep his - and now her - secret. But Mr Fletcher was her tutor.
If only the two men would get along!
Hogsmeade, November 25th, 1995
"Oh… these dress robes would be perfect! What do you think?" Ginny asked, holding up green dress robes with gold trim.
"I think they look great," Harry Potter said. They did, too - but then, everything looked great on Ginny.
"They look a little too much like Slytherin's colours to me," Ron commented from the back of the shop.
"I wasn't asking you," Ginny snapped. "I'm not going to the New Year's Ball with you! And this is not Slytherin green!"
"I said it wasn't Slytherin's colour - it's just a little too…" Ron trailed off, apparently searching the right word.
"Too green?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. No!" Ron frowned at their friend. "You know what I mean!" he added when the two witches laughed.
Harry didn't laugh - Ron deserved some support - but he smiled. Unlike Parvati, Ginny didn't have a problem with his best friends. Well, she and Ron fought a little, but that was normal - they did that at The Burrow too. And Hermione liked Ginny.
"This is not some school event," his girlfriend pointed out. "This is a real ball. People won't think I'm wearing house colours."
"I bet Malfoy will say something." Ron frowned.
"He'll say something no matter what I'm wearing," Ginny retorted. "And I won't let him and his friends influence what I'm wearing to the ball! I want this to be perfect!"
"Even Malfoy might manage to behave at the New Year's Ball," Hermione cut in. "Making a scene would reflect badly on his family, after all."
"If he behaves then I'd check him for Compulsion Charms," Ron muttered.
This time, Harry laughed with everyone else. The thought of Malfoy being magically forced to behave by his parents...
"It would be just another sign of their hypocrisy, of course," Hermione said once they had stopped laughing. "They spread the worst rumours behind your back, and then act as if they are innocent in public."
"Yeah," Ron chimed in. "Dad said that Malfoy father's now claiming that Dumbledore lied for Percy."
"Is he still trying to get them fired?" Hermione asked. "I thought the Headmaster proved that the documents were faked."
"I heard from Percy that there's a rumor that Dumbledore copied the files, then altered them himself," Ginny said.
Harry nodded. "Sirius told me the same. And Malfoy's friends are acting as if they believe that, just to put pressure on Dumbledore." He looked at Hermione. "Didn't he tell you that as well?"
She frowned. "We don't talk about the Wizengamot's politics that often."
"I thought you were his secretary," Ron said.
"I only work part-time," Hermione explained. "I'm still spending most of my time studying." Of course she was, Harry thought. "And when I'm working for Sirius, I'm usually doing his correspondence, not rumour-mongering," she added with a little sniff.
"You shouldn't just study, though," Ron said. "It's not healthy."
"Well, I'm not studying now, am I?" Hermione retorted.
But she probably wasn't having much fun either, Harry suddenly thought - seeing Ginny pick her dress robes for the ball while she couldn't attend. Well, Ron wasn't invited either, but that was different. Balls were important for witches, for all witches, not just for the likes of Parvati, Ginny had taught him that. "I could ask Sirius if he could take you to the ball," he said.
"What?" Hermione was staring at him. Ron and Ginny too, he realised.
"Well, he's going alone anyway, and you missed the Yule Ball, and…" He shrugged.
"Do you realise that if I went to the ball with your godfather, the Prophet would claim that I was sleeping with him the very next day?"
"They did that already." Harry remembered that article well.
"They speculated. But if I show up on his arm, people will actually believe it," Hermione said.
"Well, they wouldn't talk about me chasing Harry's gold in that case," Ginny joked.
Judging by her expression, Hermione apparently didn't think that that was funny. "Not that I want to go to the ball anyway. And I don't think that he would want to go with me. That would curb his flirting with all the young and impressionable witches." Harry winced - she wasn't wrong there. "No," she continued in that prim voice of hers, "I'll enjoy the New Year's Eve in muggle London."
With a book, Harry thought. He knew better than to say that, of course.
London, Merton, December 25th, 1995
"Open it, Crookshanks!" Hermione Granger smiled as she held out a small package to her cat. "It's your gift!"
"One of his gifts," her father muttered.
She ignored him. This was Crookshanks's first Christmas, at least the first with her family, so it was only right and proper that his gifts made up for the years he had missed. She watched expectantly as he sniffed the package. But instead of tearing it open with his claws - he had demonstrated his ability to do so several times with her mum's shoe boxes - he miaowed and looked at her.
He probably feared he'd damage the contents, she thought. She petted him before opening the package herself and presented the bag of cat treats to him. As soon as he saw the bag, he ripped it open - he was such a smart cat!
"It was your idea, dear," she heard her mum say.
Hermione turned her head while Crookshanks gorged himself. "What was his idea?"
"To get you a cat," Mum replied.
"And it was the best idea you ever had!" Hermione nodded emphatically. Crookshanks wasn't just the best cat a witch could have, but he had also been crucial in her learning how to become an animagus.
"I'm not quite so certain of that anymore," her father said.
She frowned at him. "I repaired your armchair." And his shoes. And even that ugly tie that should have been disposed of long ago.
"There's also the matter of my cigars."
"Smoking is bad for your health!" Crookshanks was obviously looking out for her dad.
Her mum snickered in agreement. And Crookshanks ripped open a package.
"Oh, Crookshanks! That was the wrong one! This is yours - that one is for Dad." A quick Mending Charm later, she held the package out to her father with a smile. "He must have smelled the wool and thought it was for him!" she explained.
"Wool?"
"A sweater for your vacation in the Alps," Hermione explained.
"I still think you should come with us," he grumbled.
"I couldn't leave Crookshanks alone for so long!" she exclaimed - they had gone over this already! "And Mr Black needs me over the holidays." She ignored her father's mumbled comment about what her employer needed.
"And you can meet your friends," her mum said, smiling.
She nodded happily. She'd be able to see Harry each day - and Ron most days. And she'd be able to help with her first real heist, too.
This was going to be the best vacation ever.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 25th, 1995
"And for you, Moony, new duellist robes!" Sirius said with a wide smile. "Now you can impress all those seventh years even more! Or 'Tonks'."
Remus rolled his eyes. "She's not interested in a man my age, and I wouldn't start anything with a student."
"I note that you didn't claim that there's no interest from your students!"
"That doesn't matter."
"You're an attractive man. A Hogwarts professor, the first Defence teacher to stay for more than a year - brave, skilled and respectable. Witches love such men! You just need to get out more. Maybe meet some former students of yours..."
"I can manage my social life just fine," Remus shot back. "I'm not the one who needs a secretary to juggle several witches!"
"I would never have Miss Granger do that!"
"I note that you didn't deny that you're seeing several witches."
While the two men bickered, Harry Potter poked his own package with his wand. He couldn't detect any spells on it, but that didn't have to mean anything.
"Something thing wrong?" his godfather asked.
"I don't know," he answered, glancing at Sirius. The man was grinning, but that didn't have to mean anything either. He might be waiting for whatever prank he had prepared to happen, or simply be amused at Harry's 'paranoia'.
"You wouldn't really expect me to trap your presents, would you?" Sirius asked. "Certainly not after you eschewed your girlfriend's offer to celebrate Christmas with her family in favour of celebrating with your family!"
Ginny had been disappointed at his refusal, Harry knew, but she had understood that he wanted to stay with his godfather and 'honorary uncle'. And he could visit The Burrow tomorrow anyway. "After this year's lessons with the two of you?" he snorted. "Remus didn't tell me that he checked the packages this time."
"Moony?" Sirius frowned. "Did you make my godson think that I would hex him on Christmas?"
"No, that was all your own doing," Remus said with a smile. "I did nothing."
"You did!" Sirius huffed. "Betrayed by my best friend!"
Harry opened the package with his wand. "Glasses?" he asked, pulling them out. "I already have a pair," he added.
"Oh, those are special ones," Sirius said gleefully. "Try them out!"
Harry pulled his own off and tried the new ones out. The room looked a little sharper, but that was all.
"Tap the frame with your wand!"
Harry did - and recoiled. The room had disappeared in a maze of colours and shades and wire-like frames that looked like… He closed his eyes. "What's this?"
"I had them enchanted! Not as good as Moody's eye, but with a little training you'll be able to use them like Omnioculars. Zoom in, zoom out, and you can even see through walls! And through clothes!" Sirius added with a chuckle.
Harry didn't know if this was the worst or best gift he had ever received.
London, Greenwich, December 27th, 1995
"Alright. I told you that you're ready to assist me on a real heist," Mr Fletcher said as he finished his cup of tea.
Hermione Granger nodded. She had barely touched her own cup. Not just out of anticipation, though - her tutor still didn't know about her being an animagus.
"Now, you've heard about the 'blood murders'," Mr Fletcher went on. "Your employer was a suspect, after all."
"Yes." And the Prophet had gone into details of the cases for weeks.
"An acquaintance of mine thinks that the murders are tied to the Dark Lord."
Dumbledore had told him, then, Hermione thought. "Yes."
"Ya already knew that." He set his cup down and stared across the table at her.
"It was an easy deduction." Harry had told her, but that was another secret she couldn't share.
He snorted. "Anyway. He's been busy underminin' the Ministry and the Wizengamot fer the last few months. Some of the less useless Old Families have opposed him, but not with much success."
"They barely managed to save Mr Weasley's career," Hermione said.
"Yeah. And his son's been transferred to a dead-end position. Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." He shook his head.
"Wouldn't that allow him to keep track of incidents that might otherwise be missed?" Hermione could imagine that that might be useful.
"Most of the incidents that committee has ta deal with are obvious screwups. And even late in the war, the Aurors weren't as inept as to miss Death Eater attacks that needed muggle-worthy excuses."
"Ah." That made sense.
"Mind ya, if he's not stupid, he can keep an eye on a number of people in the Ministry using the excuse of protecting the Statute of Secrecy, but for his career, anything tied ta muggles is poison." Mr Fletcher shrugged. "But we've got bigger problems to worry 'bout than a Ministry career."
Such as the Dark Lord's plans. She nodded. "Are we going to break into the manor of one of the 'former' Death Eaters?"
"Eager, are ya?" He laughed. "We'll do that, but not too soon. No, we're starting with somethin' a little easier."
She didn't frown. That would have made her appear immature and naive.
"I know where most of the manors of the Old Families are. Over the years, all of them threw a ball or a party - ya can't really impress yar peers and those below ya without showin' off, can ya?" She made an agreeing noise so he'd go on. "But those are the 'ancestral mansions'. The heads of the families live there. Their heirs too, although not always. But the rest of the family members? They have their own homes. And they aren't prone ta throwin' parties fer everyone - but o' course they'll attend the parties in the manors."
"You want me to find these homes," Hermione said.
"Yes. At least those of the younger wizards. All you have to do is to slip 'em one of these." He held up a small coin - a Knut.
Hermione Granger nodded. She gripped her own cup a little harder - she still had the urge to take notes of anything important, even though she didn't need to. Not for such a simple task. Well, simple order. Achieving the actual task would be a little tricky. "Won't they notice the spells on the coin?"
"There actually aren't any spells on it. My acquaintance has the means to track these coins more discreetly."
She wondered what kind of magic Dumbledore was using. Perhaps a variant of the Protean Charm? She had thought of such a thing as an anti-theft measure, but it should also serve to track something - but not without a spell on it.
"Now, remember to be cautious," her tutor interrupted her thoughts. "Don't get drawn into a spare bedroom; you're not a courtesan."
She nodded firmly. She had no intention of going that far. Flirting with the likes of Draco Malfoy would be bad enough.
"Check what you drink for potions. Don't let them cast anything on you. And remember to focus your mind on your role. I doubt that there'll be any Legilimens at the Smiths' ball who're skilled enough to actually read your mind, not without being obvious about it, and certainly not among your marks, but someone could be talented enough to pick up a stray thought."
There was no danger of that, Hermione knew - as an animagus, she was safe from such attacks. Reasonably safe, at least. But he didn't know that. So she nodded.
"But even a skilled Legilimens still needs eye contact to catch more than that. So, don't get into any staring contests - especially not with older wizards or witches. Be coy, avoid their gaze demurely, as I taught you. I hope we'll have enough time next year for you to learn the basics of Occlumency. I'm no master meself, although I know enough to get by, but I'm rubbish at Legilimency, so I can't really teach ya Occlumency."
"I suppose finding a trustworthy Legilimens won't be easy," she said. She should tell him not to bother, but that would be giving away Mr Black's secret.
"No, it won't," he said. "They have to be willing and able to teach you, too, and have the time to spare."
Which meant the Headmaster wouldn't be available. Not for her. Not that she needed his lessons. She didn't have a link to the Dark Lord in her forehead, and she was an animagus, and Dumbledore certainly had more important duties. Still…
She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She could feel jealous and guilty later.
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, December 28th, 1995
"Hi, Harry!"
"Hi, Ginny!" Harry Potter smiled widely as Ginny jumped into his arms as soon as he had stepped - and without more than slightly stumbling this time! - out of the fireplace.
"Mate." Ron nodded at him, getting up from the weathered couch in the living room.
"Hello, Harry." Luna waved at him, but remained sitting on the couch. "Oh, you have new glasses!"
Ginny took a step back and inspected him. "Really? Oh, they look good on you."
"Thanks. They were a gift from Sirius," Harry said.
"You weren't wearing them before today, though," Ginny said. "Were you?"
"I had to get used to them first," Harry said. "Didn't want to crash my new broom due to new glasses."
Ron looked puzzled. "Why would that matter?"
"Oh, are those enchanted glasses? Can you see Nargles?" Luna jumped up from her seat and stepped closer, peering at him. "They look ordinary, though."
"They work like Omnioculars," Harry explained. "I can zoom in and out." He wasn't lying. Not exactly - he was simply omitting a few details. Like that they allowed him to see through clothes. Not that he would use that function on his friends. Or on anyone. That wouldn't be right.
"Really? How do you control them? I don't see a dial," Ron said.
"You run your finger or wand over the frame, like this." Harry demonstrated. "That zooms in, and this zooms out."
"Can I try them?" Ron asked.
"They are prescription glasses," Harry answered. "Unless you're as shortsighted as I am, you'll only see a blur."
"Can you zoom out so far that people start to shrink?" Luna wanted to know. "That would be funny."
"No, that's not possible." It would be useful, though, Harry realised - if it could give him some sort of overview vision.
Luna was studying his glasses from so close that her hair fell into Ginny's face when she cocked her head sideways. "They look like muggle glasses," she stated after a moment. "Maybe you should mark them so you don't mix them up."
"That was the point - I can wear them in muggle London too," Harry said.
"I can wear my Nargle-hunting glasses everywhere," Luna said. "And they don't look like muggle glasses." She pulled a pair of glasses out of her pocket that even Elton John would refuse to wear.
Harry didn't have the heart to tell the girl what the muggles probably thought when they saw her. Ginny and Ron seemed to share his sentiments - both nodded without comment.
"Enough about glasses! Let's go flying before lunch!" Ron said.
"Yes." That was one of the things Harry loved about The Burrow - you could fly whenever you wanted.
"The others are in Diagon Alley," Ginny pointed out. "We will only be able to play a two versus two." And whoever got paired up with Luna would be at a disadvantage - the witch wasn't a bad flyer, not like Hermione, but she wasn't as good as Ginny or Ron either.
"We can fly just for fun," Harry said. "Or we can all chase a snitch."
"I'm a Keeper, not a Seeker," Ron said.
Ginny sniffed. "Are you afraid that you'll be kicked from the team if you don't use every training opportunity?"
"Don't be jealous just because you're a reserve," Ron shot back.
"I'm not!" Ginny said, but her angry tone belied her claim.
"We can shoot some penalties later," Harry said, trying to offer a compromise. He really just wanted to fly. With Ginny and his friends.
"That sounds fun!" Luna chimed in with a wide smile.
"Alright," Ginny agreed.
An hour later, they were taking a break from flying. They had chased five snitches - Harry Potter had caught four of them, and one had somehow found its way into Luna's robes, counting as her catch - and had shot enough penalties at the hoops guarded by Ron to cover a full season's worth of matches against Slytherin.
Sitting on his broom, near the pitch, Harry looked around. Ron and he were alone. Ginny and Luna had returned to the house already, to 'freshen up' before lunch. That would take a while. This was the perfect opportunity.
"Say," he started, "you still haven't found a witch you fancy, have you?"
"No." Ron's reply was rather curt, Harry thought.
"You're not still hung up on Lavender, are you?" he asked.
"No." Ron was now staring at him. "What's this about?"
Harry sighed. He had to learn how to be more subtle. "I was wondering about Hermione. I think she's a little lonely."
"Mate, she visits you each day, and The Burrow almost as often," Ron said. "Only Luna visits us more often, and she's our neighbour."
"I didn't mean like that." Harry pursed his lips. "Do you remember what she said about the New Year's Ball?"
"You mean to your hare-brained idea of having Sirius take her to the ball?" Ron laughed.
"Yes." Harry grit his teeth. This wasn't funny. "Her parents are in France, skiing. She'll be all alone on New Year's Eve."
Ron shook his head. "Mum asked her to celebrate with us, but she said that she already had plans. She'll spend New Year's Eve in muggle London."
"With a book," Harry muttered, "and her cat."
"Well… you know how she is about books." Ron chuckled.
He rolled his eyes. "She's probably too proud to admit that she's lonely."
"Or she has her eyes on a muggle boy."
"She said she was too busy for a relationship when I asked her," Harry said.
"That's probably true. She is working for Sirius, after all, and studying at the same time."
Harry glared at Ron. Couldn't he show some concern for their best friend? "You know, you're looking for a girlfriend…"
"No." Ron shook his head.
"What?"
"I'm not going to ask her out," Ron said.
Harry didn't bother denying that he had been about to suggest that. "Why not?" he asked.
"Because I don't fancy her. And I'm not like Seamus." Ron scoffed.
"Of course not!" Seamus had probably asked out every witch in their year. Even the Slytherins. But this wasn't the same - Hermione was their friend.
"Besides she deserves better than a pity date. Or Seamus," Ron stated.
Harry couldn't argue with that. He sighed again. "Let's head back. The girls should be finished freshening up by now."
"First good idea you've had today!"
Harry glared at his friend, but Ron was already halfway to The Burrow.
Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1995
"You must be Miss Merriweather!"
Hermione Granger's polite and slightly vacant smile froze slightly as she faced a rather exuberant Mr Black. "Yes. You have me at a disadvantage, Mr…?" She managed not to hiss at the dog.
"Black. Sirius Black. You might have heard of me." He flashed his teeth at her. "We missed each other last year, but you made an impression on my godson, and so I was determined to meet you myself."
"I'm flattered," she said, showing her own teeth. She was at the Smiths' New Year's Ball to prepare a heist, and Mr Black knew that - she had told him so herself! What was he thinking, accosting her like this?
"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you." He gestured to the dance floor. "May I have the honour of a dance with you?"
She couldn't refuse him. Miss Merriweather would jump at the chance to dance with a rich and reasonably attractive wizard, even if he was old. She wouldn't know that he was a dog. "With pleasure, Mr Black," she said with a too-sweet smile and accepted his extended arm.
"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you," he said as they stepped on the dance floor. A moment later, she noticed the music falling slightly - he must have cast a privacy spell.
"You are correct," she said, "the pleasure's all yours."
"Ouch! That hurt almost as much as your claws." His tone belied his words.
"Not even close," she shot back. "What are you doing?"
"Dancing with a pretty witch who might be interested in my godson?" He didn't bat an eye as they passed close to another couple - Jeanne and one of the Selwyns, Hermione noticed.
"Your real reason," she clarified for the dog.
"I'm helping you, of course."
She blinked. "Please explain your reasoning."
He bared his teeth. "I have a certain reputation, as you are aware. Me trying to seduce you and failing - an act, of course - will make it easier for you to catch the interest of your jealous target."
As much as she hated to admit it, that made some sense. "You could have mentioned that yesterday."
He tilted his head. "Yes."
She wanted to hex the man. Or claw the dog again. "You just thought of that excuse, didn't you?"
"Would I do such a thing?"
"Yes," she answered in a flat voice.
"That doesn't change that I'm right, though."
It didn't. But it should, she thought with a frown.
"That's a very natural-looking reaction. If I didn't know better then I would believe you loathed my company." He ignored her glare. "I'll also have to ask your charming French friend for a dance, of course. Just to make it look natural. And to save her from that terrible bore she's talking to right now."
Hermione was glad she had learned to act so well. She could keep smiling even if she really didn't want to.
"Look at Sirius!" Harry Potter whispered as he danced with Ginny. "He's doing it again!"
"Harry!" Ginny retorted, her slightly annoyed tone at odds with the smile on her face, "You already knew he would be flirting with all the pretty witches. He even told us so, before we headed here."
"All the pretty witches but you," Harry said. "But Miss Merriweather is half his age!"
"You know her, then?" Ginny asked a little too softly. He felt her tense in his arms, too.
"We met briefly at the last ball. She told me that she had just finished school." He frowned. She hadn't used those words, but she had looked young enough that he had wondered if she was still at school, so he was probably correct.
"She's an adult then," Ginny said. "Is there something wrong with your girlfriend being younger than you?" she added with a grin.
"Of course not!" Harry quickly said. "But she's too young. If he was my age, she wouldn't have been born yet."
"They're just dancing," Ginny said. "That doesn't mean anything at a ball."
Harry hoped that she was correct - he would rather not have a step-godmother barely older than himself. Then he chastised himself for that thought. Sirius was more responsible than that.
"She doesn't look as if she is taken with him," Ginny commented when the music faded and he led her off the dance floor.
Harry glanced over his shoulder. Indeed, Miss Merriweather was already walking away from his godfather. He frowned. That was unexpected. He'd have to ask Sirius if anything had happened. Not everyone appreciated his godfather's wit.
"You don't have to stare at her," Ginny whispered, interrupting his thoughts.
"I wasn't," he defended himself. He hadn't been. Not much. Just enough to spot where she was keeping her wand - up her long glove. The top part of her robes was too tight to hold it, and the robes were slit high enough on both sides that he would have spotted a thigh-holster. Unless she had slipped it into her stockings. He could check with his glasses, if he really wanted to know…
"You are still staring." Ginny was gripping his arm quite tightly now.
"Only because Flint is talking to her." The former Quidditch captain of Slytherin house was a brute and a cheat.
"I'm certain that she is old enough to take care of herself," Ginny said. "Let's go get some air," she added with a sly smile.
Harry knew what she meant. "Yes," he said with a matching smile as he led her towards the side doors, "I have it on good authority that the winter garden here is both breathtakingly beautiful and private."
"Fascinating, Mr Flint," Hermione Granger said with a fake smile. "I wasn't aware Quidditch had such nuances - it wasn't that popular in my former home."
"Ah, yes. The New World is fond of Quodpot," Flint said as he turned them around, "isn't it?" For a man his size, he was surprisingly graceful on the dance floor, she had discovered.
"Yes. But I was never much interested in the sport. Playing with an explosive ball?" She made a face. "Quidditch looks much more sensible to me."
"Yes, sensible." He nodded. "Although it takes guts too - games can get rough."
Hermione knew that well - she hadn't forgotten how the Slytherins had played, and cheated. "That's part of its appeal, isn't it?" she lied.
He nodded again, and she felt his hand wander down her back. She wanted to hex him, or bury her claws in his skin, but that would have ruined her task. There were other ways to deal with this, though. She sighed. "I still can't believe how forward Mr Black was! On the dance floor, even!"
His hand stopped its downward motion. "Oh, I believe it. He spent twelve years in prison, you know."
"I heard, yes," She nodded. "And he broke out to prove his innocence."
"I would hardly call him innocent. My uncle was in his year at Hogwarts." Flint scowled. "Black was always hexing others. Especially Slytherins. And the witches he strung along!"
"Oh!" She looked at him with wide eyes. "Really? I was aware that he is, ah, popular with some witches, but even in his youth?"
"Oh, yes. A rake and scoundrel, my mother called him."
"A fitting description, I would say." The music finally changed to a slower dance, and Hermione stepped into his arms, her own hand reaching around his waist, to his belt pocket. A deep breath ensured that his attention was focused on her chest as she slipped the prepared Knut into his pocket.
One more marked, she thought. Now she just had to endure his groping hands and leering gaze for another dance.
And then she would have to switch targets again. There were a number of suspected blood purists, after all.
Harry Potter tried not to stare as Ginny fixed her robes. Even though he had been the one to rumple them. With her enthusiastic cooperation, of course. But he had to keep an eye out - it wouldn't do to get caught in such a position. No matter that most of the younger guests would be doing the same here, or so he thought.
"Can you check if I missed a spot?" Ginny whispered.
He nodded and looked her over. Her robes looked fine. Her hair too. He nodded. "Looks good."
"Good." She grinned. "I'd rather not have everyone know what we did."
Everyone would suspect, Harry thought, but that was different. "Let's go back," he said, offering her his arm.
She leaned into him as they walked through the garden towards the manor. Halfway there, she suddenly spoke up. "Did you go there with Parvati too, last year?"
"Yes." He glanced at her, but she had an unreadable expression.
A few steps later, she spoke up again: "And was it…" she tailed off, and he saw that she was biting her lower lip. Like Hermione, when she wanted to know something, but didn't want to ask.
"She complained about Miss Merriweather for most of the time," Harry said.
"Oh. So you didn't…"
"We didn't." If she was asking what he thought she was.
"Ah."
Was that relief in her voice? He couldn't tell. They walked the rest of the way in silence.
"Hello, Mr Potter!"
Hermione Granger smiled at her friend while she looked him and Ginny over. The two had been taking a break from dancing in the winter garden for almost an hour, by her count, and she could imagine what they had done. Well, at least she knew that whatever they had done, Ginny had likely been as eager or more so than Harry.
"Hello, Miss Merriweather," Harry answered. After a moment, he gestured to Ginny. "Ginny - Miss Merriweather. Miss Merriweather - Miss Weasley, my girlfriend."
"It's a pleasure to meet you." She smiled at the younger witch.
"Likewise."
Ginny's smile felt a little forced, Hermione thought. Had she been wrong about Harry? Or was the girl jealous like Parvati? "Are you enjoying the ball?" she asked. "I didn't see you dancing for a while."
"We took a stroll through the garden," Harry said.
"Ah." She couldn't help herself, and winked at them. "You're a lucky witch, Miss Weasley."
"Ah…" Ginny was looking rather flustered at these implications.
"I would say that I'm a lucky wizard," Harry spoke up. Ginny nodded.
"I would say so as well," Hermione agreed. "Have you been together long?"
"Yes," Ginny said quickly.
After a moment, Harry nodded in agreement.
"You're not emulating your godfather then," Hermione remarked with a glance at Mr Black, who was dancing - again! - with Jeanne. She thought she heard Harry groan briefly, and saw Ginny's grip on his arm tighten. "Something wrong?"
"No," Harry said. "Sirius is just enjoying life. Although he was innocent, he was imprisoned for twelve years, you know." He said it almost as a challenge.
She smiled - her friend's loyalty was one of his best traits. He would do anything for his family and friends. "I heard, yes. Quite a dramatic story. To think such a thing could happen to an innocent man..." She sighed.
"That wasn't the only time the Wizengamot punished an innocent," Harry said. "They're remarkably corrupt."
"Really?"
"A friend of mine was framed for theft and fined and expelled from Hogwarts."
"Oh."
"You don't have to worry," Ginny cut in. "As long as you have the right kind of friends," she added with a glance towards Flint.
Hermione acted as if she were puzzled. "I don't understand."
"Harry's godfather. Harry's friend. My brother and father. Some people are going after everyone around Harry," Ginny went on. "If you're not willing to risk that, you shouldn't be too friendly with him or us."
That was a little skewed, Hermione thought. Not entirely untrue, though. "I see," she said. "I think I'll get some fresh air myself. With my friend," she added with a smile.
Now both of them were blushing.
"You scared her off, I think," Harry Potter said as Miss Merriweather walked away.
"Good," Ginny said. "She'd be an easy target, I mean. No family and few friends here to help her, if anyone framed her." She narrowed her eyes. "Unless she has friends here, and they sent her after you."
Miss Merriweather, a spy for Voldemort? That sounded paranoid to Harry. She hadn't really tried to seduce him, and that was what such spies would do, wasn't it? He shrugged. "I don't think so."
Ginny sniffed. "You can't be too careful."
That didn't sound like her. "Really?"
"I mean with foreign witches. Like her." Ginny frowned. "Or her friend."
Sirius was aware of that kind of danger, Harry knew. Remus had gone on about it at length the other day. And his godfather knew better than to throw all caution in the wind for a pretty face. He blinked. "Let's go talk to him."
And perhaps he should check if Miss Merriweather's friend was hiding anything dangerous under her robes. Or Miss Merriweather herself.
London, Greenwich, January 1st, 1996
Hermione Granger stretched after stepping out of Mr Fletcher's fireplace. That had been an enjoyable, but also exhausting, evening. Productive, too.
"Glad that's over," her tutor grumbled behind her. "Did you manage to place all the coins?"
"Yes." She wouldn't have talked to Harry otherwise - she had her priorities straight. Unlike a certain dog.
"Just checking." He sat down at the table in the living room. "Merlin's beard, that crowd grows worse each year."
"I wouldn't know - it's only the second ball I've attended," Hermione said as she rotated her left shoulder.
He grumbled something she didn't catch in response. "And Black was making a spectacle."
"He claimed that this would help me with the bigots," she said, sitting down herself.
"And? Did it?"
She sighed. "Yes. Flint and his friends were all eager to tell me what a scoundrel Mr Black is." They weren't entirely wrong, either.
Judging by her tutor's scowl, he was as happy about Mr Black's help as she was. "Done is done. I'll inform my acquaintance that the coins have been distributed. We should hear back from them in a day or two."
"Oh?" She perked up.
He grinned. "That was just the first step. Once we know where they live, we'll go and bug 'em."
Hermione smiled widely - the new year was starting on a high note.
London, Ministry for Magic, November 21st, 1995
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs Cornfoot." Auror Bertie Macmillan tried to sound as if he truly cared, even though he couldn't really be bothered sympathising with the recently widowed witch sitting across from him and crying into her handkerchief. Scrimgeour would be on his case if there was another complaint about his 'attitude'.
Mrs Cornfoot was frumpy, and had lost what appeal she once had - he remembered her being reasonably pretty at Hogwarts; she had been a year or two below him - in the last twenty or so years. No wonder her husband had gone looking for a good time in Knockturn Alley. He had found himself on the wrong end of a wand there, but such things happened.
True, the manner of the man's death had been rather more brutal than usual - they had taken more than a day to identify the victim due to the corpse's condition - but that was merely a detail. "But Knockturn Alley is a dangerous place for visitors. Your husband should have known better."
"But he knew that! And he wouldn't have gone to such a place anyway! Gregor wasn't like that!"
He disagreed, but didn't say so. In Mr Cornfoot's place, Bertie certainly would have preferred the company you found in Knockturn Alley's seedy pubs if he were saddled with a wife who was such a nag.
"He was a nature lover, Gregor was - we had a subscription to The Quibbler, you know! And he was so fond of looking for the rarest animals…" She broke down crying again.
"I'm certain he was," Bertie said, trying to sound sincere. The Quibbler… what a rag. It made the Prophet look good.
"Can I see him? They said they still needed his body…" She looked at him through watery eyes.
He almost said that she could have a piece or two as there were enough to go around, but that was a joke better saved for the Corps' break room. Civilians rarely appreciated such humour. "I don't yet know when the examination of your husband's body will be finished."
"Who would do such a thing…" She sobbed. "To him, of all people! He never hurt a fly!"
The ideal victim, then. Bertie personally thought it was a hag attack. Or a vampire trying to disguise his crime as one - you couldn't trust dark creatures. But that paranoid twit Brittlewinger suspected blood magic.
Bertie smiled with fake sympathy. "We'll do our best to bring the murderer to justice, Mrs Cornfoot." He wasn't lying - Bones herself was keeping an eye on the investigation, which meant Scrimgeour was riding the Aurors even harder than usual. Even Yaxley had poked his wand in. Bertie simply didn't think they would find anything. Vampires or hags, those kinds of creatures tended to disappear easily.
Well, he added with a glance at Macnair, who was apparently serving as an advisor for this investigation, maybe not that easily with the butcher on the case.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, November 21st, 1995
The dog had tried his best, but ultimately, dogs were inferior to cats - they couldn't climb. Hermione smirked at her nemesis from a safe perch on a shelf, far above his reach. Let the dog bark as much as he wanted - he was powerless!
Then the dog changed forms, and she hissed. That was cheating!
"I think that's enough," the dog said. "Not that I care, but Kreacher will have to work hard to repair everything that we wrecked."
She hissed again - what did she care about a creature barely above a mouse?
"I don't speak cat, but that didn't sound like you agree with me," the dog went on.
She sniffed in response. Was it her fault that the dog was too stupid to understand a civilised language? Then her eyes widened - the dog had just drawn a stick. And not the kind they liked to chase! She crouched, then jumped off the shelf just as the dog started to wave the stick around, landing on the nearby table. A swipe of her paw sent a vase tumbling - that should distract him - and she was off again, towards the doorway beckoning to her. Two yards, one yard… one yard… her paws had lost traction, she realised - she was floating!
And the dog was coming towards her. "I said enough, Miss Granger. Time to change back."
She hissed at him, her tail standing up and her ears laying back. She didn't want to change back! She was fine as she was!
He sighed. "Then you leave me no choice." He ignored her challenge to fight fairly and walked over to one of the shelves he hadn't toppled in his wild chase, making her float after him in the most undignified way possible. "Now where is it… there!"
He held up a book. "If you don't change back I'll burn this copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' from 1754!"
She gasped. How could he threaten that poor innocent book! The fiend! That was an irreplaceable copy! Then she blinked. Why did she care? She was a cat! No - she was a witch. An animagus. And Mr Black was threatening to burn a book!
"No!" she yelled, thrashing around. Where was her wand? There! A flick of her wrist had it in her hand, and she was about to cast when he cancelled his spell.
Unlike a cat, she didn't land gracefully on the floor. Painfully was a more correct description.
"There you are, Miss Granger! I almost feared that something went wrong and you had lost your mind."
"That's no reason to threaten a book," she retorted.
"Whatever works," he shot back with one of his infuriating grins. "James was never this much trouble - then again, he was a stag, not a cat."
"What do you mean?" Hermione Granger asked as she stood.
"We usually played outside."
Looking at the thoroughly devastated interior of the living room - apparently, she had managed to get the door of the study open - there wasn't much she could offer in her defence.
He sighed. "I think we need to talk about the mental effects of the change again."
Hermione nodded. That sounded like a very good idea.
*****
While Mr Black was apparently unconcerned about the mess they had made, Hermione Granger cringed at the sight. They had left a trail of devastation leading from the study to the living room. Shelves had been toppled, shards from broken vases and knick-knacks covered the floor, a potted plant had been shredded…
"Almost looks like when my mother lost her temper after she heard that I was sorted into Gryffindor," Mr Black remarked as they passed the toppled umbrella stand - a disgusting hollowed out troll leg. "No, wait," he said, stopping suddenly.
Hermione froze and looked around, but she couldn't spot any threats. Then she glanced at Mr Black and saw that his eyes had lost their focus.
"No, that was what I imagined it to look like when my uncle told me. He promised to give me a copy of his memory, but…" He sighed. "He died before he managed."
Hermione made a non-committal noise - offering her condolences for a death more than twenty years past would have been weird, even if Mr Black seemed lost in his memories for a moment.
"Ah, well," he said, straightening, "shouldn't take Kreacher more than half the night to fix the place up."
"I wasn't aware that house-elves could use that sort of magic," Hermione said. "Mending Charms," she explained when she saw his puzzled look.
He laughed. "Oh, he can't do those. I'll decide in the morning what I'll mend, and what I'll get rid of. He'll probably try to glue some of the stuff left by my mother together and keep it." He must have caught her confusion - she had to work on her tells some more - since he added: "He worships my mother. He has a shrine to the old hag in his den. If he could do magic, he probably would try to raise her from the dead using some of the more vile rituals in our library."
Hermione hoped that he was joking. "And I broke some of those things…" she muttered.
"Oh, dont worry. He'll blame me, as usual. I think so at least."
That wasn't very reassuring. She'd have to watch her steps around the elf. Which would be good training, she tried to console herself.
They had reached the study, and she winced.
"Yes, if I didn't know better, I'd think you used the opportunity to thoroughly express your - utterly wrong, of course - opinion of my taste in interior design." Mr Black snorted.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I recall you causing most of the destruction," she said curtly.
"Well, I was chasing you, so it's your fault."
"What?" She glared at him, but he just laughed and righted his chair with a flick of his wand. She grudgingly followed his example.
"Now," he said, suddenly acting as if they were in class and he were the teacher, "what do you think happened?"
"I was overwhelmed by my inner animal following my first full transformation and instead of helping me, you decided to chase me as if you were a dog," she primly answered. A massive dog who had done most of the damage, too.
"You're correct - almost. You weren't overwhelmed by your inner animal, but by the instincts of your form." He leaned back. "When we change, those instincts allow us to move in our animal form as if we had been born like that. We don't have to learn how to walk, run, climb - or fly - as an animal. Simplified, we know how to act as an animal without having to think about it."
"It sounds like simply another name for the same effect." She had been correct, then, and so had her books.
"In a way," he admitted, grinning widely. "But the important point is that if we don't think, we'll act as an animal. A panicking animagus tends to act like a panicking animal."
"I wasn't panicking," she retorted. The dog might have significantly out-massed her slender form, but she hadn't been afraid of him. He was far too slow and clumsy to catch her.
"No? It certainly looked like that to me, chasing you," he said, chuckling. She sniffed in response. "But you were surprised by the change, probably confused as well, and let your instincts take over."
Which was generally a bad idea, as Hermione knew very well. "That doesn't explain your reaction," she said.
"I was just having fun chasing a pesky cat." He chuckled, presumably at her expression. "Both cats and dogs are predators. We like to chase things." She could imagine the dog chasing a car. "You'll have to watch out for string and mice."
"Pardon?"
"I'm not joking - not entirely," he added. "In our animal form, we're always just one slip away from acting on our instincts. Let your thoughts wander, and you'll find yourself eating a mouse."
"Speaking from experience?" she asked, grinning when he coughed. Then she remembered under what circumstances he had probably eaten mice. "Sorry."
"Huh?" He waved her apology away. "Anyway, you shouldn't have too much trouble controlling yourself, normally."
He made that sound as if it was a bad thing, Hermione thought. She nodded anyway - she wouldn't let her animal instincts get the better of her. Not again, at least.
"Now, change again, and let's see if you can keep your wits."
She sniffed at him - of course she would! - and focused on her transformation again. This time, it didn't take her more than a minute until she found herself sitting in a suddenly far too large chair. For a moment, she wanted to flee the dog's presence - not that he could catch her, anyway - but she controlled herself. She wasn't a cat, she was an animagus. A witch.
She looked at herself. She had brown semi-long fur, probably the same colour, or close, to her hair - cats saw colours differently. It looked like it had a slight green tone, so that would appear red to humans. Chestnut, maybe? She couldn't make out what breed she was. Probably mixed, she thought. She a very long and slightly bushy tail. Very attractive. She raised a forepaw and unsheathed her claws, studying them. They didn't need to be sharpened, not yet. She dug them into the seat anyway, to check how that felt.
A coughing noise from the dog interrupted her introspection. Her anger at the presumption was mollified, though, when she saw that he had conjured a large mirror for her, and she jumped off the seat to look at her reflection.
She was a fine cat. A very fine cat. Slender, with a thick, well-tended coat, long whiskers and pretty ears. Elegant and graceful, as she had known she would be. Perfect.
Then a far too large dog suddenly barked, far too close, and she was on top of the last shelf still standing in the room and hissing at the dog before she realised what had happened.
The dog changed into a sniggering wizard. "I think you need to work on not being startled so easily and losing control. But that shouldn't take long. Not with my help."
She wanted to scratch his nose again.
*****
London, Merton, November 21st, 1995
Sitting on her bed in her pyjamas, Hermione Granger stared at Crookshanks. Her cat hadn't acted any differently towards her since she had returned home from Grimmauld Place. The tomcat was currently occupying her pillow and, by all appearances, enjoying a nap. She hadn't really expected anything else, of course - animals couldn't sense animagi, Mr Black had told her that - but Crookshanks was a half-Kneazle, and those were magical animals. And he was her familiar. Or should be - she hadn't found a clear definition of what made an animal a familiar, other than their owner stating so.
She sighed. Her parents didn't know what she had achieved - they couldn't know, of course, for their and her safety - and she couldn't tell anyone else either. Not Harry or Ron, nor Mr Fletcher. And now she couldn't even share her exploits with her cat.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She could transform, of course. She had done it several times this evening, without any serious issue. And without taking Mr Black's nose off. But he had warned her against changing without his supervision for another week or two. And he was the expert.
But she wanted to see Crookshanks's reaction to her transformation. Would he be confused? Or take it in stride? Or, she thought, wincing, would he react as he had reacted to other cats intruding on his new territory?
Maybe changing without supervision really wasn't a good idea…
She sighed again and grabbed her notebook. She should revise the theory of Apparition again - Mr Fletcher had said he'd start to teach her soon. And she suspected that even though he had pronounced her ready to help with a real heist, she wouldn't get to do anything actually important or dangerous until she could apparate.
Unless she could demonstrate another way to escape from a sticky situation… She bit her lower lip. Mr Black expected her to keep his - and now her - secret. But Mr Fletcher was her tutor.
If only the two men would get along!
*****
Hogsmeade, November 25th, 1995
"Oh… these dress robes would be perfect! What do you think?" Ginny asked, holding up green dress robes with gold trim.
"I think they look great," Harry Potter said. They did, too - but then, everything looked great on Ginny.
"They look a little too much like Slytherin's colours to me," Ron commented from the back of the shop.
"I wasn't asking you," Ginny snapped. "I'm not going to the New Year's Ball with you! And this is not Slytherin green!"
"I said it wasn't Slytherin's colour - it's just a little too…" Ron trailed off, apparently searching the right word.
"Too green?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. No!" Ron frowned at their friend. "You know what I mean!" he added when the two witches laughed.
Harry didn't laugh - Ron deserved some support - but he smiled. Unlike Parvati, Ginny didn't have a problem with his best friends. Well, she and Ron fought a little, but that was normal - they did that at The Burrow too. And Hermione liked Ginny.
"This is not some school event," his girlfriend pointed out. "This is a real ball. People won't think I'm wearing house colours."
"I bet Malfoy will say something." Ron frowned.
"He'll say something no matter what I'm wearing," Ginny retorted. "And I won't let him and his friends influence what I'm wearing to the ball! I want this to be perfect!"
"Even Malfoy might manage to behave at the New Year's Ball," Hermione cut in. "Making a scene would reflect badly on his family, after all."
"If he behaves then I'd check him for Compulsion Charms," Ron muttered.
This time, Harry laughed with everyone else. The thought of Malfoy being magically forced to behave by his parents...
"It would be just another sign of their hypocrisy, of course," Hermione said once they had stopped laughing. "They spread the worst rumours behind your back, and then act as if they are innocent in public."
"Yeah," Ron chimed in. "Dad said that Malfoy father's now claiming that Dumbledore lied for Percy."
"Is he still trying to get them fired?" Hermione asked. "I thought the Headmaster proved that the documents were faked."
"I heard from Percy that there's a rumor that Dumbledore copied the files, then altered them himself," Ginny said.
Harry nodded. "Sirius told me the same. And Malfoy's friends are acting as if they believe that, just to put pressure on Dumbledore." He looked at Hermione. "Didn't he tell you that as well?"
She frowned. "We don't talk about the Wizengamot's politics that often."
"I thought you were his secretary," Ron said.
"I only work part-time," Hermione explained. "I'm still spending most of my time studying." Of course she was, Harry thought. "And when I'm working for Sirius, I'm usually doing his correspondence, not rumour-mongering," she added with a little sniff.
"You shouldn't just study, though," Ron said. "It's not healthy."
"Well, I'm not studying now, am I?" Hermione retorted.
But she probably wasn't having much fun either, Harry suddenly thought - seeing Ginny pick her dress robes for the ball while she couldn't attend. Well, Ron wasn't invited either, but that was different. Balls were important for witches, for all witches, not just for the likes of Parvati, Ginny had taught him that. "I could ask Sirius if he could take you to the ball," he said.
"What?" Hermione was staring at him. Ron and Ginny too, he realised.
"Well, he's going alone anyway, and you missed the Yule Ball, and…" He shrugged.
"Do you realise that if I went to the ball with your godfather, the Prophet would claim that I was sleeping with him the very next day?"
"They did that already." Harry remembered that article well.
"They speculated. But if I show up on his arm, people will actually believe it," Hermione said.
"Well, they wouldn't talk about me chasing Harry's gold in that case," Ginny joked.
Judging by her expression, Hermione apparently didn't think that that was funny. "Not that I want to go to the ball anyway. And I don't think that he would want to go with me. That would curb his flirting with all the young and impressionable witches." Harry winced - she wasn't wrong there. "No," she continued in that prim voice of hers, "I'll enjoy the New Year's Eve in muggle London."
With a book, Harry thought. He knew better than to say that, of course.
*****
London, Merton, December 25th, 1995
"Open it, Crookshanks!" Hermione Granger smiled as she held out a small package to her cat. "It's your gift!"
"One of his gifts," her father muttered.
She ignored him. This was Crookshanks's first Christmas, at least the first with her family, so it was only right and proper that his gifts made up for the years he had missed. She watched expectantly as he sniffed the package. But instead of tearing it open with his claws - he had demonstrated his ability to do so several times with her mum's shoe boxes - he miaowed and looked at her.
He probably feared he'd damage the contents, she thought. She petted him before opening the package herself and presented the bag of cat treats to him. As soon as he saw the bag, he ripped it open - he was such a smart cat!
"It was your idea, dear," she heard her mum say.
Hermione turned her head while Crookshanks gorged himself. "What was his idea?"
"To get you a cat," Mum replied.
"And it was the best idea you ever had!" Hermione nodded emphatically. Crookshanks wasn't just the best cat a witch could have, but he had also been crucial in her learning how to become an animagus.
"I'm not quite so certain of that anymore," her father said.
She frowned at him. "I repaired your armchair." And his shoes. And even that ugly tie that should have been disposed of long ago.
"There's also the matter of my cigars."
"Smoking is bad for your health!" Crookshanks was obviously looking out for her dad.
Her mum snickered in agreement. And Crookshanks ripped open a package.
"Oh, Crookshanks! That was the wrong one! This is yours - that one is for Dad." A quick Mending Charm later, she held the package out to her father with a smile. "He must have smelled the wool and thought it was for him!" she explained.
"Wool?"
"A sweater for your vacation in the Alps," Hermione explained.
"I still think you should come with us," he grumbled.
"I couldn't leave Crookshanks alone for so long!" she exclaimed - they had gone over this already! "And Mr Black needs me over the holidays." She ignored her father's mumbled comment about what her employer needed.
"And you can meet your friends," her mum said, smiling.
She nodded happily. She'd be able to see Harry each day - and Ron most days. And she'd be able to help with her first real heist, too.
This was going to be the best vacation ever.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 25th, 1995
"And for you, Moony, new duellist robes!" Sirius said with a wide smile. "Now you can impress all those seventh years even more! Or 'Tonks'."
Remus rolled his eyes. "She's not interested in a man my age, and I wouldn't start anything with a student."
"I note that you didn't claim that there's no interest from your students!"
"That doesn't matter."
"You're an attractive man. A Hogwarts professor, the first Defence teacher to stay for more than a year - brave, skilled and respectable. Witches love such men! You just need to get out more. Maybe meet some former students of yours..."
"I can manage my social life just fine," Remus shot back. "I'm not the one who needs a secretary to juggle several witches!"
"I would never have Miss Granger do that!"
"I note that you didn't deny that you're seeing several witches."
While the two men bickered, Harry Potter poked his own package with his wand. He couldn't detect any spells on it, but that didn't have to mean anything.
"Something thing wrong?" his godfather asked.
"I don't know," he answered, glancing at Sirius. The man was grinning, but that didn't have to mean anything either. He might be waiting for whatever prank he had prepared to happen, or simply be amused at Harry's 'paranoia'.
"You wouldn't really expect me to trap your presents, would you?" Sirius asked. "Certainly not after you eschewed your girlfriend's offer to celebrate Christmas with her family in favour of celebrating with your family!"
Ginny had been disappointed at his refusal, Harry knew, but she had understood that he wanted to stay with his godfather and 'honorary uncle'. And he could visit The Burrow tomorrow anyway. "After this year's lessons with the two of you?" he snorted. "Remus didn't tell me that he checked the packages this time."
"Moony?" Sirius frowned. "Did you make my godson think that I would hex him on Christmas?"
"No, that was all your own doing," Remus said with a smile. "I did nothing."
"You did!" Sirius huffed. "Betrayed by my best friend!"
Harry opened the package with his wand. "Glasses?" he asked, pulling them out. "I already have a pair," he added.
"Oh, those are special ones," Sirius said gleefully. "Try them out!"
Harry pulled his own off and tried the new ones out. The room looked a little sharper, but that was all.
"Tap the frame with your wand!"
Harry did - and recoiled. The room had disappeared in a maze of colours and shades and wire-like frames that looked like… He closed his eyes. "What's this?"
"I had them enchanted! Not as good as Moody's eye, but with a little training you'll be able to use them like Omnioculars. Zoom in, zoom out, and you can even see through walls! And through clothes!" Sirius added with a chuckle.
Harry didn't know if this was the worst or best gift he had ever received.
*****
London, Greenwich, December 27th, 1995
"Alright. I told you that you're ready to assist me on a real heist," Mr Fletcher said as he finished his cup of tea.
Hermione Granger nodded. She had barely touched her own cup. Not just out of anticipation, though - her tutor still didn't know about her being an animagus.
"Now, you've heard about the 'blood murders'," Mr Fletcher went on. "Your employer was a suspect, after all."
"Yes." And the Prophet had gone into details of the cases for weeks.
"An acquaintance of mine thinks that the murders are tied to the Dark Lord."
Dumbledore had told him, then, Hermione thought. "Yes."
"Ya already knew that." He set his cup down and stared across the table at her.
"It was an easy deduction." Harry had told her, but that was another secret she couldn't share.
He snorted. "Anyway. He's been busy underminin' the Ministry and the Wizengamot fer the last few months. Some of the less useless Old Families have opposed him, but not with much success."
"They barely managed to save Mr Weasley's career," Hermione said.
"Yeah. And his son's been transferred to a dead-end position. Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." He shook his head.
"Wouldn't that allow him to keep track of incidents that might otherwise be missed?" Hermione could imagine that that might be useful.
"Most of the incidents that committee has ta deal with are obvious screwups. And even late in the war, the Aurors weren't as inept as to miss Death Eater attacks that needed muggle-worthy excuses."
"Ah." That made sense.
"Mind ya, if he's not stupid, he can keep an eye on a number of people in the Ministry using the excuse of protecting the Statute of Secrecy, but for his career, anything tied ta muggles is poison." Mr Fletcher shrugged. "But we've got bigger problems to worry 'bout than a Ministry career."
Such as the Dark Lord's plans. She nodded. "Are we going to break into the manor of one of the 'former' Death Eaters?"
"Eager, are ya?" He laughed. "We'll do that, but not too soon. No, we're starting with somethin' a little easier."
She didn't frown. That would have made her appear immature and naive.
"I know where most of the manors of the Old Families are. Over the years, all of them threw a ball or a party - ya can't really impress yar peers and those below ya without showin' off, can ya?" She made an agreeing noise so he'd go on. "But those are the 'ancestral mansions'. The heads of the families live there. Their heirs too, although not always. But the rest of the family members? They have their own homes. And they aren't prone ta throwin' parties fer everyone - but o' course they'll attend the parties in the manors."
"You want me to find these homes," Hermione said.
"Yes. At least those of the younger wizards. All you have to do is to slip 'em one of these." He held up a small coin - a Knut.
Hermione Granger nodded. She gripped her own cup a little harder - she still had the urge to take notes of anything important, even though she didn't need to. Not for such a simple task. Well, simple order. Achieving the actual task would be a little tricky. "Won't they notice the spells on the coin?"
"There actually aren't any spells on it. My acquaintance has the means to track these coins more discreetly."
She wondered what kind of magic Dumbledore was using. Perhaps a variant of the Protean Charm? She had thought of such a thing as an anti-theft measure, but it should also serve to track something - but not without a spell on it.
"Now, remember to be cautious," her tutor interrupted her thoughts. "Don't get drawn into a spare bedroom; you're not a courtesan."
She nodded firmly. She had no intention of going that far. Flirting with the likes of Draco Malfoy would be bad enough.
"Check what you drink for potions. Don't let them cast anything on you. And remember to focus your mind on your role. I doubt that there'll be any Legilimens at the Smiths' ball who're skilled enough to actually read your mind, not without being obvious about it, and certainly not among your marks, but someone could be talented enough to pick up a stray thought."
There was no danger of that, Hermione knew - as an animagus, she was safe from such attacks. Reasonably safe, at least. But he didn't know that. So she nodded.
"But even a skilled Legilimens still needs eye contact to catch more than that. So, don't get into any staring contests - especially not with older wizards or witches. Be coy, avoid their gaze demurely, as I taught you. I hope we'll have enough time next year for you to learn the basics of Occlumency. I'm no master meself, although I know enough to get by, but I'm rubbish at Legilimency, so I can't really teach ya Occlumency."
"I suppose finding a trustworthy Legilimens won't be easy," she said. She should tell him not to bother, but that would be giving away Mr Black's secret.
"No, it won't," he said. "They have to be willing and able to teach you, too, and have the time to spare."
Which meant the Headmaster wouldn't be available. Not for her. Not that she needed his lessons. She didn't have a link to the Dark Lord in her forehead, and she was an animagus, and Dumbledore certainly had more important duties. Still…
She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. She could feel jealous and guilty later.
*****
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, December 28th, 1995
"Hi, Harry!"
"Hi, Ginny!" Harry Potter smiled widely as Ginny jumped into his arms as soon as he had stepped - and without more than slightly stumbling this time! - out of the fireplace.
"Mate." Ron nodded at him, getting up from the weathered couch in the living room.
"Hello, Harry." Luna waved at him, but remained sitting on the couch. "Oh, you have new glasses!"
Ginny took a step back and inspected him. "Really? Oh, they look good on you."
"Thanks. They were a gift from Sirius," Harry said.
"You weren't wearing them before today, though," Ginny said. "Were you?"
"I had to get used to them first," Harry said. "Didn't want to crash my new broom due to new glasses."
Ron looked puzzled. "Why would that matter?"
"Oh, are those enchanted glasses? Can you see Nargles?" Luna jumped up from her seat and stepped closer, peering at him. "They look ordinary, though."
"They work like Omnioculars," Harry explained. "I can zoom in and out." He wasn't lying. Not exactly - he was simply omitting a few details. Like that they allowed him to see through clothes. Not that he would use that function on his friends. Or on anyone. That wouldn't be right.
"Really? How do you control them? I don't see a dial," Ron said.
"You run your finger or wand over the frame, like this." Harry demonstrated. "That zooms in, and this zooms out."
"Can I try them?" Ron asked.
"They are prescription glasses," Harry answered. "Unless you're as shortsighted as I am, you'll only see a blur."
"Can you zoom out so far that people start to shrink?" Luna wanted to know. "That would be funny."
"No, that's not possible." It would be useful, though, Harry realised - if it could give him some sort of overview vision.
Luna was studying his glasses from so close that her hair fell into Ginny's face when she cocked her head sideways. "They look like muggle glasses," she stated after a moment. "Maybe you should mark them so you don't mix them up."
"That was the point - I can wear them in muggle London too," Harry said.
"I can wear my Nargle-hunting glasses everywhere," Luna said. "And they don't look like muggle glasses." She pulled a pair of glasses out of her pocket that even Elton John would refuse to wear.
Harry didn't have the heart to tell the girl what the muggles probably thought when they saw her. Ginny and Ron seemed to share his sentiments - both nodded without comment.
"Enough about glasses! Let's go flying before lunch!" Ron said.
"Yes." That was one of the things Harry loved about The Burrow - you could fly whenever you wanted.
"The others are in Diagon Alley," Ginny pointed out. "We will only be able to play a two versus two." And whoever got paired up with Luna would be at a disadvantage - the witch wasn't a bad flyer, not like Hermione, but she wasn't as good as Ginny or Ron either.
"We can fly just for fun," Harry said. "Or we can all chase a snitch."
"I'm a Keeper, not a Seeker," Ron said.
Ginny sniffed. "Are you afraid that you'll be kicked from the team if you don't use every training opportunity?"
"Don't be jealous just because you're a reserve," Ron shot back.
"I'm not!" Ginny said, but her angry tone belied her claim.
"We can shoot some penalties later," Harry said, trying to offer a compromise. He really just wanted to fly. With Ginny and his friends.
"That sounds fun!" Luna chimed in with a wide smile.
"Alright," Ginny agreed.
*****
An hour later, they were taking a break from flying. They had chased five snitches - Harry Potter had caught four of them, and one had somehow found its way into Luna's robes, counting as her catch - and had shot enough penalties at the hoops guarded by Ron to cover a full season's worth of matches against Slytherin.
Sitting on his broom, near the pitch, Harry looked around. Ron and he were alone. Ginny and Luna had returned to the house already, to 'freshen up' before lunch. That would take a while. This was the perfect opportunity.
"Say," he started, "you still haven't found a witch you fancy, have you?"
"No." Ron's reply was rather curt, Harry thought.
"You're not still hung up on Lavender, are you?" he asked.
"No." Ron was now staring at him. "What's this about?"
Harry sighed. He had to learn how to be more subtle. "I was wondering about Hermione. I think she's a little lonely."
"Mate, she visits you each day, and The Burrow almost as often," Ron said. "Only Luna visits us more often, and she's our neighbour."
"I didn't mean like that." Harry pursed his lips. "Do you remember what she said about the New Year's Ball?"
"You mean to your hare-brained idea of having Sirius take her to the ball?" Ron laughed.
"Yes." Harry grit his teeth. This wasn't funny. "Her parents are in France, skiing. She'll be all alone on New Year's Eve."
Ron shook his head. "Mum asked her to celebrate with us, but she said that she already had plans. She'll spend New Year's Eve in muggle London."
"With a book," Harry muttered, "and her cat."
"Well… you know how she is about books." Ron chuckled.
He rolled his eyes. "She's probably too proud to admit that she's lonely."
"Or she has her eyes on a muggle boy."
"She said she was too busy for a relationship when I asked her," Harry said.
"That's probably true. She is working for Sirius, after all, and studying at the same time."
Harry glared at Ron. Couldn't he show some concern for their best friend? "You know, you're looking for a girlfriend…"
"No." Ron shook his head.
"What?"
"I'm not going to ask her out," Ron said.
Harry didn't bother denying that he had been about to suggest that. "Why not?" he asked.
"Because I don't fancy her. And I'm not like Seamus." Ron scoffed.
"Of course not!" Seamus had probably asked out every witch in their year. Even the Slytherins. But this wasn't the same - Hermione was their friend.
"Besides she deserves better than a pity date. Or Seamus," Ron stated.
Harry couldn't argue with that. He sighed again. "Let's head back. The girls should be finished freshening up by now."
"First good idea you've had today!"
Harry glared at his friend, but Ron was already halfway to The Burrow.
*****
Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1995
"You must be Miss Merriweather!"
Hermione Granger's polite and slightly vacant smile froze slightly as she faced a rather exuberant Mr Black. "Yes. You have me at a disadvantage, Mr…?" She managed not to hiss at the dog.
"Black. Sirius Black. You might have heard of me." He flashed his teeth at her. "We missed each other last year, but you made an impression on my godson, and so I was determined to meet you myself."
"I'm flattered," she said, showing her own teeth. She was at the Smiths' New Year's Ball to prepare a heist, and Mr Black knew that - she had told him so herself! What was he thinking, accosting her like this?
"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you." He gestured to the dance floor. "May I have the honour of a dance with you?"
She couldn't refuse him. Miss Merriweather would jump at the chance to dance with a rich and reasonably attractive wizard, even if he was old. She wouldn't know that he was a dog. "With pleasure, Mr Black," she said with a too-sweet smile and accepted his extended arm.
"The pleasure's all mine, I assure you," he said as they stepped on the dance floor. A moment later, she noticed the music falling slightly - he must have cast a privacy spell.
"You are correct," she said, "the pleasure's all yours."
"Ouch! That hurt almost as much as your claws." His tone belied his words.
"Not even close," she shot back. "What are you doing?"
"Dancing with a pretty witch who might be interested in my godson?" He didn't bat an eye as they passed close to another couple - Jeanne and one of the Selwyns, Hermione noticed.
"Your real reason," she clarified for the dog.
"I'm helping you, of course."
She blinked. "Please explain your reasoning."
He bared his teeth. "I have a certain reputation, as you are aware. Me trying to seduce you and failing - an act, of course - will make it easier for you to catch the interest of your jealous target."
As much as she hated to admit it, that made some sense. "You could have mentioned that yesterday."
He tilted his head. "Yes."
She wanted to hex the man. Or claw the dog again. "You just thought of that excuse, didn't you?"
"Would I do such a thing?"
"Yes," she answered in a flat voice.
"That doesn't change that I'm right, though."
It didn't. But it should, she thought with a frown.
"That's a very natural-looking reaction. If I didn't know better then I would believe you loathed my company." He ignored her glare. "I'll also have to ask your charming French friend for a dance, of course. Just to make it look natural. And to save her from that terrible bore she's talking to right now."
Hermione was glad she had learned to act so well. She could keep smiling even if she really didn't want to.
*****
"Look at Sirius!" Harry Potter whispered as he danced with Ginny. "He's doing it again!"
"Harry!" Ginny retorted, her slightly annoyed tone at odds with the smile on her face, "You already knew he would be flirting with all the pretty witches. He even told us so, before we headed here."
"All the pretty witches but you," Harry said. "But Miss Merriweather is half his age!"
"You know her, then?" Ginny asked a little too softly. He felt her tense in his arms, too.
"We met briefly at the last ball. She told me that she had just finished school." He frowned. She hadn't used those words, but she had looked young enough that he had wondered if she was still at school, so he was probably correct.
"She's an adult then," Ginny said. "Is there something wrong with your girlfriend being younger than you?" she added with a grin.
"Of course not!" Harry quickly said. "But she's too young. If he was my age, she wouldn't have been born yet."
"They're just dancing," Ginny said. "That doesn't mean anything at a ball."
Harry hoped that she was correct - he would rather not have a step-godmother barely older than himself. Then he chastised himself for that thought. Sirius was more responsible than that.
"She doesn't look as if she is taken with him," Ginny commented when the music faded and he led her off the dance floor.
Harry glanced over his shoulder. Indeed, Miss Merriweather was already walking away from his godfather. He frowned. That was unexpected. He'd have to ask Sirius if anything had happened. Not everyone appreciated his godfather's wit.
"You don't have to stare at her," Ginny whispered, interrupting his thoughts.
"I wasn't," he defended himself. He hadn't been. Not much. Just enough to spot where she was keeping her wand - up her long glove. The top part of her robes was too tight to hold it, and the robes were slit high enough on both sides that he would have spotted a thigh-holster. Unless she had slipped it into her stockings. He could check with his glasses, if he really wanted to know…
"You are still staring." Ginny was gripping his arm quite tightly now.
"Only because Flint is talking to her." The former Quidditch captain of Slytherin house was a brute and a cheat.
"I'm certain that she is old enough to take care of herself," Ginny said. "Let's go get some air," she added with a sly smile.
Harry knew what she meant. "Yes," he said with a matching smile as he led her towards the side doors, "I have it on good authority that the winter garden here is both breathtakingly beautiful and private."
*****
"Fascinating, Mr Flint," Hermione Granger said with a fake smile. "I wasn't aware Quidditch had such nuances - it wasn't that popular in my former home."
"Ah, yes. The New World is fond of Quodpot," Flint said as he turned them around, "isn't it?" For a man his size, he was surprisingly graceful on the dance floor, she had discovered.
"Yes. But I was never much interested in the sport. Playing with an explosive ball?" She made a face. "Quidditch looks much more sensible to me."
"Yes, sensible." He nodded. "Although it takes guts too - games can get rough."
Hermione knew that well - she hadn't forgotten how the Slytherins had played, and cheated. "That's part of its appeal, isn't it?" she lied.
He nodded again, and she felt his hand wander down her back. She wanted to hex him, or bury her claws in his skin, but that would have ruined her task. There were other ways to deal with this, though. She sighed. "I still can't believe how forward Mr Black was! On the dance floor, even!"
His hand stopped its downward motion. "Oh, I believe it. He spent twelve years in prison, you know."
"I heard, yes," She nodded. "And he broke out to prove his innocence."
"I would hardly call him innocent. My uncle was in his year at Hogwarts." Flint scowled. "Black was always hexing others. Especially Slytherins. And the witches he strung along!"
"Oh!" She looked at him with wide eyes. "Really? I was aware that he is, ah, popular with some witches, but even in his youth?"
"Oh, yes. A rake and scoundrel, my mother called him."
"A fitting description, I would say." The music finally changed to a slower dance, and Hermione stepped into his arms, her own hand reaching around his waist, to his belt pocket. A deep breath ensured that his attention was focused on her chest as she slipped the prepared Knut into his pocket.
One more marked, she thought. Now she just had to endure his groping hands and leering gaze for another dance.
And then she would have to switch targets again. There were a number of suspected blood purists, after all.
*****
Harry Potter tried not to stare as Ginny fixed her robes. Even though he had been the one to rumple them. With her enthusiastic cooperation, of course. But he had to keep an eye out - it wouldn't do to get caught in such a position. No matter that most of the younger guests would be doing the same here, or so he thought.
"Can you check if I missed a spot?" Ginny whispered.
He nodded and looked her over. Her robes looked fine. Her hair too. He nodded. "Looks good."
"Good." She grinned. "I'd rather not have everyone know what we did."
Everyone would suspect, Harry thought, but that was different. "Let's go back," he said, offering her his arm.
She leaned into him as they walked through the garden towards the manor. Halfway there, she suddenly spoke up. "Did you go there with Parvati too, last year?"
"Yes." He glanced at her, but she had an unreadable expression.
A few steps later, she spoke up again: "And was it…" she tailed off, and he saw that she was biting her lower lip. Like Hermione, when she wanted to know something, but didn't want to ask.
"She complained about Miss Merriweather for most of the time," Harry said.
"Oh. So you didn't…"
"We didn't." If she was asking what he thought she was.
"Ah."
Was that relief in her voice? He couldn't tell. They walked the rest of the way in silence.
*****
"Hello, Mr Potter!"
Hermione Granger smiled at her friend while she looked him and Ginny over. The two had been taking a break from dancing in the winter garden for almost an hour, by her count, and she could imagine what they had done. Well, at least she knew that whatever they had done, Ginny had likely been as eager or more so than Harry.
"Hello, Miss Merriweather," Harry answered. After a moment, he gestured to Ginny. "Ginny - Miss Merriweather. Miss Merriweather - Miss Weasley, my girlfriend."
"It's a pleasure to meet you." She smiled at the younger witch.
"Likewise."
Ginny's smile felt a little forced, Hermione thought. Had she been wrong about Harry? Or was the girl jealous like Parvati? "Are you enjoying the ball?" she asked. "I didn't see you dancing for a while."
"We took a stroll through the garden," Harry said.
"Ah." She couldn't help herself, and winked at them. "You're a lucky witch, Miss Weasley."
"Ah…" Ginny was looking rather flustered at these implications.
"I would say that I'm a lucky wizard," Harry spoke up. Ginny nodded.
"I would say so as well," Hermione agreed. "Have you been together long?"
"Yes," Ginny said quickly.
After a moment, Harry nodded in agreement.
"You're not emulating your godfather then," Hermione remarked with a glance at Mr Black, who was dancing - again! - with Jeanne. She thought she heard Harry groan briefly, and saw Ginny's grip on his arm tighten. "Something wrong?"
"No," Harry said. "Sirius is just enjoying life. Although he was innocent, he was imprisoned for twelve years, you know." He said it almost as a challenge.
She smiled - her friend's loyalty was one of his best traits. He would do anything for his family and friends. "I heard, yes. Quite a dramatic story. To think such a thing could happen to an innocent man..." She sighed.
"That wasn't the only time the Wizengamot punished an innocent," Harry said. "They're remarkably corrupt."
"Really?"
"A friend of mine was framed for theft and fined and expelled from Hogwarts."
"Oh."
"You don't have to worry," Ginny cut in. "As long as you have the right kind of friends," she added with a glance towards Flint.
Hermione acted as if she were puzzled. "I don't understand."
"Harry's godfather. Harry's friend. My brother and father. Some people are going after everyone around Harry," Ginny went on. "If you're not willing to risk that, you shouldn't be too friendly with him or us."
That was a little skewed, Hermione thought. Not entirely untrue, though. "I see," she said. "I think I'll get some fresh air myself. With my friend," she added with a smile.
Now both of them were blushing.
*****
"You scared her off, I think," Harry Potter said as Miss Merriweather walked away.
"Good," Ginny said. "She'd be an easy target, I mean. No family and few friends here to help her, if anyone framed her." She narrowed her eyes. "Unless she has friends here, and they sent her after you."
Miss Merriweather, a spy for Voldemort? That sounded paranoid to Harry. She hadn't really tried to seduce him, and that was what such spies would do, wasn't it? He shrugged. "I don't think so."
Ginny sniffed. "You can't be too careful."
That didn't sound like her. "Really?"
"I mean with foreign witches. Like her." Ginny frowned. "Or her friend."
Sirius was aware of that kind of danger, Harry knew. Remus had gone on about it at length the other day. And his godfather knew better than to throw all caution in the wind for a pretty face. He blinked. "Let's go talk to him."
And perhaps he should check if Miss Merriweather's friend was hiding anything dangerous under her robes. Or Miss Merriweather herself.
*****
London, Greenwich, January 1st, 1996
Hermione Granger stretched after stepping out of Mr Fletcher's fireplace. That had been an enjoyable, but also exhausting, evening. Productive, too.
"Glad that's over," her tutor grumbled behind her. "Did you manage to place all the coins?"
"Yes." She wouldn't have talked to Harry otherwise - she had her priorities straight. Unlike a certain dog.
"Just checking." He sat down at the table in the living room. "Merlin's beard, that crowd grows worse each year."
"I wouldn't know - it's only the second ball I've attended," Hermione said as she rotated her left shoulder.
He grumbled something she didn't catch in response. "And Black was making a spectacle."
"He claimed that this would help me with the bigots," she said, sitting down herself.
"And? Did it?"
She sighed. "Yes. Flint and his friends were all eager to tell me what a scoundrel Mr Black is." They weren't entirely wrong, either.
Judging by her tutor's scowl, he was as happy about Mr Black's help as she was. "Done is done. I'll inform my acquaintance that the coins have been distributed. We should hear back from them in a day or two."
"Oh?" She perked up.
He grinned. "That was just the first step. Once we know where they live, we'll go and bug 'em."
Hermione smiled widely - the new year was starting on a high note.
*****
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Chapter 13: Anticipation
Starfox5
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Chapter 13: Anticipation
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, January 1st, 1996
"Daddy, I'm going over to the Weasleys!" Luna Lovegood yelled as she put on her shoes. They were brand-new, a Christmas gift from her father, and very pretty - pink, with butterfly-shaped bows on top and at the heel. She blinked - maybe she could have them enchanted, so she could fly? She'd have to look into that.
"Alright, dear. Keep an eye out for vampires, won't you?" her father yelled back from his office.
Luna frowned. Vampires? She checked her watch, and then the sky outside. All was as it should be. "The sun is out, Daddy! Vampires are asleep right now."
"In Britain, but not in Australia!"
That made sense, Luna thought. If an Australian vampire travelled to Britain, he would be awake. But how could he travel so quickly? Brooms were not fast enough. Even Thestrals couldn't outrun the sun. Apparition over such a long distance was impossible, and apparating several times over a shorter distance would place the vampire into sunlight eventually. A phoenix might be able to cover the distance - their limits were unknown - but its flames would burn the vampire to ashes. Were there underground Floo networks for vampires? She wrote the idea down and then cocked her head sideways to look at the slip of parchment. No, even from another angle the idea didn't change. That meant it was a good idea!
Nodding to herself, she turned on her new heels and climbed the stairs to her father's office. "Daddy! Do you know if there is an underground Floo network for vampires?"
Her father, sitting at his desk, which was covered with all sorts of parchment, looked up. "No, I don't… but that would explain how vampires can travel without the Aurors noticing!" He nodded and started to make notes. "Excellent idea, Luna!"
She smiled, happy to have been able to help her father with his work. "Why are you investigating vampires?"
He paused. "Do you remember the blood murders?"
She did, of course - a good reporter kept up with such news. "Oh! You think vampires are behind it?"
"It's a possibility. Blood attracts them, after all."
Luna nodded. "But the blood was spilled, not drunk." Hadn't vampires been taught not to waste food?
"Exactly! It looks like a blood magic ritual - but that's what the murderer wants us to think!" Daddy waved his quill around. "I have it on good authority that the blood was under a spell, too, to look like it was fresh. That could be the work of a vampire, too - they know how to preserve their food."
"But if it wasn't blood magic, what was it?" Luna asked.
"That's what I need to find out!" her father declared. "Although it might very well have been a blood magic ritual, too - vampires are experts on those as well. A triple-bluff! They assume that we assume that it wouldn't be a vampire because of all the wasted blood, but it is a vampire!"
Luna briefly thought it over, then nodded. It would explain why the Aurors hadn't caught the murderer yet, if they weren't looking for vampires. But… "You have to be careful, Daddy. Vampires are dangerous. Murderers too."
"Don't worry, dear. I'll only talk to people I trust. Like a friend of mine, who's an expert on blood magic."
"Promise me?" she asked. He was sometimes a little too brave. Or reckless, she supposed. At least that was what Mrs Weasley claimed.
"I promise." He nodded solemnly.
"Good." She couldn't lose her daddy. "I'm off to visit the Weasleys then."
"Have fun, dear!" He said, turning back to his notes.
"I will!" she said as she stepped out.
And she would. Visiting the Weasleys was fun. The twins were always up to something, Mr Weasley had the most interesting muggle artefacts in his shed, Ginny was her best friend, Mrs Weasley cooked the most wonderful meals and was always asking how she was doing, and there was Ron.
She smiled widely as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder. As usual, her tummy felt tingly when she thought of him. He was all a witch could wish for in a boyfriend - brave, sufficiently handsome, passionate and pursuing his dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player no matter what anyone else said. And he laughed with her, and not at her. Not any more.
She hadn't come as far with her boyfriend-to-be as Ginny had with Harry, but she was making progress. She was spending much more time with him these days than ever before, and usually doing things both of them enjoyed. Like flying. Or talking with their friends. A relationship needed that sort of solid base, Luna knew.
She stopped right before she threw the powder into the fire to check her appearance. Mummy had told her that the heart was all that counted, but she knew that appearances mattered too - wasn't there a saying about wearing your heart on your sleeve? Her sky blue robes were impeccable, not a single one of the yellow suns on them had moved out of place. She was wearing her most precious earrings too, the dirigible plums left to her by her mum, and she had added another cork to her anti-Nargle necklace. Sooner or later, there would be enough to drive away the Nargles infesting Ron, and he'd realise that she fancied him. And that he fancied her. That was how it worked.
She threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the green flames.
"The Burrow!"
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, January 1st, 1996
"And then she complained about Sirius dancing with her friend." Ginny huffed. "Even though she had spent the whole evening flirting with every blood purist present!"
Ginny hadn't taken well to Miss Merriweather, Harry Potter thought. And while it was nice that she defended his godfather so, he couldn't help thinking that his girlfriend's anger wasn't really because the American witch had slighted Sirius.
"Really? Did she flirt with all of them at the same time?" Luna asked. "Otherwise I don't see how she would have had the time, considering how many of them must have been present. Or… have the Americans managed to create a time machine using dark rituals and she fled with the only working version?" The witch gasped. "That would be a scoop for The Quibbler!"
"No, I don't think she used a time machine. Ginny is simply exaggerating a little," Harry said.
Ginny scoffed. "You were the one who was concerned about her when she was cozying up to Flint."
"She wasn't cozying up to him - he was panting after her," Harry said. "As were most of his friends."
Ginny sniffed. "And she didn't seem to mind them - unlike when she danced with Sirius."
"Well, he told me that he had been 'a little too forward'," Harry said. He hadn't asked what exactly Sirius had done, but it couldn't have been too bad, not in the middle of the dance floor.
"Sirius tried to seduce her?" Ron asked, blinking. "How old is she?"
"I think he was simply teasing her," Harry defended his godfather, "and she misunderstood him. Probably because someone told her lies about Sirius." Like Flint and his ilk.
Ginny rolled her eyes, but Luna nodded. "People like to tell such lies." Then she blinked. "Or maybe she simply doesn't like his music. Not everyone is a fan of The Hobgoblins. Or perhaps she is a fan of The Hobgoblins, and his continued refusal to reunite the band after he cleared his name made her mad."
Ah, right, that story. "Sirius isn't actually Stubby Boardman," Harry said. "They just resembled each other, and Boardman died around the time Sirius was imprisoned."
Luna stared at him, then she nodded. "Of course, Harry." She didn't look nor sound as if she really believed him, though. "I understand."
He was about to ask what she thought that she had understood when Ron glared at him and cut in: "So, Miss Merriweather didn't mind the company of blood purists?"
"I don't know if she cared about the whole issue," Harry said. "She was nice to us, after all."
"She was nice to you," Ginny corrected him. "'You're a lucky witch, Miss Weasley'," she imitated the slight accent of Miss Merriweather. "Hah! And she left us when I told her how dangerous it is around Harry. She's just a gold-digger."
"If she were a gold-digger, she wouldn't have rebuffed Sirius," Harry countered.
"Don't defend her. You saw what she was wearing - she was looking for attention." Ginny scoffed again.
Harry coughed. He had seen far more than that - Miss Merriweather's robes hadn't been protected against the spell on his glasses, and neither had those of her French friend. They hadn't been hiding anything beneath their robes, either - he had peeped on them for no reason. But they could've been, he told himself.
"Must have been some robes, seeing as you're blushing," Ron said. "I guess we'll have to buy the next Witch Weekly then?"
Ginny glared at Harry and her brother, but Luna nodded enthusiastically. "We can transfigure our own robes to look like theirs then!"
Harry blinked. "Can you do that?"
"Well, there's a reason people buy robes and don't simply transfigure their own," Ron said. "It never looks as good as the original, unless you copy it. And you'd need the original for that."
"You just need talent and imagination!" Luna said. "Mummy used to make me any dress I wanted!" She suddenly looked sad. "I'm not that good, yet."
"Well, there's also the problem that if you transfigure your own robes, someone else can dispel what you did. You'd be left on the dance floor in your old rags," Ron went on.
"I'd die from embarrassment!" Ginny said.
"If they can cast a spell on your robes, then they could cast a curse on you, too," Harry said. Who would let anyone they don't know and trust cast anything on them?
"Well, the goblins' Thief's Downfall also dispels spells of all kinds," Luna said. "The Ministry would have that as well, but they need their paper aeroplanes to function and they can't fly through it either. Daddy said the Ministry almost broke down because of that in the war, when they used it against the Imperius Curse."
Harry frowned. "People getting killed, cursed, or simply vanishing was probably the reason for the Ministry's near-collapse."
Luna shook her head. "No. The Ministry runs on paperwork. And water doesn't do well with paper. Or the other way around."
"Or a mixture of both," Ron cut in. "They do take their paperwork very seriously, as we know."
Thanks to Percy, Harry thought, as he nodded in agreement. Still, this Thief's Downfall sounded promising. Maybe he should ask Sirius about installing one of them in Grimmauld Place...
"What did Sirius say?" Ginny asked after a moment.
"Huh?" Harry looked at her.
"About Miss Merriweather and Mademoiselle Dubois," Ginny clarified.
Harry thought that repeating what Sirius had said about the American witch wouldn't go over well with his girlfriend, so he said: "He thinks Miss Dubois is charming, actually, and is looking forward to meeting her again."
"Oh." Ginny blinked.
That summed up Harry's reaction to that very well.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 1st, 1996
The dog greeted Hermione Granger with his usual too-wide grin. "Hello, Miss Granger! I wasn't certain whether you would be able to make it today."
She frowned. "Why would you think that?" she asked rather curtly.
He shrugged. "You were very popular at the ball. And very busy. You might have been too tired to work."
She scoffed at his implications. "Dealing with a few foolish and inexperienced purebloods isn't very taxing, Mr Black." Now if she had had to fool older blood purists…
"Oh, I see."
She rolled his eyes at his exaggerated teasing. Couldn't the man be serious for a change? "I see your mind is still in the gutter. I wasn't talking about that."
He laughed. "But you made a lot of young wizards think about it. Including, I believe, my godson."
"I think Ginny was the cause for any such thoughts Harry may have had," she responded. Harry might have stared at her - she had noticed him, later - but he had spent quite some time with Ginny in the winter garden. And Hermione knew what couples got up to there - almost every one of her marks had tried to lure her out there too.
He shrugged. "Your robes certainly had an effect on him."
Hermione snorted. "That was their purpose."
"To seduce Harry? Why, that's quite an admission, Miss Granger! Or should that be confession?"
She glared at the dog. "You know very well what my task was at the ball." If she had intended to seduce Harry, she certainly would have acted differently. But she hadn't. He was with Ginny, after all.
"I do. I helped you, didn't I?"
She briefly clenched her teeth before answering. "Yes, you did." He beamed at her. "But next time, please inform us beforehand," she added. "My tutor was quite put off by your surprise." Mr Fletcher had used rather colourful names for Mr Black during their debriefing.
"Bah! If Mundungus can't handle such surprises, he shouldn't be doing this sort of work!" Mr Black waved her warning away. "Wouldn't want him to get complacent, would we?"
"A mission is not the place to play such games, Mr Black," she retorted.
"Games like flirting with Harry?"
"I was merely maintaining my cover," she said. And she had accomplished her task already when she approached him and Ginny.
"Of course you were." He snorted.
She narrowed her eyes at the dog. Not everyone was as promiscuous as he was. A little harmless flirting - if her talk with Harry could even be called that - wouldn't threaten his relationship with Ginny. And if it did, then there were more serious problems present already. "And what about your attempted seduction of Jeanne?"
"Attempted?" His smile was so wide, it would have given away his animagus form to anyone who had seen the dog. "We'll be dining together this Friday."
She blinked. "Are you…" she caught herself in time. "Are you actually planning to enter into a relationship with her?"
He shrugged. "She's a charming young witch who seems to find me attractive. And I've always had a weakness for French witches."
"I would say you have always had a weakness for witches," Hermione muttered. This was… not a good thing. If Jeanne and Mr Black did enter into a relationship, her cover as Miss Merriweather would be threatened. It might be necessary to send the witch 'back home'. Miss Merriweather, that was. And there were other things to consider. She bit her lower lip, hesitating a moment, then sighed. She owed Mr Black. A lot. And he was Harry's godfather - and, for all intents and purposes, only remaining family. Whatever happened to Mr Black would affect Harry as well. "She may be more attracted by your gold and status than your looks and charm."
He shrugged again. "I am aware of that, of course. But she also might not be. Attracted more by my gold than by myself, that is." He was faintly smiling now, and didn't look at her. "And I'm a Gryffindor; I'm not afraid of taking a risk if the witch is worth it." Suddenly, he was leering again. "And from what I could tell after our dances together, she is certainly worth it!"
Hermione hissed. He was such a dog!
Lincolnshire, North of Stamford, Britain, January 2nd, 1996
Marcus Flint's home looked rather shabby, Hermione Granger thought. A cottage, barely more than a refurbished barn. Old, but not old enough to be impressive. "He must have spent a lot on Extension Charms if he plans to take a witch home one day," she muttered without taking down her Omnioculars.
"That goes without saying," Mr Fletcher said. "But the kind of witches he wants to impress will love that it doesn't look like a muggle home at all."
Hermione wasn't certain that Flint was that discerning when it came to witches. More like desperate. On the other hand, he had been rather interested in her cover's family history. She lowered the Omnioculars. "I didn't see any sign of spells or wards outside the house." Old wards usually covered more than the building itself - Mr Fletcher said it dated back to the time when outhouses had to be covered as well - but modern wards were generally anchored to the walls themselves. "No changes in the growth of the plants, or dead vermin." Of course, the wards could have been set so well that they didn't leave such telltale signs, but… on the shabby home of a young wizard with rather modest means? That was very unlikely.
"Good. Let's get closer and check if he's home. Or if he's left any surprises."
Hermione nodded, her lips pressed together. Flint was a brute, but he was the second son of an Old Family, and he had finished Hogwarts with decent marks. He certainly knew some nasty curses if his semi-drunken boasts were to be believed.
After disillusioning themselves, and casting a Human-presence-revealing Spell each so they would know where each other was, they got up from behind the remnants of a stone fence and approached the cottage.
"Stay behind me," Mr Fletcher whispered. "Safer."
Hermione wanted to protest - but she had promised to obey his orders. And it was safer, too. There was no point in both of them getting cursed by a trap. So she bit her lips and let him advance in front of her.
His marker stopped moving about ten yards from the cottage. Hermione stopped as well, crouching down even though she was disillusioned. She hadn't seen any sign of a dog, and Flint hadn't mentioned one either yesterday evening, but… dogs were stupid, and clumsy, and messy, but they had good noses, and could ruin a cat's day if she wasn't on her guard. Or a thief's.
"Nothing but the wards." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "And those are substandard too. Guess the Flints don't care much about the spare."
"Or he spent too much on the decor," Hermione added. Like one of those stupid birds who grew bright plumage to attract females and so couldn't hide from predators any more.
He chuckled. "Maybe. Makes it easier for us. I'll place the bug, you keep an eye out."
"Yes, sir." She couldn't keep her resentment at being stuck with a task even a dog could do entirely out of her voice, but he just laughed.
"A lookout's job is very important. Until I've dealt with the wards I'm an easy target."
She knew that. And yet, she wanted to do more. More than simply helping her tutor. She wanted to personally strike at those who had framed her, and their friends and allies. She stared at the cottage while Mr Fletcher started to work his way through the wards.
She knew that she was ready, too.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1996
"Hi, Hermione!"
Harry Potter greeted his best female friend with his best smile as soon as she stepped into the entrance hall of his home. He hadn't quite been waiting with bated breath at the door, but he had been keeping an eye on the entrance hall.
"Hello, Harry." She looked puzzled for a moment, but when he spread his arms, she moved to hug him.
Tightly, as usual - for a girl who preferred reading to any kind of sport, she was rather strong, he thought. And even through the thick, slightly oversized, sweater she wore under her coat, he could feel her bust pressing into his chest too. He suddenly wondered how she would look in tighter clothes. Or dress robes. And he was very much aware that all he needed to do to check how she looked underneath her clothes was to tap his glasses in just the right way.
But he wouldn't do that. She was his best friend, and there was no reason to check her for any poisons or hidden weapons. And it would be wrong, of course, to peep on anyone without a very good reason.
"I would have expected you to be at The Burrow at this time of the day," she said as she released him. She wasn't quite staring at him, but he knew that questioning expression.
He shrugged. "That's something I wanted to talk about with you, actually."
She narrowed her eyes now. "Is anything wrong? Did anything happen at the New Year's Ball?"
He shook his head. "No, no." He sighed. "Well, nothing happened, but… Let's head to my room."
"Alright. Let me just tell Mr Black that I'll be late for work."
"I don't think he'll mind," Harry said.
"He still needs to be informed - so he knows who's to blame," she added with a grin.
Harry snorted. "You really should call him Sirius." When she frowned, he sighed. "I know, I know, he's your employer and all that, but…" It felt weird to him that two of the people who were most important for him were so distant with each other.
"'But'?" She stared at him.
"Nothing," he said, sighing and shaking his head. Where this was concerned, she was more stubborn than a mule.
He followed her to Sirius's study. "You're already later than usual, though," he remarked - he had expected her an hour ago.
"I had a late night," she said as she knocked on the door.
"Oh? Did you meet someone in muggle London?"
She rolled her eyes at him in a very familiar manner. "There are plenty of things that keep you up at night other than that."
"Other than dancing?" he asked with a grin. So, she hadn't met anyone. He was both disappointed and relieved to hear that.
Her answer was cut off by Sirius's voice. "Come in."
She huffed. "I'm spending too much time with your godfather."
He wanted to ask her what she meant, but she had already opened the door. "Hello, Mr Black. I wanted to inform you that I will be delayed a little - your godson requires my presence."
"Oh?" Sirius grinned. "Is there something you want to tell me, Harry? Or don't want to tell me, perhaps?"
Harry suddenly knew what Hermione had meant. "I just want to ask her for advice," he clarified as Sirius theatrically sighed in mock-disappointment.
"You know that you can always come to me as well, don't you?" Sirius asked, in a more serious manner.
"Yes. But I want to hear her opinion first."
"A sensible stance," Hermione chimed in with a fake smile.
His godfather pouted at her. "I'm very sensible. And I'm not as catty as some witches are."
Hermione sniffed. "That's because you're usually too busy drooling."
Harry sighed. "I wish you two would get along," he muttered.
"We do get along," Hermione said. Sirius nodded. Although Harry doubted their sincerity - the two were glaring at each other.
"If you're looking for advice about a pet, remember that dogs are a man's best friend for a reason. As a girl and a cat owner, Miss Granger is too biased to be a reliable source of advice in that regard," Sirius said.
"Dogs are smelly, clumsy and messy, and they need a lot of training. Cats are far superior pets," Hermione shot back.
"I'm not looking for a pet," Harry said - why would Sirius bring that up, anyway? - "I already have Hedwig." And she was the best owl a wizard could want. Far more useful and smarter than any cat or dog, too.
"She's a post owl," Hermione said, as if that was a bad thing. Harry had to agree with Sirius there - she was hopelessly biased in favour of cats.
He certainly couldn't think of any other reason why she would have gotten that furry monster as a pet.
"I see that you still haven't managed to convince Kreacher to tidy up your room properly," Hermione Granger said, looking pointedly around Harry's room. It wasn't dirty, or messy, just… not as organised as it could be. And should be. On the other hand, a thief would have a harder time finding anything in the room, and it would be more difficult to put everything back as it had been - that point was moot, though, if Harry couldn't remember where everything had been. And judging by the way he winced at her words, he probably couldn't.
"I know." He shrugged. "But if I tell him to clean up he keeps moving my stuff around so I can't find anything any more. And he is so old and set in his ways, even Sirius has given up trying to make him change."
He had left unsaid that Kreacher didn't like the fact that Harry was a half-blood. Hermione was well-aware of that - as a muggleborn, he disliked her presence even more. She sighed. "That was actually supposed to be a subtle reminder that you should clean up your room a little more often," she said, frowning at Harry.
"But I did!" he protested. "Just this morning! I cast so many cleaning charms, everything is sparkling clean!"
"And it still looks like you experimented with miniature whirlwind spells," she retorted. There were even books on the floor!
"Well, spells which can sort stuff are more complicated. And Sirius says they never really work right." Harry shrugged with a grin. "As long as I know where everything is, I'm fine."
She shook her head, both amused and slightly annoyed at his attitude. Sitting down on his bed - which was kept clear of scrolls, toys and books - she asked: "So, what did you want to talk about?"
He sighed and sat down next to her. She started to lean into him and barely caught herself before she rested her cheek on his shoulder. She quickly glanced at him, but he didn't seem to have noticed her - cat-related, she was certain - lapse.
"It's Ginny."
"What about her?" What had she done? Hermione wondered. Or… what had Harry done?
"Well, it's about Merriweather."
Oh? "That American witch you met at the ball last year?"
"I met her again at this year's ball."
"Oh?" She tilted her head to the side. This was interesting.
"Or rather, me and Ginny met her." He sighed again.
"And what happened?" She didn't think she had done or said anything remarkable to either of them. Just a little bit of harmless flirting. Merely being polite, really.
"Ginny seems to have taken a dislike to the witch," Harry said. "I don't know why, exactly. I mean, she's attractive - Merriweather, I mean - but Ginny's my girlfriend. I wouldn't cheat on her."
Hermione nodded. She was both happy and a little bit disappointed at hearing that. Of course Harry wasn't the kind of boy to cheat on anyone. "Well, is Miss Merriweather beautiful?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. Well, I guess she is. Ginny said it was mostly the robes she wore - tight and revealing."
She frowned. "That sounds like an excuse."
"Well, she looks good without the robes too. I think," Harry said. He was blushing slightly.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You think?"
He coughed. "Well, her dress didn't leave that much to the imagination."
She hadn't been dressed that indecently! A little provocatively, at most - no worse than some of the other witches there. "I see you've become an expert on the female body, then, to be able to tell that much about a witch from her dress," she said, in a slightly testy tone.
"Well, it's not as if the robes were hiding that much. The only place she could have hidden anything was between her legs."
"Or in an enchanted holster or pocket," she replied.
"That too," he admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that her robes didn't conceal that much."
"And you stared," she stated, feeling both oddly proud and affronted at the same time.
"To check if she had anything dangerous hidden." He was looking at her mulishly.
"Not just that, I think, unless you also stared at wizards in that way," she said, shaking her head. "In any case, it's no wonder Ginny felt jealous." This was probably Mr Black's influence.
"She was feeling jealous before I stared," Harry said. "She even scared the witch off with tales of how dangerous being my friend was, with Voldemort and Malfoy both after me."
"Well, she's not entirely wrong," Hermione said. When she saw how he hunched over, she quickly added: "But everyone close to you already knows that. And most of us would be in danger anyway. The Weasleys are famous 'blood traitors' and I'm an 'uppity mudblood'. And Mr Black and Mr Lupin already fought the Death Eaters in the last war." She gave him her best stern expression, the one which almost managed to persuade Mr Black to behave. "So don't be stupid and try to break up with Ginny for her own safety, or something silly like that."
"I won't," he said.
She wasn't quite certain whether she could believe him - Harry sometimes had rather silly notions. She patted him on the shoulder anyway. "So, just apologise to Ginny. And don't stare as openly next time."
He sighed, but nodded. She wasn't entirely certain how to take that.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 5th, 1996
"How do I look?"
"I'm officially your secretary, not your stylist." Hermione Granger didn't bother to look up from the report she was reading. As with most of the Black family businesses' books, the ledgers tried to hide more than they revealed.
"Part of your duties is to ensure that I'm prepared for my appointments and meetings," Mr Black shot back.
"Meetings, not rendezvous," she retorted. "Besides, don't you trust your tailor? You certainly pay her enough."
"She certainly wouldn't tell me that the robes she made to order for me don't look good on me."
She snorted. "You insisted on their design and now you're doubting your 'impeccable sense of style'?" The dog growled at that. She smirked.
"I just want a second opinion. That it's the opinion of my date's best friend doesn't hurt, of course."
"I'm not Jeanne's best friend. Miss Merriweather is a friend of hers," she corrected him.
"Details, details!" He made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "Besides, you're not frumpy, proper Miss Granger either."
This time she looked at him. "What do you mean?" He didn't look half-bad, to quote the vernacular of which Jeanne had recently grown fond.
"This is a role you're playing, same as Miss Merriweather. You're neither a flirty but naive American nor a smart but homely secretary." He sounded more serious than usual.
"I'm certainly doing the work of a secretary," she responded, "but I do have to admit that working for you might not be seen as a smart decision." With a sniff, she added: "And different clothes don't change who I am." She wasn't homely!
He laughed. "No, they don't. But they hide who you are. And they make you look homely."
That was kind of the point, she thought. The dog was wrong anyway - she didn't look homely; she just didn't look as pretty as Miss Merriweather. But this was touching topics she didn't want to discuss with Mr Black. "Are you certain that you want to ask me for advice about your love life? I already told you that dating Jeanne is a bad idea."
"No, you told me that if Jeanne were to start frequenting my home, it would endanger your disguise." He scoffed. "Which is a silly notion. If Harry hasn't realised that you are Miss Merriweather, then Jeanne won't realise it either."
"Harry doesn't really know Miss Merriweather. We've only met twice. Jeanne has spent a lot more time with me. And, unlike Harry, she won't be easily fooled by some cleavage and a little flirting." Not to mention that Jeanne might have had some training in that art herself - but so far that was just a suspicion without any proof.
He shrugged and ran his wand over his robes, adding a red-and-gold trim to them. "As long as you keep hiding behind those atrocious clothes and that abrasive attitude, she'll never connect you to her stylish and charming friend."
She rolled her eyes at him. She wasn't abrasive; she simply didn't stay quiet when the dog needed a scolding. And her clothes were, if not the most stylish, certainly not atrocious. They were practical and comfortable.
"Besides," he went on, "as my secretary, you can't keep dressing like this. What will my esteemed peers think of me when they see you?"
"That I'm your secretary and not your escort?" There was no reason for her to meet his acquaintances. Not as Hermione, at least.
"Oh, catty!" He grinned. "Speaking of, are you planning to meet Harry as a cat?"
"What?" She stared at him. "No. That would make using the form on a heist dangerous." Unless she managed to mask her cat form, too. Maybe a potion to change the colour of her fur? She couldn't exactly cast spells as a cat, after all.
He frowned. "You're planning to use this for your missions?"
"As a last resort." She frowned at him. "It would make planning and doing a heist much easier if I could tell Mr Fletcher about it." And he would let her do more, she was certain.
"I don't trust him," he said in a flat voice.
"Why not? He's in the Order as well, isn't he?" she asked.
He scowled. "He left the Order in the last war."
She hadn't known that. "But he rejoined," she retorted.
"Dumbledore probably made him. And he might leave again when things get tough." He smiled thinly. "You're different, though. You'll be sticking it out to the end. And you'll do anything for Harry."
Of course she would - Harry was her best friend! Before she could say that, though, Sirius continued: "Even if Harry still hasn't realised that under those hideous muggle clothes, you're a pretty girl who likes to flirt with him."
"That was an act. The flirting," she clarified.
"It was a very convincing act, though," he said with one of his insufferable grins.
"I had a good teacher," she retorted.
She was certain that he didn't believe her, but he let the matter drop in favour of asking her opinion on the restaurant he had picked for the evening - despite her having told him three times already that she had never eaten there.
He was such an annoying dog!
London, Greenwich, January 6th, 1995
Destination, Determination and Deliberation.
Hermione Granger repeated the words as if they were a mantra. In a way, they were - she had to be determined to reach her destination, but with deliberation. Otherwise she would either fail to travel, or leave parts of herself behind. Again.
She looked at the spot two yards away on the bare floor of Mr Fletcher's living room. Her tutor had removed his carpet for this lesson, 'to make finding splinched body parts easier'. She clenched her teeth - she wouldn't fail. Not today. She wouldn't splinch herself. This was a standard lesson for sixth year students, like silent casting, which she had learned months ago. She had studied and prepared for this. She could do this. She would do this.
She focused on the spot. On her destination. She wanted to be there. She needed to be there. In that exact spot. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes, and willed herself to apparate.
"You look like you have a stomach ache."
She glared at her chuckling tutor. "Such disruptions are not helping."
"On a heist, you'll have to be able apparate in any situation, even in the middle of running from Aurors. If you can't do it with just me distracting you…"
She pressed her lips together. He had told her that before. "It would be easier to learn this uninterrupted, and then learn how to do it under stress."
"You're the one who wants to rush things."
She glared at him. She wanted to finally go on real heists. And as more than a lookout. But that didn't mean she wanted to rush this. Sometimes her tutor was almost as aggravating as Mr Black. At least she could swat the dog's nose if he was too annoying.
Sighing, she stared at the spot on the floor again. She could do this. She would do this. Apparition needed you to fill your entire body down to the last cell with the want, the need to displace yourself. And she knew her body better than anyone else her age - she was an animagus. Just as she had learned to change her entire body, she would learn to move her entire body with magic.
She wanted to be there. She needed to be there.
And she was there. Panting, shaking, and feeling as if she had been squeezed through a pipe too narrow for her body, but she was standing. And she didn't feel as if anything was missing. No pain. No blood. No… left sleeve.
At least she hadn't splinched her body. Just her robes. She flashed a smile at Mr Fletcher and summoned her missing sleeve to reattach it.
"Leaving without the goods or your clothes isn't exactly the hallmark of a good thief," Mr Fletcher said. But he was smiling in that rueful manner of his which, as she had learned, meant that he knew she would beat his challenge soon.
And she did.
"I know you don't think I'm ready," Hermione Granger said as she floated the table back to its usual place on the replaced rug.
"I think you're ready. I said so, didn't I?" Mr Fletcher waved his wand, and the shelves slid along the wall.
"You don't like it, though." She rearranged the chairs.
"Of course not!" He turned to look at her. "This is dangerous work. The Dark Lord's back, and we'll be dealing with Death Eaters. Dark wizards. That's not the same as fleecing a few rich idiots."
She shrugged. "You already knew that he was back when you accepted me as your student." He glared at her, but didn't contradict her. "And you need my help. Two people are safer than one alone." Once more he didn't contradict her. "And we would be even safer if you and Mr Black trusted each other enough to work together." She could show him her cat form then.
"We're working for the same side," he said, sitting down in his armchair.
"But you don't work together. That's making everything more dangerous than it needs to be. He already knows about us, so there's no secret to protect."
"Other than what he is teaching you," he shot back. "His secrets."
"Which you would be privy to if you two would get along." She tried not to let her frustration show. They had talked about this before, after all.
"Me and Black?" He scoffed. "He's too reckless. And he doesn't care about anyone but his friends. As long as we win, and his friends - and he hasn't many of them - survive, he'll be perfectly happy."
"Are you speaking from experience?" she asked. When she saw his face, she quickly added: "I mean, was he like that in the last war? He has changed." You couldn't spend twelve years in Azkaban without changing. She was certain.
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Changed? He? He acts the same as before. Too damn reckless and arrogant."
Well, he wasn't entirely wrong there, Hermione thought. The dog was very often very annoying. But he was also - from what she could tell and from what Harry had told her - a good godfather.
Mr Fletcher summoned the Daily Prophet and started to peruse the sports section. Which meant this conversation was over.
For now.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 7th, 1995
"Morning Sirius. Did you have a..." Harry Potter trailed off when he saw that his godfather wasn't alone in their kitchen. "Good morning, Miss Dubois." Apparently, Sirius's date last night had gone well.
"Good morning." Miss Dubois smiled at him. She was wearing dress robes, he noticed. And her hair was styled. Sirius, though, looked slightly rumpled, and was wearing his house robes. She had to be skilled at styling charms, Harry thought.
"Harry - this is Jeanne. Jeanne - Harry."
"We met at the ball," Jeanne said.
Harry nodded. Sirius had been there, too.
"Yes. But not as my girlfriend and my godson."
Girlfriend? Harry blinked. That was rather… quick. Hasty. But, judging by the way the witch smiled and leaned into his godfather's side, not inaccurate. He nodded and sat down in his usual spot.
"We clicked, you would say," Sirius said with a grin.
"Is that what you call it?" Harry said, grinning when Sirius cleared his throat. Miss Dubois laughed, though. And it didn't sound forced or fake, either.
"Yeah, well… we had a wonderful evening," Sirius said, recovering quickly. "And a wonderful night."
Miss Dubois nodded. "Oh, yes." She even sighed.
"I don't need any details," Harry said quickly, his grin slipping a little.
"Are you certain?" Sirius asked with a broad grin. "You might want to take notes for your own dates."
"Yes, I'm certain," Harry said while Miss Dubois laughed again.
If she found his godfather as funny as Sirius thought he was, then it was no wonder that he considered her his girlfriend after one date, Harry thought.
The rest of breakfast was filled with flirting and more hints of what they had done last night. And jokes. Harry fled the kitchen when Miss Dubois slid into Sirius's lap, but he didn't think they noticed.
Sirius seemed to have it bad, Harry thought. To react like this, after a single date… Harry would have to talk to Hermione about this. Hear her opinion. Then he realised that she hadn't met the witch yet. And she 'had plans' for the weekend, so she wouldn't be visiting anyway. And tomorrow Harry would travel back to Hogwarts.
He sighed. He could talk to Ginny, who had met the witch, but his girlfriend might be biased because Miss Dubois was a friend of Miss Merriweather's. And Remus was already back at Hogwarts, catching up on his work after his 'errand' for the Order.
"Master's found a pureblood witch. Soon he'll have a proper heir."
Harry looked down at Kreacher, whose wrinkled face was warped in a parody of a smile.
"He won't kick me out," Harry shot back. "You'll still have to deal with me."
The elf scoffed. "Taking care of a pureblood baby is more important than dealing with a half-blood guest." With a dismissive sniff, he vanished through one of the half-sized hidden doors which led to the servants' passages.
Harry glared at the door, then shook his head. He was better than that. If Sirius had found a witch who loved him, then that was a good thing. His godfather deserved such happiness.
But if she broke his heart… Harry pressed his lips together. She might be a gold-digger. Or worse. But how could he find out if that was the case?
Berkshire, Reading, Britain, January 7th, 1996
"At least it's not a cottage or barn," Hermione Granger muttered, standing disillusioned next to the chimney and staring down at the old house across the street. The building was old, though - and only had two floors.
"Are you having second thoughts?" Mr Fletcher asked.
She shook her head. "No." She could do this. The building was old, but the owners had been killed in the last war, and the wards had been broken. The Ministry had seized the house, but apparently hadn't found any heirs, and so it had been sold - for a pittance, as the records she had found showed - to Maximilian Rowle, one of Flint's friends.
"Don't get cocky, lass," Mr Fletcher warned her.
"I won't," she said. Even if this would be easy. The new wards were weak - she had checked beforehand, of course. Rowle wouldn't be at home anyway - the Harpies were playing Puddlemere tonight and he was a hardcore fan of the team - he had bored her almost to tears about them at the ball.
He snorted, but didn't say anything else. "I'm going in," she announced. "Keep an eye out for trouble!" she added with an invisible smirk as she slid down to the edge of the roof, one hand on the thin rope she had tied to the chimney.
A few seconds later, she was on the ground and vanished the rope with a flick of her wand. No traces would be left. She sprinted across the street and crouched down in the side alley next to Rowle's house, where the entrance to the old coal cellar was.
Slipping through the wards was the work of half an hour - she had examined them beforehand and came prepared. Picking the lock on the shutter didn't take her more than a few minutes, even without magic. Older definitely wasn't better when it came to locks.
She conjured a plank and used it to float down into the cellar without getting coal dust and dirt all over herself. More dirt than coal dust - the house hadn't been heated with coal in decades, and Rowle used spells to heat his home.
His likely stolen home, Hermione reminded herself as she vanished the plank and sneaked over to the door. That one wasn't even locked. Sloppy. She shook her head as she went up the stairs, patting the enchanted pocket in which she carried the 'bug' she had to place, an enchanted disc the size of a fingernail.
She pressed her ear to the door upstairs and froze - she heard voices. Excited voices. At least two people. But the game… Then she heard the faint roaring of a crowd and realised that Rowle was listening to the wireless.
And the git had told her - Miss Merriweather - that he never missed any of his team's games! She clenched her teeth. She should head back. Tell Mr Fletcher. Or place the bug at the door here. The spells would still work, mostly.
But she wanted to do a perfect job, not just a decent job. And for that she had to place the bug in the living room - the centre of the house. Where Rowle and at least one of his friends were listening to the wireless.
If this were a muggle home, they would be glued to the telly. But with the wireless, they wouldn't be as distracted. But she was disillusioned. And they would have drunk a few beers already. And they wouldn't expect a thief to sneak into the room. Not with such sloppy security on the house itself. Or would that be despite?
With a grin she pushed the door open, then sneaked into the hallway. She stuck to the wall as she made her way to the living room, then peered inside. Rowle was there, and another wizard - Peter Smith. Another of the crowd of bigots she had met at the ball. They were listening to the game with rapt attention and she saw several empty beer bottles on the floor. As expected.
She was tempted to sneak right behind the couch on which they were sitting, and place the disc there, but that wouldn't have been ideal. Instead, she stuck it to the lower edge of the door to the living room. The gap between it and the threshold was large enough so it wouldn't be ripped off, and they'd never spot it there.
She bit her lower lip. She should leave now. She had accomplished her task. But… she looked around. She was a thief, not a spy. With a grin, she sneaked into the kitchen. As expected, there was a cup filled Knuts, next to a window with an owl perch.
Two minutes later and one Knut richer, Hermione was back outside.
Hogwarts, January 9th, 1996
"Good evening, Harry. Did you have a nice Christmas?"
"Yes, sir," Harry Potter said, sitting down in his usual chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. "But I'm also glad to be back at Hogwarts." He wasn't lying - Miss Dubois had spent another night at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius's attempt to make him like her had grated on his nerves. It wasn't that he disliked her; he simply didn't know her well enough yet to decide.
"Ah." Dumbledore nodded slowly, but did not elaborate. "I trust you kept up your training."
"Yes. All of it." Occlumency and Defence.
"Good. As much as I would wish it otherwise, the Dark Lord is growing in power. Many are doing his bidding, knowingly or otherwise."
"What exactly is he doing?" Harry asked.
"He's spreading his influence in the Ministry, placing and promoting his own followers and allies, and trying to oust ours."
"Like Percy."
"Exactly."
"And how long will that continue? And what can done about it?" Voldemort couldn't take over the Ministry like that, could he? He hadn't managed to in the last war.
"Measures are being taken to curb his influence and deal with his followers. My friends and I have to act with caution, though, so he remains unaware of what we know."
Harry tapped his scar. "I assume you mean this."
"Not just that. Given his arrogance, he is likely to assume that his deception worked and that we do not know that he has regained a body. I have taken steps to reinforce that assumption."
"You don't know, though."
"Nothing is ever certain," Dumbledore said with a wry smile. "Not even death, or so it seems."
"That still leaves taxes," Harry quipped, and the Headmaster chuckled.
"The Death Eaters haven't killed anyone, have they?" Harry asked after a brief pause. "I mean, apart from the sacrifices we already know about."
"Not to my knowledge, but I cannot claim to be omniscient."
Harry nodded. At least that meant that no Order members had died.
"Which brings me to the reason I called you to my office so soon after your arrival," Dumbledore continued. "I would like to take another look at your scar, and Lily's protection."
"Go ahead," Harry said. "Have you found out anything yet?"
"Nothing concrete, alas. Lily's notes were destroyed in the attack on your home. Filius donated the memories of his talk with her about her plans, but they didn't go into any details." He sighed. "On the other hand, they provided me with several promising leads to pursue."
"Do you think you can reverse-engineer the spell she used?"
"I do think that I am not overly optimistic or arrogant to presume so. Lily was a brilliant witch, but I am not exactly a slouch at magic myself." He grinned. "And as with many things, knowing that something is possible is often the most important step when innovating."
"Ah." Harry nodded. He would have preferred to hear about concrete progress, but as long as the Headmaster remained optimistic he wouldn't lose hope.
"Now let's test your Occlumency," Dumbledore said, raising his wand.
Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. This would hurt.
London, Greenwich, January 16th, 1996
"Alright. Our acquaintance has informed me that thanks to our efforts, we have identified a suspected high-ranking Death Eater," Mr Fletcher said, dropping a picture on the table in his living room. "Corban Yaxley. He's got a cushy position in the DMLE, and he's been recruiting and promoting a bunch of young wizards lately - the same kind of wizards we bugged." His voice grew cold. "The kind of wizards likely to don masks and go slaughtering muggleborns."
Hermione Granger couldn't help glancing at her own mask, resting on the table in front of her. It was a rush job - she had transfigured the tinted faceplate of a motorcycle helmet so it covered her entire face. Together with the blonde wig it should make identifying her impossible, even if her Disillusionment Charm should fail. And as another precaution she was wearing enough makeup beneath it to act as another disguise. Just in case the spells she had found didn't block whatever charm had been cast on Moody's eye. Not that she expected that Auror to bother them when they were working for the Order. But others could have similar spells.
Mr Fletcher cleared his throat. "Now we're supposed to bug his place too."
"Do we know where he lives?"
"His home address is on file with the Ministry," he said. "He might have moved out, but… I don't think so. It looks like he was already a Death Eater in the last war, and since he escaped suspicion then, I doubt that he'll be expecting any trouble now."
She nodded. That made sense - and sounded encouraging as well.
"But he's bound to have better protection than the kids whose homes we've broken into so far. Much better protection."
That didn't sound too promising. On the other hand, this was an important mission. They were going after a high-ranking, experienced Death Eater, not some boys fresh out of Hogwarts.
Exactly what she had wanted for so long. It had taken years, but now her revenge would finally begin!
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, January 1st, 1996
"Daddy, I'm going over to the Weasleys!" Luna Lovegood yelled as she put on her shoes. They were brand-new, a Christmas gift from her father, and very pretty - pink, with butterfly-shaped bows on top and at the heel. She blinked - maybe she could have them enchanted, so she could fly? She'd have to look into that.
"Alright, dear. Keep an eye out for vampires, won't you?" her father yelled back from his office.
Luna frowned. Vampires? She checked her watch, and then the sky outside. All was as it should be. "The sun is out, Daddy! Vampires are asleep right now."
"In Britain, but not in Australia!"
That made sense, Luna thought. If an Australian vampire travelled to Britain, he would be awake. But how could he travel so quickly? Brooms were not fast enough. Even Thestrals couldn't outrun the sun. Apparition over such a long distance was impossible, and apparating several times over a shorter distance would place the vampire into sunlight eventually. A phoenix might be able to cover the distance - their limits were unknown - but its flames would burn the vampire to ashes. Were there underground Floo networks for vampires? She wrote the idea down and then cocked her head sideways to look at the slip of parchment. No, even from another angle the idea didn't change. That meant it was a good idea!
Nodding to herself, she turned on her new heels and climbed the stairs to her father's office. "Daddy! Do you know if there is an underground Floo network for vampires?"
Her father, sitting at his desk, which was covered with all sorts of parchment, looked up. "No, I don't… but that would explain how vampires can travel without the Aurors noticing!" He nodded and started to make notes. "Excellent idea, Luna!"
She smiled, happy to have been able to help her father with his work. "Why are you investigating vampires?"
He paused. "Do you remember the blood murders?"
She did, of course - a good reporter kept up with such news. "Oh! You think vampires are behind it?"
"It's a possibility. Blood attracts them, after all."
Luna nodded. "But the blood was spilled, not drunk." Hadn't vampires been taught not to waste food?
"Exactly! It looks like a blood magic ritual - but that's what the murderer wants us to think!" Daddy waved his quill around. "I have it on good authority that the blood was under a spell, too, to look like it was fresh. That could be the work of a vampire, too - they know how to preserve their food."
"But if it wasn't blood magic, what was it?" Luna asked.
"That's what I need to find out!" her father declared. "Although it might very well have been a blood magic ritual, too - vampires are experts on those as well. A triple-bluff! They assume that we assume that it wouldn't be a vampire because of all the wasted blood, but it is a vampire!"
Luna briefly thought it over, then nodded. It would explain why the Aurors hadn't caught the murderer yet, if they weren't looking for vampires. But… "You have to be careful, Daddy. Vampires are dangerous. Murderers too."
"Don't worry, dear. I'll only talk to people I trust. Like a friend of mine, who's an expert on blood magic."
"Promise me?" she asked. He was sometimes a little too brave. Or reckless, she supposed. At least that was what Mrs Weasley claimed.
"I promise." He nodded solemnly.
"Good." She couldn't lose her daddy. "I'm off to visit the Weasleys then."
"Have fun, dear!" He said, turning back to his notes.
"I will!" she said as she stepped out.
And she would. Visiting the Weasleys was fun. The twins were always up to something, Mr Weasley had the most interesting muggle artefacts in his shed, Ginny was her best friend, Mrs Weasley cooked the most wonderful meals and was always asking how she was doing, and there was Ron.
She smiled widely as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder. As usual, her tummy felt tingly when she thought of him. He was all a witch could wish for in a boyfriend - brave, sufficiently handsome, passionate and pursuing his dream of becoming a professional Quidditch player no matter what anyone else said. And he laughed with her, and not at her. Not any more.
She hadn't come as far with her boyfriend-to-be as Ginny had with Harry, but she was making progress. She was spending much more time with him these days than ever before, and usually doing things both of them enjoyed. Like flying. Or talking with their friends. A relationship needed that sort of solid base, Luna knew.
She stopped right before she threw the powder into the fire to check her appearance. Mummy had told her that the heart was all that counted, but she knew that appearances mattered too - wasn't there a saying about wearing your heart on your sleeve? Her sky blue robes were impeccable, not a single one of the yellow suns on them had moved out of place. She was wearing her most precious earrings too, the dirigible plums left to her by her mum, and she had added another cork to her anti-Nargle necklace. Sooner or later, there would be enough to drive away the Nargles infesting Ron, and he'd realise that she fancied him. And that he fancied her. That was how it worked.
She threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the green flames.
"The Burrow!"
*****
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, January 1st, 1996
"And then she complained about Sirius dancing with her friend." Ginny huffed. "Even though she had spent the whole evening flirting with every blood purist present!"
Ginny hadn't taken well to Miss Merriweather, Harry Potter thought. And while it was nice that she defended his godfather so, he couldn't help thinking that his girlfriend's anger wasn't really because the American witch had slighted Sirius.
"Really? Did she flirt with all of them at the same time?" Luna asked. "Otherwise I don't see how she would have had the time, considering how many of them must have been present. Or… have the Americans managed to create a time machine using dark rituals and she fled with the only working version?" The witch gasped. "That would be a scoop for The Quibbler!"
"No, I don't think she used a time machine. Ginny is simply exaggerating a little," Harry said.
Ginny scoffed. "You were the one who was concerned about her when she was cozying up to Flint."
"She wasn't cozying up to him - he was panting after her," Harry said. "As were most of his friends."
Ginny sniffed. "And she didn't seem to mind them - unlike when she danced with Sirius."
"Well, he told me that he had been 'a little too forward'," Harry said. He hadn't asked what exactly Sirius had done, but it couldn't have been too bad, not in the middle of the dance floor.
"Sirius tried to seduce her?" Ron asked, blinking. "How old is she?"
"I think he was simply teasing her," Harry defended his godfather, "and she misunderstood him. Probably because someone told her lies about Sirius." Like Flint and his ilk.
Ginny rolled her eyes, but Luna nodded. "People like to tell such lies." Then she blinked. "Or maybe she simply doesn't like his music. Not everyone is a fan of The Hobgoblins. Or perhaps she is a fan of The Hobgoblins, and his continued refusal to reunite the band after he cleared his name made her mad."
Ah, right, that story. "Sirius isn't actually Stubby Boardman," Harry said. "They just resembled each other, and Boardman died around the time Sirius was imprisoned."
Luna stared at him, then she nodded. "Of course, Harry." She didn't look nor sound as if she really believed him, though. "I understand."
He was about to ask what she thought that she had understood when Ron glared at him and cut in: "So, Miss Merriweather didn't mind the company of blood purists?"
"I don't know if she cared about the whole issue," Harry said. "She was nice to us, after all."
"She was nice to you," Ginny corrected him. "'You're a lucky witch, Miss Weasley'," she imitated the slight accent of Miss Merriweather. "Hah! And she left us when I told her how dangerous it is around Harry. She's just a gold-digger."
"If she were a gold-digger, she wouldn't have rebuffed Sirius," Harry countered.
"Don't defend her. You saw what she was wearing - she was looking for attention." Ginny scoffed again.
Harry coughed. He had seen far more than that - Miss Merriweather's robes hadn't been protected against the spell on his glasses, and neither had those of her French friend. They hadn't been hiding anything beneath their robes, either - he had peeped on them for no reason. But they could've been, he told himself.
"Must have been some robes, seeing as you're blushing," Ron said. "I guess we'll have to buy the next Witch Weekly then?"
Ginny glared at Harry and her brother, but Luna nodded enthusiastically. "We can transfigure our own robes to look like theirs then!"
Harry blinked. "Can you do that?"
"Well, there's a reason people buy robes and don't simply transfigure their own," Ron said. "It never looks as good as the original, unless you copy it. And you'd need the original for that."
"You just need talent and imagination!" Luna said. "Mummy used to make me any dress I wanted!" She suddenly looked sad. "I'm not that good, yet."
"Well, there's also the problem that if you transfigure your own robes, someone else can dispel what you did. You'd be left on the dance floor in your old rags," Ron went on.
"I'd die from embarrassment!" Ginny said.
"If they can cast a spell on your robes, then they could cast a curse on you, too," Harry said. Who would let anyone they don't know and trust cast anything on them?
"Well, the goblins' Thief's Downfall also dispels spells of all kinds," Luna said. "The Ministry would have that as well, but they need their paper aeroplanes to function and they can't fly through it either. Daddy said the Ministry almost broke down because of that in the war, when they used it against the Imperius Curse."
Harry frowned. "People getting killed, cursed, or simply vanishing was probably the reason for the Ministry's near-collapse."
Luna shook her head. "No. The Ministry runs on paperwork. And water doesn't do well with paper. Or the other way around."
"Or a mixture of both," Ron cut in. "They do take their paperwork very seriously, as we know."
Thanks to Percy, Harry thought, as he nodded in agreement. Still, this Thief's Downfall sounded promising. Maybe he should ask Sirius about installing one of them in Grimmauld Place...
"What did Sirius say?" Ginny asked after a moment.
"Huh?" Harry looked at her.
"About Miss Merriweather and Mademoiselle Dubois," Ginny clarified.
Harry thought that repeating what Sirius had said about the American witch wouldn't go over well with his girlfriend, so he said: "He thinks Miss Dubois is charming, actually, and is looking forward to meeting her again."
"Oh." Ginny blinked.
That summed up Harry's reaction to that very well.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 1st, 1996
The dog greeted Hermione Granger with his usual too-wide grin. "Hello, Miss Granger! I wasn't certain whether you would be able to make it today."
She frowned. "Why would you think that?" she asked rather curtly.
He shrugged. "You were very popular at the ball. And very busy. You might have been too tired to work."
She scoffed at his implications. "Dealing with a few foolish and inexperienced purebloods isn't very taxing, Mr Black." Now if she had had to fool older blood purists…
"Oh, I see."
She rolled his eyes at his exaggerated teasing. Couldn't the man be serious for a change? "I see your mind is still in the gutter. I wasn't talking about that."
He laughed. "But you made a lot of young wizards think about it. Including, I believe, my godson."
"I think Ginny was the cause for any such thoughts Harry may have had," she responded. Harry might have stared at her - she had noticed him, later - but he had spent quite some time with Ginny in the winter garden. And Hermione knew what couples got up to there - almost every one of her marks had tried to lure her out there too.
He shrugged. "Your robes certainly had an effect on him."
Hermione snorted. "That was their purpose."
"To seduce Harry? Why, that's quite an admission, Miss Granger! Or should that be confession?"
She glared at the dog. "You know very well what my task was at the ball." If she had intended to seduce Harry, she certainly would have acted differently. But she hadn't. He was with Ginny, after all.
"I do. I helped you, didn't I?"
She briefly clenched her teeth before answering. "Yes, you did." He beamed at her. "But next time, please inform us beforehand," she added. "My tutor was quite put off by your surprise." Mr Fletcher had used rather colourful names for Mr Black during their debriefing.
"Bah! If Mundungus can't handle such surprises, he shouldn't be doing this sort of work!" Mr Black waved her warning away. "Wouldn't want him to get complacent, would we?"
"A mission is not the place to play such games, Mr Black," she retorted.
"Games like flirting with Harry?"
"I was merely maintaining my cover," she said. And she had accomplished her task already when she approached him and Ginny.
"Of course you were." He snorted.
She narrowed her eyes at the dog. Not everyone was as promiscuous as he was. A little harmless flirting - if her talk with Harry could even be called that - wouldn't threaten his relationship with Ginny. And if it did, then there were more serious problems present already. "And what about your attempted seduction of Jeanne?"
"Attempted?" His smile was so wide, it would have given away his animagus form to anyone who had seen the dog. "We'll be dining together this Friday."
She blinked. "Are you…" she caught herself in time. "Are you actually planning to enter into a relationship with her?"
He shrugged. "She's a charming young witch who seems to find me attractive. And I've always had a weakness for French witches."
"I would say you have always had a weakness for witches," Hermione muttered. This was… not a good thing. If Jeanne and Mr Black did enter into a relationship, her cover as Miss Merriweather would be threatened. It might be necessary to send the witch 'back home'. Miss Merriweather, that was. And there were other things to consider. She bit her lower lip, hesitating a moment, then sighed. She owed Mr Black. A lot. And he was Harry's godfather - and, for all intents and purposes, only remaining family. Whatever happened to Mr Black would affect Harry as well. "She may be more attracted by your gold and status than your looks and charm."
He shrugged again. "I am aware of that, of course. But she also might not be. Attracted more by my gold than by myself, that is." He was faintly smiling now, and didn't look at her. "And I'm a Gryffindor; I'm not afraid of taking a risk if the witch is worth it." Suddenly, he was leering again. "And from what I could tell after our dances together, she is certainly worth it!"
Hermione hissed. He was such a dog!
*****
Lincolnshire, North of Stamford, Britain, January 2nd, 1996
Marcus Flint's home looked rather shabby, Hermione Granger thought. A cottage, barely more than a refurbished barn. Old, but not old enough to be impressive. "He must have spent a lot on Extension Charms if he plans to take a witch home one day," she muttered without taking down her Omnioculars.
"That goes without saying," Mr Fletcher said. "But the kind of witches he wants to impress will love that it doesn't look like a muggle home at all."
Hermione wasn't certain that Flint was that discerning when it came to witches. More like desperate. On the other hand, he had been rather interested in her cover's family history. She lowered the Omnioculars. "I didn't see any sign of spells or wards outside the house." Old wards usually covered more than the building itself - Mr Fletcher said it dated back to the time when outhouses had to be covered as well - but modern wards were generally anchored to the walls themselves. "No changes in the growth of the plants, or dead vermin." Of course, the wards could have been set so well that they didn't leave such telltale signs, but… on the shabby home of a young wizard with rather modest means? That was very unlikely.
"Good. Let's get closer and check if he's home. Or if he's left any surprises."
Hermione nodded, her lips pressed together. Flint was a brute, but he was the second son of an Old Family, and he had finished Hogwarts with decent marks. He certainly knew some nasty curses if his semi-drunken boasts were to be believed.
After disillusioning themselves, and casting a Human-presence-revealing Spell each so they would know where each other was, they got up from behind the remnants of a stone fence and approached the cottage.
"Stay behind me," Mr Fletcher whispered. "Safer."
Hermione wanted to protest - but she had promised to obey his orders. And it was safer, too. There was no point in both of them getting cursed by a trap. So she bit her lips and let him advance in front of her.
His marker stopped moving about ten yards from the cottage. Hermione stopped as well, crouching down even though she was disillusioned. She hadn't seen any sign of a dog, and Flint hadn't mentioned one either yesterday evening, but… dogs were stupid, and clumsy, and messy, but they had good noses, and could ruin a cat's day if she wasn't on her guard. Or a thief's.
"Nothing but the wards." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "And those are substandard too. Guess the Flints don't care much about the spare."
"Or he spent too much on the decor," Hermione added. Like one of those stupid birds who grew bright plumage to attract females and so couldn't hide from predators any more.
He chuckled. "Maybe. Makes it easier for us. I'll place the bug, you keep an eye out."
"Yes, sir." She couldn't keep her resentment at being stuck with a task even a dog could do entirely out of her voice, but he just laughed.
"A lookout's job is very important. Until I've dealt with the wards I'm an easy target."
She knew that. And yet, she wanted to do more. More than simply helping her tutor. She wanted to personally strike at those who had framed her, and their friends and allies. She stared at the cottage while Mr Fletcher started to work his way through the wards.
She knew that she was ready, too.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1996
"Hi, Hermione!"
Harry Potter greeted his best female friend with his best smile as soon as she stepped into the entrance hall of his home. He hadn't quite been waiting with bated breath at the door, but he had been keeping an eye on the entrance hall.
"Hello, Harry." She looked puzzled for a moment, but when he spread his arms, she moved to hug him.
Tightly, as usual - for a girl who preferred reading to any kind of sport, she was rather strong, he thought. And even through the thick, slightly oversized, sweater she wore under her coat, he could feel her bust pressing into his chest too. He suddenly wondered how she would look in tighter clothes. Or dress robes. And he was very much aware that all he needed to do to check how she looked underneath her clothes was to tap his glasses in just the right way.
But he wouldn't do that. She was his best friend, and there was no reason to check her for any poisons or hidden weapons. And it would be wrong, of course, to peep on anyone without a very good reason.
"I would have expected you to be at The Burrow at this time of the day," she said as she released him. She wasn't quite staring at him, but he knew that questioning expression.
He shrugged. "That's something I wanted to talk about with you, actually."
She narrowed her eyes now. "Is anything wrong? Did anything happen at the New Year's Ball?"
He shook his head. "No, no." He sighed. "Well, nothing happened, but… Let's head to my room."
"Alright. Let me just tell Mr Black that I'll be late for work."
"I don't think he'll mind," Harry said.
"He still needs to be informed - so he knows who's to blame," she added with a grin.
Harry snorted. "You really should call him Sirius." When she frowned, he sighed. "I know, I know, he's your employer and all that, but…" It felt weird to him that two of the people who were most important for him were so distant with each other.
"'But'?" She stared at him.
"Nothing," he said, sighing and shaking his head. Where this was concerned, she was more stubborn than a mule.
He followed her to Sirius's study. "You're already later than usual, though," he remarked - he had expected her an hour ago.
"I had a late night," she said as she knocked on the door.
"Oh? Did you meet someone in muggle London?"
She rolled her eyes at him in a very familiar manner. "There are plenty of things that keep you up at night other than that."
"Other than dancing?" he asked with a grin. So, she hadn't met anyone. He was both disappointed and relieved to hear that.
Her answer was cut off by Sirius's voice. "Come in."
She huffed. "I'm spending too much time with your godfather."
He wanted to ask her what she meant, but she had already opened the door. "Hello, Mr Black. I wanted to inform you that I will be delayed a little - your godson requires my presence."
"Oh?" Sirius grinned. "Is there something you want to tell me, Harry? Or don't want to tell me, perhaps?"
Harry suddenly knew what Hermione had meant. "I just want to ask her for advice," he clarified as Sirius theatrically sighed in mock-disappointment.
"You know that you can always come to me as well, don't you?" Sirius asked, in a more serious manner.
"Yes. But I want to hear her opinion first."
"A sensible stance," Hermione chimed in with a fake smile.
His godfather pouted at her. "I'm very sensible. And I'm not as catty as some witches are."
Hermione sniffed. "That's because you're usually too busy drooling."
Harry sighed. "I wish you two would get along," he muttered.
"We do get along," Hermione said. Sirius nodded. Although Harry doubted their sincerity - the two were glaring at each other.
"If you're looking for advice about a pet, remember that dogs are a man's best friend for a reason. As a girl and a cat owner, Miss Granger is too biased to be a reliable source of advice in that regard," Sirius said.
"Dogs are smelly, clumsy and messy, and they need a lot of training. Cats are far superior pets," Hermione shot back.
"I'm not looking for a pet," Harry said - why would Sirius bring that up, anyway? - "I already have Hedwig." And she was the best owl a wizard could want. Far more useful and smarter than any cat or dog, too.
"She's a post owl," Hermione said, as if that was a bad thing. Harry had to agree with Sirius there - she was hopelessly biased in favour of cats.
He certainly couldn't think of any other reason why she would have gotten that furry monster as a pet.
*****
"I see that you still haven't managed to convince Kreacher to tidy up your room properly," Hermione Granger said, looking pointedly around Harry's room. It wasn't dirty, or messy, just… not as organised as it could be. And should be. On the other hand, a thief would have a harder time finding anything in the room, and it would be more difficult to put everything back as it had been - that point was moot, though, if Harry couldn't remember where everything had been. And judging by the way he winced at her words, he probably couldn't.
"I know." He shrugged. "But if I tell him to clean up he keeps moving my stuff around so I can't find anything any more. And he is so old and set in his ways, even Sirius has given up trying to make him change."
He had left unsaid that Kreacher didn't like the fact that Harry was a half-blood. Hermione was well-aware of that - as a muggleborn, he disliked her presence even more. She sighed. "That was actually supposed to be a subtle reminder that you should clean up your room a little more often," she said, frowning at Harry.
"But I did!" he protested. "Just this morning! I cast so many cleaning charms, everything is sparkling clean!"
"And it still looks like you experimented with miniature whirlwind spells," she retorted. There were even books on the floor!
"Well, spells which can sort stuff are more complicated. And Sirius says they never really work right." Harry shrugged with a grin. "As long as I know where everything is, I'm fine."
She shook her head, both amused and slightly annoyed at his attitude. Sitting down on his bed - which was kept clear of scrolls, toys and books - she asked: "So, what did you want to talk about?"
He sighed and sat down next to her. She started to lean into him and barely caught herself before she rested her cheek on his shoulder. She quickly glanced at him, but he didn't seem to have noticed her - cat-related, she was certain - lapse.
"It's Ginny."
"What about her?" What had she done? Hermione wondered. Or… what had Harry done?
"Well, it's about Merriweather."
Oh? "That American witch you met at the ball last year?"
"I met her again at this year's ball."
"Oh?" She tilted her head to the side. This was interesting.
"Or rather, me and Ginny met her." He sighed again.
"And what happened?" She didn't think she had done or said anything remarkable to either of them. Just a little bit of harmless flirting. Merely being polite, really.
"Ginny seems to have taken a dislike to the witch," Harry said. "I don't know why, exactly. I mean, she's attractive - Merriweather, I mean - but Ginny's my girlfriend. I wouldn't cheat on her."
Hermione nodded. She was both happy and a little bit disappointed at hearing that. Of course Harry wasn't the kind of boy to cheat on anyone. "Well, is Miss Merriweather beautiful?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. Well, I guess she is. Ginny said it was mostly the robes she wore - tight and revealing."
She frowned. "That sounds like an excuse."
"Well, she looks good without the robes too. I think," Harry said. He was blushing slightly.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You think?"
He coughed. "Well, her dress didn't leave that much to the imagination."
She hadn't been dressed that indecently! A little provocatively, at most - no worse than some of the other witches there. "I see you've become an expert on the female body, then, to be able to tell that much about a witch from her dress," she said, in a slightly testy tone.
"Well, it's not as if the robes were hiding that much. The only place she could have hidden anything was between her legs."
"Or in an enchanted holster or pocket," she replied.
"That too," he admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that her robes didn't conceal that much."
"And you stared," she stated, feeling both oddly proud and affronted at the same time.
"To check if she had anything dangerous hidden." He was looking at her mulishly.
"Not just that, I think, unless you also stared at wizards in that way," she said, shaking her head. "In any case, it's no wonder Ginny felt jealous." This was probably Mr Black's influence.
"She was feeling jealous before I stared," Harry said. "She even scared the witch off with tales of how dangerous being my friend was, with Voldemort and Malfoy both after me."
"Well, she's not entirely wrong," Hermione said. When she saw how he hunched over, she quickly added: "But everyone close to you already knows that. And most of us would be in danger anyway. The Weasleys are famous 'blood traitors' and I'm an 'uppity mudblood'. And Mr Black and Mr Lupin already fought the Death Eaters in the last war." She gave him her best stern expression, the one which almost managed to persuade Mr Black to behave. "So don't be stupid and try to break up with Ginny for her own safety, or something silly like that."
"I won't," he said.
She wasn't quite certain whether she could believe him - Harry sometimes had rather silly notions. She patted him on the shoulder anyway. "So, just apologise to Ginny. And don't stare as openly next time."
He sighed, but nodded. She wasn't entirely certain how to take that.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 5th, 1996
"How do I look?"
"I'm officially your secretary, not your stylist." Hermione Granger didn't bother to look up from the report she was reading. As with most of the Black family businesses' books, the ledgers tried to hide more than they revealed.
"Part of your duties is to ensure that I'm prepared for my appointments and meetings," Mr Black shot back.
"Meetings, not rendezvous," she retorted. "Besides, don't you trust your tailor? You certainly pay her enough."
"She certainly wouldn't tell me that the robes she made to order for me don't look good on me."
She snorted. "You insisted on their design and now you're doubting your 'impeccable sense of style'?" The dog growled at that. She smirked.
"I just want a second opinion. That it's the opinion of my date's best friend doesn't hurt, of course."
"I'm not Jeanne's best friend. Miss Merriweather is a friend of hers," she corrected him.
"Details, details!" He made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. "Besides, you're not frumpy, proper Miss Granger either."
This time she looked at him. "What do you mean?" He didn't look half-bad, to quote the vernacular of which Jeanne had recently grown fond.
"This is a role you're playing, same as Miss Merriweather. You're neither a flirty but naive American nor a smart but homely secretary." He sounded more serious than usual.
"I'm certainly doing the work of a secretary," she responded, "but I do have to admit that working for you might not be seen as a smart decision." With a sniff, she added: "And different clothes don't change who I am." She wasn't homely!
He laughed. "No, they don't. But they hide who you are. And they make you look homely."
That was kind of the point, she thought. The dog was wrong anyway - she didn't look homely; she just didn't look as pretty as Miss Merriweather. But this was touching topics she didn't want to discuss with Mr Black. "Are you certain that you want to ask me for advice about your love life? I already told you that dating Jeanne is a bad idea."
"No, you told me that if Jeanne were to start frequenting my home, it would endanger your disguise." He scoffed. "Which is a silly notion. If Harry hasn't realised that you are Miss Merriweather, then Jeanne won't realise it either."
"Harry doesn't really know Miss Merriweather. We've only met twice. Jeanne has spent a lot more time with me. And, unlike Harry, she won't be easily fooled by some cleavage and a little flirting." Not to mention that Jeanne might have had some training in that art herself - but so far that was just a suspicion without any proof.
He shrugged and ran his wand over his robes, adding a red-and-gold trim to them. "As long as you keep hiding behind those atrocious clothes and that abrasive attitude, she'll never connect you to her stylish and charming friend."
She rolled her eyes at him. She wasn't abrasive; she simply didn't stay quiet when the dog needed a scolding. And her clothes were, if not the most stylish, certainly not atrocious. They were practical and comfortable.
"Besides," he went on, "as my secretary, you can't keep dressing like this. What will my esteemed peers think of me when they see you?"
"That I'm your secretary and not your escort?" There was no reason for her to meet his acquaintances. Not as Hermione, at least.
"Oh, catty!" He grinned. "Speaking of, are you planning to meet Harry as a cat?"
"What?" She stared at him. "No. That would make using the form on a heist dangerous." Unless she managed to mask her cat form, too. Maybe a potion to change the colour of her fur? She couldn't exactly cast spells as a cat, after all.
He frowned. "You're planning to use this for your missions?"
"As a last resort." She frowned at him. "It would make planning and doing a heist much easier if I could tell Mr Fletcher about it." And he would let her do more, she was certain.
"I don't trust him," he said in a flat voice.
"Why not? He's in the Order as well, isn't he?" she asked.
He scowled. "He left the Order in the last war."
She hadn't known that. "But he rejoined," she retorted.
"Dumbledore probably made him. And he might leave again when things get tough." He smiled thinly. "You're different, though. You'll be sticking it out to the end. And you'll do anything for Harry."
Of course she would - Harry was her best friend! Before she could say that, though, Sirius continued: "Even if Harry still hasn't realised that under those hideous muggle clothes, you're a pretty girl who likes to flirt with him."
"That was an act. The flirting," she clarified.
"It was a very convincing act, though," he said with one of his insufferable grins.
"I had a good teacher," she retorted.
She was certain that he didn't believe her, but he let the matter drop in favour of asking her opinion on the restaurant he had picked for the evening - despite her having told him three times already that she had never eaten there.
He was such an annoying dog!
*****
London, Greenwich, January 6th, 1995
Destination, Determination and Deliberation.
Hermione Granger repeated the words as if they were a mantra. In a way, they were - she had to be determined to reach her destination, but with deliberation. Otherwise she would either fail to travel, or leave parts of herself behind. Again.
She looked at the spot two yards away on the bare floor of Mr Fletcher's living room. Her tutor had removed his carpet for this lesson, 'to make finding splinched body parts easier'. She clenched her teeth - she wouldn't fail. Not today. She wouldn't splinch herself. This was a standard lesson for sixth year students, like silent casting, which she had learned months ago. She had studied and prepared for this. She could do this. She would do this.
She focused on the spot. On her destination. She wanted to be there. She needed to be there. In that exact spot. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes, and willed herself to apparate.
"You look like you have a stomach ache."
She glared at her chuckling tutor. "Such disruptions are not helping."
"On a heist, you'll have to be able apparate in any situation, even in the middle of running from Aurors. If you can't do it with just me distracting you…"
She pressed her lips together. He had told her that before. "It would be easier to learn this uninterrupted, and then learn how to do it under stress."
"You're the one who wants to rush things."
She glared at him. She wanted to finally go on real heists. And as more than a lookout. But that didn't mean she wanted to rush this. Sometimes her tutor was almost as aggravating as Mr Black. At least she could swat the dog's nose if he was too annoying.
Sighing, she stared at the spot on the floor again. She could do this. She would do this. Apparition needed you to fill your entire body down to the last cell with the want, the need to displace yourself. And she knew her body better than anyone else her age - she was an animagus. Just as she had learned to change her entire body, she would learn to move her entire body with magic.
She wanted to be there. She needed to be there.
And she was there. Panting, shaking, and feeling as if she had been squeezed through a pipe too narrow for her body, but she was standing. And she didn't feel as if anything was missing. No pain. No blood. No… left sleeve.
At least she hadn't splinched her body. Just her robes. She flashed a smile at Mr Fletcher and summoned her missing sleeve to reattach it.
"Leaving without the goods or your clothes isn't exactly the hallmark of a good thief," Mr Fletcher said. But he was smiling in that rueful manner of his which, as she had learned, meant that he knew she would beat his challenge soon.
And she did.
*****
"I know you don't think I'm ready," Hermione Granger said as she floated the table back to its usual place on the replaced rug.
"I think you're ready. I said so, didn't I?" Mr Fletcher waved his wand, and the shelves slid along the wall.
"You don't like it, though." She rearranged the chairs.
"Of course not!" He turned to look at her. "This is dangerous work. The Dark Lord's back, and we'll be dealing with Death Eaters. Dark wizards. That's not the same as fleecing a few rich idiots."
She shrugged. "You already knew that he was back when you accepted me as your student." He glared at her, but didn't contradict her. "And you need my help. Two people are safer than one alone." Once more he didn't contradict her. "And we would be even safer if you and Mr Black trusted each other enough to work together." She could show him her cat form then.
"We're working for the same side," he said, sitting down in his armchair.
"But you don't work together. That's making everything more dangerous than it needs to be. He already knows about us, so there's no secret to protect."
"Other than what he is teaching you," he shot back. "His secrets."
"Which you would be privy to if you two would get along." She tried not to let her frustration show. They had talked about this before, after all.
"Me and Black?" He scoffed. "He's too reckless. And he doesn't care about anyone but his friends. As long as we win, and his friends - and he hasn't many of them - survive, he'll be perfectly happy."
"Are you speaking from experience?" she asked. When she saw his face, she quickly added: "I mean, was he like that in the last war? He has changed." You couldn't spend twelve years in Azkaban without changing. She was certain.
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Changed? He? He acts the same as before. Too damn reckless and arrogant."
Well, he wasn't entirely wrong there, Hermione thought. The dog was very often very annoying. But he was also - from what she could tell and from what Harry had told her - a good godfather.
Mr Fletcher summoned the Daily Prophet and started to peruse the sports section. Which meant this conversation was over.
For now.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 7th, 1995
"Morning Sirius. Did you have a..." Harry Potter trailed off when he saw that his godfather wasn't alone in their kitchen. "Good morning, Miss Dubois." Apparently, Sirius's date last night had gone well.
"Good morning." Miss Dubois smiled at him. She was wearing dress robes, he noticed. And her hair was styled. Sirius, though, looked slightly rumpled, and was wearing his house robes. She had to be skilled at styling charms, Harry thought.
"Harry - this is Jeanne. Jeanne - Harry."
"We met at the ball," Jeanne said.
Harry nodded. Sirius had been there, too.
"Yes. But not as my girlfriend and my godson."
Girlfriend? Harry blinked. That was rather… quick. Hasty. But, judging by the way the witch smiled and leaned into his godfather's side, not inaccurate. He nodded and sat down in his usual spot.
"We clicked, you would say," Sirius said with a grin.
"Is that what you call it?" Harry said, grinning when Sirius cleared his throat. Miss Dubois laughed, though. And it didn't sound forced or fake, either.
"Yeah, well… we had a wonderful evening," Sirius said, recovering quickly. "And a wonderful night."
Miss Dubois nodded. "Oh, yes." She even sighed.
"I don't need any details," Harry said quickly, his grin slipping a little.
"Are you certain?" Sirius asked with a broad grin. "You might want to take notes for your own dates."
"Yes, I'm certain," Harry said while Miss Dubois laughed again.
If she found his godfather as funny as Sirius thought he was, then it was no wonder that he considered her his girlfriend after one date, Harry thought.
The rest of breakfast was filled with flirting and more hints of what they had done last night. And jokes. Harry fled the kitchen when Miss Dubois slid into Sirius's lap, but he didn't think they noticed.
Sirius seemed to have it bad, Harry thought. To react like this, after a single date… Harry would have to talk to Hermione about this. Hear her opinion. Then he realised that she hadn't met the witch yet. And she 'had plans' for the weekend, so she wouldn't be visiting anyway. And tomorrow Harry would travel back to Hogwarts.
He sighed. He could talk to Ginny, who had met the witch, but his girlfriend might be biased because Miss Dubois was a friend of Miss Merriweather's. And Remus was already back at Hogwarts, catching up on his work after his 'errand' for the Order.
"Master's found a pureblood witch. Soon he'll have a proper heir."
Harry looked down at Kreacher, whose wrinkled face was warped in a parody of a smile.
"He won't kick me out," Harry shot back. "You'll still have to deal with me."
The elf scoffed. "Taking care of a pureblood baby is more important than dealing with a half-blood guest." With a dismissive sniff, he vanished through one of the half-sized hidden doors which led to the servants' passages.
Harry glared at the door, then shook his head. He was better than that. If Sirius had found a witch who loved him, then that was a good thing. His godfather deserved such happiness.
But if she broke his heart… Harry pressed his lips together. She might be a gold-digger. Or worse. But how could he find out if that was the case?
*****
Berkshire, Reading, Britain, January 7th, 1996
"At least it's not a cottage or barn," Hermione Granger muttered, standing disillusioned next to the chimney and staring down at the old house across the street. The building was old, though - and only had two floors.
"Are you having second thoughts?" Mr Fletcher asked.
She shook her head. "No." She could do this. The building was old, but the owners had been killed in the last war, and the wards had been broken. The Ministry had seized the house, but apparently hadn't found any heirs, and so it had been sold - for a pittance, as the records she had found showed - to Maximilian Rowle, one of Flint's friends.
"Don't get cocky, lass," Mr Fletcher warned her.
"I won't," she said. Even if this would be easy. The new wards were weak - she had checked beforehand, of course. Rowle wouldn't be at home anyway - the Harpies were playing Puddlemere tonight and he was a hardcore fan of the team - he had bored her almost to tears about them at the ball.
He snorted, but didn't say anything else. "I'm going in," she announced. "Keep an eye out for trouble!" she added with an invisible smirk as she slid down to the edge of the roof, one hand on the thin rope she had tied to the chimney.
A few seconds later, she was on the ground and vanished the rope with a flick of her wand. No traces would be left. She sprinted across the street and crouched down in the side alley next to Rowle's house, where the entrance to the old coal cellar was.
Slipping through the wards was the work of half an hour - she had examined them beforehand and came prepared. Picking the lock on the shutter didn't take her more than a few minutes, even without magic. Older definitely wasn't better when it came to locks.
She conjured a plank and used it to float down into the cellar without getting coal dust and dirt all over herself. More dirt than coal dust - the house hadn't been heated with coal in decades, and Rowle used spells to heat his home.
His likely stolen home, Hermione reminded herself as she vanished the plank and sneaked over to the door. That one wasn't even locked. Sloppy. She shook her head as she went up the stairs, patting the enchanted pocket in which she carried the 'bug' she had to place, an enchanted disc the size of a fingernail.
She pressed her ear to the door upstairs and froze - she heard voices. Excited voices. At least two people. But the game… Then she heard the faint roaring of a crowd and realised that Rowle was listening to the wireless.
And the git had told her - Miss Merriweather - that he never missed any of his team's games! She clenched her teeth. She should head back. Tell Mr Fletcher. Or place the bug at the door here. The spells would still work, mostly.
But she wanted to do a perfect job, not just a decent job. And for that she had to place the bug in the living room - the centre of the house. Where Rowle and at least one of his friends were listening to the wireless.
If this were a muggle home, they would be glued to the telly. But with the wireless, they wouldn't be as distracted. But she was disillusioned. And they would have drunk a few beers already. And they wouldn't expect a thief to sneak into the room. Not with such sloppy security on the house itself. Or would that be despite?
With a grin she pushed the door open, then sneaked into the hallway. She stuck to the wall as she made her way to the living room, then peered inside. Rowle was there, and another wizard - Peter Smith. Another of the crowd of bigots she had met at the ball. They were listening to the game with rapt attention and she saw several empty beer bottles on the floor. As expected.
She was tempted to sneak right behind the couch on which they were sitting, and place the disc there, but that wouldn't have been ideal. Instead, she stuck it to the lower edge of the door to the living room. The gap between it and the threshold was large enough so it wouldn't be ripped off, and they'd never spot it there.
She bit her lower lip. She should leave now. She had accomplished her task. But… she looked around. She was a thief, not a spy. With a grin, she sneaked into the kitchen. As expected, there was a cup filled Knuts, next to a window with an owl perch.
Two minutes later and one Knut richer, Hermione was back outside.
*****
Hogwarts, January 9th, 1996
"Good evening, Harry. Did you have a nice Christmas?"
"Yes, sir," Harry Potter said, sitting down in his usual chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. "But I'm also glad to be back at Hogwarts." He wasn't lying - Miss Dubois had spent another night at Grimmauld Place, and Sirius's attempt to make him like her had grated on his nerves. It wasn't that he disliked her; he simply didn't know her well enough yet to decide.
"Ah." Dumbledore nodded slowly, but did not elaborate. "I trust you kept up your training."
"Yes. All of it." Occlumency and Defence.
"Good. As much as I would wish it otherwise, the Dark Lord is growing in power. Many are doing his bidding, knowingly or otherwise."
"What exactly is he doing?" Harry asked.
"He's spreading his influence in the Ministry, placing and promoting his own followers and allies, and trying to oust ours."
"Like Percy."
"Exactly."
"And how long will that continue? And what can done about it?" Voldemort couldn't take over the Ministry like that, could he? He hadn't managed to in the last war.
"Measures are being taken to curb his influence and deal with his followers. My friends and I have to act with caution, though, so he remains unaware of what we know."
Harry tapped his scar. "I assume you mean this."
"Not just that. Given his arrogance, he is likely to assume that his deception worked and that we do not know that he has regained a body. I have taken steps to reinforce that assumption."
"You don't know, though."
"Nothing is ever certain," Dumbledore said with a wry smile. "Not even death, or so it seems."
"That still leaves taxes," Harry quipped, and the Headmaster chuckled.
"The Death Eaters haven't killed anyone, have they?" Harry asked after a brief pause. "I mean, apart from the sacrifices we already know about."
"Not to my knowledge, but I cannot claim to be omniscient."
Harry nodded. At least that meant that no Order members had died.
"Which brings me to the reason I called you to my office so soon after your arrival," Dumbledore continued. "I would like to take another look at your scar, and Lily's protection."
"Go ahead," Harry said. "Have you found out anything yet?"
"Nothing concrete, alas. Lily's notes were destroyed in the attack on your home. Filius donated the memories of his talk with her about her plans, but they didn't go into any details." He sighed. "On the other hand, they provided me with several promising leads to pursue."
"Do you think you can reverse-engineer the spell she used?"
"I do think that I am not overly optimistic or arrogant to presume so. Lily was a brilliant witch, but I am not exactly a slouch at magic myself." He grinned. "And as with many things, knowing that something is possible is often the most important step when innovating."
"Ah." Harry nodded. He would have preferred to hear about concrete progress, but as long as the Headmaster remained optimistic he wouldn't lose hope.
"Now let's test your Occlumency," Dumbledore said, raising his wand.
Harry took a deep breath and steeled himself. This would hurt.
*****
London, Greenwich, January 16th, 1996
"Alright. Our acquaintance has informed me that thanks to our efforts, we have identified a suspected high-ranking Death Eater," Mr Fletcher said, dropping a picture on the table in his living room. "Corban Yaxley. He's got a cushy position in the DMLE, and he's been recruiting and promoting a bunch of young wizards lately - the same kind of wizards we bugged." His voice grew cold. "The kind of wizards likely to don masks and go slaughtering muggleborns."
Hermione Granger couldn't help glancing at her own mask, resting on the table in front of her. It was a rush job - she had transfigured the tinted faceplate of a motorcycle helmet so it covered her entire face. Together with the blonde wig it should make identifying her impossible, even if her Disillusionment Charm should fail. And as another precaution she was wearing enough makeup beneath it to act as another disguise. Just in case the spells she had found didn't block whatever charm had been cast on Moody's eye. Not that she expected that Auror to bother them when they were working for the Order. But others could have similar spells.
Mr Fletcher cleared his throat. "Now we're supposed to bug his place too."
"Do we know where he lives?"
"His home address is on file with the Ministry," he said. "He might have moved out, but… I don't think so. It looks like he was already a Death Eater in the last war, and since he escaped suspicion then, I doubt that he'll be expecting any trouble now."
She nodded. That made sense - and sounded encouraging as well.
"But he's bound to have better protection than the kids whose homes we've broken into so far. Much better protection."
That didn't sound too promising. On the other hand, this was an important mission. They were going after a high-ranking, experienced Death Eater, not some boys fresh out of Hogwarts.
Exactly what she had wanted for so long. It had taken years, but now her revenge would finally begin!
*****
Chapter 14: Opening Act
Starfox5
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Chapter 14: Opening Act
Wigtownshire, Sorbie, Britain, January 16th, 1996
Lovegood was early, Elias thought when he heard the knock at the door. As an expert on magical creatures - albeit self-styled - the editor of The Quibbler should have known better than to arrive just as the sun had gone down. Perhaps Hogwarts shouldn't just teach the students not to tickle dragons, but also not to rouse vampires.
He deliberately took his time answering the door. He wasn't beholden to Lovegood; this was just a favour for a friend. A very big favour, Elias thought, if his visitor was as rude during the interview as his early arrival seemed to indicate.
When he saw that it wasn't Lovegood who was standing in front of his door, but an unknown wizard, he instantly aimed his wand at the man. "Who are you?"
"Mr Elias Fawley?" the man calmly asked, as if he wasn't staring down Elias's wand. Elias tensed even more - there were few reasons for such a lack of reaction, and all of them were worrying. And he also heard the soft humming of a privacy spell.
"Elias," he corrected the man. "I have no family any more." Not since he had been turned into a vampire. He chastised himself - he shouldn't have answered the man when he himself hadn't been given a name.
"Ah, yes. The Fawleys didn't show a lot of tolerance or understanding for your condition, did they?" The man smiled. "So very short-sighted of them."
Elias had made his peace with being disowned long ago - at the graves of his parents. But that was neither here nor there. "Who are you?" he asked again, aiming his wand right at the man's face. He smelled like a human, but slightly different. And Elias could hear his heart beat, so he wasn't a vampire.
"A scholar." The man smiled again, as if they were having a pleasant discussion over tea.
Elias started to feel slightly worried - very few men would try to play such games with him. Who was this annoying visitor? He should simply send the man away. Close the door in his face. His wards would protect him. But if Lovegood arrived while the man was loitering outside… Sanguine would blame Elias if anything happened to Lovegood when visiting his home. "What do you want?"
"I'm interested in a few controversial subjects, in which you are an expert, or so I was told."
"By whom?" he snapped. He had dabbled in many questionable things in his youth, and in even more after his change, but that was in the past.
The man shook his head. "I promised not to reveal their names. Just as I will not reveal your name, should you be able to help my research."
He hadn't stopped smiling. Elias wanted to curse him, just to wipe the smile off the stranger's face. "I can't help you. I'm no scholar. You have been misinformed."
"Weren't you once called the Red Wizard in certain circles?"
If he had still needed to breathe, Elias would have gasped right then. Everyone who had known him by that name was dead. Everyone but for… "Gabriel."
The man nodded.
Gabriel would have killed anyone asking after that time of their existences. But he hadn't killed the man in front of Elias.
Or, Elias thought with growing fear, Gabriel had tried and failed to kill him. "What do you want?"
"I would rather discuss this like civilised men, not out in the street. It is a very delicate subject, isn't it?"
"I would rather not discuss this at all," Elias retorted. "I assume we will have to compromise." He wouldn't let the man enter his home and abandon the protection of his wards.
"As you wish." The man sounded disappointed, but still kept smiling. "I want the Book of Blood."
"That's a myth," Elias lied reflexively. "Like the Deathly Hallows."
"Not exactly." The man lowered his voice. "Gabriel told me."
Gabriel had told? Elias froze. "Possession of that work is a death sentence."
"I don't care about the petty laws of the Ministry. Or the ICW."
The stranger was a madman. But if he had made Gabriel talk… "I don't have it."
"Not any more."
Gabriel had talked. Elias took a step back. "It was destroyed."
The man took a step forward, shaking his head. "I know your type, Mr Fawley. No matter how much you wish to turn over a new leaf, you'd never destroy knowledge." He took another step. "What did you do with it?"
Elias trembled. He couldn't tell the man. He had to flee. His wards would hold long enough to… He gaped. The man had crossed the wardline.
The man's smile widened, showing pearly white teeth. Something flickered and Elias saw his wand on the ground.
Still held by his hand.
"I am quite familiar with how much damage an undead body can sustain, Mr Fawley," the man said. "You will tell me all I want to know."
His assailant hadn't stopped smiling the entire time, Elias realised, a moment before he was struck by another spell.
London, Greenwich, January 16th, 1996
"Yaxley lives in Hogsmeade. The blighter bought the building during the last war, when the heirs of the previous owners, who were killed in the war, left Britain," Mr Fletcher explained.
"That sounds suspicious," Hermione Granger remarked. First Rowle, now Yaxley - it looked as if Death Eaters didn't just survive the war unscathed, but actually profited from the carnage.
Her tutor shrugged. "Mighta been - but a lot of people fled the country back then, and we don't know how much Yaxley paid fer the house." He pulled a small object out of his pouch and put it on the table.
It was a miniature building, Hermione saw. Very detailed. But tiny. How could they…
He tapped it with his wand, and it grew until it took over most of the table. Another tap, and the walls grew transparent. Her eyes widened. "Did you make this? Have you already broken into the building?"
He shook his head. "No. Yaxley didn't exactly throw balls, but a wizard in his position, with a home in Hogsmeade, had to entertain people - and if he wanted to avoid being suspected as a Death Eater, he also had to entertain 'blood traitors'."
"Someone else did this, then." A member of the Order? She frowned. "They would know what we're planning."
"They gave the order. Although I don't know if they created this based on a personal visit, or from someone else's memories."
"Ah." So, it was Dumbledore's work. Of course, she should have expected that - this was a very impressive piece of magic, after all. She nodded and then leaned forward to study the building.
"As you can see, it's an old house - Yaxley wanted a respectable residence. In a few generations, people will have forgotten that he bought and didn't inherit it." He snorted. "But the wards are new."
"Like Rowle's."
"Yes. But he'll have paid much more for his. And probably added a few spells of his own. Don't underestimate them." He narrowed his eyes at her.
"I won't," she said.
"Not that you'll have to break through them yourself; you're not yet ready for that kind of job."
She wanted to disagree, but he was correct that she lacked experience with the stronger - and older - wards. So she nodded. She intended to correct that soon, though.
"And he picked old-style wards - they cover the garden in the back too." The tip of his wand traced the model, and a red line marked the wardline. Before she could ask, he continued: "I already scoped out the area. Can't trust someone else, much less their memories, when it comes to such things. Always observe and examine them yourself - do a proper casing before the job."
That made sense. Of course, in theory, that could be done on a heist as well - examine the wards, then break through them - but, as her tutor had said, people were prone to rush things if they had to do them all in the same night. And that got thieves caught or killed.
"Does he own any pets?"
"No sign of one, but that doesn't mean much." He nodded. "We'll use potions to mask our scent anyway." He tapped the model and the different rooms started to glow. "Unlike the homes we bugged before, this house is larger, and was a family home for centuries. There's bound to be spells inside to give everyone privacy. Which means we need to bug every room."
That would take a lot of time. "Do we go in during the day, when he's at work?"
"I would prefer to - but he occasionally eats lunch at home. And a wizard who's alert and awake is harder to deal with than one asleep in bed." He grinned and held up a small vial. "This'll make him sleep through a Quidditch match. We'll put him out, and then we'll have the whole night to bug his place. And if he notices us before we put him out, we'll stun and obliviate him. Won't have to replace his memories either - we can just wipe them and he'll assume he slept through the night."
"Unless he notices the after-effects of the potion, or the spell," she pointed out.
"Should haven't any. And if he does he'll probably assume he didn't sleep well."
She nodded. And made a mental note to acquire some of that potion as well. "Do we use the same bugs as before?"
"Yes." He narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "Now, don't think this will be as easy as the other jobs. These old homes have lots of spells and quirks. Some even have ghosts."
"Or ghouls," she added, remembering The Burrow's 'house ghoul'.
"Yes. Don't assume that once we're through the wards we're done. Yaxley won't have trapped every room with curses fit for an Egyptian tomb, but he'll have a few surprises - even a spell meant to keep the kids out of your wine cabinet can ruin your day."
She hoped it wouldn't be as bad as Grimmauld Place had been, before Mr Black had hired Curse-Breakers to fix it. The stories Harry and his godfather had told her...
She really hoped that Yaxley was more sensible than Mr Black's family. Although that wouldn't take much.
Hogsmeade, January 16th, 1996
"Auror patrol just passed the street. We're clear for the next two hours."
Mr Fletcher's voice sounded slightly off, Hermione Granger noticed - the enchantment on the earring she wore might not have been done that well, she thought. Or something was interfering with it - Hogsmeade was the only purely magical village in Britain, and some of the buildings were older than the manors of the Old Families; there were many, many spells layered over the houses here. On the other hand, she hadn't heard of any trouble with wireless reception in the village, so it probably wasn't the environment. She would have do a better job when she added such an enchantment to her mask.
She shook her head and focused on the task at hand. As long as she could clearly understand her tutor it would do. She tapped her earring, brushing the blonde strands of her wig back in the process. "I'm heading to the fence," she whispered as she guided her broom forward.
It was a clear night, but a windy one - as she flew closer to the ground, snow thrown up from the roofs and trees lining her approach was blown up, covering her from masked face to booted toe. If it wasn't dark, someone could have spotted the distortion this created in the air, rendering her Disillusionment Charm less effective.
She stopped a few yards above the ground, hovering behind an old, thick oak tree, and conjured a floating, nearly transparent platform right next to Yaxley's fence. Then she cleaned the snow off herself. Her suit - a stylish but sturdy leather catsuit, bought in a muggle shop using a fake identity - was charmed against the cold, but the snow would melt once they entered the house, and that could leave traces of their intrusion.
She tried to spot Mr Fletcher, but the thief must have avoided the snow clouds - she only detected him when her Human-presence-revealing Spell showed his marker approaching her position.
"Good work," she heard his whispered voice through her earring, then saw the platform dip slightly as his disillusioned form dismounted his broom and stepped on to it. "I'll start on the wards. Keep an eye out."
"Yes, sir."
That sounded easier than it was - she had to keep the platform floating, and watch not just Yaxley's house, but the neighbouring houses as well - especially the one right behind them, to which the garden they were in belonged. The village looked dead so close to midnight, and it was unlikely that any wizard would be walking around in the snow, but unlikely didn't mean impossible. And the Aurors might have started to vary their patrol schedules, too.
But despite her worries nothing happened while Mr Fletcher worked his - their - way through the wards, and, after an hour and five minutes - she had checked her watch regularly - she heard her tutor sigh. "Alright, that's done. The blighter had some tricky spells layered in his wards."
She touched her earring, activating the enchantment. "Lethal ones?"
"No. Just tricky. Lots of detection spells. A few linked to Alarm Charms outside the house, too. Woulda started a hell of a racket had I botched it."
But he hadn't. She flew closer to the platform - there was no need any longer to maintain some distance so she wouldn't be caught in the backlash should he make a mistake - and stared at the spot where the invisible wardline was. She couldn't see any sign of it until she cast a detection spell - another enchantment she needed on her mask.
The wards glowed in her enhanced sight, but she could see the ripples that formed a rift right next to the platform. Large enough to fly through on her broom.
"I'll go first," Mr Fletcher whispered.
As he passed through the wards on his broom, she bit her lower lip and didn't point out that that had been the plan, and that he didn't need to remind her - she was more mature than that. She thought it, though.
Then it was her turn. She thought she felt a tickling sensation on her skin when she passed through the wards, but that might have just been her imagination - it was hard to focus on that sensation with her detection spell almost blinding her.
But she was through and floating in Yaxley's backyard. A flick of her wand made the platform disappear, leaving the snow below untouched.
"Alright. Check the back windows on the second floor for spells. I'll take the ground and first floor."
She nodded, even if he couldn't see it, and flew up to the second floor. It didn't take her long to verify that all the windows were protected by spells - advanced alarm and locking charms. Even the attic window was thus protected. Someone had been very thorough.
But then, if Yaxley had been a Death Eater in the last war, he would have known from personal experience how vulnerable sloppy defences rendered a house. He might even have been among the group who massacred the original owners of this building, she thought while clenching her teeth. "All second floor windows, as well as the attic window, are protected."
"Same here. We'll go through the first floor window then."
High enough to avoid most of the snow blown up by the wind, and low enough to easily jump out if they had to.
"Watch my back while I work," she heard him, then saw his marker float closer to the house.
That had been the plan as well, but Hermione still clenched her teeth. She could have done this, at least. Almost as fast as Mr Fletcher, too. If she could never get actual experience in the field she would never get good enough for him to trust her.
But she did what she was ordered to and once again played lookout for the five minutes it took him to open the window without alerting the neighbourhood.
"Done. Let's go in."
She saw his marker disappear through the window, then followed. As soon as she was inside, she vanished the snow on herself. Maybe that was another enchantment for her suit?
"Alright," Mr Fletcher whispered. "He's sleeping in the room next to us; I saw his bed through the window. Drop the Disillusionment Charm so we don't trip over each other while sneaking up on him."
She obeyed, even though she didn't like how vulnerable being visible made her feel. Normal leather wouldn't do much against curses. But at least she was wearing something more solid - and more stylish - than the dark grey balaclava, turtleneck and trousers Mr Fletcher was sporting.
A cat burglar had to have a certain style, in her opinion. Which was why her mask had stylised whiskers painted on it. That a good cat burglar wouldn't ever be seen didn't matter in the slightest.
Mr Fletcher was already checking the door as she looked around. The room looked like a guest room - slightly impersonal and not often used. It might have been a child's room before Yaxley bought the house, she realised with a sick feeling.
Then Mr Fletcher opened the door, and she focused on the job at hand again. Wooden floor in the hallway. Old boards - the kind that looked like they would creak at the slightest touch. A spell took care of that, though.
The door to Yaxley's bedroom didn't stop her tutor for long, although he had to deal with a spell there, and Hermione held her breath when he pushed it open.
There was Yaxley, deep asleep. He was alone, sprawled out on top of his bed sheets - and nude. She blinked. The house was heated with magic, but still…
Hermione bit her lower lip behind her mask as Mr Fletcher sneaked over to the bed and pulled out the vial he had shown her earlier. There were half a dozen plants in the room - and as far as she could tell, they were all tropical plants. She lifted her mask a little and tested the air. Hot and humid.
Why would Yaxley want to sleep like this? Even the natives in the tropics generally preferred cooler temperatures. He either must really love his plants, or…
"Done. He won't wake up until the morning, even if we yelled directly into his ear," Mr Fletcher announced. "What's wrong?"
"I think he has an exotic familiar," Hermione said, looking around. "Probably venomous, too."
She really wished she had been able to attend Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts. She had no practical experience with such pets. Or threats.
Mr Fletcher's curse perfectly fit the situation, but wasn't very helpful.
"What do we do?" she asked in a whisper. Even though Mr Fletcher had ensured that Yaxley would not be waking up for hours, his pet - and she was now certain he had one - might hear them.
"It might be smart enough to understand what we're doing if it observes us. We'll need to find it and stun it," her tutor said. "Preferably without being seen."
He didn't seem concerned with the threat the animal posed to them, Hermione noticed, only with the danger to the mission. That was encouraging. A little, at least. "Disillusionment Charm?" she asked.
He slowly nodded. "Yes. I don't like it and we can't count on the thing being fooled by it, but it'll help." He was whispering and looking at the floor, now. "I don't suppose that Black taught you a spell to detect animals?"
She shook her head.
"Alright. Here's what we'll do: We'll go room by room. I'll use a Supersensory Charm in each room, to find the thing, You'll have to stand still and not make any noise for that."
"I'll hold my breath."
He nodded. "Good. Once we have a room done, we close the door. Keep in mind which doors were open, too - we'll have to leave them as we found them once we're done."
She nodded. That shouldn't be too hard - there couldn't be more than a dozen rooms. And she hadn't seen any signs of Extension Charms being used.
"We'll start here," he whispered and raised his wand.
Hermione held her breath and kept an eye out while he searched the room. It took longer than she thought, and she took a few hasty breaths before he finished. "Nothing's here. I placed the bug inside the frame of his bed. Even a pet shouldn't detect it there."
Another complication, Hermione noted. They cast Disillusionment Charms and left the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Yaxley must not have wanted his pet to enter while he slept, she thought. But then, why did he keep the air so humid in his bedroom? Maybe he was used to it now?
The hallway had too many plants, too, she noticed. A small animal - like a snake - could easily hide here. It might even travel the entire length of the corridor without being spotted by anyone.
She bit her lower lip. They had to search the hallway before going further, but they couldn't close all the doors without first checking them for alarm charms. They would have to search the hallway each time they finished with a room. Hermione was suddenly worried that they might run out of time.
"Hold your breath!" Mr Fletcher said.
She did, tensing, as he cast his charm again. There were too many open doors here, she thought. Too many plants. Some ivy-like plant even covered parts of the ceiling, Hermione noticed, looking up.
"Watch out!"
She whirled around at her tutor's warning, just in time to catch his Banishment Charm on her chest. The spell threw her back, down the hallway, robbing her of breath for a moment. She rolled once and rose in a crouch, her wand moving, but she couldn't see anything - but from where Mr Fletcher's marker was floating, Stunners flew at the floor - and the spells were closing in on her.
Whatever he was casting at was moving towards her! She flicked her wand and conjured a thick glass panel in front of her. Before she could anchor it with a Sticking Charm, something invisible hit it and it started to fall down.
But it had slowed her attacker down, giving her time to conjure another and stick it in place. Not a moment too soon, since the thing hit it with enough force to cause cracks to appear just as she finished. She needed to learn how to conjure reinforced glass, she realised. Or find a way to reinforce the glass once conjured. Something better than the Unbreakable Charm.
A Mending Charm fixed the glass. Why wasn't Mr Fletcher casting? She didn't see any Stunners any more. Her eyes widened when she realised that if he missed then his Stunner would shatter the glass. The glass cracked again, and she had to repair it. She didn't know how long she could keep this up.
What was Mr Fletcher doing? She glanced at his marker. Still no spells flying at the invisible thing. But then a green transparent mass suddenly covered the hallway from wall to wall, and halfway up her glass panel. And something in the midst of the mass was moving - violently. She could see the outline of a slender form thrashing wildly, captured in a giant mass of…
"Glue?" she blurted out, then bit her lower lip when she heard Mr Fletcher groan - his charm must still be active, and her exclamation would have sounded as if she had yelled into his ears.
She held her tongue while the glue surrounding the captured creature started to peel back, followed by a Stunner hitting it. In front of Hermione's eyes, a black snake slowly faded into view.
She saw Mr Fletcher appearing as well, with his eyes closed as he sighed in apparent relief. "That was torture. Did anyone ever tell you that you breathe too loudly?"
She gasped, and he smirked. "Just kidding. Now let's see what I caught."
"Vanishing Viper," she said at once. "The only known snake of that size that can disillusion itself and can detect invisible creatures. It needs to, since it hunts Demiguises. It's highly venomous, too," she added as she dispelled her own Disillusionment Charm.
"I'll take your word fer it," he said, before vanishing both glue and glass.
Hermione stared at the thing, crouching down to observe it closely. It was almost pitch-black, but the tip of its scales were red-tinted. About two yards long, and very strong - she didn't think a normal snake that size would have been able to crack the glass. It certainly wouldn't have kept trying after the first time. Snakes weren't the smartest of creatures, but even they knew better than that. Which meant this snake had known what it was doing. "We'll need to obliviate it, I think," she said.
"Yeah. That wasn't a normal animal." He sighed again. "Obliviating animals is tricky, but we don't have a choice. The Dark Lord can talk to snakes. If he's placed this snake here as a spy, he just needs to ask it to learn about us."
Hermione hadn't considered that a Parselmouth would use snakes as spies like that, but it should have been obvious. "Tricky?" She frowned.
He shrugged, then rolled his right shoulder. "They don't think exactly as we do. The spell should work, but it's tricky."
She pressed her lips together. That didn't sound encouraging. On the other hand, even if the creature ended up missing more than a few hours of memories Yaxley might not notice.
"Well, we've lost enough time. Let's get on with this job!" Mr Fletcher said, pointing his wand at the viper. "Obliviate."
Despite Mr Fletcher's statement they moved slowly - there could be more than one snake, after all, even though that was very unlikely - having more than one familiar was unheard of, and Hermione doubted that Yaxley would have let a normal Vanishing Viper roam around his house. And she didn't think that the Dark Lord would have placed more than one snake as a spy in a Death Eater's home - a snake familiar wasn't unheard of, but if a wizard suddenly started keeping several snakes as pets then that would attract attention - Voldemort's affinity with snakes was known, after all.
But she still worried until they found the snake's habitat in the second room down the hallway. It was a veritable jungle - but at the door there was a solid gold water bowl, with a name engraved on it: 'Victoria'. Any wizard who'd do this for a pet wouldn't make two pets share, she thought.
Placing the bugs took a little more time than planned, too, to account for a snake's senses, but they managed to finish all the floors in two hours.
All the floors above ground, to be precise, Hermione corrected herself as she stared at the door leading to the cellar.
"There are some are solid protections on this door," Mr Fletcher commented as he got to work on it, "but nothing lethal. Probably doesn't want to end up with a dead guest who just wanted a peek at his wine cellar."
"That would be hard to explain to his coworkers." Hermione tried not to let her tension show in her voice. Good thieves were unflappable. She couldn't help biting her lower lip, though, as she kept glancing around every few seconds to check for threats, as a good thief should. A locked cellar in a Death Eater's home was not a good sign. She thought of cells - of dungeons, even. Or a laboratory where forbidden experiments were conducted. Or a chamber for rituals - sacrificial rituals.
"Done," Mr Fletcher said, straightening. "But there could be traps on the stairs. Follow in my steps."
Hermione didn't think that anyone, even a Death Eater, would be so crazy as to trap their own stairs. All it would take was one slip - of the mind, or the feet - and they would be struck themselves. On the other hand, what she had seen at, and told about, Grimmauld Place...
She took a deep breath and followed her tutor down the stairs, gripping her wand tightly as she stepped gingerly on the old stones which formed a straight stairway. Another door awaited them at the foot of the stairs. That one looked even older than the house - wood so dark, it looked almost black, held together with massive iron bars. Probably cold iron, she thought - back in medieval times, wizards had used that a lot, before advances in Arithmancy had proved that it offered no special advantage over steel when it came to resisting magic. Although some scholars claimed that it was the advances in metallurgy at the time which were responsible for creating a steel that was as resistant as cold iron.
She shook her head at her stray thoughts - this wasn't the time to indulge in academic speculation! Mr Fletcher was checking for traps, and, judging by his frown, something was wrong.
"No spells on this door. And I can't spot any traps either."
Which didn't mean that there weren't any, Hermione knew - her tutor had taught her that lesson well. She was already moving back up the stairs when Mr Fletcher conjured a large dog before joining her.
"Protego," she whispered - she could have cast the spell silently, but it would have been weaker, and she didn't want to take that risk.
Mr Fletcher cast his charm silently, then flicked his wand and opened the door from a distance. Then the dumb dog trotted through the doorway without getting cursed or crushed.
"It looks safe," she remarked.
"I'll go first," her tutor said. "Stay back."
She clenched her teeth to stop herself blurting out a childish protest. It was the right decision. She couldn't help him if she fell victim to a curse herself. But it still felt as if she wasn't pulling her weight. As if he was protecting her.
She held her breath, her wand aimed at him when he stepped through the doorway, ready to summon his clothes, and with them, him, as soon as something happend. Nothing did, though.
"Clear," she heard him through her earring.
She descended, taking care to use the same steps as before, and joined him in the cellar. Which looked remarkably ordinary, if too small for all the stuff in it. Not even magical - but for some of the wine bottles in the racks.
"It looks like he really didn't want others to steal his wine," Mr Fletcher remarked. But he was studying her, she noticed, and not the room.
"Do you suspect that there's a secret room?" she asked, already studying the room.
"Aye." He nodded. "The room's a little small for a house this size. And that shelf there looks a little too tidy." He pointed at an old shelf full of knick-knacks and rubbish. "Not overloaded, like the others."
"And no Extension Charm," she added.
He nodded again. "Would mess up the spells concealing the entrance." He jabbed his wand at the shelf, but staying clear of it. "There's the cursed trap we've been looking for!" he said with evident glee. "That'll take awhile to deal with." He turned to her. "Go check on the snake and Yaxley. He might wake up if I botch things up here."
She bit down on her retort once again - if he botched this up, the curse would go off. He didn't want her there while he worked. But, again, it made sense.
She didn't like it, though.
"All done here. Come back down."
Hermione checked her watch when she - finally - heard Mr Fletcher call her. It had taken him half an hour to deal with the cursed shelf. But, as she noticed when she re-entered the cellar, he hadn't moved it yet. She glanced at him, and caught him grinning.
"Wouldn't want ta deprive ya of the big reveal." Then he grew serious. "But be aware: We might find somethin' really nasty. Nightmarish. I've broken into enough Death Eater houses to know."
She met his eyes and nodded. She wouldn't shy away, no matter what they found.
He held her gaze, then sighed and turned to the shelf. A flick of his wand later, it swung open, and Hermione gasped.
The room behind it was smaller than the cellar, but as packed. Only instead of wine bottles and old furniture and rubbish, there were potion vials, brooms and bags - and a coat stand from which hung black robes and a white mask.
A Death Eater mask.
"He's been stockpiling potions and other supplies," she said, forcing herself to take her eyes off the Death Eater regalia. "Can we sabotage them?"
Mr Fletcher shook his head. "We could - but it would risk giving away that we were here."
And that would defeat the whole purpose of the job. She slowly nodded. She didn't like it, but she understood.
London, Greenwich, January 17th, 1996
Hermione Granger hadn't realised how tired she was - how exhausting the heist, her first real heist, had been - until she and her tutor finally returned to his flat in London and she could stop looking around for ambushes and pursuit. Adrenalin had kept her going through the entire heist, and through the four stops on the way back to throw off anyone who might be following them.
Now she just wanted to collapse in a bed. Or an armchair. Even the floor had started to look inviting, if she was honest. Cocking her head sideways, she stared at a spot she knew would be sunny and warm in a few hours, once the sun was up. And if she laid her coat down, she would have a cozy spot indeed.
"Here." Mr Fletcher interrupted her thoughts of taking a short nap by handing her a vial.
"Pepper-Up Potion?" she asked. The colour matched. The smell as well, she noted after uncorking it.
"Yes. I don't like using it during a heist, but it'll keep you going a little longer, so we can go over the job while the memory's still fresh. One sip will be enough, you can keep the rest." He took a sip from his own vial and shuddered. "Decades of time, and they've never fixed the taste."
Hermione followed his example, gasping when she suddenly felt wide-awake, then winced herself - the aftertaste was truly awful. "I heard that that was by design. So people are less likely to abuse it."
"Sounds like a story made up after the fact," he said, shrugging. "Now let's get started. I ain't getting any younger, and I need my sleep." He sat down at the table and flicked his wand, setting up water to boil for tea.
She nodded and sat down herself. She almost pulled out her notepad before she remembered that this wasn't an exercise or a test. No proof, no traces was the rule. Instead, she pulled out the Knut she had nicked from Yaxley and glanced at it. It was a shiny new one. Maybe she should make a bracelet out of all the coins she had taken. If she transfigured them no one would ever know. And even if they did… Knuts weren't exactly unique.
It didn't seem as if her tutor had noticed her near-lapse. "Now… the job went well. We slipped through the wards and security as planned. The snake was a surprise, but nothing we couldn't handle. Good job on realising that there was a pet, by the way."
He smiled at her, and she beamed. She had been useful and not just some assistant, hadn't she?
"Apart from the snake - a Vanishing Viper you called it?"
Hermione nodded. "It matches what I've read about them. I haven't seen one before today, though, so I can't be certain until I've checked a few more books." If only there were a magical zoo.
"Suit yourself. Anyway, apart from the snake, was there anything else that you noticed?"
She frowned and narrowed her eyes, trying to remember anything out of the ordinary - for a heist. "No," she finally said.
"Me neither. Even the potions he had hidden seemed to be standard ones." He shrugged. "Wish we coulda bugged them, but vials get handled - they'd have noticed them, and the jig woulda been up."
She bit her lower lip, then cleared her throat. She didn't know if she should ask… but she wanted to know.
"Out with it," he said.
"Will the Order kill him?" He was a Death Eater, and he was doing the Dark Lord's bidding - preparing for war, even. Taking him out would be the logical course of action.
"We won't kill him. We're thieves, not assassins." He stared at her.
"I know. But I don't presume that the Order will let him continue working for the Dark Lord." Left alone, Yaxley would murder people. And help others murder people. She rolled the Knut between her fingers.
"No, they won't. It's a war, after all. But they'll want to know who his contacts are, before they do anything."
"So, we're helping to kill him." Had helped - their work was done. She looked at him.
"We weren't sent there to kill him, or prepare his assassination. We were simply sent to bug 'im." He met her eyes, but she thought he didn't like it either.
"So we're thieves and spies."
"A good thief is a good spy." He pointed at her. "Though a good spy generally wears something a little less eye-catching."
"Muggle television would disagree," she shot back with a grin. "Besides, it's part of my cover. If anyone spots us, they'll remember a sexy thief in a catsuit, with long, straight blonde hair. Nothing like me."
"If Moody spots you he'll notice the wig."
"I'll have to use Sleekeazy's Hair Potion then, and dyes." And maybe a self-tanning lotion.
"That'll be expensive. You'll have to steal more than a Knut per heist to cover the cost of the potion."
So he had noticed. She grinned and nodded anyway. She was planning to steal a lot more.
Hogwarts, January 23rd, 1996
"Harry, look! Daddy's uncovered a conspiracy!"
Harry Potter turned his head when he heard Luna call out, and found himself staring at the cover of The Quibbler from a distance of about an inch. He pulled back a little until he could read the title, bumping into Ginny who was sitting next to him at the Gryffindor table.
"'Vampire Hunt! Blood Magic Conspiracy!'?" he asked the blonde witch.
She nodded several times. "Yes! Someone's hunting vampires - several prominent members of the vampire community have disappeared during the last few weeks."
"There's a vampire community?" Harry hadn't been aware of that.
"Of course there is!" Luna said. "It's an underground network. The sun is deadly to them, after all."
"Ah." He glanced at Ron, but his friend was simply nodding while finishing his breakfast.
"Most dark creatures band together," Ginny added. "Werewolves form packs too." She had shifted on the bench and was now leaning into his back, her chin resting on his shoulder as she looked at the magazine.
"But vampires are very territorial, so they can't live together like werewolves. Hence they form a network, not a pack. They mostly communicate through specially-trained bats," Luna explained.
"Why don't they use owls?" Harry asked. He felt a little distracted with Ginny's chest pressing into his back.
"They use owls to send letters to wizards, but bats to other vampires. It's tradition," Luna answered. "Daddy wrote an article about it two years ago - he noticed a trained bat posing as a pet when he was interviewing a vampire." She smiled. "He's a very good investigative journalist."
"Who's hunting vampires?" Ron asked.
Luna leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Daddy doesn't know yet. But it has to be a well-organised group of hunters - even old, powerful vampires are disappearing."
"Disappearing?" Harry whispered, then bit his lip - this was what privacy spells were for!
"They are either hiding - or dead. Well - un-undead." Luna wrinkled her forehead and blinked. "They're technically dead already, after all."
A well-organised group of hunters… Harry tried not to wince when he had a thought. "What's the blood magic connection?"
"Vampires are masters of blood magic!" Luna declared. "The article explains that as well," she added, opening the magazine and pointing at a paragraph with bright red letters. "You wouldn't have to ask this many questions if you had a subscription to The Quibbler."
She was looking at him with hopeful eyes. Harry could take a hint. "How much for a subscription?"
Luna beamed at him.
"So, do you think this is his work?" Ron asked half an hour later, pointing at the magazine on Harry's bed.
Harry Potter checked if his privacy spell was working before answering. "It might very well be Voldemort's work - if Mr Lovegood's theory is true." There weren't many facts in the article, though. Not many relevant ones, at least - in Harry's opinion.
Ron nodded. "Gonna tell Dumbledore?"
"Yes."
"You haven't had any, you know?" Ron tapped on his forehead.
Harry shook his head. "No." Which had him both worried and relieved at the same time.
"I would prefer it if it was a conspiracy by vampire hunters, as Mr Lovegood claims," Ron said. "But The Quibbler doesn't have a good track record when it comes to their theories."
"Luna believes them, though," Harry said. And she was in Ravenclaw. And rather smart, too, as far as he could tell.
Ron shrugged. "He's her father," he said, as if that would explain it. Harry didn't really understand that - he certainly had quickly learned that Sirius's stories couldn't always be trusted. And not just because his godfather's memory was still affected by his time in Azkaban. "And she lost her mother when she was nine years old."
That, Harry could understand.
"Good evening, Headmaster," Harry Potter said when he entered Dumbledore's office later that evening.
"Good evening, Harry. Have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to what had become Harry's usual chair. "You wanted to speak to me."
"Yes, sir. I was wondering if you're aware of The Quibbler's latest article?" Harry said as he pulled the magazine in question out of one of the pockets of his robes.
"The blood magic conspiracy? Yes, I am, actually." Dumbledore slowly nodded. "I take it that you harbour the same suspicion, then?"
"If you mean that I think this could be Voldemort's work, then yes," Harry said.
"I did mean that, indeed." Dumbledore sighed. "I fear that while Xenophilius is incorrect with regard to the culprits, his theory that this is related to blood magic is on the mark."
"It's Voldemort, then," Harry said.
"That is the most likely explanation." The Headmaster inclined his head. "It certainly is not a possibility that we should easily dismiss."
"I haven't had any visions, though," Harry pointed out.
"That doesn't have to mean anything. Voldemort might simply be still in the process of preparing another ritual."
"Can we stop him? I mean, can you and the Order stop him?" Harry corrected himself.
Dumbledore smiled. "Please do not feel as if you are not doing your part in the struggle just because you're not crossing wands with Death Eaters. As a wise soul has said once, battles are won with spells, but wars are won with planning." He sighed. "It is, as most such sayings, not entirely or not always correct, but it is true enough. You are crucial in this conflict. Your connection to Voldemort, your blood protection - you are the only one, ever, to have survived his Killing Curse."
"And I might survive his next one as well," Harry said.
"But you also might fall to someone else's wand without even meeting Voldemort. We do not know the exact power and nature of your mother's protection. Not yet." Dumbledore smiled at him. "There are many willing to raise their wands against him, but only you carry the key to his defeat."
Harry sighed. "So I can't risk myself. I understand." He did. Wanting to fight Voldemort was childish and stupid, he knew that. But he hated that he was staying safe behind the wards of Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place while others risked their lives.
Dumbledore chuckled, but he sounded sad rather than amused in Harry's opinion. "And I understand how much you resent that." The Headmaster sighed. "I feel the same whenever I send friends out on dangerous tasks while I remain at Hogwarts. I am not being boastful when I say that there are very few who are as accomplished at magic, and at fighting, as I am. I could do just about any task that needs to be done better than most. And yet, I cannot do everything myself. If I neglected my other duties in order to spare my friends the risk of fighting, I would do much more damage to our cause."
"I see." Harry hadn't thought of that.
"Since you are here already, shall we use the opportunity to do some further research and training?"
"Yes, sir." It would be painful, but it would make feel him better. Less useless, at least, Harry thought.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 24th, 1996
"Good evening, Miss Granger."
Hermione Granger looked up from the latest report the manager of the Black plantations in the Congo had sent and smiled politely at Jeanne - no, at Miss Dubois; she couldn't afford to think of the witch as a friend when she wasn't Miss Merriweather. "Good evening, Miss Dubois. Are you looking for Mr Black?"
"No, I just wanted to say hello. I rarely see you, even though you are Sirius's secretary." Miss Dubois smiled at her like Jeanne smiled at Miss Merriweather.
Hermione's own smile didn't change. "That's because I am usually buried in work. Mr Black receives a lot of correspondence that I have to peruse and sort before he deigns to look at it. Here!" She held up the report she had received. "A detailed tally of the expenses of the plantations in the Congo that the Black family acquired in the aftermath of the Intervention in 1873." She frowned - Magical History tended to gloss over the ICW's 'Great Punishing Expedition' that had wiped out most of the native wizards south of the Sahara Desert when they had started to use magic to fight against the muggle colonial powers. But this wasn't the time to discuss those atrocities. "In order to check the numbers, I have to read up on the last few years' reports, or I might miss someone skimming or padding their expenses. Then I have to check the profits, which involves checking the customs duties and the wages, which fluctuate wildly for no apparent reason I can find. It is fascinating, but also quite time-consuming, although I have become somewhat proficient in these matters as a result. Here!" She held up another sheet of parchment. "Aren't those columns just a little too neat?"
Miss Dubois's smile had slipped slightly. Hermione wouldn't have noticed, had she not known Jeanne so well. "Indeed, very fascinating. But I see that you are very busy, and I would feel very guilty were I to keep you from your work any longer."
Hermione nodded, already looking at the sheet again. Even though as Miss Merriweather she wore tinted contacts, a wig, far more makeup than usual and had her voice changed, Miss Dubois might find her a little too familiar should they talk for too long.
But so far the French witch had been scared off by Hermione's enthusiastic discussion of the most boring details of Mr Black's businesses each time she had tried to get friendly with her boyfriend's secretary. Hermione could only hope that this would keep working a little longer.
London, Merton, January 25th, 1996
Hermione Granger sat down on her bed and petted Crookshanks, who was taking a nap there. "Crookshanks?"
The cat made a noise that was half a growl and half a yawn, but didn't open his eyes.
"I know you're awake," she said. "I have to show you something important."
That caught his attention and he turned on his back to to look at her - and present his belly to be rubbed. She indulged him, of course. He deserved it - he was the best cat a witch could wish to have. And she had the time to spare, too - her parents were at work and wouldn't return until the evening, and she wasn't expected at Mr Fletcher's place until noon.
"I know you've been wondering about the cat you've smelled on me," she began, noticing how his eyes narrowed. And closed. "I think it's time for you and her to meet. No, really," she added when he didn't react. "You see, she's got a secret."
She stopped petting him and scooted back a foot from him, which prompted Crookshanks to sit up and stare at her. "Watch!" she said, then focused on changing.
Crookshanks was far bigger than she had expected, Hermione thought when she saw the tomcat for the first time as a cat. Not as massive as the stupid dog and far smarter and more graceful, of course. But he was huge.
And he was hissing at her. And growling. She hissed back - this was her room! Her bed! She wouldn't let anyone else claim it!
He pounced on her, claws out, and she barely managed to dodge by jumping off the bed. He was after her a second later, though she was quicker, and by the time he hit the carpet, she was already halfway to the chair. Another jump and she was on top of its backrest, hissing at him.
Then she blinked. What was she doing? Crookshanks was her pet, not a rival cat. She jumped off the chair, gracefully landing on the floor, and changed back to her human form.
And almost toppled over when her adorable tomcat slammed into her legs. "Crookshanks! It's me!" she explained while he looked around wildly, probably looking for the cat he had just tried to attack - he must be terribly confused.
She held out her hand, and he spent half a minute smelling it. "See? It's me. But I'm also a cat. See!" She changed into a cat again.
A few more transformations later, Crookshanks had learned that this particular and beautiful cat wasn't a rival, but his owner in another form.
And Hermione had learned that transforming in the middle of a scuffle could lead to nasty claw marks on tender body parts when a heavy tomcat found himself suddenly clinging to a standing human instead of a cat on the ground.
Well, it wasn't really his fault - she should have anticipated that.
Hogsmeade, January 28th, 1996
"What a beautiful evening! Look at the lake!"
Harry Potter nodded in agreement with his girlfriend. The sky was clear and it was less than a week from the full moon - the moonlight made the snow-covered forests and fields, and even the Black Lake, look very impressive. And romantic, he supposed.
"Walking back instead of taking the carriage was a great idea!" Ginny said, leaning into him as they walked. "Just the two of us…"
"And Remus, who is following us," Harry whispered. He'd rather not have his girlfriend test how good her Warming Charms were when they had a bodyguard watching them. Harry didn't think 'just act as if I wasn't there' covered that sort of thing.
"Drat. I forgot about him." Ginny sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's still romantic."
"Yes."
"We could take a stroll on the shore at Hogwarts tomorrow," she said.
"Yes." That would be inside the castle's wards, which meant they wouldn't have a bodyguard with them. "If the weather's still fine," Harry added - you couldn't count on that.
"Do you mean that the Boy-Who-Lived's spells can't stand up to a snowstorm?" Ginny asked with a teasing smile.
He snorted. "Of course they would - but if you want to play around in water, we should go sneak into the Prefects' bathroom, instead of melting the snow outside."
That had her blushing. Then she snorted and squeezed his arm. "This time you double-check if anyone else is using it!"
"I did!" he protested. "I didn't know someone else had the same idea! And we made it out just…" He trailed off when he heard footsteps coming closer from behind.
"Harry!" Remus appeared, pulling off Harry's Invisibility Cloak and startling Ginny, who apparently hadn't noticed him approach. "We're being followed. I'll take us away!"
Remus grabbed his and Ginny's hands, then cursed. "They've blocked Apparition! Use the Cloak and get away!"
"But what about…" Harry started to say, then saw a flash at the edge of the woods near them. "Watch out!" he yelled, tackling Ginny to the ground. A moment later a tree behind them exploded. Blasting Curse, he noted, drawing his wand and casting a Shield Charm. "Take my Cloak, Ginny!" he yelled.
"Not without you!" she yelled back. She had cast a shield of her own, he noted, but hers didn't look as strong as his.
"Get her to Hogwarts!" Remus shouted. "I'll cover you!"
Harry saw him cast several spells at their attacker's location as he pulled his broom from his pocket and unshrank it. Once they were in the air they were safe - they were too close to Hogwarts for anyone to stop them. Unless… He looked up and his eyes widened.
A man was floating above them. A man with red eyes and pale skin, Harry noticed. And the man grinned widely as his wand moved to point straight at them.
Wigtownshire, Sorbie, Britain, January 16th, 1996
Lovegood was early, Elias thought when he heard the knock at the door. As an expert on magical creatures - albeit self-styled - the editor of The Quibbler should have known better than to arrive just as the sun had gone down. Perhaps Hogwarts shouldn't just teach the students not to tickle dragons, but also not to rouse vampires.
He deliberately took his time answering the door. He wasn't beholden to Lovegood; this was just a favour for a friend. A very big favour, Elias thought, if his visitor was as rude during the interview as his early arrival seemed to indicate.
When he saw that it wasn't Lovegood who was standing in front of his door, but an unknown wizard, he instantly aimed his wand at the man. "Who are you?"
"Mr Elias Fawley?" the man calmly asked, as if he wasn't staring down Elias's wand. Elias tensed even more - there were few reasons for such a lack of reaction, and all of them were worrying. And he also heard the soft humming of a privacy spell.
"Elias," he corrected the man. "I have no family any more." Not since he had been turned into a vampire. He chastised himself - he shouldn't have answered the man when he himself hadn't been given a name.
"Ah, yes. The Fawleys didn't show a lot of tolerance or understanding for your condition, did they?" The man smiled. "So very short-sighted of them."
Elias had made his peace with being disowned long ago - at the graves of his parents. But that was neither here nor there. "Who are you?" he asked again, aiming his wand right at the man's face. He smelled like a human, but slightly different. And Elias could hear his heart beat, so he wasn't a vampire.
"A scholar." The man smiled again, as if they were having a pleasant discussion over tea.
Elias started to feel slightly worried - very few men would try to play such games with him. Who was this annoying visitor? He should simply send the man away. Close the door in his face. His wards would protect him. But if Lovegood arrived while the man was loitering outside… Sanguine would blame Elias if anything happened to Lovegood when visiting his home. "What do you want?"
"I'm interested in a few controversial subjects, in which you are an expert, or so I was told."
"By whom?" he snapped. He had dabbled in many questionable things in his youth, and in even more after his change, but that was in the past.
The man shook his head. "I promised not to reveal their names. Just as I will not reveal your name, should you be able to help my research."
He hadn't stopped smiling. Elias wanted to curse him, just to wipe the smile off the stranger's face. "I can't help you. I'm no scholar. You have been misinformed."
"Weren't you once called the Red Wizard in certain circles?"
If he had still needed to breathe, Elias would have gasped right then. Everyone who had known him by that name was dead. Everyone but for… "Gabriel."
The man nodded.
Gabriel would have killed anyone asking after that time of their existences. But he hadn't killed the man in front of Elias.
Or, Elias thought with growing fear, Gabriel had tried and failed to kill him. "What do you want?"
"I would rather discuss this like civilised men, not out in the street. It is a very delicate subject, isn't it?"
"I would rather not discuss this at all," Elias retorted. "I assume we will have to compromise." He wouldn't let the man enter his home and abandon the protection of his wards.
"As you wish." The man sounded disappointed, but still kept smiling. "I want the Book of Blood."
"That's a myth," Elias lied reflexively. "Like the Deathly Hallows."
"Not exactly." The man lowered his voice. "Gabriel told me."
Gabriel had told? Elias froze. "Possession of that work is a death sentence."
"I don't care about the petty laws of the Ministry. Or the ICW."
The stranger was a madman. But if he had made Gabriel talk… "I don't have it."
"Not any more."
Gabriel had talked. Elias took a step back. "It was destroyed."
The man took a step forward, shaking his head. "I know your type, Mr Fawley. No matter how much you wish to turn over a new leaf, you'd never destroy knowledge." He took another step. "What did you do with it?"
Elias trembled. He couldn't tell the man. He had to flee. His wards would hold long enough to… He gaped. The man had crossed the wardline.
The man's smile widened, showing pearly white teeth. Something flickered and Elias saw his wand on the ground.
Still held by his hand.
"I am quite familiar with how much damage an undead body can sustain, Mr Fawley," the man said. "You will tell me all I want to know."
His assailant hadn't stopped smiling the entire time, Elias realised, a moment before he was struck by another spell.
*****
London, Greenwich, January 16th, 1996
"Yaxley lives in Hogsmeade. The blighter bought the building during the last war, when the heirs of the previous owners, who were killed in the war, left Britain," Mr Fletcher explained.
"That sounds suspicious," Hermione Granger remarked. First Rowle, now Yaxley - it looked as if Death Eaters didn't just survive the war unscathed, but actually profited from the carnage.
Her tutor shrugged. "Mighta been - but a lot of people fled the country back then, and we don't know how much Yaxley paid fer the house." He pulled a small object out of his pouch and put it on the table.
It was a miniature building, Hermione saw. Very detailed. But tiny. How could they…
He tapped it with his wand, and it grew until it took over most of the table. Another tap, and the walls grew transparent. Her eyes widened. "Did you make this? Have you already broken into the building?"
He shook his head. "No. Yaxley didn't exactly throw balls, but a wizard in his position, with a home in Hogsmeade, had to entertain people - and if he wanted to avoid being suspected as a Death Eater, he also had to entertain 'blood traitors'."
"Someone else did this, then." A member of the Order? She frowned. "They would know what we're planning."
"They gave the order. Although I don't know if they created this based on a personal visit, or from someone else's memories."
"Ah." So, it was Dumbledore's work. Of course, she should have expected that - this was a very impressive piece of magic, after all. She nodded and then leaned forward to study the building.
"As you can see, it's an old house - Yaxley wanted a respectable residence. In a few generations, people will have forgotten that he bought and didn't inherit it." He snorted. "But the wards are new."
"Like Rowle's."
"Yes. But he'll have paid much more for his. And probably added a few spells of his own. Don't underestimate them." He narrowed his eyes at her.
"I won't," she said.
"Not that you'll have to break through them yourself; you're not yet ready for that kind of job."
She wanted to disagree, but he was correct that she lacked experience with the stronger - and older - wards. So she nodded. She intended to correct that soon, though.
"And he picked old-style wards - they cover the garden in the back too." The tip of his wand traced the model, and a red line marked the wardline. Before she could ask, he continued: "I already scoped out the area. Can't trust someone else, much less their memories, when it comes to such things. Always observe and examine them yourself - do a proper casing before the job."
That made sense. Of course, in theory, that could be done on a heist as well - examine the wards, then break through them - but, as her tutor had said, people were prone to rush things if they had to do them all in the same night. And that got thieves caught or killed.
"Does he own any pets?"
"No sign of one, but that doesn't mean much." He nodded. "We'll use potions to mask our scent anyway." He tapped the model and the different rooms started to glow. "Unlike the homes we bugged before, this house is larger, and was a family home for centuries. There's bound to be spells inside to give everyone privacy. Which means we need to bug every room."
That would take a lot of time. "Do we go in during the day, when he's at work?"
"I would prefer to - but he occasionally eats lunch at home. And a wizard who's alert and awake is harder to deal with than one asleep in bed." He grinned and held up a small vial. "This'll make him sleep through a Quidditch match. We'll put him out, and then we'll have the whole night to bug his place. And if he notices us before we put him out, we'll stun and obliviate him. Won't have to replace his memories either - we can just wipe them and he'll assume he slept through the night."
"Unless he notices the after-effects of the potion, or the spell," she pointed out.
"Should haven't any. And if he does he'll probably assume he didn't sleep well."
She nodded. And made a mental note to acquire some of that potion as well. "Do we use the same bugs as before?"
"Yes." He narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "Now, don't think this will be as easy as the other jobs. These old homes have lots of spells and quirks. Some even have ghosts."
"Or ghouls," she added, remembering The Burrow's 'house ghoul'.
"Yes. Don't assume that once we're through the wards we're done. Yaxley won't have trapped every room with curses fit for an Egyptian tomb, but he'll have a few surprises - even a spell meant to keep the kids out of your wine cabinet can ruin your day."
She hoped it wouldn't be as bad as Grimmauld Place had been, before Mr Black had hired Curse-Breakers to fix it. The stories Harry and his godfather had told her...
She really hoped that Yaxley was more sensible than Mr Black's family. Although that wouldn't take much.
*****
Hogsmeade, January 16th, 1996
"Auror patrol just passed the street. We're clear for the next two hours."
Mr Fletcher's voice sounded slightly off, Hermione Granger noticed - the enchantment on the earring she wore might not have been done that well, she thought. Or something was interfering with it - Hogsmeade was the only purely magical village in Britain, and some of the buildings were older than the manors of the Old Families; there were many, many spells layered over the houses here. On the other hand, she hadn't heard of any trouble with wireless reception in the village, so it probably wasn't the environment. She would have do a better job when she added such an enchantment to her mask.
She shook her head and focused on the task at hand. As long as she could clearly understand her tutor it would do. She tapped her earring, brushing the blonde strands of her wig back in the process. "I'm heading to the fence," she whispered as she guided her broom forward.
It was a clear night, but a windy one - as she flew closer to the ground, snow thrown up from the roofs and trees lining her approach was blown up, covering her from masked face to booted toe. If it wasn't dark, someone could have spotted the distortion this created in the air, rendering her Disillusionment Charm less effective.
She stopped a few yards above the ground, hovering behind an old, thick oak tree, and conjured a floating, nearly transparent platform right next to Yaxley's fence. Then she cleaned the snow off herself. Her suit - a stylish but sturdy leather catsuit, bought in a muggle shop using a fake identity - was charmed against the cold, but the snow would melt once they entered the house, and that could leave traces of their intrusion.
She tried to spot Mr Fletcher, but the thief must have avoided the snow clouds - she only detected him when her Human-presence-revealing Spell showed his marker approaching her position.
"Good work," she heard his whispered voice through her earring, then saw the platform dip slightly as his disillusioned form dismounted his broom and stepped on to it. "I'll start on the wards. Keep an eye out."
"Yes, sir."
That sounded easier than it was - she had to keep the platform floating, and watch not just Yaxley's house, but the neighbouring houses as well - especially the one right behind them, to which the garden they were in belonged. The village looked dead so close to midnight, and it was unlikely that any wizard would be walking around in the snow, but unlikely didn't mean impossible. And the Aurors might have started to vary their patrol schedules, too.
But despite her worries nothing happened while Mr Fletcher worked his - their - way through the wards, and, after an hour and five minutes - she had checked her watch regularly - she heard her tutor sigh. "Alright, that's done. The blighter had some tricky spells layered in his wards."
She touched her earring, activating the enchantment. "Lethal ones?"
"No. Just tricky. Lots of detection spells. A few linked to Alarm Charms outside the house, too. Woulda started a hell of a racket had I botched it."
But he hadn't. She flew closer to the platform - there was no need any longer to maintain some distance so she wouldn't be caught in the backlash should he make a mistake - and stared at the spot where the invisible wardline was. She couldn't see any sign of it until she cast a detection spell - another enchantment she needed on her mask.
The wards glowed in her enhanced sight, but she could see the ripples that formed a rift right next to the platform. Large enough to fly through on her broom.
"I'll go first," Mr Fletcher whispered.
As he passed through the wards on his broom, she bit her lower lip and didn't point out that that had been the plan, and that he didn't need to remind her - she was more mature than that. She thought it, though.
Then it was her turn. She thought she felt a tickling sensation on her skin when she passed through the wards, but that might have just been her imagination - it was hard to focus on that sensation with her detection spell almost blinding her.
But she was through and floating in Yaxley's backyard. A flick of her wand made the platform disappear, leaving the snow below untouched.
"Alright. Check the back windows on the second floor for spells. I'll take the ground and first floor."
She nodded, even if he couldn't see it, and flew up to the second floor. It didn't take her long to verify that all the windows were protected by spells - advanced alarm and locking charms. Even the attic window was thus protected. Someone had been very thorough.
But then, if Yaxley had been a Death Eater in the last war, he would have known from personal experience how vulnerable sloppy defences rendered a house. He might even have been among the group who massacred the original owners of this building, she thought while clenching her teeth. "All second floor windows, as well as the attic window, are protected."
"Same here. We'll go through the first floor window then."
High enough to avoid most of the snow blown up by the wind, and low enough to easily jump out if they had to.
"Watch my back while I work," she heard him, then saw his marker float closer to the house.
That had been the plan as well, but Hermione still clenched her teeth. She could have done this, at least. Almost as fast as Mr Fletcher, too. If she could never get actual experience in the field she would never get good enough for him to trust her.
But she did what she was ordered to and once again played lookout for the five minutes it took him to open the window without alerting the neighbourhood.
"Done. Let's go in."
She saw his marker disappear through the window, then followed. As soon as she was inside, she vanished the snow on herself. Maybe that was another enchantment for her suit?
"Alright," Mr Fletcher whispered. "He's sleeping in the room next to us; I saw his bed through the window. Drop the Disillusionment Charm so we don't trip over each other while sneaking up on him."
She obeyed, even though she didn't like how vulnerable being visible made her feel. Normal leather wouldn't do much against curses. But at least she was wearing something more solid - and more stylish - than the dark grey balaclava, turtleneck and trousers Mr Fletcher was sporting.
A cat burglar had to have a certain style, in her opinion. Which was why her mask had stylised whiskers painted on it. That a good cat burglar wouldn't ever be seen didn't matter in the slightest.
Mr Fletcher was already checking the door as she looked around. The room looked like a guest room - slightly impersonal and not often used. It might have been a child's room before Yaxley bought the house, she realised with a sick feeling.
Then Mr Fletcher opened the door, and she focused on the job at hand again. Wooden floor in the hallway. Old boards - the kind that looked like they would creak at the slightest touch. A spell took care of that, though.
The door to Yaxley's bedroom didn't stop her tutor for long, although he had to deal with a spell there, and Hermione held her breath when he pushed it open.
There was Yaxley, deep asleep. He was alone, sprawled out on top of his bed sheets - and nude. She blinked. The house was heated with magic, but still…
Hermione bit her lower lip behind her mask as Mr Fletcher sneaked over to the bed and pulled out the vial he had shown her earlier. There were half a dozen plants in the room - and as far as she could tell, they were all tropical plants. She lifted her mask a little and tested the air. Hot and humid.
Why would Yaxley want to sleep like this? Even the natives in the tropics generally preferred cooler temperatures. He either must really love his plants, or…
"Done. He won't wake up until the morning, even if we yelled directly into his ear," Mr Fletcher announced. "What's wrong?"
"I think he has an exotic familiar," Hermione said, looking around. "Probably venomous, too."
She really wished she had been able to attend Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts. She had no practical experience with such pets. Or threats.
Mr Fletcher's curse perfectly fit the situation, but wasn't very helpful.
"What do we do?" she asked in a whisper. Even though Mr Fletcher had ensured that Yaxley would not be waking up for hours, his pet - and she was now certain he had one - might hear them.
"It might be smart enough to understand what we're doing if it observes us. We'll need to find it and stun it," her tutor said. "Preferably without being seen."
He didn't seem concerned with the threat the animal posed to them, Hermione noticed, only with the danger to the mission. That was encouraging. A little, at least. "Disillusionment Charm?" she asked.
He slowly nodded. "Yes. I don't like it and we can't count on the thing being fooled by it, but it'll help." He was whispering and looking at the floor, now. "I don't suppose that Black taught you a spell to detect animals?"
She shook her head.
"Alright. Here's what we'll do: We'll go room by room. I'll use a Supersensory Charm in each room, to find the thing, You'll have to stand still and not make any noise for that."
"I'll hold my breath."
He nodded. "Good. Once we have a room done, we close the door. Keep in mind which doors were open, too - we'll have to leave them as we found them once we're done."
She nodded. That shouldn't be too hard - there couldn't be more than a dozen rooms. And she hadn't seen any signs of Extension Charms being used.
"We'll start here," he whispered and raised his wand.
Hermione held her breath and kept an eye out while he searched the room. It took longer than she thought, and she took a few hasty breaths before he finished. "Nothing's here. I placed the bug inside the frame of his bed. Even a pet shouldn't detect it there."
Another complication, Hermione noted. They cast Disillusionment Charms and left the bedroom, closing the door behind them. Yaxley must not have wanted his pet to enter while he slept, she thought. But then, why did he keep the air so humid in his bedroom? Maybe he was used to it now?
The hallway had too many plants, too, she noticed. A small animal - like a snake - could easily hide here. It might even travel the entire length of the corridor without being spotted by anyone.
She bit her lower lip. They had to search the hallway before going further, but they couldn't close all the doors without first checking them for alarm charms. They would have to search the hallway each time they finished with a room. Hermione was suddenly worried that they might run out of time.
"Hold your breath!" Mr Fletcher said.
She did, tensing, as he cast his charm again. There were too many open doors here, she thought. Too many plants. Some ivy-like plant even covered parts of the ceiling, Hermione noticed, looking up.
"Watch out!"
She whirled around at her tutor's warning, just in time to catch his Banishment Charm on her chest. The spell threw her back, down the hallway, robbing her of breath for a moment. She rolled once and rose in a crouch, her wand moving, but she couldn't see anything - but from where Mr Fletcher's marker was floating, Stunners flew at the floor - and the spells were closing in on her.
Whatever he was casting at was moving towards her! She flicked her wand and conjured a thick glass panel in front of her. Before she could anchor it with a Sticking Charm, something invisible hit it and it started to fall down.
But it had slowed her attacker down, giving her time to conjure another and stick it in place. Not a moment too soon, since the thing hit it with enough force to cause cracks to appear just as she finished. She needed to learn how to conjure reinforced glass, she realised. Or find a way to reinforce the glass once conjured. Something better than the Unbreakable Charm.
A Mending Charm fixed the glass. Why wasn't Mr Fletcher casting? She didn't see any Stunners any more. Her eyes widened when she realised that if he missed then his Stunner would shatter the glass. The glass cracked again, and she had to repair it. She didn't know how long she could keep this up.
What was Mr Fletcher doing? She glanced at his marker. Still no spells flying at the invisible thing. But then a green transparent mass suddenly covered the hallway from wall to wall, and halfway up her glass panel. And something in the midst of the mass was moving - violently. She could see the outline of a slender form thrashing wildly, captured in a giant mass of…
"Glue?" she blurted out, then bit her lower lip when she heard Mr Fletcher groan - his charm must still be active, and her exclamation would have sounded as if she had yelled into his ears.
She held her tongue while the glue surrounding the captured creature started to peel back, followed by a Stunner hitting it. In front of Hermione's eyes, a black snake slowly faded into view.
She saw Mr Fletcher appearing as well, with his eyes closed as he sighed in apparent relief. "That was torture. Did anyone ever tell you that you breathe too loudly?"
She gasped, and he smirked. "Just kidding. Now let's see what I caught."
"Vanishing Viper," she said at once. "The only known snake of that size that can disillusion itself and can detect invisible creatures. It needs to, since it hunts Demiguises. It's highly venomous, too," she added as she dispelled her own Disillusionment Charm.
"I'll take your word fer it," he said, before vanishing both glue and glass.
Hermione stared at the thing, crouching down to observe it closely. It was almost pitch-black, but the tip of its scales were red-tinted. About two yards long, and very strong - she didn't think a normal snake that size would have been able to crack the glass. It certainly wouldn't have kept trying after the first time. Snakes weren't the smartest of creatures, but even they knew better than that. Which meant this snake had known what it was doing. "We'll need to obliviate it, I think," she said.
"Yeah. That wasn't a normal animal." He sighed again. "Obliviating animals is tricky, but we don't have a choice. The Dark Lord can talk to snakes. If he's placed this snake here as a spy, he just needs to ask it to learn about us."
Hermione hadn't considered that a Parselmouth would use snakes as spies like that, but it should have been obvious. "Tricky?" She frowned.
He shrugged, then rolled his right shoulder. "They don't think exactly as we do. The spell should work, but it's tricky."
She pressed her lips together. That didn't sound encouraging. On the other hand, even if the creature ended up missing more than a few hours of memories Yaxley might not notice.
"Well, we've lost enough time. Let's get on with this job!" Mr Fletcher said, pointing his wand at the viper. "Obliviate."
*****
Despite Mr Fletcher's statement they moved slowly - there could be more than one snake, after all, even though that was very unlikely - having more than one familiar was unheard of, and Hermione doubted that Yaxley would have let a normal Vanishing Viper roam around his house. And she didn't think that the Dark Lord would have placed more than one snake as a spy in a Death Eater's home - a snake familiar wasn't unheard of, but if a wizard suddenly started keeping several snakes as pets then that would attract attention - Voldemort's affinity with snakes was known, after all.
But she still worried until they found the snake's habitat in the second room down the hallway. It was a veritable jungle - but at the door there was a solid gold water bowl, with a name engraved on it: 'Victoria'. Any wizard who'd do this for a pet wouldn't make two pets share, she thought.
Placing the bugs took a little more time than planned, too, to account for a snake's senses, but they managed to finish all the floors in two hours.
All the floors above ground, to be precise, Hermione corrected herself as she stared at the door leading to the cellar.
*****
"There are some are solid protections on this door," Mr Fletcher commented as he got to work on it, "but nothing lethal. Probably doesn't want to end up with a dead guest who just wanted a peek at his wine cellar."
"That would be hard to explain to his coworkers." Hermione tried not to let her tension show in her voice. Good thieves were unflappable. She couldn't help biting her lower lip, though, as she kept glancing around every few seconds to check for threats, as a good thief should. A locked cellar in a Death Eater's home was not a good sign. She thought of cells - of dungeons, even. Or a laboratory where forbidden experiments were conducted. Or a chamber for rituals - sacrificial rituals.
"Done," Mr Fletcher said, straightening. "But there could be traps on the stairs. Follow in my steps."
Hermione didn't think that anyone, even a Death Eater, would be so crazy as to trap their own stairs. All it would take was one slip - of the mind, or the feet - and they would be struck themselves. On the other hand, what she had seen at, and told about, Grimmauld Place...
She took a deep breath and followed her tutor down the stairs, gripping her wand tightly as she stepped gingerly on the old stones which formed a straight stairway. Another door awaited them at the foot of the stairs. That one looked even older than the house - wood so dark, it looked almost black, held together with massive iron bars. Probably cold iron, she thought - back in medieval times, wizards had used that a lot, before advances in Arithmancy had proved that it offered no special advantage over steel when it came to resisting magic. Although some scholars claimed that it was the advances in metallurgy at the time which were responsible for creating a steel that was as resistant as cold iron.
She shook her head at her stray thoughts - this wasn't the time to indulge in academic speculation! Mr Fletcher was checking for traps, and, judging by his frown, something was wrong.
"No spells on this door. And I can't spot any traps either."
Which didn't mean that there weren't any, Hermione knew - her tutor had taught her that lesson well. She was already moving back up the stairs when Mr Fletcher conjured a large dog before joining her.
"Protego," she whispered - she could have cast the spell silently, but it would have been weaker, and she didn't want to take that risk.
Mr Fletcher cast his charm silently, then flicked his wand and opened the door from a distance. Then the dumb dog trotted through the doorway without getting cursed or crushed.
"It looks safe," she remarked.
"I'll go first," her tutor said. "Stay back."
She clenched her teeth to stop herself blurting out a childish protest. It was the right decision. She couldn't help him if she fell victim to a curse herself. But it still felt as if she wasn't pulling her weight. As if he was protecting her.
She held her breath, her wand aimed at him when he stepped through the doorway, ready to summon his clothes, and with them, him, as soon as something happend. Nothing did, though.
"Clear," she heard him through her earring.
She descended, taking care to use the same steps as before, and joined him in the cellar. Which looked remarkably ordinary, if too small for all the stuff in it. Not even magical - but for some of the wine bottles in the racks.
"It looks like he really didn't want others to steal his wine," Mr Fletcher remarked. But he was studying her, she noticed, and not the room.
"Do you suspect that there's a secret room?" she asked, already studying the room.
"Aye." He nodded. "The room's a little small for a house this size. And that shelf there looks a little too tidy." He pointed at an old shelf full of knick-knacks and rubbish. "Not overloaded, like the others."
"And no Extension Charm," she added.
He nodded again. "Would mess up the spells concealing the entrance." He jabbed his wand at the shelf, but staying clear of it. "There's the cursed trap we've been looking for!" he said with evident glee. "That'll take awhile to deal with." He turned to her. "Go check on the snake and Yaxley. He might wake up if I botch things up here."
She bit down on her retort once again - if he botched this up, the curse would go off. He didn't want her there while he worked. But, again, it made sense.
She didn't like it, though.
*****
"All done here. Come back down."
Hermione checked her watch when she - finally - heard Mr Fletcher call her. It had taken him half an hour to deal with the cursed shelf. But, as she noticed when she re-entered the cellar, he hadn't moved it yet. She glanced at him, and caught him grinning.
"Wouldn't want ta deprive ya of the big reveal." Then he grew serious. "But be aware: We might find somethin' really nasty. Nightmarish. I've broken into enough Death Eater houses to know."
She met his eyes and nodded. She wouldn't shy away, no matter what they found.
He held her gaze, then sighed and turned to the shelf. A flick of his wand later, it swung open, and Hermione gasped.
The room behind it was smaller than the cellar, but as packed. Only instead of wine bottles and old furniture and rubbish, there were potion vials, brooms and bags - and a coat stand from which hung black robes and a white mask.
A Death Eater mask.
"He's been stockpiling potions and other supplies," she said, forcing herself to take her eyes off the Death Eater regalia. "Can we sabotage them?"
Mr Fletcher shook his head. "We could - but it would risk giving away that we were here."
And that would defeat the whole purpose of the job. She slowly nodded. She didn't like it, but she understood.
*****
London, Greenwich, January 17th, 1996
Hermione Granger hadn't realised how tired she was - how exhausting the heist, her first real heist, had been - until she and her tutor finally returned to his flat in London and she could stop looking around for ambushes and pursuit. Adrenalin had kept her going through the entire heist, and through the four stops on the way back to throw off anyone who might be following them.
Now she just wanted to collapse in a bed. Or an armchair. Even the floor had started to look inviting, if she was honest. Cocking her head sideways, she stared at a spot she knew would be sunny and warm in a few hours, once the sun was up. And if she laid her coat down, she would have a cozy spot indeed.
"Here." Mr Fletcher interrupted her thoughts of taking a short nap by handing her a vial.
"Pepper-Up Potion?" she asked. The colour matched. The smell as well, she noted after uncorking it.
"Yes. I don't like using it during a heist, but it'll keep you going a little longer, so we can go over the job while the memory's still fresh. One sip will be enough, you can keep the rest." He took a sip from his own vial and shuddered. "Decades of time, and they've never fixed the taste."
Hermione followed his example, gasping when she suddenly felt wide-awake, then winced herself - the aftertaste was truly awful. "I heard that that was by design. So people are less likely to abuse it."
"Sounds like a story made up after the fact," he said, shrugging. "Now let's get started. I ain't getting any younger, and I need my sleep." He sat down at the table and flicked his wand, setting up water to boil for tea.
She nodded and sat down herself. She almost pulled out her notepad before she remembered that this wasn't an exercise or a test. No proof, no traces was the rule. Instead, she pulled out the Knut she had nicked from Yaxley and glanced at it. It was a shiny new one. Maybe she should make a bracelet out of all the coins she had taken. If she transfigured them no one would ever know. And even if they did… Knuts weren't exactly unique.
It didn't seem as if her tutor had noticed her near-lapse. "Now… the job went well. We slipped through the wards and security as planned. The snake was a surprise, but nothing we couldn't handle. Good job on realising that there was a pet, by the way."
He smiled at her, and she beamed. She had been useful and not just some assistant, hadn't she?
"Apart from the snake - a Vanishing Viper you called it?"
Hermione nodded. "It matches what I've read about them. I haven't seen one before today, though, so I can't be certain until I've checked a few more books." If only there were a magical zoo.
"Suit yourself. Anyway, apart from the snake, was there anything else that you noticed?"
She frowned and narrowed her eyes, trying to remember anything out of the ordinary - for a heist. "No," she finally said.
"Me neither. Even the potions he had hidden seemed to be standard ones." He shrugged. "Wish we coulda bugged them, but vials get handled - they'd have noticed them, and the jig woulda been up."
She bit her lower lip, then cleared her throat. She didn't know if she should ask… but she wanted to know.
"Out with it," he said.
"Will the Order kill him?" He was a Death Eater, and he was doing the Dark Lord's bidding - preparing for war, even. Taking him out would be the logical course of action.
"We won't kill him. We're thieves, not assassins." He stared at her.
"I know. But I don't presume that the Order will let him continue working for the Dark Lord." Left alone, Yaxley would murder people. And help others murder people. She rolled the Knut between her fingers.
"No, they won't. It's a war, after all. But they'll want to know who his contacts are, before they do anything."
"So, we're helping to kill him." Had helped - their work was done. She looked at him.
"We weren't sent there to kill him, or prepare his assassination. We were simply sent to bug 'im." He met her eyes, but she thought he didn't like it either.
"So we're thieves and spies."
"A good thief is a good spy." He pointed at her. "Though a good spy generally wears something a little less eye-catching."
"Muggle television would disagree," she shot back with a grin. "Besides, it's part of my cover. If anyone spots us, they'll remember a sexy thief in a catsuit, with long, straight blonde hair. Nothing like me."
"If Moody spots you he'll notice the wig."
"I'll have to use Sleekeazy's Hair Potion then, and dyes." And maybe a self-tanning lotion.
"That'll be expensive. You'll have to steal more than a Knut per heist to cover the cost of the potion."
So he had noticed. She grinned and nodded anyway. She was planning to steal a lot more.
*****
Hogwarts, January 23rd, 1996
"Harry, look! Daddy's uncovered a conspiracy!"
Harry Potter turned his head when he heard Luna call out, and found himself staring at the cover of The Quibbler from a distance of about an inch. He pulled back a little until he could read the title, bumping into Ginny who was sitting next to him at the Gryffindor table.
"'Vampire Hunt! Blood Magic Conspiracy!'?" he asked the blonde witch.
She nodded several times. "Yes! Someone's hunting vampires - several prominent members of the vampire community have disappeared during the last few weeks."
"There's a vampire community?" Harry hadn't been aware of that.
"Of course there is!" Luna said. "It's an underground network. The sun is deadly to them, after all."
"Ah." He glanced at Ron, but his friend was simply nodding while finishing his breakfast.
"Most dark creatures band together," Ginny added. "Werewolves form packs too." She had shifted on the bench and was now leaning into his back, her chin resting on his shoulder as she looked at the magazine.
"But vampires are very territorial, so they can't live together like werewolves. Hence they form a network, not a pack. They mostly communicate through specially-trained bats," Luna explained.
"Why don't they use owls?" Harry asked. He felt a little distracted with Ginny's chest pressing into his back.
"They use owls to send letters to wizards, but bats to other vampires. It's tradition," Luna answered. "Daddy wrote an article about it two years ago - he noticed a trained bat posing as a pet when he was interviewing a vampire." She smiled. "He's a very good investigative journalist."
"Who's hunting vampires?" Ron asked.
Luna leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Daddy doesn't know yet. But it has to be a well-organised group of hunters - even old, powerful vampires are disappearing."
"Disappearing?" Harry whispered, then bit his lip - this was what privacy spells were for!
"They are either hiding - or dead. Well - un-undead." Luna wrinkled her forehead and blinked. "They're technically dead already, after all."
A well-organised group of hunters… Harry tried not to wince when he had a thought. "What's the blood magic connection?"
"Vampires are masters of blood magic!" Luna declared. "The article explains that as well," she added, opening the magazine and pointing at a paragraph with bright red letters. "You wouldn't have to ask this many questions if you had a subscription to The Quibbler."
She was looking at him with hopeful eyes. Harry could take a hint. "How much for a subscription?"
Luna beamed at him.
*****
"So, do you think this is his work?" Ron asked half an hour later, pointing at the magazine on Harry's bed.
Harry Potter checked if his privacy spell was working before answering. "It might very well be Voldemort's work - if Mr Lovegood's theory is true." There weren't many facts in the article, though. Not many relevant ones, at least - in Harry's opinion.
Ron nodded. "Gonna tell Dumbledore?"
"Yes."
"You haven't had any, you know?" Ron tapped on his forehead.
Harry shook his head. "No." Which had him both worried and relieved at the same time.
"I would prefer it if it was a conspiracy by vampire hunters, as Mr Lovegood claims," Ron said. "But The Quibbler doesn't have a good track record when it comes to their theories."
"Luna believes them, though," Harry said. And she was in Ravenclaw. And rather smart, too, as far as he could tell.
Ron shrugged. "He's her father," he said, as if that would explain it. Harry didn't really understand that - he certainly had quickly learned that Sirius's stories couldn't always be trusted. And not just because his godfather's memory was still affected by his time in Azkaban. "And she lost her mother when she was nine years old."
That, Harry could understand.
*****
"Good evening, Headmaster," Harry Potter said when he entered Dumbledore's office later that evening.
"Good evening, Harry. Have a seat." Dumbledore gestured to what had become Harry's usual chair. "You wanted to speak to me."
"Yes, sir. I was wondering if you're aware of The Quibbler's latest article?" Harry said as he pulled the magazine in question out of one of the pockets of his robes.
"The blood magic conspiracy? Yes, I am, actually." Dumbledore slowly nodded. "I take it that you harbour the same suspicion, then?"
"If you mean that I think this could be Voldemort's work, then yes," Harry said.
"I did mean that, indeed." Dumbledore sighed. "I fear that while Xenophilius is incorrect with regard to the culprits, his theory that this is related to blood magic is on the mark."
"It's Voldemort, then," Harry said.
"That is the most likely explanation." The Headmaster inclined his head. "It certainly is not a possibility that we should easily dismiss."
"I haven't had any visions, though," Harry pointed out.
"That doesn't have to mean anything. Voldemort might simply be still in the process of preparing another ritual."
"Can we stop him? I mean, can you and the Order stop him?" Harry corrected himself.
Dumbledore smiled. "Please do not feel as if you are not doing your part in the struggle just because you're not crossing wands with Death Eaters. As a wise soul has said once, battles are won with spells, but wars are won with planning." He sighed. "It is, as most such sayings, not entirely or not always correct, but it is true enough. You are crucial in this conflict. Your connection to Voldemort, your blood protection - you are the only one, ever, to have survived his Killing Curse."
"And I might survive his next one as well," Harry said.
"But you also might fall to someone else's wand without even meeting Voldemort. We do not know the exact power and nature of your mother's protection. Not yet." Dumbledore smiled at him. "There are many willing to raise their wands against him, but only you carry the key to his defeat."
Harry sighed. "So I can't risk myself. I understand." He did. Wanting to fight Voldemort was childish and stupid, he knew that. But he hated that he was staying safe behind the wards of Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place while others risked their lives.
Dumbledore chuckled, but he sounded sad rather than amused in Harry's opinion. "And I understand how much you resent that." The Headmaster sighed. "I feel the same whenever I send friends out on dangerous tasks while I remain at Hogwarts. I am not being boastful when I say that there are very few who are as accomplished at magic, and at fighting, as I am. I could do just about any task that needs to be done better than most. And yet, I cannot do everything myself. If I neglected my other duties in order to spare my friends the risk of fighting, I would do much more damage to our cause."
"I see." Harry hadn't thought of that.
"Since you are here already, shall we use the opportunity to do some further research and training?"
"Yes, sir." It would be painful, but it would make feel him better. Less useless, at least, Harry thought.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 24th, 1996
"Good evening, Miss Granger."
Hermione Granger looked up from the latest report the manager of the Black plantations in the Congo had sent and smiled politely at Jeanne - no, at Miss Dubois; she couldn't afford to think of the witch as a friend when she wasn't Miss Merriweather. "Good evening, Miss Dubois. Are you looking for Mr Black?"
"No, I just wanted to say hello. I rarely see you, even though you are Sirius's secretary." Miss Dubois smiled at her like Jeanne smiled at Miss Merriweather.
Hermione's own smile didn't change. "That's because I am usually buried in work. Mr Black receives a lot of correspondence that I have to peruse and sort before he deigns to look at it. Here!" She held up the report she had received. "A detailed tally of the expenses of the plantations in the Congo that the Black family acquired in the aftermath of the Intervention in 1873." She frowned - Magical History tended to gloss over the ICW's 'Great Punishing Expedition' that had wiped out most of the native wizards south of the Sahara Desert when they had started to use magic to fight against the muggle colonial powers. But this wasn't the time to discuss those atrocities. "In order to check the numbers, I have to read up on the last few years' reports, or I might miss someone skimming or padding their expenses. Then I have to check the profits, which involves checking the customs duties and the wages, which fluctuate wildly for no apparent reason I can find. It is fascinating, but also quite time-consuming, although I have become somewhat proficient in these matters as a result. Here!" She held up another sheet of parchment. "Aren't those columns just a little too neat?"
Miss Dubois's smile had slipped slightly. Hermione wouldn't have noticed, had she not known Jeanne so well. "Indeed, very fascinating. But I see that you are very busy, and I would feel very guilty were I to keep you from your work any longer."
Hermione nodded, already looking at the sheet again. Even though as Miss Merriweather she wore tinted contacts, a wig, far more makeup than usual and had her voice changed, Miss Dubois might find her a little too familiar should they talk for too long.
But so far the French witch had been scared off by Hermione's enthusiastic discussion of the most boring details of Mr Black's businesses each time she had tried to get friendly with her boyfriend's secretary. Hermione could only hope that this would keep working a little longer.
*****
London, Merton, January 25th, 1996
Hermione Granger sat down on her bed and petted Crookshanks, who was taking a nap there. "Crookshanks?"
The cat made a noise that was half a growl and half a yawn, but didn't open his eyes.
"I know you're awake," she said. "I have to show you something important."
That caught his attention and he turned on his back to to look at her - and present his belly to be rubbed. She indulged him, of course. He deserved it - he was the best cat a witch could wish to have. And she had the time to spare, too - her parents were at work and wouldn't return until the evening, and she wasn't expected at Mr Fletcher's place until noon.
"I know you've been wondering about the cat you've smelled on me," she began, noticing how his eyes narrowed. And closed. "I think it's time for you and her to meet. No, really," she added when he didn't react. "You see, she's got a secret."
She stopped petting him and scooted back a foot from him, which prompted Crookshanks to sit up and stare at her. "Watch!" she said, then focused on changing.
Crookshanks was far bigger than she had expected, Hermione thought when she saw the tomcat for the first time as a cat. Not as massive as the stupid dog and far smarter and more graceful, of course. But he was huge.
And he was hissing at her. And growling. She hissed back - this was her room! Her bed! She wouldn't let anyone else claim it!
He pounced on her, claws out, and she barely managed to dodge by jumping off the bed. He was after her a second later, though she was quicker, and by the time he hit the carpet, she was already halfway to the chair. Another jump and she was on top of its backrest, hissing at him.
Then she blinked. What was she doing? Crookshanks was her pet, not a rival cat. She jumped off the chair, gracefully landing on the floor, and changed back to her human form.
And almost toppled over when her adorable tomcat slammed into her legs. "Crookshanks! It's me!" she explained while he looked around wildly, probably looking for the cat he had just tried to attack - he must be terribly confused.
She held out her hand, and he spent half a minute smelling it. "See? It's me. But I'm also a cat. See!" She changed into a cat again.
A few more transformations later, Crookshanks had learned that this particular and beautiful cat wasn't a rival, but his owner in another form.
And Hermione had learned that transforming in the middle of a scuffle could lead to nasty claw marks on tender body parts when a heavy tomcat found himself suddenly clinging to a standing human instead of a cat on the ground.
Well, it wasn't really his fault - she should have anticipated that.
*****
Hogsmeade, January 28th, 1996
"What a beautiful evening! Look at the lake!"
Harry Potter nodded in agreement with his girlfriend. The sky was clear and it was less than a week from the full moon - the moonlight made the snow-covered forests and fields, and even the Black Lake, look very impressive. And romantic, he supposed.
"Walking back instead of taking the carriage was a great idea!" Ginny said, leaning into him as they walked. "Just the two of us…"
"And Remus, who is following us," Harry whispered. He'd rather not have his girlfriend test how good her Warming Charms were when they had a bodyguard watching them. Harry didn't think 'just act as if I wasn't there' covered that sort of thing.
"Drat. I forgot about him." Ginny sighed, and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's still romantic."
"Yes."
"We could take a stroll on the shore at Hogwarts tomorrow," she said.
"Yes." That would be inside the castle's wards, which meant they wouldn't have a bodyguard with them. "If the weather's still fine," Harry added - you couldn't count on that.
"Do you mean that the Boy-Who-Lived's spells can't stand up to a snowstorm?" Ginny asked with a teasing smile.
He snorted. "Of course they would - but if you want to play around in water, we should go sneak into the Prefects' bathroom, instead of melting the snow outside."
That had her blushing. Then she snorted and squeezed his arm. "This time you double-check if anyone else is using it!"
"I did!" he protested. "I didn't know someone else had the same idea! And we made it out just…" He trailed off when he heard footsteps coming closer from behind.
"Harry!" Remus appeared, pulling off Harry's Invisibility Cloak and startling Ginny, who apparently hadn't noticed him approach. "We're being followed. I'll take us away!"
Remus grabbed his and Ginny's hands, then cursed. "They've blocked Apparition! Use the Cloak and get away!"
"But what about…" Harry started to say, then saw a flash at the edge of the woods near them. "Watch out!" he yelled, tackling Ginny to the ground. A moment later a tree behind them exploded. Blasting Curse, he noted, drawing his wand and casting a Shield Charm. "Take my Cloak, Ginny!" he yelled.
"Not without you!" she yelled back. She had cast a shield of her own, he noted, but hers didn't look as strong as his.
"Get her to Hogwarts!" Remus shouted. "I'll cover you!"
Harry saw him cast several spells at their attacker's location as he pulled his broom from his pocket and unshrank it. Once they were in the air they were safe - they were too close to Hogwarts for anyone to stop them. Unless… He looked up and his eyes widened.
A man was floating above them. A man with red eyes and pale skin, Harry noticed. And the man grinned widely as his wand moved to point straight at them.
*****
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Chapter 15: First Blood
Starfox5
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Chapter 15: First Blood
London, Diagon Alley, January 28th, 1996
Horace Slughorn tensed when he heard the charm on his fireplace go off, alerting him that a visitor desired entry. "Yes?"
"Horace? May I come through?"
That was Albus. Right on time. "Of course, Albus," he said, with far more warmth than he felt.
A moment later, Albus stepped into his living room. "Good evening, Horace! You are looking well."
Horace inclined his head. "Thank you. You haven't changed either." Which was, unfortunately, true - Albus looked like he was as fit and healthy as ever. For a wizard his age.
"Oh, I am not getting any younger - but then, that is true for all of us." Albus smiled at him.
Horace gestured at the couch. "Let's sit down. Our old bones deserve some comfort."
"Whisky?" he asked once he and his guest had taken their seats.
"Thank you," replied Albus. "You always had the most discerning taste for drinks."
Horace summoned his second-best bottle - Albus didn't deserve his best, not after he had forced him into retirement - and two glasses. He pretended not to notice how Albus subtly checked his glass for any potions or poisons before taking a sip. The man did have enemies, after all, even if it was a slight against him as the host.
"Cheers!"
He smiled genuinely when he felt the whisky burn in his throat. "Ogden's Special Selection," he said. "Only one hundred bottles were made." Ten of them were a gift to him, for introducing Zacharia's future daughter-in-law to the brewer's son and heir.
Albus nodded in appreciation. "A fine brand."
Horace took a few more sips, then put his glass down on his antique side table - bought in Magical Constantinople during his last trip to the Ottoman Empire, but originally from Italy - and leaned forward. "So, why are you paying me a visit? Did Snape finally cross a line you can't ignore, and you need a Potions Master who doesn't hate his students?"
Albus frowned for a moment before his face settled once again into a polite smile. "His manners have improved as he has matured."
Horace chuckled. "And yet you had to dress him down after he let his bigots run rampant during the Granger affair."
Albus's smile didn't waver. "An unfortunate lapse in judgement."
"His or yours?" Horace pushed. It wasn't as if he had anything to lose - he was already cut off from recruiting more gifted students for his Slug Club. His network would grow old with him, wither and die, and it was all Albus's fault.
"Still holding a grudge, Horace?" Albus asked instead of answering.
"You force me into retirement because a few of my acquaintances joined the Dark Lord during the war without me realising it, and then you recruit an actual Death Eater as my replacement, and you think I would just forget it?" He scoffed. "You're a hypocrite, Albus."
"I had my reasons. And while I cannot claim that I treated you entirely fairly, I stand by my decision." Albus inclined his head in that patronising manner of his that Horace hated.
"The man is a gifted potioneer, but a miserable excuse for a human being, with all the charm of a basilisk. People like him should never be teachers." He snorted. "And while I don't like him, I know him well enough to know that he never wanted to be a teacher in the first place, so this wasn't a reward for whatever he did for you during the war. You simply wanted him where you could keep him under control."
"As I said, I had my reasons." Albus smiled again. "As I have a reason to visit you."
"Ah." Horace matched the man's smile. "What do you want from me, Albus?" He grinned. "And why do you think I will help you?"
"Let me answer your second question first," Albus said. "In private, of course." He cast a privacy charm and lowered his voice. "Because your greatest mistake was not killed in 1981. He is back."
Horace froze. That couldn't be true. He had heard rumours, of course - but they had been just that, rumours. He shook his head. "But… that's impossible."
"You are well aware that evading death, at least for a time, isn't impossible for a dedicated dark wizard, are you not?"
Horace pressed his lips together. His studies had been entirely theoretical; he had never actually done anything. And no one but Riddle and himself knew about that fateful talk they had had, decades ago. "If that were true then the wizards of ancient Egypt would still be around. No matter what he might have done to anchor himself to life, there are ways around it."
"In theory," Albus said, with a faint smile. "Unless you are aware of one that was put into practice?"
He took a deep breath. He didn't know what she might have told Albus. "I do not know of any such attempt." She had been looking into many applications of her idea, after all.
Albus's smile didn't waver as he leaned forward. "But you suspect, do you not? You talked a lot with Lily prior to that fateful day."
Albus knew! Or he knew enough to suspect. Horace felt as if someone had turned his spine to ice.
"Tell me what you discussed with Lily, Horace, and I will protect you from Riddle." Albus was staring at him with an expression few ever saw on the man's face. And even fewer lived to tell of it.
Horace gulped. "I do not know if she actually did anything - we were just discussing theory."
"I already know that Lily used questionable means to create the ritual that defeated Voldemort. And I do not care, Horace. We're at war. And this could be the key to winning it before it devastates our country again while we have yet to recover from the last war. If you value your life you will tell me what you and Lily discussed before Tom grows too powerful to be stopped."
Horace didn't know if Albus meant that Riddle would kill him if he refused - or that Albus would. He started talking.
Hogsmeade, January 28th, 1996
Harry Potter threw himself over Ginny an instant before the attacker sent their spell at him. He saw a green flash, then the ground next to him blew up. His Shield Charm weathered the pelting fragments of frozen earth and stones though he felt Ginny's shield shatter underneath him. But they were now in the middle of a cloud of snow and steam that had been thrown up by the explosion, and so had a few seconds of concealment.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her up as he stood himself, then summoned his broom - only to notice when he tried to mount it that it had been broken by the blast. Cursing, he let it drop, then froze - his father's Cloak! "Accio Invisibility Cloak!" he whispered and felt the fabric land in his hand. He pulled Ginny closer and covered both of them with the Cloak, hoping it hadn't been damaged as well.
He had been just in time - the cloud of steam and snow settled, revealing their position. He heard Ginny hiss - in pain or anger, he couldn't tell - but his attention was on the floating wizard.
The man was weaving back and forth, avoiding, with seemingly effortless grace, the barrage of curses Remus was sending against him. Harry saw several curses splash against the man's shield without any effect. He raised his own wand to join Remus's attack, then hesitated. Remus had told him to get Ginny to Hogwarts. If he attacked the floating, no, flying wizard he would endanger her.
Clenching his teeth and hating himself, he whispered: "Let's move while he's distracted!" They were a few hundred yards, at most, from the wardline. They could do this.
But two people moving under a cloak meant for one wasn't as easy as Harry remembered from his first and second year. Especially over a snowy path. They hadn't covered more than twenty yards when Ginny stumbled. He caught her with his left hand before she fell, but she cried out in pain. "Ginny!" he gasped when he realised that she was hurt.
She cursed and straightened, then started hobbling forward. Harry was about to swoop her up and carry her - or try to - when Remus's yell made him whip his head round.
"Harry! Watch out!"
Harry saw the man flying towards them, wand moving. How had he… their tracks! They were leaving tracks in the snow, even on the path!
Harry put himself in front of Ginny as he jabbed his wand at the ground between them and their attacker.
"Bombarda!"
The earth and snow of the field next to the path blew up in a much bigger explosion than the first, right in the path of the flying wizard. Harry saw another green spell - the Killing Curse? - speed out of the cloud and hit the ground ten yards to his right in another explosion.
He was already ducking, slipping out from under his Cloak. "Stay hidden!" he yelled at Ginny, then threw himself forward and to the right. He rolled over his shoulder, as Sirius had drilled into him, and came up leading with his wand just as the man cleared the cloud.
Harry flicked his wand and sent a Cutting Curse at him, trying to anticipate his enemy's movement. The wizard must have spotted him, though, since he was already changing course by the time Harry finished his spell, and his curse missed by yards.
The man turned towards him, grinning widely, even laughing, but before he could send another curse at Harry, a volley of spells from Remus hit his shield, shattering it. The wizard howled as another spell cut into him, then swooped around to face Remus.
For a moment, Harry felt elation fill him. They had the wizard in a crossfire. He might be able to fly better than most Seekers, but he couldn't evade all of their curses; not while he was trying to fight them.
Then he glanced at Remus and noticed that the werewolf was staggering, blood covering his robes. His entire face seemed to be bleeding! And yet, Remus was still casting, snarling as he moved towards their foe, spells flying without pause from his wand.
Harry clenched his teeth and kept casting himself. They had to defeat this wizard before Remus collapsed. He was losing far too much blood as it was, Harry thought, and hoped his teacher had taken a Blood-Replenishing Potion.
Then spells flew at the wizard from a third direction. Reinforcements! No, Harry saw, it was Ginny. The witch had thrown off the Cloak and was casting, even while holding her side with her left hand. He cursed, but focused on fighting - he couldn't do anything for her or Remus while the flying wizard was trying to kill them.
No, he was trying to kill him, Harry realised when the wizard stopped jinking and sent a blood-red curse at him, ignoring the many spells flying towards him.
Harry had been moving and casting, as he had trained to with Sirius, but he couldn't move as fast or as far in the deep snow, and the man had aimed well. The curse hit Harry's Shield Charm, shattering it, and then Harry felt as if every part of his body was being ripped apart.
He collapsed, his scream drowned in the blood gushing from his mouth. He caught a glimpse of the man being struck by several spells, spinning around and falling, before the blood dripping from his eyes blinded him. He heard Remus and Ginny cry out, but their yells were dampened, as if his ears had been plugged.
He pointed his wand at his own face, trying to yell 'Episkey' through his mouth full of blood. He tried to move, to stand up, to grab a potion from his enchanted pocket, but he couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe, was choking on blood, and it hurt so much to move...
When everything went dark and he stopped feeling anything he was relieved.
Hogwarts, January 29th, 1996
When Harry Potter opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a blurry ceiling that looked familiar. And the smell… he was in the Hogwarts infirmary. He hadn't died, then. And he wasn't hurting any more, either.
"Harry!"
He turned his head at the yell and winced. He corrected himself - he wasn't hurting as much as before he had lost consciousness, but moving was still painful. "Sirius?" he managed to say. His godfather sounded rather upset.
"I was so worried. We were so worried."
"What happened?" Harry said, then coughed - his throat felt raw. And his chest hurt when he coughed.
"You got cursed," Sirius said tersely.
"I know that." Harry squinted. "Where are my glasses?"
"Oh! Here!" Sirius held them out to him.
Harry sighed as the world came into focus again. And he winced when he saw just how terrible his godfather looked: rumpled robes, pale face, hair messier than Harry's, bags under his eyes.
"I know that I was cursed," he said. "It hurt too much to miss that." He tried to smile at his feeble joke, but Sirius didn't look amused or relieved. "I bled all over myself." He blinked. "Remus got cursed as well, didn't he?"
Sirius nodded.
Harry stiffened and looked at the curtains providing him with a little privacy. "He is alright, isn't he? And Ginny?"
Sirius hesitated for a moment, and Harry gasped. His godfather quickly held up his hand. "Ginny wasn't hurt. Not seriously - she's already out of the infirmary. Remus is alive. Pomfrey and Dumbledore managed to stop the bleeding."
"But?" Harry pressed. If all were well, Sirius wouldn't be so… serious. And he hadn't hugged him..
His godfather took a deep breath, then sighed through clenched teeth.
This looked worse and worse, Harry thought. He reached out and grabbed Sirius's hand, trying not to wince at the pain this caused. "Please, I want to know."
"The bleeding was stopped. But they couldn't end the curse."
Harry looked at his chest. No blood. He touched his face, his ears. No blood. He even licked his lips. "I'm not bleeding," he said.
"Yes. Remus managed to get a Blood-Replenishing Potion into you in time to save your life, then flew you both to the infirmary before he collapsed. Pomfrey kept pouring potions into you two to keep you alive while Dumbledore and Snape worked on a counter to the curse. They didn't quite manage that, but they've found potions that will hold the curse at bay until a more permanent cure is found."
"Potions?" Harry asked, more to keep from thinking about the fact that he was still cursed, could still bleed to death in pain like… He clenched his teeth.
"I'm no alchemist, but it's apparently a mix of Blood-Replenishing and Clotting Potions which Dumbledore and Snape created. You and Remus will need to drink one vial per day until Dumbledore finds a counter-curse. But Pomfrey said you should heal up just fine from the damage the curse did."
That… well, it still sounded very bad, but not as bad as Harry had feared. But to owe his life to a potion… He shook his head. "Does that mean that I owe Snape my life?"
"No!" Sirius blurted. "It was Dumbledore's work. He's the alchemist. Snape just helped."
Owing anything to Snape was still bad enough, Harry thought. The bastard would lord it over him and complain about it at the same time. "Did we get the wizard who attacked us?" he asked. He had seen him fall. At least he thought so.
"You did." Sirius nodded. "Cursed him good, too - he won't attack anyone else."
He had killed someone, then. Or helped kill someone. Harry briefly remembered the attack at the Cup, when Sirius had killed that witch. He closed his eyes. "Who was it?"
"We're not certain, yet," Sirius said. "But it was a vampire."
"A vampire?" Harry blinked, despite the slight pain that caused him. Why would a vampire attack him? "Was he a Death Eater?"
"There was no mark on his arm." Sirius shrugged. "But Remus said that he wanted to kill you, and only you - badly enough to let himself get killed just to hit you."
Harry drew a breath through clenched teeth as he remembered the battle. "Do you think he was forced?" Like the witch who had attacked him.
"Perhaps," Sirius said. "The Aurors are still investigating." He was sneering slightly - he didn't expect much from them, Harry knew.
He nodded. "So." He looked at his godfather. "When can I leave this place?"
For the first time since Harry had woken up, Sirius laughed. Somehow, Harry didn't think that was a good sign.
"It was a very near thing, Harry," Dumbledore said. "If Remus hadn't carried enough Blood-Replenishing potions, if Poppy had been a minute or two later…" He sighed.
The Headmaster looked tired, too, Harry Potter noticed. "I see." Sirius hadn't told him that. But he didn't doubt it - he had thought he was dead, for a moment at least. "I owe you my life."
"I only did what anyone would have done in my place." Dumbledore smiled at him. "And I did not do anything alone. Remus, Poppy, Severus, Miss Weasley - everyone helped. And I would wager that you saved both Miss Weasley and Remus in that fight, too."
Harry knew that few would have been able to do what Dumbledore had done, but he was too tired to argue. And there were more important matters to discuss. "Was it blood magic, sir?"
Dumbledore slowly nodded. "Yes. I first thought that it was simply a dark curse that affected your blood, like the Blood-Boiling Curse. But it's blood magic." He must have noticed Harry's reaction since he smiled reassuringly. "That is not necessarily a bad thing, Harry. For while finding a counter-curse will require quite a lot of effort, the curse's effects can be dealt with more easily."
Harry wasn't certain that having to drink a potion each day or else bleed to death was that easy, but compared to other curses it was probably not as bad as it could have been. "Do you think Voldemort will try to kill me again?"
"He certainly wants you dead, but I am not certain that your death was the real goal of this attack. Oh," Dumbledore said before Harry could protest, "he would certainly be pleased had you been killed, no doubt about that. But I do not think that he expected it. I would even go as far as to say that he probably didn't even expect to come so close. I will certainly have to go over our security to avoid a repeat of this." He leaned back in the armchair he had conjured next to Harry's bed after Sirius had left to check on Remus. "But I think he did this in an attempt at misdirection - he hopes to lure both the Ministry and myself on to a false trail by framing the vampires for the attack."
"Wasn't he attacking them? Or was he recruiting them?" Harry asked, freezing for a moment. If Voldemort had all those missing vampires among his ranks...
"Vampires as a rule do not make good followers - they are loners by nature, and chafe at following anyone's orders. Even the Dark Lord would have to resort to the Dark Arts to keep them under control. But if the vampires blame the Ministry or myself for the attacks on them, then they might strike at us in turn. Some of them even might ally themselves with him - not knowing that, by doing so, they expose themselves to the wizard responsible for the very attacks that drove them into hiding."
"But… if we tell them that the vampire had been under the Imperius Curse…" Harry started.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't think that he used that particular curse to drive the vampire to attack you."
"What can we do, then?" They couldn't let Voldemort get away away with this!
"I will do my best to keep the Ministry and the Prophet from overreacting. That should lessen the impact of this attack."
"Better silence Skeeter then," Harry muttered.
"I believe Rita will see reason if I explain the situation to her."
"What?" Harry stared at the old man.
"Oh, I do not intend to tell her about the Dark Lord's involvement. Just about the consequences she might suffer, should she plan to blame all vampires for the deeds of one."
Dumbledore hadn't lost his smile, but it didn't look very friendly right then, Harry thought.
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996
"And what did you after you were hit with that curse, Mr Potter?" Auror Dawlish leaned forward in his chair.
"I passed out, as I told you already." Harry Potter didn't bother to hide how he annoyed he was; both with the questioning and the Auror. He didn't like repeating himself - nor remembering that fight. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Dawlish frowned. "If you want us to catch the ones responsible for this attack you need to cooperate with us."
"Did you catch whoever was behind the attack at the World Cup?" Harry asked. "Or behind the attack on me at Hogwarts?"
The man's frown deepened. "Those incidents are still under investigation."
And would remain so for the foreseeable future, Harry thought. He wasn't being fair - the Aurors didn't know that Voldemort was back and behind those incidents - but he doubted that the same people who had prosecuted both Sirius and Hermione despite them being innocent would achieve anything even if they had that knowledge. Sirius had been rather vocal about their incompetence and corruption, and Hermione's opinion was not any better, although she had worded it more politely.
And he was rather annoyed that his first visitors after Pomfrey had cleared him - apparently, Sirius and Dumbledore didn't count - were Dawlish and his partner instead of Harry's friends. He took a deep breath, half-expecting to cough up blood again, and said: "I've told you everything I know. Asking me again and again will not help my memory."
"Witnesses usually know more than they think," Dawlish replied. "Repeated questioning can jog their memory."
Harry shrugged. "Not in my case, then. Did you find out the name of the vampire?"
"Who told you that it was a vampire?" Dawlish asked with narrowed eyes.
"Dumbledore did," Harry said. "Shouldn't he have done that?" he asked as innocently as he could. Let Dawlish try bothering the Headmaster - and Chief Warlock!
"Such information is very useful to check testimonies," Dawlish's partner - Avery, Harry remembered - added. "You wouldn't believe what people make up to feel important."
He was correct - Harry didn't believe that. He shrugged. "I don't want to feel important. I just want these attacks stopped."
Dawlish and his partner exchanged a glance. "Do you know anyone who might want to see you dead?" Dawlish asked.
Harry shrugged again. "Apart from the Death Eaters and their children? Malfoy tried to poison me in our second year." Had poisoned him, even. "And they framed my best friend," he added with bared teeth.
Avery scowled, but Dawlish didn't react to that dig. "Speaking of Miss Granger," the Auror asked, "what's your relationship with her?"
"She's my best friend. My best female friend," Harry said. "Why are you asking about her?"
Dawlish ignored his question. "She's your godfather's secretary, isn't she?"
"Yes." Harry glared at him.
"And she handles most of his correspondence, doesn't she?"
Harry frowned. How did the man know that? He tried not to show his reaction and shrugged. "I don't care much about paperwork."
"You should," Dawlish said.
"I still don't understand what you think she has to do with this attack." Although Harry had a suspicion. A nasty one. "Do you think Hermione is behind this attack? Are you crazy?"
Dawlish glared right back at him. "She's a convicted criminal. A thief. And she's handling the affairs of one of the richest men in Britain. She's in a perfect position to steal from you and your godfather. And given Black's well-known issues with his memory…"
"He's getting better!" Harry interjected. Sirius wasn't nearly as bad as he had been two years ago.
"...the only one able to uncover her crime would be you," Dawlish continued, seemingly unfazed. "People have killed for far less."
"You're crazy! She's my best friend. Sirius paid her debts. She would never do anything like that!" Harry scoffed, then rubbed his chest when he felt a twinge.
Dawlish once again ignored him. "And recently, Mr Black's been seen with a new girlfriend. Miss Granger might have feared for her position."
"Do you honestly believe that Hermione is behind this attack? That she somehow forced a vampire to attack me?" The man was crazy, Harry thought. Utterly bonkers, as Ron would say.
"She might be a simple accomplice, and not the driving power behind this," Dawlish said. "She wouldn't be the first teenage criminal to be recruited by a more experienced dark wizard after their expulsion from Hogwarts."
"Get out!" Harry snarled. "I'm not going to sit here and let you slander my best friend!"
"This is an interrogation, Mr Potter," Dawlish started to say, "You cannot…"
Harry cut him off by drawing his wand and casting a privacy spell on himself, then pulled on the rope next to his bed to summon Pomfrey.
He was through listening to this paranoid bigot.
Harry Potter was still upset an hour later, when he finally was allowed to receive real visitors. "And then the stupid idiot accused Hermione of wanting to kill me so she could steal from Sirius!" he snarled through clenched teeth.
"That's bonkers!" Ron shook his head. "Hermione wouldn't steal anything, least of all from you or Sirius! The git is probably a Death Eater trying to frame her."
Ginny, who was sitting on Harry's bed with her hand in his, nodded. "Yes. It's probably Malfoy's work. Dad and Percy said he's bribing people left and right in the Ministry."
"Fudge first among them," Harry muttered, remembering Sirius's comments about the Minister. He hoped Dumbledore would be able to counter Malfoy's efforts. If the Aurors framed Hermione…
"I doubt that," Luna said, pausing in her efforts to stick a bunch of weird knick-knacks she called a 'dreamcatcher' to the ceiling above Harry's bed while balancing on its frame. "Fudge wants you to think he's Malfoy's stooge so people won't suspect him. He's probably the head of the Rotfang Conspiracy."
"The what?" Harry asked.
"A secret organisation within the Ministry. They use Dark Magic and enchanted sweets in their attempts to bring down the Ministry. Why do you think the Headmaster is such an aficionado of sweets of all kinds? He had to become an expert to foil them!" Luna nodded emphatically at her own words, and Harry feared for a moment that she'd lose her balance and fall - right on his head.
"Ah." Harry glanced at Ginny, who was subtly shaking her head. Better not pursue that topic, then. "In any case," he continued, "it's clear that the Aurors are useless. At least the ones assigned to this case," he amended, thinking of Tonks.
"We're not relying on them anyway," Ginny said. "Professor Lupin saved us, not any of the Aurors." She sniffed, but Harry saw that she was holding her side with her free hand. He gently squeezed her hand.
"We can't rely entirely on the teachers either." He bit his lower lip - he had almost mentioned the Order in front of Luna.
"We certainly can't rely on Snape!" Ron said.
Harry coughed. "Speaking of Snape…"
"What about him?" Ron frowned at Harry.
He winced. "He helped save my life."
"WHAT?" "What?" "Really?"
Harry sighed. He had expected that reaction.
Hogsmeade, January 30th, 1996
She was finally allowed to visit Harry, and that dumb dog hadn't told her at once! Hermione Granger was fuming when she stepped out of the fireplace in the Hog's Head Inn, barely remembering to greet the innkeeper - he wasn't at fault, after all - before rushing out, mounting her broom and flying towards Hogwarts.
She should have sneaked into the school instead of waiting until she was told that Harry was fit to receive visitors! She didn't think that the wards would keep her out, expulsion or not. And even if they did she could sneak inside as a cat. And Pomfrey's spells wouldn't stop her. Next time, she promised herself, she wouldn't wait.
She guided her broom down when she reached Hogwarts' wardline. Just in case - she didn't fancy splattering herself against the ward like a bug against a windshield. When she saw the red-robed figure in the snow, she pulled up, though. An Auror, here?
Her eyes widened. They must be investigating the incident, which meant that it had taken place here! She wanted to investigate the place herself, but with the Auror down there… She hadn't done anything wrong, but it was never a good idea to attract the Aurors' attention. Especially not as a - falsely or not - convicted thief.
But they didn't seem to have spotted her, so she flew over the lake to approach Hogwarts from the other side. She landed and walked towards, then through, the wardline. The Headmaster didn't want to bar her entry. Or, she thought with a snort, it was Hogwarts' doing - Dumbledore certainly had talked about the school as if it had a will of its own. At least she could imagine him using that as an excuse.
But she pushed those fanciful thoughts away when she reached the castle proper. Harry was there, languishing in the infirmary! Or, she added to herself with a scowl, trying to sneak out despite being hurt.
Not on her watch, though!
She disillusioned herself and took a route through the castle that avoided the commonly used corridors - even though, at this time of the day, the students would be in their afternoon classes - and reached the infirmary a few minutes later. She almost went through the spells on the door - which were even worse than she had feared; didn't they care about Harry's security? - before forcing herself to knock and wait for someone to open it.
It was the dog who opened the door to the infirmary. "Ah, Hermione. Come in."
"Mr Black." She glared at him, but he ignored it. He wouldn't ignore her claws, but she couldn't change here.
And, she realised, Mr Black didn't look well. He was smiling, but it wasn't genuine - she could tell. "How is he?" she asked in a whisper.
"Fine," he answered. "According to him."
She sighed. "And how is he really?"
He told her, and she had to press her hands against her mouth to avoid crying out in horror.
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996
"Hello, Harry."
"Hermione!" Harry Potter smiled at his friend, then noticed that she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and biting her lower lip. She was upset. He craned his neck to look behind his friend. There was Sirius. "You told her," Harry said.
"Yes." Sirius nodded. "I didn't want her mad at me for both forgetting to call her at once and not telling her how you're really doing," he added with a forced grin.
Harry sighed. "I'll live."
"As long as you take a potion each day." Hermione moved to his bed and looked at him. He saw her hand twitch, as if she wanted to draw her wand.
"Go ahead and check my health," he said with a chuckle.
She drew her wand faster than Sirius in a duel, Harry noticed. She also cast a few spells he hadn't seen before. Her tutor must have been better than he had thought. "So, what's the verdict, Doctor Granger?"
She glared at him instead of laughing. "You're still sore, but I couldn't spot any permanent damage to your body. Which doesn't mean that there isn't - I'm no Healer."
Harry shrugged and carefully didn't react to the slight jolt of pain that that caused. "Pomfrey and the Healer she called didn't find anything either." He smiled. "So, do I get a hug?"
She embraced him, but not as hard as usual, or so he thought.
"I'm not going to break."
Hermione snorted at that. "You'd say that even if you were," she said, then released him and sat down on the chair next to his bed while Sirius remained standing at its foot.
"What happened?" she asked.
Harry took a deep breath. He didn't really want to tell his story yet again, but Hermione was his best friend - his best female friend. "Well, Ginny and I were walking back from Hogsmeade in the evening, along the shores of the Black Lake…"
"...and I woke up in the infirmary here, and have been prodded and interrogated ever since."
Hermione Granger flushed with embarrassment - she had just done the same. Both the prodding and the interrogating. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"Don't be. At least you mean well," Harry said. "Unlike the damn Aurors! They suspect you!"
"What?" She stared at him.
He nodded. "Yes. One of them, Dawlish was his name, thinks you're stealing from Sirius and me, and wanted to kill me so I wouldn't discover it."
"That… that…" she clenched her teeth. It was one thing to be thought a thief - she had become a thief, after all, even though she had been framed first - but a murderer? Dawlish was either an incredibly stupid bigot, or paid by Malfoy. Probably both, she thought.
"Well, I told him off," Harry said. "Stupid git."
She nodded, even though she doubted that Dawlish would change his views. "So, Dumbledore stopped the bleeding," she said to change the topic - they shouldn't talk about her troubles when Harry had almost died! And she already knew that, given the slightest opportunity, Mr Black would make a lewd remark about her role as his secretary, which she could do without.
"With Snape's assistance." Harry laughed. "He must have hated helping me!"
"Oh, yes," Mr Black agreed.
She didn't comment on that. She didn't like Snape - she still remembered how he had let his students sneer at her when she had left Hogwarts - but if he had helped save Harry's life he couldn't be entirely bad. There were more important things to worry about, anyway, other than a bad teacher. "What's being done about the curse?" She was proud that she could talk about this with a steady voice. If she had such a curse on her, one missed potion away from a brutal, painful death… she shuddered.
"Dumbledore's working on it," Harry said. "But it's blood magic; he has to do some research."
"Blood magic?" She glanced at Mr Black. There hadn't been many books covering that subject in his library. But she remembered a few. And why she had looked them up - the ritual murders last year. "It was Voldemort then. He tried to have you killed." She was certain of it.
Harry nodded. "It might have just been a distraction, but he certainly wouldn't have minded if the vampire had been successful."
She clenched her teeth. First the incident with his scar, and now this. Voldemort had to be stopped at any cost before he murdered Harry. If he wasn't even safe at Hogwarts… She drew a hissing breath. He wasn't safe - one sabotaged potion would be enough. "Do the other students know about the curse not having been dealt with?"
Harry shrugged - he was certainly not taking this seriously enough, Hermione thought - and said: "Dumbledore said they'll keep it a secret. I haven't told anyone but you, Ginny, Ron and Luna."
"Luna?" She stared at him. She liked the girl, but if 'flighty' fit any witch, then it was Luna. The Ravenclaw was not only lost in her own world half the time, but seemed to actively try and double that time.
"She's a good friend," he said, frowning at her. "Ginny's first and best friend, actually. She spent almost every day with us at The Burrow over the holidays."
That didn't make her a trustworthy person, Hermione thought. Even if she intended to keep the secret, there were ways to get around that, and she doubted that Luna knew how to protect herself. "But if people know that she's so close to you, they might go after her."
She saw him wince, and felt guilty. But it was for his own good. Then he put on a mulish expression. "I think they'd rather go after Pomfrey who does know for sure what happened instead of a student who only might know about it. Besides, Dumbledore knows about this."
She opened her mouth to retort that that didn't change anything, and that Luna was both in danger, and a danger to Harry, but caught herself in time. Harry had narrowly escaped being killed. He was suffering from a deadly curse only held at bay by potions, and had spent the last two days in the infirmary. What kind of friend was she, berating him for a mistake he made under those conditions?
A really bad one, she answered herself.
So she nodded and tried to smile. "Alright." She sighed. "I'm sorry for acting like this. I'm just so worried for you."
Harry smiled, if a little weakly. He probably knew he had made a mistake, too. "It's OK."
It wasn't. But they could pretend that it was. For a while at least.
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996
"Good evening, Miss Granger. Please have a seat."
"Good evening, Headmaster." Hermione Granger nodded rather curtly, then forced herself to relax. Dumbledore wasn't her enemy. He had saved Harry's life. She sat down with her back straight and met his eyes.
He raised an eyebrow at the sight, then briefly chuckled. "You have changed a lot since you had to leave this school."
"I was a lot younger then," she pointed out.
"Ah, one of the follies of old age - what is a long time for youth feels like but a moment for one as aged as me." He folded his hands with his elbows on the desk. "I am glad you asked to talk to me; it saves me a trip to your home."
"Oh?" She didn't blink, but she couldn't hide her surprise.
"Indeed. The attack on Harry, which almost succeeded but for his and his friends' skill and a not inconsiderable amount of luck, has left me in a situation where I need your help. Yours and Mundungus's."
She understood what he meant almost immediately. "For Harry's cure."
He nodded. "As you may already know, blood magic is highly illegal. But unlike other questionable magic, where it is its use that is illegal, stiff penalties are imposed upon those caught merely possessing information about blood magic. This means that those who do have tomes covering that subject are loathe to tell anyone about them, much less loan them."
"You want us to steal such books."
He inclined his head. "And find them in the first place."
She bit her lower lip. Of course she'd do it - she'd do anything to save Harry - but could she do it? "Finding them will be difficult." She was confident that Mr Fletcher and she could break into any house they needed to, but how were they supposed to find out who owned such books? Break into every pureblood manor in Britain? That would be satisfying, but hardly practicable. "Unless you know where they might be found."
"I have my suspicions - often well-founded - but a certain amount of guesswork and luck will be needed, as with most ventures in this conflict."
They had their work cut out for them, then. She nodded, her lips pressed together. For Harry.
"I will, of course, talk to Mundungus as well," Dumbledore said.
"If he refuses, I'll do it myself," she said at once. She didn't think Mr Fletcher would refuse, though - this was important, after all. More important than bugging the homes of some thugs.
"I know, Miss Granger. And so does Mundungus, I believe. Your loyalty to your friends does you credit."
"Thank you, sir." She cleared her throat. "Speaking of friends…"
"Yes?" He tipped his head slightly to the side.
"Harry told Ron, Ginny and Luna about his curse." She didn't frown as she said this.
"I am aware of that."
"While I do not doubt their loyalty and bravery, I think this knowledge endangers them." She stared at him. "The Death Eaters or their children at Hogwarts might go after them to find out what happened."
He nodded. "Steps have been taken to prevent that." He smiled. "Such measures would have to be implemented even if Harry hadn't told them; our enemies wouldn't know that, after all. And all of his friends are already in danger just because they are close to him."
She knew that very well. "Shouldn't they be taught Occlumency as well?"
He sighed. "Legilimency is not as common as you might fear; few are proficient in its use, and fewer still are able to use it reliably without being obvious. And those who do usually have alternatives at hand when faced with someone trained in Occlumency."
Like torture. Hermione shuddered. "It wouldn't hurt, though, would it?"
"It might, actually - learning Occlumency is not like learning a spell. There's a reason few master it." He smiled. "Although I have noticed that you haven't asked for that training yourself, so I assume you have taken a different way to safeguard your mind against intrusion."
She clenched her teeth. To make such an obvious mistake grated. Then she sighed, nodding. "Yes."
He smiled as if he had already known long ago. Which, she had to admit, he probably had. At least she could trust him not to betray her secret.
He needed his thieves, after all. And so did Harry.
Hogwarts, February 2nd, 1996
"Cheers!" Harry Potter said with as much sarcasm as he could and raised the vial in a mocking toast to Remus, who returned the gesture with a sickly grin.
Harry grimaced and held his breath as he moved the vial to his lips. The potion that kept his curse in check smelled horrible and tasted worse. He swallowed the entire contents of the vial in one go. It didn't make it taste any less horrible, but it was over more quickly.
Taking deep breaths through his mouth, he reached for the cola Sirius had provided. A few mouthfuls took care of the horrible aftertaste, and he started breathing normally again. "I'm convinced this is Snape's doing," he muttered, "he must have chosen the taste to hurt me."
Remus laughed at that, then started to cough, covering his mouth with his hand. He stopped after a few seconds, but Harry thought that he caught a glimpse of red on the man's fingers before Remus wiped his hand on a handkerchief.
He didn't say anything, though. Remus had been cursed earlier than Harry, and the curse had done more damage to his body before it had been stopped. And it had all been because of Harry. If not for him there wouldn't have been an attack, and Remus wouldn't have lost so much time saving him.
"I'm alright," Remus said. He must have noticed Harry's reaction. "I'm just taking a little longer to recover completely."
Harry nodded, trying not to let his doubts show. You didn't completely recover from dark curses - he had been taught that by Remus himself. "Thank you." He didn't have to say what for.
Remus nodded. "Any time, Harry."
He wasn't lying, Harry knew. He didn't want to dwell on that, though. He took a deep sigh and kept his tone light for his next words. "Well, they're finally releasing us from this place, so I guess we're in no danger of dying any time soon. Though we might wish we were, if they don't improve the taste of this potion."
"Sirius offered to fill in as Defence teacher for me," Remus said, matching his tone. "I would have gone back to teaching even if I were dying, to spare my students that."
They laughed, briefly, at their own jokes, even if they weren't really funny. But it helped dealing with the fact that they were now dependent on a potion. Although, Harry thought, then felt ashamed for it, Remus was used to depending on a potion already, wasn't he?
Hogwarts, February 3rd, 1996
Harry Potter had barely closed the door to the unused classroom behind them when Ginny jumped him and hugged him harder than Hermione usually did. Since he didn't collapse, Harry guessed that that meant he really had recovered much better than Remus. He rubbed her back but avoided touching her side, where she had been cut by a rock shard.
He heard her snort, then she pulled back and frowned at him. "I'm not the one who got cursed," she said, a little testily, he thought.
"I know, it's just…" He shrugged. He had seen her bleed. "I don't like seeing you hurt."
"I don't like seeing you hurt either," she shot back.
"I'll do my best to avoid it," he said, "but Voldemort has it in for me."
"Well, he can't get you at Hogwarts." She stepped back to sit down on the teacher's desk and let her legs dangle.
"I can't hide here forever." He tapped his scar. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, after all." And the scar tied him to the Dark Lord.
"Not forever, but the next year or two." She threw her hair back. "And Dumbledore might get him in the meantime."
"He didn't get him in the last war."
Ginny stared at him. "You sound as if you plan to fight him."
"I'm not. But I'm preparing. Just in case." He wasn't really planning. He knew that he wasn't supposed to risk himself. And Dumbledore was still trying to find out what exactly Harry's mum had done to protect him and defeat Voldemort. But with the curse on Harry, the Headmaster wouldn't be able to focus on that - finding a cure was more important. And they knew that his mother's protection wouldn't last past his seventeenth birthday - he would have to fight Voldemort before it ended. "I'll train harder, too." He had to. He couldn't let anyone else get hurt because of him.
"You're already spending half your evenings with Sirius or Dumbledore," Ginny said.
He nodded. It was needed, after all.
"And there's Quidditch," she added.
"I can drop that if it gets too much," Harry said. He would hate it, but defeating Voldemort - and surviving the fight - took priority.
"You can't just train all the time. You need to relax too," she said.
"I've got you for that," he said, grinning. He stepped up to her and leaned forward.
She slowly leaned back, not breaking eye contact. He pressed on until he was on top of her, then kissed her.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 4th, 1996
Sitting in Mr Black's study, waiting, Hermione Granger rolled her eyes. Mr Black was late. He should have been here already - he knew she had arrived. But the dog was late. She wouldn't mind if he was visiting Harry, who needed his godfather more than ever now, but according to Kreacher, Mr Black was 'entertaining' his guest. Which meant Jeanne. How could he think that dallying - or whatever it was that he was doing - with his French girlfriend was more important than meeting with her? They had important things to discuss!
She noticed the door opening and quickly picked up the parchment in front of her - it might be Jeanne, after all, who would expect a very busy and very focused secretary. Not an impatient thief.
Mr Black peeked in, then pulled back. "Ah, she's here already! I'm sorry, chérie, but apparently I have important business matters to discuss," she heard him say. To Jeanne, judging by the sounds of kissing that followed. And went on.
She was clenching her teeth and glaring at the dog when he finally entered and closed the door behind him. And he had the gall to smile at her!
"So, what do you need to talk about?" he asked, sitting down on his new swivel chair. If he started to spin around on it she'd hex him. Or claw him. This was serious.
She glanced at the door to check that it was closed.
"Jeanne won't hear a word," he assured her. "And she's off to Diagon Alley anyway."
She nodded curtly. He hadn't lost all sense over the witch, then. She raised her chin and met his eyes. "I need to tell Mr Fletcher about our secret."
His wide and slightly mocking smile disappeared. "We've gone over this before," he said. "I don't trust him."
"Dumbledore trusts him. I trust him," she retorted, then bit her lower lip. She couldn't rehash arguments that had failed to convince him in the past. "But that's not the point. The situation has changed. This isn't about spying on Death Eaters any more. This is about finding a cure for Harry." He drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth. She went on: "Dumbledore needs information about blood magic. That means we'll have to break into the lairs of vampires. And manors of Old Families hiding such magic. Both are extremely dangerous. If Mr Fletcher doesn't know what I can do, he will not be able to make the best plans."
He glared at her. "But you know what you can do. And you're a good planner."
She refrained from nodding, even though she was - briefly - pleased at the recognition. "I lack his experience." And he wouldn't follow a plan of hers, not when she couldn't tell him what exactly she was planning. "You have to trust your partner in such matters." And she had been hiding this far too long from her tutor already.
"I don't trust him," he spat.
"Would you rather risk your secret or Harry's cure?" She kept looking directly into his eyes until he scowled and looked away.
"That's unfair."
"So?" She didn't care how fair it was if it was about saving Harry.
He closed his eyes and seemed to slide down a few inches in his seat. After a few moments, he sighed. "Alright." Then he sat up and smiled at her - rather evilly, she noticed. "But I'll tell him myself."
He was planning something, Hermione knew him well enough to tell. But as long as she could finally show Mr Fletcher what she could do, she wouldn't complain.
"Good."
"Get offa me, you mangy cur!"
"Woof!"
"Stop lickin' my face! I'll curse you… give me back my wand!"
Hermione Granger closed her eyes and sighed. She really should have known better than to to think Mr Black would be able to show off his animagus form without acting like the stupid dog he was.
"Hermione! Get him off me!" Mr Fletcher yelled from where the dog had pinned him to the floor - next to the vase that had been broken during the tussle.
She hesitated a moment, then changed herself.
Time to teach the dog some manners with her claws. Again.
London, Diagon Alley, January 28th, 1996
Horace Slughorn tensed when he heard the charm on his fireplace go off, alerting him that a visitor desired entry. "Yes?"
"Horace? May I come through?"
That was Albus. Right on time. "Of course, Albus," he said, with far more warmth than he felt.
A moment later, Albus stepped into his living room. "Good evening, Horace! You are looking well."
Horace inclined his head. "Thank you. You haven't changed either." Which was, unfortunately, true - Albus looked like he was as fit and healthy as ever. For a wizard his age.
"Oh, I am not getting any younger - but then, that is true for all of us." Albus smiled at him.
Horace gestured at the couch. "Let's sit down. Our old bones deserve some comfort."
"Whisky?" he asked once he and his guest had taken their seats.
"Thank you," replied Albus. "You always had the most discerning taste for drinks."
Horace summoned his second-best bottle - Albus didn't deserve his best, not after he had forced him into retirement - and two glasses. He pretended not to notice how Albus subtly checked his glass for any potions or poisons before taking a sip. The man did have enemies, after all, even if it was a slight against him as the host.
"Cheers!"
He smiled genuinely when he felt the whisky burn in his throat. "Ogden's Special Selection," he said. "Only one hundred bottles were made." Ten of them were a gift to him, for introducing Zacharia's future daughter-in-law to the brewer's son and heir.
Albus nodded in appreciation. "A fine brand."
Horace took a few more sips, then put his glass down on his antique side table - bought in Magical Constantinople during his last trip to the Ottoman Empire, but originally from Italy - and leaned forward. "So, why are you paying me a visit? Did Snape finally cross a line you can't ignore, and you need a Potions Master who doesn't hate his students?"
Albus frowned for a moment before his face settled once again into a polite smile. "His manners have improved as he has matured."
Horace chuckled. "And yet you had to dress him down after he let his bigots run rampant during the Granger affair."
Albus's smile didn't waver. "An unfortunate lapse in judgement."
"His or yours?" Horace pushed. It wasn't as if he had anything to lose - he was already cut off from recruiting more gifted students for his Slug Club. His network would grow old with him, wither and die, and it was all Albus's fault.
"Still holding a grudge, Horace?" Albus asked instead of answering.
"You force me into retirement because a few of my acquaintances joined the Dark Lord during the war without me realising it, and then you recruit an actual Death Eater as my replacement, and you think I would just forget it?" He scoffed. "You're a hypocrite, Albus."
"I had my reasons. And while I cannot claim that I treated you entirely fairly, I stand by my decision." Albus inclined his head in that patronising manner of his that Horace hated.
"The man is a gifted potioneer, but a miserable excuse for a human being, with all the charm of a basilisk. People like him should never be teachers." He snorted. "And while I don't like him, I know him well enough to know that he never wanted to be a teacher in the first place, so this wasn't a reward for whatever he did for you during the war. You simply wanted him where you could keep him under control."
"As I said, I had my reasons." Albus smiled again. "As I have a reason to visit you."
"Ah." Horace matched the man's smile. "What do you want from me, Albus?" He grinned. "And why do you think I will help you?"
"Let me answer your second question first," Albus said. "In private, of course." He cast a privacy charm and lowered his voice. "Because your greatest mistake was not killed in 1981. He is back."
Horace froze. That couldn't be true. He had heard rumours, of course - but they had been just that, rumours. He shook his head. "But… that's impossible."
"You are well aware that evading death, at least for a time, isn't impossible for a dedicated dark wizard, are you not?"
Horace pressed his lips together. His studies had been entirely theoretical; he had never actually done anything. And no one but Riddle and himself knew about that fateful talk they had had, decades ago. "If that were true then the wizards of ancient Egypt would still be around. No matter what he might have done to anchor himself to life, there are ways around it."
"In theory," Albus said, with a faint smile. "Unless you are aware of one that was put into practice?"
He took a deep breath. He didn't know what she might have told Albus. "I do not know of any such attempt." She had been looking into many applications of her idea, after all.
Albus's smile didn't waver as he leaned forward. "But you suspect, do you not? You talked a lot with Lily prior to that fateful day."
Albus knew! Or he knew enough to suspect. Horace felt as if someone had turned his spine to ice.
"Tell me what you discussed with Lily, Horace, and I will protect you from Riddle." Albus was staring at him with an expression few ever saw on the man's face. And even fewer lived to tell of it.
Horace gulped. "I do not know if she actually did anything - we were just discussing theory."
"I already know that Lily used questionable means to create the ritual that defeated Voldemort. And I do not care, Horace. We're at war. And this could be the key to winning it before it devastates our country again while we have yet to recover from the last war. If you value your life you will tell me what you and Lily discussed before Tom grows too powerful to be stopped."
Horace didn't know if Albus meant that Riddle would kill him if he refused - or that Albus would. He started talking.
*****
Hogsmeade, January 28th, 1996
Harry Potter threw himself over Ginny an instant before the attacker sent their spell at him. He saw a green flash, then the ground next to him blew up. His Shield Charm weathered the pelting fragments of frozen earth and stones though he felt Ginny's shield shatter underneath him. But they were now in the middle of a cloud of snow and steam that had been thrown up by the explosion, and so had a few seconds of concealment.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her up as he stood himself, then summoned his broom - only to notice when he tried to mount it that it had been broken by the blast. Cursing, he let it drop, then froze - his father's Cloak! "Accio Invisibility Cloak!" he whispered and felt the fabric land in his hand. He pulled Ginny closer and covered both of them with the Cloak, hoping it hadn't been damaged as well.
He had been just in time - the cloud of steam and snow settled, revealing their position. He heard Ginny hiss - in pain or anger, he couldn't tell - but his attention was on the floating wizard.
The man was weaving back and forth, avoiding, with seemingly effortless grace, the barrage of curses Remus was sending against him. Harry saw several curses splash against the man's shield without any effect. He raised his own wand to join Remus's attack, then hesitated. Remus had told him to get Ginny to Hogwarts. If he attacked the floating, no, flying wizard he would endanger her.
Clenching his teeth and hating himself, he whispered: "Let's move while he's distracted!" They were a few hundred yards, at most, from the wardline. They could do this.
But two people moving under a cloak meant for one wasn't as easy as Harry remembered from his first and second year. Especially over a snowy path. They hadn't covered more than twenty yards when Ginny stumbled. He caught her with his left hand before she fell, but she cried out in pain. "Ginny!" he gasped when he realised that she was hurt.
She cursed and straightened, then started hobbling forward. Harry was about to swoop her up and carry her - or try to - when Remus's yell made him whip his head round.
"Harry! Watch out!"
Harry saw the man flying towards them, wand moving. How had he… their tracks! They were leaving tracks in the snow, even on the path!
Harry put himself in front of Ginny as he jabbed his wand at the ground between them and their attacker.
"Bombarda!"
The earth and snow of the field next to the path blew up in a much bigger explosion than the first, right in the path of the flying wizard. Harry saw another green spell - the Killing Curse? - speed out of the cloud and hit the ground ten yards to his right in another explosion.
He was already ducking, slipping out from under his Cloak. "Stay hidden!" he yelled at Ginny, then threw himself forward and to the right. He rolled over his shoulder, as Sirius had drilled into him, and came up leading with his wand just as the man cleared the cloud.
Harry flicked his wand and sent a Cutting Curse at him, trying to anticipate his enemy's movement. The wizard must have spotted him, though, since he was already changing course by the time Harry finished his spell, and his curse missed by yards.
The man turned towards him, grinning widely, even laughing, but before he could send another curse at Harry, a volley of spells from Remus hit his shield, shattering it. The wizard howled as another spell cut into him, then swooped around to face Remus.
For a moment, Harry felt elation fill him. They had the wizard in a crossfire. He might be able to fly better than most Seekers, but he couldn't evade all of their curses; not while he was trying to fight them.
Then he glanced at Remus and noticed that the werewolf was staggering, blood covering his robes. His entire face seemed to be bleeding! And yet, Remus was still casting, snarling as he moved towards their foe, spells flying without pause from his wand.
Harry clenched his teeth and kept casting himself. They had to defeat this wizard before Remus collapsed. He was losing far too much blood as it was, Harry thought, and hoped his teacher had taken a Blood-Replenishing Potion.
Then spells flew at the wizard from a third direction. Reinforcements! No, Harry saw, it was Ginny. The witch had thrown off the Cloak and was casting, even while holding her side with her left hand. He cursed, but focused on fighting - he couldn't do anything for her or Remus while the flying wizard was trying to kill them.
No, he was trying to kill him, Harry realised when the wizard stopped jinking and sent a blood-red curse at him, ignoring the many spells flying towards him.
Harry had been moving and casting, as he had trained to with Sirius, but he couldn't move as fast or as far in the deep snow, and the man had aimed well. The curse hit Harry's Shield Charm, shattering it, and then Harry felt as if every part of his body was being ripped apart.
He collapsed, his scream drowned in the blood gushing from his mouth. He caught a glimpse of the man being struck by several spells, spinning around and falling, before the blood dripping from his eyes blinded him. He heard Remus and Ginny cry out, but their yells were dampened, as if his ears had been plugged.
He pointed his wand at his own face, trying to yell 'Episkey' through his mouth full of blood. He tried to move, to stand up, to grab a potion from his enchanted pocket, but he couldn't see anything, couldn't breathe, was choking on blood, and it hurt so much to move...
When everything went dark and he stopped feeling anything he was relieved.
*****
Hogwarts, January 29th, 1996
When Harry Potter opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a blurry ceiling that looked familiar. And the smell… he was in the Hogwarts infirmary. He hadn't died, then. And he wasn't hurting any more, either.
"Harry!"
He turned his head at the yell and winced. He corrected himself - he wasn't hurting as much as before he had lost consciousness, but moving was still painful. "Sirius?" he managed to say. His godfather sounded rather upset.
"I was so worried. We were so worried."
"What happened?" Harry said, then coughed - his throat felt raw. And his chest hurt when he coughed.
"You got cursed," Sirius said tersely.
"I know that." Harry squinted. "Where are my glasses?"
"Oh! Here!" Sirius held them out to him.
Harry sighed as the world came into focus again. And he winced when he saw just how terrible his godfather looked: rumpled robes, pale face, hair messier than Harry's, bags under his eyes.
"I know that I was cursed," he said. "It hurt too much to miss that." He tried to smile at his feeble joke, but Sirius didn't look amused or relieved. "I bled all over myself." He blinked. "Remus got cursed as well, didn't he?"
Sirius nodded.
Harry stiffened and looked at the curtains providing him with a little privacy. "He is alright, isn't he? And Ginny?"
Sirius hesitated for a moment, and Harry gasped. His godfather quickly held up his hand. "Ginny wasn't hurt. Not seriously - she's already out of the infirmary. Remus is alive. Pomfrey and Dumbledore managed to stop the bleeding."
"But?" Harry pressed. If all were well, Sirius wouldn't be so… serious. And he hadn't hugged him..
His godfather took a deep breath, then sighed through clenched teeth.
This looked worse and worse, Harry thought. He reached out and grabbed Sirius's hand, trying not to wince at the pain this caused. "Please, I want to know."
"The bleeding was stopped. But they couldn't end the curse."
Harry looked at his chest. No blood. He touched his face, his ears. No blood. He even licked his lips. "I'm not bleeding," he said.
"Yes. Remus managed to get a Blood-Replenishing Potion into you in time to save your life, then flew you both to the infirmary before he collapsed. Pomfrey kept pouring potions into you two to keep you alive while Dumbledore and Snape worked on a counter to the curse. They didn't quite manage that, but they've found potions that will hold the curse at bay until a more permanent cure is found."
"Potions?" Harry asked, more to keep from thinking about the fact that he was still cursed, could still bleed to death in pain like… He clenched his teeth.
"I'm no alchemist, but it's apparently a mix of Blood-Replenishing and Clotting Potions which Dumbledore and Snape created. You and Remus will need to drink one vial per day until Dumbledore finds a counter-curse. But Pomfrey said you should heal up just fine from the damage the curse did."
That… well, it still sounded very bad, but not as bad as Harry had feared. But to owe his life to a potion… He shook his head. "Does that mean that I owe Snape my life?"
"No!" Sirius blurted. "It was Dumbledore's work. He's the alchemist. Snape just helped."
Owing anything to Snape was still bad enough, Harry thought. The bastard would lord it over him and complain about it at the same time. "Did we get the wizard who attacked us?" he asked. He had seen him fall. At least he thought so.
"You did." Sirius nodded. "Cursed him good, too - he won't attack anyone else."
He had killed someone, then. Or helped kill someone. Harry briefly remembered the attack at the Cup, when Sirius had killed that witch. He closed his eyes. "Who was it?"
"We're not certain, yet," Sirius said. "But it was a vampire."
"A vampire?" Harry blinked, despite the slight pain that caused him. Why would a vampire attack him? "Was he a Death Eater?"
"There was no mark on his arm." Sirius shrugged. "But Remus said that he wanted to kill you, and only you - badly enough to let himself get killed just to hit you."
Harry drew a breath through clenched teeth as he remembered the battle. "Do you think he was forced?" Like the witch who had attacked him.
"Perhaps," Sirius said. "The Aurors are still investigating." He was sneering slightly - he didn't expect much from them, Harry knew.
He nodded. "So." He looked at his godfather. "When can I leave this place?"
For the first time since Harry had woken up, Sirius laughed. Somehow, Harry didn't think that was a good sign.
*****
"It was a very near thing, Harry," Dumbledore said. "If Remus hadn't carried enough Blood-Replenishing potions, if Poppy had been a minute or two later…" He sighed.
The Headmaster looked tired, too, Harry Potter noticed. "I see." Sirius hadn't told him that. But he didn't doubt it - he had thought he was dead, for a moment at least. "I owe you my life."
"I only did what anyone would have done in my place." Dumbledore smiled at him. "And I did not do anything alone. Remus, Poppy, Severus, Miss Weasley - everyone helped. And I would wager that you saved both Miss Weasley and Remus in that fight, too."
Harry knew that few would have been able to do what Dumbledore had done, but he was too tired to argue. And there were more important matters to discuss. "Was it blood magic, sir?"
Dumbledore slowly nodded. "Yes. I first thought that it was simply a dark curse that affected your blood, like the Blood-Boiling Curse. But it's blood magic." He must have noticed Harry's reaction since he smiled reassuringly. "That is not necessarily a bad thing, Harry. For while finding a counter-curse will require quite a lot of effort, the curse's effects can be dealt with more easily."
Harry wasn't certain that having to drink a potion each day or else bleed to death was that easy, but compared to other curses it was probably not as bad as it could have been. "Do you think Voldemort will try to kill me again?"
"He certainly wants you dead, but I am not certain that your death was the real goal of this attack. Oh," Dumbledore said before Harry could protest, "he would certainly be pleased had you been killed, no doubt about that. But I do not think that he expected it. I would even go as far as to say that he probably didn't even expect to come so close. I will certainly have to go over our security to avoid a repeat of this." He leaned back in the armchair he had conjured next to Harry's bed after Sirius had left to check on Remus. "But I think he did this in an attempt at misdirection - he hopes to lure both the Ministry and myself on to a false trail by framing the vampires for the attack."
"Wasn't he attacking them? Or was he recruiting them?" Harry asked, freezing for a moment. If Voldemort had all those missing vampires among his ranks...
"Vampires as a rule do not make good followers - they are loners by nature, and chafe at following anyone's orders. Even the Dark Lord would have to resort to the Dark Arts to keep them under control. But if the vampires blame the Ministry or myself for the attacks on them, then they might strike at us in turn. Some of them even might ally themselves with him - not knowing that, by doing so, they expose themselves to the wizard responsible for the very attacks that drove them into hiding."
"But… if we tell them that the vampire had been under the Imperius Curse…" Harry started.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't think that he used that particular curse to drive the vampire to attack you."
"What can we do, then?" They couldn't let Voldemort get away away with this!
"I will do my best to keep the Ministry and the Prophet from overreacting. That should lessen the impact of this attack."
"Better silence Skeeter then," Harry muttered.
"I believe Rita will see reason if I explain the situation to her."
"What?" Harry stared at the old man.
"Oh, I do not intend to tell her about the Dark Lord's involvement. Just about the consequences she might suffer, should she plan to blame all vampires for the deeds of one."
Dumbledore hadn't lost his smile, but it didn't look very friendly right then, Harry thought.
*****
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996
"And what did you after you were hit with that curse, Mr Potter?" Auror Dawlish leaned forward in his chair.
"I passed out, as I told you already." Harry Potter didn't bother to hide how he annoyed he was; both with the questioning and the Auror. He didn't like repeating himself - nor remembering that fight. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Dawlish frowned. "If you want us to catch the ones responsible for this attack you need to cooperate with us."
"Did you catch whoever was behind the attack at the World Cup?" Harry asked. "Or behind the attack on me at Hogwarts?"
The man's frown deepened. "Those incidents are still under investigation."
And would remain so for the foreseeable future, Harry thought. He wasn't being fair - the Aurors didn't know that Voldemort was back and behind those incidents - but he doubted that the same people who had prosecuted both Sirius and Hermione despite them being innocent would achieve anything even if they had that knowledge. Sirius had been rather vocal about their incompetence and corruption, and Hermione's opinion was not any better, although she had worded it more politely.
And he was rather annoyed that his first visitors after Pomfrey had cleared him - apparently, Sirius and Dumbledore didn't count - were Dawlish and his partner instead of Harry's friends. He took a deep breath, half-expecting to cough up blood again, and said: "I've told you everything I know. Asking me again and again will not help my memory."
"Witnesses usually know more than they think," Dawlish replied. "Repeated questioning can jog their memory."
Harry shrugged. "Not in my case, then. Did you find out the name of the vampire?"
"Who told you that it was a vampire?" Dawlish asked with narrowed eyes.
"Dumbledore did," Harry said. "Shouldn't he have done that?" he asked as innocently as he could. Let Dawlish try bothering the Headmaster - and Chief Warlock!
"Such information is very useful to check testimonies," Dawlish's partner - Avery, Harry remembered - added. "You wouldn't believe what people make up to feel important."
He was correct - Harry didn't believe that. He shrugged. "I don't want to feel important. I just want these attacks stopped."
Dawlish and his partner exchanged a glance. "Do you know anyone who might want to see you dead?" Dawlish asked.
Harry shrugged again. "Apart from the Death Eaters and their children? Malfoy tried to poison me in our second year." Had poisoned him, even. "And they framed my best friend," he added with bared teeth.
Avery scowled, but Dawlish didn't react to that dig. "Speaking of Miss Granger," the Auror asked, "what's your relationship with her?"
"She's my best friend. My best female friend," Harry said. "Why are you asking about her?"
Dawlish ignored his question. "She's your godfather's secretary, isn't she?"
"Yes." Harry glared at him.
"And she handles most of his correspondence, doesn't she?"
Harry frowned. How did the man know that? He tried not to show his reaction and shrugged. "I don't care much about paperwork."
"You should," Dawlish said.
"I still don't understand what you think she has to do with this attack." Although Harry had a suspicion. A nasty one. "Do you think Hermione is behind this attack? Are you crazy?"
Dawlish glared right back at him. "She's a convicted criminal. A thief. And she's handling the affairs of one of the richest men in Britain. She's in a perfect position to steal from you and your godfather. And given Black's well-known issues with his memory…"
"He's getting better!" Harry interjected. Sirius wasn't nearly as bad as he had been two years ago.
"...the only one able to uncover her crime would be you," Dawlish continued, seemingly unfazed. "People have killed for far less."
"You're crazy! She's my best friend. Sirius paid her debts. She would never do anything like that!" Harry scoffed, then rubbed his chest when he felt a twinge.
Dawlish once again ignored him. "And recently, Mr Black's been seen with a new girlfriend. Miss Granger might have feared for her position."
"Do you honestly believe that Hermione is behind this attack? That she somehow forced a vampire to attack me?" The man was crazy, Harry thought. Utterly bonkers, as Ron would say.
"She might be a simple accomplice, and not the driving power behind this," Dawlish said. "She wouldn't be the first teenage criminal to be recruited by a more experienced dark wizard after their expulsion from Hogwarts."
"Get out!" Harry snarled. "I'm not going to sit here and let you slander my best friend!"
"This is an interrogation, Mr Potter," Dawlish started to say, "You cannot…"
Harry cut him off by drawing his wand and casting a privacy spell on himself, then pulled on the rope next to his bed to summon Pomfrey.
He was through listening to this paranoid bigot.
*****
Harry Potter was still upset an hour later, when he finally was allowed to receive real visitors. "And then the stupid idiot accused Hermione of wanting to kill me so she could steal from Sirius!" he snarled through clenched teeth.
"That's bonkers!" Ron shook his head. "Hermione wouldn't steal anything, least of all from you or Sirius! The git is probably a Death Eater trying to frame her."
Ginny, who was sitting on Harry's bed with her hand in his, nodded. "Yes. It's probably Malfoy's work. Dad and Percy said he's bribing people left and right in the Ministry."
"Fudge first among them," Harry muttered, remembering Sirius's comments about the Minister. He hoped Dumbledore would be able to counter Malfoy's efforts. If the Aurors framed Hermione…
"I doubt that," Luna said, pausing in her efforts to stick a bunch of weird knick-knacks she called a 'dreamcatcher' to the ceiling above Harry's bed while balancing on its frame. "Fudge wants you to think he's Malfoy's stooge so people won't suspect him. He's probably the head of the Rotfang Conspiracy."
"The what?" Harry asked.
"A secret organisation within the Ministry. They use Dark Magic and enchanted sweets in their attempts to bring down the Ministry. Why do you think the Headmaster is such an aficionado of sweets of all kinds? He had to become an expert to foil them!" Luna nodded emphatically at her own words, and Harry feared for a moment that she'd lose her balance and fall - right on his head.
"Ah." Harry glanced at Ginny, who was subtly shaking her head. Better not pursue that topic, then. "In any case," he continued, "it's clear that the Aurors are useless. At least the ones assigned to this case," he amended, thinking of Tonks.
"We're not relying on them anyway," Ginny said. "Professor Lupin saved us, not any of the Aurors." She sniffed, but Harry saw that she was holding her side with her free hand. He gently squeezed her hand.
"We can't rely entirely on the teachers either." He bit his lower lip - he had almost mentioned the Order in front of Luna.
"We certainly can't rely on Snape!" Ron said.
Harry coughed. "Speaking of Snape…"
"What about him?" Ron frowned at Harry.
He winced. "He helped save my life."
"WHAT?" "What?" "Really?"
Harry sighed. He had expected that reaction.
*****
Hogsmeade, January 30th, 1996
She was finally allowed to visit Harry, and that dumb dog hadn't told her at once! Hermione Granger was fuming when she stepped out of the fireplace in the Hog's Head Inn, barely remembering to greet the innkeeper - he wasn't at fault, after all - before rushing out, mounting her broom and flying towards Hogwarts.
She should have sneaked into the school instead of waiting until she was told that Harry was fit to receive visitors! She didn't think that the wards would keep her out, expulsion or not. And even if they did she could sneak inside as a cat. And Pomfrey's spells wouldn't stop her. Next time, she promised herself, she wouldn't wait.
She guided her broom down when she reached Hogwarts' wardline. Just in case - she didn't fancy splattering herself against the ward like a bug against a windshield. When she saw the red-robed figure in the snow, she pulled up, though. An Auror, here?
Her eyes widened. They must be investigating the incident, which meant that it had taken place here! She wanted to investigate the place herself, but with the Auror down there… She hadn't done anything wrong, but it was never a good idea to attract the Aurors' attention. Especially not as a - falsely or not - convicted thief.
But they didn't seem to have spotted her, so she flew over the lake to approach Hogwarts from the other side. She landed and walked towards, then through, the wardline. The Headmaster didn't want to bar her entry. Or, she thought with a snort, it was Hogwarts' doing - Dumbledore certainly had talked about the school as if it had a will of its own. At least she could imagine him using that as an excuse.
But she pushed those fanciful thoughts away when she reached the castle proper. Harry was there, languishing in the infirmary! Or, she added to herself with a scowl, trying to sneak out despite being hurt.
Not on her watch, though!
She disillusioned herself and took a route through the castle that avoided the commonly used corridors - even though, at this time of the day, the students would be in their afternoon classes - and reached the infirmary a few minutes later. She almost went through the spells on the door - which were even worse than she had feared; didn't they care about Harry's security? - before forcing herself to knock and wait for someone to open it.
It was the dog who opened the door to the infirmary. "Ah, Hermione. Come in."
"Mr Black." She glared at him, but he ignored it. He wouldn't ignore her claws, but she couldn't change here.
And, she realised, Mr Black didn't look well. He was smiling, but it wasn't genuine - she could tell. "How is he?" she asked in a whisper.
"Fine," he answered. "According to him."
She sighed. "And how is he really?"
He told her, and she had to press her hands against her mouth to avoid crying out in horror.
*****
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996
"Hello, Harry."
"Hermione!" Harry Potter smiled at his friend, then noticed that she was shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and biting her lower lip. She was upset. He craned his neck to look behind his friend. There was Sirius. "You told her," Harry said.
"Yes." Sirius nodded. "I didn't want her mad at me for both forgetting to call her at once and not telling her how you're really doing," he added with a forced grin.
Harry sighed. "I'll live."
"As long as you take a potion each day." Hermione moved to his bed and looked at him. He saw her hand twitch, as if she wanted to draw her wand.
"Go ahead and check my health," he said with a chuckle.
She drew her wand faster than Sirius in a duel, Harry noticed. She also cast a few spells he hadn't seen before. Her tutor must have been better than he had thought. "So, what's the verdict, Doctor Granger?"
She glared at him instead of laughing. "You're still sore, but I couldn't spot any permanent damage to your body. Which doesn't mean that there isn't - I'm no Healer."
Harry shrugged and carefully didn't react to the slight jolt of pain that that caused. "Pomfrey and the Healer she called didn't find anything either." He smiled. "So, do I get a hug?"
She embraced him, but not as hard as usual, or so he thought.
"I'm not going to break."
Hermione snorted at that. "You'd say that even if you were," she said, then released him and sat down on the chair next to his bed while Sirius remained standing at its foot.
"What happened?" she asked.
Harry took a deep breath. He didn't really want to tell his story yet again, but Hermione was his best friend - his best female friend. "Well, Ginny and I were walking back from Hogsmeade in the evening, along the shores of the Black Lake…"
*****
"...and I woke up in the infirmary here, and have been prodded and interrogated ever since."
Hermione Granger flushed with embarrassment - she had just done the same. Both the prodding and the interrogating. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"Don't be. At least you mean well," Harry said. "Unlike the damn Aurors! They suspect you!"
"What?" She stared at him.
He nodded. "Yes. One of them, Dawlish was his name, thinks you're stealing from Sirius and me, and wanted to kill me so I wouldn't discover it."
"That… that…" she clenched her teeth. It was one thing to be thought a thief - she had become a thief, after all, even though she had been framed first - but a murderer? Dawlish was either an incredibly stupid bigot, or paid by Malfoy. Probably both, she thought.
"Well, I told him off," Harry said. "Stupid git."
She nodded, even though she doubted that Dawlish would change his views. "So, Dumbledore stopped the bleeding," she said to change the topic - they shouldn't talk about her troubles when Harry had almost died! And she already knew that, given the slightest opportunity, Mr Black would make a lewd remark about her role as his secretary, which she could do without.
"With Snape's assistance." Harry laughed. "He must have hated helping me!"
"Oh, yes," Mr Black agreed.
She didn't comment on that. She didn't like Snape - she still remembered how he had let his students sneer at her when she had left Hogwarts - but if he had helped save Harry's life he couldn't be entirely bad. There were more important things to worry about, anyway, other than a bad teacher. "What's being done about the curse?" She was proud that she could talk about this with a steady voice. If she had such a curse on her, one missed potion away from a brutal, painful death… she shuddered.
"Dumbledore's working on it," Harry said. "But it's blood magic; he has to do some research."
"Blood magic?" She glanced at Mr Black. There hadn't been many books covering that subject in his library. But she remembered a few. And why she had looked them up - the ritual murders last year. "It was Voldemort then. He tried to have you killed." She was certain of it.
Harry nodded. "It might have just been a distraction, but he certainly wouldn't have minded if the vampire had been successful."
She clenched her teeth. First the incident with his scar, and now this. Voldemort had to be stopped at any cost before he murdered Harry. If he wasn't even safe at Hogwarts… She drew a hissing breath. He wasn't safe - one sabotaged potion would be enough. "Do the other students know about the curse not having been dealt with?"
Harry shrugged - he was certainly not taking this seriously enough, Hermione thought - and said: "Dumbledore said they'll keep it a secret. I haven't told anyone but you, Ginny, Ron and Luna."
"Luna?" She stared at him. She liked the girl, but if 'flighty' fit any witch, then it was Luna. The Ravenclaw was not only lost in her own world half the time, but seemed to actively try and double that time.
"She's a good friend," he said, frowning at her. "Ginny's first and best friend, actually. She spent almost every day with us at The Burrow over the holidays."
That didn't make her a trustworthy person, Hermione thought. Even if she intended to keep the secret, there were ways to get around that, and she doubted that Luna knew how to protect herself. "But if people know that she's so close to you, they might go after her."
She saw him wince, and felt guilty. But it was for his own good. Then he put on a mulish expression. "I think they'd rather go after Pomfrey who does know for sure what happened instead of a student who only might know about it. Besides, Dumbledore knows about this."
She opened her mouth to retort that that didn't change anything, and that Luna was both in danger, and a danger to Harry, but caught herself in time. Harry had narrowly escaped being killed. He was suffering from a deadly curse only held at bay by potions, and had spent the last two days in the infirmary. What kind of friend was she, berating him for a mistake he made under those conditions?
A really bad one, she answered herself.
So she nodded and tried to smile. "Alright." She sighed. "I'm sorry for acting like this. I'm just so worried for you."
Harry smiled, if a little weakly. He probably knew he had made a mistake, too. "It's OK."
It wasn't. But they could pretend that it was. For a while at least.
*****
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1996
"Good evening, Miss Granger. Please have a seat."
"Good evening, Headmaster." Hermione Granger nodded rather curtly, then forced herself to relax. Dumbledore wasn't her enemy. He had saved Harry's life. She sat down with her back straight and met his eyes.
He raised an eyebrow at the sight, then briefly chuckled. "You have changed a lot since you had to leave this school."
"I was a lot younger then," she pointed out.
"Ah, one of the follies of old age - what is a long time for youth feels like but a moment for one as aged as me." He folded his hands with his elbows on the desk. "I am glad you asked to talk to me; it saves me a trip to your home."
"Oh?" She didn't blink, but she couldn't hide her surprise.
"Indeed. The attack on Harry, which almost succeeded but for his and his friends' skill and a not inconsiderable amount of luck, has left me in a situation where I need your help. Yours and Mundungus's."
She understood what he meant almost immediately. "For Harry's cure."
He nodded. "As you may already know, blood magic is highly illegal. But unlike other questionable magic, where it is its use that is illegal, stiff penalties are imposed upon those caught merely possessing information about blood magic. This means that those who do have tomes covering that subject are loathe to tell anyone about them, much less loan them."
"You want us to steal such books."
He inclined his head. "And find them in the first place."
She bit her lower lip. Of course she'd do it - she'd do anything to save Harry - but could she do it? "Finding them will be difficult." She was confident that Mr Fletcher and she could break into any house they needed to, but how were they supposed to find out who owned such books? Break into every pureblood manor in Britain? That would be satisfying, but hardly practicable. "Unless you know where they might be found."
"I have my suspicions - often well-founded - but a certain amount of guesswork and luck will be needed, as with most ventures in this conflict."
They had their work cut out for them, then. She nodded, her lips pressed together. For Harry.
"I will, of course, talk to Mundungus as well," Dumbledore said.
"If he refuses, I'll do it myself," she said at once. She didn't think Mr Fletcher would refuse, though - this was important, after all. More important than bugging the homes of some thugs.
"I know, Miss Granger. And so does Mundungus, I believe. Your loyalty to your friends does you credit."
"Thank you, sir." She cleared her throat. "Speaking of friends…"
"Yes?" He tipped his head slightly to the side.
"Harry told Ron, Ginny and Luna about his curse." She didn't frown as she said this.
"I am aware of that."
"While I do not doubt their loyalty and bravery, I think this knowledge endangers them." She stared at him. "The Death Eaters or their children at Hogwarts might go after them to find out what happened."
He nodded. "Steps have been taken to prevent that." He smiled. "Such measures would have to be implemented even if Harry hadn't told them; our enemies wouldn't know that, after all. And all of his friends are already in danger just because they are close to him."
She knew that very well. "Shouldn't they be taught Occlumency as well?"
He sighed. "Legilimency is not as common as you might fear; few are proficient in its use, and fewer still are able to use it reliably without being obvious. And those who do usually have alternatives at hand when faced with someone trained in Occlumency."
Like torture. Hermione shuddered. "It wouldn't hurt, though, would it?"
"It might, actually - learning Occlumency is not like learning a spell. There's a reason few master it." He smiled. "Although I have noticed that you haven't asked for that training yourself, so I assume you have taken a different way to safeguard your mind against intrusion."
She clenched her teeth. To make such an obvious mistake grated. Then she sighed, nodding. "Yes."
He smiled as if he had already known long ago. Which, she had to admit, he probably had. At least she could trust him not to betray her secret.
He needed his thieves, after all. And so did Harry.
*****
Hogwarts, February 2nd, 1996
"Cheers!" Harry Potter said with as much sarcasm as he could and raised the vial in a mocking toast to Remus, who returned the gesture with a sickly grin.
Harry grimaced and held his breath as he moved the vial to his lips. The potion that kept his curse in check smelled horrible and tasted worse. He swallowed the entire contents of the vial in one go. It didn't make it taste any less horrible, but it was over more quickly.
Taking deep breaths through his mouth, he reached for the cola Sirius had provided. A few mouthfuls took care of the horrible aftertaste, and he started breathing normally again. "I'm convinced this is Snape's doing," he muttered, "he must have chosen the taste to hurt me."
Remus laughed at that, then started to cough, covering his mouth with his hand. He stopped after a few seconds, but Harry thought that he caught a glimpse of red on the man's fingers before Remus wiped his hand on a handkerchief.
He didn't say anything, though. Remus had been cursed earlier than Harry, and the curse had done more damage to his body before it had been stopped. And it had all been because of Harry. If not for him there wouldn't have been an attack, and Remus wouldn't have lost so much time saving him.
"I'm alright," Remus said. He must have noticed Harry's reaction. "I'm just taking a little longer to recover completely."
Harry nodded, trying not to let his doubts show. You didn't completely recover from dark curses - he had been taught that by Remus himself. "Thank you." He didn't have to say what for.
Remus nodded. "Any time, Harry."
He wasn't lying, Harry knew. He didn't want to dwell on that, though. He took a deep sigh and kept his tone light for his next words. "Well, they're finally releasing us from this place, so I guess we're in no danger of dying any time soon. Though we might wish we were, if they don't improve the taste of this potion."
"Sirius offered to fill in as Defence teacher for me," Remus said, matching his tone. "I would have gone back to teaching even if I were dying, to spare my students that."
They laughed, briefly, at their own jokes, even if they weren't really funny. But it helped dealing with the fact that they were now dependent on a potion. Although, Harry thought, then felt ashamed for it, Remus was used to depending on a potion already, wasn't he?
*****
Hogwarts, February 3rd, 1996
Harry Potter had barely closed the door to the unused classroom behind them when Ginny jumped him and hugged him harder than Hermione usually did. Since he didn't collapse, Harry guessed that that meant he really had recovered much better than Remus. He rubbed her back but avoided touching her side, where she had been cut by a rock shard.
He heard her snort, then she pulled back and frowned at him. "I'm not the one who got cursed," she said, a little testily, he thought.
"I know, it's just…" He shrugged. He had seen her bleed. "I don't like seeing you hurt."
"I don't like seeing you hurt either," she shot back.
"I'll do my best to avoid it," he said, "but Voldemort has it in for me."
"Well, he can't get you at Hogwarts." She stepped back to sit down on the teacher's desk and let her legs dangle.
"I can't hide here forever." He tapped his scar. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, after all." And the scar tied him to the Dark Lord.
"Not forever, but the next year or two." She threw her hair back. "And Dumbledore might get him in the meantime."
"He didn't get him in the last war."
Ginny stared at him. "You sound as if you plan to fight him."
"I'm not. But I'm preparing. Just in case." He wasn't really planning. He knew that he wasn't supposed to risk himself. And Dumbledore was still trying to find out what exactly Harry's mum had done to protect him and defeat Voldemort. But with the curse on Harry, the Headmaster wouldn't be able to focus on that - finding a cure was more important. And they knew that his mother's protection wouldn't last past his seventeenth birthday - he would have to fight Voldemort before it ended. "I'll train harder, too." He had to. He couldn't let anyone else get hurt because of him.
"You're already spending half your evenings with Sirius or Dumbledore," Ginny said.
He nodded. It was needed, after all.
"And there's Quidditch," she added.
"I can drop that if it gets too much," Harry said. He would hate it, but defeating Voldemort - and surviving the fight - took priority.
"You can't just train all the time. You need to relax too," she said.
"I've got you for that," he said, grinning. He stepped up to her and leaned forward.
She slowly leaned back, not breaking eye contact. He pressed on until he was on top of her, then kissed her.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 4th, 1996
Sitting in Mr Black's study, waiting, Hermione Granger rolled her eyes. Mr Black was late. He should have been here already - he knew she had arrived. But the dog was late. She wouldn't mind if he was visiting Harry, who needed his godfather more than ever now, but according to Kreacher, Mr Black was 'entertaining' his guest. Which meant Jeanne. How could he think that dallying - or whatever it was that he was doing - with his French girlfriend was more important than meeting with her? They had important things to discuss!
She noticed the door opening and quickly picked up the parchment in front of her - it might be Jeanne, after all, who would expect a very busy and very focused secretary. Not an impatient thief.
Mr Black peeked in, then pulled back. "Ah, she's here already! I'm sorry, chérie, but apparently I have important business matters to discuss," she heard him say. To Jeanne, judging by the sounds of kissing that followed. And went on.
She was clenching her teeth and glaring at the dog when he finally entered and closed the door behind him. And he had the gall to smile at her!
"So, what do you need to talk about?" he asked, sitting down on his new swivel chair. If he started to spin around on it she'd hex him. Or claw him. This was serious.
She glanced at the door to check that it was closed.
"Jeanne won't hear a word," he assured her. "And she's off to Diagon Alley anyway."
She nodded curtly. He hadn't lost all sense over the witch, then. She raised her chin and met his eyes. "I need to tell Mr Fletcher about our secret."
His wide and slightly mocking smile disappeared. "We've gone over this before," he said. "I don't trust him."
"Dumbledore trusts him. I trust him," she retorted, then bit her lower lip. She couldn't rehash arguments that had failed to convince him in the past. "But that's not the point. The situation has changed. This isn't about spying on Death Eaters any more. This is about finding a cure for Harry." He drew a hissing breath through clenched teeth. She went on: "Dumbledore needs information about blood magic. That means we'll have to break into the lairs of vampires. And manors of Old Families hiding such magic. Both are extremely dangerous. If Mr Fletcher doesn't know what I can do, he will not be able to make the best plans."
He glared at her. "But you know what you can do. And you're a good planner."
She refrained from nodding, even though she was - briefly - pleased at the recognition. "I lack his experience." And he wouldn't follow a plan of hers, not when she couldn't tell him what exactly she was planning. "You have to trust your partner in such matters." And she had been hiding this far too long from her tutor already.
"I don't trust him," he spat.
"Would you rather risk your secret or Harry's cure?" She kept looking directly into his eyes until he scowled and looked away.
"That's unfair."
"So?" She didn't care how fair it was if it was about saving Harry.
He closed his eyes and seemed to slide down a few inches in his seat. After a few moments, he sighed. "Alright." Then he sat up and smiled at her - rather evilly, she noticed. "But I'll tell him myself."
He was planning something, Hermione knew him well enough to tell. But as long as she could finally show Mr Fletcher what she could do, she wouldn't complain.
"Good."
*****
"Get offa me, you mangy cur!"
"Woof!"
"Stop lickin' my face! I'll curse you… give me back my wand!"
Hermione Granger closed her eyes and sighed. She really should have known better than to to think Mr Black would be able to show off his animagus form without acting like the stupid dog he was.
"Hermione! Get him off me!" Mr Fletcher yelled from where the dog had pinned him to the floor - next to the vase that had been broken during the tussle.
She hesitated a moment, then changed herself.
Time to teach the dog some manners with her claws. Again.
*****
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Chapter 16: A Bloody Business
Starfox5
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Chapter 16: A Bloody Business
Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, Britain, February 6th, 1996
"I grow tired of your excuses, Lucius."
Lucius Malfoy fought not to tremble as his guest sighed and shook his head. He hadn't raised his voice, but that didn't mean anything; Lucius knew just how suddenly the Dark Lord could inflict his cruelties.
The far too young-looking man - Lucius didn't know how that had been achieved, but it had to be the result of the darkest magic - shifted on his seat in Lucius's study and frowned at him. "If not for your intervention, Pettigrew - a loyal, if craven, follower - would be in Azkaban, ready to be freed together with the other faithful."
"Milord, he was beyond help. If I hadn't spoken up, then Black would have," Lucius said in as steady a voice as he could manage. "Black would never have let him live. I chose to have Pettigrew's death serve a purpose, at least, by improving my standing in the Wizengamot, where I can do your work."
The Dark Lord scoffed. "So you claimed before. And yet, for all your vaunted standing and influence, the Ministry is still not mine."
"Milord, such things cannot be rushed, or your enemies will notice what I'm doing, and prepare to counter me."
He clenched his teeth when he saw the other sneer at him. "Do you think that my greatest foe is stupid? Dumbledore already knows what you are doing - you've been bribing your way into power for fifteen years."
"He hasn't managed to stop me, though," Lucius protested. "He couldn't even save Potter's mudblood from being expelled." That had been a beautiful plot. Not only had he managed to remove that uppity mudblood from the school before she embarrassed the real wizards and witches further with her skill, but since Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis and Bulstrode had been so greedy, he had leverage over them as well. And Draco had - finally - learned how to deal with his enemies. He wouldn't repeat the mistake that he had made with the Malaclaw venom.
"Do you expect me to be impressed by the fact that you managed to get a mudblood child expelled? A single mudblood gone from Hogwarts is nothing! Dozens of them still pollute those sacred halls with their presence!" The Dark Lord flicked his wand, and Lucius hissed when his Dark Mark started to burn his arm.
"Milord… she was one of Potter's closest friends. My son told me how much he depended on her. Your foe is weakened." Lucius spoke quickly, shivering as the pain in his arm grew stronger.
"She is an ignorant child, nothing more. Dumbledore is the enemy, and Potter is his tool. Mudbloods don't matter as long as those two live!"
Lucius drew a hissing breath as he clutched his left arm. "Milord, please…" he managed to say as he sagged in his seat.
The Dark Lord scoffed, but with a swish of his wand, the pain stopped. "You have grown soft, Lucius. Expelling mudbloods? You used to kill them, remember?"
He did. He had been young, and foolish. But he nodded. "Yes, milord. But as you said - the time is not yet ripe for such acts. We have to move cautiously."
"Cautiously, yes - but not cowardly! I expect results, Lucius. You killed Pettigrew to increase your influence; you promised me the Ministry - but you have not delivered."
Lucius drew deep breaths as he recovered from the Dark Lord's torture. "Milord, I'm close. The Minister considers me his best friend. I lead the biggest faction in the Wizengamot. I have promoted your staunchest followers in the Ministry. I only need a little more time."
"And yet you have failed to rid the Ministry of Weasley. You could not even manage to get his son fired. Black still controls his huge fortune despite your best efforts. When will you demonstrate this much vaunted influence of yours?"
"Milord, Dumbledore needed to call in favours to save Weasley - and that wasn't the only time he has had to. The more he struggles to oppose me, the weaker he grows. Already people are asking if he can fulfill his duties as both the Chief Warlock and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. And they notice how much he favours his allies. Protecting Black has cost him, too - and thanks to me, he spent a small fortune to pay the mudblood's debt." Lucius leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk. "We are making progress, milord, on multiple fronts. Victory is but a question of time."
"You've said that before. My patience is growing thin, Lucius," the Dark Lord snarled. "I know your ambitions. Do not fail me."
"I live to serve you, Master," Lucius said, bowing his head.
"You live as long as you serve me. Don't forget it." Another flick of the Dark Lord's wand made Lucius's Dark Mark burn again, but only for an instant, before the Dark Lord left him.
But it had been enough to leave him trembling with fear and pain. Shivering, he rubbed his arm as he leaned back in his seat. He hit the bell on his desk, and, half a minute later, he heard the concealed door in the wall at his back open.
He didn't turn his head. "Dobby, fetch me the bottle!"
"Yes, Master Lucius."
A minute later, the elf had come and left again, and Lucius had recovered enough not to spill the whisky as he filled his glass. This could not go on. The Dark Lord was too impatient. If the Dark Lord treated him like this, when he was one of his most influential and richest followers, how would he fare once the Dark Lord had won?
He took a sip from his glass, shuddering as the liquid burned his throat. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. All he had wanted, back in the beginning, was to teach the mudbloods their place. Those filthy animals couldn't be allowed to hold any power in Wizarding Britain. The damage they would do to society…
He sighed and rubbed his arm. If had he known the price of following the Dark Lord… If he had not sacrificed Pettigrew to remove any lingering suspicion… He wouldn't have done it had he been aware that the Dark Lord was still alive. And now it didn't look as if the Dark Lord would ever let him forget that lapse.
If he managed to deliver the Ministry to the Dark Lord, perhaps… No. Lucius shook his head. He knew that he wasn't the only Death Eater working to take over the Ministry. He had rivals ready to tear him down and take his place. Rivals who would claim they had done it. And the Dark Lord would listen to them - or pretend to listen to them, if only to punish Lucius for his supposed failures. Or his family.
The thought of Narcissa or Draco suffering the Dark Lord's wrath, writhing under his Torture Curse… He downed the entire glass and refilled it. He couldn't let that happen. But he couldn't do anything. Not alone and with the Dark Mark burning on his arm.
But he didn't have any allies. He didn't know who else was working for the Dark Lord and in a similar situation - although he had his suspicions, of course. But, even if he knew, he couldn't trust them not to betray him - willingly or not.
No, there was but one wizard who could help him. One wizard able to stand against the Dark Lord. A wizard he had opposed and fought for two decades now. But, Lucius thought, a wizard who would know the value of his influence. And, he added, remembering a diary resting in his hidden vault, he could offer something else in exchange for help against the Dark Lord.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 7th, 1996
"If you try to lick my face again, I'll curse your tongue off." Mr Fletcher raised his wand and glared at Mr Black.
"Don't worry about that - I won't do it again. I needed half a bottle of Ogden's Finest to burn the taste off my tongue. That aftershave..." Mr Black stuck his tongue out and made exaggerated gagging noises.
"It's not meant to be appreciated by animals," Mr Fletcher shot back.
"Let me tell you from personal experience: It doesn't taste any better to humans either. I bet it drives witches away!" Mr Black sneered.
"I haven't heard any complaints from Hermione."
Hermione Granger opened her mouth to remind the two wizards that they had gathered in the basement of Grimmauld Place to plan a heist, not to exchange barbs with each other, but Mr Black spoke up before she could: "Well, her nose must be defective. Or she's simply too polite to mention that your aftershave reeks." He sighed. "She usually has better taste in men, too."
"My nose works perfectly well!" Hermione glared at him.
Her employer sniffed at her. "As a Grim, I'm the expert on smells here."
"You're a dog, not a Grim," she corrected him, barely managing to avoid adding 'stupid', "and given that dogs tend to stick their noses into every disgusting thing they find, I don't think you're an authority on aftershave."
"Well, your friend - and your student, 'Mr Smith' - would disagree. The lovely Jeanne loves my aftershave." Mr Black smirked.
"Or she's simply too polite to criticise it," Mr Fletcher retorted. "After all, I taught her manners."
"You also taught Miss Granger manners, didn't you? And yet she often behaves like an animal around me - and not in the sexy way." The dog rubbed his recently healed nose for emphasis.
"It's the only language you seem to understand," Hermione said with a sweet smile.
Her tutor laughed. "You could try a rolled-up newspaper too."
In response, Mr Black changed forms, for a moment only - he was smirking at Mr Fletcher, who had jumped up from his chair and aimed his wand at the dog. "A little twitchy, are we? Or afraid?" Mr Black asked in a mocking tone. "Do you hex every friendly dog you happen across?"
"You're anything but friendly, Black," Mr Fletcher snarled.
"I'm very friendly! Just ask my friends!" Mr Black said, giving the other man a toothy smile.
"The ones you paid or the ones you blackmailed?" Hermione's tutor shot back.
This was getting too serious, Hermione thought. "Please!" she spoke up, "We're here to plan the next heist, not to exchange insults." She saw the dog opening his mouth and quickly added: "If you say 'He started it!' I'll hex you. This is about Harry, not about who's had more success with witches." She glared at both of them for good measure. They were worse than Harry and Ron had been in first year during their disagreement over which Quidditch team was best - Puddlemere United or Chudley Cannons. Both were wrong, anyway - the Holyhead Harpies were clearly the best team.
"Do you let your student talk to you in that manner?" Mr Black complained.
"Only when she's correct," Mr Fletcher said. He sat down again and pulled out a roll of parchment from his pocket.
The dog grumbled something and sat down as well. Hermione sighed.
"Alright. Our acquaintance gave me a list of places to look into," her tutor started the briefing.
"You mean Dumbledore," Mr Black said, "and by 'looking' you mean 'breaking into'." Hermione scratched the tabletop with her nails, and he shrugged. "Just clarifying things."
Mr Fletcher ignored him. "These are suspected vampire lairs and manors of families who might own tomes covering blood magic."
"That's an awful lot of assumptions. And a lot of locations." Mr Black simply couldn't keep quiet and let someone else talk, Hermione thought.
"You wanted to be involved in this kind of work, Black." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "If it's too much for you then you can go back to your girlfriend and let us work."
"As Miss Granger has pointed out, this is for Harry. Not for gold." Mr Black looked rather grim.
"We're not doing this for gold either." And so did Mr Fletcher.
Hermione wanted to hex them both. "Which location will we hit first?" she asked instead, a little louder than she usually would.
They got the message. Her tutor tapped the first name on the list. "This house in Swansea. Up until 1915, a branch of the Tripe family lived there. Officially, the house has been vacant since then, but it's been kept in good repair - even after the last heir of the Tripe family was killed in Grindelwald's War."
"Magenta Tripe married into the Black family," Mr Black added. "But I don't think we have a claim - my mother would have pressed it, and she would have known, obsessed as she was with our ancestry."
"Someone's been living there. And according to my source…"
"Dumbledore," the dog cut in again.
"...Maximilian Tripe was declared dead in 1905, but persistent rumours claimed that he was actually turned into a vampire," Mr Fletcher said. "He was a scholar during his life, and known for his controversial views on the Dark Arts."
"You're going to break into the suspected lair of a vampire who is over a hundred and fifty years old, and was a dark wizard when he was alive?" Mr Black sounded surprised.
"Of course," Mr Fletcher answered. "It's what we do." Hermione smiled widely at hearing him include her. He trusted her!
Mr Black, though, turned his head to stare at her. His meaning was clear. She raised her chin and met his eyes. "For Harry," she said.
The dog swallowed what he had been about to say.
Swansea, West Glamorgan, Britain, February 8th, 1996
There was the garden! Hermione ducked down and slowly approached the iron fence. She could just make out the slightly blurry form of the building behind it, but the fence was the important part, anyway. It was tall and massive, but the bars were far enough apart that a lithe cat like herself could squeeze through easily.
Unlike a big, stupid dog, she thought with amusement. It was so like him to vent his frustration by marking the fence post - the dog must have forgotten that they weren't here to stay and claim the territory, but rather to scope out the building for a quick raid.
She reached the fence and sniffed the air. She didn't smell any decaying carcasses, nor any blood. Which meant that the wards defending the place - the fence was also the wardline - wouldn't harm her or any other animal. She carefully and cautiously put her paws on the concrete base of the fence and peered through the bars. From here she could see the building clearly. The green bricks - no, she reminded herself, they were red, actually. Not that it mattered, anyway - were partially covered with ivy that reached up to the gable roof. Perfect for climbing - if you were a slender, agile cat. Dogs, of course, couldn't climb, even if the plants were able to hold their weight.
But all the windows were shuttered, she noted. And through the slits she could spot curtains. She wouldn't be able to peer inside even if she climbed the walls. She sniffed the air - the plants in their pots at each side of the entrance had been freshly watered. And there was a newspaper on the stairs.
Someone was living there. Someone who didn't like the sun. She narrowed her eyes and flattened her ears in disdain - while the night was perfect for prowling, as all the humans were unable to spot a cat, being blind in the darkness, only an utter fool would not want to take naps in the sun.
She ducked her head and slowly moved it until her whiskers touched the bars. Enough space for her head. Satisfied, she pushed through, her slender body barely touching the metal, until she landed gracefully in the garden.
It was a well kept garden, too - the grass was cut so short that no prey could hide in it. No sign of any rivals. More importantly, no sign of a dog - how people could keep those stupid animals in their homes when they could invite a cat instead, she couldn't fathom. Quick as lightning, she dashed over to the building proper, hiding behind a flower pot.
No one came out to feed her or scare her away. Which meant that she hadn't been seen. She eyed the front door - no window there, but a massive knocker - and the ivy - grown enough to support her weight, as she had known - then made a circuit of the building. There was a door at the back. Those usually led to the kitchen, or close, but she couldn't smell any food, nor those spices humans were fond of. But… her nostrils flared. The scent was faint, but clear. Blood. Fresh, too. The owner must have successfully hunted last night. Or used some method to preserve the blood.
The door itself was sturdy, but there was a window - although with a curtain blocking the sunlight. And she saw dead bugs on the threshold. She didn't smell poison, so they had probably been killed by magic.
It wasn't bad, though - she wouldn't have been able to break through the door with her claws anyway. And she could deal with such spells when she had hands and her wand. She continued her tour. On the right side of the house there was a coal chute. Lots of dead bugs there. And someone had filled the space below with concrete. She hissed in annoyance - she might have been able to squeeze through the gap between the lid and the stone, otherwise. She couldn't smell anything, either. Not even dust. Unnatural.
She finished her tour, but didn't find anything else of interest. That left the roof. She could climb up and see if the attic was sealed as well. It would be easy for such a good climber as herself. The work of a few minutes, at most.
She flattened her ears. Her tutor had forbidden it. But he was no cat; he didn't know what cats could do. On the other hand, he knew magic. And she was a smart cat, not a stupid dog who didn't listen.
She glanced up at the roof one more time. It would be so easy to climb up! But instead she left, slipping through the fence at the exact same spot she had entered - she smelled her fur on the bars. Mission accomplished, she thought, her tail held high, as she started towards the building where her tutor - and probably the stupid dog, too - was waiting.
She had almost reached the street she had to cross when, suddenly, a rival cat crossed her path. A tomcat. A big one. Smaller than Crookshanks, though. And not nearly as smart - he was hissing at her.
She flattened her ears and hissed back. She had fought the stupid dog several times and he was as massive as a human; a mere tomcat didn't impress her. Most of his bulk was fat, anyway.
He stood his ground as she approached, growling now. She still wasn't impressed. She was on a mission, an important mission. No tomcat could be allowed to interfere. When he ignored her last warning, she struck. Right on the nose!
"Was that you I heard hissing and screaming, or was that another cat?" Mr Black asked as soon as Hermione Granger entered the room they had rented - under a fake name, and in disguise, of course.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you curious about what I found out?"
He shrugged. "You'll tell us that anyway - and in great detail - as soon as Fletcher is here. I'd rather hear it once. Hard enough to stay awake." He ignored her scowl - she was thorough, not boring! - and peered at her. "You don't look hurt."
"Of course not." She scoffed - she had healed the scratches the other cat had left on her before entering.
"But you haven't answered the question," he said, grinning.
She rolled her eyes. She could lie, but they were on a heist, and lies caused trouble in a team. "I had to persuade a cat that he better avoid us." She didn't want to deal with a rival cat in the middle of the actual heist. And the tomcat had to learn not to annoy his betters.
"I hope you were more gentle with him than you are with me," Mr Black said. "You didn't kill the poor thing, did you?"
"I haven't killed you, have I?" she shot back. As if she'd kill a fellow cat! Did he think she was a monster?
"Well, I'm an experienced - and handsome - wizard who is far harder to kill than a simple cat," he retorted. "But it certainly felt as if you tried your best to kill me."
She sighed. He was such a dog.
Fortunately, Mr Fletcher returned before she was honestly tempted to teach the dog a lesson too. Not that she thought he'd ever learn it.
Hogwarts, February 10th, 1996
"So, you lot wanna learn how to fight for real? No more playing around with hexes and jinxes?" The scarred old Auror walked back and forth in front of Harry Potter and his friends, his peg leg punctuating each word with a dull noise.
"Yes!" Harry answered together with Ron and Ginny. They hadn't been playing around, not for a long time, but Remus and Sirius had told him that it was a bad idea to try and correct Mad-Eye Moody.
"Shouting won't make it true," the old wizard scoffed. "We're not in a muggle movie." He narrowed his good eye - the artificial one kept spinning wildly in its socket - at them. "I'll tell you straight away: I'm not gonna coddle you. I'm not a school teacher; I'm a Senior Auror. I've made Auror trainees and even rookie Aurors break down in tears," he added with a smile that was turned into a sneer by the scars marring his face.
Harry bit his lip to keep from giving the man lip. Sirius had warned him against that, too. Even if he wanted to say that he had faced Voldemort and a vampire and was no rookie any more.
"Heard you had a little tussle with a blood sucker, Potter," Moody continued as if he had read Harry's thoughts - which he hadn't, Harry knew. The Auror stopped in front of him. "You and the little girl there."
"I'm not a little girl!" Ginny spat. "I fought that vampire too, even wounded!"
"Hah!" Moody turned to her. "I've read the reports. I've seen the body. You sent a few spells at the vampire, that was it. You didn't even rate a curse in return; you were wounded by an explosion aimed at Potter here."
Ginny gasped in outrage, but Moody had already turned back to Harry. "And you, Potter! You were supposedly trained for exactly that situation! And what did you do? Break your broom, lose your Cloak, and get cursed!"
"I didn't lose my Cloak - I gave it to Ginny!" Harry snapped. "And we bloody well got that vampire!"
"Three versus one, and he hit two of you. If he had been using another dark curse, a faster one, you'd be dead." Moody shook his head. "Sloppy of Lupin, really."
"Remus did his best!" Harry protested. Remus had been cursed, and still fought on - and had beaten the vampire!
"And it wasn't good enough." Moody turned to Ron. "And you! You weren't even in the fight. The only thing you've done so far is play around in training - you've got even less experience than these two here. Whatcha gonna do, serve as a distraction?"
Harry glanced at Ron. His friend was glaring at the old Auror and clenching his teeth. "I've heard better insults from my brothers," Ron spat. "I'll do whatever is needed. And it's your job to teach us that, isn't it?"
"Yes," Harry joined in. "How about we start?"
They'd show Moody what they could do. Sirius and Remus had trained them well, after all.
"Get him!" Harry Potter yelled, flicking his wand and sending two Stunners at Moody. But the Auror had already vanished behind a conjured wall. "We just have to hit him once!"
"I'm trying!" Ron, at his side, yelled back, vanishing the wall.
Harry had been waiting for that. His next Stunner flew through the space the wall had been in - and vanished in a cloud of fog or smoke.
"Ginny! Flank him!" There was no response. "Ginny?" He glanced to his side. The witch was on the ground, knocked out.
"Harry!"
He whirled around, just in time to catch a Stunner that shattered his Shield Charm. He was already dropping to the ground, but another hit him before he even touched the stone floor.
"You're worse than I hoped, but you're not entirely hopeless." Moody was once again pacing - if you could call his limping gait that - in front of them. Harry Potter knew that it was an act, though - the old Auror hadn't been limping at all during their 'lesson'. The wooden leg was probably enchanted too, and better than a natural one, Harry thought.
Ron mumbled something under his breath, rubbing his arm. Harry didn't catch it, but Moody chuckled. He probably also had a spell to enhance his hearing. Ginny didn't say anything. The witch just glared at Moody.
"So, we'll do this twice a week, until you're better than the curse-fodder I usually train. Until then you're not to leave the school unless Albus or I are escorting you," Moody went on. "Mind you, that'll probably take the rest of the year, so no more Hogsmeade weekends for you."
Ginny gasped, but Harry and Ron nodded. No matter how brutal Moody was - and Harry was certain he had broken a few ribs during their training; he knew the feeling even when they had been numbed - a real fight was far worse. And Harry didn't intend to get cursed again. Or see Ginny get hurt again.
Moody squinted at them with his good eye. "And remember: Constant Vigilance! Don't trust anyone - not a student, not a teacher, not even a friend! Voldemort's after you, and you know what he can do. If he catches you off-guard, you better hope he kills you, because I'll make you wish that he had!"
Harry winced. He didn't think that the Auror was entirely serious, but… best not to risk it. Which, he realised, was probably why Moody had said that. "Yes, sir," he spat out.
Moody stared at him, then nodded curtly. "Get to the infirmary and let Poppy check you out." With that, he left.
"Merlin's balls!" Ron sighed and sat down as soon as the door had closed behind the Auror. "I thought Sirius and Remus were brutal!"
"They warned us about him, remember?" Harry said. He touched his chest. His ribs were still numbed.
"Yeah. Didn't think they were that serious. You know them." Ron's laugh turned into a cough and a groan. He had been hit in the chest too, Harry recalled.
"Let's head to Pomfrey," he said. If they hurried a little they would be back in time for dinner. He turned to look at Ginny, who had been uncharacteristically silent so far. She was staring at the door. "Ginny?"
She whipped her head round to look at him, and he flinched at her expression. "Who does he think he is? No more Hogsmeade?"
"Well, I reckon he's right," Ron said. "Wouldn't want to risk another attack until we're ready, and Harry's curse has been fixed."
"We weren't attacked in Hogsmeade," Ginny retorted, "but outside of it, when we were alone."
"I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to attack us in Hogsmeade," Harry said. "And that could hurt a lot of people." Voldemort wanted to keep his actions secret, as far as he knew, but the Dark Lord might very well decide that killing Harry was worth exposing himself. Or he might simply count on blaming the attack on others.
Ginny scowled. "Still…"
"Don't fret about it," Ron said, chuckling. "You didn't really think Mum would let you visit Hogsmeade again until you've graduated anyway, did you?"
Harry didn't think Molly would approve of Ginny's answer to that either.
Swansea, West Glamorgan, Britain, February 11th, 1996
Standing at the window of their rented flat, Hermione Granger tapped the side of her mask with her left hand twice and slid her finger forward. In response, the building at which she was looking grew larger in her field of vision. The new spell on her equally new mask wasn't quite as good as Omnioculars, but it was far easier to use. And it was good enough to study the house from afar - and in true-colour; adjusting to the colour spectrum cats' eyes saw had been a bit of a challenge. Only hags were supposed to have green skin.
"The whiskers look cute, but the mask as a whole looks kind of… faceless."
She ignored the dog's comment - her mask looked perfect, anyway, with its smooth black finish and painted whiskers - as she looked for any sign of the building's inhabitants.
"And where are the ears? Every cat mask I've ever seen has had ears. And eyes that glow in the dark. And a tail."
Sighing, she withdrew her finger, which restored her normal vision - she would have to modify the enchantment so she could also tap the mask twice to stay zoomed in, she noted - and looked at Mr Black.
He flinched slightly. "That's a really creepy stare, you know."
"You can't see my face," she answered.
"That's my point." He frowned. "That aside, how can we give you a potion if we have to with you wearing the mask?"
She was surprised that the dog had thought ahead, then she remembered what had happened to Harry. Of course his godfather would worry about such a situation. "You open it like this." She pushed on the latch behind her ear, letting the mask swing upward like a visor.
"You're wearing another mask under your mask?" He stared at her face.
She nodded. "There are spells that can see through clothes, and I haven't found a good spell to block them. This half-mask, however, is thin enough that the most common spells will have trouble focusing on my actual face." Which would be tanned too, to change its tone from her natural one. He still looked surprised. She frowned. "Did you think I chose my outfit just because I liked the look?"
"Of course not," he protested - but he didn't sound sincere.
"You did." She sighed - a common occurrence when talking with the dog. "I'm not wearing this suit to show off my body, but because the leather protects me and will not snag on things - nor let an enemy easily get a grip on it. Besides, it's a classic muggle cat burglar's outfit." That it also showed off her body was a welcome side-effect, of course.
He closed his mouth, then frowned. "Is that a subtle hint that I should change my robes?"
"You're not coming with us," she said. No sane thief would take an untrained dog into a vampire's lair.
"But I might have to, to save you if you run into trouble," he retorted. "So I should look the part." He drew his wand before she could tell him how unlikely it was that she and Mr Fletcher would need him to save them. "There! How does that look?"
Hermione blinked at the sight, then clenched her teeth. "You're not copying my suit!" A dog had no business wearing a catsuit!
"I'm not - it would be much too tight in the groin, you know?"
She didn't need nor want to know. "Use a different design. This one is mine."
"You can't own a look!"
"Of course I can! Have you never heard of copyright?"
She should have known that he hadn't.
Mr Fletcher shouldn't have found the whole affair amusing, Hermione Granger thought an hour later. At least she had managed to get the dog to change his 'thief look' to something that wouldn't make people who saw both of them think they were a couple. Or father and daughter - Hermione didn't know which would be worse.
"Alright, we're ready. The sun's been up for a while, so the vampire should be asleep by now. Or dead to the world, if you prefer," her tutor said. "We're going in through the back door - the hedges in the back will hide us from muggle eyes."
"You're not going to disillusion yourselves?" Mr Black asked.
"Of course we will," Mr Fletcher answered. "But a door opening by itself would look mighty strange to a muggle, wouldn't it?"
Hermione bit her lip to refrain from pointing out that muggles had doors that opened automatically, though generally not back doors, and not in such buildings. She took a sip from the potion that would hide her scent - vampires had a very good sense of smell according to her sources.
To her surprise, Mr Black simply nodded. "Alright. I'll be sitting here, and keeping an eye on the building, ready to rush in and save you if you run into the vampire."
"You do that," her tutor said, glancing at Hermione. It was obvious that he didn't expect to need the dog's help either. But Mr Black had insisted on helping - it was for Harry, after all, which Hermione had to respect. And he already knew too much about them anyway.
And, in a pinch, a bungling dog barging in might make for a decent diversion, she added to herself as she cast a Disillusionment Charm and went out the window after Mr Fletcher.
Hermione Granger would have preferred to enter through the roof, but since they were doing this during the day, the back door was the best option as it was hidden from the neighbour's view. Even though its defences would be stronger than those on the attic window. At least Hermione thought so. She glanced upwards again as Mr Fletcher worked on the wards - since he wasn't an animagus, he couldn't slip through them unhindered.
She didn't like this. Not only were they standing in the open - although disillusioned and in the backyard of the neighbouring house - but she still wouldn't get to work on the wards herself. How could she gain the experience she needed without actually doing her part of the work? Not all wards would let animals through.
But Mr Fletcher was the one in charge, and he had made the plan. And he had the experience - with the exception that her tutor hadn't worked with animagi before. Not that the dog would be able to add much - he couldn't climb and he wasn't trained in Curse-Breaking either.
She glanced at the house. The heavy curtains behind the windows didn't reveal any signs of movement within. But still… she wanted to change and pass through the wards. Check up close if the vampire had actually gone to sleep.
"Don't fret," Mr Fletcher's voice coming from the back part of her mask interrupted her. "We'll do this like we trained - the middle of a heist is no time for experiments." He knew her well, she realised - with both of them disillusioned, he couldn't actually have seen her fret.
"Yes, sir." It made sense, but she couldn't help feeling that this was a mistake. But perhaps she was simply far more nervous, knowing that they were about to break into the lair of a very old and experienced vampire. Who was now probably paranoid due to the string of disappearances of other vampires.
If she could ever tell Harry about this, he'd better appreciate what they were doing for him!
"Got it. I'll go over the fence. Wait until I tell you before following me." Mr Fletcher sounded slightly tired, but that might just be her imagination, Hermione thought.
"Yes, sir," she whispered, the enchantment on her mask picking up her voice.
When his marker moved up and over the fence she saw a faint blur underneath it and, a second later, she spotted the grass being flattened where he landed in the garden. Ten seconds later, she heard his whispered voice again. "I'm in the garden. Come!"
She was tempted to change and slip through the bars, despite what Mr Fletcher had told her. But he trusted her. And he'd notice when the marker above her head disappeared. So she stepped forward, put a foot on the concrete base of the fence, grabbed the spiked tips at its top, and heaved herself up. Her boot found purchase on the middle ornament of the wrought iron bar and a quick vault later she landed in a crouch on the lawn. She drew her wand and fixed the grass she and her tutor had flattened as she made her way towards his position at the back door.
"Lethal vermin ward," he whispered, "among other spells."
"Would it affect a cat?" she asked. Cats weren't vermin, after all. Dogs might qualify, though.
"Maybe. Hard to tell. Definitely stronger than the usual anti-bug spell. Not good enough to stop us, of course," he added, and she knew he was smiling lopsidedly. A moment later the door swung open and she saw his marker move inside.
She followed. As expected from the age of the building, they were in a narrow hallway next to the kitchen - she could spot a very old-fashioned stove through the open door ahead. She closed the door behind her, then ended the Disillusionment Charm. Mr Fletcher did the same. Even with the thick curtains blocking all of the windows, there was enough ambient light to not need a light source of their own.
He nodded at her, then moved towards the kitchen door. She followed him, but waited in the doorway while he searched the place. A glance told her that the kitchen was even more outdated than she had thought - all the appliances seemed to date back to before the Great War. She could see no sockets, nor a fridge - but there was a large ice box. Everything was sparkling clean, though.
Mr Fletcher opened the ice box. "Definitely a vampire," he whispered. "It's full of blood. Stasis spell, too."
She swallowed and focused her attention on the hallway. Somewhere in the house - probably in the basement - was a vampire. She shuddered, then forced herself to calm down. They were trained, experienced thieves. Tripe - if he was the vampire living here - wouldn't even notice their presence.
"Nothing in the kitchen," Mr Fletcher whispered.
Hermione nodded. That meant they would search the ground floor next. She moved ahead to the next door. That should be the dining room, according to the usual layout for such houses which she had memorised. Close to the kitchen so the food wouldn't get cold while being served - not that vampires or wizards would worry about that.
This time she went in while Mr Fletcher kept watch. The room held, as expected, a large but narrow dining table and seats for ten people. A fireplace too, but without a Floo powder cup. A quick check with a few spells showed that there were no secret doors hidden in the room either. "Nothing," she reported in a whisper as she left the room again.
"Alright," Mr Fletcher said as he turned towards the next room.
Hermione followed him, covering the hallway and the door to the street ahead of them - and the stairs next to it - with her wand. The whole house was very clean, she noted. Not a speck of dust in sight - despite the thick carpet on the floor and the heavy curtains.
Mr Fletcher had just bent down to check the door for traps when she caught a shadow moving up ahead, near the stairs. But before she could react the entire carpet was swept up and she found herself thrown into the air with enough force to brush against the ceiling before crashing to the ground. She rolled with the fall, as she had trained to, and rose in a crouch, her wand out. The carpet was still moving, though - racing towards her as if it were a giant snake trying to constrict her. She stabbed her wand at it a moment before it reached her.
"Finite!"
The carpet fell down in a tangled heap and she jumped over it. Mr Fletcher was casting spells at the shadow - which was a wizard in dark robes, she realised - but as she aimed her wand, his shield shattered under a barrage of curses, and he went down.
Stunner, she thought - the red spells were quite distinctive - and sent one herself at the shadow, followed by a Banishing Charm. Both were stopped by the man's shield. No, the vampire's shield - she could see the red eyes. She was about to cast a Piercing Curse to shatter the shield but he was faster, and only a quick drop to the floor saved her from getting hit by three more spells. She rolled to the side, right to the door to the dining room. If she could dodge inside, reach the windows, just vanish the curtains...
Then she felt the carpet beneath her move again, and this time she wasn't quick enough to dispel the spell animating it before it wrapped itself around her, crushing her arms against her sides. She was lifted up as she tried to move her wand - but it was held fast by the fabric. She managed to reach her suit's enchanted pocket with her other hand, though, searching for the mirror inside, as she was turned around until she was staring straight at the vampire.
He sneered and she shivered when saw his fangs in the dim light filtering through the thick curtains. The tip of her finger reached the mirror, and she frantically tried to rub it.
"You thought I was defenceless during the day?" He scoffed as he walked - stalked - closer until he was standing in front of her, in the middle of the doorway.
She felt the mirror vibrate in her pocket. "How did you notice us?" she asked. She had to stall the vampire.
"I smelled you." His sneer deepened as he cocked his head sideways. "What a silly mask."
She clenched her teeth. It wasn't silly. "We took potions. There was no scent."
He laughed, though it sounded rough, almost alien. "I smelled the blood."
The ice box! She could have hexed herself for that mistake.
His nostrils widened. "Your blood too," he added, licking his lips.
The fall had hurt, but was she bleeding? When his hand rose towards her head she first tried to pull her head away - then realised that that exposed her throat. But… though she couldn't move it, she still held her wand, technically. She didn't know any spells that would directly affect the vampire - a mere Lumos certainly wouldn't hurt him as daylight would - but they were right in the doorway, opposite a large window. The shutters had slits in them. And the sun would be…
"Accio curtains!" she yelled, and felt the spell work.
But the curtains didn't even move.
"Did you think I would not have taken measures to prevent such an obvious ploy?" The vampire threw his head back and cackled. Then he flipped his head down again and stared at her without moving a muscle. Unnaturally still, she thought with a shiver. "Did you think I wouldn't expect you, after the disappearances? That I wouldn't be prepared?"
She shook her head. "That wasn't us." How much longer could she stall him?
He laughed again. "I'll find out the truth." His smile stretched until he was baring his fangs at her. One hand gripped her hair - dyed blonde and straightened for the heist - and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. He touched her collar with his wand and cast a spell, cutting it open.
He was going to bite her. Kill her.
Then the back door was thrown open and the vampire released her, throwing up his arms to shield himself against the sudden bright light filling the hallway.
A second later, a massive black dog pounced on him. The vampire's shield held, but the impact threw him back and away from Hermione. Before the vampire could recover, the dog changed into a wizard, his wand already moving, and once more spells filled the narrow hallway.
The vampire's Shield Charm absorbed several spells before shattering, but his own curses missed their mark - Mr Black had stepped to the side, pushing Hermione into the dining room with his shoulder as he kept casting.
On the ground, unable to see the vampire any more, and still held helplessly by the carpet, she tried to free herself as Mr Black traded curses with Tripe.
"Finite! Finite! Finite!"
Third time lucky, as the saying went, and she felt the carpet slacken around her.
"Evanesco!"
With the carpet gone, she rushed to the door - but Mr Black was already lowering his wand. "Are you alright?"
She didn't answer as she pushed past him to peer around the doorway, then recoiled, her free hand hitting her mask as she tried to cover her mouth.
Mr Black sounded unconcerned. "That was a spell of my great-great-uncle's. He apparently had a little feud with a vampire. Very messy, but very effective."
Messy was an understatement, Hermione thought. The hallway was covered in blood and there was nothing left of the vampire but shredded, soaked robes.
"Are you alright?" Mr Black repeated his question.
She stared at him. How could he be so… Then her eyes widened.
Mr Fletcher!
Her tutor was covered in blood - soaked in it, actually - and unconscious, but he was alive. And he didn't seem to have been cursed or seriously hurt, either, Hermione Granger found after a few frantic spells - or rather, she corrected herself, no curse that those spells could detect.
"Ennervate!"
He opened his eyes with a groan, then tensed, his hand grasping for the wand he had lost. He didn't relax much, if at all, even after he recognised her. "What?"
Hermione handed him his wand and was about to explain what happened when Mr Black cut in: "You were beaten by the resident vampire and I had to save you. Seems I was correct in my prediction."
She glared at him, and discovered a drawback of her mask - he couldn't see her face behind it. But, she had to admit, Mr Black was correct. Even if he shouldn't have been so blunt and smug about.
"He must have smelled the blood in the ice box when we opened it," Hermione said to her tutor. She nodded at the other wizard. "Thank you. You saved our lives."
"So much for 'vampires sleep like the dead during the day'," Mr Fletcher muttered. "Should have known not to trust Kettleburn's lessons. He lost too many limbs to know what he was doing." He stood, wincing as he put weight on his left leg. "Did you secure the house?" he asked as he flicked his wand, fixing his leg.
Hermione grimaced. "We treated you first."
"You're safe with me at your side," Black added with a condescending grin. He could back his boasts up, though, Hermione thought - at least in her limited experience. Too limited, she added - she needed to learn how to fight better.
But first they needed to search the house for the books of blood magic Dumbledore needed to cure Harry. And, she added with a slight grin, any other books that looked valuable. Or anything else - it wasn't, she thought, grimacing again when she looked at the remains of Tripe, as if their owner had any further need for them. And, she added, he didn't have any heirs left anyway.
She wondered if her enchanted pocket could hold everything she wanted to take.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 12th, 1996
"You know, if I didn't know that your inner animal is a cat I'd assume it were a locust."
Hermione Granger did her best to ignore Mr Black's comment as she pulled another book out of her pocket. A copy of the 'Transfiguration Almanach' from 1799 - very valuable due to its rarity, but lacking about two hundred years' worth of spell research in the field. But it was a first edition!
She put it on the 'historical' pile, with the other outdated but gorgeous books she had found. Next was a banned tome about ritual magic. She had skimmed that one in the Black family library already a few months ago, but it never hurt to have a copy of her own. Unless it was cursed, of course. Which it wasn't - she and Mr Fletcher had dealt with the curses before removing the books. That went on the 'useful' pile.
"I forgot to check - did you take the shingles on the roof as well? You took everything else, including the pots from the kitchen." Mr Black was shaking his head at them.
Those would fetch a good price from antique collectors, Hermione knew. And if she were wrong they could be sold for scrap. Waste not, want not.
"I might need to cast another Extension Charm," Mr Black continued, looking around the newest room in his basement.
She snorted at the hyperbole. While her and her tutor's enchanted pockets could hold a lot of loot, their contents couldn't fill an entire room. Not unless they unshrunk the furniture.
"Wasn't the plan to only steal the books needed? Or, if possible, copy them?"
"That was before you killed Tripe, Black," Mr Fletcher spoke up. "With him dead there was no longer any need to limit ourselves to a quick grab." Her tutor didn't sound entirely happy about that, Hermione thought. She wasn't entirely happy either. About the killing, of course.
Black must have noticed too, since he frowned. "Even though it would be absurd, I cannot help but suspect that you do not approve of my daring rescue of you two."
"I approve of being saved from a nasty fate," Mr Fletcher grumbled. "And you have my thanks for that. Which I already told you."
"While you were busy breaking into Tripe's vault," Mr Black shot back. "Truly, a more heartfelt display of gratitude has never been observed."
Her tutor could have handled his rescue with a little more grace, Hermione thought - Mr Black had saved their lives, after all. If he hadn't been there… she rubbed her throat. The leather of her suit had parted far too easily when the vampire had used his wand. "We're very grateful for your timely intervention, Mr Black," she said.
"Then call me Sirius."
"What?" She stared at him.
He grinned widely. "If you're really feeling grateful, then I demand that henceforth you refer to me as 'Sirius'!"
"Like hell, Black!" Mr Fletcher spat.
"I wasn't talking to you, but to her," Mr Black shot back. "I don't expect much gratitude from the likes of you."
"'The likes of me'?" Mr Fletcher snarled. "I'm not the one who used a dark curse to kill on a heist!"
"Should I have let him kill her?" Mr Black scoffed. "He was a vampire, a hundred and fifty years old, and a damn good duellist. I couldn't have stunned or otherwise incapacitated him."
"You looked that spell up in advance."
"Of course I did!" Black shook his head. "We're not doing this for fun, or gold. We're fighting a war."
"We're in a war with Death Eaters, not with vampires hiding from Death Eaters." Mr Fletcher was standing now, facing Mr Black.
The other wizard shrugged. "If they're trying to kill me I'll do my best to kill them right back. Same for my friends. Or friends of Harry's."
"That's a fast way to make the Aurors get serious about killing you too," Mr Fletcher retorted. Hermione saw that he was glancing at her.
Mr Black must have caught it as well since he sighed. "I'm not going to kill just anyone. But the kind of people who have books about blood magic and the Dark Arts in their basement? I won't take any risks with them. And the Aurors won't bother about their deaths either when they see what they've been up to." He blinked. "Well, that might be a little difficult in this case, since you cleaned out the basement more thoroughly than a Niffler does a purse."
Hermione winced. Maybe they had gone overboard a little. But it felt wrong to leave books if she could take them instead.
"Alright." Mr Fletcher sounded as if pained him to agree, Hermione thought. "But I'll be watching you, Black. We're thieves, not killers."
And once more, Mr Black grinned widely. He turned to her with an expectant smile. "And…?"
Hermione blinked, and suddenly knew just how her tutor felt. But they did owe the man their lives, even if he was entirely too smug about it. "Alright... Sirius."
He beamed at her. "Yes! Now say it with a smile!"
She bared her teeth at the dog instead.
Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, Britain, February 6th, 1996
"I grow tired of your excuses, Lucius."
Lucius Malfoy fought not to tremble as his guest sighed and shook his head. He hadn't raised his voice, but that didn't mean anything; Lucius knew just how suddenly the Dark Lord could inflict his cruelties.
The far too young-looking man - Lucius didn't know how that had been achieved, but it had to be the result of the darkest magic - shifted on his seat in Lucius's study and frowned at him. "If not for your intervention, Pettigrew - a loyal, if craven, follower - would be in Azkaban, ready to be freed together with the other faithful."
"Milord, he was beyond help. If I hadn't spoken up, then Black would have," Lucius said in as steady a voice as he could manage. "Black would never have let him live. I chose to have Pettigrew's death serve a purpose, at least, by improving my standing in the Wizengamot, where I can do your work."
The Dark Lord scoffed. "So you claimed before. And yet, for all your vaunted standing and influence, the Ministry is still not mine."
"Milord, such things cannot be rushed, or your enemies will notice what I'm doing, and prepare to counter me."
He clenched his teeth when he saw the other sneer at him. "Do you think that my greatest foe is stupid? Dumbledore already knows what you are doing - you've been bribing your way into power for fifteen years."
"He hasn't managed to stop me, though," Lucius protested. "He couldn't even save Potter's mudblood from being expelled." That had been a beautiful plot. Not only had he managed to remove that uppity mudblood from the school before she embarrassed the real wizards and witches further with her skill, but since Parkinson, Greengrass, Davis and Bulstrode had been so greedy, he had leverage over them as well. And Draco had - finally - learned how to deal with his enemies. He wouldn't repeat the mistake that he had made with the Malaclaw venom.
"Do you expect me to be impressed by the fact that you managed to get a mudblood child expelled? A single mudblood gone from Hogwarts is nothing! Dozens of them still pollute those sacred halls with their presence!" The Dark Lord flicked his wand, and Lucius hissed when his Dark Mark started to burn his arm.
"Milord… she was one of Potter's closest friends. My son told me how much he depended on her. Your foe is weakened." Lucius spoke quickly, shivering as the pain in his arm grew stronger.
"She is an ignorant child, nothing more. Dumbledore is the enemy, and Potter is his tool. Mudbloods don't matter as long as those two live!"
Lucius drew a hissing breath as he clutched his left arm. "Milord, please…" he managed to say as he sagged in his seat.
The Dark Lord scoffed, but with a swish of his wand, the pain stopped. "You have grown soft, Lucius. Expelling mudbloods? You used to kill them, remember?"
He did. He had been young, and foolish. But he nodded. "Yes, milord. But as you said - the time is not yet ripe for such acts. We have to move cautiously."
"Cautiously, yes - but not cowardly! I expect results, Lucius. You killed Pettigrew to increase your influence; you promised me the Ministry - but you have not delivered."
Lucius drew deep breaths as he recovered from the Dark Lord's torture. "Milord, I'm close. The Minister considers me his best friend. I lead the biggest faction in the Wizengamot. I have promoted your staunchest followers in the Ministry. I only need a little more time."
"And yet you have failed to rid the Ministry of Weasley. You could not even manage to get his son fired. Black still controls his huge fortune despite your best efforts. When will you demonstrate this much vaunted influence of yours?"
"Milord, Dumbledore needed to call in favours to save Weasley - and that wasn't the only time he has had to. The more he struggles to oppose me, the weaker he grows. Already people are asking if he can fulfill his duties as both the Chief Warlock and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. And they notice how much he favours his allies. Protecting Black has cost him, too - and thanks to me, he spent a small fortune to pay the mudblood's debt." Lucius leaned forward, placing his hands on his desk. "We are making progress, milord, on multiple fronts. Victory is but a question of time."
"You've said that before. My patience is growing thin, Lucius," the Dark Lord snarled. "I know your ambitions. Do not fail me."
"I live to serve you, Master," Lucius said, bowing his head.
"You live as long as you serve me. Don't forget it." Another flick of the Dark Lord's wand made Lucius's Dark Mark burn again, but only for an instant, before the Dark Lord left him.
But it had been enough to leave him trembling with fear and pain. Shivering, he rubbed his arm as he leaned back in his seat. He hit the bell on his desk, and, half a minute later, he heard the concealed door in the wall at his back open.
He didn't turn his head. "Dobby, fetch me the bottle!"
"Yes, Master Lucius."
A minute later, the elf had come and left again, and Lucius had recovered enough not to spill the whisky as he filled his glass. This could not go on. The Dark Lord was too impatient. If the Dark Lord treated him like this, when he was one of his most influential and richest followers, how would he fare once the Dark Lord had won?
He took a sip from his glass, shuddering as the liquid burned his throat. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. All he had wanted, back in the beginning, was to teach the mudbloods their place. Those filthy animals couldn't be allowed to hold any power in Wizarding Britain. The damage they would do to society…
He sighed and rubbed his arm. If had he known the price of following the Dark Lord… If he had not sacrificed Pettigrew to remove any lingering suspicion… He wouldn't have done it had he been aware that the Dark Lord was still alive. And now it didn't look as if the Dark Lord would ever let him forget that lapse.
If he managed to deliver the Ministry to the Dark Lord, perhaps… No. Lucius shook his head. He knew that he wasn't the only Death Eater working to take over the Ministry. He had rivals ready to tear him down and take his place. Rivals who would claim they had done it. And the Dark Lord would listen to them - or pretend to listen to them, if only to punish Lucius for his supposed failures. Or his family.
The thought of Narcissa or Draco suffering the Dark Lord's wrath, writhing under his Torture Curse… He downed the entire glass and refilled it. He couldn't let that happen. But he couldn't do anything. Not alone and with the Dark Mark burning on his arm.
But he didn't have any allies. He didn't know who else was working for the Dark Lord and in a similar situation - although he had his suspicions, of course. But, even if he knew, he couldn't trust them not to betray him - willingly or not.
No, there was but one wizard who could help him. One wizard able to stand against the Dark Lord. A wizard he had opposed and fought for two decades now. But, Lucius thought, a wizard who would know the value of his influence. And, he added, remembering a diary resting in his hidden vault, he could offer something else in exchange for help against the Dark Lord.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 7th, 1996
"If you try to lick my face again, I'll curse your tongue off." Mr Fletcher raised his wand and glared at Mr Black.
"Don't worry about that - I won't do it again. I needed half a bottle of Ogden's Finest to burn the taste off my tongue. That aftershave..." Mr Black stuck his tongue out and made exaggerated gagging noises.
"It's not meant to be appreciated by animals," Mr Fletcher shot back.
"Let me tell you from personal experience: It doesn't taste any better to humans either. I bet it drives witches away!" Mr Black sneered.
"I haven't heard any complaints from Hermione."
Hermione Granger opened her mouth to remind the two wizards that they had gathered in the basement of Grimmauld Place to plan a heist, not to exchange barbs with each other, but Mr Black spoke up before she could: "Well, her nose must be defective. Or she's simply too polite to mention that your aftershave reeks." He sighed. "She usually has better taste in men, too."
"My nose works perfectly well!" Hermione glared at him.
Her employer sniffed at her. "As a Grim, I'm the expert on smells here."
"You're a dog, not a Grim," she corrected him, barely managing to avoid adding 'stupid', "and given that dogs tend to stick their noses into every disgusting thing they find, I don't think you're an authority on aftershave."
"Well, your friend - and your student, 'Mr Smith' - would disagree. The lovely Jeanne loves my aftershave." Mr Black smirked.
"Or she's simply too polite to criticise it," Mr Fletcher retorted. "After all, I taught her manners."
"You also taught Miss Granger manners, didn't you? And yet she often behaves like an animal around me - and not in the sexy way." The dog rubbed his recently healed nose for emphasis.
"It's the only language you seem to understand," Hermione said with a sweet smile.
Her tutor laughed. "You could try a rolled-up newspaper too."
In response, Mr Black changed forms, for a moment only - he was smirking at Mr Fletcher, who had jumped up from his chair and aimed his wand at the dog. "A little twitchy, are we? Or afraid?" Mr Black asked in a mocking tone. "Do you hex every friendly dog you happen across?"
"You're anything but friendly, Black," Mr Fletcher snarled.
"I'm very friendly! Just ask my friends!" Mr Black said, giving the other man a toothy smile.
"The ones you paid or the ones you blackmailed?" Hermione's tutor shot back.
This was getting too serious, Hermione thought. "Please!" she spoke up, "We're here to plan the next heist, not to exchange insults." She saw the dog opening his mouth and quickly added: "If you say 'He started it!' I'll hex you. This is about Harry, not about who's had more success with witches." She glared at both of them for good measure. They were worse than Harry and Ron had been in first year during their disagreement over which Quidditch team was best - Puddlemere United or Chudley Cannons. Both were wrong, anyway - the Holyhead Harpies were clearly the best team.
"Do you let your student talk to you in that manner?" Mr Black complained.
"Only when she's correct," Mr Fletcher said. He sat down again and pulled out a roll of parchment from his pocket.
The dog grumbled something and sat down as well. Hermione sighed.
"Alright. Our acquaintance gave me a list of places to look into," her tutor started the briefing.
"You mean Dumbledore," Mr Black said, "and by 'looking' you mean 'breaking into'." Hermione scratched the tabletop with her nails, and he shrugged. "Just clarifying things."
Mr Fletcher ignored him. "These are suspected vampire lairs and manors of families who might own tomes covering blood magic."
"That's an awful lot of assumptions. And a lot of locations." Mr Black simply couldn't keep quiet and let someone else talk, Hermione thought.
"You wanted to be involved in this kind of work, Black." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "If it's too much for you then you can go back to your girlfriend and let us work."
"As Miss Granger has pointed out, this is for Harry. Not for gold." Mr Black looked rather grim.
"We're not doing this for gold either." And so did Mr Fletcher.
Hermione wanted to hex them both. "Which location will we hit first?" she asked instead, a little louder than she usually would.
They got the message. Her tutor tapped the first name on the list. "This house in Swansea. Up until 1915, a branch of the Tripe family lived there. Officially, the house has been vacant since then, but it's been kept in good repair - even after the last heir of the Tripe family was killed in Grindelwald's War."
"Magenta Tripe married into the Black family," Mr Black added. "But I don't think we have a claim - my mother would have pressed it, and she would have known, obsessed as she was with our ancestry."
"Someone's been living there. And according to my source…"
"Dumbledore," the dog cut in again.
"...Maximilian Tripe was declared dead in 1905, but persistent rumours claimed that he was actually turned into a vampire," Mr Fletcher said. "He was a scholar during his life, and known for his controversial views on the Dark Arts."
"You're going to break into the suspected lair of a vampire who is over a hundred and fifty years old, and was a dark wizard when he was alive?" Mr Black sounded surprised.
"Of course," Mr Fletcher answered. "It's what we do." Hermione smiled widely at hearing him include her. He trusted her!
Mr Black, though, turned his head to stare at her. His meaning was clear. She raised her chin and met his eyes. "For Harry," she said.
The dog swallowed what he had been about to say.
*****
Swansea, West Glamorgan, Britain, February 8th, 1996
There was the garden! Hermione ducked down and slowly approached the iron fence. She could just make out the slightly blurry form of the building behind it, but the fence was the important part, anyway. It was tall and massive, but the bars were far enough apart that a lithe cat like herself could squeeze through easily.
Unlike a big, stupid dog, she thought with amusement. It was so like him to vent his frustration by marking the fence post - the dog must have forgotten that they weren't here to stay and claim the territory, but rather to scope out the building for a quick raid.
She reached the fence and sniffed the air. She didn't smell any decaying carcasses, nor any blood. Which meant that the wards defending the place - the fence was also the wardline - wouldn't harm her or any other animal. She carefully and cautiously put her paws on the concrete base of the fence and peered through the bars. From here she could see the building clearly. The green bricks - no, she reminded herself, they were red, actually. Not that it mattered, anyway - were partially covered with ivy that reached up to the gable roof. Perfect for climbing - if you were a slender, agile cat. Dogs, of course, couldn't climb, even if the plants were able to hold their weight.
But all the windows were shuttered, she noted. And through the slits she could spot curtains. She wouldn't be able to peer inside even if she climbed the walls. She sniffed the air - the plants in their pots at each side of the entrance had been freshly watered. And there was a newspaper on the stairs.
Someone was living there. Someone who didn't like the sun. She narrowed her eyes and flattened her ears in disdain - while the night was perfect for prowling, as all the humans were unable to spot a cat, being blind in the darkness, only an utter fool would not want to take naps in the sun.
She ducked her head and slowly moved it until her whiskers touched the bars. Enough space for her head. Satisfied, she pushed through, her slender body barely touching the metal, until she landed gracefully in the garden.
It was a well kept garden, too - the grass was cut so short that no prey could hide in it. No sign of any rivals. More importantly, no sign of a dog - how people could keep those stupid animals in their homes when they could invite a cat instead, she couldn't fathom. Quick as lightning, she dashed over to the building proper, hiding behind a flower pot.
No one came out to feed her or scare her away. Which meant that she hadn't been seen. She eyed the front door - no window there, but a massive knocker - and the ivy - grown enough to support her weight, as she had known - then made a circuit of the building. There was a door at the back. Those usually led to the kitchen, or close, but she couldn't smell any food, nor those spices humans were fond of. But… her nostrils flared. The scent was faint, but clear. Blood. Fresh, too. The owner must have successfully hunted last night. Or used some method to preserve the blood.
The door itself was sturdy, but there was a window - although with a curtain blocking the sunlight. And she saw dead bugs on the threshold. She didn't smell poison, so they had probably been killed by magic.
It wasn't bad, though - she wouldn't have been able to break through the door with her claws anyway. And she could deal with such spells when she had hands and her wand. She continued her tour. On the right side of the house there was a coal chute. Lots of dead bugs there. And someone had filled the space below with concrete. She hissed in annoyance - she might have been able to squeeze through the gap between the lid and the stone, otherwise. She couldn't smell anything, either. Not even dust. Unnatural.
She finished her tour, but didn't find anything else of interest. That left the roof. She could climb up and see if the attic was sealed as well. It would be easy for such a good climber as herself. The work of a few minutes, at most.
She flattened her ears. Her tutor had forbidden it. But he was no cat; he didn't know what cats could do. On the other hand, he knew magic. And she was a smart cat, not a stupid dog who didn't listen.
She glanced up at the roof one more time. It would be so easy to climb up! But instead she left, slipping through the fence at the exact same spot she had entered - she smelled her fur on the bars. Mission accomplished, she thought, her tail held high, as she started towards the building where her tutor - and probably the stupid dog, too - was waiting.
She had almost reached the street she had to cross when, suddenly, a rival cat crossed her path. A tomcat. A big one. Smaller than Crookshanks, though. And not nearly as smart - he was hissing at her.
She flattened her ears and hissed back. She had fought the stupid dog several times and he was as massive as a human; a mere tomcat didn't impress her. Most of his bulk was fat, anyway.
He stood his ground as she approached, growling now. She still wasn't impressed. She was on a mission, an important mission. No tomcat could be allowed to interfere. When he ignored her last warning, she struck. Right on the nose!
*****
"Was that you I heard hissing and screaming, or was that another cat?" Mr Black asked as soon as Hermione Granger entered the room they had rented - under a fake name, and in disguise, of course.
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you curious about what I found out?"
He shrugged. "You'll tell us that anyway - and in great detail - as soon as Fletcher is here. I'd rather hear it once. Hard enough to stay awake." He ignored her scowl - she was thorough, not boring! - and peered at her. "You don't look hurt."
"Of course not." She scoffed - she had healed the scratches the other cat had left on her before entering.
"But you haven't answered the question," he said, grinning.
She rolled her eyes. She could lie, but they were on a heist, and lies caused trouble in a team. "I had to persuade a cat that he better avoid us." She didn't want to deal with a rival cat in the middle of the actual heist. And the tomcat had to learn not to annoy his betters.
"I hope you were more gentle with him than you are with me," Mr Black said. "You didn't kill the poor thing, did you?"
"I haven't killed you, have I?" she shot back. As if she'd kill a fellow cat! Did he think she was a monster?
"Well, I'm an experienced - and handsome - wizard who is far harder to kill than a simple cat," he retorted. "But it certainly felt as if you tried your best to kill me."
She sighed. He was such a dog.
Fortunately, Mr Fletcher returned before she was honestly tempted to teach the dog a lesson too. Not that she thought he'd ever learn it.
*****
Hogwarts, February 10th, 1996
"So, you lot wanna learn how to fight for real? No more playing around with hexes and jinxes?" The scarred old Auror walked back and forth in front of Harry Potter and his friends, his peg leg punctuating each word with a dull noise.
"Yes!" Harry answered together with Ron and Ginny. They hadn't been playing around, not for a long time, but Remus and Sirius had told him that it was a bad idea to try and correct Mad-Eye Moody.
"Shouting won't make it true," the old wizard scoffed. "We're not in a muggle movie." He narrowed his good eye - the artificial one kept spinning wildly in its socket - at them. "I'll tell you straight away: I'm not gonna coddle you. I'm not a school teacher; I'm a Senior Auror. I've made Auror trainees and even rookie Aurors break down in tears," he added with a smile that was turned into a sneer by the scars marring his face.
Harry bit his lip to keep from giving the man lip. Sirius had warned him against that, too. Even if he wanted to say that he had faced Voldemort and a vampire and was no rookie any more.
"Heard you had a little tussle with a blood sucker, Potter," Moody continued as if he had read Harry's thoughts - which he hadn't, Harry knew. The Auror stopped in front of him. "You and the little girl there."
"I'm not a little girl!" Ginny spat. "I fought that vampire too, even wounded!"
"Hah!" Moody turned to her. "I've read the reports. I've seen the body. You sent a few spells at the vampire, that was it. You didn't even rate a curse in return; you were wounded by an explosion aimed at Potter here."
Ginny gasped in outrage, but Moody had already turned back to Harry. "And you, Potter! You were supposedly trained for exactly that situation! And what did you do? Break your broom, lose your Cloak, and get cursed!"
"I didn't lose my Cloak - I gave it to Ginny!" Harry snapped. "And we bloody well got that vampire!"
"Three versus one, and he hit two of you. If he had been using another dark curse, a faster one, you'd be dead." Moody shook his head. "Sloppy of Lupin, really."
"Remus did his best!" Harry protested. Remus had been cursed, and still fought on - and had beaten the vampire!
"And it wasn't good enough." Moody turned to Ron. "And you! You weren't even in the fight. The only thing you've done so far is play around in training - you've got even less experience than these two here. Whatcha gonna do, serve as a distraction?"
Harry glanced at Ron. His friend was glaring at the old Auror and clenching his teeth. "I've heard better insults from my brothers," Ron spat. "I'll do whatever is needed. And it's your job to teach us that, isn't it?"
"Yes," Harry joined in. "How about we start?"
They'd show Moody what they could do. Sirius and Remus had trained them well, after all.
*****
"Get him!" Harry Potter yelled, flicking his wand and sending two Stunners at Moody. But the Auror had already vanished behind a conjured wall. "We just have to hit him once!"
"I'm trying!" Ron, at his side, yelled back, vanishing the wall.
Harry had been waiting for that. His next Stunner flew through the space the wall had been in - and vanished in a cloud of fog or smoke.
"Ginny! Flank him!" There was no response. "Ginny?" He glanced to his side. The witch was on the ground, knocked out.
"Harry!"
He whirled around, just in time to catch a Stunner that shattered his Shield Charm. He was already dropping to the ground, but another hit him before he even touched the stone floor.
*****
"You're worse than I hoped, but you're not entirely hopeless." Moody was once again pacing - if you could call his limping gait that - in front of them. Harry Potter knew that it was an act, though - the old Auror hadn't been limping at all during their 'lesson'. The wooden leg was probably enchanted too, and better than a natural one, Harry thought.
Ron mumbled something under his breath, rubbing his arm. Harry didn't catch it, but Moody chuckled. He probably also had a spell to enhance his hearing. Ginny didn't say anything. The witch just glared at Moody.
"So, we'll do this twice a week, until you're better than the curse-fodder I usually train. Until then you're not to leave the school unless Albus or I are escorting you," Moody went on. "Mind you, that'll probably take the rest of the year, so no more Hogsmeade weekends for you."
Ginny gasped, but Harry and Ron nodded. No matter how brutal Moody was - and Harry was certain he had broken a few ribs during their training; he knew the feeling even when they had been numbed - a real fight was far worse. And Harry didn't intend to get cursed again. Or see Ginny get hurt again.
Moody squinted at them with his good eye. "And remember: Constant Vigilance! Don't trust anyone - not a student, not a teacher, not even a friend! Voldemort's after you, and you know what he can do. If he catches you off-guard, you better hope he kills you, because I'll make you wish that he had!"
Harry winced. He didn't think that the Auror was entirely serious, but… best not to risk it. Which, he realised, was probably why Moody had said that. "Yes, sir," he spat out.
Moody stared at him, then nodded curtly. "Get to the infirmary and let Poppy check you out." With that, he left.
"Merlin's balls!" Ron sighed and sat down as soon as the door had closed behind the Auror. "I thought Sirius and Remus were brutal!"
"They warned us about him, remember?" Harry said. He touched his chest. His ribs were still numbed.
"Yeah. Didn't think they were that serious. You know them." Ron's laugh turned into a cough and a groan. He had been hit in the chest too, Harry recalled.
"Let's head to Pomfrey," he said. If they hurried a little they would be back in time for dinner. He turned to look at Ginny, who had been uncharacteristically silent so far. She was staring at the door. "Ginny?"
She whipped her head round to look at him, and he flinched at her expression. "Who does he think he is? No more Hogsmeade?"
"Well, I reckon he's right," Ron said. "Wouldn't want to risk another attack until we're ready, and Harry's curse has been fixed."
"We weren't attacked in Hogsmeade," Ginny retorted, "but outside of it, when we were alone."
"I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to attack us in Hogsmeade," Harry said. "And that could hurt a lot of people." Voldemort wanted to keep his actions secret, as far as he knew, but the Dark Lord might very well decide that killing Harry was worth exposing himself. Or he might simply count on blaming the attack on others.
Ginny scowled. "Still…"
"Don't fret about it," Ron said, chuckling. "You didn't really think Mum would let you visit Hogsmeade again until you've graduated anyway, did you?"
Harry didn't think Molly would approve of Ginny's answer to that either.
*****
Swansea, West Glamorgan, Britain, February 11th, 1996
Standing at the window of their rented flat, Hermione Granger tapped the side of her mask with her left hand twice and slid her finger forward. In response, the building at which she was looking grew larger in her field of vision. The new spell on her equally new mask wasn't quite as good as Omnioculars, but it was far easier to use. And it was good enough to study the house from afar - and in true-colour; adjusting to the colour spectrum cats' eyes saw had been a bit of a challenge. Only hags were supposed to have green skin.
"The whiskers look cute, but the mask as a whole looks kind of… faceless."
She ignored the dog's comment - her mask looked perfect, anyway, with its smooth black finish and painted whiskers - as she looked for any sign of the building's inhabitants.
"And where are the ears? Every cat mask I've ever seen has had ears. And eyes that glow in the dark. And a tail."
Sighing, she withdrew her finger, which restored her normal vision - she would have to modify the enchantment so she could also tap the mask twice to stay zoomed in, she noted - and looked at Mr Black.
He flinched slightly. "That's a really creepy stare, you know."
"You can't see my face," she answered.
"That's my point." He frowned. "That aside, how can we give you a potion if we have to with you wearing the mask?"
She was surprised that the dog had thought ahead, then she remembered what had happened to Harry. Of course his godfather would worry about such a situation. "You open it like this." She pushed on the latch behind her ear, letting the mask swing upward like a visor.
"You're wearing another mask under your mask?" He stared at her face.
She nodded. "There are spells that can see through clothes, and I haven't found a good spell to block them. This half-mask, however, is thin enough that the most common spells will have trouble focusing on my actual face." Which would be tanned too, to change its tone from her natural one. He still looked surprised. She frowned. "Did you think I chose my outfit just because I liked the look?"
"Of course not," he protested - but he didn't sound sincere.
"You did." She sighed - a common occurrence when talking with the dog. "I'm not wearing this suit to show off my body, but because the leather protects me and will not snag on things - nor let an enemy easily get a grip on it. Besides, it's a classic muggle cat burglar's outfit." That it also showed off her body was a welcome side-effect, of course.
He closed his mouth, then frowned. "Is that a subtle hint that I should change my robes?"
"You're not coming with us," she said. No sane thief would take an untrained dog into a vampire's lair.
"But I might have to, to save you if you run into trouble," he retorted. "So I should look the part." He drew his wand before she could tell him how unlikely it was that she and Mr Fletcher would need him to save them. "There! How does that look?"
Hermione blinked at the sight, then clenched her teeth. "You're not copying my suit!" A dog had no business wearing a catsuit!
"I'm not - it would be much too tight in the groin, you know?"
She didn't need nor want to know. "Use a different design. This one is mine."
"You can't own a look!"
"Of course I can! Have you never heard of copyright?"
She should have known that he hadn't.
*****
Mr Fletcher shouldn't have found the whole affair amusing, Hermione Granger thought an hour later. At least she had managed to get the dog to change his 'thief look' to something that wouldn't make people who saw both of them think they were a couple. Or father and daughter - Hermione didn't know which would be worse.
"Alright, we're ready. The sun's been up for a while, so the vampire should be asleep by now. Or dead to the world, if you prefer," her tutor said. "We're going in through the back door - the hedges in the back will hide us from muggle eyes."
"You're not going to disillusion yourselves?" Mr Black asked.
"Of course we will," Mr Fletcher answered. "But a door opening by itself would look mighty strange to a muggle, wouldn't it?"
Hermione bit her lip to refrain from pointing out that muggles had doors that opened automatically, though generally not back doors, and not in such buildings. She took a sip from the potion that would hide her scent - vampires had a very good sense of smell according to her sources.
To her surprise, Mr Black simply nodded. "Alright. I'll be sitting here, and keeping an eye on the building, ready to rush in and save you if you run into the vampire."
"You do that," her tutor said, glancing at Hermione. It was obvious that he didn't expect to need the dog's help either. But Mr Black had insisted on helping - it was for Harry, after all, which Hermione had to respect. And he already knew too much about them anyway.
And, in a pinch, a bungling dog barging in might make for a decent diversion, she added to herself as she cast a Disillusionment Charm and went out the window after Mr Fletcher.
*****
Hermione Granger would have preferred to enter through the roof, but since they were doing this during the day, the back door was the best option as it was hidden from the neighbour's view. Even though its defences would be stronger than those on the attic window. At least Hermione thought so. She glanced upwards again as Mr Fletcher worked on the wards - since he wasn't an animagus, he couldn't slip through them unhindered.
She didn't like this. Not only were they standing in the open - although disillusioned and in the backyard of the neighbouring house - but she still wouldn't get to work on the wards herself. How could she gain the experience she needed without actually doing her part of the work? Not all wards would let animals through.
But Mr Fletcher was the one in charge, and he had made the plan. And he had the experience - with the exception that her tutor hadn't worked with animagi before. Not that the dog would be able to add much - he couldn't climb and he wasn't trained in Curse-Breaking either.
She glanced at the house. The heavy curtains behind the windows didn't reveal any signs of movement within. But still… she wanted to change and pass through the wards. Check up close if the vampire had actually gone to sleep.
"Don't fret," Mr Fletcher's voice coming from the back part of her mask interrupted her. "We'll do this like we trained - the middle of a heist is no time for experiments." He knew her well, she realised - with both of them disillusioned, he couldn't actually have seen her fret.
"Yes, sir." It made sense, but she couldn't help feeling that this was a mistake. But perhaps she was simply far more nervous, knowing that they were about to break into the lair of a very old and experienced vampire. Who was now probably paranoid due to the string of disappearances of other vampires.
If she could ever tell Harry about this, he'd better appreciate what they were doing for him!
"Got it. I'll go over the fence. Wait until I tell you before following me." Mr Fletcher sounded slightly tired, but that might just be her imagination, Hermione thought.
"Yes, sir," she whispered, the enchantment on her mask picking up her voice.
When his marker moved up and over the fence she saw a faint blur underneath it and, a second later, she spotted the grass being flattened where he landed in the garden. Ten seconds later, she heard his whispered voice again. "I'm in the garden. Come!"
She was tempted to change and slip through the bars, despite what Mr Fletcher had told her. But he trusted her. And he'd notice when the marker above her head disappeared. So she stepped forward, put a foot on the concrete base of the fence, grabbed the spiked tips at its top, and heaved herself up. Her boot found purchase on the middle ornament of the wrought iron bar and a quick vault later she landed in a crouch on the lawn. She drew her wand and fixed the grass she and her tutor had flattened as she made her way towards his position at the back door.
"Lethal vermin ward," he whispered, "among other spells."
"Would it affect a cat?" she asked. Cats weren't vermin, after all. Dogs might qualify, though.
"Maybe. Hard to tell. Definitely stronger than the usual anti-bug spell. Not good enough to stop us, of course," he added, and she knew he was smiling lopsidedly. A moment later the door swung open and she saw his marker move inside.
She followed. As expected from the age of the building, they were in a narrow hallway next to the kitchen - she could spot a very old-fashioned stove through the open door ahead. She closed the door behind her, then ended the Disillusionment Charm. Mr Fletcher did the same. Even with the thick curtains blocking all of the windows, there was enough ambient light to not need a light source of their own.
He nodded at her, then moved towards the kitchen door. She followed him, but waited in the doorway while he searched the place. A glance told her that the kitchen was even more outdated than she had thought - all the appliances seemed to date back to before the Great War. She could see no sockets, nor a fridge - but there was a large ice box. Everything was sparkling clean, though.
Mr Fletcher opened the ice box. "Definitely a vampire," he whispered. "It's full of blood. Stasis spell, too."
She swallowed and focused her attention on the hallway. Somewhere in the house - probably in the basement - was a vampire. She shuddered, then forced herself to calm down. They were trained, experienced thieves. Tripe - if he was the vampire living here - wouldn't even notice their presence.
"Nothing in the kitchen," Mr Fletcher whispered.
Hermione nodded. That meant they would search the ground floor next. She moved ahead to the next door. That should be the dining room, according to the usual layout for such houses which she had memorised. Close to the kitchen so the food wouldn't get cold while being served - not that vampires or wizards would worry about that.
This time she went in while Mr Fletcher kept watch. The room held, as expected, a large but narrow dining table and seats for ten people. A fireplace too, but without a Floo powder cup. A quick check with a few spells showed that there were no secret doors hidden in the room either. "Nothing," she reported in a whisper as she left the room again.
"Alright," Mr Fletcher said as he turned towards the next room.
Hermione followed him, covering the hallway and the door to the street ahead of them - and the stairs next to it - with her wand. The whole house was very clean, she noted. Not a speck of dust in sight - despite the thick carpet on the floor and the heavy curtains.
Mr Fletcher had just bent down to check the door for traps when she caught a shadow moving up ahead, near the stairs. But before she could react the entire carpet was swept up and she found herself thrown into the air with enough force to brush against the ceiling before crashing to the ground. She rolled with the fall, as she had trained to, and rose in a crouch, her wand out. The carpet was still moving, though - racing towards her as if it were a giant snake trying to constrict her. She stabbed her wand at it a moment before it reached her.
"Finite!"
The carpet fell down in a tangled heap and she jumped over it. Mr Fletcher was casting spells at the shadow - which was a wizard in dark robes, she realised - but as she aimed her wand, his shield shattered under a barrage of curses, and he went down.
Stunner, she thought - the red spells were quite distinctive - and sent one herself at the shadow, followed by a Banishing Charm. Both were stopped by the man's shield. No, the vampire's shield - she could see the red eyes. She was about to cast a Piercing Curse to shatter the shield but he was faster, and only a quick drop to the floor saved her from getting hit by three more spells. She rolled to the side, right to the door to the dining room. If she could dodge inside, reach the windows, just vanish the curtains...
Then she felt the carpet beneath her move again, and this time she wasn't quick enough to dispel the spell animating it before it wrapped itself around her, crushing her arms against her sides. She was lifted up as she tried to move her wand - but it was held fast by the fabric. She managed to reach her suit's enchanted pocket with her other hand, though, searching for the mirror inside, as she was turned around until she was staring straight at the vampire.
He sneered and she shivered when saw his fangs in the dim light filtering through the thick curtains. The tip of her finger reached the mirror, and she frantically tried to rub it.
"You thought I was defenceless during the day?" He scoffed as he walked - stalked - closer until he was standing in front of her, in the middle of the doorway.
She felt the mirror vibrate in her pocket. "How did you notice us?" she asked. She had to stall the vampire.
"I smelled you." His sneer deepened as he cocked his head sideways. "What a silly mask."
She clenched her teeth. It wasn't silly. "We took potions. There was no scent."
He laughed, though it sounded rough, almost alien. "I smelled the blood."
The ice box! She could have hexed herself for that mistake.
His nostrils widened. "Your blood too," he added, licking his lips.
The fall had hurt, but was she bleeding? When his hand rose towards her head she first tried to pull her head away - then realised that that exposed her throat. But… though she couldn't move it, she still held her wand, technically. She didn't know any spells that would directly affect the vampire - a mere Lumos certainly wouldn't hurt him as daylight would - but they were right in the doorway, opposite a large window. The shutters had slits in them. And the sun would be…
"Accio curtains!" she yelled, and felt the spell work.
But the curtains didn't even move.
"Did you think I would not have taken measures to prevent such an obvious ploy?" The vampire threw his head back and cackled. Then he flipped his head down again and stared at her without moving a muscle. Unnaturally still, she thought with a shiver. "Did you think I wouldn't expect you, after the disappearances? That I wouldn't be prepared?"
She shook her head. "That wasn't us." How much longer could she stall him?
He laughed again. "I'll find out the truth." His smile stretched until he was baring his fangs at her. One hand gripped her hair - dyed blonde and straightened for the heist - and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. He touched her collar with his wand and cast a spell, cutting it open.
He was going to bite her. Kill her.
Then the back door was thrown open and the vampire released her, throwing up his arms to shield himself against the sudden bright light filling the hallway.
A second later, a massive black dog pounced on him. The vampire's shield held, but the impact threw him back and away from Hermione. Before the vampire could recover, the dog changed into a wizard, his wand already moving, and once more spells filled the narrow hallway.
The vampire's Shield Charm absorbed several spells before shattering, but his own curses missed their mark - Mr Black had stepped to the side, pushing Hermione into the dining room with his shoulder as he kept casting.
On the ground, unable to see the vampire any more, and still held helplessly by the carpet, she tried to free herself as Mr Black traded curses with Tripe.
"Finite! Finite! Finite!"
Third time lucky, as the saying went, and she felt the carpet slacken around her.
"Evanesco!"
With the carpet gone, she rushed to the door - but Mr Black was already lowering his wand. "Are you alright?"
She didn't answer as she pushed past him to peer around the doorway, then recoiled, her free hand hitting her mask as she tried to cover her mouth.
Mr Black sounded unconcerned. "That was a spell of my great-great-uncle's. He apparently had a little feud with a vampire. Very messy, but very effective."
Messy was an understatement, Hermione thought. The hallway was covered in blood and there was nothing left of the vampire but shredded, soaked robes.
"Are you alright?" Mr Black repeated his question.
She stared at him. How could he be so… Then her eyes widened.
Mr Fletcher!
*****
Her tutor was covered in blood - soaked in it, actually - and unconscious, but he was alive. And he didn't seem to have been cursed or seriously hurt, either, Hermione Granger found after a few frantic spells - or rather, she corrected herself, no curse that those spells could detect.
"Ennervate!"
He opened his eyes with a groan, then tensed, his hand grasping for the wand he had lost. He didn't relax much, if at all, even after he recognised her. "What?"
Hermione handed him his wand and was about to explain what happened when Mr Black cut in: "You were beaten by the resident vampire and I had to save you. Seems I was correct in my prediction."
She glared at him, and discovered a drawback of her mask - he couldn't see her face behind it. But, she had to admit, Mr Black was correct. Even if he shouldn't have been so blunt and smug about.
"He must have smelled the blood in the ice box when we opened it," Hermione said to her tutor. She nodded at the other wizard. "Thank you. You saved our lives."
"So much for 'vampires sleep like the dead during the day'," Mr Fletcher muttered. "Should have known not to trust Kettleburn's lessons. He lost too many limbs to know what he was doing." He stood, wincing as he put weight on his left leg. "Did you secure the house?" he asked as he flicked his wand, fixing his leg.
Hermione grimaced. "We treated you first."
"You're safe with me at your side," Black added with a condescending grin. He could back his boasts up, though, Hermione thought - at least in her limited experience. Too limited, she added - she needed to learn how to fight better.
But first they needed to search the house for the books of blood magic Dumbledore needed to cure Harry. And, she added with a slight grin, any other books that looked valuable. Or anything else - it wasn't, she thought, grimacing again when she looked at the remains of Tripe, as if their owner had any further need for them. And, she added, he didn't have any heirs left anyway.
She wondered if her enchanted pocket could hold everything she wanted to take.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 12th, 1996
"You know, if I didn't know that your inner animal is a cat I'd assume it were a locust."
Hermione Granger did her best to ignore Mr Black's comment as she pulled another book out of her pocket. A copy of the 'Transfiguration Almanach' from 1799 - very valuable due to its rarity, but lacking about two hundred years' worth of spell research in the field. But it was a first edition!
She put it on the 'historical' pile, with the other outdated but gorgeous books she had found. Next was a banned tome about ritual magic. She had skimmed that one in the Black family library already a few months ago, but it never hurt to have a copy of her own. Unless it was cursed, of course. Which it wasn't - she and Mr Fletcher had dealt with the curses before removing the books. That went on the 'useful' pile.
"I forgot to check - did you take the shingles on the roof as well? You took everything else, including the pots from the kitchen." Mr Black was shaking his head at them.
Those would fetch a good price from antique collectors, Hermione knew. And if she were wrong they could be sold for scrap. Waste not, want not.
"I might need to cast another Extension Charm," Mr Black continued, looking around the newest room in his basement.
She snorted at the hyperbole. While her and her tutor's enchanted pockets could hold a lot of loot, their contents couldn't fill an entire room. Not unless they unshrunk the furniture.
"Wasn't the plan to only steal the books needed? Or, if possible, copy them?"
"That was before you killed Tripe, Black," Mr Fletcher spoke up. "With him dead there was no longer any need to limit ourselves to a quick grab." Her tutor didn't sound entirely happy about that, Hermione thought. She wasn't entirely happy either. About the killing, of course.
Black must have noticed too, since he frowned. "Even though it would be absurd, I cannot help but suspect that you do not approve of my daring rescue of you two."
"I approve of being saved from a nasty fate," Mr Fletcher grumbled. "And you have my thanks for that. Which I already told you."
"While you were busy breaking into Tripe's vault," Mr Black shot back. "Truly, a more heartfelt display of gratitude has never been observed."
Her tutor could have handled his rescue with a little more grace, Hermione thought - Mr Black had saved their lives, after all. If he hadn't been there… she rubbed her throat. The leather of her suit had parted far too easily when the vampire had used his wand. "We're very grateful for your timely intervention, Mr Black," she said.
"Then call me Sirius."
"What?" She stared at him.
He grinned widely. "If you're really feeling grateful, then I demand that henceforth you refer to me as 'Sirius'!"
"Like hell, Black!" Mr Fletcher spat.
"I wasn't talking to you, but to her," Mr Black shot back. "I don't expect much gratitude from the likes of you."
"'The likes of me'?" Mr Fletcher snarled. "I'm not the one who used a dark curse to kill on a heist!"
"Should I have let him kill her?" Mr Black scoffed. "He was a vampire, a hundred and fifty years old, and a damn good duellist. I couldn't have stunned or otherwise incapacitated him."
"You looked that spell up in advance."
"Of course I did!" Black shook his head. "We're not doing this for fun, or gold. We're fighting a war."
"We're in a war with Death Eaters, not with vampires hiding from Death Eaters." Mr Fletcher was standing now, facing Mr Black.
The other wizard shrugged. "If they're trying to kill me I'll do my best to kill them right back. Same for my friends. Or friends of Harry's."
"That's a fast way to make the Aurors get serious about killing you too," Mr Fletcher retorted. Hermione saw that he was glancing at her.
Mr Black must have caught it as well since he sighed. "I'm not going to kill just anyone. But the kind of people who have books about blood magic and the Dark Arts in their basement? I won't take any risks with them. And the Aurors won't bother about their deaths either when they see what they've been up to." He blinked. "Well, that might be a little difficult in this case, since you cleaned out the basement more thoroughly than a Niffler does a purse."
Hermione winced. Maybe they had gone overboard a little. But it felt wrong to leave books if she could take them instead.
"Alright." Mr Fletcher sounded as if pained him to agree, Hermione thought. "But I'll be watching you, Black. We're thieves, not killers."
And once more, Mr Black grinned widely. He turned to her with an expectant smile. "And…?"
Hermione blinked, and suddenly knew just how her tutor felt. But they did owe the man their lives, even if he was entirely too smug about it. "Alright... Sirius."
He beamed at her. "Yes! Now say it with a smile!"
She bared her teeth at the dog instead.
*****
Chapter 17: Cats and Wizards
Starfox5
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Chapter 17: Cats and Wizards
Hogwarts, February 22nd, 1996
Remus Lupin stared at the vial in his hand. It smelled as vile as it tasted, but the potion was the only thing between him and a painful, brutal death. One sip and the blood curse on him would be kept at bay - for another day. It was like the Wolfsbane Potion in a warped way - that, too, kept the beast at bay, but only for another month.
On the other hand, he just had to throw the vial away, and in a few hours - he hadn't tested just how long the grace period Dumbledore had mentioned was - he would be dead. No longer would he be a danger each month to everyone around him. No longer would he be a failure.
He had failed Sirius, believing the slander instead of trusting his only remaining friend. He hadn't even had the courage to confront Sirius, which would have brought forth the truth. No, instead he had hidden, and Sirius had suffered for over a decade.
And he had failed Harry. The boy had been cursed on his watch. Remus had failed to stop the assassin in time. If the vampire had used a different, quicker curse, Harry would have died. It was only thanks to Dumbledore - and Snape - that the boy had survived Remus's blunder.
He scoffed. A danger and a failure. He had been given a chance to redeem himself, to help Sirius protect Harry, and he had failed. He didn't deserve to live - he would only make another blunder. Get someone killed. If he wasn't around, Sirius could find someone dependable to protect Harry. And Dumbledore and Snape wouldn't have to care about the effects of a possible cure on someone also suffering from lycanthropy, or about the effects of their new potion when taken in conjunction with the Wolfsbane Potion.
All he had to do was the throw the vial away and then take a little Sleeping Draught. Perhaps the Draught of Living Death; he knew where to buy it. He wouldn't feel a thing, he wouldn't wake up, not even when the curse struck. It would be messy, of course, but he could prepare for that.
"What are you waiting for?"
The sudden question startled him and he almost dropped the vial. He whirled, and saw Tonks leaning against the doorframe. Had he missed her knocking? "What?"
She was frowning at him. "Why are you staring at the vial instead of drinking it? It won't taste any better no matter how long you air it. It's not wine."
"I was simply lost in thought," he answered. He wasn't lying, not really.
She stepped fully inside his quarters and closed the door behind her. She was wearing her Auror robes, he noticed. Not the student robes she sometimes wore 'to fit in', as she claimed. Even if - in his opinion - they didn't fit her any more. "Berating yourself for the attack?" she asked.
He started at her. Had he been that obvious?
She shook her head. "You weren't exactly subtle."
So, yes, he had been that obvious. Did Sirius know? His friend wasn't the most observant, hadn't been even before Azkaban, and he was focused on helping Harry, so he had probably missed it. It wasn't as if Remus had spent that much time with him lately. He noticed that she was frowning at him - she had a very expressive face, no doubt a result of her special talent. "I failed to protect Harry."
"Really? I heard you saved his life. Took down the bloodsucker and carried Harry to the infirmary in time for treatment - while suffering from the same curse. That kind of failure would be called success by most people."
"If the vampire had used another curse, Harry would be dead," he retorted.
"As would you." She sighed theatrically and he pointedly didn't look at her heaving chest. "But the point is that you two are alive and the bloodsucker's dead - and by all accounts, he was a right nasty bugger. An old, experienced one. He would have given any Auror trouble. You did well."
He should have stepped in and told Harry to take the carriages back to Hogwarts, avoiding the whole attack. But he had let the couple have their moonlight walk. "Miss Weasley was hurt as well," he pointed out.
She made a dismissive gesture that reminded him of Sirius. "A scratch. Didn't even need Pomfrey for that, a simple spell was enough."
He should have taught her that spell, Remus thought. It wasn't on the syllabus until their fifth year, but that was no excuse. Knowing that spell could save lives - more lives than knowing how to cast a Stunner.
"Are you still brooding about this, even though I've told you not to?" She was leaning forward, peering at him with narrowed eyes. In any other situation, it would have been funny. Cute, too. But not in this one.
"It's nothing."
She snorted. "'Nothing' my arse!"
"It doesn't concern you." This wasn't any of her business. And not any business of the Aurors either. Just his personal failure.
"Are you certain?" She had that challenging look in her eyes again. And that flirty smile. He had seen similar smiles on some of the older students. He knew what it meant. Tonks wasn't a seventh year with a crush on their teacher, but she was almost their age. And he was a dark creature, far too old and now twice cursed. And a failure.
She frowned at him again. "You're far too depressed. It's not the full moon, not even close."
He gasped. How did she…
She sighed. "Please. That was obvious, too. I'm an Auror, not a dumb kid. Putting clues together is what I was trained to do, and our bodyguarding schedule made it rather obvious." With a grin, she added. "And it helped that I had to track a werewolf in my first case, of course."
He closed his eyes. She had known for some time, then. And had still flirted with him. Well, she was a Black - they had a streak of rather dark and sometimes cruel humour. On the other hand, she hadn't displayed any such tendencies with others, as far as he knew.
"I'm not gonna vanish just because you closed your eyes. That's not how it works, you know."
He knew, without needing to look, that she was grinning now. Widely. She could be just as annoying as Sirius was in his teenage years. And as blunt. Well, he could be blunt too. "I'm a dark creature. Not something fanciable."
She snorted. "You're a wizard with a curse. Two curses, actually."
"A dark curse that turns me into a raging monster under the full moon. If I don't take my potion I would try to slaughter the entire school." She had to see that. Especially since she had ignored his second sentence.
"You'd have to get out of your cage first."
"Did you break into my quarters?" He gaped at her - but he didn't keep the cage around, he conjured it when needed. That would mean…
She shrugged with a familiar insufferable grin. "Well… I had to check my theory. You look cute when you're all furry and curled up like a dog. Though you might also need better locks and spells on your door."
He had the best spells - he couldn't risk anyone getting in. Anyone but… "Sirius helped you."
She pouted. "I could have broken in. He just made it a little easier."
And Sirius didn't tell him. Remus would have words with his friend.
"See? You're not brooding any more. We've made progress."
"You took a huge risk." He was a werewolf, not a dog like Sirius.
She snorted. "I'm a trained Auror. If you forget to take your potion then you lose your mind. And as Mad-Eye taught me: If you stop thinking you've already lost." She blinked. "Well, he also told me that I needed to develop the correct instincts so I didn't have to think about everything I was doing, but you get my point."
But she didn't get his. "When I… change… I become a monster. A monster who likes to kill and maim people." He spoke in the most serious tone he could manage. She had to understand this. "Even with the potion, I know exactly how good it would feel to tear someone apart and bathe in their blood."
"So?" She shrugged and picked up from his desk a globe showing a Grindylow, fiddling with it. "That's not any different from the victim of an Imperius Curse." She put the globe down again. "Have you ever been under that curse?"
He shook his head. He had dodged that particular spell so far.
"Well, I have." She noticed his expression, and quickly went on: "Not like that. Mad-Eye cast it on us during training, so we would know how it feels. And let me tell you, under that curse, you feel very happy to do anything you're ordered to. Everything's fine, no matter what humiliating or embarrassing order you're obeying." Now she was frowning, and he heard her mutter: "I still haven't gotten back at him for that." Louder, she continued: "Anyway, the thing is, you're not any different from the victim of an Imperius Curse. And you wouldn't blame them for what they did while under someone else's control, would you? I mean, real victims, of course, not Malfoy and his ilk."
"Well, no, but that's different."
"Different how? Because they don't grow fur?"
"They're not dark creatures," he shot back.
She rolled her eyes. "That's a Ministry definition, nothing more. The Scandinavians don't consider werewolves dark creatures."
"That's because of their traditions." And because using werewolves in war made for a very powerful deterrent.
She shrugged. "Either way, it shows that you're a curse victim, not a monster. Now drink your potion like a good wizard and stop brooding!"
"Will you leave me in peace if I do?" He almost blinked at his own tone. Not serious enough by far.
"Nope." She grinned and crossed her arms under her chest, leaning back against his desk. "But I might let you go back to whatever you were doing before you got lost in brooding, for tonight at least."
It was as good as any other reason to drink the potion, Remus supposed.
"Good boy!"
She still had an insufferable grin. And he still needed to have words with his friend. But he was feeling better, he realised.
Hogwarts, February 23rd, 1996
"What's the verdict?" Harry Potter asked as soon as he saw the Headmaster put his wand down. "Sir," he added belatedly. He didn't want to be rude, but he had been examined daily for weeks now by Dumbledore and Pomfrey - and once even by Snape - and he was very much sick of it. It was also rather boring.
"As far as I can tell, the curse is being held completely in check - as planned," Dumbledore said with a smile.
That had been the result of every examination so far. "No change then."
"Not for the worse," the Headmaster said.
"Not for the better either," Harry said, then pressed his lips together. Dumbledore had saved his life and was working hard to cure him.
"That would have been an unexpected development, seeing as the potion you are taking has been created to stop the curse, not counter it." The old wizard leaned back in his seat. "Although I have been pursuing a promising lead."
"Did you refine the distilled phoenix tears?" Harry asked, looking at Fawkes. It hadn't ended the curse, but it had helped Remus recover from the lingering damage he had suffered from it.
"No." Dumbledore shook his head. When the phoenix trilled and stuck his head under his wing, apparently angry, the Headmaster petted the bird. "As I said after we tried it, the tears worked perfectly - but they heal; they do not break a curse, which is the crux of the issue."
That was a rather flippant way to talk about a deadly curse, Harry thought. Especially to one of its victim. "Ron said his brother is a great Curse-Breaker."
Dumbledore chuckled, briefly. "Young William is indeed talented, and, by now, experienced, indeed - but not with the kind of curse with which we are dealing here. As with so many problems in life, we need to understand the curse first, before we can find the correct means of ending it."
"You're studying blood magic." Harry stared at him. He was no Hermione, but he had looked up blood magic after getting cursed.
"The study of that art has been banned."
That wasn't a denial. Harry nodded.
Dumbledore sighed. "But enough of that. How are your lessons with Alastor progressing?"
Harry scowled. "We're 'not entirely hopeless any more'. Just 'mostly useless'."
The Headmaster laughed. "That is high praise from him. Have you asked young Nymphadora about her training under him?" Harry shook his head. "You should," Dumbledore said.
Harry shrugged. Since he wasn't allowed to visit Hogsmeade any more, he no longer saw Tonks very often.
"Speaking of your distant relatives," the Headmaster went on, "has Mr Malfoy been giving you any trouble lately?"
Harry frowned. "No, he hasn't. Do you expect him to try something? Against my friends?" If Malfoy was trying to go after Ginny...
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, no. I was simply checking that he has not had a relapse, you might say. But it seems then that he has truly learned his lesson?"
"Yeah," Harry said. The git had been staying clear of Harry and his friends since their second year.
"Have you felt anything from Voldemort?"
"No. I would have told you at once," Harry added, feeling a little indignant. As if he'd keep that to himself! "Does that mean he hasn't murdered anyone else?"
The Headmaster sighed. "Unfortunately, all it means - and even this is a mere assumption on my part - is that he has not used another blood magic ritual. Yet. But ordinary murders? I do not think those would have an effect on your scar."
"What's so special about rituals?" Harry asked.
"Before the invention of wands, rituals were how wizards cast the most difficult spells. Staves, which wizards used to cast spells back then, were crude and not well suited for the precision needed for casting more advanced spells. Rituals made them more manageable - at the cost of increasing the time needed to cast the spell, among other requirements."
"Voldemort's not using a staff," Harry pointed out.
"Indeed. Staves were rendered obsolete when Roman wizards discovered how to make wands. The advantages offered by wands were so great that the Romans managed to conquer most of Europe before the secret spread to their neighbours. And almost two thousand years later, wands were the key to the Spanish conquest of the New World. Nothing has shaped the magical world as much as the invention of wands."
Harry had already learned that when revising for History of Magic. "Were rituals rendered obsolete as well?" he asked before the Headmaster could go off on a tangent.
"Most rituals were. Why spend an hour, or even longer, casting a spell, if you could do it in but a moment with a wand?" Dumbledore shook his head. "But there was one area where wands could not replace rituals." He sighed. "Sacrificial magic."
"Is that blood magic?"
"There is a great deal of overlap, but there are many sacrificial rituals that are not blood magic, and blood magic is not limited to sacrificial magic." Dumbledore looked rather serious.
"How does that work?" When he saw the Headmaster frown, Harry quickly added: "You said that to solve a problem we have to understand it first."
Dumbledore laughed for a moment, though he didn't look as if he was amused. "I did, did I not?" He sighed. "Some will claim that sacrificial magic uses blood to empower a spell. The fact that the blood of magical creatures has magical properties which have many uses, both beneficial and not, might seem to support this. But it is not the blood that lends its power to a ritual, it is the potential that is sacrificed by cutting a life short." He must have noticed that Harry didn't follow, and added: "A life is a very precious thing. Think of all that we can accomplish during our lifetime. How many people we affect and influence - sometimes merely by existing. The right idea can change the world - imagine if the wizard who invented the wand had died of Dragon Pox before learning magic."
"There wouldn't be any wands around," Harry said.
"I would not go that far. But their invention would have been delayed. History would have changed. Would Rome still have conquered its empire? Or would another realm have replaced them?" Dumbledore took a deep breath. "That is an extreme example, of course. But every human, muggle or wizard, has the potential to change the world. And now imagine this potential for change, this power, channeled into a spell. That is what makes sacrificial magic so powerful. And why it has been banned in all civilised countries."
"And that's what Voldemort is doing." Harry hadn't felt that sick since the curse on him had been stopped.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Unless we stop him. Which we will."
Harry hoped that the Headmaster was correct.
Hogwarts, February 24th, 1996
"Stupefy!"
A red spell flew at Harry Potter, but he was already moving before his opponent had finished casting, and the spell went wide over his head. His own stunner - cast silently - connected, and Ginny went down. He stood and pointed his wand at her.
"Rennervate!"
She opened her eyes, blinked, then scowled at him. Harry smiled at her. "You almost got me that time."
"You said that the last time too," she retorted as she got up as well, though a little slower.
"And the two times before that," Ron, who was sitting on the bench, added. Ginny didn't just scowl at him, though, but flicked her wand at him. Her Bat-Bogey Hex splashed harmlessly against his Shield Charm, though.
Ron shook his head. "That didn't work the last time either. Remember what Moody said about repeating what didn't work?"
"He also said that if you keep at it it'll stick sooner or later."
Ron snorted. "He meant training, not tactics." He shook his head. "But you don't need to be so angry - you're a year behind in school, and in training too. It would be weird if you were as good as us."
Judging by Ginny's expression, she didn't share that opinion, Harry thought. But Ron was right. "Yes," he chimed in. "But you'll catch up soon enough."
"Not soon enough," Ginny mumbled, scowling. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, and we're at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, but Hermione's coming to visit us here in the afternoon, and Luna's fetching us sweets from Honeydukes," Ron said. "She took the first carriage out, too, getting up early on a Saturday for us."
Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother, shaking her head. "We got up early for this training," she said.
"We did." Ron shrugged. "But then, we're the ones Voldemort wants to see dead."
Harry nodded. "And with all the others gone, and just the first and second years left, it's almost as if we've got the whole castle to ourselves."
"We'll probably have to pry Hermione out of the library, though," Ron added with a grin. "At some point at least."
Harry laughed - he could see that happening. "We can go play Quidditch, too."
"Unless Mad-Eye thinks that's too dangerous. Or tries to turn it into a training session," Ginny muttered.
Harry reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We'll also have the tower to ourselves," he whispered.
That, at least, cheered her up.
Hogwarts, February 24th, 1996
There they were. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna, standing at the side gate to the greenhouses. Hermione Granger was tempted to sneak up on them while disillusioned. She wanted to see if Harry's vaunted 'special training' was any good; she doubted that the dog could teach him much about detecting sneaky cats, it wasn't as if he was doing well at that himself. But she couldn't reveal her own special training like that. Even if she wanted to.
She could sneak up on them as a cat of course… but that wouldn't be the same. Sighing, she turned back around the corner and ended her Disillusionment Charm. Time to act the frumpy bookworm again. Although… she might use the opportunity to visit the Hogwarts library today; there were a few books she could use for her studying - O.W.L.s. were just a few months away, after all - and which she hadn't yet found in a shop.
"Hermione!" Harry yelled and she barely managed to return the greeting before she found herself being hugged in a rather ironic reversal of their usual roles.
"Hey! How are you doing?" Ron waved at her.
"Hi." Ginny's greeting was rather curt.
"Hello, Hermione. Have you found any Nargles hiding in muggle Britain yet?" Luna asked.
"I'm doing well," Hermione answered Ron as her friend replaced Harry, lifting her off her feet as he embraced her - when had Ron grown so tall? She nodded at Ginny and Luna. "No, I'm sorry, but I haven't encountered any Nargles so far. They probably hide from muggles as well." And from vampires, or she might have found some.
"Aw." Luna pouted. "I had hoped for some advice about likely locations for our next expedition." She brightened up instantly, though. "I guess we'll have to search out the locations with the most confused muggles, then. Nargles are bound to be attracted to those spots."
"Try Westminster then," Hermione joked.
"Will do!" Luna chirped, pulling out a sheet of parchment to make a note.
Hermione winced. The Lovegoods trying to search Parliament… "Actually, if there are no Nargles in the Wizengamot, they won't be found in Westminster either," she quickly tried to correct her lapse.
"Oh, we haven't discounted the Ministry as a breeding spot for Nargles yet. Maybe they are migratory? Moving from muggle Britain to Wizarding Britain and back according to the seasons of the moon?"
"Something that requires further study," Ron cut in. "But maybe not today. Let's get inside the castle, shall we?"
To Hermione's surprise, Luna agreed at once.
"So, you've been training hard?" Hermione Granger asked later as they were leaving the library.
"Harder," Harry corrected her. "We weren't slacking off before. But Moody's in a different league than Sirius and Remus."
"Like the Harpies compared to the Cannons?" she asked with a grin and a glance at Ron.
"Oi!" her friend protested. "They've had a few bad seasons, but at their core, they're a team with potential."
Luna nodded. "Ron's got a few strategies worked out that would improve their game plays considerably."
Ginny, who was hanging on Harry's arm, just as she had for the whole afternoon so far - the attack must have really shaken her, Hermione thought - snickered. "Well, they certainly can't do any worse even if they tried."
"Oi!" Ron glared at his sister, who sniffed at him.
"They'd still be the worst team in the history of Britain even if they won the championship for the next five years straight," Hermione said. Which the team never would, new tactics or not.
Ron huffed but Harry chuckled. "So, where do we go now? Swing by the kitchen and have the elves prepare tea?" her friend asked.
"Oh, yes," Luna chimed in. "We've remodelled this unused classroom on the third floor - it's almost as cozy as The Burrow."
That sounded interesting, Hermione thought. "Alright. But I will need to see the Headmaster first." She patted the pocket with the notes she had taken in the library. "The O.W.L.s are coming up and I've got a few questions for him." It wasn't technically a lie, she told herself. Just some misdirection.
"OK," Ginny said. "Then let's split up and meet here in… half an hour?"
Hermione nodded at her. That would be enough to get the details of the next heist.
Ginny smiled. "Good. Ron and Luna can get everything from the kitchen and Harry and I will make sure that the room is ready."
"Didn't you finish the room this morning?" Ron asked, frowning. "Maybe you two should brush up your Transfiguration and cleaning charms."
Ginny scowled at him. "No, we didn't. There wasn't enough time after training. And no, we don't need to," she said in a tone that brooked no dissent, then dragged Harry off.
"That wasn't very nice," Luna chided Ron, who had started to grin as soon as the couple had turned the corner.
He shrugged. "Maybe she'll be a little more subtle next time."
"Like a Slytherin?" Luna asked.
Ron gaped at her, then narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't very nice!"
Luna giggled, and skipped off towards the kitchen.
Ron sighed. "See what I have to deal with?" he said, though he was smiling, before he followed the blonde witch.
Hermione sighed as well, once Ron was out of earshot. She was happy for her friends, but she couldn't help feeling jealous. Of them having fun at Hogwarts, of course.
Norfolk, Outskirts of Norwich, February 25th, 1996
"That looks like a rather large house," Hermione said, "for such a distant member of an Old Family." It wasn't quite a manor, but it was old, dating back to the Regency era.
"Not so distant, actually - dear Quentin is supposedly the bastard son of Aloysius Selwyn, according to my lovely grand-aunt," Mr Black - Sirius, she reminded herself - commented. "Aunt Nysa was quite vocal about how unseemly it was to pass off a bastard as a distant relative. Even if everyone knew it and no one said anything. Although I think she was mostly annoyed because she had hoped to inherit this house herself, through her husband."
"Ah." While Hermione would never scorn additional information, she doubted that this particular piece of family gossip be useful. She didn't bother looking at the dog, focusing on the house instead.
"I don't care about the family history," Mr Fletcher said, "but about the fact that Albus thinks we might find tomes about blood magic in there. Those are old wards, lethal ones, and I bet that there are worse curses inside."
"Or vampires," Sirius said, and Hermione didn't have to watch him to know that he was grinning in that infuriating manner of his. At least he wasn't wearing a copy of her suit - he had copied Mr Fletcher's clothes, although in black.
"No sign of vampires," Hermione commented. All the windows were unshuttered, and she couldn't see thick curtains either.
"Could be a trap," Harry's godfather said. "Are you certain that we should break in at night?"
"Getting cold feet, Black?" Mr Fletcher chuckled.
"Hardly," the dog shot back. "I have the utmost confidence that I can handle any vampire. But if Hermione should get hurt because you leave me behind, or stumble into a trap, then Harry might blame me instead of you."
"If I should get hurt," Hermione said in a slightly louder tone before Mr Fletcher could retort, "then I'll get treated without Harry even knowing about it. And if that's not possible, we'll pass it off as an accident with an old book I found in Knockturn Alley. So, Harry won't be blaming either of you."
Sirius scoffed. "Wishful thinking. He'll blame me for not checking the book for curses, and him for not teaching you better."
Hermione grinned in response.
Sirius frowned. "I hope that you won't also loot this house to the bedrock. I can't extend the basement forever." After a few moments of silence, he added: "This is the part where you reassure me that you're not going to do that again."
This time Hermione turned towards him. "Would you really want me to lie to you?" she asked with the sweetest smile she could manage. "If we can remain undetected, we obviously won't steal anything but the knowledge we need. But if we are seen…" She shrugged.
Sirius sighed, but Mr Fletcher chuckled. "We're thieves, Black. It's what we do."
Hermione nodded. "Besides, every Galleon we steal is one less Galleon going into the Dark Lord's coffers." And the last two houses they had broken into had been abandoned, anyway.
"I understand stealing the Galleons. I even understand stealing the books. But the furniture?"
She shrugged. "Waste not, want not."
The dog had been born rich, and had never been poor. He might not understand her situation. And he might not be aware just how valuable antiques were in muggle Britain.
Not to mention that she wasn't in the habit of leaving a task half-done.
She might not have said anything, and she knew that everything pointed at Quentin Selwyn being an old wizard, not a vampire, but Hermione Granger couldn't help feeling anxious when they approached the building. She remembered how the vampire had grabbed her, how he had been about to bite her, and barely refrained from rubbing her throat.
She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Once again, she was the lookout while Mr Fletcher worked on the wards. She was loathe to admit it, but Sirius's presence helped, too - her mask granted her night vision, but that wouldn't let her spot a disillusioned wizard outside the range of her Human-presence-revealing Spell. The dog's nose might, though - not many wizards thought of masking their scent.
And, she added, sneaking a glance at the dog making his rounds nearby, she could understood how some might mistake him for a Grim. With his size, black fur, and gleaming teeth he certainly looked the part.
Once again, she was glad that the spell on her mask meant she could see the dog clearly even in the shadows - the moon wasn't very bright, and the sky was cloudy too. If a cat could see a dog, she could evade him easily.
Mr Fletcher was taking his time, she thought - much longer than at the last house. And he was sweating, too. If only she could help… Or, rather, if only he would let her help. But he wouldn't.
After what felt like hours, but hadn't actually taken that long, he finally sighed. "All done. These are some really nasty wards. Standard spells, but backed by lethal curses."
That had been banned since the middle of the last century, Hermione knew, but in typical fashion, the Ministry had never outlawed existing wards - those of the Old Families. She pressed her lips together.
Mr Fletcher was looking rather tired, but he stood anyway. "Let's go then - the way to the wall's clear."
Hermione had been waiting for that. She was already changing before he had finished, and a short jump later she was sprinting over the lawn as fast as her four legs could carry her. Much faster than the dog, of course. A shadow in the night, gone in the blink of an eye.
She reached the wall and sniffed the air. No blood. No animals either. Behind her, the dog arrived, panting of course. And making more noise than a dozen cats together. She sniffed in disdain and raised her head. She could reach the roof, too. There was no ivy on the walls, but there was an old tree whose branches had grown so much, they were almost touching the roof.
On the other hand, that was an obvious route - even for a human. She changed back and tapped her mask, then hissed.
The branches growing towards the house glowed with spells - and she'd bet half her library that those were curses.
"Definitely dark curses," Mr Fletcher confirmed a few minutes later, after having checked the tree out. "No warnings, either - if you trigger those spells, you'll get hit with a full Body-Bind Curse and a Blood-boiling Curse for starters. You'll die slowly without being able to move or even scream." He was whispering, but the enchantment on her mask that had replaced her earring let Hermione Granger hear him clearly.
"That makes it more likely that Selwyn has banned tomes in his library," she responded, back in human form and disillusioned again.
"Doesn't mean they'll be the ones we need," Sirius cut in, putting a damper on her hopes. "It just means he has something to hide."
"Something for which he's willing to kill," her tutor added. "Which means it's dangerous, valuable or both."
"Yes." Hermione smiled slightly.
Sirius groaned. "Most sane people would be warned off, not attracted, by lethal traps."
Her smile widened. "Are you a Gryffindor or not?"
He glared at her. "I never said I wouldn't go, did I?"
She knew what he meant, and raised her chin. "I'm a better thief than you." Much better - dogs were rubbish at sneaking. "If anyone is at risk from falling into traps, it's you." She had spotted the curses on the tree, after all.
He scoffed. "I grew up in a house full of curses."
She thought that the curses in Grimmauld Place had mostly been added in the last years of his mother's life, long after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban, but this wasn't the time to check if his memory was acting up again. "Let's proceed, then."
"Yes," Mr Fletcher agreed. "But with a slight change of plans. We'll go through a first-storey window."
"Ah! They will not expect that, not with the trapped tree," Sirius said.
"That might be the case," Hermione corrected him, "but even if it's not, glass windows are easier to break through than sturdy back doors." She conjured a transparent pane of plexiglass, thick enough to carry their weight, and levitated it. "Don't fall off!" she cautioned him - it wouldn't do to lose the dog to his own clumsiness.
A few minutes later, they were floating in front of the second window from the east - a reading room, as far as Hermione could tell - and Mr Fletcher was working on getting through its defences. She still wasn't allowed to help him - someone had to keep the pane they were standing on steady, and she wouldn't trust the easily bored dog with that - but this time she could watch him work through her mask.
The window was covered with spells, which looked impressive at first sight. But as Hermione studied the arrangement further, and watched Mr Fletcher deal with it, she noticed that the spells were not ideally placed. Or not any more - they looked rather old, and while wards grew more powerful as they grew older, they did also need maintenance. Which this window hadn't had in a few years, at least.
The owner probably trusted his trap and the main wards, and couldn't be bothered to maintain every little spell, Hermione thought. Which would turn out to be a fatal mistake. At least for his wealth. Her tutor had already found a weakness - the spell allowing the window to be opened from the inside without triggering the defences wasn't properly anchored.
"Done," Mr Fletcher whispered ten minutes later. Hermione could hear his ragged breathing - he had pushed himself.
"About time," the dog commented in a whisper. "I was getting bored." He had the gall to even yawn, fake as it sounded.
She wanted to hex the dog - this was a serious heist - but they were on a mission. She could swat his nose later. She tapped her ear. "I'm going in," she whispered.
She heard Mr Fletcher draw a sharp breath, but he didn't contradict her - he had to know as well as she did that he was too exhausted to take point. She reached out towards the windowsill, then used her wand and a quick spell to push the window open. She couldn't see any spells on the ground inside, and the room looked to be empty. She took a deep breath, then jumped through the window, landing in a crouch on a thick, old carpet.
No dust was thrown up by her landing - the room was regularly used, or at least regularly cleaned. It wasn't a real library, though - too few shelves, and the books on them… she shook her head. Literature, not magic, a quick glance told her. And no spells on them either. Unless… She narrowed her eyes and summoned a few books at random.
"I don't think he's keeping his highly illegal tomes in his reading room," Sirius whispered. "Or are you starting the looting already?"
She ignored the dog and checked the books. The content matched the covers - Selwyn wasn't hiding his magic tomes in plain sight. A flick of her wand sent the books back to their original places. "I just checked the books in case they were a cover."
Sirius snorted, but Mr Fletcher was already at the door. "No spells on it," he reported.
"So, Quentin's not as insane as my dear mother," the dog had to comment. "Let's go downstairs - they always hide the best stuff in the basement; the odds of it surviving a fire are greater there."
Mr Fletcher pulled the door open until he could peer through the gap. "No one outside, and the hallway's dark."
They had seen that from the outside already. Selwyn was probably asleep - or in the basement, doing whatever it was that he had to hide from everyone. She wasn't certain which she preferred.
"I'm checking the stairs," she whispered. "Wait here." She dropped her Disillusionment Charm and changed before Mr Fletcher could protest. A moment later, she pushed her lithe form through the gap in front of him.
It made perfect sense, she thought. As a cat, she could sneak around much better, and no one would spot or hear her. And no Human-presence-revealing Spell would detect her. And Mr Fletcher could rest a little.
She padded down the hallway until she reached the top of the stairs from where she peered down at the entrance hall, her sharp eyes easily piercing the darkness. It was empty and dark. She didn't smell any wizards either, nor any blood. Everything was as it should be.
Hermione was about to descend when she heard the faint sound of human voices. She quickly pressed herself against the floor and inched back. If they came this way… but would they? Below her, a door was opened, and light shone into the entrance hall. She crept forward a little, just enough to see what was going on.
"Do not disappoint me, Quentin." The voice sounded cool and arrogant. She felt her fur raise on her back. Who was this man? He obviously wasn't Selwyn.
"I won't, milord. I promise: I will find the tome for you."
Hermione froze. There was only one man a wizard such as Selwyn would address in that manner, and with so much fear and subservience.
Voldemort.
Hermione remained frozen, unable to move while her heart raced in her chest and her fur stood on end. The Dark Lord was there. Just a few yards from her. She should flee - withdraw - before he spotted her. Warn the others. They had to get away. But she couldn't stop staring at the monster.
"See that you do, and quickly," Voldemort said. "My patience is not unlimited - and neither is my generosity." He looked younger than she had expected, Hermione thought while she tried to breathe again.
"I will, milord. I will not rest until I have fulfilled my task!"
"I expect nothing less." Voldemort inclined his head as the other wizard shuddered. The Dark Lord turned towards the door, then stopped. His head moved - and he stared directly at her, his eyes boring into hers.
Hermione trembled, her claws digging into the carpet. She had to get away - but that would make him chase her. If she stayed still, though…
Voldemort narrowed his eyes, then shook his head and addressed Selwyn again. "You're a Slytherin, my dear Quentin. You should get a snake as a familiar. A large one which feeds on cats."
"Of course, milord! I will acquire one tomorrow!"
"And feed it," the monster added with a cruel smile.
"Of course, milord!"
Chuckling, Voldemort glanced once again at Hermione, then left through the front door.
As soon as the door had closed behind the Dark Lord, Selwyn seemed to sag and almost collapsed against it, trembling fiercely. "A snake. A large snake… And cats to feed it."
As the wizard was stammering to himself, Hermione finally managed to withdraw, inching back on her belly until she couldn't see him anymore. Then she whirled around and sprinted back to the reading room. She had to tell the others!
"... and then he told Selwyn to get a large snake as a familiar before left," Hermione Granger finished her whispered report. A snake large enough to feed on cats, the monster had said! Cats were not food!
"We did well to obliviate the other snake, then," Mr Fletcher said. "He obviously uses them to control his Death Eaters."
"We need to know which tome the Dark Lord is seeking," Sirius said.
Hermione nodded - that was so obvious, even a dog could see it. "And we need to keep it out of his hands." By stealing it beforehand, of course.
"We'll have to interrogate Selwyn then," the dog said.
"'Interrogate'?" Mr Fletcher narrowed his eyes at Sirius.
"I'll fetch Veritaserum once we have captured him." The other wizard smiled. "Much more efficient and dependable than whatever you are considering."
"I wasn't considering it," Mr Fletcher snarled.
"First we have to capture Selwyn," Hermione reminded them. "He's an experienced wizard and a Death Eater."
"Who's currently shaking in his boots and trying to decide which snake to buy that would both satisfy his master yet not be able to kill him on command." Sirius shrugged. "You two would probably be able to capture him without me."
"Yes we would," Mr Fletcher said, and for a moment, Hermione expected him to send the dog away to fetch Veritaserum and let the thieves handle this. He didn't, though, and turned to her instead. "Alright. Check if Selwyn is still in the entrance hall."
She nodded and changed. A moment later, she was stalking the hallway again.
Selwyn had recovered by the time she reached the entrance hall again and he was walking, albeit slowly, towards the stairs. His bedroom was probably on the first floor, Hermione realised as she whirled around and hid behind a flower pot in which a large fern grew.
The man passed her without looking down - or looking at anything, she thought as she caught a glimpse of his expression through the fern's foliage. Had this been the first time he had realised just what kind of monster he was serving?, Hermione wondered.
He walked down the hallway, passing the first set of doors. That left the reading room, and the room across from it. Hermione hesitated a moment, then shook her head and changed again.
Her silent Stunner caught the man right between his shoulder blades and he dropped to the floor. She cast a full Body-Bind Curse for good measure before calling the others.
"That wasn't the plan." Mr Fletcher glared at her.
"I saw an opportunity and took it," Hermione Granger defended herself. Apparently, her tutor didn't share her own assessment of her chosen course of action. Sirius hadn't been happy either, but since he had to fetch the Veritaserum from Dumbledore, the dog hadn't been able to scold her.
"You should have returned to us when you saw him coming up the stairs." Her tutor shook her head. "We make plans for a reason:"
"But then he would have been in another room, and we would have had to charge through the door. He hadn't seen me. He wasn't even aware of me, nor did he notice me until my spell hit him. I had to adapt to the situation." He had taught her that, too, after all.
He didn't seem to like hearing his own words thrown back at him. "And if he had seen you? You think he wouldn't have realised at once that you were no normal cat but an intruder?"
"I was behind the flower pot - that fern there. He couldn't have spotted me in the dark even if he had been looking." Her lithe form could hide completely behind the flower pot. Unlike a huge clumsy dog.
"So you think."
"Well, it worked," she shot back. "And it was safer than breaking down the door to his bedroom and hoping to catch him by surprise." That was far more dangerous, in her opinion. She saw his expression and bit her lip. Doing that would have been more dangerous - but it would have been Mr Fletcher or the dog who would have been taking the biggest risk. Not her. He didn't agree with her; she could tell. But before he could say anything further, Sirius arrived with the Veritaserum.
But she knew that the discussion wasn't finished.
"And did the Dark Lord order you to do anything else for him?" Sirius asked half an hour later.
"Yes." Selwyn answered in the now familiar dull tone of a man under the effect of Veritaserum,
"What did he order you to do?" Sirius leaned forward.
"He ordered me to buy a snake and feed cats to it."
Hermione Granger, who had been poised to note down the man's next answer, cringed slightly when both her tutor and Sirius turned to stare at her.
"You didn't mention that," Sirius said, his eyes narrowing.
"It wasn't important," she answered.
"Why would the Dark Lord mention cats?" Sirius asked. "Because he saw you," he answered his own question.
"He saw a cat. He had no idea that I was a witch," she retorted.
"And if he had suspected? You'd have been dead!" Sirius snarled at her.
"He didn't." That was what counted. "And now we know what he looks like." Unless that had been a disguise.
"You were lucky. You won't be lucky forever." He shook his head.
"I wouldn't call stumbling on the Dark Lord during a heist 'being lucky'," her tutor cut in.
"See?" Sirius, of course, interpreted that as agreement.
"If I hadn't sneaked up on them, we wouldn't have known about this 'Tome of Blood' that the Dark Lord is seeking," Hermione pointed out. And wasn't that a rather pretentious name? "No one expected this to be safe."
"No one expected you to encounter the Dark Lord!" Sirius shot back.
"So, it's me meeting him that's the problem?" Hermione glared at him. "It would have been fine if he had seen you and thought you were a simple dog?" Before he could answer, she went on: "You'd have boasted about the encounter, and how clever you would have been for fooling the Dark Lord!"
"That's different!" He didn't deny it, at least.
"How so? Because I'm too young?" She stood, hands on her hips. "I don't have Mr Fletcher's experience, but I'm a skilled thief. And I pulled this off - I fooled the Dark Lord, and I captured Selwyn!" She ignored her tutor's "against the plan" and went on: "My age doesn't matter as long as I can do what's needed!"
"It shouldn't be needed," Sirius spat out.
"And Harry shouldn't have been cursed." Hermione scoffed. "But he was - and I'm needed." 'For Harry' remained unsaid, but he understood. Even if he didn't like it.
"We're still going to have words about sticking to the plan and informing your partners," Mr Fletcher cut in and his glare made Hermione cringe slightly, "but we can do that elsewhere. Now we need to deal with Selwyn."
Hermione glanced at the wizard. He hadn't reacted to his name being mentioned and kept staring at the floor, still in the grip of the Veritaserum.
The dog shrugged. "We'll obliviate him of this and make him think he went to bed as planned."
How naive! Hermione sighed and looked at her tutor. He nodded at her and they shared a grin.
The dog narrowed his eyes at them. "What are you planning now?"
"At least you didn't loot the whole house this time," Sirius said an hour later, back in the basement of Grimmauld Place, shaking his head.
Hermione Granger paused in putting the Galleons they had taken from Selwyn into Sirius's vault and grinned at him. "I thought about it - but while we could easily make him think that he had less gold in his strongbox, I think we couldn't have done that with the furniture and artwork. At least, the Dark Lord might have noticed during his next visit."
The dog pointed at the books she had stacked next to her. "And those?"
She shrugged. "You were already messing with his mind to ensure he'd fail the Dark Lord's mission" - and she didn't want to think about what that would mean for Selwyn once he had to explain it to the Dark Lord - "so adjusting his memory to cover up the disappearance of a few choice books was easy." And only a fool wouldn't have copied the other rare books in the man's library.
Sirius sighed. "I really will need a bigger basement if you continue like this."
"Yes, you will." She smiled sweetly at him as he gaped at her.
Did the dog really think that she would stop? She was just starting!
Hogwarts, March 1st, 1996
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ronniekins! Happy birthday to you!"
Harry Potter grinned at the cacophony - that had been, he remembered, Hermione's term for it in second year - into which Ron's brothers were mangling the simple melody. His friend scowled at the twins, but that was normal for a Weasley party, even one held in a 'repurposed' classroom in Hogwarts.
Ron cut the cake his mum had sent with a few Cutting Charms while Luna distributed the slices. It was, Harry discovered shortly afterwards, simply delicious. Not even Hermione would have complained about the sugar it contained.
Harry wasn't alone in his opinion - the room was filled with appreciative noises, usually semi-muffled by mouthfuls of cake. Such as Ginny's moaning next to him.
"Oh… I miss Mum's cooking," she added after swallowing.
"Easter holidays begin in a month," Harry said.
To his surprise, she scowled. "They'll have us stay at Hogwarts for our safety."
"Really?"
She nodded. "I heard it from Bill. He wrote me," she explained after she must have noticed his own surprise, "that they have him going over The Burrow's wards. Again. By the time he's done, The Burrow'll be safer than Gringotts."
"I don't think so," Harry said. "Gringotts is mostly underground - that's a much more defensible location than a mostly wooden building above ground. If the wards are broken the building won't last long." Moody had been clear on that. He smiled at her. "You might want to expand the basement and move down there." The Weasleys' home was already called The Burrow, after all.
She laughed. "Don't tell Mum that. She might do it."
"She should." Harry nodded at his girlfriend. "Things are getting worse in Britain." Sirius hadn't told him any details, but Harry knew that his godfather was fighting for Dumbledore. And for him, he added to himself.
"Well, this is a party, even if it's one for Ron, so let's not talk about that, OK?" Ginny said with a smile.
"OK," Harry answered. He wrapped his left arm - always leave your wand arm free, Moody had taught them - around her waist. Maybe they could take a detour to the Astronomy Tower later.
Ron interrupted his pleasant thoughts. "Mate! Thank you for your gift!"
"What did you get him, Harry?" Ginny asked.
Ron answered before Harry could. "This enchanted pocket! Sticks to your robe - or to your skin - and has an extended interior." He held up the slim piece of cloth Harry had had Sirius buy.
"Nice," Ginny said. "That'll be useful."
Ron nodded. "Oh, yes! I'll be able to carry everything I need in a fight with me!"
Ginny was scowling again, Harry noticed. Perhaps he should have bought her one as well?
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 30th, 1996
Harry Potter was still recovering his balance after stumbling out of the fireplace into his home when he spotted movement beneath the window across from him. He reacted as Moody had taught him and aimed his wand at it at once.
'It' was a cat, he realised a moment later. A cat that seemed frozen to the spot, staring at him with wide eyes. He frowned. Sirius hadn't told him anything about a new pet. And judging by the way the cat had reacted to him, it knew what a wand was. That was very suspicious.
"Ah, I see you've met the stray," Sirius, who had followed him through the Floo Network, interrupted him before he could stun the creature.
Harry blinked. "The stray?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the cat. It looked like a stray - too fuzzy to be a well-kept pet. Probably a mongrel, too.
"A stray cat which has been prowling around the neighbourhood. Hunting vermin, scaring poor dogs - the usual, you know." Sirius passed him and walked towards the cat. "Hermione fed her a few times and now she occasionally visits. Probably fell asleep in the sun, the lazy thing, and forgot the time." He crouched down. "Ungrateful too," he added when the cat hissed at him. "You know how cats are."
Harry nodded. He knew Mrs Figgs's cats. And that monster Hermione insisted was a cat. Of course his friend would care for a stray cat as well. He didn't lower his wand, though. "Be careful. She sounds angry."
"Oh, she's harmless - I checked. As long as you're not a dog, you're safe." Sirius grinned at the cat and picked her up. She didn't look happy, in Harry's opinion.
"If she's a stray she probably has fleas," he pointed out to his godfather. The cat didn't sound happy, either, he noticed.
"Don't worry, Hermione made sure that she's clean," Sirius said. "Here, hold her!"
Harry found himself with his arms full of a squirming cat. With a very bushy tail, as he discovered when the thing slapped his face. He moved her to his shoulder so he had his wand arm free. "Pretty heavy," he commented, then winced when the cat dug her claws in. He petted her back slightly awkwardly with the knuckles of his right hand, not dropping his wand, which seemed to calm her down. "Where's Hermione?" he asked. It wasn't as if he expected his best friend to wait for his arrival in the entrance hall, but… well, she usually did, and she knew that he was arriving today, to spend the the Easter holidays at home.
"She's probably in the library and forgot the time," Sirius said. "Put the furball down before you head there, though - can't trust the fleabag in the library."
Harry nodded. Hermione would probably hex the thing if it damaged a book. He set the cat down and she sped off towards the kitchen at once.
"Are you certain that Hermione is feeding her enough?" he asked his godfather.
Sirius blinked at his question, then started laughing.
Hermione Granger was livid. At herself for falling asleep in the sun and missing Harry's arrival, and at the dog for embarrassing her like that! Treating her as a stray cat! And insinuating that she would attack a dog without just cause! And handing her to Harry to be petted!
Which, she had to admit, had been rather nice. Even if her friend didn't really know how to hold a cat. Or pet her. And had said she might have fleas!
But this wasn't the time to dwell on that. She raced into the kitchen - that was far enough from the entrance hall - and changed back. A moment later, she apparated to the library. A quick flick of her wand later there were several open books on her usual table, next to a notepad.
Just in time, too, since Harry entered the library a moment later. "Hermione! There you are!"
"Harry? You're here already?" She blinked, trying to sound surprised.
"Yes. Fell asleep over a book?" he asked, grinning.
She didn't have to fake her blush, but he simply laughed and gathered her in his arms.
He knew how to hug a girl.
She would still make him regret saying she had fleas, though.
Hogwarts, February 22nd, 1996
Remus Lupin stared at the vial in his hand. It smelled as vile as it tasted, but the potion was the only thing between him and a painful, brutal death. One sip and the blood curse on him would be kept at bay - for another day. It was like the Wolfsbane Potion in a warped way - that, too, kept the beast at bay, but only for another month.
On the other hand, he just had to throw the vial away, and in a few hours - he hadn't tested just how long the grace period Dumbledore had mentioned was - he would be dead. No longer would he be a danger each month to everyone around him. No longer would he be a failure.
He had failed Sirius, believing the slander instead of trusting his only remaining friend. He hadn't even had the courage to confront Sirius, which would have brought forth the truth. No, instead he had hidden, and Sirius had suffered for over a decade.
And he had failed Harry. The boy had been cursed on his watch. Remus had failed to stop the assassin in time. If the vampire had used a different, quicker curse, Harry would have died. It was only thanks to Dumbledore - and Snape - that the boy had survived Remus's blunder.
He scoffed. A danger and a failure. He had been given a chance to redeem himself, to help Sirius protect Harry, and he had failed. He didn't deserve to live - he would only make another blunder. Get someone killed. If he wasn't around, Sirius could find someone dependable to protect Harry. And Dumbledore and Snape wouldn't have to care about the effects of a possible cure on someone also suffering from lycanthropy, or about the effects of their new potion when taken in conjunction with the Wolfsbane Potion.
All he had to do was the throw the vial away and then take a little Sleeping Draught. Perhaps the Draught of Living Death; he knew where to buy it. He wouldn't feel a thing, he wouldn't wake up, not even when the curse struck. It would be messy, of course, but he could prepare for that.
"What are you waiting for?"
The sudden question startled him and he almost dropped the vial. He whirled, and saw Tonks leaning against the doorframe. Had he missed her knocking? "What?"
She was frowning at him. "Why are you staring at the vial instead of drinking it? It won't taste any better no matter how long you air it. It's not wine."
"I was simply lost in thought," he answered. He wasn't lying, not really.
She stepped fully inside his quarters and closed the door behind her. She was wearing her Auror robes, he noticed. Not the student robes she sometimes wore 'to fit in', as she claimed. Even if - in his opinion - they didn't fit her any more. "Berating yourself for the attack?" she asked.
He started at her. Had he been that obvious?
She shook her head. "You weren't exactly subtle."
So, yes, he had been that obvious. Did Sirius know? His friend wasn't the most observant, hadn't been even before Azkaban, and he was focused on helping Harry, so he had probably missed it. It wasn't as if Remus had spent that much time with him lately. He noticed that she was frowning at him - she had a very expressive face, no doubt a result of her special talent. "I failed to protect Harry."
"Really? I heard you saved his life. Took down the bloodsucker and carried Harry to the infirmary in time for treatment - while suffering from the same curse. That kind of failure would be called success by most people."
"If the vampire had used another curse, Harry would be dead," he retorted.
"As would you." She sighed theatrically and he pointedly didn't look at her heaving chest. "But the point is that you two are alive and the bloodsucker's dead - and by all accounts, he was a right nasty bugger. An old, experienced one. He would have given any Auror trouble. You did well."
He should have stepped in and told Harry to take the carriages back to Hogwarts, avoiding the whole attack. But he had let the couple have their moonlight walk. "Miss Weasley was hurt as well," he pointed out.
She made a dismissive gesture that reminded him of Sirius. "A scratch. Didn't even need Pomfrey for that, a simple spell was enough."
He should have taught her that spell, Remus thought. It wasn't on the syllabus until their fifth year, but that was no excuse. Knowing that spell could save lives - more lives than knowing how to cast a Stunner.
"Are you still brooding about this, even though I've told you not to?" She was leaning forward, peering at him with narrowed eyes. In any other situation, it would have been funny. Cute, too. But not in this one.
"It's nothing."
She snorted. "'Nothing' my arse!"
"It doesn't concern you." This wasn't any of her business. And not any business of the Aurors either. Just his personal failure.
"Are you certain?" She had that challenging look in her eyes again. And that flirty smile. He had seen similar smiles on some of the older students. He knew what it meant. Tonks wasn't a seventh year with a crush on their teacher, but she was almost their age. And he was a dark creature, far too old and now twice cursed. And a failure.
She frowned at him again. "You're far too depressed. It's not the full moon, not even close."
He gasped. How did she…
She sighed. "Please. That was obvious, too. I'm an Auror, not a dumb kid. Putting clues together is what I was trained to do, and our bodyguarding schedule made it rather obvious." With a grin, she added. "And it helped that I had to track a werewolf in my first case, of course."
He closed his eyes. She had known for some time, then. And had still flirted with him. Well, she was a Black - they had a streak of rather dark and sometimes cruel humour. On the other hand, she hadn't displayed any such tendencies with others, as far as he knew.
"I'm not gonna vanish just because you closed your eyes. That's not how it works, you know."
He knew, without needing to look, that she was grinning now. Widely. She could be just as annoying as Sirius was in his teenage years. And as blunt. Well, he could be blunt too. "I'm a dark creature. Not something fanciable."
She snorted. "You're a wizard with a curse. Two curses, actually."
"A dark curse that turns me into a raging monster under the full moon. If I don't take my potion I would try to slaughter the entire school." She had to see that. Especially since she had ignored his second sentence.
"You'd have to get out of your cage first."
"Did you break into my quarters?" He gaped at her - but he didn't keep the cage around, he conjured it when needed. That would mean…
She shrugged with a familiar insufferable grin. "Well… I had to check my theory. You look cute when you're all furry and curled up like a dog. Though you might also need better locks and spells on your door."
He had the best spells - he couldn't risk anyone getting in. Anyone but… "Sirius helped you."
She pouted. "I could have broken in. He just made it a little easier."
And Sirius didn't tell him. Remus would have words with his friend.
"See? You're not brooding any more. We've made progress."
"You took a huge risk." He was a werewolf, not a dog like Sirius.
She snorted. "I'm a trained Auror. If you forget to take your potion then you lose your mind. And as Mad-Eye taught me: If you stop thinking you've already lost." She blinked. "Well, he also told me that I needed to develop the correct instincts so I didn't have to think about everything I was doing, but you get my point."
But she didn't get his. "When I… change… I become a monster. A monster who likes to kill and maim people." He spoke in the most serious tone he could manage. She had to understand this. "Even with the potion, I know exactly how good it would feel to tear someone apart and bathe in their blood."
"So?" She shrugged and picked up from his desk a globe showing a Grindylow, fiddling with it. "That's not any different from the victim of an Imperius Curse." She put the globe down again. "Have you ever been under that curse?"
He shook his head. He had dodged that particular spell so far.
"Well, I have." She noticed his expression, and quickly went on: "Not like that. Mad-Eye cast it on us during training, so we would know how it feels. And let me tell you, under that curse, you feel very happy to do anything you're ordered to. Everything's fine, no matter what humiliating or embarrassing order you're obeying." Now she was frowning, and he heard her mutter: "I still haven't gotten back at him for that." Louder, she continued: "Anyway, the thing is, you're not any different from the victim of an Imperius Curse. And you wouldn't blame them for what they did while under someone else's control, would you? I mean, real victims, of course, not Malfoy and his ilk."
"Well, no, but that's different."
"Different how? Because they don't grow fur?"
"They're not dark creatures," he shot back.
She rolled her eyes. "That's a Ministry definition, nothing more. The Scandinavians don't consider werewolves dark creatures."
"That's because of their traditions." And because using werewolves in war made for a very powerful deterrent.
She shrugged. "Either way, it shows that you're a curse victim, not a monster. Now drink your potion like a good wizard and stop brooding!"
"Will you leave me in peace if I do?" He almost blinked at his own tone. Not serious enough by far.
"Nope." She grinned and crossed her arms under her chest, leaning back against his desk. "But I might let you go back to whatever you were doing before you got lost in brooding, for tonight at least."
It was as good as any other reason to drink the potion, Remus supposed.
"Good boy!"
She still had an insufferable grin. And he still needed to have words with his friend. But he was feeling better, he realised.
*****
Hogwarts, February 23rd, 1996
"What's the verdict?" Harry Potter asked as soon as he saw the Headmaster put his wand down. "Sir," he added belatedly. He didn't want to be rude, but he had been examined daily for weeks now by Dumbledore and Pomfrey - and once even by Snape - and he was very much sick of it. It was also rather boring.
"As far as I can tell, the curse is being held completely in check - as planned," Dumbledore said with a smile.
That had been the result of every examination so far. "No change then."
"Not for the worse," the Headmaster said.
"Not for the better either," Harry said, then pressed his lips together. Dumbledore had saved his life and was working hard to cure him.
"That would have been an unexpected development, seeing as the potion you are taking has been created to stop the curse, not counter it." The old wizard leaned back in his seat. "Although I have been pursuing a promising lead."
"Did you refine the distilled phoenix tears?" Harry asked, looking at Fawkes. It hadn't ended the curse, but it had helped Remus recover from the lingering damage he had suffered from it.
"No." Dumbledore shook his head. When the phoenix trilled and stuck his head under his wing, apparently angry, the Headmaster petted the bird. "As I said after we tried it, the tears worked perfectly - but they heal; they do not break a curse, which is the crux of the issue."
That was a rather flippant way to talk about a deadly curse, Harry thought. Especially to one of its victim. "Ron said his brother is a great Curse-Breaker."
Dumbledore chuckled, briefly. "Young William is indeed talented, and, by now, experienced, indeed - but not with the kind of curse with which we are dealing here. As with so many problems in life, we need to understand the curse first, before we can find the correct means of ending it."
"You're studying blood magic." Harry stared at him. He was no Hermione, but he had looked up blood magic after getting cursed.
"The study of that art has been banned."
That wasn't a denial. Harry nodded.
Dumbledore sighed. "But enough of that. How are your lessons with Alastor progressing?"
Harry scowled. "We're 'not entirely hopeless any more'. Just 'mostly useless'."
The Headmaster laughed. "That is high praise from him. Have you asked young Nymphadora about her training under him?" Harry shook his head. "You should," Dumbledore said.
Harry shrugged. Since he wasn't allowed to visit Hogsmeade any more, he no longer saw Tonks very often.
"Speaking of your distant relatives," the Headmaster went on, "has Mr Malfoy been giving you any trouble lately?"
Harry frowned. "No, he hasn't. Do you expect him to try something? Against my friends?" If Malfoy was trying to go after Ginny...
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, no. I was simply checking that he has not had a relapse, you might say. But it seems then that he has truly learned his lesson?"
"Yeah," Harry said. The git had been staying clear of Harry and his friends since their second year.
"Have you felt anything from Voldemort?"
"No. I would have told you at once," Harry added, feeling a little indignant. As if he'd keep that to himself! "Does that mean he hasn't murdered anyone else?"
The Headmaster sighed. "Unfortunately, all it means - and even this is a mere assumption on my part - is that he has not used another blood magic ritual. Yet. But ordinary murders? I do not think those would have an effect on your scar."
"What's so special about rituals?" Harry asked.
"Before the invention of wands, rituals were how wizards cast the most difficult spells. Staves, which wizards used to cast spells back then, were crude and not well suited for the precision needed for casting more advanced spells. Rituals made them more manageable - at the cost of increasing the time needed to cast the spell, among other requirements."
"Voldemort's not using a staff," Harry pointed out.
"Indeed. Staves were rendered obsolete when Roman wizards discovered how to make wands. The advantages offered by wands were so great that the Romans managed to conquer most of Europe before the secret spread to their neighbours. And almost two thousand years later, wands were the key to the Spanish conquest of the New World. Nothing has shaped the magical world as much as the invention of wands."
Harry had already learned that when revising for History of Magic. "Were rituals rendered obsolete as well?" he asked before the Headmaster could go off on a tangent.
"Most rituals were. Why spend an hour, or even longer, casting a spell, if you could do it in but a moment with a wand?" Dumbledore shook his head. "But there was one area where wands could not replace rituals." He sighed. "Sacrificial magic."
"Is that blood magic?"
"There is a great deal of overlap, but there are many sacrificial rituals that are not blood magic, and blood magic is not limited to sacrificial magic." Dumbledore looked rather serious.
"How does that work?" When he saw the Headmaster frown, Harry quickly added: "You said that to solve a problem we have to understand it first."
Dumbledore laughed for a moment, though he didn't look as if he was amused. "I did, did I not?" He sighed. "Some will claim that sacrificial magic uses blood to empower a spell. The fact that the blood of magical creatures has magical properties which have many uses, both beneficial and not, might seem to support this. But it is not the blood that lends its power to a ritual, it is the potential that is sacrificed by cutting a life short." He must have noticed that Harry didn't follow, and added: "A life is a very precious thing. Think of all that we can accomplish during our lifetime. How many people we affect and influence - sometimes merely by existing. The right idea can change the world - imagine if the wizard who invented the wand had died of Dragon Pox before learning magic."
"There wouldn't be any wands around," Harry said.
"I would not go that far. But their invention would have been delayed. History would have changed. Would Rome still have conquered its empire? Or would another realm have replaced them?" Dumbledore took a deep breath. "That is an extreme example, of course. But every human, muggle or wizard, has the potential to change the world. And now imagine this potential for change, this power, channeled into a spell. That is what makes sacrificial magic so powerful. And why it has been banned in all civilised countries."
"And that's what Voldemort is doing." Harry hadn't felt that sick since the curse on him had been stopped.
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Unless we stop him. Which we will."
Harry hoped that the Headmaster was correct.
*****
Hogwarts, February 24th, 1996
"Stupefy!"
A red spell flew at Harry Potter, but he was already moving before his opponent had finished casting, and the spell went wide over his head. His own stunner - cast silently - connected, and Ginny went down. He stood and pointed his wand at her.
"Rennervate!"
She opened her eyes, blinked, then scowled at him. Harry smiled at her. "You almost got me that time."
"You said that the last time too," she retorted as she got up as well, though a little slower.
"And the two times before that," Ron, who was sitting on the bench, added. Ginny didn't just scowl at him, though, but flicked her wand at him. Her Bat-Bogey Hex splashed harmlessly against his Shield Charm, though.
Ron shook his head. "That didn't work the last time either. Remember what Moody said about repeating what didn't work?"
"He also said that if you keep at it it'll stick sooner or later."
Ron snorted. "He meant training, not tactics." He shook his head. "But you don't need to be so angry - you're a year behind in school, and in training too. It would be weird if you were as good as us."
Judging by Ginny's expression, she didn't share that opinion, Harry thought. But Ron was right. "Yes," he chimed in. "But you'll catch up soon enough."
"Not soon enough," Ginny mumbled, scowling. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, and we're at Hogwarts."
"Yeah, but Hermione's coming to visit us here in the afternoon, and Luna's fetching us sweets from Honeydukes," Ron said. "She took the first carriage out, too, getting up early on a Saturday for us."
Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother, shaking her head. "We got up early for this training," she said.
"We did." Ron shrugged. "But then, we're the ones Voldemort wants to see dead."
Harry nodded. "And with all the others gone, and just the first and second years left, it's almost as if we've got the whole castle to ourselves."
"We'll probably have to pry Hermione out of the library, though," Ron added with a grin. "At some point at least."
Harry laughed - he could see that happening. "We can go play Quidditch, too."
"Unless Mad-Eye thinks that's too dangerous. Or tries to turn it into a training session," Ginny muttered.
Harry reached out and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We'll also have the tower to ourselves," he whispered.
That, at least, cheered her up.
*****
Hogwarts, February 24th, 1996
There they were. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna, standing at the side gate to the greenhouses. Hermione Granger was tempted to sneak up on them while disillusioned. She wanted to see if Harry's vaunted 'special training' was any good; she doubted that the dog could teach him much about detecting sneaky cats, it wasn't as if he was doing well at that himself. But she couldn't reveal her own special training like that. Even if she wanted to.
She could sneak up on them as a cat of course… but that wouldn't be the same. Sighing, she turned back around the corner and ended her Disillusionment Charm. Time to act the frumpy bookworm again. Although… she might use the opportunity to visit the Hogwarts library today; there were a few books she could use for her studying - O.W.L.s. were just a few months away, after all - and which she hadn't yet found in a shop.
"Hermione!" Harry yelled and she barely managed to return the greeting before she found herself being hugged in a rather ironic reversal of their usual roles.
"Hey! How are you doing?" Ron waved at her.
"Hi." Ginny's greeting was rather curt.
"Hello, Hermione. Have you found any Nargles hiding in muggle Britain yet?" Luna asked.
"I'm doing well," Hermione answered Ron as her friend replaced Harry, lifting her off her feet as he embraced her - when had Ron grown so tall? She nodded at Ginny and Luna. "No, I'm sorry, but I haven't encountered any Nargles so far. They probably hide from muggles as well." And from vampires, or she might have found some.
"Aw." Luna pouted. "I had hoped for some advice about likely locations for our next expedition." She brightened up instantly, though. "I guess we'll have to search out the locations with the most confused muggles, then. Nargles are bound to be attracted to those spots."
"Try Westminster then," Hermione joked.
"Will do!" Luna chirped, pulling out a sheet of parchment to make a note.
Hermione winced. The Lovegoods trying to search Parliament… "Actually, if there are no Nargles in the Wizengamot, they won't be found in Westminster either," she quickly tried to correct her lapse.
"Oh, we haven't discounted the Ministry as a breeding spot for Nargles yet. Maybe they are migratory? Moving from muggle Britain to Wizarding Britain and back according to the seasons of the moon?"
"Something that requires further study," Ron cut in. "But maybe not today. Let's get inside the castle, shall we?"
To Hermione's surprise, Luna agreed at once.
*****
"So, you've been training hard?" Hermione Granger asked later as they were leaving the library.
"Harder," Harry corrected her. "We weren't slacking off before. But Moody's in a different league than Sirius and Remus."
"Like the Harpies compared to the Cannons?" she asked with a grin and a glance at Ron.
"Oi!" her friend protested. "They've had a few bad seasons, but at their core, they're a team with potential."
Luna nodded. "Ron's got a few strategies worked out that would improve their game plays considerably."
Ginny, who was hanging on Harry's arm, just as she had for the whole afternoon so far - the attack must have really shaken her, Hermione thought - snickered. "Well, they certainly can't do any worse even if they tried."
"Oi!" Ron glared at his sister, who sniffed at him.
"They'd still be the worst team in the history of Britain even if they won the championship for the next five years straight," Hermione said. Which the team never would, new tactics or not.
Ron huffed but Harry chuckled. "So, where do we go now? Swing by the kitchen and have the elves prepare tea?" her friend asked.
"Oh, yes," Luna chimed in. "We've remodelled this unused classroom on the third floor - it's almost as cozy as The Burrow."
That sounded interesting, Hermione thought. "Alright. But I will need to see the Headmaster first." She patted the pocket with the notes she had taken in the library. "The O.W.L.s are coming up and I've got a few questions for him." It wasn't technically a lie, she told herself. Just some misdirection.
"OK," Ginny said. "Then let's split up and meet here in… half an hour?"
Hermione nodded at her. That would be enough to get the details of the next heist.
Ginny smiled. "Good. Ron and Luna can get everything from the kitchen and Harry and I will make sure that the room is ready."
"Didn't you finish the room this morning?" Ron asked, frowning. "Maybe you two should brush up your Transfiguration and cleaning charms."
Ginny scowled at him. "No, we didn't. There wasn't enough time after training. And no, we don't need to," she said in a tone that brooked no dissent, then dragged Harry off.
"That wasn't very nice," Luna chided Ron, who had started to grin as soon as the couple had turned the corner.
He shrugged. "Maybe she'll be a little more subtle next time."
"Like a Slytherin?" Luna asked.
Ron gaped at her, then narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't very nice!"
Luna giggled, and skipped off towards the kitchen.
Ron sighed. "See what I have to deal with?" he said, though he was smiling, before he followed the blonde witch.
Hermione sighed as well, once Ron was out of earshot. She was happy for her friends, but she couldn't help feeling jealous. Of them having fun at Hogwarts, of course.
*****
Norfolk, Outskirts of Norwich, February 25th, 1996
"That looks like a rather large house," Hermione said, "for such a distant member of an Old Family." It wasn't quite a manor, but it was old, dating back to the Regency era.
"Not so distant, actually - dear Quentin is supposedly the bastard son of Aloysius Selwyn, according to my lovely grand-aunt," Mr Black - Sirius, she reminded herself - commented. "Aunt Nysa was quite vocal about how unseemly it was to pass off a bastard as a distant relative. Even if everyone knew it and no one said anything. Although I think she was mostly annoyed because she had hoped to inherit this house herself, through her husband."
"Ah." While Hermione would never scorn additional information, she doubted that this particular piece of family gossip be useful. She didn't bother looking at the dog, focusing on the house instead.
"I don't care about the family history," Mr Fletcher said, "but about the fact that Albus thinks we might find tomes about blood magic in there. Those are old wards, lethal ones, and I bet that there are worse curses inside."
"Or vampires," Sirius said, and Hermione didn't have to watch him to know that he was grinning in that infuriating manner of his. At least he wasn't wearing a copy of her suit - he had copied Mr Fletcher's clothes, although in black.
"No sign of vampires," Hermione commented. All the windows were unshuttered, and she couldn't see thick curtains either.
"Could be a trap," Harry's godfather said. "Are you certain that we should break in at night?"
"Getting cold feet, Black?" Mr Fletcher chuckled.
"Hardly," the dog shot back. "I have the utmost confidence that I can handle any vampire. But if Hermione should get hurt because you leave me behind, or stumble into a trap, then Harry might blame me instead of you."
"If I should get hurt," Hermione said in a slightly louder tone before Mr Fletcher could retort, "then I'll get treated without Harry even knowing about it. And if that's not possible, we'll pass it off as an accident with an old book I found in Knockturn Alley. So, Harry won't be blaming either of you."
Sirius scoffed. "Wishful thinking. He'll blame me for not checking the book for curses, and him for not teaching you better."
Hermione grinned in response.
Sirius frowned. "I hope that you won't also loot this house to the bedrock. I can't extend the basement forever." After a few moments of silence, he added: "This is the part where you reassure me that you're not going to do that again."
This time Hermione turned towards him. "Would you really want me to lie to you?" she asked with the sweetest smile she could manage. "If we can remain undetected, we obviously won't steal anything but the knowledge we need. But if we are seen…" She shrugged.
Sirius sighed, but Mr Fletcher chuckled. "We're thieves, Black. It's what we do."
Hermione nodded. "Besides, every Galleon we steal is one less Galleon going into the Dark Lord's coffers." And the last two houses they had broken into had been abandoned, anyway.
"I understand stealing the Galleons. I even understand stealing the books. But the furniture?"
She shrugged. "Waste not, want not."
The dog had been born rich, and had never been poor. He might not understand her situation. And he might not be aware just how valuable antiques were in muggle Britain.
Not to mention that she wasn't in the habit of leaving a task half-done.
*****
She might not have said anything, and she knew that everything pointed at Quentin Selwyn being an old wizard, not a vampire, but Hermione Granger couldn't help feeling anxious when they approached the building. She remembered how the vampire had grabbed her, how he had been about to bite her, and barely refrained from rubbing her throat.
She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Once again, she was the lookout while Mr Fletcher worked on the wards. She was loathe to admit it, but Sirius's presence helped, too - her mask granted her night vision, but that wouldn't let her spot a disillusioned wizard outside the range of her Human-presence-revealing Spell. The dog's nose might, though - not many wizards thought of masking their scent.
And, she added, sneaking a glance at the dog making his rounds nearby, she could understood how some might mistake him for a Grim. With his size, black fur, and gleaming teeth he certainly looked the part.
Once again, she was glad that the spell on her mask meant she could see the dog clearly even in the shadows - the moon wasn't very bright, and the sky was cloudy too. If a cat could see a dog, she could evade him easily.
Mr Fletcher was taking his time, she thought - much longer than at the last house. And he was sweating, too. If only she could help… Or, rather, if only he would let her help. But he wouldn't.
After what felt like hours, but hadn't actually taken that long, he finally sighed. "All done. These are some really nasty wards. Standard spells, but backed by lethal curses."
That had been banned since the middle of the last century, Hermione knew, but in typical fashion, the Ministry had never outlawed existing wards - those of the Old Families. She pressed her lips together.
Mr Fletcher was looking rather tired, but he stood anyway. "Let's go then - the way to the wall's clear."
Hermione had been waiting for that. She was already changing before he had finished, and a short jump later she was sprinting over the lawn as fast as her four legs could carry her. Much faster than the dog, of course. A shadow in the night, gone in the blink of an eye.
She reached the wall and sniffed the air. No blood. No animals either. Behind her, the dog arrived, panting of course. And making more noise than a dozen cats together. She sniffed in disdain and raised her head. She could reach the roof, too. There was no ivy on the walls, but there was an old tree whose branches had grown so much, they were almost touching the roof.
On the other hand, that was an obvious route - even for a human. She changed back and tapped her mask, then hissed.
The branches growing towards the house glowed with spells - and she'd bet half her library that those were curses.
*****
"Definitely dark curses," Mr Fletcher confirmed a few minutes later, after having checked the tree out. "No warnings, either - if you trigger those spells, you'll get hit with a full Body-Bind Curse and a Blood-boiling Curse for starters. You'll die slowly without being able to move or even scream." He was whispering, but the enchantment on her mask that had replaced her earring let Hermione Granger hear him clearly.
"That makes it more likely that Selwyn has banned tomes in his library," she responded, back in human form and disillusioned again.
"Doesn't mean they'll be the ones we need," Sirius cut in, putting a damper on her hopes. "It just means he has something to hide."
"Something for which he's willing to kill," her tutor added. "Which means it's dangerous, valuable or both."
"Yes." Hermione smiled slightly.
Sirius groaned. "Most sane people would be warned off, not attracted, by lethal traps."
Her smile widened. "Are you a Gryffindor or not?"
He glared at her. "I never said I wouldn't go, did I?"
She knew what he meant, and raised her chin. "I'm a better thief than you." Much better - dogs were rubbish at sneaking. "If anyone is at risk from falling into traps, it's you." She had spotted the curses on the tree, after all.
He scoffed. "I grew up in a house full of curses."
She thought that the curses in Grimmauld Place had mostly been added in the last years of his mother's life, long after Sirius had been sent to Azkaban, but this wasn't the time to check if his memory was acting up again. "Let's proceed, then."
"Yes," Mr Fletcher agreed. "But with a slight change of plans. We'll go through a first-storey window."
"Ah! They will not expect that, not with the trapped tree," Sirius said.
"That might be the case," Hermione corrected him, "but even if it's not, glass windows are easier to break through than sturdy back doors." She conjured a transparent pane of plexiglass, thick enough to carry their weight, and levitated it. "Don't fall off!" she cautioned him - it wouldn't do to lose the dog to his own clumsiness.
A few minutes later, they were floating in front of the second window from the east - a reading room, as far as Hermione could tell - and Mr Fletcher was working on getting through its defences. She still wasn't allowed to help him - someone had to keep the pane they were standing on steady, and she wouldn't trust the easily bored dog with that - but this time she could watch him work through her mask.
The window was covered with spells, which looked impressive at first sight. But as Hermione studied the arrangement further, and watched Mr Fletcher deal with it, she noticed that the spells were not ideally placed. Or not any more - they looked rather old, and while wards grew more powerful as they grew older, they did also need maintenance. Which this window hadn't had in a few years, at least.
The owner probably trusted his trap and the main wards, and couldn't be bothered to maintain every little spell, Hermione thought. Which would turn out to be a fatal mistake. At least for his wealth. Her tutor had already found a weakness - the spell allowing the window to be opened from the inside without triggering the defences wasn't properly anchored.
"Done," Mr Fletcher whispered ten minutes later. Hermione could hear his ragged breathing - he had pushed himself.
"About time," the dog commented in a whisper. "I was getting bored." He had the gall to even yawn, fake as it sounded.
She wanted to hex the dog - this was a serious heist - but they were on a mission. She could swat his nose later. She tapped her ear. "I'm going in," she whispered.
She heard Mr Fletcher draw a sharp breath, but he didn't contradict her - he had to know as well as she did that he was too exhausted to take point. She reached out towards the windowsill, then used her wand and a quick spell to push the window open. She couldn't see any spells on the ground inside, and the room looked to be empty. She took a deep breath, then jumped through the window, landing in a crouch on a thick, old carpet.
No dust was thrown up by her landing - the room was regularly used, or at least regularly cleaned. It wasn't a real library, though - too few shelves, and the books on them… she shook her head. Literature, not magic, a quick glance told her. And no spells on them either. Unless… She narrowed her eyes and summoned a few books at random.
"I don't think he's keeping his highly illegal tomes in his reading room," Sirius whispered. "Or are you starting the looting already?"
She ignored the dog and checked the books. The content matched the covers - Selwyn wasn't hiding his magic tomes in plain sight. A flick of her wand sent the books back to their original places. "I just checked the books in case they were a cover."
Sirius snorted, but Mr Fletcher was already at the door. "No spells on it," he reported.
"So, Quentin's not as insane as my dear mother," the dog had to comment. "Let's go downstairs - they always hide the best stuff in the basement; the odds of it surviving a fire are greater there."
Mr Fletcher pulled the door open until he could peer through the gap. "No one outside, and the hallway's dark."
They had seen that from the outside already. Selwyn was probably asleep - or in the basement, doing whatever it was that he had to hide from everyone. She wasn't certain which she preferred.
"I'm checking the stairs," she whispered. "Wait here." She dropped her Disillusionment Charm and changed before Mr Fletcher could protest. A moment later, she pushed her lithe form through the gap in front of him.
It made perfect sense, she thought. As a cat, she could sneak around much better, and no one would spot or hear her. And no Human-presence-revealing Spell would detect her. And Mr Fletcher could rest a little.
She padded down the hallway until she reached the top of the stairs from where she peered down at the entrance hall, her sharp eyes easily piercing the darkness. It was empty and dark. She didn't smell any wizards either, nor any blood. Everything was as it should be.
Hermione was about to descend when she heard the faint sound of human voices. She quickly pressed herself against the floor and inched back. If they came this way… but would they? Below her, a door was opened, and light shone into the entrance hall. She crept forward a little, just enough to see what was going on.
"Do not disappoint me, Quentin." The voice sounded cool and arrogant. She felt her fur raise on her back. Who was this man? He obviously wasn't Selwyn.
"I won't, milord. I promise: I will find the tome for you."
Hermione froze. There was only one man a wizard such as Selwyn would address in that manner, and with so much fear and subservience.
Voldemort.
Hermione remained frozen, unable to move while her heart raced in her chest and her fur stood on end. The Dark Lord was there. Just a few yards from her. She should flee - withdraw - before he spotted her. Warn the others. They had to get away. But she couldn't stop staring at the monster.
"See that you do, and quickly," Voldemort said. "My patience is not unlimited - and neither is my generosity." He looked younger than she had expected, Hermione thought while she tried to breathe again.
"I will, milord. I will not rest until I have fulfilled my task!"
"I expect nothing less." Voldemort inclined his head as the other wizard shuddered. The Dark Lord turned towards the door, then stopped. His head moved - and he stared directly at her, his eyes boring into hers.
Hermione trembled, her claws digging into the carpet. She had to get away - but that would make him chase her. If she stayed still, though…
Voldemort narrowed his eyes, then shook his head and addressed Selwyn again. "You're a Slytherin, my dear Quentin. You should get a snake as a familiar. A large one which feeds on cats."
"Of course, milord! I will acquire one tomorrow!"
"And feed it," the monster added with a cruel smile.
"Of course, milord!"
Chuckling, Voldemort glanced once again at Hermione, then left through the front door.
As soon as the door had closed behind the Dark Lord, Selwyn seemed to sag and almost collapsed against it, trembling fiercely. "A snake. A large snake… And cats to feed it."
As the wizard was stammering to himself, Hermione finally managed to withdraw, inching back on her belly until she couldn't see him anymore. Then she whirled around and sprinted back to the reading room. She had to tell the others!
*****
"... and then he told Selwyn to get a large snake as a familiar before left," Hermione Granger finished her whispered report. A snake large enough to feed on cats, the monster had said! Cats were not food!
"We did well to obliviate the other snake, then," Mr Fletcher said. "He obviously uses them to control his Death Eaters."
"We need to know which tome the Dark Lord is seeking," Sirius said.
Hermione nodded - that was so obvious, even a dog could see it. "And we need to keep it out of his hands." By stealing it beforehand, of course.
"We'll have to interrogate Selwyn then," the dog said.
"'Interrogate'?" Mr Fletcher narrowed his eyes at Sirius.
"I'll fetch Veritaserum once we have captured him." The other wizard smiled. "Much more efficient and dependable than whatever you are considering."
"I wasn't considering it," Mr Fletcher snarled.
"First we have to capture Selwyn," Hermione reminded them. "He's an experienced wizard and a Death Eater."
"Who's currently shaking in his boots and trying to decide which snake to buy that would both satisfy his master yet not be able to kill him on command." Sirius shrugged. "You two would probably be able to capture him without me."
"Yes we would," Mr Fletcher said, and for a moment, Hermione expected him to send the dog away to fetch Veritaserum and let the thieves handle this. He didn't, though, and turned to her instead. "Alright. Check if Selwyn is still in the entrance hall."
She nodded and changed. A moment later, she was stalking the hallway again.
Selwyn had recovered by the time she reached the entrance hall again and he was walking, albeit slowly, towards the stairs. His bedroom was probably on the first floor, Hermione realised as she whirled around and hid behind a flower pot in which a large fern grew.
The man passed her without looking down - or looking at anything, she thought as she caught a glimpse of his expression through the fern's foliage. Had this been the first time he had realised just what kind of monster he was serving?, Hermione wondered.
He walked down the hallway, passing the first set of doors. That left the reading room, and the room across from it. Hermione hesitated a moment, then shook her head and changed again.
Her silent Stunner caught the man right between his shoulder blades and he dropped to the floor. She cast a full Body-Bind Curse for good measure before calling the others.
*****
"That wasn't the plan." Mr Fletcher glared at her.
"I saw an opportunity and took it," Hermione Granger defended herself. Apparently, her tutor didn't share her own assessment of her chosen course of action. Sirius hadn't been happy either, but since he had to fetch the Veritaserum from Dumbledore, the dog hadn't been able to scold her.
"You should have returned to us when you saw him coming up the stairs." Her tutor shook her head. "We make plans for a reason:"
"But then he would have been in another room, and we would have had to charge through the door. He hadn't seen me. He wasn't even aware of me, nor did he notice me until my spell hit him. I had to adapt to the situation." He had taught her that, too, after all.
He didn't seem to like hearing his own words thrown back at him. "And if he had seen you? You think he wouldn't have realised at once that you were no normal cat but an intruder?"
"I was behind the flower pot - that fern there. He couldn't have spotted me in the dark even if he had been looking." Her lithe form could hide completely behind the flower pot. Unlike a huge clumsy dog.
"So you think."
"Well, it worked," she shot back. "And it was safer than breaking down the door to his bedroom and hoping to catch him by surprise." That was far more dangerous, in her opinion. She saw his expression and bit her lip. Doing that would have been more dangerous - but it would have been Mr Fletcher or the dog who would have been taking the biggest risk. Not her. He didn't agree with her; she could tell. But before he could say anything further, Sirius arrived with the Veritaserum.
But she knew that the discussion wasn't finished.
*****
"And did the Dark Lord order you to do anything else for him?" Sirius asked half an hour later.
"Yes." Selwyn answered in the now familiar dull tone of a man under the effect of Veritaserum,
"What did he order you to do?" Sirius leaned forward.
"He ordered me to buy a snake and feed cats to it."
Hermione Granger, who had been poised to note down the man's next answer, cringed slightly when both her tutor and Sirius turned to stare at her.
"You didn't mention that," Sirius said, his eyes narrowing.
"It wasn't important," she answered.
"Why would the Dark Lord mention cats?" Sirius asked. "Because he saw you," he answered his own question.
"He saw a cat. He had no idea that I was a witch," she retorted.
"And if he had suspected? You'd have been dead!" Sirius snarled at her.
"He didn't." That was what counted. "And now we know what he looks like." Unless that had been a disguise.
"You were lucky. You won't be lucky forever." He shook his head.
"I wouldn't call stumbling on the Dark Lord during a heist 'being lucky'," her tutor cut in.
"See?" Sirius, of course, interpreted that as agreement.
"If I hadn't sneaked up on them, we wouldn't have known about this 'Tome of Blood' that the Dark Lord is seeking," Hermione pointed out. And wasn't that a rather pretentious name? "No one expected this to be safe."
"No one expected you to encounter the Dark Lord!" Sirius shot back.
"So, it's me meeting him that's the problem?" Hermione glared at him. "It would have been fine if he had seen you and thought you were a simple dog?" Before he could answer, she went on: "You'd have boasted about the encounter, and how clever you would have been for fooling the Dark Lord!"
"That's different!" He didn't deny it, at least.
"How so? Because I'm too young?" She stood, hands on her hips. "I don't have Mr Fletcher's experience, but I'm a skilled thief. And I pulled this off - I fooled the Dark Lord, and I captured Selwyn!" She ignored her tutor's "against the plan" and went on: "My age doesn't matter as long as I can do what's needed!"
"It shouldn't be needed," Sirius spat out.
"And Harry shouldn't have been cursed." Hermione scoffed. "But he was - and I'm needed." 'For Harry' remained unsaid, but he understood. Even if he didn't like it.
"We're still going to have words about sticking to the plan and informing your partners," Mr Fletcher cut in and his glare made Hermione cringe slightly, "but we can do that elsewhere. Now we need to deal with Selwyn."
Hermione glanced at the wizard. He hadn't reacted to his name being mentioned and kept staring at the floor, still in the grip of the Veritaserum.
The dog shrugged. "We'll obliviate him of this and make him think he went to bed as planned."
How naive! Hermione sighed and looked at her tutor. He nodded at her and they shared a grin.
The dog narrowed his eyes at them. "What are you planning now?"
*****
"At least you didn't loot the whole house this time," Sirius said an hour later, back in the basement of Grimmauld Place, shaking his head.
Hermione Granger paused in putting the Galleons they had taken from Selwyn into Sirius's vault and grinned at him. "I thought about it - but while we could easily make him think that he had less gold in his strongbox, I think we couldn't have done that with the furniture and artwork. At least, the Dark Lord might have noticed during his next visit."
The dog pointed at the books she had stacked next to her. "And those?"
She shrugged. "You were already messing with his mind to ensure he'd fail the Dark Lord's mission" - and she didn't want to think about what that would mean for Selwyn once he had to explain it to the Dark Lord - "so adjusting his memory to cover up the disappearance of a few choice books was easy." And only a fool wouldn't have copied the other rare books in the man's library.
Sirius sighed. "I really will need a bigger basement if you continue like this."
"Yes, you will." She smiled sweetly at him as he gaped at her.
Did the dog really think that she would stop? She was just starting!
*****
Hogwarts, March 1st, 1996
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ronniekins! Happy birthday to you!"
Harry Potter grinned at the cacophony - that had been, he remembered, Hermione's term for it in second year - into which Ron's brothers were mangling the simple melody. His friend scowled at the twins, but that was normal for a Weasley party, even one held in a 'repurposed' classroom in Hogwarts.
Ron cut the cake his mum had sent with a few Cutting Charms while Luna distributed the slices. It was, Harry discovered shortly afterwards, simply delicious. Not even Hermione would have complained about the sugar it contained.
Harry wasn't alone in his opinion - the room was filled with appreciative noises, usually semi-muffled by mouthfuls of cake. Such as Ginny's moaning next to him.
"Oh… I miss Mum's cooking," she added after swallowing.
"Easter holidays begin in a month," Harry said.
To his surprise, she scowled. "They'll have us stay at Hogwarts for our safety."
"Really?"
She nodded. "I heard it from Bill. He wrote me," she explained after she must have noticed his own surprise, "that they have him going over The Burrow's wards. Again. By the time he's done, The Burrow'll be safer than Gringotts."
"I don't think so," Harry said. "Gringotts is mostly underground - that's a much more defensible location than a mostly wooden building above ground. If the wards are broken the building won't last long." Moody had been clear on that. He smiled at her. "You might want to expand the basement and move down there." The Weasleys' home was already called The Burrow, after all.
She laughed. "Don't tell Mum that. She might do it."
"She should." Harry nodded at his girlfriend. "Things are getting worse in Britain." Sirius hadn't told him any details, but Harry knew that his godfather was fighting for Dumbledore. And for him, he added to himself.
"Well, this is a party, even if it's one for Ron, so let's not talk about that, OK?" Ginny said with a smile.
"OK," Harry answered. He wrapped his left arm - always leave your wand arm free, Moody had taught them - around her waist. Maybe they could take a detour to the Astronomy Tower later.
Ron interrupted his pleasant thoughts. "Mate! Thank you for your gift!"
"What did you get him, Harry?" Ginny asked.
Ron answered before Harry could. "This enchanted pocket! Sticks to your robe - or to your skin - and has an extended interior." He held up the slim piece of cloth Harry had had Sirius buy.
"Nice," Ginny said. "That'll be useful."
Ron nodded. "Oh, yes! I'll be able to carry everything I need in a fight with me!"
Ginny was scowling again, Harry noticed. Perhaps he should have bought her one as well?
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 30th, 1996
Harry Potter was still recovering his balance after stumbling out of the fireplace into his home when he spotted movement beneath the window across from him. He reacted as Moody had taught him and aimed his wand at it at once.
'It' was a cat, he realised a moment later. A cat that seemed frozen to the spot, staring at him with wide eyes. He frowned. Sirius hadn't told him anything about a new pet. And judging by the way the cat had reacted to him, it knew what a wand was. That was very suspicious.
"Ah, I see you've met the stray," Sirius, who had followed him through the Floo Network, interrupted him before he could stun the creature.
Harry blinked. "The stray?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the cat. It looked like a stray - too fuzzy to be a well-kept pet. Probably a mongrel, too.
"A stray cat which has been prowling around the neighbourhood. Hunting vermin, scaring poor dogs - the usual, you know." Sirius passed him and walked towards the cat. "Hermione fed her a few times and now she occasionally visits. Probably fell asleep in the sun, the lazy thing, and forgot the time." He crouched down. "Ungrateful too," he added when the cat hissed at him. "You know how cats are."
Harry nodded. He knew Mrs Figgs's cats. And that monster Hermione insisted was a cat. Of course his friend would care for a stray cat as well. He didn't lower his wand, though. "Be careful. She sounds angry."
"Oh, she's harmless - I checked. As long as you're not a dog, you're safe." Sirius grinned at the cat and picked her up. She didn't look happy, in Harry's opinion.
"If she's a stray she probably has fleas," he pointed out to his godfather. The cat didn't sound happy, either, he noticed.
"Don't worry, Hermione made sure that she's clean," Sirius said. "Here, hold her!"
Harry found himself with his arms full of a squirming cat. With a very bushy tail, as he discovered when the thing slapped his face. He moved her to his shoulder so he had his wand arm free. "Pretty heavy," he commented, then winced when the cat dug her claws in. He petted her back slightly awkwardly with the knuckles of his right hand, not dropping his wand, which seemed to calm her down. "Where's Hermione?" he asked. It wasn't as if he expected his best friend to wait for his arrival in the entrance hall, but… well, she usually did, and she knew that he was arriving today, to spend the the Easter holidays at home.
"She's probably in the library and forgot the time," Sirius said. "Put the furball down before you head there, though - can't trust the fleabag in the library."
Harry nodded. Hermione would probably hex the thing if it damaged a book. He set the cat down and she sped off towards the kitchen at once.
"Are you certain that Hermione is feeding her enough?" he asked his godfather.
Sirius blinked at his question, then started laughing.
*****
Hermione Granger was livid. At herself for falling asleep in the sun and missing Harry's arrival, and at the dog for embarrassing her like that! Treating her as a stray cat! And insinuating that she would attack a dog without just cause! And handing her to Harry to be petted!
Which, she had to admit, had been rather nice. Even if her friend didn't really know how to hold a cat. Or pet her. And had said she might have fleas!
But this wasn't the time to dwell on that. She raced into the kitchen - that was far enough from the entrance hall - and changed back. A moment later, she apparated to the library. A quick flick of her wand later there were several open books on her usual table, next to a notepad.
Just in time, too, since Harry entered the library a moment later. "Hermione! There you are!"
"Harry? You're here already?" She blinked, trying to sound surprised.
"Yes. Fell asleep over a book?" he asked, grinning.
She didn't have to fake her blush, but he simply laughed and gathered her in his arms.
He knew how to hug a girl.
She would still make him regret saying she had fleas, though.
*****
Chapter 18: Love trouble
Starfox5
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Chapter 18: Love trouble
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, April 2nd, 1996
Bill Weasley - the only ones who called him 'William Weasley' were Aunt Muriel and Albus Dumbledore - closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Don't strain yourself, son. Take a break."
He sighed and looked at his father, who was standing on the porch. "I'm not tired. Really," he added when he saw the doubting expression on his dad's face. "I'm just a little…" Frustrated. "...challenged here."
His father sighed as well and sat down on the lawn next to him. "You don't need to mince words with me. I know that you already strengthened The Burrow's wards to the best of your ability last year. Your mother knows it as well, but…" He shrugged.
Bill nodded. He knew what his dad meant. "I've learned a few new tricks since last Summer," he said. "It's just a little tricky to implement them."
Judging by the way his dad winced, he also knew what Bill meant. "Don't endanger yourself, Bill."
"This is very safe compared to some of my work," Bill said, then clenched his teeth. That was the kind of line you gave to a pretty and impressionable witch, not to your worrying parents.
"Don't let Molly hear that. You know what she thinks about your job."
He certainly knew what his mum thought about his work. And his other life choices - she wasn't exactly subtle. Bill shook his head. "I won't. But this is an opportunity to show her that I can help the family with more than gold. That's why I took the job, after all." Part of the reason, at least, if he was honest. It paid far more than a Ministry post, but it was also far more exciting than pushing parchment around at the Ministry.
"You have already helped the family a lot, Bill. The matter with Percy could have been far worse, if not for your support. And the wards have never been stronger than after you improved them last year."
"I can improve them further, though," Bill retorted.
"You're not doing anything…" His dad glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "...illegal, are you?"
Bill shook his head. "No. I'm not adding any illegal spells." He wasn't lying - the spells he planned to add weren't banned in Britain. And not just because they weren't known in Britain, either. "Just a few of the more obscure curses Egyptian priests used to protect their graves. Not the dark ones," he added, "but spells others won't know, and therefore won't know how to deal with."
"Unless they're Curse-Breakers like you who do that regularly."
Bill scoffed. "They would need to be very good Curse-Breakers - and we're a rare breed."
"Because you're dealing with unknown curses regularly."
Dad's tone was mild, but Bill clenched his teeth. "We take far more time to break through wards in my job than anyone attacking The Burrow would have." He wasn't going to quit his job because of a little risk.
"So… how are you doing?" Dad asked after a short pause. "Apart from this, I mean."
Bill didn't know if he meant the wards, or the war that was brewing. "I'm doing fine. Gringotts wasn't that happy with me taking a vacation, but what can they do?" He grinned. The goblins wouldn't be able to easily replace him so they didn't have any leverage. That was why they had approved his transfer to Gringotts in Britain, too - he had flat-out told them that he'd quit otherwise.
"A whole lot if they're feeling cheated, according to Dirk Cresswell."
Bill shrugged. "They would have to go against Dumbledore too." And while the goblins were not cowards, they certainly weren't suicidal either. His father didn't look convinced, though, Bill noticed. "How are things at the Ministry?"
"Not as well as they should be, not as bad as they could be."
Bill rolled his eyes at the answer. "Malfoy still giving you trouble?"
"Yes."
"Someone should do something about that man," Bill said. Sometimes a little blood had to be spilled to solve a problem - something he had learned at Gringotts.
"Dumbledore said the matter was in hand, and that rash action would be detrimental to his plans."
Bill snorted. "I hope he does something before Malfoy goes after Percy again."
"That was a nasty affair, but we weathered it well, considering the circumstances."
"Could have been worse, should have been better?"
His dad laughed at his own words being turned back at him. "That about sums it up." After a moment, he added: "Are you going to Hogwarts after dinner?"
"Yes. Dumbledore has a few questions about Egypt."
His dad knew that there was more to it, that Bill was a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix - the same as himself. But he didn't pry; both knew better than to share sensitive information. And Bill didn't want anyone to know that he had been removing dark curses from highly illegal books about blood magic for the Headmaster since he had returned to Britain. Least of all his parents.
"Now, Molly's been wondering if you've met a nice witch yet."
Bill rolled his eyes again. "My kind of nice witch, or hers?"
"I think as the years pass without you settling down, she is settling for 'any kind of nice'," his dad said. "So... have you?"
Bill shook his head. He hadn't been looking, either, but he didn't say that. Curse-Breaking wasn't a profession for a family man, as his old mentor had taught him. And Bill wasn't about to quit to settle down.
Not when being a Curse-Breaker so often did impress the right kind of witches.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 3rd, 1996
Moody's training hadn't been entirely positive, Harry Potter thought as he finished his breakfast in Grimmauld Place's kitchen. The combat training was great, but what Moody called - loudly - 'Constant Vigilance' was a mixed blessing. Harry understood the need to be cautious - he was all too aware that Voldemort wanted him dead and that the Dark Lord had many supporters to do his bidding, even at Hogwarts, and that there were ways to impersonate or control people. But it was sometimes hard to tell where the line between being cautions and being paranoid was.
Especially when it came to Sirius's girlfriend, whose steps he heard in the hallway outside the kitchen.
"Good morning, Harry." There she was, smiling widely - too widely - at him.
"Good morning, Jeanne." Harry forced himself to return the smile. He'd still be calling the witch 'Miss Dubois' if not for Sirius. His godfather was in love with the witch. Whose English was far too perfect for a woman raised in France, in Harry's opinion. She had the same tutor as Miss Merriweather, who hadn't lost her obvious American accent despite having been tutored for longer. "Croissants?" He held out the basket to her. Breakfast had acquired a slightly French taste because of her, but he wasn't yet certain if that was a bad thing.
Just as he wasn't yet certain whether or not the witch was good for Sirius. His godfather was happy with her, as far as Harry could tell - and it wasn't the result of potions or a charm; he had checked. But if she was just after Sirius's money, it would break his heart. Or worse - Harry had heard the rumours about Zabini's mother and her seven late husbands.
"Is your girlfriend visiting today?" Jeanne asked as she buttered up her croissant. "I'm not going to tell on her," she added with a smile. "I know how it is to be young and in love."
Harry didn't doubt that - she was young, and Sirius was in love. He shrugged. "My home's almost as safe as Hogwarts." Safer, even - there were no Slytherins around. "Molly's just upset that we didn't ask her before Ginny visited."
"She might also fear that the two of you would be a little too forward with each other."
Harry snorted. "Molly's been to Hogwarts too." And he knew from Sirius's tales that it hadn't been any harder to find a private spot in the past compared to today. "Hasn't Sirius told you about his romances at school?" he asked in a casual tone as he spread honey over his toast. He glanced at her to see her reaction, though, and noticed her flinching slightly.
She recovered quickly, though. "No, he hasn't. It would have been poor form too, talking about past lovers with your paramour. You didn't tell Ginny everything you did with your other girlfriends, did you?"
"Of course not!" Harry blurted out - he knew better than that.
The French witch nodded in apparent satisfaction.
Harry hid his frown behind his cup of tea. He really didn't like Jeanne.
"Hello, Hermione!"
Hermione Granger had barely stepped inside Grimmauld Place when she was greeted by her best friend. Which was rather suspicious, she thought. "Hello, Harry." She hugged him, of course, but as soon as they pulled apart again, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you wait in the entrance hall for me to arrive?"
"What if I did?" He smiled at her so nicely, she almost dropped her inquiry.
She didn't, though - she knew better. "It usually means that you need something from me."
He glanced over his shoulder as he chuckled. "You're right."
Of course she was - she knew him better than probably anyone else. Sirius and Ginny certainly were not objective when it came to Harry, and Ron was also usually too biased. "So, what do you need? You didn't insult another poor cat, did you?" she added with a glare.
He rolled his eyes. "Please let it rest, Hermione. It's not as if the cat understood me."
She huffed. Call her fat and claim she had fleas, would he? A tail like a bottle brush? The nerve of him! The dog was obviously a bad influence. "Cats are smarter than you think they are."
He shrugged. "They're also meaner than you think."
What? She glared at him. "You shouldn't believe everything Sirius tells you." She needed to swat the dog on the nose again.
"Crookshank shredded my shoes when I visited you."
"Easily fixed with a charm." Obviously, the poor thing had just wanted to tell her that he needed new toys.
"That's not the point," Harry said with a frown. "And your stray clawed my leg."
Only very lightly. "You probably held her wrong," she said, shrugging. That should have taught him to insult a perfectly fine and elegant cat.
He sighed. "Let's drop it. I need to talk to you about something else. Something more important."
"Alright." She nodded at him. "Your room or mine?"
He winced and glanced over his shoulder again. "Good thing Sirius didn't hear that; he would have teased us for hours."
She nodded - that would be typical for the dog. "So?"
"My room."
Harry Potter took a deep breath and faced Hermione, who was sitting on his bed. "You know Sirius's girlfriend, 'Jeanne'."
"Of course I know her - I'm Sirius's secretary and have probably spent more time in this house than you have so far," she responded.
He rolled his eyes. Did she have to be like that? "Please, I asked you to drop it. This isn't about your cat - this is important."
"My cat is important," she retorted. "And she's not my cat." He stared at her with his mouth open and she flushed slightly. "I mean, I don't own her."
"Whatever." He took another deep breath. "Does 'Jeanne' act suspiciously friendly towards you too?"
"'Suspiciously friendly'?"
"You know, like: 'Please call me Jeanne.' 'I've heard so much about you.' 'You're so brave.'," he said, trying his best to imitate her voice.
"Not exactly like that," Hermione answered. "But she does try to be friendly, yes."
"Ah!" He knew it!
"Which is perfectly normal in this situation," Hermione went on. "She wants to be on good terms with the family - and the staff, in my case - of her lover."
"You're not part of the staff," he said, "you're my best friend. Part of the family. Like Remus." She had even stopped calling Sirius 'Mr Black'. "But the point is, she's also acting exactly like a gold-digger would when trying to earn our trust before she betrays Sirius or steals his gold."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "That sounds exactly like what that twit Dawlish accused me of doing."
"He's an idiot. You're my best friend, and you're no gold-digger - you're pretty much the opposite of a gold-digger!" Harry said.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked - in a rather tense way, he noticed.
"I mean, you're certainly not trying to seduce Sirius. Or me," he explained. That was obvious by the way she dressed - casual muggle wear, or loose robes. Nothing like the tight, short robes Jeanne seemed to favour. Which would look fine on Ginny, too, now that he thought about it.
"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I'd rather hex Sirius than seduce him! That… that man is insufferable!"
That was a little too vehement for Harry's taste. "He's still suffering from Azkaban."
"Without a doubt. But he also acts as if he never grew up." Hermione huffed. "Honestly, most of the time, you act more mature than he does!"
Harry wasn't certain if that was a compliment. For a moment, he wanted to ask if she considered him as similarly unattractive. But he decided against it. Some things men weren't meant to know, as Sirius would say. "Anyway. As you mentioned, I'm not at home very often..."
"Sorry," she mumbled, wincing.
"It's true," he said and sat down on his new swivel chair - one of Sirius's Christmas gifts. Leaning forward, he met her eyes. "But you're here each day. And you have access to Sirius whenever you want. You can observe her discreetly and find out what exactly she's planning." It was the obvious solution to the problem.
She blinked, apparently surprised. "You want me to spy on her for you?" She looked incredulous.
Maybe it hadn't been obvious to her, since she hadn't been trained by Moody, Harry thought. He nodded. "Yes. We can't be certain whether she's a gold-digger or not without more information."
"Have you ever thought that, perhaps, you might just be jealous of her close relationship with Sirius?"
He frowned at his friend. "Of course I considered that. But I'm not jealous of your own close relationship with Sirius, am I?"
"I don't have a 'close relationship' with that… man." Hermione almost seem to hiss the last word.
"I don't mean that kind of 'close relationship'," he hastened to explain. "But you see him each day, you work together, you have a room here - you know what I mean?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"And you know that Sirius is head over heels about her. If she's a gold-digger - or, worse, a spy - he might not notice." The Dark Lord was after Harry and his godfather, after all. And he had a lot of followers to spy for him.
"Have you spoken to Sirius about this?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't want to ruin this for him. Not unless she is a threat." He couldn't do that to his godfather.
Hermione slowly shook her head. "Of course. But as I told you - she's friendly with me as well. If she actually is a gold-digger, she won't drop her facade in front of me. I don't think I can find out much by observing her."
"Just do your best, OK?" Harry sighed. "I wish I could ask her friend, Miss Merriweather. But she 'returned to the New World', as Jeanne put it, soon after Sirius started going out with Jeanne. Which is rather suspicious, too," he added. Then he smiled as he had a thought. "Her tutor! You could ask him for a few lessons, and see if he knows anything about Jeanne!"
"Lessons?" Hermione had that incredulous expression again.
"Yes," Harry nodded. "I know you've already got a tutor for the school stuff, but you could take a few lessons in etiquette and fashion, or something." It would be the perfect cover, too, he added to himself with a glance at her rather shapeless muggle clothes.
Then he noticed that she was glaring at him. And holding her wand.
"Sirius! Do you have a moment?" Harry Potter asked without opening the door to his godfather's study completely. He'd rather not walk in on Sirius and Jeanne.
"Of course, Harry. I've always time for you. Come in!"
Harry smiled and entered. Sirius was alone, too - Hermione was in her own 'office'.
"What do you need?" Sirius asked as he stood and walked over to the couch and armchair in the corner. "Sit down. Want a Butterbeer?"
"No, thanks," Harry Potter said, sitting down. How best to explain...
"Girl trouble?" Sirius asked.
"What? No. Ginny's fine." They hadn't gone to the Astronomy Tower as often as they had during term, but they saw each other every day.
Sirius nodded. "So, tell me what ails you."
Harry briefly rolled his eyes at his godfather's antics. "I'm worried about Hermione."
"Hermione? Why? What happened?"
"Well…" He couldn't tell Sirius everything, Harry knew. "I asked her if she would like to get a a few wizarding etiquette and fashion lessons, and she looked as if she wanted to hex me."
Sirius chuckled. "You're very lucky to be alive - not many wizards can say that to a witch and escape uncursed."
"It's not funny, Sirius. I'm worried. Hermione cares more about her cats than anyone else - and she's also never had a boyfriend. She doesn't go out either. If she doesn't change, she'll become a crazy cat lady." Like Mrs Figgs, only younger.
Sirius started to laugh as if Harry had just told him the funniest joke ever. His godfather obviously still hadn't fully recovered from Azkaban.
London, Greenwich, April 4th, 1996
Hermione Granger finished her Charms homework - if you could call it homework when she was basically working next to her tutor - and glanced at Mr Fletcher. He was studying the notes he had received from Dumbledore, trying to find out where their next target was. But he had been doing that for hours, so she didn't feel awkward about interrupting him. She cleared her throat. "Mr Fletcher?"
He looked up. "You know, it sounds kind of odd, at least a little, that you call me 'Mr Fletcher' and Black 'Sirius'. We're all in this together."
"You're my tutor," she responded.
"And he's your employer."
"And he pretty much blackmailed me into calling him by his first name." It wasn't technically blackmail - more like calling in a favour. But it sounded better to call it blackmail.
Mr Fletcher shrugged. "Anyway, what do you need?"
She sighed. "Harry is concerned about Jeanne's intentions towards his godfather. He asked me to spy on her."
"He's getting concerned about his future stepmother taking Mrs Zabini as a role model?"
She nodded. "Or that she's a Death Eater spy. Or a gold-digger."
He rubbed his chin. "Well, we both know that she has the skills to charm a man. And pretty much everyone among the Old Families knows that Elias Selwyn wants his daughter to marry rich."
And Sirius was very rich. "Mr Selwyn is not fond of Sirius, though," she said. Nor was Sirius fond of the bigot. "They haven't met once since Sirius started dating her. No invitations. They haven't even talked to each other in passing at events that they both attended."
"And what did Jeanne say about this?"
"That her father didn't control her," Hermione answered. Or so Sirius had claimed, when she had touched on the subject once in private. "Which may not be entirely accurate, seeing as he pays her a generous allowance." But Sirius had certainly liked that line, as far as she could tell.
"Which she wouldn't need any more, should Sirius decide to keep her."
"Yes." She nodded. "So, either she is honestly in love with Sirius, or she's doing very well at acting like she is."
"And Potter wants you find out which is correct."
She scoffed. "He mentioned that I could approach you under the guise of needing lessons in etiquette and fashion!"
Mr Fletcher laughed at that, despite her glaring at him.
She sniffed. "Obviously my acting has him completely fooled if he thinks that I need such lessons." It still stung - she hadn't dressed down that much.
"Obviously." He had stopped laughing, but was still smiling. "So, what did you tell him?"
"I told him that I didn't need his or anyone else's help in that matter," Hermione responded primly.
"The lessons, or the spying?"
"I left that open." She sighed. "But he is correct that Jeanne might be trying to con Sirius. Or worse."
Mr Fletcher frowned. "I don't think that she is a spy for the Dark Lord. She would have acted differently - more sympathetic to muggleborns - if she was meant to spy on Black and others."
Hermione nodded. "Yes." Jeanne had pretty much ignored that topic, as far as she could remember. "But while she joked about her father's wishes for her, she didn't seem that opposed to them either."
Mr Fletcher shrugged. "Being rich never hurt a wizard's chances with the witches."
"So, what can we do? 'Miss Merriweather' has returned to America and is therefore not available to subtly question Jeanne," Hermione said. "And contrary to Harry's expectations, 'Mr Smith' doesn't know Jeanna that well either."
"There's not much that we can do." He shrugged. "Even if she's not after Black's gold, she might tell her father that just to have him support her. We could dose her with Veritaserum and obliviate her afterwards, but that might be a little much."
Hermione nodded in agreement. But if needed, that plan certainly would solve the issue. As long as Jeanne didn't remember it and Sirius never knew. "I guess I'll have to simply keep an eye on her and see if she slips up."
"And hope she doesn't recognise you."
"I'll keep my distance." Which wouldn't help with the observation. She sighed and changed the topic. "Did you make any progress?" she asked nodding at his notes.
"Not much," he answered. "These are muggle police reports of missing persons - all of them last seen leaving a pub or party with a beautiful, pale woman no one knew."
"The 'Pale Lady Abductions'?" Hermione asked - that had been a major news story a few weeks ago. "I thought vampires didn't have to kill their victims." Hermione had studied them quite extensively, especially since her close encounter with Tripe. "Attracting attention like that doesn't seem a smart idea."
"They don't need to. But they might want to - for a variety of reasons." Mr Fletcher grimaced.
"Like dark rituals," Hermione said. "Or blood magic."
"Exactly." He nodded with a smile, and, for a moment, she felt like a normal student again, answering her teacher's question correctly. "This vampire might have the tomes we seek."
She looked at the notes. She wondered how the Headmaster had managed to get the police reports on the disappearances. "These are spread almost all over Merseyside and North Wales," she noted after quickly perusing them.
"Yes. And while vampires are very prone to falling into patterns - the source of the muggle stories about them being forced to count rice grains dropped on the floor - I haven't found any yet." Mr Fletcher shook his head. "This vampire is being rather smart about it."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Let me take a look. Please," she added a moment later.
"Be my guest." He flicked his wand and duplicated the notes.
She smiled. This was far more important than spying on Jeanne.
And far more difficult too, as she discovered quite quickly.
Hogwarts, April 5th, 1996
Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in Remus's quarters, but didn't even come close to falling down - he was making progress.
"Hi, Harry!" His girlfriend was giggling, though, so he still had a way to go.
"Ginny!" He took her in his arms and lifted her up until her feet left the ground and her giggles turned to gasps.
"Put me down!"
He did - and stifled further protests with a kiss.
"You've been waiting for me, hm?" he asked a minute or so later.
"Well, the alternative was watching Ron play chess against a portrait or serving as a tester for Fred and George's latest invention." She shrugged, but she was grinning as well.
He nodded with a serious expression. "I see. That must have been a hard decision to make."
"Oh, yes. Spending time with you narrowly won out." She narrowed her eyes and mockingly glared at him. "I can still go and watch Ron play, though, if you turn out to be a let-down."
He beamed at her - that was a perfect opening - and slung his arm around her waist. "Have I ever let you down? We've got an hour before Moody arrives - and the whole school to ourselves…" There was this cozy little room that had apparently served as a music room before a renovation. He felt her grow tense under his hand and frowned.
"I'd rather take our brooms out. The weather's fine, and we haven't done that in a while."
Unlike other things. In private. But she had a point, Harry thought. "Good idea. We can use the training too. Perhaps we should call Ron and the twins, so we can train dodging multiple spells." That should be a blast, he thought.
Ginny didn't look happy with that idea, though. "I was thinking more like just the two of us," she said. "Without anyone else. Maybe a Seeker duel."
He grinned. "Oh, of course. But if I win, I demand a kiss as a reward. While we're flying."
That got her blushing.
Harry Potter won, of course - even if it was a closer race than usual. And he got his kiss, with the two of them hovering near the Astronomy Tower. If only they had more time… but Moody would be arriving soon.
"Let's land," he said. "We don't want to be late." Moody was harsh enough when you were on time; Harry didn't want to find out how the old Auror would react to him being late.
Ginny sighed. "Another two hours of getting hexed and cursed."
"And smashed into walls," Harry added with a chuckle. "Ceilings and floors too."
"It's not funny," she said, glaring at him.
He shrugged. "It's necessary, though." The Dark Lord was after him, after all.
"But lately, all we've been doing together is training with Moody, and snogging," Ginny said. "You can overdo the training, you know."
"For snogging?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner as he grinned at her.
She didn't laugh. She didn't even chuckle. "I'm serious. You've spent most of the holiday so far training with Moody or with Dumbledore. You need to relax, too. And we need to do more than just snog and train together."
"Snogging's pretty relaxing," he pointed out. As was sex.
"But not if it's all we do together." She shook her head, her ponytail whipping back and forth.
"Well, we just had a Seeker duel." Which had been fun, too.
"Because I asked you to. And you wanted to use the opportunity to train in dodging curses."
"I might need that training the next time a Death Eater catches me - or us." Harry shrugged and stared at the Quidditch shed. They really needed to land now. He looked at his girlfriend. "You've been there. You know how it is."
"Yes. But I'm just saying, you shouldn't overdo it. That's not healthy. And we should do more together than just snog, too." She must have seen his expression, since she added: "Or have sex."
"I can do that once Voldemort's dead," Harry said. He certainly wouldn't be able to do anything if he got killed because he hadn't trained enough.
She looked at him, then shook her head again. "Let's land."
"Alright," he said. But it wasn't. And they were late.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 6th, 1996
Harry Potter knocked on the door to Sirius's study. "Sirius? Are you up yet?" He thought he heard someone mutter inside, but couldn't catch the words. Then the door was opened, and Sirius was standing there. "Morning, Harry!"
Harry saw Jeanne stowing her wand behind him. Her clothes looked impeccable. Which probably meant that they had been anything but when he had knocked. He wasn't sorry. Much. "Morning," he said.
"Good morning, Harry," Jeanne said with a wide, too wide, smile.
"Ah, to be a teenager again, sleeping in during the holidays, instead of working in the morning…" Sirius sighed.
"I've been up training at Hogwarts until midnight," Harry muttered. Tonks hadn't lied - Moody really didn't like it if you were late to his lessons.
"And you've been sleeping until… what time is it?" Sirius asked, glancing over his shoulder at his girlfriend.
"Ten in the morning, chéri."
"I didn't sleep until ten; I already had breakfast," Harry said. "Anyway, do you have a minute? I need to talk to you."
"Of course, Harry! Always!"
"I'll see you later, Harry, chéri." Jeanne waved at them as she passed on her way out of the room.
"So, what do you need to talk about?" Sirius asked once the door was closed.
"Girls," Harry answered.
"Didn't we have that talk already?" Sirius frowned. "I distinctly remember that. I think I do, at least."
For a moment, Harry wasn't certain if his godfather was joking. Then he saw the man's grin and rolled his eyes. "Not that talk. But I need some advice about girls. Two specific girls."
"Two girls?" Sirius's grin widened even as he raised his eyebrows.
"Not that kind of… whatever." Harry sighed. "It's about Ginny and Hermione."
To his mild surprise, Sirius stopped grinning. "Oh? What happened with them?"
"Nothing. I'm worried about two unrelated things. At least I don't think they're related." He sighed again. "Ginny's been acting… weird lately. She doesn't like that I'm training so hard. And she wanted to spend time with me - not like that," he added when he saw the grin reappear on Sirius's face. "We had a Seeker duel. And she didn't want me to ask her brothers to join us for a Quidditch session." He bit his lips. "I wonder if she's starting to act like Parvati. She always wanted me to spend time with her, and only her."
"Well, witches don't like it if you just snog and have sex when you're together. I told you that, didn't I?" Sirius frowned.
"Yes, you did. But it's not like that." Not entirely, at least. "I have to train so I can survive whatever Voldemort tries next. I'm not spending all of my time hanging out with my friends and only going to her for a quick snog."
"Or a quick shag," Sirius added. "Later at least."
Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather again. That wasn't the point. "I am spending most of my free time with her. A lot, at least. But I don't want to neglect my friends either." Which is why it would have been nice if they had been able to play together with Ron and the twins.
Sirius rubbed his goatee. "Well, she should understand that saving your life takes priority over romantic strolls along the lakeside."
Harry frowned at him. "We're not doing that again." Not until Voldemort was dealt with.
"I was speaking figuratively." Sirius waved his hand. "But I think you'll have to tell her that she can't completely monopolise your free time."
"I don't want her to monopolise my free time at all," Harry said. That reminded him too much of Parvati's attitude. When he saw Sirius's expression, he quickly added: "I mean apart from snogging."
Sirius actually laughed at that. "Harry, listen to your experienced godfather: You can't expect a witch to just be there for you when you want to… snog her. I mean, you shouldn't neglect your friends, but your girlfriend deserves time as well. Romantic times."
Harry groaned. "I guess this is one of the times when being honest isn't a good idea?"
"You're right, Harry. Now, you mentioned Hermione as well?"
Harry took a moment to answer. "Yes. She's been very distant this week. Leaves early, doesn't spend much time with me… I asked her if something was wrong, and she said that she wasn't angry at me, but simply busy. But I think she's angry with me, even if I haven't done anything to her. I even apologised for 'insulting' her cat. "
"Well, maybe that's the problem?" Sirius cocked his head sideways.
"The cat?" If Hermione took that so seriously, then she already was a crazy cat lady. Besides, he had just been honest.
"No, the not doing anything to her," Sirius clarified.
"Huh?" Harry blinked, then rolled his eyes. His godfather needed to stop thinking that everything was about sex. "She's not interested in me like that. If she were, she'd have said something. And she would have dressed up a bit." Like Ginny had done when they had come together.
Sirius shrugged. "She might think she's too ugly to have a chance."
"She isn't ugly," Harry said. "But she really could use some fashion lessons. And a new hairstyle. And some makeup."
"My godson, the expert on witches!" Sirius chuckled a little too loudly for Harry's taste.
"You can't exactly remain ignorant of such things when you have a girlfriend," he retorted. At least not a girlfriend like Parvati. "But yes, if I didn't know better I'd suspect that she's deliberately dressing like that."
"Why would she be doing that?"
Harry shrugged. "Maybe she doesn't want the Prophet to call her a gold-digger? I don't know. But I want to know why she's angry with me."
"Well… you rejected my theory that she fancies you. That leaves us with the most obvious explanation." Sirius grinned at Harry.
"Which is?" Harry asked through clenched teeth when his godfather didn't go on.
"Well, she's studying for her O.W.L.s."
Harry stared at him, then sighed. "I'm an idiot!" Of course Hermione would be studying hard already! It was just two months until the O.W.L.s.! Then he frowned. "But she hasn't badgered me or Ron about studying."
"She knows that you two have more important things to worry about."
"Right."
Harry was both relieved and disappointed. It was good that Hermione wasn't mad at him. But he would have liked to spend some time with her over the holidays.
London, Greenwich, April 10th, 1996
There had to be a pattern, Hermione Granger told herself, not for the first time. Vampires fell into patterns. The police hadn't picked it up, which meant it had to be of a magical nature. Something muggles wouldn't think of. And it wasn't simple or logical, or she would have solved the problem days ago.
It was a logical deduction, but it didn't change the fact that she was stumped. She sighed and pushed the notes on the table away so she could rest her head on her arms.
"Taking a break from studying?" Mr Fletcher asked from where he was reading muggle newspapers.
"That was my break," Hermione said, with her face buried in her arms.
"Ah."
She glanced up. He wasn't looking at her. Pointedly not. She frowned. "I'm going to find that pattern," she spat.
"Alright." He nodded.
"I mean it," she said, scowling.
"I believe you." He did not, she was certain. But she couldn't call him out for that.
She sighed again. "I'm certain that the pattern is related to magic. But I haven't found anything. The disappearances aren't linked to moon phases, nor to constellations." And checking that had been a pain. If only she hadn't dropped Astronomy two years ago… She glared at Mr Fletcher. He didn't react, other than a slight twitch of his lips. "I suspect that it is linked to blood magic - if she's sacrificing people for a blood magic ritual, then she would pick them due to their blood. But I haven't been able to find a pattern based on the blood type of the victims, not from the limited information in the police records - they don't have the full blood group classifications." If she knew more about blood magic… "But even if there were a pattern based on blood that doesn't mean that we'd find her next victim in time to catch her. It's not as if people publish their blood types…" She trailed off. "But if she can find her victims..."
"...then she has to have a way to search for them," Mr Fletcher finished for her with a rather feral-looking grin.
"Blood banks. She has to have a connection to a blood bank. We need to check if the victims have donated blood, and where." Hermione stood and smiled widely. This was it! They'd find the vampire!
Liverpool, Britain, April 12th, 1996
"Breaking into muggle offices… this feels like barely a step above duelling a baby." The dog was still complaining, Hermione Granger thought as she searched the records of the NHS blood processing centre for the names of the missing persons.
"You insisted on coming along, Black." Mr Fletcher wasn't much of a help, splitting his attention between watching for the night guard returning, and sniping at Sirius.
"I had to. Imagine if you stumble upon the vampire and I'm not here to save you from her - that'd be a bloody mess." Black sighed theatrically.
"We can handle a bloodsucker, Black," Mr Fletcher shot back.
"In your dreams. If she's a practitioner of blood magic, she'll deal with you easily."
"So only your dark curses will be able to deal with her?" Mr Fletcher scoffed.
"Well… who killed Tripe and saved you two?" The dog sounded so smug right then, Hermione had trouble focusing on her task instead of hexing him. But someone had to take this seriously, even if it had been child's play to break into the facility's offices with magic.
"Emphasis on 'killed', Black."
"I'm not going to spare a vampire when I'm saving Hermione. Or you," Sirius said. "Unless you insist on it." He even sounded hopeful!
Mr Fletcher snorted. "Yeah, right."
"Is that a yes?"
"No." Mr Fletcher spat.
"Hah! So much for your precious morals!" The dog's loud triumph would have alerted the night guard if not for the spells on the door.
Hermione had had enough. "We're on a mission!" she admonished the two bickering wizards.
Mr Fletcher looked contrite, but Sirius showed no remorse. "Haven't you finished yet? Jeanne's going to be wondering where I am if we take too long."
Hermione was about to set the dog straight with a few choice remarks, but just at that moment she finally found what she was looking for. "Hah! Everyone who's missing donated blood in the last few years. And now we have their complete records!" She turned to look at the two wizards, beaming. Her theory had just been proved!
"That's great! Can we go now?"
Hermione glared at the dog. "Certainly not! Unless you want to copy the entire database - which we can't do," she quickly said when he raised his wand with an expectant look in his eyes, "since it's in electronic form, and not printed out - we have to check for common traits in the data here."
"What are we checking, anyway?"
"There are almost three dozen blood group systems," she said, her attention once again focused on the screen. "This could take a while."
"What? Three dozen blood group systems? What's a blood group system, anyway?"
Hermione let her tutor field that question as she started another search.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 13th, 1996
"And all the victims' blood matched this profile." Hermione Granger pointed at the printout on the table - formerly owned by Tripe - in Sirius's basement.
"Ah." Sirius peered at the sheet and nodded, but Hermione doubted that the dog understood anything about muggle classifications of human blood groups. Wizards didn't need to, being able to simply replenish blood with a cheap potion.
"So, I ran a search, and, since the last disappearance, one new donor has been recorded with the same profile." She put another printout down. "Rupert Hornsby, from London. Donated on a trip, apparently."
"So, he's our vampire's next victim," Sirius said, grinning.
"That's going to be tricky," Mr Fletcher cut in. "We need to find the vampire's lair, which means we need to track her there. But if we foil her kidnapping attempt, she might be too cautious to head directly to her lair, and if we let her kidnap the man, we might not be able to break into her lair quickly enough to save him. Or she might take him to a ritual site, not her lair."
"If she's planning a ritual then she might still take her tomes with her for referencing," Hermione pointed out. She would certainly do so.
Her tutor looked doubtful even as he nodded slowly. "It's possible, but even so - we can't risk the muggle's life on such a possibility."
"We don't have to," Sirius said. He was smiling and shaking his head. "You're thinking like thieves."
"We are thieves," Mr Fletcher retorted.
"Yes, you are." Sirius made a point of looking at the furniture in the room.
Hermione exchanged a grin with her tutor. Tripe had had good taste, in her opinion, and it would have been a waste not to use perfectly good furniture until you could fence it without risk.
Sirius sighed. "Anyway. This is not a mission for thieves. We don't need to track the vampire if we can catch the vampire instead, and find out where her lair is that way."
That made sense, Hermione thought. She nodded. "You're right." She'd have to check whether Veritaserum worked on vampires.
"It won't be that easy, though," her tutor said. "We'll have to shadow the muggle around the clock, and we'll have to be ready to step in at a moment's notice. Cut off her escape and capture her. And worst case, she's an old, experienced vampire who knows blood magic - not an easy target to capture alive, as Black is fond of pointing out."
The dog was grinning again. "That doesn't really matter since you won't be the ones capturing her."
"What?" Hermione stared at him.
"As I said, it's not a mission for thieves." The dog grinned. "You can leave it to people trained for that sort of thing."
"Dumbledore's pet Aurors." Mr Fletcher said, sneering.
Sirius shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not - Dumbledore's playing his cards much closer to his chest this time around. Which is a good thing."
Hermione had to agree with that, even though it felt like a let-down to be excluded from the capture after having done all the legwork needed to find the vampire in the first place. And she was really curious about who the Headmaster would send on this mission. Perhaps she could…
"Whatever you're thinking right now, Hermione, the answer is no," Mr Fletcher interrupted her thoughts.
She made a mental note to work on her poker face, too. And, she added, as Sirius laughed at her, to teach the dog another lesson.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 13th, 1996
"Sirius? I'm off to Hogwarts for the afternoon…" Harry Potter trailed off when he saw his godfather rubbing his nose while holding his wand. "Did you hurt your nose?"
"Just a scratch," Sirius answered. "Cats can't take jokes without getting violent."
Harry was about to ask what cat Sirius was talking about when he heard a hiss and spotted Hermione's stray hiding behind the desk. He shook his head. "Did you try to prank the cat?"
"No!" Sirius protested. "It was just a little joke."
"She's a cat, Sirius. They don't understand jokes. Or much of anything else," Harry said, shaking his head.
"I fully agree!" Sirius beamed at him. He was acting rather weird, Harry thought. And he had been doing so well lately.
Harry sighed and bent down. The cat was staring at him and ducked her head. "What's she doing here anyway? And where's Hermione?"
"Probably looking for the cat," Sirius said, shrugging.
Harry stared at him. "And you didn't tell her that you found her?" His friend wouldn't be happy.
"I was about to chase her down when the beast scratched my nose."
A grown wizard, bested by a cat… Harry shook his head. "Whatever. Can you tell Hermione that I'm off to Hogwarts?" He didn't want to be late to Moody's lesson again.
"I'll tell her, don't worry. Although she's probably already aware - you know how she is."
"Yes." Harry smiled. "Good luck with the cat."
Before Sirius could answer, the cat suddenly darted out of his study at a dead run. He beamed at Harry. "Another problem solved!"
Harry shook his head at his godfather's antics again and left. He had a training session to attend.
He met Hermione in the entrance hall. "Harry! Don't you need to be at Hogwarts?" she asked.
"I'm about to leave," he said. "Are you looking for your cat?"
"She's not my cat," Hermione replied. "Have you seen her?"
He hesitated just a moment. "I saw her running out of Sirius's study at top speed. I don't know what exactly happened. You'll have to ask him."
"I most certainly will!" she announced, before hugging him goodbye.
That should stop his godfather's plans to prank cats.
Hogwarts, April 13th, 1996
"I think that is all, Harry."
"Huh?" Harry Potter blinked. He must have dozed off in the Headmaster's office, he realised - Moody had pressed him and his friends hard that afternoon. "I'm sorry," he added.
"Do not be," the Headmaster said with a smile. "I am not so old that I have forgotten how boring it can feel to a young wizard to sit still and do nothing."
"Ah, yes." Harry didn't point out that the Headmaster was about the oldest person he knew. "So, what's the verdict?"
"I think I understand now what your mother did to protect you. In principle, at least."
"So you can duplicate it?" Harry perked up. That would mean the war was just about won.
Dumbledore's expression told him the answer even before the old wizard had finished talking. "I am afraid duplicating her feat is currently still beyond my ability. Lily was truly an exceptional witch. And oh so brave," he added. "But I am certain that I will not take too much longer to sort this out."
Harry nodded. He had heard that before, though. "And what about the curse on Remus and me?"
"I should soon acquire more resources to help with that goal."
Harry sighed. "So, there's been no progress."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "There have been no tangible results yet, but progress has been made."
Harry snorted. "At least training is going well. Moody's pushing us hard, but we can see the results."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Speaking of training, I wanted to remind you that you should not focus on training to the exclusion of everything else. Some rest and recreation are needed, or even the most dedicated efforts will suffer."
"I'll suffer even more if I'm caught unprepared," Harry shot back.
"That is true, but you can overdo it. I think Mister Wood's training schedules suffered from that fault, did they not? You cannot do your best if you are exhausted - physically, mentally or both."
Harry frowned. "I can take it." He could.
"Most people tend to think so - until they find out, often to their great detriment, that they overestimated themselves." The Headmaster slowly shook his head. "You should take care to let your body and mind recover and relax. It will benefit your training more in the long run - especially given the approaching O.W.L. exams."
The O.W.L.s were the last thing - or almost the last thing - Harry was worried about. But if the Headmaster wanted him to relax, he should probably heed his advice. Especially since Dumbledore might tell Moody to take a break otherwise. "Alright, sir, I will relax more." Some, he thought. At least Ginny would be happy; his girlfriend had told him the same several times... Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Very well, Harry. Is there anything else?"
"No, sir." Nothing he wanted to tell the Headmaster, at least.
Ginny was waiting for him in the hallway when he left the Headmaster's office. "Hey," she greeted him - more shyly than usual, he realised. Both her presence and manner confirmed his suspicion.
"Did you tell Dumbledore that I was training too much?" he snapped, clenching his teeth.
She looked shocked for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and her mouth half-open. Then she narrowed her eyes and raised her chin. "And what if I did? He thinks you're overdoing it as well."
"He didn't mind until you told him," Harry spat. How could she go and complain about their relationship to the Headmaster?
"He didn't know what you were doing until I told him!" She put her hands on her hips. "Should I have simply let you continue? Until you hurt yourself?"
"I wouldn't have hurt myself."
She scoffed. "So you think. Dumbledore would know better, though. And he agreed when I told him how much time you spent training!"
"What?" He stared at her. "Did you tell him everything I, we did?"
She blushed slightly, then pressed her lips together. "Only how much you were training."
He scoffed. "Well, he told me to train less. Are you happy now?"
"Will you stop running yourself ragged then?" she shot back.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Harry snorted and shook his head. "Did you decide what I'll be doing to relax as well?"
She bit her lower lip, like Hermione, then took a deep breath. "I was just worried about you. You've changed since the attack," she said in a softer voice.
"With good reason. I almost got killed. We both almost died." If only he had been training more before that.
"But don't you see? You were hurting yourself with all the training. You could barely walk after today's session."
"Moody didn't say anything."
"He wouldn't say anything if you were half-dead! That man's crazy!" She shook her head wildly, sending her long hair flying.
"But he knows his stuff," Harry retorted. "I need his training. You need it too." She was improving, but she was still behind Ron and himself.
"But I need more than that." She swallowed. "I want to do more with you than train and then snog in a cupboard before you go off again, to Dumbledore or wherever."
"We do more than that."
"Not that much more." She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. "Please…"
He sighed. "I want to do more, too." And more than snogging, but this wasn't the time to mention that. "But with Voldemort, and the O.W.L.s, and the curse…" He shrugged, lightly so her hand wouldn't slide off his arm. "I can only do so much." Why couldn't she see that?
"Can you at least try?"
He sighed again, but nodded. Then he opened his arms, and they embraced each other.
He opened his mouth to apologise for snapping at her, but closed it again without saying anything. She hadn't apologised for going to Dumbledore behind his back, either.
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, April 2nd, 1996
Bill Weasley - the only ones who called him 'William Weasley' were Aunt Muriel and Albus Dumbledore - closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Don't strain yourself, son. Take a break."
He sighed and looked at his father, who was standing on the porch. "I'm not tired. Really," he added when he saw the doubting expression on his dad's face. "I'm just a little…" Frustrated. "...challenged here."
His father sighed as well and sat down on the lawn next to him. "You don't need to mince words with me. I know that you already strengthened The Burrow's wards to the best of your ability last year. Your mother knows it as well, but…" He shrugged.
Bill nodded. He knew what his dad meant. "I've learned a few new tricks since last Summer," he said. "It's just a little tricky to implement them."
Judging by the way his dad winced, he also knew what Bill meant. "Don't endanger yourself, Bill."
"This is very safe compared to some of my work," Bill said, then clenched his teeth. That was the kind of line you gave to a pretty and impressionable witch, not to your worrying parents.
"Don't let Molly hear that. You know what she thinks about your job."
He certainly knew what his mum thought about his work. And his other life choices - she wasn't exactly subtle. Bill shook his head. "I won't. But this is an opportunity to show her that I can help the family with more than gold. That's why I took the job, after all." Part of the reason, at least, if he was honest. It paid far more than a Ministry post, but it was also far more exciting than pushing parchment around at the Ministry.
"You have already helped the family a lot, Bill. The matter with Percy could have been far worse, if not for your support. And the wards have never been stronger than after you improved them last year."
"I can improve them further, though," Bill retorted.
"You're not doing anything…" His dad glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "...illegal, are you?"
Bill shook his head. "No. I'm not adding any illegal spells." He wasn't lying - the spells he planned to add weren't banned in Britain. And not just because they weren't known in Britain, either. "Just a few of the more obscure curses Egyptian priests used to protect their graves. Not the dark ones," he added, "but spells others won't know, and therefore won't know how to deal with."
"Unless they're Curse-Breakers like you who do that regularly."
Bill scoffed. "They would need to be very good Curse-Breakers - and we're a rare breed."
"Because you're dealing with unknown curses regularly."
Dad's tone was mild, but Bill clenched his teeth. "We take far more time to break through wards in my job than anyone attacking The Burrow would have." He wasn't going to quit his job because of a little risk.
"So… how are you doing?" Dad asked after a short pause. "Apart from this, I mean."
Bill didn't know if he meant the wards, or the war that was brewing. "I'm doing fine. Gringotts wasn't that happy with me taking a vacation, but what can they do?" He grinned. The goblins wouldn't be able to easily replace him so they didn't have any leverage. That was why they had approved his transfer to Gringotts in Britain, too - he had flat-out told them that he'd quit otherwise.
"A whole lot if they're feeling cheated, according to Dirk Cresswell."
Bill shrugged. "They would have to go against Dumbledore too." And while the goblins were not cowards, they certainly weren't suicidal either. His father didn't look convinced, though, Bill noticed. "How are things at the Ministry?"
"Not as well as they should be, not as bad as they could be."
Bill rolled his eyes at the answer. "Malfoy still giving you trouble?"
"Yes."
"Someone should do something about that man," Bill said. Sometimes a little blood had to be spilled to solve a problem - something he had learned at Gringotts.
"Dumbledore said the matter was in hand, and that rash action would be detrimental to his plans."
Bill snorted. "I hope he does something before Malfoy goes after Percy again."
"That was a nasty affair, but we weathered it well, considering the circumstances."
"Could have been worse, should have been better?"
His dad laughed at his own words being turned back at him. "That about sums it up." After a moment, he added: "Are you going to Hogwarts after dinner?"
"Yes. Dumbledore has a few questions about Egypt."
His dad knew that there was more to it, that Bill was a member of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix - the same as himself. But he didn't pry; both knew better than to share sensitive information. And Bill didn't want anyone to know that he had been removing dark curses from highly illegal books about blood magic for the Headmaster since he had returned to Britain. Least of all his parents.
"Now, Molly's been wondering if you've met a nice witch yet."
Bill rolled his eyes again. "My kind of nice witch, or hers?"
"I think as the years pass without you settling down, she is settling for 'any kind of nice'," his dad said. "So... have you?"
Bill shook his head. He hadn't been looking, either, but he didn't say that. Curse-Breaking wasn't a profession for a family man, as his old mentor had taught him. And Bill wasn't about to quit to settle down.
Not when being a Curse-Breaker so often did impress the right kind of witches.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 3rd, 1996
Moody's training hadn't been entirely positive, Harry Potter thought as he finished his breakfast in Grimmauld Place's kitchen. The combat training was great, but what Moody called - loudly - 'Constant Vigilance' was a mixed blessing. Harry understood the need to be cautious - he was all too aware that Voldemort wanted him dead and that the Dark Lord had many supporters to do his bidding, even at Hogwarts, and that there were ways to impersonate or control people. But it was sometimes hard to tell where the line between being cautions and being paranoid was.
Especially when it came to Sirius's girlfriend, whose steps he heard in the hallway outside the kitchen.
"Good morning, Harry." There she was, smiling widely - too widely - at him.
"Good morning, Jeanne." Harry forced himself to return the smile. He'd still be calling the witch 'Miss Dubois' if not for Sirius. His godfather was in love with the witch. Whose English was far too perfect for a woman raised in France, in Harry's opinion. She had the same tutor as Miss Merriweather, who hadn't lost her obvious American accent despite having been tutored for longer. "Croissants?" He held out the basket to her. Breakfast had acquired a slightly French taste because of her, but he wasn't yet certain if that was a bad thing.
Just as he wasn't yet certain whether or not the witch was good for Sirius. His godfather was happy with her, as far as Harry could tell - and it wasn't the result of potions or a charm; he had checked. But if she was just after Sirius's money, it would break his heart. Or worse - Harry had heard the rumours about Zabini's mother and her seven late husbands.
"Is your girlfriend visiting today?" Jeanne asked as she buttered up her croissant. "I'm not going to tell on her," she added with a smile. "I know how it is to be young and in love."
Harry didn't doubt that - she was young, and Sirius was in love. He shrugged. "My home's almost as safe as Hogwarts." Safer, even - there were no Slytherins around. "Molly's just upset that we didn't ask her before Ginny visited."
"She might also fear that the two of you would be a little too forward with each other."
Harry snorted. "Molly's been to Hogwarts too." And he knew from Sirius's tales that it hadn't been any harder to find a private spot in the past compared to today. "Hasn't Sirius told you about his romances at school?" he asked in a casual tone as he spread honey over his toast. He glanced at her to see her reaction, though, and noticed her flinching slightly.
She recovered quickly, though. "No, he hasn't. It would have been poor form too, talking about past lovers with your paramour. You didn't tell Ginny everything you did with your other girlfriends, did you?"
"Of course not!" Harry blurted out - he knew better than that.
The French witch nodded in apparent satisfaction.
Harry hid his frown behind his cup of tea. He really didn't like Jeanne.
*****
"Hello, Hermione!"
Hermione Granger had barely stepped inside Grimmauld Place when she was greeted by her best friend. Which was rather suspicious, she thought. "Hello, Harry." She hugged him, of course, but as soon as they pulled apart again, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Did you wait in the entrance hall for me to arrive?"
"What if I did?" He smiled at her so nicely, she almost dropped her inquiry.
She didn't, though - she knew better. "It usually means that you need something from me."
He glanced over his shoulder as he chuckled. "You're right."
Of course she was - she knew him better than probably anyone else. Sirius and Ginny certainly were not objective when it came to Harry, and Ron was also usually too biased. "So, what do you need? You didn't insult another poor cat, did you?" she added with a glare.
He rolled his eyes. "Please let it rest, Hermione. It's not as if the cat understood me."
She huffed. Call her fat and claim she had fleas, would he? A tail like a bottle brush? The nerve of him! The dog was obviously a bad influence. "Cats are smarter than you think they are."
He shrugged. "They're also meaner than you think."
What? She glared at him. "You shouldn't believe everything Sirius tells you." She needed to swat the dog on the nose again.
"Crookshank shredded my shoes when I visited you."
"Easily fixed with a charm." Obviously, the poor thing had just wanted to tell her that he needed new toys.
"That's not the point," Harry said with a frown. "And your stray clawed my leg."
Only very lightly. "You probably held her wrong," she said, shrugging. That should have taught him to insult a perfectly fine and elegant cat.
He sighed. "Let's drop it. I need to talk to you about something else. Something more important."
"Alright." She nodded at him. "Your room or mine?"
He winced and glanced over his shoulder again. "Good thing Sirius didn't hear that; he would have teased us for hours."
She nodded - that would be typical for the dog. "So?"
"My room."
*****
Harry Potter took a deep breath and faced Hermione, who was sitting on his bed. "You know Sirius's girlfriend, 'Jeanne'."
"Of course I know her - I'm Sirius's secretary and have probably spent more time in this house than you have so far," she responded.
He rolled his eyes. Did she have to be like that? "Please, I asked you to drop it. This isn't about your cat - this is important."
"My cat is important," she retorted. "And she's not my cat." He stared at her with his mouth open and she flushed slightly. "I mean, I don't own her."
"Whatever." He took another deep breath. "Does 'Jeanne' act suspiciously friendly towards you too?"
"'Suspiciously friendly'?"
"You know, like: 'Please call me Jeanne.' 'I've heard so much about you.' 'You're so brave.'," he said, trying his best to imitate her voice.
"Not exactly like that," Hermione answered. "But she does try to be friendly, yes."
"Ah!" He knew it!
"Which is perfectly normal in this situation," Hermione went on. "She wants to be on good terms with the family - and the staff, in my case - of her lover."
"You're not part of the staff," he said, "you're my best friend. Part of the family. Like Remus." She had even stopped calling Sirius 'Mr Black'. "But the point is, she's also acting exactly like a gold-digger would when trying to earn our trust before she betrays Sirius or steals his gold."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "That sounds exactly like what that twit Dawlish accused me of doing."
"He's an idiot. You're my best friend, and you're no gold-digger - you're pretty much the opposite of a gold-digger!" Harry said.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked - in a rather tense way, he noticed.
"I mean, you're certainly not trying to seduce Sirius. Or me," he explained. That was obvious by the way she dressed - casual muggle wear, or loose robes. Nothing like the tight, short robes Jeanne seemed to favour. Which would look fine on Ginny, too, now that he thought about it.
"Of course not!" she exclaimed. "I'd rather hex Sirius than seduce him! That… that man is insufferable!"
That was a little too vehement for Harry's taste. "He's still suffering from Azkaban."
"Without a doubt. But he also acts as if he never grew up." Hermione huffed. "Honestly, most of the time, you act more mature than he does!"
Harry wasn't certain if that was a compliment. For a moment, he wanted to ask if she considered him as similarly unattractive. But he decided against it. Some things men weren't meant to know, as Sirius would say. "Anyway. As you mentioned, I'm not at home very often..."
"Sorry," she mumbled, wincing.
"It's true," he said and sat down on his new swivel chair - one of Sirius's Christmas gifts. Leaning forward, he met her eyes. "But you're here each day. And you have access to Sirius whenever you want. You can observe her discreetly and find out what exactly she's planning." It was the obvious solution to the problem.
She blinked, apparently surprised. "You want me to spy on her for you?" She looked incredulous.
Maybe it hadn't been obvious to her, since she hadn't been trained by Moody, Harry thought. He nodded. "Yes. We can't be certain whether she's a gold-digger or not without more information."
"Have you ever thought that, perhaps, you might just be jealous of her close relationship with Sirius?"
He frowned at his friend. "Of course I considered that. But I'm not jealous of your own close relationship with Sirius, am I?"
"I don't have a 'close relationship' with that… man." Hermione almost seem to hiss the last word.
"I don't mean that kind of 'close relationship'," he hastened to explain. "But you see him each day, you work together, you have a room here - you know what I mean?"
She nodded. "Yes."
"And you know that Sirius is head over heels about her. If she's a gold-digger - or, worse, a spy - he might not notice." The Dark Lord was after Harry and his godfather, after all. And he had a lot of followers to spy for him.
"Have you spoken to Sirius about this?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't want to ruin this for him. Not unless she is a threat." He couldn't do that to his godfather.
Hermione slowly shook her head. "Of course. But as I told you - she's friendly with me as well. If she actually is a gold-digger, she won't drop her facade in front of me. I don't think I can find out much by observing her."
"Just do your best, OK?" Harry sighed. "I wish I could ask her friend, Miss Merriweather. But she 'returned to the New World', as Jeanne put it, soon after Sirius started going out with Jeanne. Which is rather suspicious, too," he added. Then he smiled as he had a thought. "Her tutor! You could ask him for a few lessons, and see if he knows anything about Jeanne!"
"Lessons?" Hermione had that incredulous expression again.
"Yes," Harry nodded. "I know you've already got a tutor for the school stuff, but you could take a few lessons in etiquette and fashion, or something." It would be the perfect cover, too, he added to himself with a glance at her rather shapeless muggle clothes.
Then he noticed that she was glaring at him. And holding her wand.
*****
"Sirius! Do you have a moment?" Harry Potter asked without opening the door to his godfather's study completely. He'd rather not walk in on Sirius and Jeanne.
"Of course, Harry. I've always time for you. Come in!"
Harry smiled and entered. Sirius was alone, too - Hermione was in her own 'office'.
"What do you need?" Sirius asked as he stood and walked over to the couch and armchair in the corner. "Sit down. Want a Butterbeer?"
"No, thanks," Harry Potter said, sitting down. How best to explain...
"Girl trouble?" Sirius asked.
"What? No. Ginny's fine." They hadn't gone to the Astronomy Tower as often as they had during term, but they saw each other every day.
Sirius nodded. "So, tell me what ails you."
Harry briefly rolled his eyes at his godfather's antics. "I'm worried about Hermione."
"Hermione? Why? What happened?"
"Well…" He couldn't tell Sirius everything, Harry knew. "I asked her if she would like to get a a few wizarding etiquette and fashion lessons, and she looked as if she wanted to hex me."
Sirius chuckled. "You're very lucky to be alive - not many wizards can say that to a witch and escape uncursed."
"It's not funny, Sirius. I'm worried. Hermione cares more about her cats than anyone else - and she's also never had a boyfriend. She doesn't go out either. If she doesn't change, she'll become a crazy cat lady." Like Mrs Figgs, only younger.
Sirius started to laugh as if Harry had just told him the funniest joke ever. His godfather obviously still hadn't fully recovered from Azkaban.
*****
London, Greenwich, April 4th, 1996
Hermione Granger finished her Charms homework - if you could call it homework when she was basically working next to her tutor - and glanced at Mr Fletcher. He was studying the notes he had received from Dumbledore, trying to find out where their next target was. But he had been doing that for hours, so she didn't feel awkward about interrupting him. She cleared her throat. "Mr Fletcher?"
He looked up. "You know, it sounds kind of odd, at least a little, that you call me 'Mr Fletcher' and Black 'Sirius'. We're all in this together."
"You're my tutor," she responded.
"And he's your employer."
"And he pretty much blackmailed me into calling him by his first name." It wasn't technically blackmail - more like calling in a favour. But it sounded better to call it blackmail.
Mr Fletcher shrugged. "Anyway, what do you need?"
She sighed. "Harry is concerned about Jeanne's intentions towards his godfather. He asked me to spy on her."
"He's getting concerned about his future stepmother taking Mrs Zabini as a role model?"
She nodded. "Or that she's a Death Eater spy. Or a gold-digger."
He rubbed his chin. "Well, we both know that she has the skills to charm a man. And pretty much everyone among the Old Families knows that Elias Selwyn wants his daughter to marry rich."
And Sirius was very rich. "Mr Selwyn is not fond of Sirius, though," she said. Nor was Sirius fond of the bigot. "They haven't met once since Sirius started dating her. No invitations. They haven't even talked to each other in passing at events that they both attended."
"And what did Jeanne say about this?"
"That her father didn't control her," Hermione answered. Or so Sirius had claimed, when she had touched on the subject once in private. "Which may not be entirely accurate, seeing as he pays her a generous allowance." But Sirius had certainly liked that line, as far as she could tell.
"Which she wouldn't need any more, should Sirius decide to keep her."
"Yes." She nodded. "So, either she is honestly in love with Sirius, or she's doing very well at acting like she is."
"And Potter wants you find out which is correct."
She scoffed. "He mentioned that I could approach you under the guise of needing lessons in etiquette and fashion!"
Mr Fletcher laughed at that, despite her glaring at him.
She sniffed. "Obviously my acting has him completely fooled if he thinks that I need such lessons." It still stung - she hadn't dressed down that much.
"Obviously." He had stopped laughing, but was still smiling. "So, what did you tell him?"
"I told him that I didn't need his or anyone else's help in that matter," Hermione responded primly.
"The lessons, or the spying?"
"I left that open." She sighed. "But he is correct that Jeanne might be trying to con Sirius. Or worse."
Mr Fletcher frowned. "I don't think that she is a spy for the Dark Lord. She would have acted differently - more sympathetic to muggleborns - if she was meant to spy on Black and others."
Hermione nodded. "Yes." Jeanne had pretty much ignored that topic, as far as she could remember. "But while she joked about her father's wishes for her, she didn't seem that opposed to them either."
Mr Fletcher shrugged. "Being rich never hurt a wizard's chances with the witches."
"So, what can we do? 'Miss Merriweather' has returned to America and is therefore not available to subtly question Jeanne," Hermione said. "And contrary to Harry's expectations, 'Mr Smith' doesn't know Jeanna that well either."
"There's not much that we can do." He shrugged. "Even if she's not after Black's gold, she might tell her father that just to have him support her. We could dose her with Veritaserum and obliviate her afterwards, but that might be a little much."
Hermione nodded in agreement. But if needed, that plan certainly would solve the issue. As long as Jeanne didn't remember it and Sirius never knew. "I guess I'll have to simply keep an eye on her and see if she slips up."
"And hope she doesn't recognise you."
"I'll keep my distance." Which wouldn't help with the observation. She sighed and changed the topic. "Did you make any progress?" she asked nodding at his notes.
"Not much," he answered. "These are muggle police reports of missing persons - all of them last seen leaving a pub or party with a beautiful, pale woman no one knew."
"The 'Pale Lady Abductions'?" Hermione asked - that had been a major news story a few weeks ago. "I thought vampires didn't have to kill their victims." Hermione had studied them quite extensively, especially since her close encounter with Tripe. "Attracting attention like that doesn't seem a smart idea."
"They don't need to. But they might want to - for a variety of reasons." Mr Fletcher grimaced.
"Like dark rituals," Hermione said. "Or blood magic."
"Exactly." He nodded with a smile, and, for a moment, she felt like a normal student again, answering her teacher's question correctly. "This vampire might have the tomes we seek."
She looked at the notes. She wondered how the Headmaster had managed to get the police reports on the disappearances. "These are spread almost all over Merseyside and North Wales," she noted after quickly perusing them.
"Yes. And while vampires are very prone to falling into patterns - the source of the muggle stories about them being forced to count rice grains dropped on the floor - I haven't found any yet." Mr Fletcher shook his head. "This vampire is being rather smart about it."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Let me take a look. Please," she added a moment later.
"Be my guest." He flicked his wand and duplicated the notes.
She smiled. This was far more important than spying on Jeanne.
And far more difficult too, as she discovered quite quickly.
*****
Hogwarts, April 5th, 1996
Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in Remus's quarters, but didn't even come close to falling down - he was making progress.
"Hi, Harry!" His girlfriend was giggling, though, so he still had a way to go.
"Ginny!" He took her in his arms and lifted her up until her feet left the ground and her giggles turned to gasps.
"Put me down!"
He did - and stifled further protests with a kiss.
"You've been waiting for me, hm?" he asked a minute or so later.
"Well, the alternative was watching Ron play chess against a portrait or serving as a tester for Fred and George's latest invention." She shrugged, but she was grinning as well.
He nodded with a serious expression. "I see. That must have been a hard decision to make."
"Oh, yes. Spending time with you narrowly won out." She narrowed her eyes and mockingly glared at him. "I can still go and watch Ron play, though, if you turn out to be a let-down."
He beamed at her - that was a perfect opening - and slung his arm around her waist. "Have I ever let you down? We've got an hour before Moody arrives - and the whole school to ourselves…" There was this cozy little room that had apparently served as a music room before a renovation. He felt her grow tense under his hand and frowned.
"I'd rather take our brooms out. The weather's fine, and we haven't done that in a while."
Unlike other things. In private. But she had a point, Harry thought. "Good idea. We can use the training too. Perhaps we should call Ron and the twins, so we can train dodging multiple spells." That should be a blast, he thought.
Ginny didn't look happy with that idea, though. "I was thinking more like just the two of us," she said. "Without anyone else. Maybe a Seeker duel."
He grinned. "Oh, of course. But if I win, I demand a kiss as a reward. While we're flying."
That got her blushing.
*****
Harry Potter won, of course - even if it was a closer race than usual. And he got his kiss, with the two of them hovering near the Astronomy Tower. If only they had more time… but Moody would be arriving soon.
"Let's land," he said. "We don't want to be late." Moody was harsh enough when you were on time; Harry didn't want to find out how the old Auror would react to him being late.
Ginny sighed. "Another two hours of getting hexed and cursed."
"And smashed into walls," Harry added with a chuckle. "Ceilings and floors too."
"It's not funny," she said, glaring at him.
He shrugged. "It's necessary, though." The Dark Lord was after him, after all.
"But lately, all we've been doing together is training with Moody, and snogging," Ginny said. "You can overdo the training, you know."
"For snogging?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner as he grinned at her.
She didn't laugh. She didn't even chuckle. "I'm serious. You've spent most of the holiday so far training with Moody or with Dumbledore. You need to relax, too. And we need to do more than just snog and train together."
"Snogging's pretty relaxing," he pointed out. As was sex.
"But not if it's all we do together." She shook her head, her ponytail whipping back and forth.
"Well, we just had a Seeker duel." Which had been fun, too.
"Because I asked you to. And you wanted to use the opportunity to train in dodging curses."
"I might need that training the next time a Death Eater catches me - or us." Harry shrugged and stared at the Quidditch shed. They really needed to land now. He looked at his girlfriend. "You've been there. You know how it is."
"Yes. But I'm just saying, you shouldn't overdo it. That's not healthy. And we should do more together than just snog, too." She must have seen his expression, since she added: "Or have sex."
"I can do that once Voldemort's dead," Harry said. He certainly wouldn't be able to do anything if he got killed because he hadn't trained enough.
She looked at him, then shook her head again. "Let's land."
"Alright," he said. But it wasn't. And they were late.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 6th, 1996
Harry Potter knocked on the door to Sirius's study. "Sirius? Are you up yet?" He thought he heard someone mutter inside, but couldn't catch the words. Then the door was opened, and Sirius was standing there. "Morning, Harry!"
Harry saw Jeanne stowing her wand behind him. Her clothes looked impeccable. Which probably meant that they had been anything but when he had knocked. He wasn't sorry. Much. "Morning," he said.
"Good morning, Harry," Jeanne said with a wide, too wide, smile.
"Ah, to be a teenager again, sleeping in during the holidays, instead of working in the morning…" Sirius sighed.
"I've been up training at Hogwarts until midnight," Harry muttered. Tonks hadn't lied - Moody really didn't like it if you were late to his lessons.
"And you've been sleeping until… what time is it?" Sirius asked, glancing over his shoulder at his girlfriend.
"Ten in the morning, chéri."
"I didn't sleep until ten; I already had breakfast," Harry said. "Anyway, do you have a minute? I need to talk to you."
"Of course, Harry! Always!"
"I'll see you later, Harry, chéri." Jeanne waved at them as she passed on her way out of the room.
"So, what do you need to talk about?" Sirius asked once the door was closed.
"Girls," Harry answered.
"Didn't we have that talk already?" Sirius frowned. "I distinctly remember that. I think I do, at least."
For a moment, Harry wasn't certain if his godfather was joking. Then he saw the man's grin and rolled his eyes. "Not that talk. But I need some advice about girls. Two specific girls."
"Two girls?" Sirius's grin widened even as he raised his eyebrows.
"Not that kind of… whatever." Harry sighed. "It's about Ginny and Hermione."
To his mild surprise, Sirius stopped grinning. "Oh? What happened with them?"
"Nothing. I'm worried about two unrelated things. At least I don't think they're related." He sighed again. "Ginny's been acting… weird lately. She doesn't like that I'm training so hard. And she wanted to spend time with me - not like that," he added when he saw the grin reappear on Sirius's face. "We had a Seeker duel. And she didn't want me to ask her brothers to join us for a Quidditch session." He bit his lips. "I wonder if she's starting to act like Parvati. She always wanted me to spend time with her, and only her."
"Well, witches don't like it if you just snog and have sex when you're together. I told you that, didn't I?" Sirius frowned.
"Yes, you did. But it's not like that." Not entirely, at least. "I have to train so I can survive whatever Voldemort tries next. I'm not spending all of my time hanging out with my friends and only going to her for a quick snog."
"Or a quick shag," Sirius added. "Later at least."
Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather again. That wasn't the point. "I am spending most of my free time with her. A lot, at least. But I don't want to neglect my friends either." Which is why it would have been nice if they had been able to play together with Ron and the twins.
Sirius rubbed his goatee. "Well, she should understand that saving your life takes priority over romantic strolls along the lakeside."
Harry frowned at him. "We're not doing that again." Not until Voldemort was dealt with.
"I was speaking figuratively." Sirius waved his hand. "But I think you'll have to tell her that she can't completely monopolise your free time."
"I don't want her to monopolise my free time at all," Harry said. That reminded him too much of Parvati's attitude. When he saw Sirius's expression, he quickly added: "I mean apart from snogging."
Sirius actually laughed at that. "Harry, listen to your experienced godfather: You can't expect a witch to just be there for you when you want to… snog her. I mean, you shouldn't neglect your friends, but your girlfriend deserves time as well. Romantic times."
Harry groaned. "I guess this is one of the times when being honest isn't a good idea?"
"You're right, Harry. Now, you mentioned Hermione as well?"
Harry took a moment to answer. "Yes. She's been very distant this week. Leaves early, doesn't spend much time with me… I asked her if something was wrong, and she said that she wasn't angry at me, but simply busy. But I think she's angry with me, even if I haven't done anything to her. I even apologised for 'insulting' her cat. "
"Well, maybe that's the problem?" Sirius cocked his head sideways.
"The cat?" If Hermione took that so seriously, then she already was a crazy cat lady. Besides, he had just been honest.
"No, the not doing anything to her," Sirius clarified.
"Huh?" Harry blinked, then rolled his eyes. His godfather needed to stop thinking that everything was about sex. "She's not interested in me like that. If she were, she'd have said something. And she would have dressed up a bit." Like Ginny had done when they had come together.
Sirius shrugged. "She might think she's too ugly to have a chance."
"She isn't ugly," Harry said. "But she really could use some fashion lessons. And a new hairstyle. And some makeup."
"My godson, the expert on witches!" Sirius chuckled a little too loudly for Harry's taste.
"You can't exactly remain ignorant of such things when you have a girlfriend," he retorted. At least not a girlfriend like Parvati. "But yes, if I didn't know better I'd suspect that she's deliberately dressing like that."
"Why would she be doing that?"
Harry shrugged. "Maybe she doesn't want the Prophet to call her a gold-digger? I don't know. But I want to know why she's angry with me."
"Well… you rejected my theory that she fancies you. That leaves us with the most obvious explanation." Sirius grinned at Harry.
"Which is?" Harry asked through clenched teeth when his godfather didn't go on.
"Well, she's studying for her O.W.L.s."
Harry stared at him, then sighed. "I'm an idiot!" Of course Hermione would be studying hard already! It was just two months until the O.W.L.s.! Then he frowned. "But she hasn't badgered me or Ron about studying."
"She knows that you two have more important things to worry about."
"Right."
Harry was both relieved and disappointed. It was good that Hermione wasn't mad at him. But he would have liked to spend some time with her over the holidays.
*****
London, Greenwich, April 10th, 1996
There had to be a pattern, Hermione Granger told herself, not for the first time. Vampires fell into patterns. The police hadn't picked it up, which meant it had to be of a magical nature. Something muggles wouldn't think of. And it wasn't simple or logical, or she would have solved the problem days ago.
It was a logical deduction, but it didn't change the fact that she was stumped. She sighed and pushed the notes on the table away so she could rest her head on her arms.
"Taking a break from studying?" Mr Fletcher asked from where he was reading muggle newspapers.
"That was my break," Hermione said, with her face buried in her arms.
"Ah."
She glanced up. He wasn't looking at her. Pointedly not. She frowned. "I'm going to find that pattern," she spat.
"Alright." He nodded.
"I mean it," she said, scowling.
"I believe you." He did not, she was certain. But she couldn't call him out for that.
She sighed again. "I'm certain that the pattern is related to magic. But I haven't found anything. The disappearances aren't linked to moon phases, nor to constellations." And checking that had been a pain. If only she hadn't dropped Astronomy two years ago… She glared at Mr Fletcher. He didn't react, other than a slight twitch of his lips. "I suspect that it is linked to blood magic - if she's sacrificing people for a blood magic ritual, then she would pick them due to their blood. But I haven't been able to find a pattern based on the blood type of the victims, not from the limited information in the police records - they don't have the full blood group classifications." If she knew more about blood magic… "But even if there were a pattern based on blood that doesn't mean that we'd find her next victim in time to catch her. It's not as if people publish their blood types…" She trailed off. "But if she can find her victims..."
"...then she has to have a way to search for them," Mr Fletcher finished for her with a rather feral-looking grin.
"Blood banks. She has to have a connection to a blood bank. We need to check if the victims have donated blood, and where." Hermione stood and smiled widely. This was it! They'd find the vampire!
*****
Liverpool, Britain, April 12th, 1996
"Breaking into muggle offices… this feels like barely a step above duelling a baby." The dog was still complaining, Hermione Granger thought as she searched the records of the NHS blood processing centre for the names of the missing persons.
"You insisted on coming along, Black." Mr Fletcher wasn't much of a help, splitting his attention between watching for the night guard returning, and sniping at Sirius.
"I had to. Imagine if you stumble upon the vampire and I'm not here to save you from her - that'd be a bloody mess." Black sighed theatrically.
"We can handle a bloodsucker, Black," Mr Fletcher shot back.
"In your dreams. If she's a practitioner of blood magic, she'll deal with you easily."
"So only your dark curses will be able to deal with her?" Mr Fletcher scoffed.
"Well… who killed Tripe and saved you two?" The dog sounded so smug right then, Hermione had trouble focusing on her task instead of hexing him. But someone had to take this seriously, even if it had been child's play to break into the facility's offices with magic.
"Emphasis on 'killed', Black."
"I'm not going to spare a vampire when I'm saving Hermione. Or you," Sirius said. "Unless you insist on it." He even sounded hopeful!
Mr Fletcher snorted. "Yeah, right."
"Is that a yes?"
"No." Mr Fletcher spat.
"Hah! So much for your precious morals!" The dog's loud triumph would have alerted the night guard if not for the spells on the door.
Hermione had had enough. "We're on a mission!" she admonished the two bickering wizards.
Mr Fletcher looked contrite, but Sirius showed no remorse. "Haven't you finished yet? Jeanne's going to be wondering where I am if we take too long."
Hermione was about to set the dog straight with a few choice remarks, but just at that moment she finally found what she was looking for. "Hah! Everyone who's missing donated blood in the last few years. And now we have their complete records!" She turned to look at the two wizards, beaming. Her theory had just been proved!
"That's great! Can we go now?"
Hermione glared at the dog. "Certainly not! Unless you want to copy the entire database - which we can't do," she quickly said when he raised his wand with an expectant look in his eyes, "since it's in electronic form, and not printed out - we have to check for common traits in the data here."
"What are we checking, anyway?"
"There are almost three dozen blood group systems," she said, her attention once again focused on the screen. "This could take a while."
"What? Three dozen blood group systems? What's a blood group system, anyway?"
Hermione let her tutor field that question as she started another search.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 13th, 1996
"And all the victims' blood matched this profile." Hermione Granger pointed at the printout on the table - formerly owned by Tripe - in Sirius's basement.
"Ah." Sirius peered at the sheet and nodded, but Hermione doubted that the dog understood anything about muggle classifications of human blood groups. Wizards didn't need to, being able to simply replenish blood with a cheap potion.
"So, I ran a search, and, since the last disappearance, one new donor has been recorded with the same profile." She put another printout down. "Rupert Hornsby, from London. Donated on a trip, apparently."
"So, he's our vampire's next victim," Sirius said, grinning.
"That's going to be tricky," Mr Fletcher cut in. "We need to find the vampire's lair, which means we need to track her there. But if we foil her kidnapping attempt, she might be too cautious to head directly to her lair, and if we let her kidnap the man, we might not be able to break into her lair quickly enough to save him. Or she might take him to a ritual site, not her lair."
"If she's planning a ritual then she might still take her tomes with her for referencing," Hermione pointed out. She would certainly do so.
Her tutor looked doubtful even as he nodded slowly. "It's possible, but even so - we can't risk the muggle's life on such a possibility."
"We don't have to," Sirius said. He was smiling and shaking his head. "You're thinking like thieves."
"We are thieves," Mr Fletcher retorted.
"Yes, you are." Sirius made a point of looking at the furniture in the room.
Hermione exchanged a grin with her tutor. Tripe had had good taste, in her opinion, and it would have been a waste not to use perfectly good furniture until you could fence it without risk.
Sirius sighed. "Anyway. This is not a mission for thieves. We don't need to track the vampire if we can catch the vampire instead, and find out where her lair is that way."
That made sense, Hermione thought. She nodded. "You're right." She'd have to check whether Veritaserum worked on vampires.
"It won't be that easy, though," her tutor said. "We'll have to shadow the muggle around the clock, and we'll have to be ready to step in at a moment's notice. Cut off her escape and capture her. And worst case, she's an old, experienced vampire who knows blood magic - not an easy target to capture alive, as Black is fond of pointing out."
The dog was grinning again. "That doesn't really matter since you won't be the ones capturing her."
"What?" Hermione stared at him.
"As I said, it's not a mission for thieves." The dog grinned. "You can leave it to people trained for that sort of thing."
"Dumbledore's pet Aurors." Mr Fletcher said, sneering.
Sirius shrugged. "Perhaps, perhaps not - Dumbledore's playing his cards much closer to his chest this time around. Which is a good thing."
Hermione had to agree with that, even though it felt like a let-down to be excluded from the capture after having done all the legwork needed to find the vampire in the first place. And she was really curious about who the Headmaster would send on this mission. Perhaps she could…
"Whatever you're thinking right now, Hermione, the answer is no," Mr Fletcher interrupted her thoughts.
She made a mental note to work on her poker face, too. And, she added, as Sirius laughed at her, to teach the dog another lesson.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 13th, 1996
"Sirius? I'm off to Hogwarts for the afternoon…" Harry Potter trailed off when he saw his godfather rubbing his nose while holding his wand. "Did you hurt your nose?"
"Just a scratch," Sirius answered. "Cats can't take jokes without getting violent."
Harry was about to ask what cat Sirius was talking about when he heard a hiss and spotted Hermione's stray hiding behind the desk. He shook his head. "Did you try to prank the cat?"
"No!" Sirius protested. "It was just a little joke."
"She's a cat, Sirius. They don't understand jokes. Or much of anything else," Harry said, shaking his head.
"I fully agree!" Sirius beamed at him. He was acting rather weird, Harry thought. And he had been doing so well lately.
Harry sighed and bent down. The cat was staring at him and ducked her head. "What's she doing here anyway? And where's Hermione?"
"Probably looking for the cat," Sirius said, shrugging.
Harry stared at him. "And you didn't tell her that you found her?" His friend wouldn't be happy.
"I was about to chase her down when the beast scratched my nose."
A grown wizard, bested by a cat… Harry shook his head. "Whatever. Can you tell Hermione that I'm off to Hogwarts?" He didn't want to be late to Moody's lesson again.
"I'll tell her, don't worry. Although she's probably already aware - you know how she is."
"Yes." Harry smiled. "Good luck with the cat."
Before Sirius could answer, the cat suddenly darted out of his study at a dead run. He beamed at Harry. "Another problem solved!"
Harry shook his head at his godfather's antics again and left. He had a training session to attend.
He met Hermione in the entrance hall. "Harry! Don't you need to be at Hogwarts?" she asked.
"I'm about to leave," he said. "Are you looking for your cat?"
"She's not my cat," Hermione replied. "Have you seen her?"
He hesitated just a moment. "I saw her running out of Sirius's study at top speed. I don't know what exactly happened. You'll have to ask him."
"I most certainly will!" she announced, before hugging him goodbye.
That should stop his godfather's plans to prank cats.
*****
Hogwarts, April 13th, 1996
"I think that is all, Harry."
"Huh?" Harry Potter blinked. He must have dozed off in the Headmaster's office, he realised - Moody had pressed him and his friends hard that afternoon. "I'm sorry," he added.
"Do not be," the Headmaster said with a smile. "I am not so old that I have forgotten how boring it can feel to a young wizard to sit still and do nothing."
"Ah, yes." Harry didn't point out that the Headmaster was about the oldest person he knew. "So, what's the verdict?"
"I think I understand now what your mother did to protect you. In principle, at least."
"So you can duplicate it?" Harry perked up. That would mean the war was just about won.
Dumbledore's expression told him the answer even before the old wizard had finished talking. "I am afraid duplicating her feat is currently still beyond my ability. Lily was truly an exceptional witch. And oh so brave," he added. "But I am certain that I will not take too much longer to sort this out."
Harry nodded. He had heard that before, though. "And what about the curse on Remus and me?"
"I should soon acquire more resources to help with that goal."
Harry sighed. "So, there's been no progress."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "There have been no tangible results yet, but progress has been made."
Harry snorted. "At least training is going well. Moody's pushing us hard, but we can see the results."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Speaking of training, I wanted to remind you that you should not focus on training to the exclusion of everything else. Some rest and recreation are needed, or even the most dedicated efforts will suffer."
"I'll suffer even more if I'm caught unprepared," Harry shot back.
"That is true, but you can overdo it. I think Mister Wood's training schedules suffered from that fault, did they not? You cannot do your best if you are exhausted - physically, mentally or both."
Harry frowned. "I can take it." He could.
"Most people tend to think so - until they find out, often to their great detriment, that they overestimated themselves." The Headmaster slowly shook his head. "You should take care to let your body and mind recover and relax. It will benefit your training more in the long run - especially given the approaching O.W.L. exams."
The O.W.L.s were the last thing - or almost the last thing - Harry was worried about. But if the Headmaster wanted him to relax, he should probably heed his advice. Especially since Dumbledore might tell Moody to take a break otherwise. "Alright, sir, I will relax more." Some, he thought. At least Ginny would be happy; his girlfriend had told him the same several times... Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Very well, Harry. Is there anything else?"
"No, sir." Nothing he wanted to tell the Headmaster, at least.
*****
Ginny was waiting for him in the hallway when he left the Headmaster's office. "Hey," she greeted him - more shyly than usual, he realised. Both her presence and manner confirmed his suspicion.
"Did you tell Dumbledore that I was training too much?" he snapped, clenching his teeth.
She looked shocked for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and her mouth half-open. Then she narrowed her eyes and raised her chin. "And what if I did? He thinks you're overdoing it as well."
"He didn't mind until you told him," Harry spat. How could she go and complain about their relationship to the Headmaster?
"He didn't know what you were doing until I told him!" She put her hands on her hips. "Should I have simply let you continue? Until you hurt yourself?"
"I wouldn't have hurt myself."
She scoffed. "So you think. Dumbledore would know better, though. And he agreed when I told him how much time you spent training!"
"What?" He stared at her. "Did you tell him everything I, we did?"
She blushed slightly, then pressed her lips together. "Only how much you were training."
He scoffed. "Well, he told me to train less. Are you happy now?"
"Will you stop running yourself ragged then?" she shot back.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Harry snorted and shook his head. "Did you decide what I'll be doing to relax as well?"
She bit her lower lip, like Hermione, then took a deep breath. "I was just worried about you. You've changed since the attack," she said in a softer voice.
"With good reason. I almost got killed. We both almost died." If only he had been training more before that.
"But don't you see? You were hurting yourself with all the training. You could barely walk after today's session."
"Moody didn't say anything."
"He wouldn't say anything if you were half-dead! That man's crazy!" She shook her head wildly, sending her long hair flying.
"But he knows his stuff," Harry retorted. "I need his training. You need it too." She was improving, but she was still behind Ron and himself.
"But I need more than that." She swallowed. "I want to do more with you than train and then snog in a cupboard before you go off again, to Dumbledore or wherever."
"We do more than that."
"Not that much more." She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. "Please…"
He sighed. "I want to do more, too." And more than snogging, but this wasn't the time to mention that. "But with Voldemort, and the O.W.L.s, and the curse…" He shrugged, lightly so her hand wouldn't slide off his arm. "I can only do so much." Why couldn't she see that?
"Can you at least try?"
He sighed again, but nodded. Then he opened his arms, and they embraced each other.
He opened his mouth to apologise for snapping at her, but closed it again without saying anything. She hadn't apologised for going to Dumbledore behind his back, either.
*****
Chapter 19: Separations
Starfox5
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Chapter 19: Separations
London, Havering, April 19th, 1996
Hornsby was a very boring man, even for a muggle, Emmeline Vance thought as she watched his flat through her Omnioculars. She'd trailed him for a week now - together with Hestia, and Kingsley when he could spare the time - and, as far as she could tell, Hornsby was always either at work or at home, watching the telly. And doting on his cat. Although it made protecting him easy if, as Dumbledore expected, the man was the target of a vampire. Which Emmeline privately doubted - unless the vampire suffered from insomnia; as Tonks had said when they changed shifts, the man's blood must have absorbed so much boredom, it would likely put a vampire to sleep.
Chuckling at the weak joke, she took another bite out of the sandwich she had brought with her and tried to get comfortable - a Ford Anglia's seats weren't exactly armchairs. On the other hand, sitting in a disillusioned floating muggle car beat standing at a corner when it came to stakeouts. Emmeline hadn't been an Auror in over ten years, but she certainly remembered how annoying and tiresome that had been. And ten yards in the air, she wasn't at risk of getting run over by a car while disillusioned, either. According to Kingsley, that had actually happened to an Auror on a stakeout five years ago.
She shuddered at the thought and took another bite, then winced when she saw Hornsby get up and head to the bathroom. No matter how often Kingsley said that the enchantment on the Omnioculars was to ensure they could keep an eye on the muggle all the time, some things she didn't want to watch. No, wait - he was taking a shower. At… she checked her watch… seven pm? Was the man actually going out this evening?
She quickly looked over the neighbourhood. There was no sign of a stalking vampire. That didn't have to mean anything, of course - the vampire could be watching from a spot far outside the range of her Vampire-revealing Spell. And she might have changed her modus operandi anyway, what with even the muggles cottoning on to the fact that a woman was making men disappear.
On the other hand, vampires were not known to be very flexible when it came to their habits - that was why there were so few criminal bloodsuckers around; sooner or later their compulsive habits caught up with them. Emmeline was certain that the vampire would be approaching the man in his favourite pub.
Which, she realised, she didn't know. "Getting sloppy in your old age", she muttered to herself as she started the car and got ready to follow Hornsby. Who, as she saw, was dressing up in a suit again - as if he was going to work. Definitely the most boring man she knew. At least he had left the tie off… no, he was picking up a bowtie.
Emmeline wasn't a muggleborn, but she had spent enough time in muggle London as an Auror to know that such garments had been out of fashion among muggles even fifteen years ago. At least when it came to clubbing. Not that she thought that a leather jacket would fit the man anyway.
There he was. And he was taking his car. That meant he wasn't planning to drink. Or not much - muggles weren't allowed to drive drunk and couldn't sober up with a potion either. So what was he up to?
Thirty minutes later, she had her answer: Hornsby was entering a dance hall. A sign outside read 'Latin night'. Judging by the way the porter greeted him, he was a regular here, too.
For a moment, Emmeline thought of simply staying in the car and keeping an eye on the muggle with her Omnioculars. But there were too many people inside - it would be too easy to miss the vampire. Sighing, she left the car hovering next to a streetlight so she would find it again and apparated down to the street. A glance at the dresses the muggles were wearing and a quick transfiguration later, she was on her way, using her enchanted mirror to tell Dumbledore where she was. Just in case.
Hornsby could dance, she had to admit half an hour later. He wasn't sweeping anyone off their feet - not figuratively - but he knew what he was doing. And he was popular too, Emmeline noticed - he didn't lack partners. And yet, something was off, though she couldn't tell what it was. Perhaps...
"Miss? Would you care for this dance?"
Emmeline forced herself to smile at the fifth man in half an hour asking her to dance. "Sorry, I'm not yet feeling up to it."
"Alright." The man nodded at her and went to ask the next woman.
She sighed and turned her attention back to Hornsby. Perhaps she should have gone disillusioned and risked a muggle stumbling into her. At least she wouldn't get distracted all the time.
She watched Hornsby bow to his partner after the song ended, and then turn towards the small bar. He was finally taking a break, Emmeline noted as she shifted around a little so she could keep an eye on the man. Who was ordering a mineral water. She sighed.
Then her eyes widened. A very beautiful, very pale and very slinkily dressed woman had just taken up the spot next to him at the bar. She couldn't hear what the woman was saying, but the way she was leaning towards Hornsby would let him look down her dress to her navel. Or her toes. If he were looking - which he wasn't, Emmeline noted. He was barely reacting to the woman.
In fact, when she put her hand on his arm, he even pried it off. She didn't like that, at all - for a moment, her face contorted with anger. Emmeline was moving closer, one hand on her mirror. She could call Dumbledore - but she wasn't entirely certain that the woman was the vampire they were hunting.
And then the woman flicked a wand around, almost too fast for Emmeline to spot, and Hornsby's polite smile turned into a dim-witted one.
Emmeline was already moving towards the doors before Hornsby had offered the vampire his arm. She pulled out her mirror. "She's here," she whispered as soon as it lit up.
"Very well. Please ensure she cannot apparate or use a Portkey. I shall be there momentarily," Dumbledore replied in a voice as if he were discussing the weather and not about attacking a dangerous vampire.
But then, he was Dumbledore.
Emmeline, disillusioned again, caught the moment the vampire tried to apparate with the muggle on her arm, and failed. The woman blinked, then snarled and even hissed, showing her fangs. The confunded muggle didn't notice, of course. He kept smiling dumbly while the vampire looked around, her wand waving.
But Emmeline was outside the range of the Human-presence-revealing Spell the vampire had just cast. Not outside the range of a Stunner, though she couldn't be certain that she would be able to hit the vampire from so far away.
And then a spell hit the vampire, who collapsed on the ground. Emmeline blinked. What had… there was Dumbledore, slipping out of an Invisibility Cloak. How had he managed to get so close? The vampire should have noticed… but it was Dumbledore.
She shook her head, ended her own Disillusionment Charm, and headed towards him.
"...a lovely night indeed. Too bad your companion left you," she heard him say.
"Oh, it's not a bother. I wasn't interested in her, and would have had to let her down gently," Hornsby said, still smiling in that manner typical of the victim of a Confundus Charm.
"It is easier this way, is it not?" Dumbledore was smiling as he stashed his wand.
The muggle nodded, and then started to walk back towards the dance hall's entrance. Dumbledore turned to her. "Ah, Emmeline. Good work - I believe she is the woman we seek."
"How did you manage to sneak up on her?" she blurted out.
"Very carefully," Dumbledore said. "I jest. I borrowed a friend's Invisibility Cloak."
Emmeline was tempted to point out that Invisibility Cloaks didn't hid their wearers from Human-presence-revealing Spells, but he knew that as well. Obviously, he didn't think she needed to know. Which stung a little - but he was Dumbledore. She probably wouldn't be able to duplicate his feat anyway.
"Let us gather our captive and be off, then." A flick of his wand later, the vampire had been transfigured into a small puppet, which he pocketed. "If you would be so kind as to remove your jinxes?"
Emmeline nodded, annoyed that she hadn't foreseen that request. Half a minute later, they disappeared from the parking lot.
Silloth-on-Solway, Cumbria, Britain, April 20th, 1996
"A vampire living in a Victorian seaside resort," Hermione Granger muttered as she approached the impressive - and Victorian, of course - house. "How much more cliché can you be?"
Sirius, prancing around, masquerading as a normal animal, barked in what was probably amusement. Her tutor, disillusioned like herself, chuckled. "According to our source," he said, "Cecilia Payton moved into the town as it was being built in the 19th century. I gather that she found the workers from Carlisle visiting the resort easy pickings, so to speak - back then, no one would have batted an eye at a drunk man ending up in the sea."
Hermione wondered if that was pure speculation, or also something Dumbledore had found out during the interrogation of the vampire. But this wasn't the time to ask. They were here to break into the vampire's lair, loot her library and other belongings, and free her captives. And, also important, Hermione would be the one to break through the wards! It wasn't the same as breaking into the manor of an Old Family, but it was a significant step up from practice. The wards she would be facing had been placed using banned rituals.
They passed into a side alley, the dog sniffing around before barking once. They were clear, then. Hermione took a deep breath and tapped her mask, activating her spell. Then she winced - the wards looked even more impressive than she had expected. But she raised her chin - she was a trained thief. She could do this. She would do this. And Mr Fletcher would see that she was perfectly able to assist him.
She took a step closer to the fence and crouched down. The spells forming the wards were layered, but she could see where they overlapped each other as well - similar triggers and effects. It looked like Payton had simply added spells over the decades, without restructuring the whole layout. Sloppy, she thought. Maybe another result of the vampire's compulsive tendencies.
She raised her wand, looking for a weak spot among the layers. There - two different Muggle-Repelling Charms covering the same spot, but both using the same anchor, which weakened them. If the other spells were suffering from the same mistake…
She grinned as she spotted similar, if not as obvious, weaknesses in the Anti-vermin Charms. Now if only… Her grin vanished. The core of the wards was different. Whoever had anchored those spells had been very careful. The spells were laid in a pattern where they reinforced each other, and triggering one triggered all.
For a moment, she wavered. If she made a mistake she would suffer a very powerful, possibly lethal, backlash. Then she clenched her teeth. She wouldn't make a mistake. Those were old spells, powerful and illegal ones. But she knew how to deal with them - all she had to do was to put the theory into practice.
Taking a deep breath, she started to slowly and very carefully detach the first anchor, realigning the spells so the remaining anchors took the strain. Sweat started to run down her face, tasting salty on her tongue when she licked her lips - she should add a small enchantment to her mask to deal with perspiration. One more spell to realign. She had to steady her wand hand before continuing. If she slipped… She didn't.
Panting, she leaned back, sitting down on the pavement.
"Hermione?"
"I'm alright," she answered her tutor. "I opened a hole." A flick of her wand marked the area. "We should…"
Before she could finish her sentence, the dog jumped over the fence into the small garden.
"Black, you damned fool!" she heard Mr Fletcher spit. She wholly agreed with the sentiment. "Bloody Gryffindor!"
That she didn't agree with, of course. "Well, it seems we don't need to test my work," she said.
Mr Fletcher snorted. And the dog was already sniffing at the back door. At least they knew, thanks to Dumbledore, that it wasn't trapped.
"That was reckless, Black," Mr Fletcher admonished the dog as soon as all of them were inside the house.
"Don't you trust her?" he shot back, grinning.
Hermione Granger scowled. That was not a fair argument. "Let's get on with this," she said. "We have books to loot and captives to free."
"Sometimes I wonder at your priorities," Sirius said.
She glared at him. "That wasn't a ranking!"
"Of course it wasn't," he said with that infuriating grin.
"I've opened the stairs to the basement," Mr Fletcher interrupted their brewing spat. "Let's get on with this."
Hermione was tense as they descended into the basement - the dungeon, literally in this case, as they knew. According to Dumbledore, there were no traps or curses awaiting them, and she trusted the Headmaster's information. But she couldn't help worrying anyway. The stairs would make an excellent spot for a trap - dark, narrow and winding.
But they reached the bottom of the stairs without incident, and the door there didn't stop them either.
Sirius whistled at the sight that greeted them - a room straight out of a vampire novel. A cheap vampire novel: black wood paneling on the walls, dark red curtains hanging from the ceiling and a polished stone floor, with a ritual circle etched into it.
And a door leading to the dungeon, where half a dozen men were sleeping in cells under the effects of the Draught of the Living Death. As Dumbledore had told them to expect. Hermione shivered when she looked at them - they looked dead to her. And they would have been dead as soon as Payton had caught the seventh victim she had needed for her planned ritual.
"Alright," Mr Fletcher said. "Black, inform Dumbledore that we're inside. Hermione, let's get started on the books." He swished his wand, and the red curtains were drawn back, revealing shelves upon shelves of books.
Hermione smiled widely as she drew her own wand.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 21st, 1996
"The victims overpowered the kidnapper when the drugs she had dosed them with ran out, and managed to escape to the street, seeking help. The kidnapper died in a fire, which the police suspect she set when she realised that she couldn't escape?" Sirius asked as he lowered the newspaper Hermione Granger had brought with her.
She nodded and pointed at the headline - 'Pale Lady Kidnapper Dies in Fire, Victims Safe' - which was placed right above a picture of Payton's burning house. "That's what happened as far as the police know." With a slight grin, she added: "So, now you know why we had to take everything even hinting at magic from there." Letting all those books burn would have been a crime! And they had even replaced the furniture they had taken with duplicated copies, so the muggles wouldn't wonder why the house had been empty.
"I really need a new basement," the dog muttered, but she ignored him.
London, Greenwich, April 24th, 1996
Hermione Granger let her new bracelet dangle from her fingers as she studied it. It was a simple design: a fine golden chain, from which small coins dangled - a Knut, shrunk and gold-plated, for every heist she had been on. There weren't that many, yet. But that would change, she promised herself. And she already had decided on the spots where the Knuts from the manors of the Greengrasses, Parkinsons, Davises and Bulstrodes would go. And the place of honour for the coin from Malfoy. She grinned, imagining her revenge.
Then she sighed. She wanted to go and rob those lying bigots blind, but Harry was still cursed and needed her help. Not to mention that Mr Fletcher was still claiming that she wasn't ready to deal with an actual manor of an Old Family. Not yet. If the worst should happen, her plans would have to wait until after Voldemort was dealt with.
Which wouldn't be a bad thing, of course - the Dark Lord was a lethal threat for her family, her friends and herself, as well as every other muggleborn and so-called blood traitor. It made sense that Dumbledore wanted her to focus on defeating the Dark Lord, even if she was certain that robbing those pureblooded liars would also harm Voldemort's plans.
But it grated on her nerves anyway, thinking that those bigots were enjoying the gold Sirius had paid for her debts. That they were profiting from their crimes and lies, safe and smug behind their old wards. She wanted to teach them a lesson. Repay them for what they had done to her.
She sighed again.
"Something the matter?" Mr Fletcher asked. "Trouble with the Charms test?"
She shook her head, feeling her messy ponytail flap around. "No. Just thinking."
"About what? Must be important if you're skipping studying for it." He was grinning, but even that joking rebuke stung her.
She didn't want to admit that she had been dwelling on her revenge plans again. So she didn't. "I was wondering why more wizards don't steal from muggles. It would be very easy, after all." Even easier than making muggle money honestly with a few choice spells.
He grinned. "What makes you think they don't?" She frowned at him - he could be as bad with his teasing as the dog - and he held up a hand. "Don't hex me! There are a few reasons for the apparent dearth of wizards stealing from muggles." He sighed. "First, muggles don't have much that we would want to steal. Gringotts and the Ministry keep a tight grip on the money supply. They know what would happen to the economy if Galleons weren't a controlled currency. It's a real pain to launder muggle loot, too - there's not much demand for it, not even for precious metal since the goblins control the mint. Art would be different, but the Ministry keeps an eye on that after an incident involving the Mona Lisa."
"They had no trouble robbing my family of all our money," Hermione said with a scowl.
"Of course not - but that's a drop in the bucket. You weren't exactly rich compared to the Old Families."
Hermione pressed her lips together. At least her family had earned their money. "But if you stayed mostly in the muggle world, you wouldn't have to launder muggle goods into wizard money," she pointed out. She refrained from pointedly looking around her tutor's muggle flat, but he got her meaning.
"But then you have to launder your money muggle-style. And deal with their taxes and paper trails."
"That wouldn't be too hard." She had thought about how to do that. Just in case.
"No, but it would be easier to simply conjure and transfigure what you want." He shrugged.
"Not everyone can do that," she retorted.
"Then they're not good enough to last as thieves anyway." He chuckled. "The Ministry keeps an eye out for 'impossible thefts'. Claim they're a threat to the Statute of Secrecy. Mostly hogwash, but it means the punishment for such thefts is much harsher than for normal theft, which scares a number of thieves off. Coupled with the work needed to keep the muggle authorities from bothering you, it's usually not worth the hassle."
"Usually?" She tilted her head slightly.
He shrugged. "I'm certain that there are a number of wizards living the high life as muggles. But they're not that many. Most who have the skill for that have far greater ambitions." He smirked at her.
She huffed. She simply wanted to teach those arrogants bigots that they couldn't get away with their crimes. And that not even expelling her from Hogwarts would prevent her from outshining every single scion of the Old Families.
She would show them. Well, not literally - she wasn't stupid, after all. Even if robbing the Malfoys blind would be so much more satisfying if she could also rub it in their faces.
She could dream, though.
Hogwarts, May 6th, 1996
"...and while Nifflers are often thought to be fond of precious metals and jewels, they are, in fact, fond of anything shiny and will go to great length to find such objects. That makes them useful when digging for treasure." Harry Potter closed his copy of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' and sighed. "We already knew that from our lessons with Hagrid."
"Yeah. But the book doesn't tell you that the little buggers fight tooth and nail to keep any treasure they find," Ron added. He frowned and wriggled his left hand. "Almost lost a finger there."
"That's a good point," Harry said, making a note. "If they ask about Nifflers at the O.W.L. exams, such details will help a lot."
"If they ask about Nifflers." Ron snorted. "I asked my brothers - neither Percy's nor Charlie's nor Bill's tests included Nifflers. Charlie sent me the latest on dragons, though." He put a roll of parchment on their table in the Gryffindor common room and duplicated it, then frowned at the result. "The copy's letters are a little smudged."
"Would still be a passing grade," Harry said, "if that charm were on the list of spells we need to know."
"It should be," Ron retorted. "It's very useful."
"We almost got Moody with that avalanche," Harry agreed, smiling.
"'Almost doesn't count'," Ron quoted their trainer and both chuckled. "At least we don't have to worry about Defence," he added.
"Just about Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures and Potions," Harry said.
His friend frowned at him. "No one cares about Astronomy. No one but my Mum and Percy, at least. It's useless. And we don't have to worry about Divination."
"The Divination examiner might not be as easy to fool as Trelawney," Harry retorted.
Ron snorted. "They'd have to read our minds to know we're making it up. And we're good at everything in Charms or Transfiguration that's useful in a fight, so we should at least pass."
He had a point, Harry had to admit. "There's still Potions."
Ron winced. "Well, the examiner can't be as evil as Snape?"
Harry scoffed. "That 's not a high bar. And you know what Moody said: 'I'm training you to Auror standards, and a N.E.W.T. in Potions is requirement to become an Auror. You wouldn't like it if you failed your Potions O.W.L.'," he added, trying to imitate the old Auror's voice.
Ron sighed and hunched over in his seat. "Thanks mate. I had almost persuaded myself that the O.W.L.s wouldn't be that bad."
"Any time," Harry said with a grin. After a moment, he laughed. "Look at us - we've got Voldemort after us, and we're worrying about the O.W.L.s!"
"Well, I can't fail the O.W.L.s; Mum would kill me," Ron said. "What's your excuse?"
"Hermione said that failing the O.W.L.s would be letting Voldemort win," Harry said. "Something about not letting him ruin my future."
Ron blinked. "Well, not letting him kill you is kind of the first step for that. Most important one, too."
"Yes," Harry said, "but I…" He saw Ginny enter the commons room - her Quidditch match must have ended. "...I think I need a break from studying right now," he said.
Ron raised his eyebrows, then glanced at the door. "Ah."
Harry was already up and on the way to his girlfriend. "Ginny!" He beamed at her and gathered her in his arms for a quick kiss. She had just showered; he could smell her shampoo in her hair. "How was your game?" he asked.
She smiled widely. "We won - I caught the snitch." Then she frowned. "I hoped you'd come and watch. At least for a few minutes."
Harry shrugged. "Sorry, but I was studying and lost track of the time. O.W.L.s." He lowered his voice and grinned at her. "But how about we celebrate your victory? Just the two of us?"
She seemed to hesitate a moment, then shook her head. "Sorry, I've got homework of my own."
"Well, once you're done, then?" Harry smiled. "I'm free until after dinner." And dinner was in two hours. Since Ginny wasn't studying for her O.W.L.s she wouldn't take that long to finish her homework.
"We'll see," she said. "I might also lose track of the time."
"Oh."
"See you later." She was smiling, but politely. Not the kind of smile he wanted to see.
He watched her vanish up the stairs to the girls' dorm, then sighed and returned to his and Ron's table.
His friend looked at him but didn't say anything. And neither did Harry.
He couldn't wait for the O.W.L.s to be over.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 7th, 1996
"You want me to teach you Defence?" The dog's tone clearly showed that he hadn't expected that. He had also stopped spinning around on his swivel chair.
Hermione Granger sighed. "Yes."
"Don't you have a tutor for that? An expert?" He was grinning now.
She clenched her teeth. "Yes. But as events have proved, you're a better fighter than Mr Fletcher." Not a better a thief, of course - Sirius could hardly be called a thief, in her opinion. Far too clumsy.
"Ah!" He smiled widely. "It feels so good to be acknowledged." He sighed. "So good."
She raised her left hand and flexed it, as if she were unsheathing her claws.
He cleared his throat. "I'm willing to teach my secretary and fellow thief, of course. Although unless you can train together with Harry, I doubt that I can spare the time to train you seriously."
"I'm aware of that." She didn't have the time either, especially not with the O.W.L.s coming up. "And I'm not looking for lessons on how to fight like you do." That wasn't the point of being a thief. "But I would like a few lessons in escaping from people like Tripe." She didn't want to end up at the mercy of a vampire - or anyone - ever again.
"Ah!" He rubbed his goatee. "That shouldn't be a problem." His grin turned positively evil and he twirled his wand between his fingers. "We'll start with teaching you how to dodge - as a human."
Hermione realised right there and then that she had made a slight mistake.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 9th, 1996
"Alright, we've got a new target," Mr Fletcher said, using his wand to roll out a map on the table in Sirius's basement. "Finsley's Fine Goods. A small-time fence in Knockturn Alley, who may have recently acquired a tome on blood magic."
Hermione Granger craned her neck to study the map. The shop was located near the entrance to the Alley - not exactly the most isolated area.
Sirius frowned. "Wouldn't it be easier to simply buy the tome? While we're in disguise?"
Mr Fletcher shook his head. "Books on blood magic aren't exactly the kind of things fences sell to anyone. It's one thing to claim that you didn't think that necklace was stolen when you bought it, but everyone knows that even the possession of blood magic paraphernalia is illegal. He won't admit to a stranger that he's got such a thing."
"We could use Polyjuice potion and pass as an acquaintance of his," Hermione said. She could also think of a number of people who deserved to get framed.
"We would need to observe him first, see who he knows and is familiar with, and then get their hair for the potion, as well as observe them to see how they act. Easier to break into the shop straight away," her tutor said.
Hermione nodded in agreement - that made sense. Sirius shrugged.
"We'll have to move quickly, though," Mr Fletcher continued. "He'll want to get rid of it."
"Might he simply destroy it?" Sirius asked.
"He's too greedy for that," her tutor answered.
"You know him that well?"
"I've heard enough about him," Mr Fletcher corrected the dog. "Anyway - I checked the wards out before I came here. Nothing impressive - good enough to keep the riff-raff out, but won't stand up to a skilled Curse-Breaker." He looked at Hermione, who was smiling at him. "Yeah, you can deal with them. Black and I will go in while you serve as lookout."
Hermione frowned. On the one hand, she was glad to be allowed to deal with the wards. On the other hand, this sounded as if both men wanted to keep her out of danger.
The dog rolled his eyes. "Don't make such a face! Being a lookout in Knockturn Alley at night isn't that safe."
She glared at him in return. He was starting to be a little too familiar with her if he could read her mood that easily. And she still owed him for the Stinging Hexes he had used on her during 'training'. They might be effective, but they hurt!
London, Knockturn Alley, May 10th, 1996
Glancing around as she approached Finsley's shop, Hermione Granger had to admit that Knockturn Alley didn't look very safe. Vampires and hags were said to prowl the Alley past midnight - although most vampires might have gone into hiding these days - and even though she was disillusioned she couldn't help feeling as if she were attracting attention.
Seeing the dog padding in front her, his pitch-black fur almost disappearing in the shadows, helped, though. His appearance had already sent one drunk wizard running away, screaming about the Grim coming to get him. She frowned - people feared the dog, but might attack a cat. If they managed to spot her first, of course, which they wouldn't.
But she couldn't break through the wards as a cat. Which was why she was disillusioned instead of a cat.
She reached the walls of the shop and tapped her mask. Her tutor had been correct - not that she had doubted him: The wards weren't as strong as on the vampire's lair. More dangerous than the average ward on a wizard home, but nothing she couldn't handle. She glanced over her shoulder - a floating marker showed that her tutor was right behind her, watching her back. And the dog was ahead of her in the side alley, covering the front. She nodded, even though no one could see it, and started working.
It didn't take long - the wards had been anchored to the walls, and sloppily so. She could spot two areas where they didn't overlap. It took her half an hour to go through them, mostly because there was a dark curse hidden behind the first layer - a nasty surprise for an overconfident thief, but again, nothing really impressive.
She tapped her mask below her ear and whispered: "Done."
"Finally!" the dog complained - he must have changed back to human. "This alley stinks!"
"Quit complaining, Black," her tutor shot back, "you wanted to go as a dog." He was already at the door, and a moment later, she saw it swing open. A moment later, she saw a black dog push past and the door closed again.
Now all that was left for her was the waiting. In Knockturn Alley. At night. She took a deep breath and told herself that she was a Gryffindor. She wasn't afraid of some dark creature lurking nearby - she could handle any of them. And, she added to herself, her tutor and Sirius were just a word away.
She still hoped that they would not take too long - staring at the shadows outside the range of the spells on her masks was more disquieting than she had expected. It was one thing to read about the hags living in this place, scorned by Wizarding Britain, but another to imagine one of them trying to sneak up on her. At least there wouldn't be any werewolves around.
She heard a noise behind her and whirled around, wand pointed ahead. A rat froze in the middle of the alley, then sprinted towards the closest shadow. She resisted the urge to hit it with a spell, but it took an effort - rats were filthy vermin, and any self-respecting cat would kill them given the opportunity. Unless that would give her presence and position away.
"You won't be lucky next time," she whispered, then returned to watching the shop and its surroundings.
It felt like an hour, but it hadn't been longer than ten minutes when Mr Fletcher and Sirius returned. "We got it," her tutor said. "Let's get out of here."
"Don't know how useful it'll be - it looks rather shabby," the dog added.
Hermione waited until they had apparated to the rally spot in their safe house to answer. "Never judge a book by its cover."
"I can't - it's missing its cover." The dog was grinning at her.
"It wasn't meant to be taken literally," she explained to him.
"Well, it's certainly not high literature."
Hermione pressed her lips together and refrained from responding. It would only encourage the dog. Although when he turned his back to her, she banished a rolled-up newspaper at him, hitting him in the head.
"Hey!" He glared at her.
"Constant Vigilance!" she turned his own - borrowed - words back at him with a wide smile.
It was so worth the scolding from Mr Fletcher that she knew would be coming.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 11th, 1996
"Hey, Hermione!"
Hermione Granger frowned at the interruption but managed not to glare at the dog standing in the door of her room - her office - at Grimmauld Place. "Yes?" Her tone clearly told him that she was busy - busy working for him, actually.
"Dumbledore is coming. He wants to talk to you."
Her eyes widened in surprise. The Headmaster, visiting her? Here? Why would he… Had something happened to Harry? No, Sirius would have been informed before her. But… "Did he tell you why?" she said, sounding calmer than she felt.
He shook his head. "No. But it must be important."
Of course it was important - the Headmaster wouldn't take the time to visit in person otherwise. And it concerned her. Personally.
She bit her lower lip, fighting the anxiety she felt rising inside her.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Sirius." Dumbledore sounded as pleasant and composed as usual when he stepped into the entrance hall of Sirius's home, Hermione Granger thought. That didn't mean much, though she thought that the news he brought wouldn't be too terrible, or he wouldn't be smiling. Or so she hoped.
"Good afternoon, sir." She nodded at him.
"Welcome to my humble home," Sirius said. "Tea's ready in my study."
"Thank you."
They proceeded into Sirius's study as she listened to polite and meaningless conversation about the latest gossip from Hogwarts. Not even interesting gossip - just banal stuff about the staff's lives. She wanted to know the reason for the Headmaster's visit.
Waiting until they were seated inside Sirius's study and tea had been served took another toll on her patience. She almost drew her wand to take over serving from Sirius, even though that would have been terribly rude. But the dog was just too slow.
Finally tea was served and the Headmaster put down his cup after his first sip. "Excellent, Sirius. A new brand?"
"Yes. Hermione brought some muggle tea. I thought you'd like it."
"I do." He smiled at her. "You have an eye for tea, my dear."
She forced herself to smile. "Thank you, sir."
She must have failed in hiding her impatience, though, since he sighed and went on: "But I did not visit to have tea. I bring grave news." He slowly inclined his head. "The Dark Lord has used his agents in the Ministry to access the addresses of the muggleborn students on file." She drew a hissing breath but didn't interrupt him. "We had anticipated this, and tampered with the records, but there were a few we could not replace because they were not strictly related to school records, and therefore not kept in one single place, but rather duplicated in several departments."
"Like trial records," Hermione said. Like hers.
"Indeed."
"My family has moved twice since the trial, though." And she had used Sirius's address to register for the O.W.L. exams.
"But due to your financial obligations at the time, you were tracked." He shook his head. "While I cannot say with certainty that your family's address is known to the Dark Lord, I do not think we can safely assume that it is not the case."
"The Death Eaters would have had her address for years, then," Sirius said.
"Indeed. But, until recently, the Dark Lord was not willing to attack muggleborns - yet. That would draw attention, and speculation would quickly tie the new attacks to those of the Blood War."
"He's moving to open war, then?" Sirius asked.
"Preparing for it, at the very least," Dumbledore said. He looked at her. "I do not think he is ready for war, yet, but on the other hand, your unfortunate and unjustly damaged reputation would allow him to disguise an attack on your family as you having run afoul of other criminals. And it is widely known how close you are to Harry and Sirius."
"Which makes me an ideal target." She clenched her teeth. Malfoy's plot was, even years after the trial, still ruining her family.
"That's remarkably specific," Sirius said. "There are others who are close to Harry and myself. The Weasleys. Jeanne. The Tonkses. But you wanted to talk to Hermione." Hermione saw him narrow his eyes. "You've got a spy close to Voldemort, haven't you?"
Dumbledore's smile grew a little thinner, she thought. "Even if I had such a source, I wouldn't endanger them by telling others."
Sirius scoffed. "It's not your source from the first Blood War, is it? Because I don't think Voldemort would be as stupid as to trust that git again. Unless he's feeding you disinformation. With or without the git's cooperation."
Hermione bit her lower lip to avoid gasping. There was one man Sirius regularly called 'git'. Snape. Had he been the Headmaster's spy during the last war? It would explain a few things. And pose even more questions.
Dumbledore stopped smiling entirely and gave Sirius a stern look. "I assure you that I am aware of that, and that I trust this warning."
Sirius scoffed. "Since he's still alive, I gather he hasn't met the Dark Lord yet. So you've got someone else." He held up a hand. "I know, it's a secret. But let's talk about we can do to protect Hermione's family. Guards won't cut it, unless you have far more members in the Order than I think."
Dumbledore sighed once more, then smiled wryly at her. "Sirius is correct. We cannot spare the needed number of wands to guard your family. Both your house as well as your parents' workplace would have to be guarded - around the clock, to prevent ambushes and traps."
That would take a lot of people. Hermione swallowed. "Then what can we do? Make them hide?" Her parents wouldn't forgive her for ruining their lives a second time. Even if it wasn't entirely her fault this time.
"That would be one way to keep them safe. Having them leave Britain would be another. Combined, I think they would be both safe and at least somewhat content." Dumbledore stuck his hand into his robe and pulled out what Hermione, to her considerable surprise, recognised as muggle travel brochures. "It will cost some money - muggle money - though."
Hogwarts, June 3rd, 1996
Harry Potter wasn't quite at the point where he was reciting textbooks in his sleep - at least Ron claimed he wasn't when Harry had asked - but he certainly felt like he was. Three weeks until the O.W.L.s started, and he had already crammed so much into his head. And so much was still left to learn.
He glanced at the Ravenclaw table. The fifth and seventh years were reading books during breakfast. He was certain that Hermione would be doing the same, were she at Hogwarts. She probably was studying during breakfast at Grimmauld Place. He wouldn't go that far himself. Not yet, at least. Ginny wouldn't like it. Although she hadn't yet arrived at the Gryffindor table.
"Harry! Ron!"
He saw Luna moving towards him and his friend, waving excitedly. She sat down next to Ron and pulled out a stack of magazines - The Quibbler's newest issue, he realised. "Here're your copies!" Luna said, beaming at them while she handed the issues over, almost dropping one onto Ron's plate.
"You gave me two," Harry pointed out. His subscription only covered one.
"One is for Hermione. Her help allowed Daddy to uncover a far-reaching conspiracy and possible threat to the Statute of Secrecy, so it's only fair that she gets a copy of the issue too!" Luna explained.
"Her help?" Ron asked. A glance showed Harry that his friend looked as confused as he felt.
Luna nodded several times. "Yes. She told me about 'Westminster' being a possible breeding ground for Nargles. Without her Daddy would have never thought of investigating that muggle location."
Harry quickly unfolded his issue. There was a picture of the British parliament building on the cover. Right beneath the headline: Muggles Hiding Nargles! Conspiracy of Silence!
"Blimey! Your dad found Nargles?" Ron asked.
Luna frowned, scrunching her nose. "He hasn't seen them - he wasn't allowed inside. He told me that the muggle guards simply wouldn't budge even though he asked nicely and told them about the dangers of a Nargle infestation." She sighed. "The only explanation for their behaviour is that they are actively trying to hide the existence of Nargles by limiting access to them." She nodded slowly and Harry thought her eyes were even wider than usual. "You need to warn Hermione that she has to be careful - we haven't revealed our source, but if the muggles ever suspect her, they'll try to silence her. They tried to kidnap Daddy, you know, but he escaped them," she added in a whisper.
"Uh…" Harry said, wincing. If he told Hermione that… well, he'd tell Sirius in the evening, and his godfather could inform Hermione. They were getting along well, after all.
"Morning Harry, morning Ron… Luna?" Ginny had arrived.
"Hello, Ginny!" Luna said. "I've brought Harry The Quibbler."
"Ah." Ginny nodded, then bent down to give Harry a kiss - on the cheek, he noted. She sat down next to him, though
"Hello." He slipped his arm around her waist, but she squirmed when he tried to pull her closer.
"I need to eat - I'm already late," she said.
"Alright." Harry nodded and withdrew his arm. "We can wake you up earlier tomorrow," he said with a grin.
She glared at him. "Don't you dare! I was studying late - we have exams too."
Luna, who was still sitting next to Ron, nodded. "Yes."
Harry shrugged. "That's true, but they're not as important as the O.W.L.s." He certainly hadn't worried that much about them last year. Nor had he studied that much.
Ginny glared at him again. She didn't say anything, though, and continued eating. She didn't kiss him either, when they left for class later.
"Alright, I'll tell her. But seriously… A muggle conspiracy to hide Nargles?"
"I promised Luna that I'd warn Hermione," Harry Potter told Sirius. "Can't hurt, can it?"
His godfather snorted. "She can't hurt you, you're safe at Hogwarts."
Harry gave him a flat stare and made a point of rubbing his arm, which had been hit quite a lot during the evening's training. "I'm certain that you can defend yourself against her." Sirius was one of the best fighters Harry knew - not as good as Moody, but very good.
Sirius snorted again, mumbled something about cats that Harry didn't quite catch, but didn't contradict him. "Good evening, Harry."
"That remains to be seen," he retorted. It depended on whether or not Ginny was done with her homework and studying.
His godfather chuckled, then stepped into Remus's fireplace and vanished.
Harry sighed, briefly checked that Remus was still asleep - the wizard was still exhausted from his change last night - and went back to Gryffindor Tower.
He smiled when he entered the common room - Ginny was there in a corner, listening to the wireless with her friends. He walked up to her and slid an arm over her shoulder as he sat down on the armrest of her set. "Hey! All done with your homework?" He ignored the shushing sounds and motions from her friends. He and Ginny would leave in a moment.
She frowned at him, but nodded.
Harry bent down and a whispered into her ear: "Fancy a stroll in the castle?"
He felt her tense. "It's past curfew," she answered in a whisper.
He grinned. "That never stopped us before." He pulled slightly on her shoulder. Just a little nudge. They didn't have much time left since it was late already.
Once more she hesitated, but then stood. "Let's go then," she said, taking his arm.
He smiled. It was a good evening.
London, Merton, June 5th, 1996
"Australia? You want us to move to Australia?"
Her parents could have said that without sounding so shocked, Hermione Granger thought. It wasn't as if this came as a surprise - she had told them weeks ago that they were in danger. She raised her chin, but remained seated on her chair at the dinner table. "Not moving - just traveling the country until Britain is safe for you once again," she explained.
"And how long would that be?" her father asked.
"And why Australia?" Mum asked before she could answer Dad. "Didn't you tell us that it was the deadliest magical country?"
"For British wizards. And pretty much every other wizard apart from the Aborigines - their shamans kill all the intruders they catch." Hermione had told them that too, although that had been a year ago. "It's perfectly safe for muggles."
"I wouldn't call it 'perfectly safe'," her father said. "It probably has the most dangerous wildlife of all the continents."
"Which doesn't make it that dangerous. Millions of Australian muggles have no trouble," Hermione pointed out. "But the Aborigines keep all foreign wizards out - you'll be safe there from Death Eaters."
"That also means that you can't come with us," her mother said with narrowed eyes.
Hermione blinked. "Yes." She had never planned to go herself - she was needed here, after all. She noticed the glances her parents exchanged. "I'll be safe at Grimmauld Place. The house has some of the most powerful wards in Britain."
"We could move in with you, couldn't we?" Mum asked. "You said it was a big house, and that you could even add magical rooms."
Hermione struggled not to wince. Her parents, at Grimmauld Place? Kreacher would have fits. Half the portraits would be livid. And she wouldn't be able to go on heists without trouble any more. "You wouldn't like it," she said. "No telly. No radio. No computer. No phones either. You couldn't leave by yourself, since you wouldn't be able to get back due to the wards. You wouldn't be able to meet many people."
"We don't have that many friends left - real friends, at least," Dad muttered.
"In Australia, however, you would be on vacation. You could travel where you want, you'd stay in luxury hotels and resorts, meet new people…" She beamed at her parents.
"That would cost a fortune," Mum said.
"Sirius is covering it," Hermione waved her hand. "He can afford it easily." There was no need to explain to her parents that her own cut of the loot would actually cover their travels, once Mr Fletcher fenced part of the furniture they had taken so far.
Her parents looked at each other again. "We would have to depend on Mr Black's generosity again."
"So? You just suggested moving into his home." Hermione frowned.
"Where you're already living." Dad stared at her.
"I'm his secretary."
"We're technically his dentists." Mum wasn't helping.
"You couldn't work there either. Do you really want to spend months, maybe years, in a single house? Lie to our friends when they ask where you are? Surrounded by wizards and magic?"
"You're asking us to leave you there, dear," Mum said.
"I'm a witch," Hermione said. "Please. I just want what's best for you."
"That should be our line," Dad said. He was grinning wryly, though - she was making progress.
"Well, if you want what's best for me, then not making me worry about you or feel guilty for all but imprisoning you would be a good choice." Hermione forced herself to smile. "Please. Besides - didn't you say that you had always wanted to travel there? Before I was born?"
"Well, not under such circumstances…" Dad was wavering, though. And the look he sent to Mum was different from his earlier ones.
Hermione grinned. "Besides, even Dumbledore himself thinks it's the best option. And the beaches there are gorgeous! Look at these brochures!"
It took her another hour of explaining, but they finally saw reason. And without her using magic to persuade them. Which had been her last resort. She wouldn't let her parents get hurt, or worse, for her. Not again.
Hogwarts, June 14th, 1996
"Ginny! There you are!" Harry Potter beamed at his girlfriend when he found her at the entrance to the Hogwarts library.
"Harry." Ginny smiled at him. A bit weakly, though - she was probably tired from studying. Like himself. "Didn't you have a lesson with Dumbledore?"
He shook his head. "He had to leave. Something came up."
"What happened?"
He smiled. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you. It's a secret." He didn't know what Dumbledore was doing. She pouted in that cute way of hers, and so he added: "If it concerned our families he'd have told us." She didn't look convinced, or so he thought. He beamed at her again. "But more importantly - I have two hours, and I have it on good authority that the unused classroom on the third floor is empty right now." That was one of his favorite spots to snog. "The perfect spot to relax after all the studying we've been doing."
She didn't look as enthusiastic as he had expected - they had hardly seen each other for a week. "You mean the perfect spot to snog," she said in a rather flat voice.
"Yes." He frowned. That was the best way to relax, too - Sirius agreed with him as well. Heck, Hermione had said that people under stress, like soldiers, had an increased sex drive, too.
"I'm not in the mood to snog." Apparently, Ginny wasn't as stressed as he had thought.
"We haven't done much all week," he pointed out.
"We have done nothing but snog for a month whenever we had a little time for us," she retorted.
"And we've had precious little free time."
"I don't want to just snog with you. I told you that." She looked angry.
He swallowed his first thought. You shouldn't push witches to snog, Sirius had told him. "Alright, if you don't want to," he lied, "then we can hang out with our friends." He had trained and studied with Ron this week, but hadn't done much else.
"So, if I don't want to snog, you don't want to spend time with me?" She was glaring at him now.
"No! But we can spend the time together and with our friends. I've told you that before."
"Yes, you did." That didn't sound like she agreed with him, though. Were all witches so possessive once you started a relationship?
"And it's true. We shouldn't neglect our friends just to spend time with each other." Sirius had been clear on that as well. And Harry had learned his lesson with Parvati.
"Unless it's to snog," she spat.
"Well, we can't very well snog with each other in public, can we?"
"That's not the point! I'm sick of never doing anything but snogging with you!"
"That's because with the O.W.L.s so close, and my lessons and training, I have no time for anything else. That'll change after the O.W.L.s, once I have more free time."
"Really?"
"Yes. And we'll have the holidays, too." He smiled at her.
"Unless something more important comes up." She was still glaring at him.
"Well, I can't do anything with anyone if Voldemort kills me, can I?" he shot back. Why couldn't she see that?
"I know that. I know that's important."
"So why are you so…" Difficult? Stupid? "...angry?"
"Because you think that spending time with me is not important unless we snog. You prefer spending time with Ron rather than with me!" Her eyes looked a little… was she crying?
He shook his head. "I want to spend time with both of you, with all my friends. I don't want to choose between you." Why couldn't she understand that?
He saw her working her jaw work and her lips trembling. She looked very upset - those were tears in her eyes.
And then she bared her teeth.
"Well, then I'll choose for you! Go snog yourself! Or Ron! We're through!"
Harry Potter kept staring after her for a while after she stormed off. She had just dumped him. Just because he hadn't wanted to dump Ron for her. He shook his head. Just like Parvati. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He wasn't crying. Not over this. It was stupid, and he had much bigger things to worry about. Voldemort. The O.W.L.s. If Ginny was too jealous to understand that then he was better off without her.
He slowly unclenched his fists. Yes, it was better like this. No more rows and weird glances and… No more snogging. He sighed. He should get back to the common room. Ginny would be telling everyone that it was his fault.
"Harry?"
He turned. Dumbledore was standing there. How had the Headmaster managed to sneak up on him? "Sir?" he said.
"Are you well? Young people generally don't stand in hallways staring at the library without a reason."
"I was just thinking," he said quickly. "Lost in thought."
"Ah." Dumbledore nodded, though Harry couldn't tell if the Headmaster believed him or not. "I have been looking for you, actually."
"You were?" What for, he wondered. Had something happened to Sirius? Or Hermione?
But Dumbledore was smiling. "I wanted to tell you the good news right away: I found a cure for your curse."
London, Havering, April 19th, 1996
Hornsby was a very boring man, even for a muggle, Emmeline Vance thought as she watched his flat through her Omnioculars. She'd trailed him for a week now - together with Hestia, and Kingsley when he could spare the time - and, as far as she could tell, Hornsby was always either at work or at home, watching the telly. And doting on his cat. Although it made protecting him easy if, as Dumbledore expected, the man was the target of a vampire. Which Emmeline privately doubted - unless the vampire suffered from insomnia; as Tonks had said when they changed shifts, the man's blood must have absorbed so much boredom, it would likely put a vampire to sleep.
Chuckling at the weak joke, she took another bite out of the sandwich she had brought with her and tried to get comfortable - a Ford Anglia's seats weren't exactly armchairs. On the other hand, sitting in a disillusioned floating muggle car beat standing at a corner when it came to stakeouts. Emmeline hadn't been an Auror in over ten years, but she certainly remembered how annoying and tiresome that had been. And ten yards in the air, she wasn't at risk of getting run over by a car while disillusioned, either. According to Kingsley, that had actually happened to an Auror on a stakeout five years ago.
She shuddered at the thought and took another bite, then winced when she saw Hornsby get up and head to the bathroom. No matter how often Kingsley said that the enchantment on the Omnioculars was to ensure they could keep an eye on the muggle all the time, some things she didn't want to watch. No, wait - he was taking a shower. At… she checked her watch… seven pm? Was the man actually going out this evening?
She quickly looked over the neighbourhood. There was no sign of a stalking vampire. That didn't have to mean anything, of course - the vampire could be watching from a spot far outside the range of her Vampire-revealing Spell. And she might have changed her modus operandi anyway, what with even the muggles cottoning on to the fact that a woman was making men disappear.
On the other hand, vampires were not known to be very flexible when it came to their habits - that was why there were so few criminal bloodsuckers around; sooner or later their compulsive habits caught up with them. Emmeline was certain that the vampire would be approaching the man in his favourite pub.
Which, she realised, she didn't know. "Getting sloppy in your old age", she muttered to herself as she started the car and got ready to follow Hornsby. Who, as she saw, was dressing up in a suit again - as if he was going to work. Definitely the most boring man she knew. At least he had left the tie off… no, he was picking up a bowtie.
Emmeline wasn't a muggleborn, but she had spent enough time in muggle London as an Auror to know that such garments had been out of fashion among muggles even fifteen years ago. At least when it came to clubbing. Not that she thought that a leather jacket would fit the man anyway.
There he was. And he was taking his car. That meant he wasn't planning to drink. Or not much - muggles weren't allowed to drive drunk and couldn't sober up with a potion either. So what was he up to?
Thirty minutes later, she had her answer: Hornsby was entering a dance hall. A sign outside read 'Latin night'. Judging by the way the porter greeted him, he was a regular here, too.
For a moment, Emmeline thought of simply staying in the car and keeping an eye on the muggle with her Omnioculars. But there were too many people inside - it would be too easy to miss the vampire. Sighing, she left the car hovering next to a streetlight so she would find it again and apparated down to the street. A glance at the dresses the muggles were wearing and a quick transfiguration later, she was on her way, using her enchanted mirror to tell Dumbledore where she was. Just in case.
*****
Hornsby could dance, she had to admit half an hour later. He wasn't sweeping anyone off their feet - not figuratively - but he knew what he was doing. And he was popular too, Emmeline noticed - he didn't lack partners. And yet, something was off, though she couldn't tell what it was. Perhaps...
"Miss? Would you care for this dance?"
Emmeline forced herself to smile at the fifth man in half an hour asking her to dance. "Sorry, I'm not yet feeling up to it."
"Alright." The man nodded at her and went to ask the next woman.
She sighed and turned her attention back to Hornsby. Perhaps she should have gone disillusioned and risked a muggle stumbling into her. At least she wouldn't get distracted all the time.
She watched Hornsby bow to his partner after the song ended, and then turn towards the small bar. He was finally taking a break, Emmeline noted as she shifted around a little so she could keep an eye on the man. Who was ordering a mineral water. She sighed.
Then her eyes widened. A very beautiful, very pale and very slinkily dressed woman had just taken up the spot next to him at the bar. She couldn't hear what the woman was saying, but the way she was leaning towards Hornsby would let him look down her dress to her navel. Or her toes. If he were looking - which he wasn't, Emmeline noted. He was barely reacting to the woman.
In fact, when she put her hand on his arm, he even pried it off. She didn't like that, at all - for a moment, her face contorted with anger. Emmeline was moving closer, one hand on her mirror. She could call Dumbledore - but she wasn't entirely certain that the woman was the vampire they were hunting.
And then the woman flicked a wand around, almost too fast for Emmeline to spot, and Hornsby's polite smile turned into a dim-witted one.
Emmeline was already moving towards the doors before Hornsby had offered the vampire his arm. She pulled out her mirror. "She's here," she whispered as soon as it lit up.
"Very well. Please ensure she cannot apparate or use a Portkey. I shall be there momentarily," Dumbledore replied in a voice as if he were discussing the weather and not about attacking a dangerous vampire.
But then, he was Dumbledore.
*****
Emmeline, disillusioned again, caught the moment the vampire tried to apparate with the muggle on her arm, and failed. The woman blinked, then snarled and even hissed, showing her fangs. The confunded muggle didn't notice, of course. He kept smiling dumbly while the vampire looked around, her wand waving.
But Emmeline was outside the range of the Human-presence-revealing Spell the vampire had just cast. Not outside the range of a Stunner, though she couldn't be certain that she would be able to hit the vampire from so far away.
And then a spell hit the vampire, who collapsed on the ground. Emmeline blinked. What had… there was Dumbledore, slipping out of an Invisibility Cloak. How had he managed to get so close? The vampire should have noticed… but it was Dumbledore.
She shook her head, ended her own Disillusionment Charm, and headed towards him.
"...a lovely night indeed. Too bad your companion left you," she heard him say.
"Oh, it's not a bother. I wasn't interested in her, and would have had to let her down gently," Hornsby said, still smiling in that manner typical of the victim of a Confundus Charm.
"It is easier this way, is it not?" Dumbledore was smiling as he stashed his wand.
The muggle nodded, and then started to walk back towards the dance hall's entrance. Dumbledore turned to her. "Ah, Emmeline. Good work - I believe she is the woman we seek."
"How did you manage to sneak up on her?" she blurted out.
"Very carefully," Dumbledore said. "I jest. I borrowed a friend's Invisibility Cloak."
Emmeline was tempted to point out that Invisibility Cloaks didn't hid their wearers from Human-presence-revealing Spells, but he knew that as well. Obviously, he didn't think she needed to know. Which stung a little - but he was Dumbledore. She probably wouldn't be able to duplicate his feat anyway.
"Let us gather our captive and be off, then." A flick of his wand later, the vampire had been transfigured into a small puppet, which he pocketed. "If you would be so kind as to remove your jinxes?"
Emmeline nodded, annoyed that she hadn't foreseen that request. Half a minute later, they disappeared from the parking lot.
*****
Silloth-on-Solway, Cumbria, Britain, April 20th, 1996
"A vampire living in a Victorian seaside resort," Hermione Granger muttered as she approached the impressive - and Victorian, of course - house. "How much more cliché can you be?"
Sirius, prancing around, masquerading as a normal animal, barked in what was probably amusement. Her tutor, disillusioned like herself, chuckled. "According to our source," he said, "Cecilia Payton moved into the town as it was being built in the 19th century. I gather that she found the workers from Carlisle visiting the resort easy pickings, so to speak - back then, no one would have batted an eye at a drunk man ending up in the sea."
Hermione wondered if that was pure speculation, or also something Dumbledore had found out during the interrogation of the vampire. But this wasn't the time to ask. They were here to break into the vampire's lair, loot her library and other belongings, and free her captives. And, also important, Hermione would be the one to break through the wards! It wasn't the same as breaking into the manor of an Old Family, but it was a significant step up from practice. The wards she would be facing had been placed using banned rituals.
They passed into a side alley, the dog sniffing around before barking once. They were clear, then. Hermione took a deep breath and tapped her mask, activating her spell. Then she winced - the wards looked even more impressive than she had expected. But she raised her chin - she was a trained thief. She could do this. She would do this. And Mr Fletcher would see that she was perfectly able to assist him.
She took a step closer to the fence and crouched down. The spells forming the wards were layered, but she could see where they overlapped each other as well - similar triggers and effects. It looked like Payton had simply added spells over the decades, without restructuring the whole layout. Sloppy, she thought. Maybe another result of the vampire's compulsive tendencies.
She raised her wand, looking for a weak spot among the layers. There - two different Muggle-Repelling Charms covering the same spot, but both using the same anchor, which weakened them. If the other spells were suffering from the same mistake…
She grinned as she spotted similar, if not as obvious, weaknesses in the Anti-vermin Charms. Now if only… Her grin vanished. The core of the wards was different. Whoever had anchored those spells had been very careful. The spells were laid in a pattern where they reinforced each other, and triggering one triggered all.
For a moment, she wavered. If she made a mistake she would suffer a very powerful, possibly lethal, backlash. Then she clenched her teeth. She wouldn't make a mistake. Those were old spells, powerful and illegal ones. But she knew how to deal with them - all she had to do was to put the theory into practice.
Taking a deep breath, she started to slowly and very carefully detach the first anchor, realigning the spells so the remaining anchors took the strain. Sweat started to run down her face, tasting salty on her tongue when she licked her lips - she should add a small enchantment to her mask to deal with perspiration. One more spell to realign. She had to steady her wand hand before continuing. If she slipped… She didn't.
Panting, she leaned back, sitting down on the pavement.
"Hermione?"
"I'm alright," she answered her tutor. "I opened a hole." A flick of her wand marked the area. "We should…"
Before she could finish her sentence, the dog jumped over the fence into the small garden.
"Black, you damned fool!" she heard Mr Fletcher spit. She wholly agreed with the sentiment. "Bloody Gryffindor!"
That she didn't agree with, of course. "Well, it seems we don't need to test my work," she said.
Mr Fletcher snorted. And the dog was already sniffing at the back door. At least they knew, thanks to Dumbledore, that it wasn't trapped.
*****
"That was reckless, Black," Mr Fletcher admonished the dog as soon as all of them were inside the house.
"Don't you trust her?" he shot back, grinning.
Hermione Granger scowled. That was not a fair argument. "Let's get on with this," she said. "We have books to loot and captives to free."
"Sometimes I wonder at your priorities," Sirius said.
She glared at him. "That wasn't a ranking!"
"Of course it wasn't," he said with that infuriating grin.
"I've opened the stairs to the basement," Mr Fletcher interrupted their brewing spat. "Let's get on with this."
Hermione was tense as they descended into the basement - the dungeon, literally in this case, as they knew. According to Dumbledore, there were no traps or curses awaiting them, and she trusted the Headmaster's information. But she couldn't help worrying anyway. The stairs would make an excellent spot for a trap - dark, narrow and winding.
But they reached the bottom of the stairs without incident, and the door there didn't stop them either.
Sirius whistled at the sight that greeted them - a room straight out of a vampire novel. A cheap vampire novel: black wood paneling on the walls, dark red curtains hanging from the ceiling and a polished stone floor, with a ritual circle etched into it.
And a door leading to the dungeon, where half a dozen men were sleeping in cells under the effects of the Draught of the Living Death. As Dumbledore had told them to expect. Hermione shivered when she looked at them - they looked dead to her. And they would have been dead as soon as Payton had caught the seventh victim she had needed for her planned ritual.
"Alright," Mr Fletcher said. "Black, inform Dumbledore that we're inside. Hermione, let's get started on the books." He swished his wand, and the red curtains were drawn back, revealing shelves upon shelves of books.
Hermione smiled widely as she drew her own wand.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 21st, 1996
"The victims overpowered the kidnapper when the drugs she had dosed them with ran out, and managed to escape to the street, seeking help. The kidnapper died in a fire, which the police suspect she set when she realised that she couldn't escape?" Sirius asked as he lowered the newspaper Hermione Granger had brought with her.
She nodded and pointed at the headline - 'Pale Lady Kidnapper Dies in Fire, Victims Safe' - which was placed right above a picture of Payton's burning house. "That's what happened as far as the police know." With a slight grin, she added: "So, now you know why we had to take everything even hinting at magic from there." Letting all those books burn would have been a crime! And they had even replaced the furniture they had taken with duplicated copies, so the muggles wouldn't wonder why the house had been empty.
"I really need a new basement," the dog muttered, but she ignored him.
*****
London, Greenwich, April 24th, 1996
Hermione Granger let her new bracelet dangle from her fingers as she studied it. It was a simple design: a fine golden chain, from which small coins dangled - a Knut, shrunk and gold-plated, for every heist she had been on. There weren't that many, yet. But that would change, she promised herself. And she already had decided on the spots where the Knuts from the manors of the Greengrasses, Parkinsons, Davises and Bulstrodes would go. And the place of honour for the coin from Malfoy. She grinned, imagining her revenge.
Then she sighed. She wanted to go and rob those lying bigots blind, but Harry was still cursed and needed her help. Not to mention that Mr Fletcher was still claiming that she wasn't ready to deal with an actual manor of an Old Family. Not yet. If the worst should happen, her plans would have to wait until after Voldemort was dealt with.
Which wouldn't be a bad thing, of course - the Dark Lord was a lethal threat for her family, her friends and herself, as well as every other muggleborn and so-called blood traitor. It made sense that Dumbledore wanted her to focus on defeating the Dark Lord, even if she was certain that robbing those pureblooded liars would also harm Voldemort's plans.
But it grated on her nerves anyway, thinking that those bigots were enjoying the gold Sirius had paid for her debts. That they were profiting from their crimes and lies, safe and smug behind their old wards. She wanted to teach them a lesson. Repay them for what they had done to her.
She sighed again.
"Something the matter?" Mr Fletcher asked. "Trouble with the Charms test?"
She shook her head, feeling her messy ponytail flap around. "No. Just thinking."
"About what? Must be important if you're skipping studying for it." He was grinning, but even that joking rebuke stung her.
She didn't want to admit that she had been dwelling on her revenge plans again. So she didn't. "I was wondering why more wizards don't steal from muggles. It would be very easy, after all." Even easier than making muggle money honestly with a few choice spells.
He grinned. "What makes you think they don't?" She frowned at him - he could be as bad with his teasing as the dog - and he held up a hand. "Don't hex me! There are a few reasons for the apparent dearth of wizards stealing from muggles." He sighed. "First, muggles don't have much that we would want to steal. Gringotts and the Ministry keep a tight grip on the money supply. They know what would happen to the economy if Galleons weren't a controlled currency. It's a real pain to launder muggle loot, too - there's not much demand for it, not even for precious metal since the goblins control the mint. Art would be different, but the Ministry keeps an eye on that after an incident involving the Mona Lisa."
"They had no trouble robbing my family of all our money," Hermione said with a scowl.
"Of course not - but that's a drop in the bucket. You weren't exactly rich compared to the Old Families."
Hermione pressed her lips together. At least her family had earned their money. "But if you stayed mostly in the muggle world, you wouldn't have to launder muggle goods into wizard money," she pointed out. She refrained from pointedly looking around her tutor's muggle flat, but he got her meaning.
"But then you have to launder your money muggle-style. And deal with their taxes and paper trails."
"That wouldn't be too hard." She had thought about how to do that. Just in case.
"No, but it would be easier to simply conjure and transfigure what you want." He shrugged.
"Not everyone can do that," she retorted.
"Then they're not good enough to last as thieves anyway." He chuckled. "The Ministry keeps an eye out for 'impossible thefts'. Claim they're a threat to the Statute of Secrecy. Mostly hogwash, but it means the punishment for such thefts is much harsher than for normal theft, which scares a number of thieves off. Coupled with the work needed to keep the muggle authorities from bothering you, it's usually not worth the hassle."
"Usually?" She tilted her head slightly.
He shrugged. "I'm certain that there are a number of wizards living the high life as muggles. But they're not that many. Most who have the skill for that have far greater ambitions." He smirked at her.
She huffed. She simply wanted to teach those arrogants bigots that they couldn't get away with their crimes. And that not even expelling her from Hogwarts would prevent her from outshining every single scion of the Old Families.
She would show them. Well, not literally - she wasn't stupid, after all. Even if robbing the Malfoys blind would be so much more satisfying if she could also rub it in their faces.
She could dream, though.
*****
Hogwarts, May 6th, 1996
"...and while Nifflers are often thought to be fond of precious metals and jewels, they are, in fact, fond of anything shiny and will go to great length to find such objects. That makes them useful when digging for treasure." Harry Potter closed his copy of 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' and sighed. "We already knew that from our lessons with Hagrid."
"Yeah. But the book doesn't tell you that the little buggers fight tooth and nail to keep any treasure they find," Ron added. He frowned and wriggled his left hand. "Almost lost a finger there."
"That's a good point," Harry said, making a note. "If they ask about Nifflers at the O.W.L. exams, such details will help a lot."
"If they ask about Nifflers." Ron snorted. "I asked my brothers - neither Percy's nor Charlie's nor Bill's tests included Nifflers. Charlie sent me the latest on dragons, though." He put a roll of parchment on their table in the Gryffindor common room and duplicated it, then frowned at the result. "The copy's letters are a little smudged."
"Would still be a passing grade," Harry said, "if that charm were on the list of spells we need to know."
"It should be," Ron retorted. "It's very useful."
"We almost got Moody with that avalanche," Harry agreed, smiling.
"'Almost doesn't count'," Ron quoted their trainer and both chuckled. "At least we don't have to worry about Defence," he added.
"Just about Transfiguration, Charms, Astronomy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures and Potions," Harry said.
His friend frowned at him. "No one cares about Astronomy. No one but my Mum and Percy, at least. It's useless. And we don't have to worry about Divination."
"The Divination examiner might not be as easy to fool as Trelawney," Harry retorted.
Ron snorted. "They'd have to read our minds to know we're making it up. And we're good at everything in Charms or Transfiguration that's useful in a fight, so we should at least pass."
He had a point, Harry had to admit. "There's still Potions."
Ron winced. "Well, the examiner can't be as evil as Snape?"
Harry scoffed. "That 's not a high bar. And you know what Moody said: 'I'm training you to Auror standards, and a N.E.W.T. in Potions is requirement to become an Auror. You wouldn't like it if you failed your Potions O.W.L.'," he added, trying to imitate the old Auror's voice.
Ron sighed and hunched over in his seat. "Thanks mate. I had almost persuaded myself that the O.W.L.s wouldn't be that bad."
"Any time," Harry said with a grin. After a moment, he laughed. "Look at us - we've got Voldemort after us, and we're worrying about the O.W.L.s!"
"Well, I can't fail the O.W.L.s; Mum would kill me," Ron said. "What's your excuse?"
"Hermione said that failing the O.W.L.s would be letting Voldemort win," Harry said. "Something about not letting him ruin my future."
Ron blinked. "Well, not letting him kill you is kind of the first step for that. Most important one, too."
"Yes," Harry said, "but I…" He saw Ginny enter the commons room - her Quidditch match must have ended. "...I think I need a break from studying right now," he said.
Ron raised his eyebrows, then glanced at the door. "Ah."
Harry was already up and on the way to his girlfriend. "Ginny!" He beamed at her and gathered her in his arms for a quick kiss. She had just showered; he could smell her shampoo in her hair. "How was your game?" he asked.
She smiled widely. "We won - I caught the snitch." Then she frowned. "I hoped you'd come and watch. At least for a few minutes."
Harry shrugged. "Sorry, but I was studying and lost track of the time. O.W.L.s." He lowered his voice and grinned at her. "But how about we celebrate your victory? Just the two of us?"
She seemed to hesitate a moment, then shook her head. "Sorry, I've got homework of my own."
"Well, once you're done, then?" Harry smiled. "I'm free until after dinner." And dinner was in two hours. Since Ginny wasn't studying for her O.W.L.s she wouldn't take that long to finish her homework.
"We'll see," she said. "I might also lose track of the time."
"Oh."
"See you later." She was smiling, but politely. Not the kind of smile he wanted to see.
He watched her vanish up the stairs to the girls' dorm, then sighed and returned to his and Ron's table.
His friend looked at him but didn't say anything. And neither did Harry.
He couldn't wait for the O.W.L.s to be over.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 7th, 1996
"You want me to teach you Defence?" The dog's tone clearly showed that he hadn't expected that. He had also stopped spinning around on his swivel chair.
Hermione Granger sighed. "Yes."
"Don't you have a tutor for that? An expert?" He was grinning now.
She clenched her teeth. "Yes. But as events have proved, you're a better fighter than Mr Fletcher." Not a better a thief, of course - Sirius could hardly be called a thief, in her opinion. Far too clumsy.
"Ah!" He smiled widely. "It feels so good to be acknowledged." He sighed. "So good."
She raised her left hand and flexed it, as if she were unsheathing her claws.
He cleared his throat. "I'm willing to teach my secretary and fellow thief, of course. Although unless you can train together with Harry, I doubt that I can spare the time to train you seriously."
"I'm aware of that." She didn't have the time either, especially not with the O.W.L.s coming up. "And I'm not looking for lessons on how to fight like you do." That wasn't the point of being a thief. "But I would like a few lessons in escaping from people like Tripe." She didn't want to end up at the mercy of a vampire - or anyone - ever again.
"Ah!" He rubbed his goatee. "That shouldn't be a problem." His grin turned positively evil and he twirled his wand between his fingers. "We'll start with teaching you how to dodge - as a human."
Hermione realised right there and then that she had made a slight mistake.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 9th, 1996
"Alright, we've got a new target," Mr Fletcher said, using his wand to roll out a map on the table in Sirius's basement. "Finsley's Fine Goods. A small-time fence in Knockturn Alley, who may have recently acquired a tome on blood magic."
Hermione Granger craned her neck to study the map. The shop was located near the entrance to the Alley - not exactly the most isolated area.
Sirius frowned. "Wouldn't it be easier to simply buy the tome? While we're in disguise?"
Mr Fletcher shook his head. "Books on blood magic aren't exactly the kind of things fences sell to anyone. It's one thing to claim that you didn't think that necklace was stolen when you bought it, but everyone knows that even the possession of blood magic paraphernalia is illegal. He won't admit to a stranger that he's got such a thing."
"We could use Polyjuice potion and pass as an acquaintance of his," Hermione said. She could also think of a number of people who deserved to get framed.
"We would need to observe him first, see who he knows and is familiar with, and then get their hair for the potion, as well as observe them to see how they act. Easier to break into the shop straight away," her tutor said.
Hermione nodded in agreement - that made sense. Sirius shrugged.
"We'll have to move quickly, though," Mr Fletcher continued. "He'll want to get rid of it."
"Might he simply destroy it?" Sirius asked.
"He's too greedy for that," her tutor answered.
"You know him that well?"
"I've heard enough about him," Mr Fletcher corrected the dog. "Anyway - I checked the wards out before I came here. Nothing impressive - good enough to keep the riff-raff out, but won't stand up to a skilled Curse-Breaker." He looked at Hermione, who was smiling at him. "Yeah, you can deal with them. Black and I will go in while you serve as lookout."
Hermione frowned. On the one hand, she was glad to be allowed to deal with the wards. On the other hand, this sounded as if both men wanted to keep her out of danger.
The dog rolled his eyes. "Don't make such a face! Being a lookout in Knockturn Alley at night isn't that safe."
She glared at him in return. He was starting to be a little too familiar with her if he could read her mood that easily. And she still owed him for the Stinging Hexes he had used on her during 'training'. They might be effective, but they hurt!
*****
London, Knockturn Alley, May 10th, 1996
Glancing around as she approached Finsley's shop, Hermione Granger had to admit that Knockturn Alley didn't look very safe. Vampires and hags were said to prowl the Alley past midnight - although most vampires might have gone into hiding these days - and even though she was disillusioned she couldn't help feeling as if she were attracting attention.
Seeing the dog padding in front her, his pitch-black fur almost disappearing in the shadows, helped, though. His appearance had already sent one drunk wizard running away, screaming about the Grim coming to get him. She frowned - people feared the dog, but might attack a cat. If they managed to spot her first, of course, which they wouldn't.
But she couldn't break through the wards as a cat. Which was why she was disillusioned instead of a cat.
She reached the walls of the shop and tapped her mask. Her tutor had been correct - not that she had doubted him: The wards weren't as strong as on the vampire's lair. More dangerous than the average ward on a wizard home, but nothing she couldn't handle. She glanced over her shoulder - a floating marker showed that her tutor was right behind her, watching her back. And the dog was ahead of her in the side alley, covering the front. She nodded, even though no one could see it, and started working.
It didn't take long - the wards had been anchored to the walls, and sloppily so. She could spot two areas where they didn't overlap. It took her half an hour to go through them, mostly because there was a dark curse hidden behind the first layer - a nasty surprise for an overconfident thief, but again, nothing really impressive.
She tapped her mask below her ear and whispered: "Done."
"Finally!" the dog complained - he must have changed back to human. "This alley stinks!"
"Quit complaining, Black," her tutor shot back, "you wanted to go as a dog." He was already at the door, and a moment later, she saw it swing open. A moment later, she saw a black dog push past and the door closed again.
Now all that was left for her was the waiting. In Knockturn Alley. At night. She took a deep breath and told herself that she was a Gryffindor. She wasn't afraid of some dark creature lurking nearby - she could handle any of them. And, she added to herself, her tutor and Sirius were just a word away.
She still hoped that they would not take too long - staring at the shadows outside the range of the spells on her masks was more disquieting than she had expected. It was one thing to read about the hags living in this place, scorned by Wizarding Britain, but another to imagine one of them trying to sneak up on her. At least there wouldn't be any werewolves around.
She heard a noise behind her and whirled around, wand pointed ahead. A rat froze in the middle of the alley, then sprinted towards the closest shadow. She resisted the urge to hit it with a spell, but it took an effort - rats were filthy vermin, and any self-respecting cat would kill them given the opportunity. Unless that would give her presence and position away.
"You won't be lucky next time," she whispered, then returned to watching the shop and its surroundings.
It felt like an hour, but it hadn't been longer than ten minutes when Mr Fletcher and Sirius returned. "We got it," her tutor said. "Let's get out of here."
"Don't know how useful it'll be - it looks rather shabby," the dog added.
Hermione waited until they had apparated to the rally spot in their safe house to answer. "Never judge a book by its cover."
"I can't - it's missing its cover." The dog was grinning at her.
"It wasn't meant to be taken literally," she explained to him.
"Well, it's certainly not high literature."
Hermione pressed her lips together and refrained from responding. It would only encourage the dog. Although when he turned his back to her, she banished a rolled-up newspaper at him, hitting him in the head.
"Hey!" He glared at her.
"Constant Vigilance!" she turned his own - borrowed - words back at him with a wide smile.
It was so worth the scolding from Mr Fletcher that she knew would be coming.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, May 11th, 1996
"Hey, Hermione!"
Hermione Granger frowned at the interruption but managed not to glare at the dog standing in the door of her room - her office - at Grimmauld Place. "Yes?" Her tone clearly told him that she was busy - busy working for him, actually.
"Dumbledore is coming. He wants to talk to you."
Her eyes widened in surprise. The Headmaster, visiting her? Here? Why would he… Had something happened to Harry? No, Sirius would have been informed before her. But… "Did he tell you why?" she said, sounding calmer than she felt.
He shook his head. "No. But it must be important."
Of course it was important - the Headmaster wouldn't take the time to visit in person otherwise. And it concerned her. Personally.
She bit her lower lip, fighting the anxiety she felt rising inside her.
*****
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger. Sirius." Dumbledore sounded as pleasant and composed as usual when he stepped into the entrance hall of Sirius's home, Hermione Granger thought. That didn't mean much, though she thought that the news he brought wouldn't be too terrible, or he wouldn't be smiling. Or so she hoped.
"Good afternoon, sir." She nodded at him.
"Welcome to my humble home," Sirius said. "Tea's ready in my study."
"Thank you."
They proceeded into Sirius's study as she listened to polite and meaningless conversation about the latest gossip from Hogwarts. Not even interesting gossip - just banal stuff about the staff's lives. She wanted to know the reason for the Headmaster's visit.
Waiting until they were seated inside Sirius's study and tea had been served took another toll on her patience. She almost drew her wand to take over serving from Sirius, even though that would have been terribly rude. But the dog was just too slow.
Finally tea was served and the Headmaster put down his cup after his first sip. "Excellent, Sirius. A new brand?"
"Yes. Hermione brought some muggle tea. I thought you'd like it."
"I do." He smiled at her. "You have an eye for tea, my dear."
She forced herself to smile. "Thank you, sir."
She must have failed in hiding her impatience, though, since he sighed and went on: "But I did not visit to have tea. I bring grave news." He slowly inclined his head. "The Dark Lord has used his agents in the Ministry to access the addresses of the muggleborn students on file." She drew a hissing breath but didn't interrupt him. "We had anticipated this, and tampered with the records, but there were a few we could not replace because they were not strictly related to school records, and therefore not kept in one single place, but rather duplicated in several departments."
"Like trial records," Hermione said. Like hers.
"Indeed."
"My family has moved twice since the trial, though." And she had used Sirius's address to register for the O.W.L. exams.
"But due to your financial obligations at the time, you were tracked." He shook his head. "While I cannot say with certainty that your family's address is known to the Dark Lord, I do not think we can safely assume that it is not the case."
"The Death Eaters would have had her address for years, then," Sirius said.
"Indeed. But, until recently, the Dark Lord was not willing to attack muggleborns - yet. That would draw attention, and speculation would quickly tie the new attacks to those of the Blood War."
"He's moving to open war, then?" Sirius asked.
"Preparing for it, at the very least," Dumbledore said. He looked at her. "I do not think he is ready for war, yet, but on the other hand, your unfortunate and unjustly damaged reputation would allow him to disguise an attack on your family as you having run afoul of other criminals. And it is widely known how close you are to Harry and Sirius."
"Which makes me an ideal target." She clenched her teeth. Malfoy's plot was, even years after the trial, still ruining her family.
"That's remarkably specific," Sirius said. "There are others who are close to Harry and myself. The Weasleys. Jeanne. The Tonkses. But you wanted to talk to Hermione." Hermione saw him narrow his eyes. "You've got a spy close to Voldemort, haven't you?"
Dumbledore's smile grew a little thinner, she thought. "Even if I had such a source, I wouldn't endanger them by telling others."
Sirius scoffed. "It's not your source from the first Blood War, is it? Because I don't think Voldemort would be as stupid as to trust that git again. Unless he's feeding you disinformation. With or without the git's cooperation."
Hermione bit her lower lip to avoid gasping. There was one man Sirius regularly called 'git'. Snape. Had he been the Headmaster's spy during the last war? It would explain a few things. And pose even more questions.
Dumbledore stopped smiling entirely and gave Sirius a stern look. "I assure you that I am aware of that, and that I trust this warning."
Sirius scoffed. "Since he's still alive, I gather he hasn't met the Dark Lord yet. So you've got someone else." He held up a hand. "I know, it's a secret. But let's talk about we can do to protect Hermione's family. Guards won't cut it, unless you have far more members in the Order than I think."
Dumbledore sighed once more, then smiled wryly at her. "Sirius is correct. We cannot spare the needed number of wands to guard your family. Both your house as well as your parents' workplace would have to be guarded - around the clock, to prevent ambushes and traps."
That would take a lot of people. Hermione swallowed. "Then what can we do? Make them hide?" Her parents wouldn't forgive her for ruining their lives a second time. Even if it wasn't entirely her fault this time.
"That would be one way to keep them safe. Having them leave Britain would be another. Combined, I think they would be both safe and at least somewhat content." Dumbledore stuck his hand into his robe and pulled out what Hermione, to her considerable surprise, recognised as muggle travel brochures. "It will cost some money - muggle money - though."
*****
Hogwarts, June 3rd, 1996
Harry Potter wasn't quite at the point where he was reciting textbooks in his sleep - at least Ron claimed he wasn't when Harry had asked - but he certainly felt like he was. Three weeks until the O.W.L.s started, and he had already crammed so much into his head. And so much was still left to learn.
He glanced at the Ravenclaw table. The fifth and seventh years were reading books during breakfast. He was certain that Hermione would be doing the same, were she at Hogwarts. She probably was studying during breakfast at Grimmauld Place. He wouldn't go that far himself. Not yet, at least. Ginny wouldn't like it. Although she hadn't yet arrived at the Gryffindor table.
"Harry! Ron!"
He saw Luna moving towards him and his friend, waving excitedly. She sat down next to Ron and pulled out a stack of magazines - The Quibbler's newest issue, he realised. "Here're your copies!" Luna said, beaming at them while she handed the issues over, almost dropping one onto Ron's plate.
"You gave me two," Harry pointed out. His subscription only covered one.
"One is for Hermione. Her help allowed Daddy to uncover a far-reaching conspiracy and possible threat to the Statute of Secrecy, so it's only fair that she gets a copy of the issue too!" Luna explained.
"Her help?" Ron asked. A glance showed Harry that his friend looked as confused as he felt.
Luna nodded several times. "Yes. She told me about 'Westminster' being a possible breeding ground for Nargles. Without her Daddy would have never thought of investigating that muggle location."
Harry quickly unfolded his issue. There was a picture of the British parliament building on the cover. Right beneath the headline: Muggles Hiding Nargles! Conspiracy of Silence!
"Blimey! Your dad found Nargles?" Ron asked.
Luna frowned, scrunching her nose. "He hasn't seen them - he wasn't allowed inside. He told me that the muggle guards simply wouldn't budge even though he asked nicely and told them about the dangers of a Nargle infestation." She sighed. "The only explanation for their behaviour is that they are actively trying to hide the existence of Nargles by limiting access to them." She nodded slowly and Harry thought her eyes were even wider than usual. "You need to warn Hermione that she has to be careful - we haven't revealed our source, but if the muggles ever suspect her, they'll try to silence her. They tried to kidnap Daddy, you know, but he escaped them," she added in a whisper.
"Uh…" Harry said, wincing. If he told Hermione that… well, he'd tell Sirius in the evening, and his godfather could inform Hermione. They were getting along well, after all.
"Morning Harry, morning Ron… Luna?" Ginny had arrived.
"Hello, Ginny!" Luna said. "I've brought Harry The Quibbler."
"Ah." Ginny nodded, then bent down to give Harry a kiss - on the cheek, he noted. She sat down next to him, though
"Hello." He slipped his arm around her waist, but she squirmed when he tried to pull her closer.
"I need to eat - I'm already late," she said.
"Alright." Harry nodded and withdrew his arm. "We can wake you up earlier tomorrow," he said with a grin.
She glared at him. "Don't you dare! I was studying late - we have exams too."
Luna, who was still sitting next to Ron, nodded. "Yes."
Harry shrugged. "That's true, but they're not as important as the O.W.L.s." He certainly hadn't worried that much about them last year. Nor had he studied that much.
Ginny glared at him again. She didn't say anything, though, and continued eating. She didn't kiss him either, when they left for class later.
*****
"Alright, I'll tell her. But seriously… A muggle conspiracy to hide Nargles?"
"I promised Luna that I'd warn Hermione," Harry Potter told Sirius. "Can't hurt, can it?"
His godfather snorted. "She can't hurt you, you're safe at Hogwarts."
Harry gave him a flat stare and made a point of rubbing his arm, which had been hit quite a lot during the evening's training. "I'm certain that you can defend yourself against her." Sirius was one of the best fighters Harry knew - not as good as Moody, but very good.
Sirius snorted again, mumbled something about cats that Harry didn't quite catch, but didn't contradict him. "Good evening, Harry."
"That remains to be seen," he retorted. It depended on whether or not Ginny was done with her homework and studying.
His godfather chuckled, then stepped into Remus's fireplace and vanished.
Harry sighed, briefly checked that Remus was still asleep - the wizard was still exhausted from his change last night - and went back to Gryffindor Tower.
He smiled when he entered the common room - Ginny was there in a corner, listening to the wireless with her friends. He walked up to her and slid an arm over her shoulder as he sat down on the armrest of her set. "Hey! All done with your homework?" He ignored the shushing sounds and motions from her friends. He and Ginny would leave in a moment.
She frowned at him, but nodded.
Harry bent down and a whispered into her ear: "Fancy a stroll in the castle?"
He felt her tense. "It's past curfew," she answered in a whisper.
He grinned. "That never stopped us before." He pulled slightly on her shoulder. Just a little nudge. They didn't have much time left since it was late already.
Once more she hesitated, but then stood. "Let's go then," she said, taking his arm.
He smiled. It was a good evening.
*****
London, Merton, June 5th, 1996
"Australia? You want us to move to Australia?"
Her parents could have said that without sounding so shocked, Hermione Granger thought. It wasn't as if this came as a surprise - she had told them weeks ago that they were in danger. She raised her chin, but remained seated on her chair at the dinner table. "Not moving - just traveling the country until Britain is safe for you once again," she explained.
"And how long would that be?" her father asked.
"And why Australia?" Mum asked before she could answer Dad. "Didn't you tell us that it was the deadliest magical country?"
"For British wizards. And pretty much every other wizard apart from the Aborigines - their shamans kill all the intruders they catch." Hermione had told them that too, although that had been a year ago. "It's perfectly safe for muggles."
"I wouldn't call it 'perfectly safe'," her father said. "It probably has the most dangerous wildlife of all the continents."
"Which doesn't make it that dangerous. Millions of Australian muggles have no trouble," Hermione pointed out. "But the Aborigines keep all foreign wizards out - you'll be safe there from Death Eaters."
"That also means that you can't come with us," her mother said with narrowed eyes.
Hermione blinked. "Yes." She had never planned to go herself - she was needed here, after all. She noticed the glances her parents exchanged. "I'll be safe at Grimmauld Place. The house has some of the most powerful wards in Britain."
"We could move in with you, couldn't we?" Mum asked. "You said it was a big house, and that you could even add magical rooms."
Hermione struggled not to wince. Her parents, at Grimmauld Place? Kreacher would have fits. Half the portraits would be livid. And she wouldn't be able to go on heists without trouble any more. "You wouldn't like it," she said. "No telly. No radio. No computer. No phones either. You couldn't leave by yourself, since you wouldn't be able to get back due to the wards. You wouldn't be able to meet many people."
"We don't have that many friends left - real friends, at least," Dad muttered.
"In Australia, however, you would be on vacation. You could travel where you want, you'd stay in luxury hotels and resorts, meet new people…" She beamed at her parents.
"That would cost a fortune," Mum said.
"Sirius is covering it," Hermione waved her hand. "He can afford it easily." There was no need to explain to her parents that her own cut of the loot would actually cover their travels, once Mr Fletcher fenced part of the furniture they had taken so far.
Her parents looked at each other again. "We would have to depend on Mr Black's generosity again."
"So? You just suggested moving into his home." Hermione frowned.
"Where you're already living." Dad stared at her.
"I'm his secretary."
"We're technically his dentists." Mum wasn't helping.
"You couldn't work there either. Do you really want to spend months, maybe years, in a single house? Lie to our friends when they ask where you are? Surrounded by wizards and magic?"
"You're asking us to leave you there, dear," Mum said.
"I'm a witch," Hermione said. "Please. I just want what's best for you."
"That should be our line," Dad said. He was grinning wryly, though - she was making progress.
"Well, if you want what's best for me, then not making me worry about you or feel guilty for all but imprisoning you would be a good choice." Hermione forced herself to smile. "Please. Besides - didn't you say that you had always wanted to travel there? Before I was born?"
"Well, not under such circumstances…" Dad was wavering, though. And the look he sent to Mum was different from his earlier ones.
Hermione grinned. "Besides, even Dumbledore himself thinks it's the best option. And the beaches there are gorgeous! Look at these brochures!"
It took her another hour of explaining, but they finally saw reason. And without her using magic to persuade them. Which had been her last resort. She wouldn't let her parents get hurt, or worse, for her. Not again.
*****
Hogwarts, June 14th, 1996
"Ginny! There you are!" Harry Potter beamed at his girlfriend when he found her at the entrance to the Hogwarts library.
"Harry." Ginny smiled at him. A bit weakly, though - she was probably tired from studying. Like himself. "Didn't you have a lesson with Dumbledore?"
He shook his head. "He had to leave. Something came up."
"What happened?"
He smiled. "Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you. It's a secret." He didn't know what Dumbledore was doing. She pouted in that cute way of hers, and so he added: "If it concerned our families he'd have told us." She didn't look convinced, or so he thought. He beamed at her again. "But more importantly - I have two hours, and I have it on good authority that the unused classroom on the third floor is empty right now." That was one of his favorite spots to snog. "The perfect spot to relax after all the studying we've been doing."
She didn't look as enthusiastic as he had expected - they had hardly seen each other for a week. "You mean the perfect spot to snog," she said in a rather flat voice.
"Yes." He frowned. That was the best way to relax, too - Sirius agreed with him as well. Heck, Hermione had said that people under stress, like soldiers, had an increased sex drive, too.
"I'm not in the mood to snog." Apparently, Ginny wasn't as stressed as he had thought.
"We haven't done much all week," he pointed out.
"We have done nothing but snog for a month whenever we had a little time for us," she retorted.
"And we've had precious little free time."
"I don't want to just snog with you. I told you that." She looked angry.
He swallowed his first thought. You shouldn't push witches to snog, Sirius had told him. "Alright, if you don't want to," he lied, "then we can hang out with our friends." He had trained and studied with Ron this week, but hadn't done much else.
"So, if I don't want to snog, you don't want to spend time with me?" She was glaring at him now.
"No! But we can spend the time together and with our friends. I've told you that before."
"Yes, you did." That didn't sound like she agreed with him, though. Were all witches so possessive once you started a relationship?
"And it's true. We shouldn't neglect our friends just to spend time with each other." Sirius had been clear on that as well. And Harry had learned his lesson with Parvati.
"Unless it's to snog," she spat.
"Well, we can't very well snog with each other in public, can we?"
"That's not the point! I'm sick of never doing anything but snogging with you!"
"That's because with the O.W.L.s so close, and my lessons and training, I have no time for anything else. That'll change after the O.W.L.s, once I have more free time."
"Really?"
"Yes. And we'll have the holidays, too." He smiled at her.
"Unless something more important comes up." She was still glaring at him.
"Well, I can't do anything with anyone if Voldemort kills me, can I?" he shot back. Why couldn't she see that?
"I know that. I know that's important."
"So why are you so…" Difficult? Stupid? "...angry?"
"Because you think that spending time with me is not important unless we snog. You prefer spending time with Ron rather than with me!" Her eyes looked a little… was she crying?
He shook his head. "I want to spend time with both of you, with all my friends. I don't want to choose between you." Why couldn't she understand that?
He saw her working her jaw work and her lips trembling. She looked very upset - those were tears in her eyes.
And then she bared her teeth.
"Well, then I'll choose for you! Go snog yourself! Or Ron! We're through!"
*****
Harry Potter kept staring after her for a while after she stormed off. She had just dumped him. Just because he hadn't wanted to dump Ron for her. He shook his head. Just like Parvati. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. He wasn't crying. Not over this. It was stupid, and he had much bigger things to worry about. Voldemort. The O.W.L.s. If Ginny was too jealous to understand that then he was better off without her.
He slowly unclenched his fists. Yes, it was better like this. No more rows and weird glances and… No more snogging. He sighed. He should get back to the common room. Ginny would be telling everyone that it was his fault.
"Harry?"
He turned. Dumbledore was standing there. How had the Headmaster managed to sneak up on him? "Sir?" he said.
"Are you well? Young people generally don't stand in hallways staring at the library without a reason."
"I was just thinking," he said quickly. "Lost in thought."
"Ah." Dumbledore nodded, though Harry couldn't tell if the Headmaster believed him or not. "I have been looking for you, actually."
"You were?" What for, he wondered. Had something happened to Sirius? Or Hermione?
But Dumbledore was smiling. "I wanted to tell you the good news right away: I found a cure for your curse."
*****
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Chapter 20: Future Prospects
Starfox5
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Chapter 20: Future Prospects
Longford, Heathrow Airport, Britain, June 22nd, 1996
"Be safe and enjoy your holiday, Dad!"
Gabriel Granger's reply was interrupted by his little girl - not so little any more, he realised - hugging him. Hard. His little bookworm had become an athlete without him noticing! He knew she had been running each morning, but he hadn't thought much of it. He heard her sniffle as he held her, and barely refrained from saying 'there, there'.
Then she released him and launched herself at Ellen. "Mum! You too! Be safe as well!"
He smiled at his wife as she was trying to breathe, caught in their daughter's surprisingly strong grip. "We'll be safe, dear," he said. "As safe as you can be in a country founded by convicts and filled with the most venomous animals and plants known to mankind." And a country where foreign wizards disappeared, never to be seen again, according to what he had been told.
And, as he expected, his darling daughter released his wife to glare at him. "Dad! That sort of flippant remark not only ignores how wrong the practice of banishing so-called criminals was, even at the time, it's also incorrect. The country wasn't founded by convicts. In fact…"
He held up his hand to stop the lecture - Hermione was still overdoing her 'research' whenever she tackled a problem. "I know, dear. I was just kidding."
That earned him a pouty scowl that made her look several years younger. Adorable. Not that he would say that - Hermione still had some issues with her appearance, no matter how much she denied it. Otherwise she wouldn't always be wearing rather frumpy clothes, despite Ellen's efforts. He patted her shoulder instead. "We'll be fine."
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes." It sounded a little as if she was trying to convince herself, though. Then she hugged him again. Then Ellen. And then she tried to hug them both together. He was tempted to make a comment about staying in Britain if she was already missing them so much, but refrained. This was already very emotional.
"People are staring," Ellen whispered.
"Let them!" Hermione retorted.
"We're not the only ones," Gabriel pointed out, nodding towards a very loud group a little further away. They were the only ones flying first class, though. At least he thought so. First class… Mr Black was proving to be even more generous than expected.
Gabriel wasn't quite comfortable with that. Hermione claimed that there was nothing behind the man's actions other than a willingness to help his godson's best friend and his trusted secretary, but he couldn't help fearing that, one day, their benefactor would call in the favours owed to him.
Well, he thought, watching Hermione deal with the staff at the check-in desk, Mr Black would find out that their headstrong daughter wasn't easily manipulated. If he wasn't already aware of it, of course - Hermione certainly had complained about his 'lazy attitude' often enough, and Gabriel had had the impression that she didn't hide her annoyance from Mr Black either.
He watched their suitcases disappear on the conveyor belt and turned to Hermione again. His little girl. "So, that's it." He forced himself to smile. No need to make it harder than it already was. "We're off to sunny Australia."
"It's actually winter there now, so it'll be colder than you expect," Hermione said.
"We know, dear," Ellen cut in. His wife's smile was forced as well, he could tell.
Hermione nodded and bit her lower lip. "I'll write you and call, as often as I can."
Which, Gabriel was all too aware, wouldn't be that often. Not with that maniac trying to kill her and her friends. He felt the by now very familiar rage well up inside him. Rage against this 'Voldemort' and his followers for their bigotry and cruelty. And against himself, for being powerless to protect his daughter and wife.
They hugged again while he struggled with his rage. He managed to smile at her as they left her standing at the gate. But he still didn't feel any better by the time they entered the lounge where they would be waiting for boarding to start. And no amount of free drinks would change that. "We're leaving her in danger," he muttered as he sank into a leather seat in the lounge.
"We've talked about this," Ellen whispered.
They had. At length. Hermione hadn't let up until they had given in. He understood the reasons for their trip. That didn't mean he was happy about it. "We should have taken her with us," he whispered.
"She wouldn't have let us," Ellen replied.
He glanced at her. She was smiling sadly at him. He sighed. His wife was correct - Hermione wouldn't have let them take her out of the country. She was too stubborn for her own good. Too brave, too. Unlike her cowardly parents. And, it went without saying, they couldn't have forced her, even if they had wanted to.
Ellen elbowed him in the side. "Stop feeling guilty. It's not your fault."
"I know," he whispered back. And he did. But that didn't make it any easier to leave his little girl behind.
And that he couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't have let them stay in Britain even if they hadn't agreed to leave was no comfort either.
Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1996
Watching Sirius, Remus and Dumbledore prepare the ritual that would counter the blood curse on Remus and himself, Harry Potter felt like tapping his foot. He didn't, of course - that would have been immature. Ungrateful as well - just because the Headmaster had found a counter-curse didn't mean he could expect to be cured immediately.
But it had been a very long week between Dumbledore's announcement and this evening. And not just because of the anticipation or the studying for the O.W.L.s. No, he could handle that. But dealing with his break-up with Ginny… He shook his head. It was hard enough to see her each day in the common room and the Great Hall. But to watch her talking with Parvati and the other girls, then glance at him, knowing they were talking about him, was worse. It wasn't his fault that Ginny couldn't understand that he didn't have much free time and wouldn't neglect all his friends for her! And she could at least be miserable, too!
"It'll work, mate, this is Dumbledore."
Harry turned his head to look at Ron, who must have misunderstood his expression. Harry almost corrected him - he wasn't afraid, nor did he doubt the Headmaster - but decided against it. Ron had stood by him during the breakup, but it wouldn't be fair to drag him into Harry's issues with Ginny. So he nodded. "Yes."
"Besides, they're trying it on Remus first," Ron added.
Remus had insisted on that, Harry knew, and everyone had ignored his own protests. It made sense, of course - the ritual wasn't designed to cure two people at the same time - but it made him feel guilty anyway. Harry should have been first since Remus had only been cursed because he had been guarding him.
He didn't want to dwell on any of this, so he nodded at Ron and then watched the preparations to distract himself. Dumbledore had a ritual circle, as the pattern formed by the silver runic etchings covering most of the polished stone floor was called, already prepared, but they still needed to place candles and censers at the right spots on its edge. Remus was doing that. Sirius was levitating a brass cauldron into the centre of the circle - it was large enough for someone to sit in it.
Someone would be sitting in it, Harry realised when Remus started to strip down. Which meant Harry would have to do the same afterward. He winced, then blinked.
"Oh…" Ron trailed off.
Harry knew why - he, too, was staring at Remus's scars. The man had a lot of them. Gruesome ones. His arms and parts of his chest were covered by claw marks and bite marks, by the looks of it - not that Harry was an expert. But he couldn't imagine anything else causing such wounds. "And I thought my scar was bad," he mumbled.
Remus shot them a hurt glance, and Harry looked away, cursing himself for embarrassing the other wizard. And himself.
"I think you better leave the room," Dumbledore spoke up. "If anything does not go as planned, you'll be safe outside."
Harry nodded, not feeling like protesting any more, and left with Ron.
Outside, he sighed and leaned against the wall, then slid down to sit on the ground. "Damn."
"Yeah. I didn't know it was that bad. He probably has more scars than Moody," Ron agreed. "More scars than Charlie's boss, even. That he survived so many cursed wounds…"
"Werewolves are tough. If he got them while he was changed…" Harry blinked. "Although the wounds would carry over." They had covered that in Care of Magical Creatures. And Defence.
"Yeah." Ron sat down as well. "How long will it take?"
"About an hour, or so Dumbledore said," Harry answered. He remembered what the Headmaster had told him about rituals, how they took longer but made it easier to cast complicated spells.
"So long? Must be a hell of a ritual." Ron knew as well as Harry did that it was likely a blood magic ritual. Banned in Britain, and highly illegal.
"They might simply be being as careful as possible," Harry said. "It's a new ritual." For them, anyway.
Ron snorted, but didn't contradict him.
After about a minute, Harry was sick of the silence. "Let's quizz each other," he said. "Name all of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration."
"You sound as if you were already living with Hermione," Ron said, chuckling. Then he grew serious. "I still can't understand how she could send her parents to Australia," he added with a visible shiver.
"They're muggles. They'll be safe. Thousands of muggles travel to Australia. Millions live there," Harry said.
"Mate, you don't understand. Entire Hit-Wizard companies vanished there, last century. Even the Dark Lord is probably afraid of travelling there."
"Which is why the Grangers are going there," Harry pointed out. He wasn't certain if he believed all the stories he had heard - many sounded too far-fetched to him - but as long as Voldemort's followers believed them, it would be alright. He didn't think Voldemort himself would bother travelling that far to hunt two muggles.
Ron didn't answer; he just snorted.
Harry shrugged. "Anyway, the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law?" he prompted his friend.
Ron sighed, but started to list them. "Food cannot be conjured, it can only be multiplied and…"
Over an hour and a half later, it was his turn to sit in the cauldron, covered in blood. Sticky blood that wouldn't dry over time, as he found out. The smell of it, even worse when mixed with the smoke wafting through the air from the censers, almost made him puke. Which would be bad.
The ritual worked, he told himself. He had seen Remus when the Headmaster had called him in, cleaned and clothed, but asleep. But Sirius had assured him that his friend was fine. So Harry should be fine as well. In theory - Dumbledore had said that the ritual might be painful.
Harry didn't think that anyone would be feeling fine in his place, anyway. Not when sitting naked in a cauldron slowly filling with blood, and with Dumbledore chanting words Harry couldn't understand but which made his scar hurt with each syllable.
How exactly had Remus passed out?, Harry wondered as his headache grew stronger. It was pulsing now. His scar might even be bleeding, he thought - not that anyone would notice, what with blood covering his entire face and dripping on his chest.
He clenched his teeth. He wanted this cure; he could endure this. He had to endure this, or he would be stuck drinking a potion every day for the rest of his life. A potion made by Snape.
He snarled, focusing on his anger. He wouldn't give that git the satisfaction of owing him so much! No matter how much this hurt.
Dumbledore finished another chant, and the scar in Harry's forehead seemed to be on fire, the pain was that bad. Harry ground his teeth so hard he feared they'd crack and splinter, but it didn't help; the pain grew worse. He dug his nails into his thighs - anything to take the edge off the agonising pain in his forehead. He was panting, too, no longer bothered by the stench of blood. How much longer would he have to suffer this?
He almost didn't notice when Dumbledore finished chanting. He didn't see the Headmaster freeze, his wand pointed at Harry.
But he certainly felt the agony filling him right after Dumbledore completed the ritual, and, just before he lost consciousness, he felt as if his scar was searing his skull.
He woke up, not in the infirmary, as he had expected, but in Dumbledore's quarters. Or so he thought - without his glasses, his vision was rather blurry, but it definitely wasn't the infirmary. He had his wand, though, and he was wearing clothes, he noticed. A quick Summoning Charm later, he had his glasses as well. Yes, his first guess had been correct. Dumbledore's quarters, probably in a conjured bed.
"Are you alright, Harry?"
He turned his head. Sirius was there, too, sitting in Harry's usual seat. He should have expected that.
"Harry?"
He blinked. "Sorry… I feel… fine." He slowly reached up and gingerly touched his scar. It didn't hurt. Much. Sore, and raw, he thought. It had bled recently, too - there were smudges of dried blood on his fingertips when he lifted them away from his forehead.
Sirius looked relieved. "We were worried when you collapsed."
"Did it work?" Harry asked. That was all that mattered, after all. "Is the curse gone?"
His godfather smiled. "Yes. No trace of it is left. Neither on you nor on Remus."
Harry smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. It was done. He wasn't cursed any more. His life didn't depend on Snape's potion any longer. He slowly let out a breath. "Good."
"It's great," Sirius said, beaming at him.
Harry nodded. "Was the ritual meant to be so painful, though?" he asked.
Sirius shook his head. "No. Remus said that it sapped his strength, but that there wasn't much pain."
Harry considered that for a moment. His scar had made the difference, then. "So… is this connection the result of blood magic, and did it react with the ritual?" He remembered something about similar spells influencing each other from his Charms revision a week ago.
"That is quite possible."
Harry whipped his head around. He hadn't noticed the Headmaster until the man had spoken. Dumbledore was standing near the door. Had he been there all along, or had he just entered? He focused on the problem at hand. "Sir? What happened?"
"I cannot say for certain yet." Dumbledore smiled faintly and spread his hands. "While Voldemort is currently researching blood magic, I do not think that he used any such spell against you when he attacked you in 1981."
"But…" Harry drew a hissing breath. "Why's my scar reacting like this, then? Is he using blood magic to affect it through our connection?" If Voldemort was aware of their connection...
"That is a possible and worrisome explanation. However, I need to do further research to determine whether or not it is true."
"What else could explain it, though?" Harry asked, scoffing. "Who else would be using blood magic on me?" He caught Dumbledore and Sirius exchanging a glance. "You expected this," he said. Dumbledore slowly nodded. Harry shook his head. "You don't mean…" His mother wouldn't have done this. She wouldn't have.
Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Lily was an exceptionally talented witch, and she would have done anything to protect you."
Hogwarts, June 27th, 1996
The waiting was the worst part of the O.W.L.s, Harry Potter thought, shifting on the bench in the room next to the Defence classroom. Studying he could handle. The tests themselves as well - Charms had been easy, at least the practical parts. The same with Transfiguration. Herbology… well, he didn't think he had made a blunder, and, as Sirius was fond of saying, no one other than those growing potion ingredients cared about Herbology anyway. But waiting… he hated waiting. It made him think. About his parents. His mother. What she had done.
He tried to distract himself by focusing on his Defence exam, which would be starting in a few minutes. He would have to demonstrate a Shield Charm, a Disarming Charm and a Stunner to pass. Child's play - he and Ron had mastered those spells more than a year ago. And the written part this morning… He scoffed. He had finished twenty minutes early. After his training with Moody, he probably knew more about the dangers of the Dark Arts than the examiners. And about blood magic.
He clenched his teeth. He didn't want to think about blood magic. He had almost died because of that vampire's curse. It had taken Dumbledore months to find a cure. Which, Harry strongly suspected, had required a blood magic ritual as well. At least there hadn't been a sacrifice. Or so he thought. Hoped.
Whatever his mum had done to protect him, on the other hand... Dumbledore hadn't gone into detail and Sirius had said it didn't matter since Harry was alive thanks to it, but he had learned enough about blood magic from Dumbledore's musings to know better. His mother had created a protection that worked against the Killing Curse and lasted until he was seventeen years old. Such a powerful spell would have required a sacrifice, and a ritual taking hours to complete.
He closed his eyes. He would rather think about Ginny than dwell on this - and he still felt a stab of pain in his chest whenever he saw his ex-girlfriend in the common room or the Hall. He suddenly snorted - for someone who had only been cured of a lethal curse a few days ago, he was feeling rather gloomy.
Then he noticed the door to the examination room opening, and shot up.
"Mister Potter?" A blonde witch in Auror robes smiled at him. "I'm Belinda Browtuckle. We're ready for your exam now."
"Good!" he blurted out.
Her smile grew. "Not many are so enthusiastic."
Not many had his problems. But that wasn't a topic he could mention to anyone except - maybe - his closest friends. So he shrugged. "Defence is my best subject."
She nodded as he passed her. Inside the room, the other two examiners, both wizards, were waiting, sitting behind their desks - conjured or transfigured, he thought; he hadn't seen those desks before at Hogwarts.
The oldest wizard spoke up. "Hello, Mr Potter. I'm Sebastian Selwyn." He wasn't smiling. His expression was closer to frowning, even. Not as bad as Snape's whenever the git saw Harry, but still…
"I'm Bilius Brown." The other wizard curtly nodded at him.
"Hello." Harry remained standing as Browtuckle took her own seat.
"You're here for your practical exam in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's two o'clock now. Let's start. Please produce the best Shield Charm you can, Mr Potter." Selwyn sounded almost bored, and rather patronising too.
Harry couldn't resist. "What do you mean by 'best', sir? Strongest, fastest casting, or maybe silently cast? Anyone of those could be the best choice depending on the tactical situation," he quoted Moody.
"'Tactical situation'?" Selwyn scoffed. "Produce the strongest Shield Charm you can manage, Mr Potter. And don't try to sound like an Auror at your O.W.L. exam."
The man definitely didn't like him, Harry thought. But he had lived through five years of Snape, and Selwyn wasn't in the same league. He shrugged and raised his wand. "Protego!"
A shimmering field enveloped him as the three examiners peered at him. Browtuckle looked impressed. "Solid form and shape," she said while a dictaquill scribbled over parchment.
Brown didn't show any reaction. And Selwyn… Harry tensed when he saw the man snarl and draw his wand. "Testing. Stupefy!"
Harry had to force himself not to dive to the side, roll behind the closest desk and come up fighting when he caught Selwyn casting. This was a test, not an attack. The Stunner splashed against his shield, causing it to briefly flicker. Harry grinned.
"Withstood one Stunner without visible degradation," Browtuckle noted. Harry's grin widened.
"Stupefy. Stupefy."
Two more Stunners hit Harry's shield, shattering it. He saw Selwyn was still casting, and jumped to the side, casting another Shield Charm as the man's fourth Stunner missed him. Harry's own didn't miss, and the wizard dropped to the ground.
"Don't…" Browtuckle, who had raised her hand, apparently trying to stop her colleague, was gaping at Harry and even Brown looked surprised.
Harry winced. "Sorry. When I noticed that he was still casting even after my shield went down, I simply reacted."
Brown frowned at him. "That was quite an overreaction, Mr Potter. My colleague wasn't about to harm you." He pointed his wand at the wizard on the ground. "Rennervate."
"You can't assume that," Harry shot back as Selwyn groaned on the floor. "Only a fool would let a stranger stun them without any backup."
"Mad-Eye would love you," Browtuckle muttered.
Harry grinned. "He said I'd make a decent Auror."
Her eyes widened. "Did he train you?"
He probably shouldn't have mentioned that, but what was done was done. Harry nodded. "Yes, he gave me a few lessons after I was attacked at the start of the year."
"Merlin's beard," he heard her curse.
"You! You attacked me!" Selwyn had recovered his wits.
"Sorry, sir. I saw you casting at me after my shield had been shattered, and, well, my reflexes took over." Harry shrugged. "Constant Vigilance, you know."
Apparently, Selwyn didn't like Moody either. But he didn't even try to raise his wand in Harry's direction for the rest of the exam.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 6th, 1996
"You stunned an examiner?"
Hermione didn't need to yell, Harry Potter thought, wincing at the volume of his best female friend. "It was a reflex - and he tried to stun me first," he defended himself, grabbing another finger sandwich from the plate Kreacher had put down in the living room. Answering her questions about his O.W.L. exams was hungry work.
"'Reflex'," Hermione said, shaking her head. She had put her pen down, too, Harry noted. And she had fed her monster cat a sandwich, too! No wonder the thing thought that all food was his!
"I knew having Moody train Harry was a good idea!" Sirius chimed in, chuckling. "Not even we did that, did we, Remus?" He didn't sound as if he was asking a rhetorical question, though, Harry thought.
"No, we didn't," Remus confirmed. "But you probably would have tried, if given the chance."
"What if he fails you for it?" Hermione cut in.
Harry scoffed. "I'd like to see him try. I passed all their tests with flying colours, and as I said: He tried to stun me first. It's his own fault."
She pressed her lips together before answering. "That may be true, but the truth doesn't always factor into the Ministry's decisions."
Harry winced again as Sirius nodded. "Very true. But in this case, I doubt that Selwyn would dare to treat Harry unjustly - not with two witnesses, one of them an Auror, and with Dumbledore known to take an interest in the exams." Harry's godfather grinned, showing his teeth. "I remember my parents complaining about him putting a stop to the 'selective grading' that had been going on before he became Headmaster. Muggleborn grades jumped that year, or so I've been told."
Hermione looked relieved.
Harry grinned. "And I don't think he wants to announce that he was stunned by a student."
"That, too," Sirius agreed. "Although the story has spread anyway - Tonks heard from another Auror."
Harry sighed. "Sorry. I didn't think to keep my training secret." It had felt too good to show off.
Sirius waved his concerns off. "Don't worry. People already knew that you were receiving special training."
"They didn't know who trained you, though," Hermione pointed out.
Sirius shook his head. "Voldemort wouldn't have underestimated you anyway. Not after the vampire attack."
Harry saw Hermione frown at Sirius before she looked at him again. "But his followers might have underestimated you."
"Hey now! They knew we were training him!" Sirius sounded affronted.
"We're not Moody," Remus said, smiling wryly.
"Which is a very good thing!" Sirius shuddered. "I wouldn't have half the success with witches if I looked like Moody."
"I remember you telling me that witches found scars attractive," Remus said.
"That is true. Sexy scars - like yours. Or Harry's." Sirius nodded at them. "But missing half your nose, a leg and an eye… That's too much." He blinked. "Or too little?"
"Irrelevant. Let's go back to talking about the O.W.L. exams," Hermione said, picking up her pen.
"You mean back to interrogating me," Harry corrected her with a grin.
She ignored his quip. "That was Defence. Now, Potions was your next exam, right?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am!"
She didn't find that funny, either. Unlike Sirius. Sighing, Harry started to tell her about his Potions exam.
"Isn't this cheating?"
"What?" Hermione Granger looked up from her notes and stared at her best friend. They were alone in the living room - Sirius and Mr Lupin were meeting Dumbledore at Hogwarts. And Crookshanks had gone off to explore his new home.
"You know, grilling me about the exams," Harry said.
She scoffed. "Certainly not. The O.W.L. tests for home-schooled students are different precisely to prevent such cheating."
He blinked. "But if the exams are different, why did you have me talk about them for an hour?"
"The requirements to pass are the same for everyone, so there have to be some basic similarities." That was obvious.
"Ah." He sounded rather grumpy for a boy who had been cured of a lethal, if delayed, curse a few days ago, and who had already taken his O.W.L. exams and could therefore relax - unlike her.
"Besides, it was just an hour," she pointed out. "You wouldn't mind spending an hour to help me revise, would you?" He better not! He was done with school for the summer, after all.
"Of course not," Harry said at once.
"Good!" She beamed at him. "I need some help with Potions."
"You…"
He shook his head at her, and she grinned. She didn't feel guilty for taking advantage of him - it wasn't as if he couldn't spare the time.
"Where's 'Jeanne', anyway?" he asked. "Not that I'm missing her."
"She's visiting her father. Apparently, it's 'a family tradition to welcome family members returning from Hogwarts with a family gathering'," Hermione quoted the other witch.
"That's a lot of 'family'," Harry commented.
Hermione shrugged. "It's an Old Family."
"Speaking of…" Harry looked around, probably checking that Sirius and Remus hadn't yet returned. "Did you find out anything about Jeanne?"
"Other than more than I ever wanted to know about what she does with Sirius in the bedroom?" Hermione asked as sweetly as she could manage.
"Yes."
Harry wasn't fazed. Drat. She shrugged. "No. She hasn't done anything suspicious in my presence." And Hermione had been too busy to do anything more… sneaky.
He sighed and muttered what was likely a curse under his breath. "I guess I'll have to hope that she'll let something slip during the holidays."
"Provided that she does have such plans," Hermione pointed out.
"Better safe than sorry," he retorted. "Can't be too cautious."
Moody had a lot to answer for, Hermione thought. "Actually, yes, you can be too cautious. Or too suspicious."
Harry frowned at her. "You know what I mean."
"Yes. Which is why I said it." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "I know and understand your suspicions. I do, really. I'm just pointing out that Jeanne might be innocent - at least of what you fear her to be planning."
He leaned back on his chair and sighed again. "I just don't want her to break Sirius's heart."
Hermione bit her lower lip. She wasn't certain if she should ask, but… this was a good opportunity, maybe the last before she would be busy with her own exams. "Is this because you and Ginny broke up?"
His head snapped up. "You know?"
She nodded. "Ron told me, in case I wanted to visit The Burrow."
"Ah." She saw his shoulders sag as he looked down at the table.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked. She wasn't certain that she wanted to talk about it, but Harry looked as if he needed to.
"I guess so… you're a girl, after all. Maybe you can understand her."
She pressed her lips together. Of course she was a girl! "What happened?"
He sighed. He was doing a lot of that today, it seemed. "She was acting like Parvati. Wanting me to pick her over my friends. To spend time with her alone - and not just snogging, you know. I told her that I didn't have the time for that, not without neglecting my friends." He was shaking his head as he talked. "I told her that we could snog when alone, and spend the rest of my free time with our friends. Play Quidditch, for example. Or hang out in the common room. That way, I wouldn't have to neglect anyone."
Hermione winced and spoke up before he could continue. "Let me guess: She told you that she didn't want to be with you just for snogging?"
He stared at her, then nodded. "About that, yes. How did you know?"
She took a deep breath. "Because that's what I would have said in her place."
"What?" He gaped. "But you're…" he made a helpless gesture with his hand. "You're not like Parvati!"
"And neither is Ginny." He was clueless, Hermione thought. Probably the dog's fault. "No girl likes to feel that a boy just wants to snog with her, and nothing else." Although no girl liked to know that a boy didn't want to snog her, either. But that was another problem.
"But we were doing other things together!" Harry protested. "Just with our friends, too."
She sighed. "That's not the same. A girl wants to feel special. We don't want to be just a friend who you snog in private."
"But isn't that exactly what Parvati did?"
She frowned. "No. Parvati didn't want you to spend any time with friends, especially not with me, because she was jealous. Ginny wasn't jealous." At least Hermione didn't think she was. "But she was probably afraid that you took her for granted, and only wanted to be with her to snog her."
He scoffed. "But in the end, she wanted me to stop spending time with my friends and instead spend the time with her alone. Like Parvati!"
Hermione rubbed her forehead. "Yes, that may be what it sounded like, but her motivation was - probably - very different. And you could have compromised and spent a little less time with your friends, and a little more with her."
Harry frowned. "I tried. But that doesn't change the fact that she, too, wanted me to choose between my friends and her. And that's something I won't do!" He shook his head emphatically.
Hermione wasn't certain if she should feel happy about his declaration. One the one hand, she loved knowing that Harry wouldn't cast her aside for a witch to snog. On the other hand, if she were ever to…
She buried that thought.
London, Ministry of Magic, July 12th, 1996
"Miss Granger." Mrs Cadwaulder barely bothered to nod at her before turning around.
"Yes," Hermione Granger replied to the woman's back. The witch had been acting noticeably cold towards her all week. Hermione didn't know whether this was due to her unjust conviction, the Prophet painting her as a gold-digger, or because she was a muggleborn. Probably all of it, she thought - the woman had been all but glaring at her during the four days spent on the written exams.
"Miss Granger?" An old wizard asked, blinking at her over his half-moon glasses.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm Cedric Fawley. This is Mr Steinmark. You already know Mrs Cadwaulder." His voice sounded as old as he looked, and he was reading his text off of a sheet of parchment. "You're here for the practical parts of your O.W.L. exams. We'll be starting with Charms, followed by Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and finally Potions." He looked up and blinked at her. "That's quite a large number of subjects for a home-schooled witch. Particularly a muggleborn witch."
"I had an excellent private tutor," Hermione said.
She heard Steinmark scoff and a quick glance showed her that he was barely hiding his sneer. And Mrs Cadwaulder's smile wouldn't have looked out of place on a pouncing harpy. Hermione had expected that, though. She made a show of blinking. "Ah!" She raised her right index finger and smiled as innocently as she could. "I almost forget. Headmaster Dumbledore said he was interested in seeing how the home-schooled students fared and asked me for a copy of my memories of my exams. He said to let you know."
Seeing the expressions of the three examiners - Steinmark's scowl was worse than Snape's and Cadwaulder looked as if she had bitten into a particularly flavourful Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Bean while Fawley was blinking even more - made it really hard for her not to smirk.
These three wouldn't be able to do a little favour for Malfoy and his cronies.
Hermione Granger lowered her wand slowly as the last animated pea jumped into the tin can. Another perfectly cast charm. Not that any of the examiners would comment on it, though.
"Now demonstrate a Cleaning Charm."
She almost rolled her eyes. Why were the examiners so fixated on household charms? She cast the charm anyway, of course - and with style, at least in her opinion, vanishing all the soap suds covering the floor with a flick of her wand after the Cleaning Charm was done. She longed to demonstrate that she had mastered a cleaning charm that worked far better, and without soap, but that would have been advertising that she was capable of erasing any trace she left on a heist.
"Ah… that was a Vanishing Charm, wasn't it? Silently cast?" Fawley was squinting at her.
Hermione nodded. "Yes."
"That's very advanced," Steinmark commented.
She forced herself to smile. "My tutor had me vanish all my failed conjurations each day."
"Ah!" Fawley laughed. "A very good way to learn a spell." Then he broke into a cough that lasted for a minute while everyone pretended not to notice.
"I think that covers Charms," Fawley finally managed to say after he had taken a swig from a vial. "Now, Transfiguration." He swished his wand, and a tea cup appeared on the table in front of him. "Please transfigure this into a rat."
A rat! Hermione pressed her lips together as she did as ordered and turned a nice piece of fine china into vermin. At least her rat was clean, and not filthy like normal rats. She still wanted to blast it off the table, though.
"Silently cast again," Steinmark noted.
"It's a basic second year spell," Hermione said.
"I see." The wizard stared at her. She met his eyes with a smile.
"That's quite an unusual reaction." Fawley had removed his reading glasses and was staring at the Crup, which was barking madly in its cage.
Hermione Granger glared at the dumb canine. The thing should know better than to annoy a witch - or a cat.
"They usually only act like this towards muggles," Steinmark said. His raised eyebrow left no doubt about his words' implication.
Another reason to put the thing out of its misery, Hermione thought. And perhaps the bigoted examiner too, for good measure. "It probably smells my cat. I have a half-kneazle familiar," she said with a toothy smile.
"That could be it," Fawley said. "Although this presents us with a dilemma." He coughed for a few seconds. "You obviously can't demonstrate how to handle the animal if it's acting in such a hostile manner."
Hermione smiled and twirled her wand. "I'm perfectly capable of handling an aggressive Category XXX animal."
Steinmark scoffed, no doubt thinking of her less than stellar - by design, of course - performance in Defence. But Fawley nodded. "Please do so."
It didn't take her long to teach the Crup to stop bothering cats. If only that would work on Sirius, too!
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 13th, 1996
Harry Potter only stumbled a little after Sirius had side-along-apparated him to the backyard of Grimmauld Place - he was making progress. Of course, doing this twice every day for weeks would help anyone make progress. "I should travel more often by Floo," he said as his godfather used his wand to open the back door. He still couldn't manage to step through a fireplace as gracefully as Sirius. Even Hermione was better at it.
"It's not as safe as Apparition," Sirius said. "We've got people at the Ministry keeping an eye on the Floo Network to guard against sabotage, but it would be too dangerous to hook up the Dursleys' fireplace - people could find their address."
And Uncle Vernon would probably have a heart-attack, Harry though. "I didn't mean to travel to Privet Drive," he said, "I just meant in general - I could use the practice."
"You haven't been visiting The Burrow as often as last summer," Sirius said as they entered the kitchen.
"Yes." Harry pressed his lips together. There was no need to discuss Ginny. They were over, and he didn't want to see her every day.
Sirius made a noise that sounded like a mix between a grunt and a sigh, but didn't press the issue. As usual, Kreacher had prepared breakfast already, despite the early hour.
"Where's Remus?" Harry asked. There was no need to ask where Hermione was; his best female friend used to sleep in whenever she could - and stayed up far too late, her nose buried in books. And Jeanne didn't get up before nine as a rule.
"Still asleep. He had a long night," Sirius said. Which meant Order business, Harry knew. And which he wouldn't be told about.
He felt claws lightly dig into his pants and looked down. Crookshanks gazed up at him with a familiar expression. Harry sighed. "Why are you always bothering me?" he asked as he used his spare wand to summon cat food. "You never bother Sirius or Remus."
"Because you always feed the not so little monster when he begs," Sirius said.
"If I don't feed him he'll shred my shoes again." And no matter what Hermione claimed, 'just use a Mending Charm' wasn't the answer.
Sirius snorted. "Cats can sense weakness, and he can sense that you're the weakest link in the household."
"Hermione's the crazy cat lady, not me," Harry said.
"But she knows enough about cats to understand that giving in to their every whim is bad for them," Sirius said, grinning at him over the Saturday issue of the Daily Prophet.
"And not catering to their every whim is bad for me," Harry retorted. He wasn't about to endanger himself to teach Crookshanks manners. Or the stray that Hermione insisted wasn't hers - even Crookshanks deferred to that cat, and Harry had seen what Crookshanks did to other cats invading his territory back at the Grangers'.
"What would Moody say about you being afraid of cats?" Sirius grinned at him.
"I'm not afraid. I'm just cautious." Harry finished his first croissant. "You never know if it's an animagus." Like Pettigrew.
Sirius coughed - he must have gotten tea down the wrong pipe. "I don't think you could placate an animagus with food," he said after clearing his throat. "But you can rest assured that I checked before I allowed strange cats into our home."
He would have, of course, and thoroughly, Harry thought as he nodded - Sirius knew best how dangerous animagi were. "Good."
"Of course, not all animagi are a threat," Sirius went on. "Although McGonagall definitely is a threat if you anger her." He was slowly nodding with a long-suffering expression.
"I'm not planning on angering her," Harry said. "And I know what her form looks like."
"But offering her catnip would be a laugh!" Sirius said, chuckling. "Imagine her reaction!"
"No catnip," Harry quickly cut in. "Hermione said that there would be hell to pay if 'any poor cat gets drugged in this house'." He shook his head. "She's really overprotective of the animals - if it were harmful to them, pet shops wouldn't sell it."
Sirius shrugged. "She probably simply doesn't want to deal with a drugged cat."
Harry snorted. "'Nothing a Mending Charm - or an Episkey - can't fix'," he imitated her.
Sirius nodded. "Rather callous, if you ask me." He took a deep breath. "But, speaking of animagi, there's something I…" Kreacher's arrival interrupted him before he could finish.
"Post for Master's godson and guests," the elf said, dropping a pair of envelopes on the table.
"The O.W.L. results!" Harry grabbed the envelopes at once, dropping Hermione's before staring at his. This was it. He took a deep breath, held it, then opened the letter. He sighed as soon as he saw the results.
"What did you get? What did you get?" Sirius asked, leaning in with an eager expression.
"An Outstanding in Defence," Harry replied.
"I expected that," Sirius said with a grin. "After all, I trained you. And the rest?"
"Exceeds Expectations in Charms, Transfigurations, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions and Herbology. Acceptables in History, Astronomy and Divination." Apparently, the examiners really weren't as easily fooled as Trelawney.
"That's great!" Sirius exclaimed.
Harry smiled. "But the best thing is I'll be able to take my N.E.W.T. in Potions!" And Moody wouldn't kill him.
Sirius blinked. "You want to spend two more years with the git?"
Harry frowned. "I don't want to, but I'll need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to become an Auror."
"You want to become an Auror?" Sirius stared at him as if that was a surprise. Hadn't he heard that Moody had said Harry would make a good Auror? His godfather was rather slow today. Probably stayed up too long with Jeanne.
"Yes," Harry said. "I'm already basically being trained as an Auror, remember? Moody said I'd be good at it, and that the Ministry needs all the good Aurors they can get." He smiled widely. He wouldn't let people like the Malfoys escape justice - or frame others. He'd clean up the system.
"Moody's training you in Defence," Sirius pointed out, still looking slightly surprised.
"And in spotting threats, and traps," Harry said. "I'll have to learn the procedures, but that's not as important." Moody had said so, and he had been training Aurors for years. "But you were about to tell me something…?"
"Nothing," Sirius said in an offhand manner. "Just an anecdote." He pointed at the other envelope on the table. "Besides, we need to wake Hermione. She'll want to see her results."
"Yes." Harry grabbed the envelope. "I'll get her."
"Hermione?" Harry Potter asked, knocking on her door. No answer. "Hermione?" he repeated, louder. She might have used a Silencing Charm on the door, he thought. He could simply stick the envelope to the door or slide it through the cat-flap she had installed and go back to the kitchen… but he was certain that she would want to see her results as soon as possible.
"Hermione, the O.W.L. results arrived!" he called. Still no answer. He took a deep breath and tried to open the door. It wasn't locked. She wouldn't have left it unlocked if she didn't want anyone to enter, he told himself as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Sirius had extended her room after she had moved in full-time, and, as expected, most of the additional space was taken up by bookshelves.
He grinned until his gaze fell on the bed. Then he stared. Hermione, still asleep, lay sprawled on her bed, her sheets kicked to the side, with her arms and legs wrapped around her pillow. Her bare arms and legs, he noted - she was wearing a thin T-shirt and equally thin shorts that didn't hide much, especially as her T-shirt had slid up, revealing her midriff. Her hair hid most of her face, but he could see her mouth, lips slightly parted.
Her body was toned, he realised - her muscles were on a par with those of the girls in the Quidditch team; thanks to their shared locker room he could easily make the comparison. And her chest seemed larger than he had expected as well, although it was hard to tell without using his glasses' enchantment… He swallowed. He shouldn't be staring at her! It was wrong. He still stared, though.
And he couldn't wake her up like this. She would be terribly embarrassed. He would be terribly embarrassed. He turned away. Best to wake her up while hiding behind the door, so she could slip on her bathrobe or something.
He turned away, then froze. Crookshanks was padding towards the bed - the cat must have followed him and Harry hadn't noticed! Moody would curse his hide for such a lapse! He stopped berating himself, though, when he realised where Crookshanks was heading: straight towards his sleeping owner.
For such a massive cat Crookshanks was far too quick when he made the effort, and before Harry could react, the tomcat had leaped on to the bed - and on to Hermione.
Hermione Granger was rudely woken up in the middle of a pleasant dream, involving a library, stacks of rare books that needed to be read and a handsome assistant whose face she couldn't quite remember, by a sudden weight slamming into her side.
"Ooof!" She rolled on to her back while her pet slid off of her. "Crookshanks! Did they forget to feed you again?" she asked, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Then she noticed Harry standing there, in the middle of the room, staring at her and Crookshanks. "Harry?"
He blinked, then held up an envelope. "Ah. I brought your O.W.L. results!"
She froze for a moment, then leaped out of the bed as if she was pouncing on a stupid dog trying to escape its justified chastisement. Her O.W.L.s! She barely noticed Harry taking a few steps back as she grabbed the envelope. A second later, she had ripped it open - without even using claws! Then she unfolded the letter. And winced.
"Hermione?"
She had known that she wouldn't excel in all her subjects. Certainly not in Muggle Studies and History of Magic, which she hadn't actually studied, and had only crammed a few days for each. But she had still hoped she'd do better in History than 'Acceptable' - she had read the books, after all. But Muggle Studies…
"Hermione?"
"'Muggle Studies' is a farce!" she spat. "Apparently, half of the grade is knowing how wizards see muggles!" They must have done that to keep muggleborns from easily getting good grades. Or, perhaps, to stop them from correcting the Ministry answers.
"What grade did you get?"
"Acceptable," she answered. Then she winced again. "Same in Herbology… I thought I would reach Exceeds Expectations there, at least." But theory was only half the grade there, and she simply hadn't had the time or opportunity to study the actual plants.
"Oh."
She glanced at Harry. He was staring at her with a rather pitying expression. She didn't want his pity! "Exceeds Expectations in Potions." Take that, Snape! Claim she had no talent, would he? "Exceeds Expectations in Care of Magical Creatures." She had been lucky there that the bigots had chosen a Crup for the practical part - she knew how to deal with uppity dogs. But if it had been another animal… well, she was familiar with most guard animals. But still… she didn't like to depend on luck for her grades.
"That's good. And the others?"
"Hm?" She looked at Harry. "Outstandings in Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes." Though she had been lucky again with the last two, she knew - her knowledge was more specialised than good for a test.
"That's great!" She found herself in his arms, lifted off her feet. "Four Outstandings!"
Belatedly, she hugged him back, then winced. She hadn't freshened up - she had jumped straight out of her bed at him! She didn't even have her wand to quickly clean her teeth!
He set her down. "And Defence?"
"Acceptable," she answered, looking at Crookshanks and willing him to fetch her wand from under her pillow. Her cat was ignoring her, though - he must be really hungry, the poor thing. She sighed and went back to get her wand.
"That's unacceptable!"
What? She looked at Harry. He was now glaring at her. "What?"
"Acceptable in Defence…" He shook his head. "You're in danger! They're targeting you! That's why your parents had to leave! 'Acceptable' won't cut it in a real fight!"
Well, she knew that! But she couldn't show off her real skills - which would hurt her N.E.W.T.s in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, when Curse-Breaking-related questions would be tested - without endangering her cover. "But…"
"No buts! We'll start your training today!" He nodded at her. "I'll tell Sirius."
"What?"
Harry Potter flicked his wand and sent a volley of Stinging Hexes at Hermione. He saw her start to move, then freeze up, and two of the hexes hit her. She yelped and dropped to the floor, rubbing her thigh.
"No, no, no!" He shook his head. "You can't stop and think about what you want to do - you need to move and keep moving. It's hard to hit a moving target. Think while you're moving, and add random changes of direction so they can't predict where you'll be in the next few seconds."
"I'm trying!" Hermione said, glaring at him.
He glared back. "Get up. We're trying this again." He didn't like treating her so harshly, but it was for her own good. She could do it, he knew. She was smart - who else would manage so many O.W.L.s while studying at home? - and he was now very much aware that she was fit enough for this exercise as well, even if her baggy exercise clothes hid her body. Although seeing how she kept getting hit, he was tempted to use his glasses to check whether he had imagined her body this morning. He shook his head - he wouldn't peep on his friend. "Ready?"
"Yes."
This time he sent three hexes at her in a wide pattern so at least one would catch her when she tried to dodge.
She managed to get hit twice.
Harry closed his eyes and wondered if his teachers had ever been as frustrated with him as he was with his friend right then.
Hermione Granger was in pain. Her whole body hurt, especially her thighs and her rump - Harry must have hit her there dozens of times with Stinging Hexes - and the ointment she was using on her bruised skin wasn't helping much. And, of course, the cursed dog was enjoying her suffering! She glared at Sirius, who was seated behind his desk, but not doing any work. The wizard had barely managed to contain his laughter when he had seen the end of Harry's training session. He wouldn't be laughing at all if he had been hit with so many hexes, she thought. Perhaps she should demonstrate that to him. Teach him a lesson in compassion.
"Forget it!" Sirius suddenly said.
"What?"
"Whatever you were thinking," he answered. "You had that evil glint in your eyes." He twirled his wand between his fingers.
She huffed. "We have to tell Harry."
"What? That you're actually not hopeless at Defence, but screwing up so much because you are hiding your actual skill - which, incidentally, isn't that much better."
She glared at him. She knew that she wasn't in his, or, as today had proved, Harry's, league, but she was far from hopeless. "Yes. He knows Occlumency, so he won't be a risk. And he'll worry less about me, and so can enjoy his holidays more, if he knows the truth." And she wouldn't have to suffer daily torture at the hands of her well-meaning but far too harsh friend. His teachers had a lot to answer for!
Sirius sighed. "We can't do that."
"Why not?" She finished smearing ointment on her thighs and started on her arms.
"We would have to explain why you're hiding your skills. Which would lead to telling him what we're doing when he's at Hogwarts."
"I think the Headmaster would understand," she said.
"Dumbledore's not the problem," Sirius retorted. "Harry is."
"What?" She was saying that entirely too often today.
"He wants to become an Auror after Hogwarts. Told me so today." Sirius sighed again. "He wants to clean up Britain."
Hermione blinked, then frowned. Why would that… "Oh."
"Yes, 'oh'." Sirius shook his head. "He'd be a hypocrite if he covered for a group of thieves while hunting other criminals."
"We're not exactly common criminals," Hermione said. Their victims deserved it, after all.
"But we're still criminals. He would be a corrupt Auror if he protected us while hunting others - such as corrupt members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot." He stared at her. "I won't ask him to sacrifice his ideals for me. Or for anyone else. He deserves better."
Hermione met his eyes. He was serious. And, she had to admit, he was correct. She sighed. "I'll expect compensation for my suffering."
"What?" He gaped at her. "It's your own fault! You should be able to fake being an average witch."
"Harry won't accept being average as good enough," she pointed out. "And it's hard to fake being average instead of being awful."
He frowned, then shrugged. "Well, it's only about six more weeks until he's back at Hogwarts. You can endure for that long."
He shielded her hexes long enough to escape the study, and with her limbs hurting, she couldn't give chase. Not even as a cat.
Hermione hissed in frustration. She'd get him back, though. As soon as she could again move without pain.
Which, unfortunately, would not be for some time.
Longford, Heathrow Airport, Britain, June 22nd, 1996
"Be safe and enjoy your holiday, Dad!"
Gabriel Granger's reply was interrupted by his little girl - not so little any more, he realised - hugging him. Hard. His little bookworm had become an athlete without him noticing! He knew she had been running each morning, but he hadn't thought much of it. He heard her sniffle as he held her, and barely refrained from saying 'there, there'.
Then she released him and launched herself at Ellen. "Mum! You too! Be safe as well!"
He smiled at his wife as she was trying to breathe, caught in their daughter's surprisingly strong grip. "We'll be safe, dear," he said. "As safe as you can be in a country founded by convicts and filled with the most venomous animals and plants known to mankind." And a country where foreign wizards disappeared, never to be seen again, according to what he had been told.
And, as he expected, his darling daughter released his wife to glare at him. "Dad! That sort of flippant remark not only ignores how wrong the practice of banishing so-called criminals was, even at the time, it's also incorrect. The country wasn't founded by convicts. In fact…"
He held up his hand to stop the lecture - Hermione was still overdoing her 'research' whenever she tackled a problem. "I know, dear. I was just kidding."
That earned him a pouty scowl that made her look several years younger. Adorable. Not that he would say that - Hermione still had some issues with her appearance, no matter how much she denied it. Otherwise she wouldn't always be wearing rather frumpy clothes, despite Ellen's efforts. He patted her shoulder instead. "We'll be fine."
She hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes." It sounded a little as if she was trying to convince herself, though. Then she hugged him again. Then Ellen. And then she tried to hug them both together. He was tempted to make a comment about staying in Britain if she was already missing them so much, but refrained. This was already very emotional.
"People are staring," Ellen whispered.
"Let them!" Hermione retorted.
"We're not the only ones," Gabriel pointed out, nodding towards a very loud group a little further away. They were the only ones flying first class, though. At least he thought so. First class… Mr Black was proving to be even more generous than expected.
Gabriel wasn't quite comfortable with that. Hermione claimed that there was nothing behind the man's actions other than a willingness to help his godson's best friend and his trusted secretary, but he couldn't help fearing that, one day, their benefactor would call in the favours owed to him.
Well, he thought, watching Hermione deal with the staff at the check-in desk, Mr Black would find out that their headstrong daughter wasn't easily manipulated. If he wasn't already aware of it, of course - Hermione certainly had complained about his 'lazy attitude' often enough, and Gabriel had had the impression that she didn't hide her annoyance from Mr Black either.
He watched their suitcases disappear on the conveyor belt and turned to Hermione again. His little girl. "So, that's it." He forced himself to smile. No need to make it harder than it already was. "We're off to sunny Australia."
"It's actually winter there now, so it'll be colder than you expect," Hermione said.
"We know, dear," Ellen cut in. His wife's smile was forced as well, he could tell.
Hermione nodded and bit her lower lip. "I'll write you and call, as often as I can."
Which, Gabriel was all too aware, wouldn't be that often. Not with that maniac trying to kill her and her friends. He felt the by now very familiar rage well up inside him. Rage against this 'Voldemort' and his followers for their bigotry and cruelty. And against himself, for being powerless to protect his daughter and wife.
They hugged again while he struggled with his rage. He managed to smile at her as they left her standing at the gate. But he still didn't feel any better by the time they entered the lounge where they would be waiting for boarding to start. And no amount of free drinks would change that. "We're leaving her in danger," he muttered as he sank into a leather seat in the lounge.
"We've talked about this," Ellen whispered.
They had. At length. Hermione hadn't let up until they had given in. He understood the reasons for their trip. That didn't mean he was happy about it. "We should have taken her with us," he whispered.
"She wouldn't have let us," Ellen replied.
He glanced at her. She was smiling sadly at him. He sighed. His wife was correct - Hermione wouldn't have let them take her out of the country. She was too stubborn for her own good. Too brave, too. Unlike her cowardly parents. And, it went without saying, they couldn't have forced her, even if they had wanted to.
Ellen elbowed him in the side. "Stop feeling guilty. It's not your fault."
"I know," he whispered back. And he did. But that didn't make it any easier to leave his little girl behind.
And that he couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't have let them stay in Britain even if they hadn't agreed to leave was no comfort either.
*****
Hogwarts, June 22nd, 1996
Watching Sirius, Remus and Dumbledore prepare the ritual that would counter the blood curse on Remus and himself, Harry Potter felt like tapping his foot. He didn't, of course - that would have been immature. Ungrateful as well - just because the Headmaster had found a counter-curse didn't mean he could expect to be cured immediately.
But it had been a very long week between Dumbledore's announcement and this evening. And not just because of the anticipation or the studying for the O.W.L.s. No, he could handle that. But dealing with his break-up with Ginny… He shook his head. It was hard enough to see her each day in the common room and the Great Hall. But to watch her talking with Parvati and the other girls, then glance at him, knowing they were talking about him, was worse. It wasn't his fault that Ginny couldn't understand that he didn't have much free time and wouldn't neglect all his friends for her! And she could at least be miserable, too!
"It'll work, mate, this is Dumbledore."
Harry turned his head to look at Ron, who must have misunderstood his expression. Harry almost corrected him - he wasn't afraid, nor did he doubt the Headmaster - but decided against it. Ron had stood by him during the breakup, but it wouldn't be fair to drag him into Harry's issues with Ginny. So he nodded. "Yes."
"Besides, they're trying it on Remus first," Ron added.
Remus had insisted on that, Harry knew, and everyone had ignored his own protests. It made sense, of course - the ritual wasn't designed to cure two people at the same time - but it made him feel guilty anyway. Harry should have been first since Remus had only been cursed because he had been guarding him.
He didn't want to dwell on any of this, so he nodded at Ron and then watched the preparations to distract himself. Dumbledore had a ritual circle, as the pattern formed by the silver runic etchings covering most of the polished stone floor was called, already prepared, but they still needed to place candles and censers at the right spots on its edge. Remus was doing that. Sirius was levitating a brass cauldron into the centre of the circle - it was large enough for someone to sit in it.
Someone would be sitting in it, Harry realised when Remus started to strip down. Which meant Harry would have to do the same afterward. He winced, then blinked.
"Oh…" Ron trailed off.
Harry knew why - he, too, was staring at Remus's scars. The man had a lot of them. Gruesome ones. His arms and parts of his chest were covered by claw marks and bite marks, by the looks of it - not that Harry was an expert. But he couldn't imagine anything else causing such wounds. "And I thought my scar was bad," he mumbled.
Remus shot them a hurt glance, and Harry looked away, cursing himself for embarrassing the other wizard. And himself.
"I think you better leave the room," Dumbledore spoke up. "If anything does not go as planned, you'll be safe outside."
Harry nodded, not feeling like protesting any more, and left with Ron.
Outside, he sighed and leaned against the wall, then slid down to sit on the ground. "Damn."
"Yeah. I didn't know it was that bad. He probably has more scars than Moody," Ron agreed. "More scars than Charlie's boss, even. That he survived so many cursed wounds…"
"Werewolves are tough. If he got them while he was changed…" Harry blinked. "Although the wounds would carry over." They had covered that in Care of Magical Creatures. And Defence.
"Yeah." Ron sat down as well. "How long will it take?"
"About an hour, or so Dumbledore said," Harry answered. He remembered what the Headmaster had told him about rituals, how they took longer but made it easier to cast complicated spells.
"So long? Must be a hell of a ritual." Ron knew as well as Harry did that it was likely a blood magic ritual. Banned in Britain, and highly illegal.
"They might simply be being as careful as possible," Harry said. "It's a new ritual." For them, anyway.
Ron snorted, but didn't contradict him.
After about a minute, Harry was sick of the silence. "Let's quizz each other," he said. "Name all of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration."
"You sound as if you were already living with Hermione," Ron said, chuckling. Then he grew serious. "I still can't understand how she could send her parents to Australia," he added with a visible shiver.
"They're muggles. They'll be safe. Thousands of muggles travel to Australia. Millions live there," Harry said.
"Mate, you don't understand. Entire Hit-Wizard companies vanished there, last century. Even the Dark Lord is probably afraid of travelling there."
"Which is why the Grangers are going there," Harry pointed out. He wasn't certain if he believed all the stories he had heard - many sounded too far-fetched to him - but as long as Voldemort's followers believed them, it would be alright. He didn't think Voldemort himself would bother travelling that far to hunt two muggles.
Ron didn't answer; he just snorted.
Harry shrugged. "Anyway, the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law?" he prompted his friend.
Ron sighed, but started to list them. "Food cannot be conjured, it can only be multiplied and…"
*****
Over an hour and a half later, it was his turn to sit in the cauldron, covered in blood. Sticky blood that wouldn't dry over time, as he found out. The smell of it, even worse when mixed with the smoke wafting through the air from the censers, almost made him puke. Which would be bad.
The ritual worked, he told himself. He had seen Remus when the Headmaster had called him in, cleaned and clothed, but asleep. But Sirius had assured him that his friend was fine. So Harry should be fine as well. In theory - Dumbledore had said that the ritual might be painful.
Harry didn't think that anyone would be feeling fine in his place, anyway. Not when sitting naked in a cauldron slowly filling with blood, and with Dumbledore chanting words Harry couldn't understand but which made his scar hurt with each syllable.
How exactly had Remus passed out?, Harry wondered as his headache grew stronger. It was pulsing now. His scar might even be bleeding, he thought - not that anyone would notice, what with blood covering his entire face and dripping on his chest.
He clenched his teeth. He wanted this cure; he could endure this. He had to endure this, or he would be stuck drinking a potion every day for the rest of his life. A potion made by Snape.
He snarled, focusing on his anger. He wouldn't give that git the satisfaction of owing him so much! No matter how much this hurt.
Dumbledore finished another chant, and the scar in Harry's forehead seemed to be on fire, the pain was that bad. Harry ground his teeth so hard he feared they'd crack and splinter, but it didn't help; the pain grew worse. He dug his nails into his thighs - anything to take the edge off the agonising pain in his forehead. He was panting, too, no longer bothered by the stench of blood. How much longer would he have to suffer this?
He almost didn't notice when Dumbledore finished chanting. He didn't see the Headmaster freeze, his wand pointed at Harry.
But he certainly felt the agony filling him right after Dumbledore completed the ritual, and, just before he lost consciousness, he felt as if his scar was searing his skull.
*****
He woke up, not in the infirmary, as he had expected, but in Dumbledore's quarters. Or so he thought - without his glasses, his vision was rather blurry, but it definitely wasn't the infirmary. He had his wand, though, and he was wearing clothes, he noticed. A quick Summoning Charm later, he had his glasses as well. Yes, his first guess had been correct. Dumbledore's quarters, probably in a conjured bed.
"Are you alright, Harry?"
He turned his head. Sirius was there, too, sitting in Harry's usual seat. He should have expected that.
"Harry?"
He blinked. "Sorry… I feel… fine." He slowly reached up and gingerly touched his scar. It didn't hurt. Much. Sore, and raw, he thought. It had bled recently, too - there were smudges of dried blood on his fingertips when he lifted them away from his forehead.
Sirius looked relieved. "We were worried when you collapsed."
"Did it work?" Harry asked. That was all that mattered, after all. "Is the curse gone?"
His godfather smiled. "Yes. No trace of it is left. Neither on you nor on Remus."
Harry smiled and closed his eyes for a moment. It was done. He wasn't cursed any more. His life didn't depend on Snape's potion any longer. He slowly let out a breath. "Good."
"It's great," Sirius said, beaming at him.
Harry nodded. "Was the ritual meant to be so painful, though?" he asked.
Sirius shook his head. "No. Remus said that it sapped his strength, but that there wasn't much pain."
Harry considered that for a moment. His scar had made the difference, then. "So… is this connection the result of blood magic, and did it react with the ritual?" He remembered something about similar spells influencing each other from his Charms revision a week ago.
"That is quite possible."
Harry whipped his head around. He hadn't noticed the Headmaster until the man had spoken. Dumbledore was standing near the door. Had he been there all along, or had he just entered? He focused on the problem at hand. "Sir? What happened?"
"I cannot say for certain yet." Dumbledore smiled faintly and spread his hands. "While Voldemort is currently researching blood magic, I do not think that he used any such spell against you when he attacked you in 1981."
"But…" Harry drew a hissing breath. "Why's my scar reacting like this, then? Is he using blood magic to affect it through our connection?" If Voldemort was aware of their connection...
"That is a possible and worrisome explanation. However, I need to do further research to determine whether or not it is true."
"What else could explain it, though?" Harry asked, scoffing. "Who else would be using blood magic on me?" He caught Dumbledore and Sirius exchanging a glance. "You expected this," he said. Dumbledore slowly nodded. Harry shook his head. "You don't mean…" His mother wouldn't have done this. She wouldn't have.
Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Lily was an exceptionally talented witch, and she would have done anything to protect you."
*****
Hogwarts, June 27th, 1996
The waiting was the worst part of the O.W.L.s, Harry Potter thought, shifting on the bench in the room next to the Defence classroom. Studying he could handle. The tests themselves as well - Charms had been easy, at least the practical parts. The same with Transfiguration. Herbology… well, he didn't think he had made a blunder, and, as Sirius was fond of saying, no one other than those growing potion ingredients cared about Herbology anyway. But waiting… he hated waiting. It made him think. About his parents. His mother. What she had done.
He tried to distract himself by focusing on his Defence exam, which would be starting in a few minutes. He would have to demonstrate a Shield Charm, a Disarming Charm and a Stunner to pass. Child's play - he and Ron had mastered those spells more than a year ago. And the written part this morning… He scoffed. He had finished twenty minutes early. After his training with Moody, he probably knew more about the dangers of the Dark Arts than the examiners. And about blood magic.
He clenched his teeth. He didn't want to think about blood magic. He had almost died because of that vampire's curse. It had taken Dumbledore months to find a cure. Which, Harry strongly suspected, had required a blood magic ritual as well. At least there hadn't been a sacrifice. Or so he thought. Hoped.
Whatever his mum had done to protect him, on the other hand... Dumbledore hadn't gone into detail and Sirius had said it didn't matter since Harry was alive thanks to it, but he had learned enough about blood magic from Dumbledore's musings to know better. His mother had created a protection that worked against the Killing Curse and lasted until he was seventeen years old. Such a powerful spell would have required a sacrifice, and a ritual taking hours to complete.
He closed his eyes. He would rather think about Ginny than dwell on this - and he still felt a stab of pain in his chest whenever he saw his ex-girlfriend in the common room or the Hall. He suddenly snorted - for someone who had only been cured of a lethal curse a few days ago, he was feeling rather gloomy.
Then he noticed the door to the examination room opening, and shot up.
"Mister Potter?" A blonde witch in Auror robes smiled at him. "I'm Belinda Browtuckle. We're ready for your exam now."
"Good!" he blurted out.
Her smile grew. "Not many are so enthusiastic."
Not many had his problems. But that wasn't a topic he could mention to anyone except - maybe - his closest friends. So he shrugged. "Defence is my best subject."
She nodded as he passed her. Inside the room, the other two examiners, both wizards, were waiting, sitting behind their desks - conjured or transfigured, he thought; he hadn't seen those desks before at Hogwarts.
The oldest wizard spoke up. "Hello, Mr Potter. I'm Sebastian Selwyn." He wasn't smiling. His expression was closer to frowning, even. Not as bad as Snape's whenever the git saw Harry, but still…
"I'm Bilius Brown." The other wizard curtly nodded at him.
"Hello." Harry remained standing as Browtuckle took her own seat.
"You're here for your practical exam in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's two o'clock now. Let's start. Please produce the best Shield Charm you can, Mr Potter." Selwyn sounded almost bored, and rather patronising too.
Harry couldn't resist. "What do you mean by 'best', sir? Strongest, fastest casting, or maybe silently cast? Anyone of those could be the best choice depending on the tactical situation," he quoted Moody.
"'Tactical situation'?" Selwyn scoffed. "Produce the strongest Shield Charm you can manage, Mr Potter. And don't try to sound like an Auror at your O.W.L. exam."
The man definitely didn't like him, Harry thought. But he had lived through five years of Snape, and Selwyn wasn't in the same league. He shrugged and raised his wand. "Protego!"
A shimmering field enveloped him as the three examiners peered at him. Browtuckle looked impressed. "Solid form and shape," she said while a dictaquill scribbled over parchment.
Brown didn't show any reaction. And Selwyn… Harry tensed when he saw the man snarl and draw his wand. "Testing. Stupefy!"
Harry had to force himself not to dive to the side, roll behind the closest desk and come up fighting when he caught Selwyn casting. This was a test, not an attack. The Stunner splashed against his shield, causing it to briefly flicker. Harry grinned.
"Withstood one Stunner without visible degradation," Browtuckle noted. Harry's grin widened.
"Stupefy. Stupefy."
Two more Stunners hit Harry's shield, shattering it. He saw Selwyn was still casting, and jumped to the side, casting another Shield Charm as the man's fourth Stunner missed him. Harry's own didn't miss, and the wizard dropped to the ground.
"Don't…" Browtuckle, who had raised her hand, apparently trying to stop her colleague, was gaping at Harry and even Brown looked surprised.
Harry winced. "Sorry. When I noticed that he was still casting even after my shield went down, I simply reacted."
Brown frowned at him. "That was quite an overreaction, Mr Potter. My colleague wasn't about to harm you." He pointed his wand at the wizard on the ground. "Rennervate."
"You can't assume that," Harry shot back as Selwyn groaned on the floor. "Only a fool would let a stranger stun them without any backup."
"Mad-Eye would love you," Browtuckle muttered.
Harry grinned. "He said I'd make a decent Auror."
Her eyes widened. "Did he train you?"
He probably shouldn't have mentioned that, but what was done was done. Harry nodded. "Yes, he gave me a few lessons after I was attacked at the start of the year."
"Merlin's beard," he heard her curse.
"You! You attacked me!" Selwyn had recovered his wits.
"Sorry, sir. I saw you casting at me after my shield had been shattered, and, well, my reflexes took over." Harry shrugged. "Constant Vigilance, you know."
Apparently, Selwyn didn't like Moody either. But he didn't even try to raise his wand in Harry's direction for the rest of the exam.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 6th, 1996
"You stunned an examiner?"
Hermione didn't need to yell, Harry Potter thought, wincing at the volume of his best female friend. "It was a reflex - and he tried to stun me first," he defended himself, grabbing another finger sandwich from the plate Kreacher had put down in the living room. Answering her questions about his O.W.L. exams was hungry work.
"'Reflex'," Hermione said, shaking her head. She had put her pen down, too, Harry noted. And she had fed her monster cat a sandwich, too! No wonder the thing thought that all food was his!
"I knew having Moody train Harry was a good idea!" Sirius chimed in, chuckling. "Not even we did that, did we, Remus?" He didn't sound as if he was asking a rhetorical question, though, Harry thought.
"No, we didn't," Remus confirmed. "But you probably would have tried, if given the chance."
"What if he fails you for it?" Hermione cut in.
Harry scoffed. "I'd like to see him try. I passed all their tests with flying colours, and as I said: He tried to stun me first. It's his own fault."
She pressed her lips together before answering. "That may be true, but the truth doesn't always factor into the Ministry's decisions."
Harry winced again as Sirius nodded. "Very true. But in this case, I doubt that Selwyn would dare to treat Harry unjustly - not with two witnesses, one of them an Auror, and with Dumbledore known to take an interest in the exams." Harry's godfather grinned, showing his teeth. "I remember my parents complaining about him putting a stop to the 'selective grading' that had been going on before he became Headmaster. Muggleborn grades jumped that year, or so I've been told."
Hermione looked relieved.
Harry grinned. "And I don't think he wants to announce that he was stunned by a student."
"That, too," Sirius agreed. "Although the story has spread anyway - Tonks heard from another Auror."
Harry sighed. "Sorry. I didn't think to keep my training secret." It had felt too good to show off.
Sirius waved his concerns off. "Don't worry. People already knew that you were receiving special training."
"They didn't know who trained you, though," Hermione pointed out.
Sirius shook his head. "Voldemort wouldn't have underestimated you anyway. Not after the vampire attack."
Harry saw Hermione frown at Sirius before she looked at him again. "But his followers might have underestimated you."
"Hey now! They knew we were training him!" Sirius sounded affronted.
"We're not Moody," Remus said, smiling wryly.
"Which is a very good thing!" Sirius shuddered. "I wouldn't have half the success with witches if I looked like Moody."
"I remember you telling me that witches found scars attractive," Remus said.
"That is true. Sexy scars - like yours. Or Harry's." Sirius nodded at them. "But missing half your nose, a leg and an eye… That's too much." He blinked. "Or too little?"
"Irrelevant. Let's go back to talking about the O.W.L. exams," Hermione said, picking up her pen.
"You mean back to interrogating me," Harry corrected her with a grin.
She ignored his quip. "That was Defence. Now, Potions was your next exam, right?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am!"
She didn't find that funny, either. Unlike Sirius. Sighing, Harry started to tell her about his Potions exam.
*****
"Isn't this cheating?"
"What?" Hermione Granger looked up from her notes and stared at her best friend. They were alone in the living room - Sirius and Mr Lupin were meeting Dumbledore at Hogwarts. And Crookshanks had gone off to explore his new home.
"You know, grilling me about the exams," Harry said.
She scoffed. "Certainly not. The O.W.L. tests for home-schooled students are different precisely to prevent such cheating."
He blinked. "But if the exams are different, why did you have me talk about them for an hour?"
"The requirements to pass are the same for everyone, so there have to be some basic similarities." That was obvious.
"Ah." He sounded rather grumpy for a boy who had been cured of a lethal, if delayed, curse a few days ago, and who had already taken his O.W.L. exams and could therefore relax - unlike her.
"Besides, it was just an hour," she pointed out. "You wouldn't mind spending an hour to help me revise, would you?" He better not! He was done with school for the summer, after all.
"Of course not," Harry said at once.
"Good!" She beamed at him. "I need some help with Potions."
"You…"
He shook his head at her, and she grinned. She didn't feel guilty for taking advantage of him - it wasn't as if he couldn't spare the time.
"Where's 'Jeanne', anyway?" he asked. "Not that I'm missing her."
"She's visiting her father. Apparently, it's 'a family tradition to welcome family members returning from Hogwarts with a family gathering'," Hermione quoted the other witch.
"That's a lot of 'family'," Harry commented.
Hermione shrugged. "It's an Old Family."
"Speaking of…" Harry looked around, probably checking that Sirius and Remus hadn't yet returned. "Did you find out anything about Jeanne?"
"Other than more than I ever wanted to know about what she does with Sirius in the bedroom?" Hermione asked as sweetly as she could manage.
"Yes."
Harry wasn't fazed. Drat. She shrugged. "No. She hasn't done anything suspicious in my presence." And Hermione had been too busy to do anything more… sneaky.
He sighed and muttered what was likely a curse under his breath. "I guess I'll have to hope that she'll let something slip during the holidays."
"Provided that she does have such plans," Hermione pointed out.
"Better safe than sorry," he retorted. "Can't be too cautious."
Moody had a lot to answer for, Hermione thought. "Actually, yes, you can be too cautious. Or too suspicious."
Harry frowned at her. "You know what I mean."
"Yes. Which is why I said it." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "I know and understand your suspicions. I do, really. I'm just pointing out that Jeanne might be innocent - at least of what you fear her to be planning."
He leaned back on his chair and sighed again. "I just don't want her to break Sirius's heart."
Hermione bit her lower lip. She wasn't certain if she should ask, but… this was a good opportunity, maybe the last before she would be busy with her own exams. "Is this because you and Ginny broke up?"
His head snapped up. "You know?"
She nodded. "Ron told me, in case I wanted to visit The Burrow."
"Ah." She saw his shoulders sag as he looked down at the table.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked. She wasn't certain that she wanted to talk about it, but Harry looked as if he needed to.
"I guess so… you're a girl, after all. Maybe you can understand her."
She pressed her lips together. Of course she was a girl! "What happened?"
He sighed. He was doing a lot of that today, it seemed. "She was acting like Parvati. Wanting me to pick her over my friends. To spend time with her alone - and not just snogging, you know. I told her that I didn't have the time for that, not without neglecting my friends." He was shaking his head as he talked. "I told her that we could snog when alone, and spend the rest of my free time with our friends. Play Quidditch, for example. Or hang out in the common room. That way, I wouldn't have to neglect anyone."
Hermione winced and spoke up before he could continue. "Let me guess: She told you that she didn't want to be with you just for snogging?"
He stared at her, then nodded. "About that, yes. How did you know?"
She took a deep breath. "Because that's what I would have said in her place."
"What?" He gaped. "But you're…" he made a helpless gesture with his hand. "You're not like Parvati!"
"And neither is Ginny." He was clueless, Hermione thought. Probably the dog's fault. "No girl likes to feel that a boy just wants to snog with her, and nothing else." Although no girl liked to know that a boy didn't want to snog her, either. But that was another problem.
"But we were doing other things together!" Harry protested. "Just with our friends, too."
She sighed. "That's not the same. A girl wants to feel special. We don't want to be just a friend who you snog in private."
"But isn't that exactly what Parvati did?"
She frowned. "No. Parvati didn't want you to spend any time with friends, especially not with me, because she was jealous. Ginny wasn't jealous." At least Hermione didn't think she was. "But she was probably afraid that you took her for granted, and only wanted to be with her to snog her."
He scoffed. "But in the end, she wanted me to stop spending time with my friends and instead spend the time with her alone. Like Parvati!"
Hermione rubbed her forehead. "Yes, that may be what it sounded like, but her motivation was - probably - very different. And you could have compromised and spent a little less time with your friends, and a little more with her."
Harry frowned. "I tried. But that doesn't change the fact that she, too, wanted me to choose between my friends and her. And that's something I won't do!" He shook his head emphatically.
Hermione wasn't certain if she should feel happy about his declaration. One the one hand, she loved knowing that Harry wouldn't cast her aside for a witch to snog. On the other hand, if she were ever to…
She buried that thought.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, July 12th, 1996
"Miss Granger." Mrs Cadwaulder barely bothered to nod at her before turning around.
"Yes," Hermione Granger replied to the woman's back. The witch had been acting noticeably cold towards her all week. Hermione didn't know whether this was due to her unjust conviction, the Prophet painting her as a gold-digger, or because she was a muggleborn. Probably all of it, she thought - the woman had been all but glaring at her during the four days spent on the written exams.
"Miss Granger?" An old wizard asked, blinking at her over his half-moon glasses.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm Cedric Fawley. This is Mr Steinmark. You already know Mrs Cadwaulder." His voice sounded as old as he looked, and he was reading his text off of a sheet of parchment. "You're here for the practical parts of your O.W.L. exams. We'll be starting with Charms, followed by Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and finally Potions." He looked up and blinked at her. "That's quite a large number of subjects for a home-schooled witch. Particularly a muggleborn witch."
"I had an excellent private tutor," Hermione said.
She heard Steinmark scoff and a quick glance showed her that he was barely hiding his sneer. And Mrs Cadwaulder's smile wouldn't have looked out of place on a pouncing harpy. Hermione had expected that, though. She made a show of blinking. "Ah!" She raised her right index finger and smiled as innocently as she could. "I almost forget. Headmaster Dumbledore said he was interested in seeing how the home-schooled students fared and asked me for a copy of my memories of my exams. He said to let you know."
Seeing the expressions of the three examiners - Steinmark's scowl was worse than Snape's and Cadwaulder looked as if she had bitten into a particularly flavourful Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Bean while Fawley was blinking even more - made it really hard for her not to smirk.
These three wouldn't be able to do a little favour for Malfoy and his cronies.
*****
Hermione Granger lowered her wand slowly as the last animated pea jumped into the tin can. Another perfectly cast charm. Not that any of the examiners would comment on it, though.
"Now demonstrate a Cleaning Charm."
She almost rolled her eyes. Why were the examiners so fixated on household charms? She cast the charm anyway, of course - and with style, at least in her opinion, vanishing all the soap suds covering the floor with a flick of her wand after the Cleaning Charm was done. She longed to demonstrate that she had mastered a cleaning charm that worked far better, and without soap, but that would have been advertising that she was capable of erasing any trace she left on a heist.
"Ah… that was a Vanishing Charm, wasn't it? Silently cast?" Fawley was squinting at her.
Hermione nodded. "Yes."
"That's very advanced," Steinmark commented.
She forced herself to smile. "My tutor had me vanish all my failed conjurations each day."
"Ah!" Fawley laughed. "A very good way to learn a spell." Then he broke into a cough that lasted for a minute while everyone pretended not to notice.
"I think that covers Charms," Fawley finally managed to say after he had taken a swig from a vial. "Now, Transfiguration." He swished his wand, and a tea cup appeared on the table in front of him. "Please transfigure this into a rat."
A rat! Hermione pressed her lips together as she did as ordered and turned a nice piece of fine china into vermin. At least her rat was clean, and not filthy like normal rats. She still wanted to blast it off the table, though.
"Silently cast again," Steinmark noted.
"It's a basic second year spell," Hermione said.
"I see." The wizard stared at her. She met his eyes with a smile.
*****
"That's quite an unusual reaction." Fawley had removed his reading glasses and was staring at the Crup, which was barking madly in its cage.
Hermione Granger glared at the dumb canine. The thing should know better than to annoy a witch - or a cat.
"They usually only act like this towards muggles," Steinmark said. His raised eyebrow left no doubt about his words' implication.
Another reason to put the thing out of its misery, Hermione thought. And perhaps the bigoted examiner too, for good measure. "It probably smells my cat. I have a half-kneazle familiar," she said with a toothy smile.
"That could be it," Fawley said. "Although this presents us with a dilemma." He coughed for a few seconds. "You obviously can't demonstrate how to handle the animal if it's acting in such a hostile manner."
Hermione smiled and twirled her wand. "I'm perfectly capable of handling an aggressive Category XXX animal."
Steinmark scoffed, no doubt thinking of her less than stellar - by design, of course - performance in Defence. But Fawley nodded. "Please do so."
It didn't take her long to teach the Crup to stop bothering cats. If only that would work on Sirius, too!
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 13th, 1996
Harry Potter only stumbled a little after Sirius had side-along-apparated him to the backyard of Grimmauld Place - he was making progress. Of course, doing this twice every day for weeks would help anyone make progress. "I should travel more often by Floo," he said as his godfather used his wand to open the back door. He still couldn't manage to step through a fireplace as gracefully as Sirius. Even Hermione was better at it.
"It's not as safe as Apparition," Sirius said. "We've got people at the Ministry keeping an eye on the Floo Network to guard against sabotage, but it would be too dangerous to hook up the Dursleys' fireplace - people could find their address."
And Uncle Vernon would probably have a heart-attack, Harry though. "I didn't mean to travel to Privet Drive," he said, "I just meant in general - I could use the practice."
"You haven't been visiting The Burrow as often as last summer," Sirius said as they entered the kitchen.
"Yes." Harry pressed his lips together. There was no need to discuss Ginny. They were over, and he didn't want to see her every day.
Sirius made a noise that sounded like a mix between a grunt and a sigh, but didn't press the issue. As usual, Kreacher had prepared breakfast already, despite the early hour.
"Where's Remus?" Harry asked. There was no need to ask where Hermione was; his best female friend used to sleep in whenever she could - and stayed up far too late, her nose buried in books. And Jeanne didn't get up before nine as a rule.
"Still asleep. He had a long night," Sirius said. Which meant Order business, Harry knew. And which he wouldn't be told about.
He felt claws lightly dig into his pants and looked down. Crookshanks gazed up at him with a familiar expression. Harry sighed. "Why are you always bothering me?" he asked as he used his spare wand to summon cat food. "You never bother Sirius or Remus."
"Because you always feed the not so little monster when he begs," Sirius said.
"If I don't feed him he'll shred my shoes again." And no matter what Hermione claimed, 'just use a Mending Charm' wasn't the answer.
Sirius snorted. "Cats can sense weakness, and he can sense that you're the weakest link in the household."
"Hermione's the crazy cat lady, not me," Harry said.
"But she knows enough about cats to understand that giving in to their every whim is bad for them," Sirius said, grinning at him over the Saturday issue of the Daily Prophet.
"And not catering to their every whim is bad for me," Harry retorted. He wasn't about to endanger himself to teach Crookshanks manners. Or the stray that Hermione insisted wasn't hers - even Crookshanks deferred to that cat, and Harry had seen what Crookshanks did to other cats invading his territory back at the Grangers'.
"What would Moody say about you being afraid of cats?" Sirius grinned at him.
"I'm not afraid. I'm just cautious." Harry finished his first croissant. "You never know if it's an animagus." Like Pettigrew.
Sirius coughed - he must have gotten tea down the wrong pipe. "I don't think you could placate an animagus with food," he said after clearing his throat. "But you can rest assured that I checked before I allowed strange cats into our home."
He would have, of course, and thoroughly, Harry thought as he nodded - Sirius knew best how dangerous animagi were. "Good."
"Of course, not all animagi are a threat," Sirius went on. "Although McGonagall definitely is a threat if you anger her." He was slowly nodding with a long-suffering expression.
"I'm not planning on angering her," Harry said. "And I know what her form looks like."
"But offering her catnip would be a laugh!" Sirius said, chuckling. "Imagine her reaction!"
"No catnip," Harry quickly cut in. "Hermione said that there would be hell to pay if 'any poor cat gets drugged in this house'." He shook his head. "She's really overprotective of the animals - if it were harmful to them, pet shops wouldn't sell it."
Sirius shrugged. "She probably simply doesn't want to deal with a drugged cat."
Harry snorted. "'Nothing a Mending Charm - or an Episkey - can't fix'," he imitated her.
Sirius nodded. "Rather callous, if you ask me." He took a deep breath. "But, speaking of animagi, there's something I…" Kreacher's arrival interrupted him before he could finish.
"Post for Master's godson and guests," the elf said, dropping a pair of envelopes on the table.
"The O.W.L. results!" Harry grabbed the envelopes at once, dropping Hermione's before staring at his. This was it. He took a deep breath, held it, then opened the letter. He sighed as soon as he saw the results.
"What did you get? What did you get?" Sirius asked, leaning in with an eager expression.
"An Outstanding in Defence," Harry replied.
"I expected that," Sirius said with a grin. "After all, I trained you. And the rest?"
"Exceeds Expectations in Charms, Transfigurations, Care of Magical Creatures, Potions and Herbology. Acceptables in History, Astronomy and Divination." Apparently, the examiners really weren't as easily fooled as Trelawney.
"That's great!" Sirius exclaimed.
Harry smiled. "But the best thing is I'll be able to take my N.E.W.T. in Potions!" And Moody wouldn't kill him.
Sirius blinked. "You want to spend two more years with the git?"
Harry frowned. "I don't want to, but I'll need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to become an Auror."
"You want to become an Auror?" Sirius stared at him as if that was a surprise. Hadn't he heard that Moody had said Harry would make a good Auror? His godfather was rather slow today. Probably stayed up too long with Jeanne.
"Yes," Harry said. "I'm already basically being trained as an Auror, remember? Moody said I'd be good at it, and that the Ministry needs all the good Aurors they can get." He smiled widely. He wouldn't let people like the Malfoys escape justice - or frame others. He'd clean up the system.
"Moody's training you in Defence," Sirius pointed out, still looking slightly surprised.
"And in spotting threats, and traps," Harry said. "I'll have to learn the procedures, but that's not as important." Moody had said so, and he had been training Aurors for years. "But you were about to tell me something…?"
"Nothing," Sirius said in an offhand manner. "Just an anecdote." He pointed at the other envelope on the table. "Besides, we need to wake Hermione. She'll want to see her results."
"Yes." Harry grabbed the envelope. "I'll get her."
*****
"Hermione?" Harry Potter asked, knocking on her door. No answer. "Hermione?" he repeated, louder. She might have used a Silencing Charm on the door, he thought. He could simply stick the envelope to the door or slide it through the cat-flap she had installed and go back to the kitchen… but he was certain that she would want to see her results as soon as possible.
"Hermione, the O.W.L. results arrived!" he called. Still no answer. He took a deep breath and tried to open the door. It wasn't locked. She wouldn't have left it unlocked if she didn't want anyone to enter, he told himself as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Sirius had extended her room after she had moved in full-time, and, as expected, most of the additional space was taken up by bookshelves.
He grinned until his gaze fell on the bed. Then he stared. Hermione, still asleep, lay sprawled on her bed, her sheets kicked to the side, with her arms and legs wrapped around her pillow. Her bare arms and legs, he noted - she was wearing a thin T-shirt and equally thin shorts that didn't hide much, especially as her T-shirt had slid up, revealing her midriff. Her hair hid most of her face, but he could see her mouth, lips slightly parted.
Her body was toned, he realised - her muscles were on a par with those of the girls in the Quidditch team; thanks to their shared locker room he could easily make the comparison. And her chest seemed larger than he had expected as well, although it was hard to tell without using his glasses' enchantment… He swallowed. He shouldn't be staring at her! It was wrong. He still stared, though.
And he couldn't wake her up like this. She would be terribly embarrassed. He would be terribly embarrassed. He turned away. Best to wake her up while hiding behind the door, so she could slip on her bathrobe or something.
He turned away, then froze. Crookshanks was padding towards the bed - the cat must have followed him and Harry hadn't noticed! Moody would curse his hide for such a lapse! He stopped berating himself, though, when he realised where Crookshanks was heading: straight towards his sleeping owner.
For such a massive cat Crookshanks was far too quick when he made the effort, and before Harry could react, the tomcat had leaped on to the bed - and on to Hermione.
*****
Hermione Granger was rudely woken up in the middle of a pleasant dream, involving a library, stacks of rare books that needed to be read and a handsome assistant whose face she couldn't quite remember, by a sudden weight slamming into her side.
"Ooof!" She rolled on to her back while her pet slid off of her. "Crookshanks! Did they forget to feed you again?" she asked, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the sudden light. Then she noticed Harry standing there, in the middle of the room, staring at her and Crookshanks. "Harry?"
He blinked, then held up an envelope. "Ah. I brought your O.W.L. results!"
She froze for a moment, then leaped out of the bed as if she was pouncing on a stupid dog trying to escape its justified chastisement. Her O.W.L.s! She barely noticed Harry taking a few steps back as she grabbed the envelope. A second later, she had ripped it open - without even using claws! Then she unfolded the letter. And winced.
"Hermione?"
She had known that she wouldn't excel in all her subjects. Certainly not in Muggle Studies and History of Magic, which she hadn't actually studied, and had only crammed a few days for each. But she had still hoped she'd do better in History than 'Acceptable' - she had read the books, after all. But Muggle Studies…
"Hermione?"
"'Muggle Studies' is a farce!" she spat. "Apparently, half of the grade is knowing how wizards see muggles!" They must have done that to keep muggleborns from easily getting good grades. Or, perhaps, to stop them from correcting the Ministry answers.
"What grade did you get?"
"Acceptable," she answered. Then she winced again. "Same in Herbology… I thought I would reach Exceeds Expectations there, at least." But theory was only half the grade there, and she simply hadn't had the time or opportunity to study the actual plants.
"Oh."
She glanced at Harry. He was staring at her with a rather pitying expression. She didn't want his pity! "Exceeds Expectations in Potions." Take that, Snape! Claim she had no talent, would he? "Exceeds Expectations in Care of Magical Creatures." She had been lucky there that the bigots had chosen a Crup for the practical part - she knew how to deal with uppity dogs. But if it had been another animal… well, she was familiar with most guard animals. But still… she didn't like to depend on luck for her grades.
"That's good. And the others?"
"Hm?" She looked at Harry. "Outstandings in Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes." Though she had been lucky again with the last two, she knew - her knowledge was more specialised than good for a test.
"That's great!" She found herself in his arms, lifted off her feet. "Four Outstandings!"
Belatedly, she hugged him back, then winced. She hadn't freshened up - she had jumped straight out of her bed at him! She didn't even have her wand to quickly clean her teeth!
He set her down. "And Defence?"
"Acceptable," she answered, looking at Crookshanks and willing him to fetch her wand from under her pillow. Her cat was ignoring her, though - he must be really hungry, the poor thing. She sighed and went back to get her wand.
"That's unacceptable!"
What? She looked at Harry. He was now glaring at her. "What?"
"Acceptable in Defence…" He shook his head. "You're in danger! They're targeting you! That's why your parents had to leave! 'Acceptable' won't cut it in a real fight!"
Well, she knew that! But she couldn't show off her real skills - which would hurt her N.E.W.T.s in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, when Curse-Breaking-related questions would be tested - without endangering her cover. "But…"
"No buts! We'll start your training today!" He nodded at her. "I'll tell Sirius."
"What?"
*****
Harry Potter flicked his wand and sent a volley of Stinging Hexes at Hermione. He saw her start to move, then freeze up, and two of the hexes hit her. She yelped and dropped to the floor, rubbing her thigh.
"No, no, no!" He shook his head. "You can't stop and think about what you want to do - you need to move and keep moving. It's hard to hit a moving target. Think while you're moving, and add random changes of direction so they can't predict where you'll be in the next few seconds."
"I'm trying!" Hermione said, glaring at him.
He glared back. "Get up. We're trying this again." He didn't like treating her so harshly, but it was for her own good. She could do it, he knew. She was smart - who else would manage so many O.W.L.s while studying at home? - and he was now very much aware that she was fit enough for this exercise as well, even if her baggy exercise clothes hid her body. Although seeing how she kept getting hit, he was tempted to use his glasses to check whether he had imagined her body this morning. He shook his head - he wouldn't peep on his friend. "Ready?"
"Yes."
This time he sent three hexes at her in a wide pattern so at least one would catch her when she tried to dodge.
She managed to get hit twice.
Harry closed his eyes and wondered if his teachers had ever been as frustrated with him as he was with his friend right then.
*****
Hermione Granger was in pain. Her whole body hurt, especially her thighs and her rump - Harry must have hit her there dozens of times with Stinging Hexes - and the ointment she was using on her bruised skin wasn't helping much. And, of course, the cursed dog was enjoying her suffering! She glared at Sirius, who was seated behind his desk, but not doing any work. The wizard had barely managed to contain his laughter when he had seen the end of Harry's training session. He wouldn't be laughing at all if he had been hit with so many hexes, she thought. Perhaps she should demonstrate that to him. Teach him a lesson in compassion.
"Forget it!" Sirius suddenly said.
"What?"
"Whatever you were thinking," he answered. "You had that evil glint in your eyes." He twirled his wand between his fingers.
She huffed. "We have to tell Harry."
"What? That you're actually not hopeless at Defence, but screwing up so much because you are hiding your actual skill - which, incidentally, isn't that much better."
She glared at him. She knew that she wasn't in his, or, as today had proved, Harry's, league, but she was far from hopeless. "Yes. He knows Occlumency, so he won't be a risk. And he'll worry less about me, and so can enjoy his holidays more, if he knows the truth." And she wouldn't have to suffer daily torture at the hands of her well-meaning but far too harsh friend. His teachers had a lot to answer for!
Sirius sighed. "We can't do that."
"Why not?" She finished smearing ointment on her thighs and started on her arms.
"We would have to explain why you're hiding your skills. Which would lead to telling him what we're doing when he's at Hogwarts."
"I think the Headmaster would understand," she said.
"Dumbledore's not the problem," Sirius retorted. "Harry is."
"What?" She was saying that entirely too often today.
"He wants to become an Auror after Hogwarts. Told me so today." Sirius sighed again. "He wants to clean up Britain."
Hermione blinked, then frowned. Why would that… "Oh."
"Yes, 'oh'." Sirius shook his head. "He'd be a hypocrite if he covered for a group of thieves while hunting other criminals."
"We're not exactly common criminals," Hermione said. Their victims deserved it, after all.
"But we're still criminals. He would be a corrupt Auror if he protected us while hunting others - such as corrupt members of the Ministry and the Wizengamot." He stared at her. "I won't ask him to sacrifice his ideals for me. Or for anyone else. He deserves better."
Hermione met his eyes. He was serious. And, she had to admit, he was correct. She sighed. "I'll expect compensation for my suffering."
"What?" He gaped at her. "It's your own fault! You should be able to fake being an average witch."
"Harry won't accept being average as good enough," she pointed out. "And it's hard to fake being average instead of being awful."
He frowned, then shrugged. "Well, it's only about six more weeks until he's back at Hogwarts. You can endure for that long."
He shielded her hexes long enough to escape the study, and with her limbs hurting, she couldn't give chase. Not even as a cat.
Hermione hissed in frustration. She'd get him back, though. As soon as she could again move without pain.
Which, unfortunately, would not be for some time.
*****
Chapter 21: The Trouble with Secrets
Starfox5
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Chapter 21: The Trouble with Secrets
London, Ministry of Magic, July 15th, 1996
"Ah, Mr Weasley. Early today?"
Percy Weasley nodded at the the Hit-Wizard standing guard at the fireplaces in the Atrium of the Ministry while he cleaned the soot and ashes from his robes - high-quality, but not too high-quality; perfect for a junior member of his department. "As usual, Perkins," he said with a polite smile. "You know how it is when you're new." Or when you had almost been sacked following an intrigue.
"Ah, yes, I remember." Perkins certainly remembered the scandal that had almost cost Percy and his father's careers, but he was polite enough not to mention it. He was a decent enough fellow - for a Hit-Wizard, as Nymphadora would say; the rivalry between the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards was a constant of the Ministry. A constant source of needless friction, Percy thought, but it wasn't as if he were in a position to do something about it. Especially after barely surviving a scandal.
On the other hand, he was in a position to do something about other problems, which was the real reason he was always the first of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in to work. Entering his office - barely larger than some of the broom cupboards at Hogwarts - he quickly checked whether anyone had been tampering with the spells sealing his desk and filing cabinets. There was no sign of any tampering, and the more subtle spells he had prepared to tell if anyone had entered in his absence hadn't been triggered either.
So far, it seemed the measures he had taken to guard against another attempt to frame him were working. He grabbed a stack of forms from his desk and left his office again. He was on a mission, after all.
It didn't take him more than a few minutes to reach the offices of the Floo Network Authority. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it would be another thirty minutes until shift change. Perfect. He schooled his features, then entered the office with a frown on his face.
"Oh, no, not again," he heard the clerk on duty mutter as he approached the desk.
"Pardon?" Percy asked in his best no-nonsense voice.
"I said 'morning' - it's been a long shift," the clerk said quickly.
"A long shift? I wasn't aware that the regulations governing night shifts had been amended."
"It always feels longer at night," the man - a Greengrass, but only very distantly related to the main branch of the Old Family - replied.
Percy sniffed. "No matter. I'm here to check up on another report of some foolish wizard stepping into a fireplace in front of muggles, and I require your assistance." He waved a sheet of parchment in front of the man's face.
"Err… the regular shifts starts in twenty-six minutes. They'll be able to assist you with everything you need." Greengrass smiled weakly. He hadn't even looked at the report.
Percy glared at him. "This will take less than a quarter of an hour."
"But I need to prepare the paperwork for the shift change. I can't hold up the whole schedule for your request."
"And I can't wait that long!" Percy exclaimed. "I'm swamped with work - why do you think I'm here so early? Just point me at the logs and I will look for the report myself!"
Regulations forbade granting anyone from outside your department access to its records, at least unsupervised. But Greengrass had been up all night and would be too tired to care about anything other than going home - this wasn't the first time Percy had done this.
"Alright, you know the way. But don't accidentally destroy any records, ya hear me?"
"Pardon?" Percy didn't have to fake his anger at the insinuation; he had been framed, and most people with any sense knew it. Not that Greengrass qualified, of course, or he wouldn't break regulations.
"Nothing, go ahead."
Percy sniffed and strode past the clerk, to the Records section. As soon as the door closed behind him, he summoned the scrolls covering last Friday's Floo Network traffic. Aaron Rosier had left the Ministry at exactly five o'clock; Percy had timed the man himself. And if he had gone straight home… Percy smiled when he found the line showing the destination. Even if it wasn't Rosier's home it might be the home of another Death Eater.
He quickly created and shrunk a copy of the scroll, stashing it in a mokeskin purse stuck to the inside of his robes, before looking for the record related to the report he had shown to Greengrass. He already knew what he would find, of course - Percy had arranged the original incident through Dumbledore.
It would have been easier to make up a report and file it himself, but only amateurs made such mistakes with their cover. Not to mention that he didn't want to risk any investigation into his activities revealing tampered records. Especially not when handling genuine, if arranged, incidents effectively would also help revive his career.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 16th, 1996
Harry Potter sighed as he sat down on the couch in the living room and grabbed one of the magazines strewn around at random on the sideboard. He sighed again when he noticed that it was the latest issue of The Quibbler - he had read that one already. The next one he picked up was 'The Journal of Arithmancy'. He hadn't read it, and had no intention of doing so - he wouldn't understand very much of it, anyway. It was Hermione's subscription. If only she would show as much talent in Defence as she did in other subjects… He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Hm? What don't you understand? Or who?" Sirius asked, looking up from the muggle bike magazine he was reading in his favorite seat.
"Hermione." He pressed his lips together so he wouldn't add a curse.
"Oh, that's normal. Countless wizards with far more experience than you have tried and failed to understand witches." Sirius grinned.
Harry stared at him. "You claim to be an expert on witches."
"Exactly. You've come to the right wizard." Sirius grinned widely and dropped his magazine on the floor as he leaned forward. "Now, what did Hermione do to confuse you?"
"It's not what you think," Harry said before his godfather could insinuate anything. "I don't understand how she can be so brilliant in Charms and Transfiguration, but can't manage to defend herself."
Sirius grinned. "Ah." He nodded. "Well, just because she is good at learning spells doesn't mean she's good at fighting. Not everyone can think on their feet."
"We're not talking about duelling, or making snap decisions under fire here," Harry corrected him. "She's barely able to dodge simple volleys. You don't need to think when all you have to do is keep moving." He snorted. "And I know she can move very quickly - you should have seen her jump out of her bed when I brought her her O.W.L. letter." He smiled at the memory.
"Oh?" Sirius was leering now.
Harry held up a hand. "No joking about being quick to jump into beds, or whatever you were about to say." He rolled his eyes on seeing his godfather pout. "I know she is smart - she catches on to things quickly. I know she can move really fast when she wants to. And I know she is more athletic than I thought. So why can't she do better in our training?"
"You've peeped at her? You used your glasses on her?" Sirius sounded far more proud than alarmed, in Harry's opinion, but at least he showed some concern.
He glared at his godfather. "No! But she was sleeping in just a T-shirt and shorts." Short shorts.
"Ah." Sirius nodded. "But she didn't hex you for seeing her like that?"
"Of course not!" It wasn't his fault, after all.
"Ah."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't start with that again. If Hermione fancied me, she'd have said something." His friend certainly wouldn't have given him advice on dating other witches.
"She might be shy. Or she thinks that you're not interested."
"Hermione? Shy?" Harry scoffed. His best female friend didn't act shy at all - she gave her opinion on anything, whether you wanted to hear it or not. And whether or not he was interested… that didn't matter. "Anyway, I need to find a way to make her improve in Defence." Stinging Hexes obviously weren't enough to motivate her to dodge. And only a madman would threaten her books.
"She might simply be slower to adjust to Defence," Sirius said. "Don't worry, I'll take over her training when you return to Hogwarts."
Harry doubted that Sirius would have more success - his godfather and his best friend got along better these days, but they still fought often - but it wasn't as if he had a better idea. He'd just have to keep at it.
London, Greenwich, July 17th, 1996
Hermione Granger cleared her throat and put down the issue of 'Curse-Breaking Monthly' she had just finished - with a mental note to re-read the article reporting the latest news from the City of Dead. "Mr Fletcher?"
She saw him frown slightly in response, then grin. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
She rolled her eyes. She wasn't about to call her tutor by his first name. That wasn't done. Not before she was an equal partner with him, at least. But she didn't want to talk about that, and refused to be baited. "Do you think I should stop pretending to be worse at Defence than I am?"
"Ah." His grin changed slightly. "Are you sick of getting pelted with Stinging Hexes every day?"
She scowled. "Harry's started to vary the spells." Stinging Hexes hurt, but getting hit by Dancing Feet or Tickling Charms was far more humiliating. "But it's not about that." She could handle it. She had endured far worse after her expulsion, after all. And Harry at least didn't enjoy hexing her, unlike the dog. "I feel bad for lying to my best friend. Especially when he's spending so much time trying to help me."
"I see." He wasn't grinning any more. "Do you think you're treating him like a mark?"
Which was something Mr Fletcher had warned her not to do, Hermione knew. "I think that we - Sirius and I - could tell him that we downplayed my actual skill in order to make the Death Eaters underestimate me." Which wasn't entirely untrue.
He slowly nodded. "You could do that. It's a good excuse. And he might not be too hurt by the deception if you come clean now." She winced at that - Harry would hate being lied to. Especially by his godfather. "However," Mr Fletcher went on, "he will not forget that you were deceiving him by hiding your actual abilities. And that might be a problem should he actually become an Auror after Hogwarts."
Hermione bit her lower lip, then nodded. "He might suspect that I'm hiding more than that."
"He might make the connection between the thief with a grudge against a number of pureblood families and the sneaky witch who managed to deceive her best friend," her tutor confirmed. "It is by no means certain that he will suspect you, but it's a possibility we can't dismiss out of hand."
She sighed. Harry was smart and he was being trained by a paranoid Auror. He would suspect her if she admitted the deception. "I still don't like lying to him."
"It's hard, lying to your friends and family. But it's necessary for people like us. The more people know our secret, the greater the risk of someone revealing it - accidentally or not." His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment as he continued. "At least you will not have to worry about your friend's ignorance endangering him."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Potter's being trained to deal with Death Eaters," he explained. "Anyone trying to hurt you through him will regret it."
"Ah." She bit her lower lip to refrain from asking whether he was speaking from personal experience. His expression told her enough anyway. "I'll have to improve then, enough so Harry won't worry too much about me, but not more," she said instead. This was not easy, as she had already found out. Especially since she also had to improve for real - Sirius wasn't satisfied with her yet either.
Mr Fletcher smiled again. Someone who didn't know him as well as she did wouldn't have caught the lingering pain in his eyes. "It'll be good training, though - if you can fool your best friend, you can fool your enemies as well."
That should be 'when', not 'if', Hermione thought as she slowly nodded.
Wiltshire, Harnham, Britain, July 22nd, 1996
Hermione Granger padded along the small street, sticking close to the hedgerow on the right side. Rosier's house was ahead, past a large former farm. She ignored the dog barking like mad at her as she passed just outside the range of his leash - the stupid animal was almost strangling himself with his futile efforts to reach her.
She sat down at the corner, still in view of the guard dog, and studied Rosier's home. Nothing had changed since her last survey. She heard someone yell at the dog behind her and darted into the hedge between the two properties - best not to draw attention from a muggle.
She crept onwards on her belly until she was at the edge of the rather neglected lawn, then dashed across it - and through the wards. She came to a stop behind the old rain barrel at the side of the house. A moment later, she was back on two feet and pulled the bug out of her pocket, putting it down on the ground. Then she changed back, and picked it up in her mouth.
The barrel's cover was old and rotten, but she was a lithe cat; it wouldn't break under her weight. Two jumps later, she was on the sloped roof, and after a short climb, she was staring down the chimney. She couldn't see any obstructions. Perfect.
She released the bug, which slowly floated down the shaft. If everything went according to plan then it would seek a hiding spot on the ground by itself. It was out of her hands, or paws, anyway - her job was done.
On the way back to where Sirius and Mr Fletcher were waiting, she passed the farm again, tail and head held high as the dog once more tried to strangle himself with his leash.
London, East End, July 22nd, 1996
"That was boring," the dog complained as soon as they were back in the safe house they were using while Harry was staying at Grimmauld Place. "I almost fell asleep."
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius. "At least we won't be lying when we tell Harry that you just sat around and were bored while I did all the real work." Her friend - and Jeanne - had been told that they were meeting a member of the Wizengamot today.
Mr Fletcher shook his head at her. "As if Black would actually manage to stay silent during a meeting. He likes to hear himself talk far too much."
"He also doesn't like hearing others talk about him as if he weren't present," Sirius shot back.
Hermione cleared her throat before the two could have another row. "Pointless complaints of being bored aside, is there anything relevant that we need to discuss about today's mission?"
Mr Fletcher was about to answer when Sirius spoke up as if he wanted to prove Hermione's tutor right. "We now know that animagi make the best burglars?"
"We already knew that if a house lacks wards against animals, an animagus can sneak in," Mr Fletcher corrected him. "But that doesn't help us much - almost all manors will be warded against animals, and most heists will require more than simply dropping a bug down a chimney. More than you can handle, Black."
"I could have done this mission by myself!" Sirius said.
"A trained animal could have done it," Hermione retorted, "provided that they could climb." Which a clumsy dog couldn't. She snorted - the dog would probably have broken through the rotten lid on the rain barrel.
"I bow to your far greater experience in that area," Sirius said, his grin turning it into an insult. He actually did bow, too!
"Settle down!" Mr Fletcher said, stopping her from cutting the dog back down to size. Call her an animal, would he? But her tutor wasn't finished. "To answer your question: No, there's nothing of relevance to discuss. We did our job, without any trouble. And without anyone deviating from our plan," he added with a glance at her.
Hermione frowned at the rebuke. It wasn't as if she would have entered the house by herself, even if she had seen a way. At least not without a very good reason.
"So, can I do the next house?" Sirius asked.
"We don't have a next target yet," Mr Fletcher pointed out.
"I'm planning ahead." There was that insufferable grin again.
"You're not going on a heist by yourself, Black. You lack both the necessary training and experience," Mr Fletcher said.
"Well, I guess I could take Hermione with me. Chasing a cat up a tree would be a good cover," Sirius said, rubbing his goatee.
"Certainly not!" Hermione glared at him. "It would draw attention to us," she added as an explanation, although the indignity of such a farce was reason enough to shoot it down.
His grin widened. "Well, we can use that plan as a distraction then."
She knew he was just doing this to rile her up - at least she hoped so - but the dog was really asking for a hexing!
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 24th, 1996
Harry Potter dropped into a crouch and sent three hexes in rapid succession at Hermione - a Stinging Hex and two Paint-Splash Hexes. All of them missed since she had started moving as soon as he had begun to flick his wand, and had jumped to the side. It wasn't a graceful jump, he noticed as he cast a Dancing Feet Charm, but she kept going despite stumbling, and even cast a Shield Charm on the move, which deflected his spell. A few more steps and a rather short slide took her behind the bench next to her.
He grinned - he had made the same mistake back when he had started getting trained by Moody. A swish of his wand later, the bench turned into water and he was shaking his head at the thoroughly waterlogged witch.
"If you're not on familiar ground, make your own cover, don't trust anything left by the enemy," he said, quoting his instructor.
She glared at him as she stood up and dried herself with a quick charm. "This was supposed to be familiar ground - I live here!"
"As do I," he retorted. "And I prepared the room for this session, didn't I?"
"That's what teachers do." Hermione's glare hadn't lessened.
He almost blinked - him, a teacher? He hadn't thought of himself like that. "I prefer trainer," he said. "But the point is you can't trust your opponent." He snorted. "Trust me, Sirius will be even worse - I learned this from him."
"Great." She shook her head.
"But you've made progress - that was a promising start." He smiled at her. Encouragement was good. "You just need to work on your jumps. That was a little clumsy." He blinked when her glare grew far more intense for a moment - he was just being honest.
She huffed, then quickly conjured a few walls around her position, smiling toothily at him before the last one hid her from view. "I'm ready!"
He sighed. At least she was improving now, albeit more slowly than he was comfortable with. How could she conjure walls that easily, and yet be so slow to adapt in a fight? He pondered the question while he conjured a mattress. A quick Levitation and Banishing Charm later, it was floating above her position, where he transfigured it into water. The yelp he heard a moment later told him that she hadn't thought of conjuring a roof.
"Hiding like that won't help you," he said as he started to vanish the walls. "Your goal is to escape a fight, not hunker down and hope someone will come and save you." In the last war, such help had almost never arrived in time. "And you can't see what your enemy is doing if you hide like that either."
"It was just a temporary solution," she said, still scowling as she once more dried herself off.
"And what would have been the next step?"
"Create an escape tunnel," Hermione retorted.
Sirius would probably take exception to Hermione digging - or vanishing - a hole in his floor, Harry thought. "Can you create one quickly enough to outrun pursuit?"
"I could fill it up behind me."
"Can you do that and dig faster than they can vanish the material?" He raised his eyebrows.
"That should be possible with a specialised spell…" she started, then sighed.
"Which you don't have," Harry said. "Let's focus on tactics that use spells you know." Judging by her expression, Harry wouldn't be surprised if she actually learned such a spell in the future. He cleared his throat. "There's another thing."
"What?" She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn't take criticism that well, Harry knew. Nevertheless, they had to talk about it. He pointed at her exercise clothes. "Your clothes."
"What about them? They don't restrict my movement."
"They're rather baggy," he said.
"They're comfortable," she shot back.
"They're also prone to snagging on things when you move. An enemy - like a conjured animal - could also grapple with you more easily thanks to all that loose fabric." There was a reason Auror and Duellist robes were close-fitting.
She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head slightly. "Wouldn't it be better if I trained in clothes that are similar to those I am likely to be wearing during an attack?"
"Yes," he said, and she started to smile. "But," he continued, "that's why you might want to change how you dress normally, too. Maybe a tighter..." He trailed off when he saw her staring at him as if he had asked her to strip.
"I think Hermione has a problem," Harry Potter said an hour later in Sirius's study.
"Why do you think that?" Sirius asked, glancing up from the letter he was reading; Hermione had mentioned that she had prepared his correspondence.
"I suggested that she should dress in tighter clothes - to be less vulnerable in a fight", he added before his godfather could misunderstand, "and she looked as if she wanted to curse me, before telling me that she wouldn't change how she dressed." Very loudly.
Sirius laughed. "You were lucky, Harry. There's no good way to tell a witch that her robes are ugly."
"I didn't say they were ugly," Harry protested. "Even though they aren't the most stylish clothes. But they're a liability in combat. She would be much safer with tighter clothes."
"I'll have to remember that line!" Sirius said, grinning. "Well, if I wasn't in a relationship, that is," he added.
"It's not a joking matter, Sirius!" Harry shook his head. "Why won't Hermione listen to me? I don't understand. She's supposed to be smart and sensible."
"Ah…" Sirius trailed off, which wasn't a good sign, in Harry's opinion. "She's probably simply being stubborn. You know how she is. The more you tell her to wear something more flattering, the more she digs her heels in. Not that she would wear heels," he added with a grin.
"Fortunately, she at least wears sensible shoes," Harry said.
"Well, I think she would look quite nice in high-heeled boots." Sirius was slowly nodding. "And stockings and a basque. And a leather jacket."
"What?" Harry was about to ask how Sirius could come up with such a combination when he noticed that his godfather was actually reading an issue of 'Bike'.
He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sirius was obviously no help with this. Remus was at Hogwarts, and no expert on witches anyway. And Harry would certainly not ask Jeanne for help. That left…
He nodded. He would have to call Tonks.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th, 1996
Hermione Granger looked at herself in the mirror - a normal mirror; she neither wanted nor needed to listen to an enchanted mirror's 'helpful advice', thank you very much - pointed her wand at her brown mane, held in a ponytail, and cast another charm. Immediately, her hair changed from a perfectly fine brown colour to a deep black which wouldn't look out of place on a cat's fur.
Nodding, she changed, landing on all four paws with her usual grace. Unfortunately, even looking with her cat's eyes, which offered her a slightly different range of colours, she could tell at once that her fur hadn't changed colour and had stayed brown.
She changed back and sighed. She had cast the most advanced Hair Dyeing Charm she knew - and she had thoroughly researched that family of spells - but it seemed that even specialised charms didn't affect her other form any more than the basic Colouring Charm did.
"That would have been too easy," she muttered. But there were alternatives, she thought as she grabbed the bottle of muggle hair dye from her dresser, even if they were not as convenient as a simple spell would have been. If only cats could use wands!
Thirty minutes later, she was looking at a rather badly dyed blonde in the mirror. Mr Fletcher would never let her get away with such a sloppy job, but it was good enough for testing. Once more she changed into a cat.
And once more, she had brown fur. And while that meant that she had an easy solution should a certain dog try to dye her hair pink again, she did need a way to change her fur colour if she wanted to keep using her cat form on heists. She could let Sirius or Mr Fletcher cast a charm on her, of course - but that would vanish should she need to change into her human form to cast a spell, like on their last job.
In a pinch, she could use a Hair-Colouring Potion, of course. But in order to drink a potion as a cat, she would need to conjure a bowl - which would be left behind. Maybe she could create a self-vanishing water bowl…
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she quickly changed back. "Yes?"
"It's me." The dog.
"Come in!"
"I just wanted to tell you… what happened to your hair" He was staring at her.
She rolled her eyes and cast a quick charm to restore her real hair colour. "I'm experimenting."
"Well, that one's a failure!" He shook his head. "It looks like someone sprayed you with bleach. You should go black instead."
She glared at him. He didn't need to be so blunt. "I was testing how hair-dyeing charms affect my fur's colour."
He blinked for a moment. "You tried to dye your hair and hoped your fur would match it?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Could've told you that that won't work. I tried that out myself, at Hogwarts."
She felt stupid - she hadn't even thought of asking him. She bit her lower lip. "Potions work, but I need a bowl to drink them as a cat, and I can't easily dispose of it afterwards."
"Really?" He looked surprised. "Just conjure it for a short time, instead of trying to make it last hours." She winced and he grinned at her. "Never overlook the lazy solution to your problem."
"Dumping it on someone else?" she shot back.
"That works too!" he agreed, nodding several times. "I do it all the time."
"I know," she responded with an overly sweet smile - he did it to her, after all.
He ignored the implied rebuke and looked at the bottles and vials she had lined up on her dresser. "If Harry saw this he'd stop worrying about you," he said, rubbing his goatee. "But if he knew you are dyeing your hair, it would endanger your disguise."
"What?" What was Harry worrying about…? She groaned. "Did he ask you to tell me to dress in tighter clothes since you're my nominal employer?"
"No," Sirius said. "Even though you look better in leather." She sighed in relief - until he went on: "He asked Tonks for help. Moony told me."
An Auror giving her what amounted to fashion advice! Hermione clenched her teeth. Sometimes, Harry's protectiveness was really aggravating.
Most of the time she liked it, of course.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 27th, 1996
"Wotcher!"
Hermione Granger forced herself to smile when she heard Tonks cheerful greeting. She had been expecting this visit. She turned her head and nodded at the Auror standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Hello, Tonks."
"So, I was dropping off something for Sirius, and I thought I should check on the most recent addition to his household, see how she's faring," Tonks said, stepping inside Hermione's room. "Not too bad, looks like," she added, nodding towards Hermione's bookshelves.
"Harry asked you to talk to me, didn't he?" Hermione said.
Tonks flinched, then smiled weakly at her. "Guilty as charged."
Time to see if she could put the witch on the back foot, Hermione thought. She made a point of looking at Tonks's clothes - combat boots, ripped leggings and an open leather robe with lots of pockets and a tattered hemline over a blouse, all of it in black. "I don't think that the punk witch look would work for me." Her tone indicated that it wasn't working for the Auror either.
Tonks must have noticed, since her smile grew more teeth. "Well, I don't know about punk, but the 'frumpy wallflower' look definitely isn't working for you."
Of course it wasn't - that was the point of her disguise. Hermione frowned, though, and raised her chin slightly. "It's comfortable."
"I'm certain that we can find clothes that are both comfortable and more stylish," Tonks said, "as well as less of a risk in a fight."
"I don't think I should change how I dress just to conform to someone else's idea of how witches should look." Hermione sniffed.
"I'd be the last to tell you that, trust me!" Tonks shook her head. "You should have heard my parents berating me about my fashion choices!"
Hermione could imagine that - not from personal experience, of course; her parents hadn't disagreed with her choice of clothes. And she hadn't had a rebellious phase anyway. Not an openly announced one, at least - she was certain that her parents would have a few words to say should they know that their daughter was training to become a professional thief. "So why are you here then?"
"Because you should be dressing like you want..."
"That's what I'm doing," Hermione cut in.
"...but you should make an informed decision," Tonks went on. "And the security risk is real, trust me - I've had some rather embarrassing moments when my clothes snagged on furniture."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "In a fight?"
"No… just daily life." Tonks waved. "Trust me, billowing robes look cool, but they're not really practical in cramped spaces."
"I'll take your word for it," Hermione said, "but my clothes aren't that bad." She tugged at her sweater for emphasis. "I don't see Harry or Sirius dressing in skin-tight clothes either," she added.
"And we're all very glad for that!" Tonks exclaimed, laughing. "But no one's asking you to dress like that. Well, no one who knows what's good for them." She grew serious. "Your clothes aren't that bad, but they could be better. Safer. You don't fill your pockets with lead before you go swimming, do you?"
"Well, if I were to go scuba diving, I would wear a weight belt to trim myself," Hermione said.
Tonks stared at her with narrowed eyes. "I said swimming, not diving."
Hermione sighed. Time to try her cover story. "I don't want to dress up," she said, glancing at the floor and trying to sound both reluctant and honest, "or the Prophet will take it as proof that I'm a gold-digger out to seduce either Harry or Sirius. Or both." That would hopefully be enough of a reason to keep any compromise from compromising her secret identity.
"Ah." Tonks nodded in apparent sympathy. "Well, there's a lot we can do without making you dress like some French tart."
"Are you talking about Jeanne?" Hermione asked, wondering if Harry had asked Tonks's help with that problem as well.
"Of course not!" Tonks said. "I would never say a bad thing about my dear cousin's future wife." She shook her head wildly for emphasis. "Even if she does dress a little… French."
"And doesn't have to deal with the Prophet questioning her intentions towards Sirius," Hermione added. The Selwyns must have a lot of influence with the press. Or it was the fact that Jeanne was, although illegitimate, a pureblood and not a muggleborn. And lacked a criminal record.
Tonks shrugged, then perked up. "Anyway, let's see what we can do with your clothes!"
Hermione once again forced herself to smile. It didn't look like she could simply shrink her sweater and trousers until Tonks deemed them sufficiently grapple-resistant.
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1996
"Happy birthday, Harry."
"Thank you, Ginny." Harry Potter's smile was as forced as Ginny's looked. "I'm very grateful that your parents let me have the party here again."
"Mum insisted," Ginny said.
Did that mean Ginny had been against inviting him? "Ah," he said, nodding.
"It makes sense - Grimmauld Place doesn't have that much space." Ginny frowned at him as if that was his fault.
"Yes. And there's no Quidditch pitch either." He glanced at the pitch, where most of the other guests were flying. And where he had been headed until he'd almost stumbled into Ginny.
"Yes." She seemed to hesitate a moment, then turned her head towards the table in the garden, where Hermione was talking to Bill about Arithmancy or Curse-Breaking. "Hermione's wearing different clothes from usual."
He sighed. "Oh, yes. And it was a pain to get her to change. She was too stubborn to admit that her old clothes were not suitable for a fight."
"Ah." Ginny nodded. "They look better than her old ones, too."
He shrugged. Hermione's current clothes - rather drab robes - were still far from flattering, in his opinion, but now she wouldn't get caught in any hedges through which she tried to crawl.
"Well, I'm getting some more cake," Ginny said after a moment, nodding curtly.
"I'm going to fly some more," he replied, then turned away.
Harry Potter barely noticed the Bludger headed his way as he banked left. There was a glint below him - the Snitch? No, just something shiny on the ground. He rolled to the left, the Bludger speeding past him, and started a dive. Below him, the former Gryffindor Chasers were outflying their opponents - Bill, Dean and Seamus - easily, though Ron managed to block Alicia's throw. Team Weasley was still behind five goals.
He saw Ginny circling far above the field, and grinned. She was too stubborn to shadow him, which meant she wouldn't get near the Snitch. Once he spotted it, Team Gryffindor would win.
Another Bludger flew towards him. The twins were focusing on him now and he couldn't expect any help from his own Beaters - neither Hermione nor Luna were any good with the bats. And the less said about Neville's performance as Keeper the better.
He pulled up and let the Bludger pass beneath him. It would take a few seconds to turn around, which meant he could look around again… There! A golden glint speeding across the field, close to the ground!
Harry dived. The second Bludger came at him, but from an angle. He dismissed it from consideration; it was too slow to reach him. The Snitch abruptly turned left and sped up, but Harry easily compensated, trading more height for speed. Another turn, right this time. Towards him. He pulled up and rolled at the same time, reaching out with his left hand, and he felt the Snitch slap into his palm hard enough to bruise.
But he had made the catch. Team Gryffindor had beaten Team Weasley. And he had beaten Ginny!
"Hey, Hermione! That was some nice flying!"
Hermione Granger finished storing her loaned broom in the Weasleys' shed and turned to look at Seamus. She frowned at him - her performance couldn't honestly be called good or nice. "You are aware that Luna and I playing as Beaters was a handicap to compensate for the Chasers playing with Harry?"
The boy's smile didn't falter. "Well, it was nice for you. I know you don't like Quidditch."
"You're actually wrong - I quite like Quidditch. I'm just not good at it," she corrected him with a glare, hoping he would get the hint.
He didn't - probably because he was looking at her chest, and not her face. Her new robes weren't exactly tight, but they didn't hide her bust as much as her old ones. "That's great!" he exclaimed. "Who do you think will win the next championship?"
"Probably Puddlemere United," she answered. "They improved their Chaser line again."
He nodded. "I think you're right. They've been great before, and got better. Although the Harpies might give them a run for their money."
She was tempted to correct him - the Harpies' Seeker had retired, and her replacement was new to professional Quidditch - but that would mean spending more time talking with a boy who was clearly still fixated on one thing - and it wasn't Quidditch. Fortunately, she spotted Luna stepping out of the house. "Perhaps. But I need to check on Luna now."
She left the boy. And she left him his wallet, this time - Mr Fletcher had been clear about how dangerous it was to be predictable. Even Seamus might grow suspicious if he lost his wallet twice in a row at Harry's birthday parties. "Hey, Luna! How are you doing?"
The blonde witch smiled. "Molly fixed my arm, see?" She held out left arm. "No bruises any more." She pursed her lips. "But we were supposed to hit the Bludgers, not the other way around."
Hermione nodded. "We tried. And our team won." No thanks to them, though.
Luna, though, beamed. "We did! And with a wide spread, too!" Then she frowned again - although it looked more like a pout to Hermione. "Next time, I want to be on Team Weasley, though."
"So you can play as Chaser?"
"Among other reasons, yes." Luna suddenly started towards the table in the garden. "Now let's go and eat our victory cake!"
"I think that's still Harry's birthday cake," Hermione said with a smile.
"That's alright since he won the game for us!"
"We could have beaten you, if Fred and George had focused on disrupting the Chasers' formation. By trying to both hinder you and them, they achieved nothing. I told them so, but they didn't listen." Ron sighed before taking another forkful of cake. "But we'll need to replace them, and Alicia and Angelina as well, this year."
Harry Potter shrugged. "Ginny can play Chaser. And Demelza is good as well."
"Yeah. But we don't have any good Beaters. I've been keeping an eye on the pick-up games," Ron said, frowning despite the excellent cake. "And we can't count on you winning the games for us. Not with, you know." He waved with his free hand at the trees in the distance. Or maybe the pond.
Harry understood, of course. They couldn't count on him. Not with Voldemort out there. He sighed. He knew that fighting Voldemort - and surviving - was far more important than Quidditch, but it was still galling.
"Ah, there're Hermione and Luna," Ron said.
Harry looked up and saw the two witches walking towards them. Well, Hermione was walking. Luna was closer to running. "Has the cake gone bad in the time we were playing?" she asked. "You were frowning. You don't frown when eating cake unless it's bad cake. And Molly doesn't bake bad cakes." She gasped. "Did someone tamper with it?"
"No, no," Harry was quick to reassure her. "I just thought of something unpleasant."
"You shouldn't be doing that on your birthday either," she admonished him before taking a slice for herself and one for Hermione. Or, rather, two slices for herself - Hermione took another one. Luna could eat like Ron, when it came to cake, Harry noted.
"We were just discussing our prospects for this year's Cup," Ron said. "Is your arm OK?"
Luna just nodded, her mouth full of cake. She held out her arm to Ron.
"Your mum fixed it," Hermione cut in. She was eating slowly, unlike the others.
"Good." Ron sat back.
Luna seemed to be pouting, but it was hard to tell with her cheeks stuffed. Harry almost expected her throat to bulge like a snake's when she swallowed before announcing: "Oh, I almost forgot: We have found even more evidence of the muggle conspiracy to hide the existence of Nargles!"
"You have?" Harry asked. He glanced at Hermione, who looked as wary as he felt.
Luna nodded several times. "Daddy tracked the Nargles to Downing Street, but he was arrested by muggle Aurors before he could find their lair. The muggles were acting on direct orders from their Minister, which proves that this conspiracy is rooted in the highest levels of muggle Britain!"
"Your father tried to break into Number 10 Downing Street?" Hermione's voice had gone up an octave, Harry thought.
"He tried." Luna held up a finger and lowered her voice. "The building is warded; another piece of evidence that it is a breeding ground for Nargles. We'll be exposing everything in the next issue!"
Harry glared at Hermione. This was all her fault for cracking a joke about Westminster.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 1st, 1996
"Hello, Harry!"
"Hello, Jeanne." Harry Potter smiled, even though he didn't feel like it. Sirius's girlfriend - fiancée now in all but name, or so he understood - was still far too friendly in his opinion. And he had been looking forward to having breakfast without her. "Already up?"
"Yes." She grabbed a croissant and sat down in what had become her usual spot. "Sirius is still asleep. He keeps working late," she added with a sigh.
Order missions, Harry knew. Not that he would tell the witch. He shrugged.
"Like Hermione," Jeanne went on.
"Yes." What did she mean by that? Hermione had always worked very hard, even at Hogwarts. "She's his secretary," he added.
"And she lives with you."
She didn't say 'us', he noted, though he didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. "Yes. Her parents are travelling the world."
"She's recently been changing how she dresses." Now the witch was smiling, rather patronisingly.
"Yes?" He took a sip from his tea. What was her point?
"Did you notice?"
"Of course I did." He had told her to, after all.
"Ah." Her smile widened. "Did you tell her that?"
He shook his head as he took a bite out of his own croissant. That would have been rubbing it in, and Hermione did have a temper. Unlike Sirius, he didn't like provoking her.
She sighed. "Harry, a girl likes to be noticed if she makes the effort to dress up. You should at least compliment her, even if she still has a lot to learn about fashion."
He winced. "That's not how it is," he said. "I told her to change since her old clothes were too baggy for her."
"Oh?" She looked both surprised and amused.
"She's not dressing like this to impress me," he explained. "It's for her safety."
Judging by the way she shook her head, she didn't believe him. "And you wouldn't have any ulterior motives?"
"She's my best friend. And she doesn't fancy me, or she would have told me so." Harry narrowed his eyes. She probably had gotten this notion from Sirius.
"That's not a denial."
He rolled his eyes at her. "If I fancied her, I would have told her so as well. Straight." He was a Gryffindor, after all.
"Mh."
Repeating his words would make him sound childish, so he didn't. He made a point of reading the Prophet instead. And ignoring her giggle.
Hogwarts, August 2nd, 1996
"Thank you for coming," the Headmaster said with his usual smile. "Please have a seat." Behind him, his phoenix familiar trilled, then went back to grooming his wings.
"Thank you, sir." Hermione Granger sat down.
"And thank you for the memory of your exams. It was very interesting to see how the home-schooled students are treated."
"It was my pleasure," Hermione answered. "Although I think some of the examiners didn't appreciate being put on the spot like that."
"It was the least I could do." Dumbledore's smile grew more apologetic. "If things had gone differently, you would never have had to face them."
"And they wouldn't have had to test a muggleborn," Hermione added.
"Quite." He nodded. "You did very well, considering your circumstances."
"Yes. Considering." She would have done much better, Hermione was certain, had she stayed at Hogwarts. She wouldn't be an animagus, though. Nor a thief. Still… "You mentioned that you had a question for me." Which he apparently couldn't ask through the fireplace - nor trust to ask at Grimmauld Place. And for her. Not for Sirius, Harry or Mr Fletcher.
"Indeed. I would like you to listen to a record, if you would be so kind."
"A record?" She frowned. That sounded… Ah. "From one of the bugs we placed?"
"Precisely." He smiled at her, as if she had answered a question in class. "From your latest 'heist', I think Mundungus called it."
"The Rosier job."
He nodded. "It shouldn't take too long."
"I've got time to spare," she said. Why would he want her to listen to such a record? Her eyes widened. Either it concerned herself or her family - or the Dark Lord.
He flicked his wand and an antique gramophone flew towards him, gently coming to rest on his desk. A quick tap later, the record started playing and two voices filled the room. One of them sent a cold shiver down her spine. Voldemort.
"You promised me access to your great-aunt's library, Aaron." She wouldn't ever forget that voice. Nor that tone.
"I did, milord. But Aunt Serena is stubborn und suspects the worst of everyone, even of her own family. She's warming to me, though. I just need a little more time to gain her trust." That had to be Rosier.
"You said that before. This task cannot be delayed indefinitely."
"I'm doing what I can, milord."
"Are you?" There was a mocking and threatening undertone audible now.
"I cannot appear too eager, or she'll grow suspicious. Ever since the death of her husband, she has grown very possessive of his library." Based on his wavering tone, she could imagine how nervous Rosier must have looked.
"With good cause, Aaron. Your task is of crucial importance. Succeed, and you will be rewarded. Fail, and you will wish that I killed you instead of your family."
"Yes, milord."
She heard a door open and close, presumably the Dark Lord leaving, and then Dumbledore stopped the record.
"That was Voldemort," Hermione said before he could ask. "I recognise his voice."
He nodded. "I thought so as well, based on your memory, but I needed to be certain." He smiled, a little ruefully. "Old age affects the hearing, after all."
She didn't think that was the reason that he had called her. "The Dark Lord hasn't found what he's been looking for, then."
She was fishing for information and, judging by the Headmaster's smile, he knew it. He nodded, though. "Indeed. His followers have not met with much success, not least because of your own actions." He sighed, suddenly looking years older. "But that might not amount to much if he succeeds in gaining access to that library. Ottokar Rosier was a man who did not hold with the idea that books should be banned, no matter their content."
Hermione nodded - that was a view she shared.
He sighed again. "I believed so as well, once, but history proved me wrong."
She tilted her head, accepting his rebuke, but nothing more. She could handle any knowledge. And, she added to herself, it wasn't as if the Headmaster had asked her and her friends to destroy such books, but to recover them.
He went on: "Anyway... Ottokar collected a great many tomes, and among them might very well be some of the most infamous works on blood magic. Might, mind you - I would not have thought that he would go as far as that."
"You want us to check and recover any works covering blood magic that we find."
"Yes. One tome in particular - 'Of Blood and Magic'." He leaned back. "It will be no easy task. Aaron has not overstated Serena's attitude. She suspects - not without cause, given what we just heard - that her relatives would rather inherit her estate sooner than later, and has accordingly taken precautions even Alastor might consider slightly excessive."
"Alastor Moody?" She had heard a lot about the man. He was, in her opinion, at least partially responsible for Harry making such a fuss about her clothes.
"Yes. While Serena is not as skilled as Alastor, as the head of the Rosier family, she has access to vast resources to compensate for that. Her manor will be full of all sorts of defences, both old and new."
Like the manors of other Old Families. Such as the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses, the Davises, the Bulstrodes and, of course, the Malfoys.
Hermione smiled.
London, Ministry of Magic, July 15th, 1996
"Ah, Mr Weasley. Early today?"
Percy Weasley nodded at the the Hit-Wizard standing guard at the fireplaces in the Atrium of the Ministry while he cleaned the soot and ashes from his robes - high-quality, but not too high-quality; perfect for a junior member of his department. "As usual, Perkins," he said with a polite smile. "You know how it is when you're new." Or when you had almost been sacked following an intrigue.
"Ah, yes, I remember." Perkins certainly remembered the scandal that had almost cost Percy and his father's careers, but he was polite enough not to mention it. He was a decent enough fellow - for a Hit-Wizard, as Nymphadora would say; the rivalry between the Aurors and the Hit-Wizards was a constant of the Ministry. A constant source of needless friction, Percy thought, but it wasn't as if he were in a position to do something about it. Especially after barely surviving a scandal.
On the other hand, he was in a position to do something about other problems, which was the real reason he was always the first of the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in to work. Entering his office - barely larger than some of the broom cupboards at Hogwarts - he quickly checked whether anyone had been tampering with the spells sealing his desk and filing cabinets. There was no sign of any tampering, and the more subtle spells he had prepared to tell if anyone had entered in his absence hadn't been triggered either.
So far, it seemed the measures he had taken to guard against another attempt to frame him were working. He grabbed a stack of forms from his desk and left his office again. He was on a mission, after all.
It didn't take him more than a few minutes to reach the offices of the Floo Network Authority. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it would be another thirty minutes until shift change. Perfect. He schooled his features, then entered the office with a frown on his face.
"Oh, no, not again," he heard the clerk on duty mutter as he approached the desk.
"Pardon?" Percy asked in his best no-nonsense voice.
"I said 'morning' - it's been a long shift," the clerk said quickly.
"A long shift? I wasn't aware that the regulations governing night shifts had been amended."
"It always feels longer at night," the man - a Greengrass, but only very distantly related to the main branch of the Old Family - replied.
Percy sniffed. "No matter. I'm here to check up on another report of some foolish wizard stepping into a fireplace in front of muggles, and I require your assistance." He waved a sheet of parchment in front of the man's face.
"Err… the regular shifts starts in twenty-six minutes. They'll be able to assist you with everything you need." Greengrass smiled weakly. He hadn't even looked at the report.
Percy glared at him. "This will take less than a quarter of an hour."
"But I need to prepare the paperwork for the shift change. I can't hold up the whole schedule for your request."
"And I can't wait that long!" Percy exclaimed. "I'm swamped with work - why do you think I'm here so early? Just point me at the logs and I will look for the report myself!"
Regulations forbade granting anyone from outside your department access to its records, at least unsupervised. But Greengrass had been up all night and would be too tired to care about anything other than going home - this wasn't the first time Percy had done this.
"Alright, you know the way. But don't accidentally destroy any records, ya hear me?"
"Pardon?" Percy didn't have to fake his anger at the insinuation; he had been framed, and most people with any sense knew it. Not that Greengrass qualified, of course, or he wouldn't break regulations.
"Nothing, go ahead."
Percy sniffed and strode past the clerk, to the Records section. As soon as the door closed behind him, he summoned the scrolls covering last Friday's Floo Network traffic. Aaron Rosier had left the Ministry at exactly five o'clock; Percy had timed the man himself. And if he had gone straight home… Percy smiled when he found the line showing the destination. Even if it wasn't Rosier's home it might be the home of another Death Eater.
He quickly created and shrunk a copy of the scroll, stashing it in a mokeskin purse stuck to the inside of his robes, before looking for the record related to the report he had shown to Greengrass. He already knew what he would find, of course - Percy had arranged the original incident through Dumbledore.
It would have been easier to make up a report and file it himself, but only amateurs made such mistakes with their cover. Not to mention that he didn't want to risk any investigation into his activities revealing tampered records. Especially not when handling genuine, if arranged, incidents effectively would also help revive his career.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 16th, 1996
Harry Potter sighed as he sat down on the couch in the living room and grabbed one of the magazines strewn around at random on the sideboard. He sighed again when he noticed that it was the latest issue of The Quibbler - he had read that one already. The next one he picked up was 'The Journal of Arithmancy'. He hadn't read it, and had no intention of doing so - he wouldn't understand very much of it, anyway. It was Hermione's subscription. If only she would show as much talent in Defence as she did in other subjects… He shook his head. "I don't understand."
"Hm? What don't you understand? Or who?" Sirius asked, looking up from the muggle bike magazine he was reading in his favorite seat.
"Hermione." He pressed his lips together so he wouldn't add a curse.
"Oh, that's normal. Countless wizards with far more experience than you have tried and failed to understand witches." Sirius grinned.
Harry stared at him. "You claim to be an expert on witches."
"Exactly. You've come to the right wizard." Sirius grinned widely and dropped his magazine on the floor as he leaned forward. "Now, what did Hermione do to confuse you?"
"It's not what you think," Harry said before his godfather could insinuate anything. "I don't understand how she can be so brilliant in Charms and Transfiguration, but can't manage to defend herself."
Sirius grinned. "Ah." He nodded. "Well, just because she is good at learning spells doesn't mean she's good at fighting. Not everyone can think on their feet."
"We're not talking about duelling, or making snap decisions under fire here," Harry corrected him. "She's barely able to dodge simple volleys. You don't need to think when all you have to do is keep moving." He snorted. "And I know she can move very quickly - you should have seen her jump out of her bed when I brought her her O.W.L. letter." He smiled at the memory.
"Oh?" Sirius was leering now.
Harry held up a hand. "No joking about being quick to jump into beds, or whatever you were about to say." He rolled his eyes on seeing his godfather pout. "I know she is smart - she catches on to things quickly. I know she can move really fast when she wants to. And I know she is more athletic than I thought. So why can't she do better in our training?"
"You've peeped at her? You used your glasses on her?" Sirius sounded far more proud than alarmed, in Harry's opinion, but at least he showed some concern.
He glared at his godfather. "No! But she was sleeping in just a T-shirt and shorts." Short shorts.
"Ah." Sirius nodded. "But she didn't hex you for seeing her like that?"
"Of course not!" It wasn't his fault, after all.
"Ah."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't start with that again. If Hermione fancied me, she'd have said something." His friend certainly wouldn't have given him advice on dating other witches.
"She might be shy. Or she thinks that you're not interested."
"Hermione? Shy?" Harry scoffed. His best female friend didn't act shy at all - she gave her opinion on anything, whether you wanted to hear it or not. And whether or not he was interested… that didn't matter. "Anyway, I need to find a way to make her improve in Defence." Stinging Hexes obviously weren't enough to motivate her to dodge. And only a madman would threaten her books.
"She might simply be slower to adjust to Defence," Sirius said. "Don't worry, I'll take over her training when you return to Hogwarts."
Harry doubted that Sirius would have more success - his godfather and his best friend got along better these days, but they still fought often - but it wasn't as if he had a better idea. He'd just have to keep at it.
*****
London, Greenwich, July 17th, 1996
Hermione Granger cleared her throat and put down the issue of 'Curse-Breaking Monthly' she had just finished - with a mental note to re-read the article reporting the latest news from the City of Dead. "Mr Fletcher?"
She saw him frown slightly in response, then grin. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
She rolled her eyes. She wasn't about to call her tutor by his first name. That wasn't done. Not before she was an equal partner with him, at least. But she didn't want to talk about that, and refused to be baited. "Do you think I should stop pretending to be worse at Defence than I am?"
"Ah." His grin changed slightly. "Are you sick of getting pelted with Stinging Hexes every day?"
She scowled. "Harry's started to vary the spells." Stinging Hexes hurt, but getting hit by Dancing Feet or Tickling Charms was far more humiliating. "But it's not about that." She could handle it. She had endured far worse after her expulsion, after all. And Harry at least didn't enjoy hexing her, unlike the dog. "I feel bad for lying to my best friend. Especially when he's spending so much time trying to help me."
"I see." He wasn't grinning any more. "Do you think you're treating him like a mark?"
Which was something Mr Fletcher had warned her not to do, Hermione knew. "I think that we - Sirius and I - could tell him that we downplayed my actual skill in order to make the Death Eaters underestimate me." Which wasn't entirely untrue.
He slowly nodded. "You could do that. It's a good excuse. And he might not be too hurt by the deception if you come clean now." She winced at that - Harry would hate being lied to. Especially by his godfather. "However," Mr Fletcher went on, "he will not forget that you were deceiving him by hiding your actual abilities. And that might be a problem should he actually become an Auror after Hogwarts."
Hermione bit her lower lip, then nodded. "He might suspect that I'm hiding more than that."
"He might make the connection between the thief with a grudge against a number of pureblood families and the sneaky witch who managed to deceive her best friend," her tutor confirmed. "It is by no means certain that he will suspect you, but it's a possibility we can't dismiss out of hand."
She sighed. Harry was smart and he was being trained by a paranoid Auror. He would suspect her if she admitted the deception. "I still don't like lying to him."
"It's hard, lying to your friends and family. But it's necessary for people like us. The more people know our secret, the greater the risk of someone revealing it - accidentally or not." His eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment as he continued. "At least you will not have to worry about your friend's ignorance endangering him."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Potter's being trained to deal with Death Eaters," he explained. "Anyone trying to hurt you through him will regret it."
"Ah." She bit her lower lip to refrain from asking whether he was speaking from personal experience. His expression told her enough anyway. "I'll have to improve then, enough so Harry won't worry too much about me, but not more," she said instead. This was not easy, as she had already found out. Especially since she also had to improve for real - Sirius wasn't satisfied with her yet either.
Mr Fletcher smiled again. Someone who didn't know him as well as she did wouldn't have caught the lingering pain in his eyes. "It'll be good training, though - if you can fool your best friend, you can fool your enemies as well."
That should be 'when', not 'if', Hermione thought as she slowly nodded.
*****
Wiltshire, Harnham, Britain, July 22nd, 1996
Hermione Granger padded along the small street, sticking close to the hedgerow on the right side. Rosier's house was ahead, past a large former farm. She ignored the dog barking like mad at her as she passed just outside the range of his leash - the stupid animal was almost strangling himself with his futile efforts to reach her.
She sat down at the corner, still in view of the guard dog, and studied Rosier's home. Nothing had changed since her last survey. She heard someone yell at the dog behind her and darted into the hedge between the two properties - best not to draw attention from a muggle.
She crept onwards on her belly until she was at the edge of the rather neglected lawn, then dashed across it - and through the wards. She came to a stop behind the old rain barrel at the side of the house. A moment later, she was back on two feet and pulled the bug out of her pocket, putting it down on the ground. Then she changed back, and picked it up in her mouth.
The barrel's cover was old and rotten, but she was a lithe cat; it wouldn't break under her weight. Two jumps later, she was on the sloped roof, and after a short climb, she was staring down the chimney. She couldn't see any obstructions. Perfect.
She released the bug, which slowly floated down the shaft. If everything went according to plan then it would seek a hiding spot on the ground by itself. It was out of her hands, or paws, anyway - her job was done.
On the way back to where Sirius and Mr Fletcher were waiting, she passed the farm again, tail and head held high as the dog once more tried to strangle himself with his leash.
*****
London, East End, July 22nd, 1996
"That was boring," the dog complained as soon as they were back in the safe house they were using while Harry was staying at Grimmauld Place. "I almost fell asleep."
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius. "At least we won't be lying when we tell Harry that you just sat around and were bored while I did all the real work." Her friend - and Jeanne - had been told that they were meeting a member of the Wizengamot today.
Mr Fletcher shook his head at her. "As if Black would actually manage to stay silent during a meeting. He likes to hear himself talk far too much."
"He also doesn't like hearing others talk about him as if he weren't present," Sirius shot back.
Hermione cleared her throat before the two could have another row. "Pointless complaints of being bored aside, is there anything relevant that we need to discuss about today's mission?"
Mr Fletcher was about to answer when Sirius spoke up as if he wanted to prove Hermione's tutor right. "We now know that animagi make the best burglars?"
"We already knew that if a house lacks wards against animals, an animagus can sneak in," Mr Fletcher corrected him. "But that doesn't help us much - almost all manors will be warded against animals, and most heists will require more than simply dropping a bug down a chimney. More than you can handle, Black."
"I could have done this mission by myself!" Sirius said.
"A trained animal could have done it," Hermione retorted, "provided that they could climb." Which a clumsy dog couldn't. She snorted - the dog would probably have broken through the rotten lid on the rain barrel.
"I bow to your far greater experience in that area," Sirius said, his grin turning it into an insult. He actually did bow, too!
"Settle down!" Mr Fletcher said, stopping her from cutting the dog back down to size. Call her an animal, would he? But her tutor wasn't finished. "To answer your question: No, there's nothing of relevance to discuss. We did our job, without any trouble. And without anyone deviating from our plan," he added with a glance at her.
Hermione frowned at the rebuke. It wasn't as if she would have entered the house by herself, even if she had seen a way. At least not without a very good reason.
"So, can I do the next house?" Sirius asked.
"We don't have a next target yet," Mr Fletcher pointed out.
"I'm planning ahead." There was that insufferable grin again.
"You're not going on a heist by yourself, Black. You lack both the necessary training and experience," Mr Fletcher said.
"Well, I guess I could take Hermione with me. Chasing a cat up a tree would be a good cover," Sirius said, rubbing his goatee.
"Certainly not!" Hermione glared at him. "It would draw attention to us," she added as an explanation, although the indignity of such a farce was reason enough to shoot it down.
His grin widened. "Well, we can use that plan as a distraction then."
She knew he was just doing this to rile her up - at least she hoped so - but the dog was really asking for a hexing!
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 24th, 1996
Harry Potter dropped into a crouch and sent three hexes in rapid succession at Hermione - a Stinging Hex and two Paint-Splash Hexes. All of them missed since she had started moving as soon as he had begun to flick his wand, and had jumped to the side. It wasn't a graceful jump, he noticed as he cast a Dancing Feet Charm, but she kept going despite stumbling, and even cast a Shield Charm on the move, which deflected his spell. A few more steps and a rather short slide took her behind the bench next to her.
He grinned - he had made the same mistake back when he had started getting trained by Moody. A swish of his wand later, the bench turned into water and he was shaking his head at the thoroughly waterlogged witch.
"If you're not on familiar ground, make your own cover, don't trust anything left by the enemy," he said, quoting his instructor.
She glared at him as she stood up and dried herself with a quick charm. "This was supposed to be familiar ground - I live here!"
"As do I," he retorted. "And I prepared the room for this session, didn't I?"
"That's what teachers do." Hermione's glare hadn't lessened.
He almost blinked - him, a teacher? He hadn't thought of himself like that. "I prefer trainer," he said. "But the point is you can't trust your opponent." He snorted. "Trust me, Sirius will be even worse - I learned this from him."
"Great." She shook her head.
"But you've made progress - that was a promising start." He smiled at her. Encouragement was good. "You just need to work on your jumps. That was a little clumsy." He blinked when her glare grew far more intense for a moment - he was just being honest.
She huffed, then quickly conjured a few walls around her position, smiling toothily at him before the last one hid her from view. "I'm ready!"
He sighed. At least she was improving now, albeit more slowly than he was comfortable with. How could she conjure walls that easily, and yet be so slow to adapt in a fight? He pondered the question while he conjured a mattress. A quick Levitation and Banishing Charm later, it was floating above her position, where he transfigured it into water. The yelp he heard a moment later told him that she hadn't thought of conjuring a roof.
"Hiding like that won't help you," he said as he started to vanish the walls. "Your goal is to escape a fight, not hunker down and hope someone will come and save you." In the last war, such help had almost never arrived in time. "And you can't see what your enemy is doing if you hide like that either."
"It was just a temporary solution," she said, still scowling as she once more dried herself off.
"And what would have been the next step?"
"Create an escape tunnel," Hermione retorted.
Sirius would probably take exception to Hermione digging - or vanishing - a hole in his floor, Harry thought. "Can you create one quickly enough to outrun pursuit?"
"I could fill it up behind me."
"Can you do that and dig faster than they can vanish the material?" He raised his eyebrows.
"That should be possible with a specialised spell…" she started, then sighed.
"Which you don't have," Harry said. "Let's focus on tactics that use spells you know." Judging by her expression, Harry wouldn't be surprised if she actually learned such a spell in the future. He cleared his throat. "There's another thing."
"What?" She narrowed her eyes at him. She didn't take criticism that well, Harry knew. Nevertheless, they had to talk about it. He pointed at her exercise clothes. "Your clothes."
"What about them? They don't restrict my movement."
"They're rather baggy," he said.
"They're comfortable," she shot back.
"They're also prone to snagging on things when you move. An enemy - like a conjured animal - could also grapple with you more easily thanks to all that loose fabric." There was a reason Auror and Duellist robes were close-fitting.
She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head slightly. "Wouldn't it be better if I trained in clothes that are similar to those I am likely to be wearing during an attack?"
"Yes," he said, and she started to smile. "But," he continued, "that's why you might want to change how you dress normally, too. Maybe a tighter..." He trailed off when he saw her staring at him as if he had asked her to strip.
*****
"I think Hermione has a problem," Harry Potter said an hour later in Sirius's study.
"Why do you think that?" Sirius asked, glancing up from the letter he was reading; Hermione had mentioned that she had prepared his correspondence.
"I suggested that she should dress in tighter clothes - to be less vulnerable in a fight", he added before his godfather could misunderstand, "and she looked as if she wanted to curse me, before telling me that she wouldn't change how she dressed." Very loudly.
Sirius laughed. "You were lucky, Harry. There's no good way to tell a witch that her robes are ugly."
"I didn't say they were ugly," Harry protested. "Even though they aren't the most stylish clothes. But they're a liability in combat. She would be much safer with tighter clothes."
"I'll have to remember that line!" Sirius said, grinning. "Well, if I wasn't in a relationship, that is," he added.
"It's not a joking matter, Sirius!" Harry shook his head. "Why won't Hermione listen to me? I don't understand. She's supposed to be smart and sensible."
"Ah…" Sirius trailed off, which wasn't a good sign, in Harry's opinion. "She's probably simply being stubborn. You know how she is. The more you tell her to wear something more flattering, the more she digs her heels in. Not that she would wear heels," he added with a grin.
"Fortunately, she at least wears sensible shoes," Harry said.
"Well, I think she would look quite nice in high-heeled boots." Sirius was slowly nodding. "And stockings and a basque. And a leather jacket."
"What?" Harry was about to ask how Sirius could come up with such a combination when he noticed that his godfather was actually reading an issue of 'Bike'.
He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Sirius was obviously no help with this. Remus was at Hogwarts, and no expert on witches anyway. And Harry would certainly not ask Jeanne for help. That left…
He nodded. He would have to call Tonks.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 25th, 1996
Hermione Granger looked at herself in the mirror - a normal mirror; she neither wanted nor needed to listen to an enchanted mirror's 'helpful advice', thank you very much - pointed her wand at her brown mane, held in a ponytail, and cast another charm. Immediately, her hair changed from a perfectly fine brown colour to a deep black which wouldn't look out of place on a cat's fur.
Nodding, she changed, landing on all four paws with her usual grace. Unfortunately, even looking with her cat's eyes, which offered her a slightly different range of colours, she could tell at once that her fur hadn't changed colour and had stayed brown.
She changed back and sighed. She had cast the most advanced Hair Dyeing Charm she knew - and she had thoroughly researched that family of spells - but it seemed that even specialised charms didn't affect her other form any more than the basic Colouring Charm did.
"That would have been too easy," she muttered. But there were alternatives, she thought as she grabbed the bottle of muggle hair dye from her dresser, even if they were not as convenient as a simple spell would have been. If only cats could use wands!
Thirty minutes later, she was looking at a rather badly dyed blonde in the mirror. Mr Fletcher would never let her get away with such a sloppy job, but it was good enough for testing. Once more she changed into a cat.
And once more, she had brown fur. And while that meant that she had an easy solution should a certain dog try to dye her hair pink again, she did need a way to change her fur colour if she wanted to keep using her cat form on heists. She could let Sirius or Mr Fletcher cast a charm on her, of course - but that would vanish should she need to change into her human form to cast a spell, like on their last job.
In a pinch, she could use a Hair-Colouring Potion, of course. But in order to drink a potion as a cat, she would need to conjure a bowl - which would be left behind. Maybe she could create a self-vanishing water bowl…
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts, and she quickly changed back. "Yes?"
"It's me." The dog.
"Come in!"
"I just wanted to tell you… what happened to your hair" He was staring at her.
She rolled her eyes and cast a quick charm to restore her real hair colour. "I'm experimenting."
"Well, that one's a failure!" He shook his head. "It looks like someone sprayed you with bleach. You should go black instead."
She glared at him. He didn't need to be so blunt. "I was testing how hair-dyeing charms affect my fur's colour."
He blinked for a moment. "You tried to dye your hair and hoped your fur would match it?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Could've told you that that won't work. I tried that out myself, at Hogwarts."
She felt stupid - she hadn't even thought of asking him. She bit her lower lip. "Potions work, but I need a bowl to drink them as a cat, and I can't easily dispose of it afterwards."
"Really?" He looked surprised. "Just conjure it for a short time, instead of trying to make it last hours." She winced and he grinned at her. "Never overlook the lazy solution to your problem."
"Dumping it on someone else?" she shot back.
"That works too!" he agreed, nodding several times. "I do it all the time."
"I know," she responded with an overly sweet smile - he did it to her, after all.
He ignored the implied rebuke and looked at the bottles and vials she had lined up on her dresser. "If Harry saw this he'd stop worrying about you," he said, rubbing his goatee. "But if he knew you are dyeing your hair, it would endanger your disguise."
"What?" What was Harry worrying about…? She groaned. "Did he ask you to tell me to dress in tighter clothes since you're my nominal employer?"
"No," Sirius said. "Even though you look better in leather." She sighed in relief - until he went on: "He asked Tonks for help. Moony told me."
An Auror giving her what amounted to fashion advice! Hermione clenched her teeth. Sometimes, Harry's protectiveness was really aggravating.
Most of the time she liked it, of course.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, July 27th, 1996
"Wotcher!"
Hermione Granger forced herself to smile when she heard Tonks cheerful greeting. She had been expecting this visit. She turned her head and nodded at the Auror standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Hello, Tonks."
"So, I was dropping off something for Sirius, and I thought I should check on the most recent addition to his household, see how she's faring," Tonks said, stepping inside Hermione's room. "Not too bad, looks like," she added, nodding towards Hermione's bookshelves.
"Harry asked you to talk to me, didn't he?" Hermione said.
Tonks flinched, then smiled weakly at her. "Guilty as charged."
Time to see if she could put the witch on the back foot, Hermione thought. She made a point of looking at Tonks's clothes - combat boots, ripped leggings and an open leather robe with lots of pockets and a tattered hemline over a blouse, all of it in black. "I don't think that the punk witch look would work for me." Her tone indicated that it wasn't working for the Auror either.
Tonks must have noticed, since her smile grew more teeth. "Well, I don't know about punk, but the 'frumpy wallflower' look definitely isn't working for you."
Of course it wasn't - that was the point of her disguise. Hermione frowned, though, and raised her chin slightly. "It's comfortable."
"I'm certain that we can find clothes that are both comfortable and more stylish," Tonks said, "as well as less of a risk in a fight."
"I don't think I should change how I dress just to conform to someone else's idea of how witches should look." Hermione sniffed.
"I'd be the last to tell you that, trust me!" Tonks shook her head. "You should have heard my parents berating me about my fashion choices!"
Hermione could imagine that - not from personal experience, of course; her parents hadn't disagreed with her choice of clothes. And she hadn't had a rebellious phase anyway. Not an openly announced one, at least - she was certain that her parents would have a few words to say should they know that their daughter was training to become a professional thief. "So why are you here then?"
"Because you should be dressing like you want..."
"That's what I'm doing," Hermione cut in.
"...but you should make an informed decision," Tonks went on. "And the security risk is real, trust me - I've had some rather embarrassing moments when my clothes snagged on furniture."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "In a fight?"
"No… just daily life." Tonks waved. "Trust me, billowing robes look cool, but they're not really practical in cramped spaces."
"I'll take your word for it," Hermione said, "but my clothes aren't that bad." She tugged at her sweater for emphasis. "I don't see Harry or Sirius dressing in skin-tight clothes either," she added.
"And we're all very glad for that!" Tonks exclaimed, laughing. "But no one's asking you to dress like that. Well, no one who knows what's good for them." She grew serious. "Your clothes aren't that bad, but they could be better. Safer. You don't fill your pockets with lead before you go swimming, do you?"
"Well, if I were to go scuba diving, I would wear a weight belt to trim myself," Hermione said.
Tonks stared at her with narrowed eyes. "I said swimming, not diving."
Hermione sighed. Time to try her cover story. "I don't want to dress up," she said, glancing at the floor and trying to sound both reluctant and honest, "or the Prophet will take it as proof that I'm a gold-digger out to seduce either Harry or Sirius. Or both." That would hopefully be enough of a reason to keep any compromise from compromising her secret identity.
"Ah." Tonks nodded in apparent sympathy. "Well, there's a lot we can do without making you dress like some French tart."
"Are you talking about Jeanne?" Hermione asked, wondering if Harry had asked Tonks's help with that problem as well.
"Of course not!" Tonks said. "I would never say a bad thing about my dear cousin's future wife." She shook her head wildly for emphasis. "Even if she does dress a little… French."
"And doesn't have to deal with the Prophet questioning her intentions towards Sirius," Hermione added. The Selwyns must have a lot of influence with the press. Or it was the fact that Jeanne was, although illegitimate, a pureblood and not a muggleborn. And lacked a criminal record.
Tonks shrugged, then perked up. "Anyway, let's see what we can do with your clothes!"
Hermione once again forced herself to smile. It didn't look like she could simply shrink her sweater and trousers until Tonks deemed them sufficiently grapple-resistant.
*****
Devon, Ottery St Catchpole, July 31st, 1996
"Happy birthday, Harry."
"Thank you, Ginny." Harry Potter's smile was as forced as Ginny's looked. "I'm very grateful that your parents let me have the party here again."
"Mum insisted," Ginny said.
Did that mean Ginny had been against inviting him? "Ah," he said, nodding.
"It makes sense - Grimmauld Place doesn't have that much space." Ginny frowned at him as if that was his fault.
"Yes. And there's no Quidditch pitch either." He glanced at the pitch, where most of the other guests were flying. And where he had been headed until he'd almost stumbled into Ginny.
"Yes." She seemed to hesitate a moment, then turned her head towards the table in the garden, where Hermione was talking to Bill about Arithmancy or Curse-Breaking. "Hermione's wearing different clothes from usual."
He sighed. "Oh, yes. And it was a pain to get her to change. She was too stubborn to admit that her old clothes were not suitable for a fight."
"Ah." Ginny nodded. "They look better than her old ones, too."
He shrugged. Hermione's current clothes - rather drab robes - were still far from flattering, in his opinion, but now she wouldn't get caught in any hedges through which she tried to crawl.
"Well, I'm getting some more cake," Ginny said after a moment, nodding curtly.
"I'm going to fly some more," he replied, then turned away.
*****
Harry Potter barely noticed the Bludger headed his way as he banked left. There was a glint below him - the Snitch? No, just something shiny on the ground. He rolled to the left, the Bludger speeding past him, and started a dive. Below him, the former Gryffindor Chasers were outflying their opponents - Bill, Dean and Seamus - easily, though Ron managed to block Alicia's throw. Team Weasley was still behind five goals.
He saw Ginny circling far above the field, and grinned. She was too stubborn to shadow him, which meant she wouldn't get near the Snitch. Once he spotted it, Team Gryffindor would win.
Another Bludger flew towards him. The twins were focusing on him now and he couldn't expect any help from his own Beaters - neither Hermione nor Luna were any good with the bats. And the less said about Neville's performance as Keeper the better.
He pulled up and let the Bludger pass beneath him. It would take a few seconds to turn around, which meant he could look around again… There! A golden glint speeding across the field, close to the ground!
Harry dived. The second Bludger came at him, but from an angle. He dismissed it from consideration; it was too slow to reach him. The Snitch abruptly turned left and sped up, but Harry easily compensated, trading more height for speed. Another turn, right this time. Towards him. He pulled up and rolled at the same time, reaching out with his left hand, and he felt the Snitch slap into his palm hard enough to bruise.
But he had made the catch. Team Gryffindor had beaten Team Weasley. And he had beaten Ginny!
*****
"Hey, Hermione! That was some nice flying!"
Hermione Granger finished storing her loaned broom in the Weasleys' shed and turned to look at Seamus. She frowned at him - her performance couldn't honestly be called good or nice. "You are aware that Luna and I playing as Beaters was a handicap to compensate for the Chasers playing with Harry?"
The boy's smile didn't falter. "Well, it was nice for you. I know you don't like Quidditch."
"You're actually wrong - I quite like Quidditch. I'm just not good at it," she corrected him with a glare, hoping he would get the hint.
He didn't - probably because he was looking at her chest, and not her face. Her new robes weren't exactly tight, but they didn't hide her bust as much as her old ones. "That's great!" he exclaimed. "Who do you think will win the next championship?"
"Probably Puddlemere United," she answered. "They improved their Chaser line again."
He nodded. "I think you're right. They've been great before, and got better. Although the Harpies might give them a run for their money."
She was tempted to correct him - the Harpies' Seeker had retired, and her replacement was new to professional Quidditch - but that would mean spending more time talking with a boy who was clearly still fixated on one thing - and it wasn't Quidditch. Fortunately, she spotted Luna stepping out of the house. "Perhaps. But I need to check on Luna now."
She left the boy. And she left him his wallet, this time - Mr Fletcher had been clear about how dangerous it was to be predictable. Even Seamus might grow suspicious if he lost his wallet twice in a row at Harry's birthday parties. "Hey, Luna! How are you doing?"
The blonde witch smiled. "Molly fixed my arm, see?" She held out left arm. "No bruises any more." She pursed her lips. "But we were supposed to hit the Bludgers, not the other way around."
Hermione nodded. "We tried. And our team won." No thanks to them, though.
Luna, though, beamed. "We did! And with a wide spread, too!" Then she frowned again - although it looked more like a pout to Hermione. "Next time, I want to be on Team Weasley, though."
"So you can play as Chaser?"
"Among other reasons, yes." Luna suddenly started towards the table in the garden. "Now let's go and eat our victory cake!"
"I think that's still Harry's birthday cake," Hermione said with a smile.
"That's alright since he won the game for us!"
*****
"We could have beaten you, if Fred and George had focused on disrupting the Chasers' formation. By trying to both hinder you and them, they achieved nothing. I told them so, but they didn't listen." Ron sighed before taking another forkful of cake. "But we'll need to replace them, and Alicia and Angelina as well, this year."
Harry Potter shrugged. "Ginny can play Chaser. And Demelza is good as well."
"Yeah. But we don't have any good Beaters. I've been keeping an eye on the pick-up games," Ron said, frowning despite the excellent cake. "And we can't count on you winning the games for us. Not with, you know." He waved with his free hand at the trees in the distance. Or maybe the pond.
Harry understood, of course. They couldn't count on him. Not with Voldemort out there. He sighed. He knew that fighting Voldemort - and surviving - was far more important than Quidditch, but it was still galling.
"Ah, there're Hermione and Luna," Ron said.
Harry looked up and saw the two witches walking towards them. Well, Hermione was walking. Luna was closer to running. "Has the cake gone bad in the time we were playing?" she asked. "You were frowning. You don't frown when eating cake unless it's bad cake. And Molly doesn't bake bad cakes." She gasped. "Did someone tamper with it?"
"No, no," Harry was quick to reassure her. "I just thought of something unpleasant."
"You shouldn't be doing that on your birthday either," she admonished him before taking a slice for herself and one for Hermione. Or, rather, two slices for herself - Hermione took another one. Luna could eat like Ron, when it came to cake, Harry noted.
"We were just discussing our prospects for this year's Cup," Ron said. "Is your arm OK?"
Luna just nodded, her mouth full of cake. She held out her arm to Ron.
"Your mum fixed it," Hermione cut in. She was eating slowly, unlike the others.
"Good." Ron sat back.
Luna seemed to be pouting, but it was hard to tell with her cheeks stuffed. Harry almost expected her throat to bulge like a snake's when she swallowed before announcing: "Oh, I almost forgot: We have found even more evidence of the muggle conspiracy to hide the existence of Nargles!"
"You have?" Harry asked. He glanced at Hermione, who looked as wary as he felt.
Luna nodded several times. "Daddy tracked the Nargles to Downing Street, but he was arrested by muggle Aurors before he could find their lair. The muggles were acting on direct orders from their Minister, which proves that this conspiracy is rooted in the highest levels of muggle Britain!"
"Your father tried to break into Number 10 Downing Street?" Hermione's voice had gone up an octave, Harry thought.
"He tried." Luna held up a finger and lowered her voice. "The building is warded; another piece of evidence that it is a breeding ground for Nargles. We'll be exposing everything in the next issue!"
Harry glared at Hermione. This was all her fault for cracking a joke about Westminster.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 1st, 1996
"Hello, Harry!"
"Hello, Jeanne." Harry Potter smiled, even though he didn't feel like it. Sirius's girlfriend - fiancée now in all but name, or so he understood - was still far too friendly in his opinion. And he had been looking forward to having breakfast without her. "Already up?"
"Yes." She grabbed a croissant and sat down in what had become her usual spot. "Sirius is still asleep. He keeps working late," she added with a sigh.
Order missions, Harry knew. Not that he would tell the witch. He shrugged.
"Like Hermione," Jeanne went on.
"Yes." What did she mean by that? Hermione had always worked very hard, even at Hogwarts. "She's his secretary," he added.
"And she lives with you."
She didn't say 'us', he noted, though he didn't know if that was a good or bad sign. "Yes. Her parents are travelling the world."
"She's recently been changing how she dresses." Now the witch was smiling, rather patronisingly.
"Yes?" He took a sip from his tea. What was her point?
"Did you notice?"
"Of course I did." He had told her to, after all.
"Ah." Her smile widened. "Did you tell her that?"
He shook his head as he took a bite out of his own croissant. That would have been rubbing it in, and Hermione did have a temper. Unlike Sirius, he didn't like provoking her.
She sighed. "Harry, a girl likes to be noticed if she makes the effort to dress up. You should at least compliment her, even if she still has a lot to learn about fashion."
He winced. "That's not how it is," he said. "I told her to change since her old clothes were too baggy for her."
"Oh?" She looked both surprised and amused.
"She's not dressing like this to impress me," he explained. "It's for her safety."
Judging by the way she shook her head, she didn't believe him. "And you wouldn't have any ulterior motives?"
"She's my best friend. And she doesn't fancy me, or she would have told me so." Harry narrowed his eyes. She probably had gotten this notion from Sirius.
"That's not a denial."
He rolled his eyes at her. "If I fancied her, I would have told her so as well. Straight." He was a Gryffindor, after all.
"Mh."
Repeating his words would make him sound childish, so he didn't. He made a point of reading the Prophet instead. And ignoring her giggle.
*****
Hogwarts, August 2nd, 1996
"Thank you for coming," the Headmaster said with his usual smile. "Please have a seat." Behind him, his phoenix familiar trilled, then went back to grooming his wings.
"Thank you, sir." Hermione Granger sat down.
"And thank you for the memory of your exams. It was very interesting to see how the home-schooled students are treated."
"It was my pleasure," Hermione answered. "Although I think some of the examiners didn't appreciate being put on the spot like that."
"It was the least I could do." Dumbledore's smile grew more apologetic. "If things had gone differently, you would never have had to face them."
"And they wouldn't have had to test a muggleborn," Hermione added.
"Quite." He nodded. "You did very well, considering your circumstances."
"Yes. Considering." She would have done much better, Hermione was certain, had she stayed at Hogwarts. She wouldn't be an animagus, though. Nor a thief. Still… "You mentioned that you had a question for me." Which he apparently couldn't ask through the fireplace - nor trust to ask at Grimmauld Place. And for her. Not for Sirius, Harry or Mr Fletcher.
"Indeed. I would like you to listen to a record, if you would be so kind."
"A record?" She frowned. That sounded… Ah. "From one of the bugs we placed?"
"Precisely." He smiled at her, as if she had answered a question in class. "From your latest 'heist', I think Mundungus called it."
"The Rosier job."
He nodded. "It shouldn't take too long."
"I've got time to spare," she said. Why would he want her to listen to such a record? Her eyes widened. Either it concerned herself or her family - or the Dark Lord.
He flicked his wand and an antique gramophone flew towards him, gently coming to rest on his desk. A quick tap later, the record started playing and two voices filled the room. One of them sent a cold shiver down her spine. Voldemort.
"You promised me access to your great-aunt's library, Aaron." She wouldn't ever forget that voice. Nor that tone.
"I did, milord. But Aunt Serena is stubborn und suspects the worst of everyone, even of her own family. She's warming to me, though. I just need a little more time to gain her trust." That had to be Rosier.
"You said that before. This task cannot be delayed indefinitely."
"I'm doing what I can, milord."
"Are you?" There was a mocking and threatening undertone audible now.
"I cannot appear too eager, or she'll grow suspicious. Ever since the death of her husband, she has grown very possessive of his library." Based on his wavering tone, she could imagine how nervous Rosier must have looked.
"With good cause, Aaron. Your task is of crucial importance. Succeed, and you will be rewarded. Fail, and you will wish that I killed you instead of your family."
"Yes, milord."
She heard a door open and close, presumably the Dark Lord leaving, and then Dumbledore stopped the record.
"That was Voldemort," Hermione said before he could ask. "I recognise his voice."
He nodded. "I thought so as well, based on your memory, but I needed to be certain." He smiled, a little ruefully. "Old age affects the hearing, after all."
She didn't think that was the reason that he had called her. "The Dark Lord hasn't found what he's been looking for, then."
She was fishing for information and, judging by the Headmaster's smile, he knew it. He nodded, though. "Indeed. His followers have not met with much success, not least because of your own actions." He sighed, suddenly looking years older. "But that might not amount to much if he succeeds in gaining access to that library. Ottokar Rosier was a man who did not hold with the idea that books should be banned, no matter their content."
Hermione nodded - that was a view she shared.
He sighed again. "I believed so as well, once, but history proved me wrong."
She tilted her head, accepting his rebuke, but nothing more. She could handle any knowledge. And, she added to herself, it wasn't as if the Headmaster had asked her and her friends to destroy such books, but to recover them.
He went on: "Anyway... Ottokar collected a great many tomes, and among them might very well be some of the most infamous works on blood magic. Might, mind you - I would not have thought that he would go as far as that."
"You want us to check and recover any works covering blood magic that we find."
"Yes. One tome in particular - 'Of Blood and Magic'." He leaned back. "It will be no easy task. Aaron has not overstated Serena's attitude. She suspects - not without cause, given what we just heard - that her relatives would rather inherit her estate sooner than later, and has accordingly taken precautions even Alastor might consider slightly excessive."
"Alastor Moody?" She had heard a lot about the man. He was, in her opinion, at least partially responsible for Harry making such a fuss about her clothes.
"Yes. While Serena is not as skilled as Alastor, as the head of the Rosier family, she has access to vast resources to compensate for that. Her manor will be full of all sorts of defences, both old and new."
Like the manors of other Old Families. Such as the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses, the Davises, the Bulstrodes and, of course, the Malfoys.
Hermione smiled.
*****
Chapter 22: Blood and Tigers
Starfox5
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Chapter 22: Blood and Tigers
Hogwarts, August 3rd, 1996
Sitting at his desk in his quarters, Severus Snape stared at the Dark Mark on his arm and pressed his lips together. It was his greatest - no, his second-greatest - mistake. If he hadn't ruined his friendship with Lily in a moment of anger and weakness, he would never have joined the Dark Lord. And he would never have spied for that monster. Would never have told him of the Prophecy. Would never have betrayed him, only for Lily to be murdered anyway.
And would never have failed in his vengeance. The Dark Lord still lived. Thanks to his mastery of the Dark Arts, he had been reborn in a new body. And was once more working to undermine Britain, spreading his influence through the Ministry and the Old Families.
All while Severus was stuck hiding behind the wards of Hogwarts like a coward! He wasn't even fighting the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, like the other members of Dumbledore's Order. "'You cannot leave, Severus'," he snarled at the empty air in front of his desk as he imitated Albus's tone, "'Voldemort knows you betrayed him and he has marked you. You would endanger your comrades - and yourself - should you leave the protection of Hogwarts.'" He scoffed, grinding his teeth. Albus had no idea - Severus didn't care about his own life. Not any more. Hadn't for a long time. All he cared for was avenging Lily. Redeeming himself.
But he had failed. Despite his attempts to portray himself as a coward who only switched sides after his master's disappearance, despite positioning himself as a potentially useful spy for the Dark Lord, despite setting himself up to be punished by Albus for letting his students send that Gryffindor delinquent off, Severus hadn't even been contacted. Or attacked. It was as if the Dark Lord was ignoring him - as if he didn't care about Severus at all while he was hiding.
But Severus wasn't a coward like Karkaroff, who was hiding in his own school! He wanted to fight! To hurt the Dark Lord, and his followers! To matter!
He abruptly stood and started to pace in his office. He didn't matter. Not really. He had helped keep Potter's spawn alive, after the idiot had been hurt showing off his girlfriend, but who cared? It wasn't as if the Dark Lord had made any other attempt on the brat, and Albus's vague words about how crucial the spoiled child was were as worthless as his assurances that Severus's potions were needed by the other Order members. Those who actually fought.
Words as worthless as Severus himself. He should be out there, tracking down Death Eaters! Poisoning them, cursing them, even serving as bait to lead the Dark Lord into a trap. Doing anything but hiding like a coward. Even Black and Lupin were doing more than he was.
He glanced at the fireplace in his office. It would be so easy. A little powder, a simple word, a single step, and he would be there. In his mother's home. The Dark Lord would notice. Would send his followers. Might even come in person. And Severus would be ready for them. Would have his traps prepared. Would make them bleed and die while they fought their way inside, until, at the last moment, when they thought they had beaten him, he would enact his final revenge, and destroy them all. Destroy the Dark Lord's new body, too.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. It would be so easy. Too easy, Albus had said, and too difficult, at the same time. The Dark Lord wouldn't fall for it. Wouldn't send his minions. Would simply make Severus hurt through the Mark until he wanted to die - or went mad and killed himself.
And that, as much as it galled, Severus couldn't allow. He couldn't die in vain. Or worse, end up helping the Dark Lord. His former master believed that Dumbledore was unaware of his latest plans and didn't know he had taken a new body. Severus acting against him would ruin that, and make the Dark Lord act more cautiously.
He clenched his teeth. If only the Dark Lord would attack openly. Once Dark Marks were floating above burning houses again, there would be no more need for secrecy and deceptions. Severus would be free to act, then. Free to fight. Free to redeem himself. He would matter again. No longer would he be reduced to brewing potions and keeping an eye on the brat.
Not for the first time, Severus thought about bringing this about. Pushing the Dark Lord into showing his hand. It would ruin Albus's plans, perhaps - but wouldn't it ruin the Dark Lord's plans as well? Force him out in the open before he suborned the Wizengamot and the Ministry?
Albus wasn't perfect. He had failed Lily. He had failed Severus, too. He had almost lost the last war. He might lose this war, too, even before it started.
But it wouldn't be easy to push the Dark Lord into action. Severus knew enough Death Eaters who had escaped punishment after the last war to ensure that he could gain the attention of the Dark Lord - but that wouldn't force him to act.
No, he thought as he balled his hands into fists, he had to keep waiting. Keep seeing the reminder of Lily's greatest mistake each week. Until war finally broke out, and he could, at last, redeem himself.
Cambridgeshire, Outside Wisbech, Britain, August 3rd, 1996
The Rosier Manor looked old, but in very good repair. It was impressive, Hermione Granger had to admit, from a purely architectonic point of view. Its wards would be even more impressive, though. She couldn't make out any details of them from her vantage point in the closest woods - she'd need to move a lot closer to the wardline to actually analyze the spells forming the manor's defences - but the sheer power and scope of wards that had grown for centuries… She whistled softly while she adjusted her mask's zoom enchantment. The wards were older than those on Grimmauld Place. She hoped that they were not as advanced, at least - the Blacks' reputation for knowing dark curses was quite understandable once you analyzed the wards on the family home. Which she had done.
"Those are old wards," Mr Fletcher chimed in. "No telling exactly what kinds of spells were used without unraveling them. A number of the enchantments might be too old to be very effective. But most of those would have been replaced."
"Probably used blood magic, too," Sirius chimed in. "Even before the Statute of Secrecy, no one would have missed a muggle peasant."
Hermione wondered if the Blacks had done the same. Grimmauld Place was far younger than this manor, but she doubted that Sirius's family would have had any scruples when it came to their security. For all his scoffing about his relatives, Sirius didn't have many scruples when it came to keeping his family safe either.
"Open ground all around," Mr Fletcher went on. "Which means if we get detected while dealing with the wards, we'll have no cover." And with Rosier being paranoid, infiltrating while in disguise was not possible.
"We could tunnel to the underground part of the wards," Hermione said. The manor had been built when sieges still included tunneling, so the spells would cover the ground underneath the building as well.
Mr Fletcher shook his head. "No. The wards will be set up to deal with such attempts. Might even have spells placed to detect and collapse a tunnel before it reaches the wardline. We'll have to approach above ground." He looked up, then grinned. "Probably have to approach from the air."
"On brooms?" Sirius actually sounded excited.
Mr Fletcher's grin widened. "Not exactly."
"Are you certain we can't go faster?"
Hermione Granger pressed her lips together to refrain from snapping at the dog as she guided the floating, disillusioned platform she and the two wizards were standing on slowly closer to the wardline - or the ward bubble, in this case.
"No, we can't, Black," Mr Fletcher said. "We don't know where exactly the wards start. You wouldn't want to trigger them, would you?"
The dog grumbled something she didn't catch, and didn't care about in the first place. She had to focus on levitating the platform closer and closer to the manor, until the wards showed up in her field of vision. If she had been able to create a spell for her mask that projected a depiction of the dome the wards formed onto her visor… But it had already taken hours to prepare the platform they were using, what with all the spells necessary to keep it hidden and safe.
Relatively safe, she amended her thoughts - if the wards were triggered, their platform would be blasted apart. Or worse.
Another yard. Two yards. She glanced down at the ground, a hundred yards below her. She knew where the wardline was there, but even with her mask, and the light of the barely waning moon, it was hard to tell from above.
And then she was almost blinded when the wards came into range of her detection spell and lit up in her enhanced sight. The curse the dog muttered under his breath was, although crude, only too appropriate. Those were a lot of spells. Powerful spells. Very similar to Grimmauld Place's defences, indeed. And also more powerful than The Burrow's, she thought. But the Weasleys had the most modern scheme.
Mr Fletcher, though, didn't sound daunted or impressed. He sounded gleeful. "Ah… there we go. Float us a little closer, I need to study these in detail!"
She swallowed, then steered the platform even closer to the - for her enhanced sight - glowing layers of spells. If she triggered one of them...
"Stop!"
She stopped, holding her breath.
"Perfect. Now get comfortable - this will take a while," her tutor said. She released her breath and sat down. He didn't ask her to move away. He knew better, after she had refused when they had started planning this. He needed her - he couldn't deal with the wards and control the platform at the same time. And they needed the dog too, she added to herself, with a glance at the statues covering the lawn below, hinting at the numerous defences that awaited them once they were past the wards.
They were a team.
'A while' turned out to be almost three hours. The dog had either fallen asleep after an hour, or had been making a very determined effort to make them think he had. Hermione didn't care either way as long as he didn't distract Mr Fletcher.
Her tutor sounded ready to fall asleep as well when he announced that he was done. "Had to do it the hard way for most of the wards - the spells were not layered in a pattern, just piled on each other," he explained. "Pretty typical for such old manors, too - most people do not seem to consider more effective patterns worth the loss of all the added power the old spells have accumulated."
That was a foolish notion, in Hermione's opinion. What good was a powerful spell if you missed your target? If only she had been able to watch Mr Fletcher at work so she could judge just how difficult it was to break through such wards.
"Black?"
"Huh? What?"
So, he had been asleep. Hermione sighed. "We're ready to go in," she said.
"Finally! Took you long enough!"
"Don't get reckless, Black," Mr Fletcher said. "There are bound to be traps and other defences awaiting us down there."
"Of course!" Sirius sounded almost offended at the accusation. "I would have a hard time explaining to Harry or Jeanne how I managed to get cursed while officially in a meeting with Dumbledore about a proposal for the Wizengamot." With a chuckle, he added: "Especially since our dear Hermione is supposed to be visiting a sick grand-uncle of hers no one ever heard of before."
She rolled her eyes at the dog's implication, even though they couldn't see each other. She didn't curse the dog; she only hexed him, and never when he didn't deserve it. "Harry already suspects that you go on Order missions. If he thought I were with you, he'd insist on coming along."
"And we can't have that," Mr Fletcher said. "One untrained maverick is enough; we don't need a wannabe Auror."
"I just think that you visiting a muggle boyfriend of yours would have been a better cover," Sirius said, and she knew he was grinning in that lewd manner of his.
"I'm not going to fake a boyfriend as a cover," she said in a terse voice. She had her pride.
"You can talk about your love lives once we're done here," her tutor cut in. "Let's move! Take us forward, then down to the balcony in front."
"I don't have a love life," Hermione said before she took a deep breath and started to move the platform forward through wards strong enough to kill all of them in an instant. If Mr Fletcher had made a mistake… He hadn't, and Hermione sighed with relief once her detection spell showed that they had safely passed the wardline.
"Well, you could have a love life if you wanted."
"Shut up, Black," Mr Fletcher snapped, "or do you want us to crash into the roof?"
She could float the platform and cut the dog down to size - verbally, at least - at the same time, but it would have been unprofessional. Hermione still clenched her teeth at Sirius's unwanted commentary as she brought the platform to a stop on top of the balcony.
"Hold it here," she heard her tutor say, "I'll check for traps."
"If Madam Rosier actually trapped her own balcony, then she would have fit in perfectly with my family," Sirius said.
"Couple spells coverin' the floor and door," Mr Fletcher reported. "Hermione, disable them. Black, take over floatin' the platform."
Hermione nodded, despite all of them still being disillusioned. She could do this. Whether Mr Fletcher was too tired to do it himself or thought this was an easy training opportunity.
"I've got it," Sirius announced. "Don't get cursed," he added, "Harry would never forgive me."
She snorted as she lay down and scooted to the edge of the platform to take a closer look at the balcony below without the Disillusionment Charm on the boards interfering with her view. There were indeed spells down below - several on the floor. She didn't know all of the spells, but she recognised a vermin detection spell, linked to an unknown curse and a Vanishing Charm. Madam Rosier must not like animals, she thought. It wouldn't affect a human thief, though.
But the other spells would, she was certain. Curses and one of the more obscure alarm charms. Triggered by anyone stepping on the ground - she spotted the small charm commonly used for such traps. But would Madam Rosier have gone so far as to trap the balcony in a manner that would prevent her from using it without spending time and effort on disarming the traps?
Hermione doubted that. She studied the door. There was the standard pattern that allowed the door to be safely opened from the inside without triggering the curse on it. And another alarm charm. However, she couldn't spot a spell that would suppress the traps on the ground at the same time. She frowned. Was Rosier so paranoid as to cut herself off from parts of her own home? Or… She flicked her wand, then smiled. There was another detection spell linked to the curses. Aimed at a specific object. Probably Rosier's favorite necklace or brooch.
But fooling the spell would take too much time - it was already midnight. They'd have to use the platform to avoid touching the floor. And she still needed to open the door. "Float us closer to the door," she whispered.
After a moment, she felt the platform move. She studied the door while they floated closer at a snail's pace. "Stop!"
It was an old door. Sturdy, but old. Not nearly as perfectly fitted to its frame as modern muggle security doors - there was no need to, either, what with spells offering insulation and protection. But it meant that she would be able to fit a wire through the gap at the top. Or a slightly more sophisticated tool. Not that she needed much more than a wire, with the door lacking a lock.
A minute later, she had it open.
And a moment after that, she cursed. The study's floor was glowing with spells.
"Hermione?" Mr Fletcher sounded worried.
"What did you do?" So did Sirius.
"I opened the door," she said. "But the floor inside is covered by spells as well. It's not safe to walk on without a key item."
"Can you disarm them?" Sirius asked.
"I could." Hermione bit her lower lip. "But I fear that Rosier will have covered most of the manor with such traps. She might have left a 'public area' safe, but certainly not her husband's library." Hermione certainly wouldn't leave her own library unprotected, if she had a library worth protecting, that was. Disarming all those curses and alarm charms, room by room, would take far too long.
"We'll make better time if we avoid the floor then," Mr Fletcher echoed her thoughts.
"Go in through the ground floor?" Sirius asked. "That should be the public area."
Hermione grinned. For all his claims to be born riding a broom, Sirius remained a ground-bound dog.
"No," her tutor said, and she knew he was grinning as well, "We'll be avoiding the floor on this floor."
"Floating?" Sirius sounded doubtful. But then, he wasn't a trained thief.
Hermione flicked her wand and conjured a plank next to her.
"The spell might cover more than just the floor itself. Two yards should be safe," Mr Fletcher said.
She nodded in agreement, even though he couldn't see her. "Yes." Then she ended her Disillusionment Charm and slid on to the plank before levitating it.
She floated so close to the ceiling, her head almost bumped into the protruding parts of the stucco, but she reached the other side in less than half a minute and stuck the plank to the wall with a Sticking Charm so she could work freely.
"We should use brooms," she heard Sirius mutter.
Mr Fletcher shot the idea down at once. "Too unwieldy. We need a steady platform to deal with the other curses."
"There's nothing steady about this."
"Be quiet," Hermione hissed. "I'm working on the door." And the dog's complaining was distracting.
"Don't rush it," her tutor said as she saw him arrive next to her. He had dropped his Disillusionment Charm as well.
"I'm not." She wasn't - but the spells were the same as the ones on the balcony door. She knew how to deal with them. "It's open," she announced after a few more minutes.
She glanced back and saw the dog arrive, his clenched teeth visible under his mask. He didn't complain, though. Good for him - this was how a heist went down.
The hallway behind the door was trapped as well. Hermione didn't expect any part of the floor to be safe.
"Could we sneak into Rosier's bedroom and steal her key?" Sirius asked, staring at the floor.
"No. We don't know what it is, and it would only allow one of us to safely pass through the curses." Mr Fletcher shook his head. "Let's move. Keep an eye out for house-elves."
The library would be in a room facing the courtyard, Hermione thought. Rosier wouldn't want to risk anyone catching a glimpse from outside, and natural light would have been desirable at the time it was built.
"Looks like all doors are trapped. Fortunately, this isn't the work of a professional Curse-Breaker," Mr Fletcher commented after he had studied the closest doors. "Rosier must have done this herself."
It still took Hermione two more minutes to get through the next door, only to discover a simple guest room - unused, and covered in dust. At least it looked like a guest room - it was far too impersonal for a room in which someone had lived. "It doesn't look like there are elves working here," she commented. And the furniture didn't look valuable either.
"Don't assume that," Sirius whispered. "Kreacher didn't clean the rooms he didn't think were needed either. Old elves get… eccentric."
She frowned, both at being corrected by the dog and at the thought of another elf like Kreacher.
"Keep an eye out then!" Mr Fletcher told him, floating towards the next door already. "I'll take this one." He turned his head and addressed her. "Take the next one."
She nodded and passed him, reaching the last door before the corner. It was another dusty guest room - eerily similar to the first, down to the same pictures on the walls.
Mr Fletcher hadn't had any luck either. "Let's take the north side." The rooms there would have the most light - if the windows weren't covered with drapes. But Hermione would have preferred the evening sun shining through the windows of her library, had she lived here. That meant the library would also be close to the main bedroom.
The rooms on the north side of the courtyard were a bust as well. Abandoned children's rooms, or so Sirius claimed. Hermione couldn't tell - they were dusty and empty. And that had cost them more time. It was well past midnight now. Dawn was still three hours away, Hermione told herself, and rushing such work was a very bad idea. She couldn't help feeling that they were on the clock, though. And lying on the planks was rather uncomfortable. She should prepare padded ones for the next time they were needed. Maybe enchant them in advance - keeping them floating was tiring her as well.
A large door barred the way to the east side of the building. It took Mr Fletcher ten minutes to get through the spells protecting it, too.
"I don't like this," Sirius muttered.
"We can't rush this," Hermione told him.
"Not that. It's too easy. If Rosier really is paranoid and expects her own family to come after her, then the hallways should have been guarded by more than just the floor traps. My mother wouldn't have trusted one set of curses - she would have used three different traps."
Hermione was glad she had never met Walburga Black, not even her portrait. "Rosier might not have been able to do more than this," she ventured.
He scoffed. "She would have been taught, in my family, no matter her talent."
Which meant he had been taught as well, Hermione thought. "She's not a member of your family," she remarked.
"She could have been, though." He bared his teeth. "The whole manor reminds me of home, before I cleaned it up. And we had more traps to deal with than this. Far more traps."
"Your folks were crazy," Mr Fletcher whispered. "Most people want to be able to live in their homes without having to dodge their own traps in every room."
"Point," Sirius admitted.
"Mind ya, doesn't mean the library won't be packed full of dark curses," her tutor added. "Especially if it's full of illegal books as well. Far easier to claim she had no clue what books were stored there if she can blame her late husband for the curses too." He took a deep breath. "And we're in."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise after she saw the hallway behind the door. The walls were covered with tapestries. Old, expensive ones. And unless she was mistaken, those were Ming vases lining the walls.
She knew that they had to stay undetected and just grab the tomes Dumbledore wanted, maybe framing Aaron Rosier for it if they couldn't cover up the books' disappearance, before vanishing without anyone being the wiser, but… She really wanted the other books and the furniture, too!
On second thought, seeing as every tapestry and vase in range of her spell was cursed, maybe she could skip the furniture this time.
"Don't touch anything!" Mr Fletcher whispered. "Haven't seen so many curses in a single hallway in a while."
"Reminds me of home." Sirius had to upstage him, of course.
They moved on, floating in the middle of the hallway. Hermione couldn't see any spells on the ceiling, but the stucco there didn't seem to be sturdy, so anyone clinging to it would likely fall to the ground with parts of the ceiling stuck to them.
They turned the corner, and Hermione once again found herself almost blinded when she glanced at the two doors facing each other there. "If that's the library, then Rosier really doesn't want anyone to be able to enter," she whispered.
"And the same goes for her bedroom," Sirius added.
"I'm clearing a way," Mr Fletcher said. "We're running short of time."
Hermione bit her lower lip so she wouldn't complain - she hated being sidelined, but Mr Fletcher was correct; she wasn't as experienced as he was, and she would take more time to deal with the curses. At least watching him deal with the overlapping curses protecting the two doors was both interesting and enlightening.
"It's all about the pattern," he whispered - he must have noticed her staring. "Find it, and you can stretch or rip it."
"Easier said than done," the dog cut in.
Neither Hermione nor Mr Fletcher contradicted him. Her tutor was mumbling as he worked, and she could see sweat running down the parts of his face not covered by his mask; he was breathing heavily as well. She feared that he might be pushing himself too much. But they needed this tome.
By the time they floated in front of what Hermione was now certain was the library, Mr Fletcher looked like he would collapse any moment. "I'll do the door," she said, swallowing as she moved her wand.
"No!" Mr Fletcher shook his head. "I'll handle it."
"You're close to collapsing," Sirius cut in. "Let her open the door."
"And exhaust herself as well? Someone will have to deal with the curses inside, and she's the best among us."
"I've been clearing out an entire house filled with curses," Sirius said in a rather petulant-sounding voice.
"Not like this," Mr Fletcher retorted. He closed his eyes. "I just need a moment."
Hermione clenched her teeth, then inched forward a little. She could at least study the spells on the door. Just in case.
The moment stretched into ten minutes before Mr Fletcher felt ready to start dismantling the spells on the door. He worked quickly, though - Hermione almost missed him dealing with a rather nasty cascading curse array.
But she didn't miss the door swinging open, revealing half a dozen shelves surrounding a desk covered with notes. The shelves were full of books.
And each of them seemed to be cursed.
Hermione stared at the shelves, mind racing as she studied the curses. They had the same trigger as the curses on the floor. And they weren't particularly hard to break. She knew how to do so. Her tutor also knew how, of course. But… around twenty books per row, six rows per shelf and six shelves was roughly seven hundred and twenty books. Few of them had their title on their spine, so in order to find the book they wanted, they would have to check almost every book, which meant they would need to break almost every curse. Even if they rushed that would take hours. Hours they didn't have.
She bit her lower lip as she tried to find another solution. Maybe the Summoning Charm would work… The books in the Hogwarts library were protected against it - she had found that out during one of her summer visits. According to Dumbledore, this had been done so students couldn't summon books being used by others. That wouldn't be a concern for a private personal library - Hermione's future library would allow her to quickly summon any book she needed. But while the curses might not be triggered if the book were summoned, they would certainly be triggered if it were touched. So she would have to summon the book in question, but end the spell before the book reached her… Provided that the curse wasn't triggered by a Summoning Charm. And that Rosier hadn't protected her library so the very illegal books they were seeking couldn't easily be found. Which, seeing as the witch had cursed every single book of her library, was only too likely. She shook her head - that plan was too dangerous.
She could only see one practical solution. She glanced at Mr Fletcher. He had the most experience. Maybe he...
He sighed. "We'll need the key item," he answered her unspoken question. So, he didn't see any other way either.
Sirius looked at the door to Rosier's bedroom. "Breaking through that door seems to be more difficult than breaking the curses on the books. More dangerous too," he added.
"We don't have the time." Mr Fletcher was already guiding his plank towards the door. "I'll work on the door." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Break the curses on the floor. Just in case."
Hermione understood. Just in case there would be a fight. She pressed her lips together and floated closer to the ground. Behind her, Sirius was muttering a few curses.
It took her longer than she had thought it would to deal with the curses on the floor - the curses on the tapestries were linked to them. But she did it. Smiling behind her mask, she announced: "I'm done."
"Almost done too," Mr Fletcher responded. He was sweating profusely.
And the dog was eyeing the floor as if he doubted her! Frowning, she slid off her plank and stood on the ground, baring her teeth at him. "It's perfectly safe," she whispered, so as not to distract her tutor.
The dog grumbled, but followed her example.
The two of them stood around with their wands out for another five tense minutes, until Mr Fletcher sighed and seemed to sag. "Curses 'ave been dealt with," he said. After a moment, he, too, stood up and descended to the ground. "Alright. Don't kill her - we need her to find the key item."
And killing Rosier would mean their break-in would definitely be noticed. Unlike if they obliviated the witch. Hermione gripped her wand more tightly as Sirius stepped up to the door.
He glanced at her, then at Mr Fletcher. "Watch our back," he said as he took a step to the side of the door where the hinges were.
Hermione mirrored him on the other side. She looked at him, wand raised. He nodded and she pointed her wand at the lock. A flick later, the handle turned and the door slowly swung open into Rosier's bedroom. She took a deep breath and waited, glancing at Sirius. He nodded at her, then took a step forward.
And a green spell flew through the gap, barely missing him.
Hermione gasped - a Killing Curse! Rosier was truly deranged - but her wand was already moving, and she completed her Shield Charm. Across from her, Sirius snarled and responded with a curse she didn't recognise before pressing himself against the wall.
Mr Fletcher had thrown himself to the side, out of the line of fire, and when Hermione glanced back at him she could see that he was slow to get back up. She started to move towards him, but he waved her off. "I'm not hurt."
Exhausted, then, she thought. She bit her lower lip and moved back to the door, taking a deep breath. More curses flew out of Rosier's bedroom, slamming into a stone wall Sirius had conjured. Rock fragments and splinters hit her Shield Charm, causing her to flinch despite them being deflected harmlessly.
She had to support Sirius. That meant exposing herself even though her Shield Charm wouldn't protect her against a Killing Curse. Should she go high or low? Low, she thought, crouching down. More curses flew through the doorway, from both sides. She had to act now, while Rosier was focused on Sirius. If only she was left-handed - being right-handed, her current position meant that she'd have to expose herself fully to cast at the witch inside.
Before she could move, though, Mr Fletcher yelled. "Behind us!"
She whirled around and saw that the tapestries they had passed on the way in were coming alive - tigers, lions, bears and wolves, as well as armored knights, appearing in the hallway, advancing on them.
Sirius had noticed the danger as well. "Keep the door sealed!" he yelled.
She glanced back at him as he flicked his wand, stone filling the doorway. Then she had to dive to the side as a tiger pounced on her, its claws missing her by inches as they slid off her Shield Charm. As she had trained to with Sirius, she rolled and came up with her wand already moving. "Finite!"
The tiger disappeared. But more animals and knights were appearing. She dispelled another tiger as Mr Fletcher covered part of the floor with sticky glue, halting their advance for a moment. Hermione was about to take advantage of that when the stone wall behind her started to break under Rosier's assault. Once more she whirled, reinforcing the wall as splinters bounced off her shield. It wouldn't hold up for long, though.
And neither would Mr Fletcher, she realised, glancing over her shoulder. He had trapped the first wave of animals, but the next wave were using them as stepping stones, clearing the area covered in glue with long leaps. Hermione caught a wolf in mid-jump with a Banishing Charm, slamming it against a knight trying to climb over a stuck bear. Both toppled over and became stuck.
But two more wolves had made it through, and one came straight at her. Her Shield Charm held, but she was pushed back. She hissed at the slobbering canine and cast a Piercing Curse straight down its gaping maw. The animal collapsed with blood pouring out its mouth, but more were coming. Mr Fletcher had managed to cast a Shield Charm himself, but he was all but buried under a lion and a bear and his spell wouldn't hold out much longer.
And neither would she, Hermione realised, as she faced two wolves and a lion. And Rosier was battering the stone wall behind her. Sirius, under attack on the other side of the hallway, yelled about burning the animals.
The lion pounced, and she threw herself to the side - she couldn't risk her Shield Charm against such a massive beast. One wolf jumped at her before she could get up again, and her shield barely stopped the animal from mauling her. A Banishing Charm sent it back, blocking the other wolf's approach, but the lion had recovered, and this time she couldn't get away in time.
Claws scraped over her shield, shattering it, and the animal crashed into her, roaring as its fangs bore down towards her face. Hermione didn't think, she simply reacted - and changed. The lion's fangs smashed into the stone floor when she suddenly shrank in size, and Hermione scrambled out from underneath the yowling cat. She changed back and dispelled it, but the threads into which the lion returned hadn't even touched the ground before a wolf knocked her down. Flailing, she managed to block its jaws from ripping her throat out with her left arm, before blowing its head off with a Blasting Curse, splattering blood all over herself.
And then she screamed with pain when the second wolf bit down on her leg. She tried to curse the animal, but it shook its head with her leg still caught in its jaws, and the pain stopped any attempt at casting. She managed, mostly by accident, to kick the wolf as she once more flailed, and it let her go, its maw trailing blood - her blood - only for the animal to lunge for her throat instead.
She raised her arms to protect herself, to banish it again, but she was too slow and the wolf too fast. Instead of white fangs, though, blood and gore hit her, blinding her momentarily.
"Got it!" she heard Sirius yell. "She's hurt! Get up!"
She wiped the wolf's remains off her mask with a quick Cleaning Charm and was about to tell him that she was trying, but had a mauled leg, when the stone wall filling the doorway turned into a wave of blood that splashed on to the floor and rushed towards her and her friends.
A wedge-shaped dam of stone rose to meet it halfway, shielding them from the blood. Which was, Hermione realised, leaving sizzling trails on the ground as if it were acid.
"Episkey! Get up! Get up!"
The pain was… lessened. Hermione glanced at her leg. It wasn't bleeding anymore. Sirius had mostly healed it. She rolled on to her stomach and started to stand up. Next to her, Mr Fletcher was groaning, but not moving.
But Rosier was moving - she could see the witch in the doorway, wand flashing. She flattened herself, but she wasn't the target. Mr Fletcher was, and a curse struck him directly.
He started to scream - and stood up, moving jerkily. "She's controlling me!" he yelled, his arms windmilling as he charged Sirius - who simply sidestepped him, and sent a curse at Rosier that missed, but sent the witch back into the bedroom.
For a moment, Hermione was frozen. Should she try to help her tutor, or Sirius? Another curse shot out of the bedroom and splashed against the ceiling, and acid blood started to rain down. Hermione darted behind the remains of the dam and flicked her wand. "Avis!"
A flock of birds appeared and flew into the bedroom, at the witch. Using the distraction, Hermione changed and raced after them, jumping over the puddles of acid on the floor. A curse missed her, blowing up part of the door's frame, and then she was inside, skidding over the polished stone floor until her claws found purchase on a thick carpet. Another curse flew at her, and she ducked under the bed, then changed direction, as Harry had taught her.
She slid out from underneath the bed on the same side and changed back, casting as soon as her wand appeared. Her Stunner was stopped by the Rosier's Shield Charm, though, and the witch was casting as well, her wand flicking until it pointed directly at Hermione, its tip lighting up. She ducked, changing again, and the armoire behind her blew up, splinters digging into her fur and making her yowl in pain.
This time she went straight ahead, straight towards the witch, clearing the bed and leaping at Rosier, changing as she pounced - only to crash into the witch's Shield Charm and slide off. She rolled and rolled, coming up in a crouch, and kept moving as she cast a Shield Charm of her own.
And Rosier was down, on the ground, after having been smashed into the wall behind her. Hermione glanced at the doorway. Sirius was standing there, smoke rising from where acid blood had splattered his clothes, his wand still aimed at Rosier.
Ten minutes later, the situation was under control. Rosier was secured, the animals had been dealt with, and they hadn't found any other traps. Mr Fletcher had collapsed at the same time Rosier had been stunned - after her Shield Charm had been shattered by smashing her into the wall - and Hermione Granger had spent a few minutes frantically casting spells until she was reasonably certain that whatever curse had hit him wasn't about to kill him.
"My limbs were movin' by themselves," he managed to say. "'Urt like 'ell."
Hermione nodded - he was covered with bruises. She hadn't found any life-threatening internal bleeding, but a Blood-Replenishing Potion was advisable anyway. Just in case.
"I've secured Rosier," Sirius announced. Looking around, he added: "What a mess."
"And you'll have to fix it," Mr Fletcher said.
"What?" Sirius stared at him.
"We'll interrogate the witch. Find out if she called the Aurors - not that I expect her to let anyone enter, Aurors or not - then where the books are and how to get them." Hermione's tutor groaned as he pulled out a vial. Veritaserum. "You need to fix the place up. We need to cover this up."
Sirius blinked, then sighed, but didn't argue. Not that he could have, anyway - Mr Fletcher was too exhausted to be able to focus on repairing things and Hermione was the obvious choice to recover the books they needed. That left him to clean up.
As Sirius started to fix the hallway, Mr Fletcher mumbled: "I got sloppy. Musta missed an alarm."
Hermione shook her head. "In a manner of speaking." She nodded at the door, then used her wand to swing it around a little until they could see the other side. "She had a string stuck to it, which would ring a bell next to her bed when the door was opened. Presumably with a spell on it to avoid alerting us."
"Foiled by a muggle trick." Mr Fletcher started to laugh, but ended up coughing - he wasn't fine, despite his claims, Hermione thought. But he couldn't rest - they had a mission to complete.
And he knew it as well. He stood. "Let's wake her up."
Half an hour later, Hermione Granger was feeling slightly nauseous. What Rosier had revealed under the effect of the Veritaserum… She shook her head. The witch hadn't been hiding a library her late husband had acquired to protect his reputation - she had been protecting herself. She was a practitioner of blood magic. Fortunately, not a very talented one, mostly focused on enhancing - or changing - her own body. If she had been more skilled, more experienced, if she had used blood magic in the traps outside her bedroom, then things would have gone considerably worse for the three of them.
But, even taking the fight into account, things had gone reasonably well. Hermione glanced at the - in her opinion rather too small - pile of books that they had recovered thanks to Rosier's enchanted necklace, which neutralised the curses. If only they could have taken more of the books. Or had the time to break the spells preventing them from being duplicated. To leave poor, defenceless books in the hands of such a witch… But Hermione's proposal to loot the entire library and cover it up with a fire had been shot down by the other two as too suspicious.
Pouting, she watched as Sirius rearranged Rosier's memories. "It won't be perfect," she pointed out, still slightly resentful. "She'll notice some discrepancies over time." Sirius shot her a look full of wounded pride. She sighed. "No matter how good you are, Rosier will probably suspect something has happened when she suddenly can't remember the very books she'd used to learn some of her spells."
"She'll probably blame Aaron, or another of her relatives," Mr Fletcher said. He was looking better than he had half an hour previously. He hadn't been fazed by the description of the late Mr Rosier's actual death, either.
"Probably," Hermione repeated, pouting. It wasn't certain.
"Probably." He nodded at her. "And if it happens, it'll happen quite a long time from now."
Too late to affect the current conflict. Probably.
Hermione sighed and stashed the books in her enchanted pocket. She hadn't been allowed to copy them either. Even though some of the spells Rosier had mentioned during her interrogation sounded harmless and very useful. For disguises.
At least, she thought, patting her pocket, she had managed to copy the book in which Rosier had found that 'Tapestry-to-Tigers Spell' without anyone else noticing. And she had pocketed another Knut as a souvenir. And a few more trinkets Rosier wouldn't miss once Sirius was done with her.
A fire would have been far more profitable, though.
Hogwarts, August 4th, 1996
"You have done very well, Sirius, Miss Granger." Dumbledore beamed at them. "The Tome of Blood," he continued, looking at the old book on his desk. His smile faded. "To think Serena had delved into such matters…" He slowly shook his head. "She should have known better."
Sirius scoffed. "That book had better be worth all the trouble we went to. Not only did Rosier almost kill us, but I had to spend hours fixing her ugly manor."
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at the dog's hyperbole, then felt guilty for thinking ill of him - he had saved her life, twice, after all. But then, she had provided the distraction that had allowed him to take down Rosier. And they were all in this together - Mr Fletcher, Sirius, and herself. A team.
That still didn't mean that the dog should behave like that towards the Headmaster. She glanced at her partner and nominal employer. "It was at most one hour. There wasn't that much damage."
"It felt longer," he retorted.
"I bet it did."
He frowned at that. "What do you mean?"
"It was work after all." She smiled sweetly at him, the implications clear.
"Ah, yes!" He grinned shamelessly, acting as if her admonishment was a compliment.
Before she could tell him off, Dumbledore spoke up. "It seems that Poppy has finished examining Mundungus."
A moment later, the door opened, and Hermione's tutor shuffled inside. "Still not done? Just had to drop the books off."
"I just complimented their work."
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Was hard enough. I'm gettin' too old for this."
"I daresay that even a much younger man would have been exhausted, had he been in your place," Dumbledore said.
Her tutor grunted in response. "Are we done then?"
"With this mission, or in general?" the Headmaster asked.
"Both."
"Yes to the first, but unless things go unexpectedly smoothly, I suspect that there will be further occasions on which your unique skillset is needed."
"I figured." Mr Fletcher sat down on one of the free chairs. "You goin' to study the books, then?"
Dumbledore didn't say anything. He simply raised one eyebrow slightly.
Her tutor snorted. "Right. It's a secret. As if we couldn't tell. You don't recover books from your enemy unless you want to study them. You destroy them instead."
Hermione thought so as well, but she also knew that Dumbledore would never admit that - it was safer that way for everyone.
Mr Fletcher stood up. "Well, let's head home and go to bed. You're officially still visiting your sick grand-uncle, after all."
"You're a good replacement - you look like you need to be nursed back to health," Sirius cut in. Mr Fletcher didn't bother with a reply. "I, on the other hand… Harry will suspect that I was on a mission for you," he said to Dumbledore.
"Harry won't be a problem," Hermione said. "But what about Jeanne?"
Sirius shook his head. "She knows I'm working with Dumbledore. I'm not even lying. Technically."
"All night?" Hermione had her doubts.
"It's Dumbledore," the dog said, as if that explained it.
Hermione hoped that he was right.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 5th, 1996
"Good morning, Hermione!" Harry Potter tried to sound as cheerful as he could. His best female friend wasn't a morning person. And today she seemed to be worse than usual - she looked barely awake.
"Morning," Hermione mumbled in response and almost stumbled into the kitchen table.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked.
"Just a little tired," she answered. "I didn't sleep well." She sat down and grabbed the teapot.
"It wasn't because of our training, was it?" He had insisted that they do their daily training when she had returned from visiting her grand-uncle yesterday evening, which, in hindsight, probably hadn't been a good idea since she had arrived rather late and he had been a little rough.
"No." She shook her head. "Just a nightmare." She reached for the croissants, and Harry caught her hesitating and wincing when she reached towards the blood orange juice.
So she wasn't as fine as she claimed. Hadn't she rolled rather hard over that shoulder yesterday evening? He suppressed a frown. Moody was fond of the saying 'No pain, no gain', but that didn't mean you had to suffer after a training session. "Are you certain?"
She glared at him. "I think I would know if I were hurting."
She would - but would she tell him? Harry hesitated. Hermione was sensible. She wouldn't lie to him, would she? Even if she thought it would make her look weak? She was quite competitive, after all, and might conceal an injury.
He hesitated again. He could check, of course. Without her knowing. Just a little tap on his glasses. It wouldn't be peeping. Just checking that she was alright. It was for her own good, after all - she did look bad this morning.
He waited until she was reading the Prophet, then tapped the frame of his glasses.
And he had to correct himself. She didn't look bad at all. And she wasn't hiding bruises under her clothes. Or anything else.
Hogwarts, August 3rd, 1996
Sitting at his desk in his quarters, Severus Snape stared at the Dark Mark on his arm and pressed his lips together. It was his greatest - no, his second-greatest - mistake. If he hadn't ruined his friendship with Lily in a moment of anger and weakness, he would never have joined the Dark Lord. And he would never have spied for that monster. Would never have told him of the Prophecy. Would never have betrayed him, only for Lily to be murdered anyway.
And would never have failed in his vengeance. The Dark Lord still lived. Thanks to his mastery of the Dark Arts, he had been reborn in a new body. And was once more working to undermine Britain, spreading his influence through the Ministry and the Old Families.
All while Severus was stuck hiding behind the wards of Hogwarts like a coward! He wasn't even fighting the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, like the other members of Dumbledore's Order. "'You cannot leave, Severus'," he snarled at the empty air in front of his desk as he imitated Albus's tone, "'Voldemort knows you betrayed him and he has marked you. You would endanger your comrades - and yourself - should you leave the protection of Hogwarts.'" He scoffed, grinding his teeth. Albus had no idea - Severus didn't care about his own life. Not any more. Hadn't for a long time. All he cared for was avenging Lily. Redeeming himself.
But he had failed. Despite his attempts to portray himself as a coward who only switched sides after his master's disappearance, despite positioning himself as a potentially useful spy for the Dark Lord, despite setting himself up to be punished by Albus for letting his students send that Gryffindor delinquent off, Severus hadn't even been contacted. Or attacked. It was as if the Dark Lord was ignoring him - as if he didn't care about Severus at all while he was hiding.
But Severus wasn't a coward like Karkaroff, who was hiding in his own school! He wanted to fight! To hurt the Dark Lord, and his followers! To matter!
He abruptly stood and started to pace in his office. He didn't matter. Not really. He had helped keep Potter's spawn alive, after the idiot had been hurt showing off his girlfriend, but who cared? It wasn't as if the Dark Lord had made any other attempt on the brat, and Albus's vague words about how crucial the spoiled child was were as worthless as his assurances that Severus's potions were needed by the other Order members. Those who actually fought.
Words as worthless as Severus himself. He should be out there, tracking down Death Eaters! Poisoning them, cursing them, even serving as bait to lead the Dark Lord into a trap. Doing anything but hiding like a coward. Even Black and Lupin were doing more than he was.
He glanced at the fireplace in his office. It would be so easy. A little powder, a simple word, a single step, and he would be there. In his mother's home. The Dark Lord would notice. Would send his followers. Might even come in person. And Severus would be ready for them. Would have his traps prepared. Would make them bleed and die while they fought their way inside, until, at the last moment, when they thought they had beaten him, he would enact his final revenge, and destroy them all. Destroy the Dark Lord's new body, too.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. It would be so easy. Too easy, Albus had said, and too difficult, at the same time. The Dark Lord wouldn't fall for it. Wouldn't send his minions. Would simply make Severus hurt through the Mark until he wanted to die - or went mad and killed himself.
And that, as much as it galled, Severus couldn't allow. He couldn't die in vain. Or worse, end up helping the Dark Lord. His former master believed that Dumbledore was unaware of his latest plans and didn't know he had taken a new body. Severus acting against him would ruin that, and make the Dark Lord act more cautiously.
He clenched his teeth. If only the Dark Lord would attack openly. Once Dark Marks were floating above burning houses again, there would be no more need for secrecy and deceptions. Severus would be free to act, then. Free to fight. Free to redeem himself. He would matter again. No longer would he be reduced to brewing potions and keeping an eye on the brat.
Not for the first time, Severus thought about bringing this about. Pushing the Dark Lord into showing his hand. It would ruin Albus's plans, perhaps - but wouldn't it ruin the Dark Lord's plans as well? Force him out in the open before he suborned the Wizengamot and the Ministry?
Albus wasn't perfect. He had failed Lily. He had failed Severus, too. He had almost lost the last war. He might lose this war, too, even before it started.
But it wouldn't be easy to push the Dark Lord into action. Severus knew enough Death Eaters who had escaped punishment after the last war to ensure that he could gain the attention of the Dark Lord - but that wouldn't force him to act.
No, he thought as he balled his hands into fists, he had to keep waiting. Keep seeing the reminder of Lily's greatest mistake each week. Until war finally broke out, and he could, at last, redeem himself.
*****
Cambridgeshire, Outside Wisbech, Britain, August 3rd, 1996
The Rosier Manor looked old, but in very good repair. It was impressive, Hermione Granger had to admit, from a purely architectonic point of view. Its wards would be even more impressive, though. She couldn't make out any details of them from her vantage point in the closest woods - she'd need to move a lot closer to the wardline to actually analyze the spells forming the manor's defences - but the sheer power and scope of wards that had grown for centuries… She whistled softly while she adjusted her mask's zoom enchantment. The wards were older than those on Grimmauld Place. She hoped that they were not as advanced, at least - the Blacks' reputation for knowing dark curses was quite understandable once you analyzed the wards on the family home. Which she had done.
"Those are old wards," Mr Fletcher chimed in. "No telling exactly what kinds of spells were used without unraveling them. A number of the enchantments might be too old to be very effective. But most of those would have been replaced."
"Probably used blood magic, too," Sirius chimed in. "Even before the Statute of Secrecy, no one would have missed a muggle peasant."
Hermione wondered if the Blacks had done the same. Grimmauld Place was far younger than this manor, but she doubted that Sirius's family would have had any scruples when it came to their security. For all his scoffing about his relatives, Sirius didn't have many scruples when it came to keeping his family safe either.
"Open ground all around," Mr Fletcher went on. "Which means if we get detected while dealing with the wards, we'll have no cover." And with Rosier being paranoid, infiltrating while in disguise was not possible.
"We could tunnel to the underground part of the wards," Hermione said. The manor had been built when sieges still included tunneling, so the spells would cover the ground underneath the building as well.
Mr Fletcher shook his head. "No. The wards will be set up to deal with such attempts. Might even have spells placed to detect and collapse a tunnel before it reaches the wardline. We'll have to approach above ground." He looked up, then grinned. "Probably have to approach from the air."
"On brooms?" Sirius actually sounded excited.
Mr Fletcher's grin widened. "Not exactly."
*****
"Are you certain we can't go faster?"
Hermione Granger pressed her lips together to refrain from snapping at the dog as she guided the floating, disillusioned platform she and the two wizards were standing on slowly closer to the wardline - or the ward bubble, in this case.
"No, we can't, Black," Mr Fletcher said. "We don't know where exactly the wards start. You wouldn't want to trigger them, would you?"
The dog grumbled something she didn't catch, and didn't care about in the first place. She had to focus on levitating the platform closer and closer to the manor, until the wards showed up in her field of vision. If she had been able to create a spell for her mask that projected a depiction of the dome the wards formed onto her visor… But it had already taken hours to prepare the platform they were using, what with all the spells necessary to keep it hidden and safe.
Relatively safe, she amended her thoughts - if the wards were triggered, their platform would be blasted apart. Or worse.
Another yard. Two yards. She glanced down at the ground, a hundred yards below her. She knew where the wardline was there, but even with her mask, and the light of the barely waning moon, it was hard to tell from above.
And then she was almost blinded when the wards came into range of her detection spell and lit up in her enhanced sight. The curse the dog muttered under his breath was, although crude, only too appropriate. Those were a lot of spells. Powerful spells. Very similar to Grimmauld Place's defences, indeed. And also more powerful than The Burrow's, she thought. But the Weasleys had the most modern scheme.
Mr Fletcher, though, didn't sound daunted or impressed. He sounded gleeful. "Ah… there we go. Float us a little closer, I need to study these in detail!"
She swallowed, then steered the platform even closer to the - for her enhanced sight - glowing layers of spells. If she triggered one of them...
"Stop!"
She stopped, holding her breath.
"Perfect. Now get comfortable - this will take a while," her tutor said. She released her breath and sat down. He didn't ask her to move away. He knew better, after she had refused when they had started planning this. He needed her - he couldn't deal with the wards and control the platform at the same time. And they needed the dog too, she added to herself, with a glance at the statues covering the lawn below, hinting at the numerous defences that awaited them once they were past the wards.
They were a team.
*****
'A while' turned out to be almost three hours. The dog had either fallen asleep after an hour, or had been making a very determined effort to make them think he had. Hermione didn't care either way as long as he didn't distract Mr Fletcher.
Her tutor sounded ready to fall asleep as well when he announced that he was done. "Had to do it the hard way for most of the wards - the spells were not layered in a pattern, just piled on each other," he explained. "Pretty typical for such old manors, too - most people do not seem to consider more effective patterns worth the loss of all the added power the old spells have accumulated."
That was a foolish notion, in Hermione's opinion. What good was a powerful spell if you missed your target? If only she had been able to watch Mr Fletcher at work so she could judge just how difficult it was to break through such wards.
"Black?"
"Huh? What?"
So, he had been asleep. Hermione sighed. "We're ready to go in," she said.
"Finally! Took you long enough!"
"Don't get reckless, Black," Mr Fletcher said. "There are bound to be traps and other defences awaiting us down there."
"Of course!" Sirius sounded almost offended at the accusation. "I would have a hard time explaining to Harry or Jeanne how I managed to get cursed while officially in a meeting with Dumbledore about a proposal for the Wizengamot." With a chuckle, he added: "Especially since our dear Hermione is supposed to be visiting a sick grand-uncle of hers no one ever heard of before."
She rolled her eyes at the dog's implication, even though they couldn't see each other. She didn't curse the dog; she only hexed him, and never when he didn't deserve it. "Harry already suspects that you go on Order missions. If he thought I were with you, he'd insist on coming along."
"And we can't have that," Mr Fletcher said. "One untrained maverick is enough; we don't need a wannabe Auror."
"I just think that you visiting a muggle boyfriend of yours would have been a better cover," Sirius said, and she knew he was grinning in that lewd manner of his.
"I'm not going to fake a boyfriend as a cover," she said in a terse voice. She had her pride.
"You can talk about your love lives once we're done here," her tutor cut in. "Let's move! Take us forward, then down to the balcony in front."
"I don't have a love life," Hermione said before she took a deep breath and started to move the platform forward through wards strong enough to kill all of them in an instant. If Mr Fletcher had made a mistake… He hadn't, and Hermione sighed with relief once her detection spell showed that they had safely passed the wardline.
"Well, you could have a love life if you wanted."
"Shut up, Black," Mr Fletcher snapped, "or do you want us to crash into the roof?"
She could float the platform and cut the dog down to size - verbally, at least - at the same time, but it would have been unprofessional. Hermione still clenched her teeth at Sirius's unwanted commentary as she brought the platform to a stop on top of the balcony.
"Hold it here," she heard her tutor say, "I'll check for traps."
"If Madam Rosier actually trapped her own balcony, then she would have fit in perfectly with my family," Sirius said.
"Couple spells coverin' the floor and door," Mr Fletcher reported. "Hermione, disable them. Black, take over floatin' the platform."
Hermione nodded, despite all of them still being disillusioned. She could do this. Whether Mr Fletcher was too tired to do it himself or thought this was an easy training opportunity.
"I've got it," Sirius announced. "Don't get cursed," he added, "Harry would never forgive me."
She snorted as she lay down and scooted to the edge of the platform to take a closer look at the balcony below without the Disillusionment Charm on the boards interfering with her view. There were indeed spells down below - several on the floor. She didn't know all of the spells, but she recognised a vermin detection spell, linked to an unknown curse and a Vanishing Charm. Madam Rosier must not like animals, she thought. It wouldn't affect a human thief, though.
But the other spells would, she was certain. Curses and one of the more obscure alarm charms. Triggered by anyone stepping on the ground - she spotted the small charm commonly used for such traps. But would Madam Rosier have gone so far as to trap the balcony in a manner that would prevent her from using it without spending time and effort on disarming the traps?
Hermione doubted that. She studied the door. There was the standard pattern that allowed the door to be safely opened from the inside without triggering the curse on it. And another alarm charm. However, she couldn't spot a spell that would suppress the traps on the ground at the same time. She frowned. Was Rosier so paranoid as to cut herself off from parts of her own home? Or… She flicked her wand, then smiled. There was another detection spell linked to the curses. Aimed at a specific object. Probably Rosier's favorite necklace or brooch.
But fooling the spell would take too much time - it was already midnight. They'd have to use the platform to avoid touching the floor. And she still needed to open the door. "Float us closer to the door," she whispered.
After a moment, she felt the platform move. She studied the door while they floated closer at a snail's pace. "Stop!"
It was an old door. Sturdy, but old. Not nearly as perfectly fitted to its frame as modern muggle security doors - there was no need to, either, what with spells offering insulation and protection. But it meant that she would be able to fit a wire through the gap at the top. Or a slightly more sophisticated tool. Not that she needed much more than a wire, with the door lacking a lock.
A minute later, she had it open.
And a moment after that, she cursed. The study's floor was glowing with spells.
"Hermione?" Mr Fletcher sounded worried.
"What did you do?" So did Sirius.
"I opened the door," she said. "But the floor inside is covered by spells as well. It's not safe to walk on without a key item."
"Can you disarm them?" Sirius asked.
"I could." Hermione bit her lower lip. "But I fear that Rosier will have covered most of the manor with such traps. She might have left a 'public area' safe, but certainly not her husband's library." Hermione certainly wouldn't leave her own library unprotected, if she had a library worth protecting, that was. Disarming all those curses and alarm charms, room by room, would take far too long.
"We'll make better time if we avoid the floor then," Mr Fletcher echoed her thoughts.
"Go in through the ground floor?" Sirius asked. "That should be the public area."
Hermione grinned. For all his claims to be born riding a broom, Sirius remained a ground-bound dog.
"No," her tutor said, and she knew he was grinning as well, "We'll be avoiding the floor on this floor."
"Floating?" Sirius sounded doubtful. But then, he wasn't a trained thief.
Hermione flicked her wand and conjured a plank next to her.
"The spell might cover more than just the floor itself. Two yards should be safe," Mr Fletcher said.
She nodded in agreement, even though he couldn't see her. "Yes." Then she ended her Disillusionment Charm and slid on to the plank before levitating it.
She floated so close to the ceiling, her head almost bumped into the protruding parts of the stucco, but she reached the other side in less than half a minute and stuck the plank to the wall with a Sticking Charm so she could work freely.
"We should use brooms," she heard Sirius mutter.
Mr Fletcher shot the idea down at once. "Too unwieldy. We need a steady platform to deal with the other curses."
"There's nothing steady about this."
"Be quiet," Hermione hissed. "I'm working on the door." And the dog's complaining was distracting.
"Don't rush it," her tutor said as she saw him arrive next to her. He had dropped his Disillusionment Charm as well.
"I'm not." She wasn't - but the spells were the same as the ones on the balcony door. She knew how to deal with them. "It's open," she announced after a few more minutes.
She glanced back and saw the dog arrive, his clenched teeth visible under his mask. He didn't complain, though. Good for him - this was how a heist went down.
The hallway behind the door was trapped as well. Hermione didn't expect any part of the floor to be safe.
"Could we sneak into Rosier's bedroom and steal her key?" Sirius asked, staring at the floor.
"No. We don't know what it is, and it would only allow one of us to safely pass through the curses." Mr Fletcher shook his head. "Let's move. Keep an eye out for house-elves."
The library would be in a room facing the courtyard, Hermione thought. Rosier wouldn't want to risk anyone catching a glimpse from outside, and natural light would have been desirable at the time it was built.
"Looks like all doors are trapped. Fortunately, this isn't the work of a professional Curse-Breaker," Mr Fletcher commented after he had studied the closest doors. "Rosier must have done this herself."
It still took Hermione two more minutes to get through the next door, only to discover a simple guest room - unused, and covered in dust. At least it looked like a guest room - it was far too impersonal for a room in which someone had lived. "It doesn't look like there are elves working here," she commented. And the furniture didn't look valuable either.
"Don't assume that," Sirius whispered. "Kreacher didn't clean the rooms he didn't think were needed either. Old elves get… eccentric."
She frowned, both at being corrected by the dog and at the thought of another elf like Kreacher.
"Keep an eye out then!" Mr Fletcher told him, floating towards the next door already. "I'll take this one." He turned his head and addressed her. "Take the next one."
She nodded and passed him, reaching the last door before the corner. It was another dusty guest room - eerily similar to the first, down to the same pictures on the walls.
Mr Fletcher hadn't had any luck either. "Let's take the north side." The rooms there would have the most light - if the windows weren't covered with drapes. But Hermione would have preferred the evening sun shining through the windows of her library, had she lived here. That meant the library would also be close to the main bedroom.
The rooms on the north side of the courtyard were a bust as well. Abandoned children's rooms, or so Sirius claimed. Hermione couldn't tell - they were dusty and empty. And that had cost them more time. It was well past midnight now. Dawn was still three hours away, Hermione told herself, and rushing such work was a very bad idea. She couldn't help feeling that they were on the clock, though. And lying on the planks was rather uncomfortable. She should prepare padded ones for the next time they were needed. Maybe enchant them in advance - keeping them floating was tiring her as well.
A large door barred the way to the east side of the building. It took Mr Fletcher ten minutes to get through the spells protecting it, too.
"I don't like this," Sirius muttered.
"We can't rush this," Hermione told him.
"Not that. It's too easy. If Rosier really is paranoid and expects her own family to come after her, then the hallways should have been guarded by more than just the floor traps. My mother wouldn't have trusted one set of curses - she would have used three different traps."
Hermione was glad she had never met Walburga Black, not even her portrait. "Rosier might not have been able to do more than this," she ventured.
He scoffed. "She would have been taught, in my family, no matter her talent."
Which meant he had been taught as well, Hermione thought. "She's not a member of your family," she remarked.
"She could have been, though." He bared his teeth. "The whole manor reminds me of home, before I cleaned it up. And we had more traps to deal with than this. Far more traps."
"Your folks were crazy," Mr Fletcher whispered. "Most people want to be able to live in their homes without having to dodge their own traps in every room."
"Point," Sirius admitted.
"Mind ya, doesn't mean the library won't be packed full of dark curses," her tutor added. "Especially if it's full of illegal books as well. Far easier to claim she had no clue what books were stored there if she can blame her late husband for the curses too." He took a deep breath. "And we're in."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise after she saw the hallway behind the door. The walls were covered with tapestries. Old, expensive ones. And unless she was mistaken, those were Ming vases lining the walls.
She knew that they had to stay undetected and just grab the tomes Dumbledore wanted, maybe framing Aaron Rosier for it if they couldn't cover up the books' disappearance, before vanishing without anyone being the wiser, but… She really wanted the other books and the furniture, too!
On second thought, seeing as every tapestry and vase in range of her spell was cursed, maybe she could skip the furniture this time.
"Don't touch anything!" Mr Fletcher whispered. "Haven't seen so many curses in a single hallway in a while."
"Reminds me of home." Sirius had to upstage him, of course.
They moved on, floating in the middle of the hallway. Hermione couldn't see any spells on the ceiling, but the stucco there didn't seem to be sturdy, so anyone clinging to it would likely fall to the ground with parts of the ceiling stuck to them.
They turned the corner, and Hermione once again found herself almost blinded when she glanced at the two doors facing each other there. "If that's the library, then Rosier really doesn't want anyone to be able to enter," she whispered.
"And the same goes for her bedroom," Sirius added.
"I'm clearing a way," Mr Fletcher said. "We're running short of time."
Hermione bit her lower lip so she wouldn't complain - she hated being sidelined, but Mr Fletcher was correct; she wasn't as experienced as he was, and she would take more time to deal with the curses. At least watching him deal with the overlapping curses protecting the two doors was both interesting and enlightening.
"It's all about the pattern," he whispered - he must have noticed her staring. "Find it, and you can stretch or rip it."
"Easier said than done," the dog cut in.
Neither Hermione nor Mr Fletcher contradicted him. Her tutor was mumbling as he worked, and she could see sweat running down the parts of his face not covered by his mask; he was breathing heavily as well. She feared that he might be pushing himself too much. But they needed this tome.
By the time they floated in front of what Hermione was now certain was the library, Mr Fletcher looked like he would collapse any moment. "I'll do the door," she said, swallowing as she moved her wand.
"No!" Mr Fletcher shook his head. "I'll handle it."
"You're close to collapsing," Sirius cut in. "Let her open the door."
"And exhaust herself as well? Someone will have to deal with the curses inside, and she's the best among us."
"I've been clearing out an entire house filled with curses," Sirius said in a rather petulant-sounding voice.
"Not like this," Mr Fletcher retorted. He closed his eyes. "I just need a moment."
Hermione clenched her teeth, then inched forward a little. She could at least study the spells on the door. Just in case.
The moment stretched into ten minutes before Mr Fletcher felt ready to start dismantling the spells on the door. He worked quickly, though - Hermione almost missed him dealing with a rather nasty cascading curse array.
But she didn't miss the door swinging open, revealing half a dozen shelves surrounding a desk covered with notes. The shelves were full of books.
And each of them seemed to be cursed.
*****
Hermione stared at the shelves, mind racing as she studied the curses. They had the same trigger as the curses on the floor. And they weren't particularly hard to break. She knew how to do so. Her tutor also knew how, of course. But… around twenty books per row, six rows per shelf and six shelves was roughly seven hundred and twenty books. Few of them had their title on their spine, so in order to find the book they wanted, they would have to check almost every book, which meant they would need to break almost every curse. Even if they rushed that would take hours. Hours they didn't have.
She bit her lower lip as she tried to find another solution. Maybe the Summoning Charm would work… The books in the Hogwarts library were protected against it - she had found that out during one of her summer visits. According to Dumbledore, this had been done so students couldn't summon books being used by others. That wouldn't be a concern for a private personal library - Hermione's future library would allow her to quickly summon any book she needed. But while the curses might not be triggered if the book were summoned, they would certainly be triggered if it were touched. So she would have to summon the book in question, but end the spell before the book reached her… Provided that the curse wasn't triggered by a Summoning Charm. And that Rosier hadn't protected her library so the very illegal books they were seeking couldn't easily be found. Which, seeing as the witch had cursed every single book of her library, was only too likely. She shook her head - that plan was too dangerous.
She could only see one practical solution. She glanced at Mr Fletcher. He had the most experience. Maybe he...
He sighed. "We'll need the key item," he answered her unspoken question. So, he didn't see any other way either.
Sirius looked at the door to Rosier's bedroom. "Breaking through that door seems to be more difficult than breaking the curses on the books. More dangerous too," he added.
"We don't have the time." Mr Fletcher was already guiding his plank towards the door. "I'll work on the door." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Break the curses on the floor. Just in case."
Hermione understood. Just in case there would be a fight. She pressed her lips together and floated closer to the ground. Behind her, Sirius was muttering a few curses.
It took her longer than she had thought it would to deal with the curses on the floor - the curses on the tapestries were linked to them. But she did it. Smiling behind her mask, she announced: "I'm done."
"Almost done too," Mr Fletcher responded. He was sweating profusely.
And the dog was eyeing the floor as if he doubted her! Frowning, she slid off her plank and stood on the ground, baring her teeth at him. "It's perfectly safe," she whispered, so as not to distract her tutor.
The dog grumbled, but followed her example.
The two of them stood around with their wands out for another five tense minutes, until Mr Fletcher sighed and seemed to sag. "Curses 'ave been dealt with," he said. After a moment, he, too, stood up and descended to the ground. "Alright. Don't kill her - we need her to find the key item."
And killing Rosier would mean their break-in would definitely be noticed. Unlike if they obliviated the witch. Hermione gripped her wand more tightly as Sirius stepped up to the door.
He glanced at her, then at Mr Fletcher. "Watch our back," he said as he took a step to the side of the door where the hinges were.
Hermione mirrored him on the other side. She looked at him, wand raised. He nodded and she pointed her wand at the lock. A flick later, the handle turned and the door slowly swung open into Rosier's bedroom. She took a deep breath and waited, glancing at Sirius. He nodded at her, then took a step forward.
And a green spell flew through the gap, barely missing him.
Hermione gasped - a Killing Curse! Rosier was truly deranged - but her wand was already moving, and she completed her Shield Charm. Across from her, Sirius snarled and responded with a curse she didn't recognise before pressing himself against the wall.
Mr Fletcher had thrown himself to the side, out of the line of fire, and when Hermione glanced back at him she could see that he was slow to get back up. She started to move towards him, but he waved her off. "I'm not hurt."
Exhausted, then, she thought. She bit her lower lip and moved back to the door, taking a deep breath. More curses flew out of Rosier's bedroom, slamming into a stone wall Sirius had conjured. Rock fragments and splinters hit her Shield Charm, causing her to flinch despite them being deflected harmlessly.
She had to support Sirius. That meant exposing herself even though her Shield Charm wouldn't protect her against a Killing Curse. Should she go high or low? Low, she thought, crouching down. More curses flew through the doorway, from both sides. She had to act now, while Rosier was focused on Sirius. If only she was left-handed - being right-handed, her current position meant that she'd have to expose herself fully to cast at the witch inside.
Before she could move, though, Mr Fletcher yelled. "Behind us!"
She whirled around and saw that the tapestries they had passed on the way in were coming alive - tigers, lions, bears and wolves, as well as armored knights, appearing in the hallway, advancing on them.
Sirius had noticed the danger as well. "Keep the door sealed!" he yelled.
She glanced back at him as he flicked his wand, stone filling the doorway. Then she had to dive to the side as a tiger pounced on her, its claws missing her by inches as they slid off her Shield Charm. As she had trained to with Sirius, she rolled and came up with her wand already moving. "Finite!"
The tiger disappeared. But more animals and knights were appearing. She dispelled another tiger as Mr Fletcher covered part of the floor with sticky glue, halting their advance for a moment. Hermione was about to take advantage of that when the stone wall behind her started to break under Rosier's assault. Once more she whirled, reinforcing the wall as splinters bounced off her shield. It wouldn't hold up for long, though.
And neither would Mr Fletcher, she realised, glancing over her shoulder. He had trapped the first wave of animals, but the next wave were using them as stepping stones, clearing the area covered in glue with long leaps. Hermione caught a wolf in mid-jump with a Banishing Charm, slamming it against a knight trying to climb over a stuck bear. Both toppled over and became stuck.
But two more wolves had made it through, and one came straight at her. Her Shield Charm held, but she was pushed back. She hissed at the slobbering canine and cast a Piercing Curse straight down its gaping maw. The animal collapsed with blood pouring out its mouth, but more were coming. Mr Fletcher had managed to cast a Shield Charm himself, but he was all but buried under a lion and a bear and his spell wouldn't hold out much longer.
And neither would she, Hermione realised, as she faced two wolves and a lion. And Rosier was battering the stone wall behind her. Sirius, under attack on the other side of the hallway, yelled about burning the animals.
The lion pounced, and she threw herself to the side - she couldn't risk her Shield Charm against such a massive beast. One wolf jumped at her before she could get up again, and her shield barely stopped the animal from mauling her. A Banishing Charm sent it back, blocking the other wolf's approach, but the lion had recovered, and this time she couldn't get away in time.
Claws scraped over her shield, shattering it, and the animal crashed into her, roaring as its fangs bore down towards her face. Hermione didn't think, she simply reacted - and changed. The lion's fangs smashed into the stone floor when she suddenly shrank in size, and Hermione scrambled out from underneath the yowling cat. She changed back and dispelled it, but the threads into which the lion returned hadn't even touched the ground before a wolf knocked her down. Flailing, she managed to block its jaws from ripping her throat out with her left arm, before blowing its head off with a Blasting Curse, splattering blood all over herself.
And then she screamed with pain when the second wolf bit down on her leg. She tried to curse the animal, but it shook its head with her leg still caught in its jaws, and the pain stopped any attempt at casting. She managed, mostly by accident, to kick the wolf as she once more flailed, and it let her go, its maw trailing blood - her blood - only for the animal to lunge for her throat instead.
She raised her arms to protect herself, to banish it again, but she was too slow and the wolf too fast. Instead of white fangs, though, blood and gore hit her, blinding her momentarily.
"Got it!" she heard Sirius yell. "She's hurt! Get up!"
She wiped the wolf's remains off her mask with a quick Cleaning Charm and was about to tell him that she was trying, but had a mauled leg, when the stone wall filling the doorway turned into a wave of blood that splashed on to the floor and rushed towards her and her friends.
A wedge-shaped dam of stone rose to meet it halfway, shielding them from the blood. Which was, Hermione realised, leaving sizzling trails on the ground as if it were acid.
"Episkey! Get up! Get up!"
The pain was… lessened. Hermione glanced at her leg. It wasn't bleeding anymore. Sirius had mostly healed it. She rolled on to her stomach and started to stand up. Next to her, Mr Fletcher was groaning, but not moving.
But Rosier was moving - she could see the witch in the doorway, wand flashing. She flattened herself, but she wasn't the target. Mr Fletcher was, and a curse struck him directly.
He started to scream - and stood up, moving jerkily. "She's controlling me!" he yelled, his arms windmilling as he charged Sirius - who simply sidestepped him, and sent a curse at Rosier that missed, but sent the witch back into the bedroom.
For a moment, Hermione was frozen. Should she try to help her tutor, or Sirius? Another curse shot out of the bedroom and splashed against the ceiling, and acid blood started to rain down. Hermione darted behind the remains of the dam and flicked her wand. "Avis!"
A flock of birds appeared and flew into the bedroom, at the witch. Using the distraction, Hermione changed and raced after them, jumping over the puddles of acid on the floor. A curse missed her, blowing up part of the door's frame, and then she was inside, skidding over the polished stone floor until her claws found purchase on a thick carpet. Another curse flew at her, and she ducked under the bed, then changed direction, as Harry had taught her.
She slid out from underneath the bed on the same side and changed back, casting as soon as her wand appeared. Her Stunner was stopped by the Rosier's Shield Charm, though, and the witch was casting as well, her wand flicking until it pointed directly at Hermione, its tip lighting up. She ducked, changing again, and the armoire behind her blew up, splinters digging into her fur and making her yowl in pain.
This time she went straight ahead, straight towards the witch, clearing the bed and leaping at Rosier, changing as she pounced - only to crash into the witch's Shield Charm and slide off. She rolled and rolled, coming up in a crouch, and kept moving as she cast a Shield Charm of her own.
And Rosier was down, on the ground, after having been smashed into the wall behind her. Hermione glanced at the doorway. Sirius was standing there, smoke rising from where acid blood had splattered his clothes, his wand still aimed at Rosier.
*****
Ten minutes later, the situation was under control. Rosier was secured, the animals had been dealt with, and they hadn't found any other traps. Mr Fletcher had collapsed at the same time Rosier had been stunned - after her Shield Charm had been shattered by smashing her into the wall - and Hermione Granger had spent a few minutes frantically casting spells until she was reasonably certain that whatever curse had hit him wasn't about to kill him.
"My limbs were movin' by themselves," he managed to say. "'Urt like 'ell."
Hermione nodded - he was covered with bruises. She hadn't found any life-threatening internal bleeding, but a Blood-Replenishing Potion was advisable anyway. Just in case.
"I've secured Rosier," Sirius announced. Looking around, he added: "What a mess."
"And you'll have to fix it," Mr Fletcher said.
"What?" Sirius stared at him.
"We'll interrogate the witch. Find out if she called the Aurors - not that I expect her to let anyone enter, Aurors or not - then where the books are and how to get them." Hermione's tutor groaned as he pulled out a vial. Veritaserum. "You need to fix the place up. We need to cover this up."
Sirius blinked, then sighed, but didn't argue. Not that he could have, anyway - Mr Fletcher was too exhausted to be able to focus on repairing things and Hermione was the obvious choice to recover the books they needed. That left him to clean up.
As Sirius started to fix the hallway, Mr Fletcher mumbled: "I got sloppy. Musta missed an alarm."
Hermione shook her head. "In a manner of speaking." She nodded at the door, then used her wand to swing it around a little until they could see the other side. "She had a string stuck to it, which would ring a bell next to her bed when the door was opened. Presumably with a spell on it to avoid alerting us."
"Foiled by a muggle trick." Mr Fletcher started to laugh, but ended up coughing - he wasn't fine, despite his claims, Hermione thought. But he couldn't rest - they had a mission to complete.
And he knew it as well. He stood. "Let's wake her up."
*****
Half an hour later, Hermione Granger was feeling slightly nauseous. What Rosier had revealed under the effect of the Veritaserum… She shook her head. The witch hadn't been hiding a library her late husband had acquired to protect his reputation - she had been protecting herself. She was a practitioner of blood magic. Fortunately, not a very talented one, mostly focused on enhancing - or changing - her own body. If she had been more skilled, more experienced, if she had used blood magic in the traps outside her bedroom, then things would have gone considerably worse for the three of them.
But, even taking the fight into account, things had gone reasonably well. Hermione glanced at the - in her opinion rather too small - pile of books that they had recovered thanks to Rosier's enchanted necklace, which neutralised the curses. If only they could have taken more of the books. Or had the time to break the spells preventing them from being duplicated. To leave poor, defenceless books in the hands of such a witch… But Hermione's proposal to loot the entire library and cover it up with a fire had been shot down by the other two as too suspicious.
Pouting, she watched as Sirius rearranged Rosier's memories. "It won't be perfect," she pointed out, still slightly resentful. "She'll notice some discrepancies over time." Sirius shot her a look full of wounded pride. She sighed. "No matter how good you are, Rosier will probably suspect something has happened when she suddenly can't remember the very books she'd used to learn some of her spells."
"She'll probably blame Aaron, or another of her relatives," Mr Fletcher said. He was looking better than he had half an hour previously. He hadn't been fazed by the description of the late Mr Rosier's actual death, either.
"Probably," Hermione repeated, pouting. It wasn't certain.
"Probably." He nodded at her. "And if it happens, it'll happen quite a long time from now."
Too late to affect the current conflict. Probably.
Hermione sighed and stashed the books in her enchanted pocket. She hadn't been allowed to copy them either. Even though some of the spells Rosier had mentioned during her interrogation sounded harmless and very useful. For disguises.
At least, she thought, patting her pocket, she had managed to copy the book in which Rosier had found that 'Tapestry-to-Tigers Spell' without anyone else noticing. And she had pocketed another Knut as a souvenir. And a few more trinkets Rosier wouldn't miss once Sirius was done with her.
A fire would have been far more profitable, though.
*****
Hogwarts, August 4th, 1996
"You have done very well, Sirius, Miss Granger." Dumbledore beamed at them. "The Tome of Blood," he continued, looking at the old book on his desk. His smile faded. "To think Serena had delved into such matters…" He slowly shook his head. "She should have known better."
Sirius scoffed. "That book had better be worth all the trouble we went to. Not only did Rosier almost kill us, but I had to spend hours fixing her ugly manor."
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at the dog's hyperbole, then felt guilty for thinking ill of him - he had saved her life, twice, after all. But then, she had provided the distraction that had allowed him to take down Rosier. And they were all in this together - Mr Fletcher, Sirius, and herself. A team.
That still didn't mean that the dog should behave like that towards the Headmaster. She glanced at her partner and nominal employer. "It was at most one hour. There wasn't that much damage."
"It felt longer," he retorted.
"I bet it did."
He frowned at that. "What do you mean?"
"It was work after all." She smiled sweetly at him, the implications clear.
"Ah, yes!" He grinned shamelessly, acting as if her admonishment was a compliment.
Before she could tell him off, Dumbledore spoke up. "It seems that Poppy has finished examining Mundungus."
A moment later, the door opened, and Hermione's tutor shuffled inside. "Still not done? Just had to drop the books off."
"I just complimented their work."
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Was hard enough. I'm gettin' too old for this."
"I daresay that even a much younger man would have been exhausted, had he been in your place," Dumbledore said.
Her tutor grunted in response. "Are we done then?"
"With this mission, or in general?" the Headmaster asked.
"Both."
"Yes to the first, but unless things go unexpectedly smoothly, I suspect that there will be further occasions on which your unique skillset is needed."
"I figured." Mr Fletcher sat down on one of the free chairs. "You goin' to study the books, then?"
Dumbledore didn't say anything. He simply raised one eyebrow slightly.
Her tutor snorted. "Right. It's a secret. As if we couldn't tell. You don't recover books from your enemy unless you want to study them. You destroy them instead."
Hermione thought so as well, but she also knew that Dumbledore would never admit that - it was safer that way for everyone.
Mr Fletcher stood up. "Well, let's head home and go to bed. You're officially still visiting your sick grand-uncle, after all."
"You're a good replacement - you look like you need to be nursed back to health," Sirius cut in. Mr Fletcher didn't bother with a reply. "I, on the other hand… Harry will suspect that I was on a mission for you," he said to Dumbledore.
"Harry won't be a problem," Hermione said. "But what about Jeanne?"
Sirius shook his head. "She knows I'm working with Dumbledore. I'm not even lying. Technically."
"All night?" Hermione had her doubts.
"It's Dumbledore," the dog said, as if that explained it.
Hermione hoped that he was right.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 5th, 1996
"Good morning, Hermione!" Harry Potter tried to sound as cheerful as he could. His best female friend wasn't a morning person. And today she seemed to be worse than usual - she looked barely awake.
"Morning," Hermione mumbled in response and almost stumbled into the kitchen table.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked.
"Just a little tired," she answered. "I didn't sleep well." She sat down and grabbed the teapot.
"It wasn't because of our training, was it?" He had insisted that they do their daily training when she had returned from visiting her grand-uncle yesterday evening, which, in hindsight, probably hadn't been a good idea since she had arrived rather late and he had been a little rough.
"No." She shook her head. "Just a nightmare." She reached for the croissants, and Harry caught her hesitating and wincing when she reached towards the blood orange juice.
So she wasn't as fine as she claimed. Hadn't she rolled rather hard over that shoulder yesterday evening? He suppressed a frown. Moody was fond of the saying 'No pain, no gain', but that didn't mean you had to suffer after a training session. "Are you certain?"
She glared at him. "I think I would know if I were hurting."
She would - but would she tell him? Harry hesitated. Hermione was sensible. She wouldn't lie to him, would she? Even if she thought it would make her look weak? She was quite competitive, after all, and might conceal an injury.
He hesitated again. He could check, of course. Without her knowing. Just a little tap on his glasses. It wouldn't be peeping. Just checking that she was alright. It was for her own good, after all - she did look bad this morning.
He waited until she was reading the Prophet, then tapped the frame of his glasses.
And he had to correct himself. She didn't look bad at all. And she wasn't hiding bruises under her clothes. Or anything else.
*****
Chapter 23: Summer’s End
Starfox5
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Chapter 23: Summer's End
Hogsmeade, Britain, August 10th, 1996
Standing behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore looked up when he heard the the front door of his inn open, then narrowed his eyes. There were few people he loathed seeing more than the one who had just entered. His brother.
"We're closed," he snapped. His left hand gripped the edge of the bar.
"The door was open." Albus smiled patronisingly at him.
Aberforth raised his wand. "You're not welcome here."
"I know." His brother seemed to ignore his wand as he stepped closer. Aberforth wanted to curse him. "I would not have come to visit you if it were not important."
"I don't care. Get out!" Aberforth spat.
In response, Albus slowly drew his wand. Aberforth tensed. If he actually tried…
"I am simply ensuring our privacy." And his brother cast a Mufflatio Charm with that patronising smile Aberforth hated so much.
"I don't care if the whole village knows that I loathe you." Aberforth glared at him. The whole village probably knew it, anyway.
"It is not about that." Albus's smile might have slipped, just a little. Then it vanished entirely. "Voldemort is back."
Aberforth drew a hissing breath. If the Dark Lord had returned… "The blood murders?" He lowered his wand, but kept ahold of it.
Albus nodded. "Exactly."
"You've known that he was back for a while, then." And he hadn't told him.
"Yes, I did."
"Didn't trust me, did you?" Aberforth scoffed. Of course Albus wouldn't trust him, not when he was one of the few willing to defy him.
"I did not trust you to keep it a secret." Albus inclined his head.
"You didn't want me to warn my friends." His brother had never cared for Aberforth's 'milieu', but to go that far… Albus certainly hadn't left his oh-so-noble and law-abiding friends in the dark.
"They might have, inadvertently or not, tipped off Voldemort that I was aware of his return," Albus said. A likely excuse.
"And that has changed?" Aberforth narrowed his eyes.
His brother sighed. "The situation has changed. Whereas before, I expected him to go to ground if discovered, I believe now that he will intensify his efforts to conquer Britain instead."
Aberforth snorted. "Half the Ministry will support him anyway."
"I do not think that things are as dire as that," Albus retorted. "But I do concede that he has enough support among certain parts of the Ministry to risk an open confrontation."
"Which is what you want." Aberforth knew his brother very well.
Once more Albus nodded.
"And why come to me? Are you planning to use my friends for your plots?" If he expected any of them to run to the Dark Lord, Albus would be disappointed - Aberforth's friends didn't like Death Eaters either.
"Not particularly. Whether or not your 'friends' deserve your trust will not affect my plans."
Aberforth scoffed. "And yet you'll use them, if you can."
"I took their actions into account when making my plans."
Aberforth forced himself not to lift his wand and curse his brother. To admit his callous thoughts so openly… "So why have you come bothering me, if you don't need a few expendable gutter-rats for your plots?"
Albus sighed and leaned against the bar. "Researching the Dark Lord's means to survive what would have killed anyone else, I found myself contemplating my own mortality."
"You think he might kill you."
A not quite shrug was his brother's answer. "I would be a fool to assume that my victory was assured when facing such an accomplished enemy."
"Like when you were facing your old love?" Aberforth smirked at the wince that caused. He could still hurt his brother.
Albus recovered quickly, though. With a faint smile, he responded. "I will not have to deal with lingering sentiments in this case."
"But you think you might die, and you crave absolution." Aberforth sneered at his brother.
"It has been over eighty years since she died." Albus was pleading now.
Aberforth scoffed. "And my answer is the same as fifty years ago: Not in your lifetime, Albus! You and your plans killed her. And I'll never forgive you for that."
"It might have been your spell that killed her," Albus said, then pressed his lips together as if he regretted his words.
Aberforth didn't care. To accuse him of that, to blame him for Albus's sins… He lifted his wand, rage filling him. "Get out, or I'll kill you myself!"
Albus nodded and left without another word. Once the door closed behind him, Aberforth forced himself to relax and put his wand down. The nerve of his brother! Shaking his head, he summoned his own personal bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.
He needed more than one drink after this, or he might curse the face off the next bugger who annoyed him.
London, East End, August 10th, 1996
"It's been a week and we haven't received another mission!"
Hermione Granger briefly rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn't react to Sirius's outburst. She had studying to do - the Rosier mission, for all that it had been successful, had taught her that she still had a lot to learn before she could break into the manor of an Old Family. And not simply about Curse-Breaking to get through the wards - she suppressed a shudder, thinking at how close she had come to death at the hands of that madwoman.
"Be glad, Black. We barely survived that last mission," Mr Fletcher said.
"Oh, please! Rosier wasn't even close to being a skilled duellist - or a talented witch." Sirius sneered. "She spent months casting curses on every inch of her home, and she learned a little blood magic and the Killing Curse, but she didn't really know how to fight. If you hadn't been exhausted from dealing with all those curses, she wouldn't have hit you either."
"The reason I was exhausted was that her preparations did work," Mr Fletcher shot back. "Just like with her muggle alarm trick - if it works, it's not stupid."
Hermione pressed her lips together to refrain from correcting Mr Fletcher's mangled saying. She didn't want to get involved in the dispute, but the two wizards were glaring at each other. So she spoke up: "I think it's rather hypocritical of a bigoted member of an Old Family to resort to muggle solutions to make up for their shortcomings."
Both men turned to look at her. Sirius snorted. "Pureblood bigots like my family are hypocrites. If it provides them with an advantage they will use it, no matter who invented it. Why do you think my family maintained extensive business ties to muggles until mother terminated them?"
But Mr Fletcher shook his head. "We shouldn't blame others for problems our own arrogance caused. We can't underestimate them." He sighed. "And we shouldn't overestimate ourselves."
"Speak for yourself!" Sirius retorted. "I don't do that."
Hermione coughed while Mr Fletcher snorted. The dog looked affronted. "You're just jealous that I, as the most skilled fighter, had to save you again."
"You would have been cursed by the very first trap if we hadn't dealt with it," Mr Fletcher told him.
"I've dealt with such curses before."
"Really? I didn't see you dealing with any of the curses there." Mr Fletcher scoffed.
"I didn't want to make you feel even more useless than you already did," Sirius retorted.
Hermione hissed. This was getting too personal. "None of us would have been able to complete - or survive - the mission by ourselves." Dear lord, she thought, that sounded so clichéd. It was true, though. "So, can you stop arguing and let me get back to studying?"
The dog pouted. "I'm still bored."
She smiled sweetly at him. "You can go over the dossier for next week's Wizengamot session, then."
"I'm not that bored. You can give me the gist of it later."
She counted to ten in her head. Then she started an impromptu Defence lesson. With a surprise attack.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 11th, 1996
He shouldn't be doing this. He really shouldn't. Harry Potter was well aware of that. On the other hand, Harry had no doubt that Moody would never let a little guilt about seeing your best friend naked stop him from using his enchanted eye to check for ambushes. Constant Vigilance!
He tapped the frame of his glasses. Then he closed his eyes. What was he thinking? He was at home, in his kitchen. There were no ambushes in Grimmauld Place. Not any more, at least, after the last of the curses left by Sirius's mother had been dealt with. No, he had to be honest with himself. He wasn't checking for ambushes. He was peeping. At his best female friend.
"Harry? Are you alright?"
He jerked and found himself face to face with Hermione. "What?" She had managed to surprise him. Moody would kill him.
"You had your eyes closed and seemed to be troubled. Is anything wrong?"
"No, no. I was just a little tired." He was lying. And peeping. But he couldn't turn his glasses off right now. Not when Hermione was watching him so closely.
"Did you have trouble sleeping?" She was leaning forward and he could see… her hand, before she put it on his forehead.
"A little." Technically, it was true.
She withdrew her hand. "You don't have a fever. But you look tired."
He blinked, and forced himself to look at her face. "Don't you have a spell to check?" he asked with a grin. "Or did you simply want to touch me?"
She snorted. "You don't have to use magic for everything." But she drew her wand and cast a spell. "No fever, but your temperature is a little above normal."
Of course it was - he was staring at her body. Hermione wasn't the most beautiful witch he had ever seen - that was Fleur Delacour, of course - and she didn't have the figure of... Lavender, but she had a nice body nevertheless. Certainly a better body than Ginny. Or Parvati. Probably - Parvati would have grown up a little since they had broken up. Athletic, with well-toned legs and arms. She wouldn't look out of place in the Hogwarts Quidditch locker room, he thought.
"Harry!"
He jerked again and stared at her. "What?"
"You were spacing out again. I'm getting Sirius!" Hermione stood and turned. "Stay here!"
He nodded, looking at her backside until she left the kitchen. Then he sighed and clenched his teeth.
He wasn't looking forward to explaining this to Sirius.
Harry Potter had waited for barely more than a few minutes - long enough to finish his tea - when he heard Hermione's voice.
"...and he was falling asleep again while I was talking to him! I don't know what the Headmaster is doing with him, but he needs rest!"
A moment later, she entered the kitchen with Sirius in tow. His godfather's look of concern rapidly gave way to bemusement when he saw Harry.
"I'm fine," Harry said. "The tea helped." He pointed at the pot on the table.
Hermione narrowed her eyes and flicked her wand - she was casting another spell to check his health, he realised. The results didn't seem to please her, though - she frowned. "You didn't take a Pepper-Up Potion, did you? Those shouldn't be taken lightly."
"I didn't!" he protested. "I just needed a little more time to wake up fully."
"While you were eating breakfast?" Hermione sounded as doubtful as McGonagall when Harry had asked for more supplies for 'Quidditch team building' last year.
He had to change tack. "Well… I was preoccupied. I had some bad dreams, and…" He spread his hands. "Dumbledore isn't pushing me, but the whole thing... it's never far from my mind, you know? I can't really talk about it with anyone, either."
She nodded with such an expression of understanding that he felt a stab of guilt for lying to her. And for peeping at her. "I'm sorry," she said, putting her hand on his arm, "I was simply worried about you."
"As was I," Sirius cut in, but he was grinning widely behind Hermione's back. "You know, you can always talk to me, even if you can't go into details."
"And to me," Hermione was quick to add.
Harry forced himself to smile. "Thank you."
"So, what had you so distracted that Hermione thought you needed help?"
Harry Potter, sitting in the living room and listening to the wireless, winced on hearing Sirius's question. "Don't you have work to do?" he asked, smiling weakly at his godfather, who was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.
Sirius snorted. "I pushed that on to Hermione, which also should keep her too busy to interrupt us." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "So?"
Harry sighed. "You know, I am working with Dumbledore on a secret project." Even if 'working' was a little misleading when all that he was doing, other than keeping his Occlumency skills sharp, was letting Dumbledore examine his scar.
"Yes. But unlike Hermione, I am quite familiar with the expression you had at breakfast. James looked the same when he was lying."
And here Harry had thought that Snape hating him was the worst consequence of looking like his dad.
"Can't fool your godfather, Harry!" Sirius grinned and sat down in the seat opposite Harry's. "So, spill! Tell your godfather what was so… distracting… that you ignored a pretty girl talking to you."
Harry rolled his eyes. "She surprised me after I had activated the enchantment on my glasses." He didn't have to say which enchantment.
Sirius laughed. "Ah… ogled her, did you?"
"Accidentally." Which was true. Even if he had been planning to check her out.
"Sure, sure." His godfather grinned. "So, finally realised she's a pretty witch with a hot body?"
Harry glared at him. "And why would you know that?"
"From your reaction, of course." Sirius's grin grew wider as he leaned back. "And I saw James's expression after we had enchanted the mirrors in the girls' bathroom at Hogwarts and Lily took a shower."
Harry briefly wondered if he could blame his dad's genes for his own actions. "It's not like that." Sirius raised his eyebrows, and Harry sighed. "I didn't want to ogle her like that."
Sirius nodded. "Much too obvious. If she hadn't been so worried about you, she might have hexed you."
Harry clenched his teeth to suppress his guilty feelings. "Moody said to always be on your guard. To never assume that you were safe."
Sirius beamed at him. "That's a great excuse!"
"It's true." Harry glared at him. It wasn't like that!
"Even better."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Aren't you supposed to tell me not to abuse my friend's trust like that?"
"You already feel guilty about it, so that would be pointless. Besides, everyone does it once they learn the Disillusionment Charm." Sirius blinked. "Or was that James's Cloak? Anyway, it's basically harmless. If it weren't, the Quidditch Team wouldn't share a locker room."
"So, are you telling me to just keep peeping at her?" Harry couldn't tell if his godfather was serious.
"Of course not! Now that you know that she can 'distract' you, you should ask her for a date!"
"I can't."
"Why not? She's your best friend, she's pretty, both of you are single and you live together - it's the perfect setup!"
"First, she doesn't like me like that," Harry pointed out - not for the first time, "or she would have said something." He continued before Sirius could once again claim that his best friend was shy instead of bossy: "And we won't be living together once term starts in September." He wouldn't act like Seamus.
"You can meet during the Hogsmeade weekends."
"Once a month?" He didn't think that was often enough for a relationship. And they would have to rent a room... and people would know... He shook his head. "No, we wouldn't have a future."
"We're talking about dating a witch, Harry. Not about marriage. Live a little!" Sirius smiled at him. "You're too serious."
"I won't use her like that - she's my best friend." He didn't want to risk losing her friendship after a breakup. And she probably could find some really nasty hexes in Sirius's library.
His godfather shrugged. "If you say so. Plenty of witches at Hogwarts, right? Well, not the Slytherins - can't trust them. Although I guess that's a good reason for checking what they are hiding under their robes."
In hindsight, Harry should have expected this from his godfather.
Hermione Granger was sorting through the latest acquisitions to her growing magical library in its temporary home in Grimmauld Place's basement when the dog disturbed her.
"Ah, there you are!"
She glanced at the dog as she slid another copied book into its proper spot on the shelf. "Yes?"
He looked around as if he were seeing her library for the first time. "Did you add a shelf?"
"Yes." Of course she had added a shelf - she had to. Anyway, he could easily extend his basement.
He blinked. "You sound as if you were angry with me."
"Really?" She put as much sarcasm into her words as possible. "And what possible reason would I have to angry with you?"
He shrugged. "Several? That's why I'm asking."
"Several?" And the dog was acting as if that were no reason for concern.
"You're often angry."
"With you." And with good reason.
He frowned. "Shouldn't you still be working on the latest proposal for the Wizengamot?"
She smiled sweetly at him. "I think that requires your personal touch at this point." Try to foist it off on me, would you?
His frown deepened. "Is that why you're angry? You're supposed to love being able to influence the Wizengamot's policies!"
She sniffed. "Not when it's a blatant attempt to keep me busy." And away from Harry.
"Ah!" He smiled at her. "Saw through that, did you?"
"Yes." She tapped her wand on her reading desk. "What did he say?"
Sirius waved his hand. "It was just boy talk."
"Boy talk." She narrowed her eyes at the dog. "Really."
"Really." He nodded. "We talked about witches, and their bodies, and dating."
"Oh." She was still a little sceptical - the dog had that expression on his face he often had when he was not telling the full truth - but it made sense. Even though Harry had had two girlfriends, and should be well aware of the facts of life and relationships - she had also discussed that topic with him, after all. But he was still rather young, and his breakup with Ginny was rather recent.
"I sorted him out," Sirius said, sitting down in her favorite armchair and crossing his legs. "He was far too serious."
"He's just being sensible," she defended her friend. "Which is a good thing in his situation." If he were acting like Seamus… she shuddered at the thought. She didn't know why the dog was laughing at that, but she didn't like it. "Was that all?" Had he really come to bother her just to tell her that he had had another talk with Harry?
"Ah, not exactly." He frowned. "What was I…" Snapping his fingers, he exclaimed. "Ah! I was wondering if you had found a solution to protecting your mask against spells that can see through walls."
She didn't quite pout in response - she hadn't made as much progress as she liked. "Not as much as I had hoped for," she admitted. Wards couldn't be made so small as to protect a single person - nor as mobile. And a Disillusionment Charm was only of limited use for a team of thieves. "The best solution seems to be changing my skin colour, and to use makeup and similar muggle means to alter how my face looks to someone using such a spell, but I still need to extensively test that."
"You mean 'body paint'?" He grinned. "I am available if you need someone to test your defences. Unless you prefer to use Harry for that."
She rolled her eyes at his joke. "Any tests involving Harry would require us telling him about our heists." Which Sirius had vetoed. She still wasn't entirely convinced he was right, but she had to admit that telling Harry would force him to either help them and become a thief as well, or rat them out to the Ministry - which she didn't think Harry would do. And as Sirius had put it, Harry should be the one to decide what he wanted to do with his life.
"So, that leaves me?" Sirius sounded surprised.
She sighed and nodded. She didn't really like having the dog use such spells on her, but the only other alternative was Mr Fletcher. And asking him to check if her artificial tan looked right felt like asking a teacher to look at her naked body.
At least she could teach the dog a lesson, should he misbehave.
Hogwarts, August 16th, 1996
"You just tried to enter my mind," Harry Potter said - with his eyes closed, of course, to break the connection.
Dumbledore laughed. "I did indeed - and you noticed, and shut me out. A remarkable feat for a wizard with far more experience."
Harry opened his eyes and looked at the Headmaster. Dumbledore both looked and sounded as if he were serious in his praise. "I could only lock you out by closing my eyes, though," he said, frowning.
"Did you try to block me, or to mislead me?" The Headmaster smiled gently at him over his reading glasses.
"Neither." He had reacted by reflex, choosing the quickest and easiest way to deal with it.
"I would wager that you would have managed either just as well. You have made remarkable progress over the summer."
"Thank you, sir." Harry felt proud of this achievement - until he reminded himself that 'remarkable progress' wasn't good enough when facing one of the most powerful and experienced wizards in the world. There was a reason so many wizards and witches trembled at the mere mention of Voldemort's name. "And what about your own project?"
Dumbledore's smile faded a little. "I have made significant progress as well, although while I have mastered the theory, practical application of what I've learned has turned out to be a little more difficult than expected."
In other words, Dumbledore hadn't managed to duplicate her work, Harry thought. He nodded anyway. But thinking of his mum… He took a deep breath. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
He didn't want to know, but he had to know. "My mother used blood magic to protect me."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, without any trace of his smile left on his face.
"And she managed to protect me against the Killing Curse. A feat no one had managed before. Something everyone thought impossible. And she managed to have that protection destroy the Dark Lord's body as well." Harry spoke faster, to get it out before he lost his nerve. "She used a sacrifice, didn't she?" He didn't wait for the Headmaster's answer. "And since it was so powerful - it's still protecting me - she didn't sacrifice an animal. She sacrificed a human, didn't she?" He was on his feet, staring at Dumbledore, despite not remembering having stood.
The Headmaster sighed. "And you wonder just who she sacrificed to save you, do you not? Whose life she traded for yours?"
Harry nodded.
"Her own."
"What?" Harry gaped. "How is that possible?" How could anyone die and still cast a spell?
"According to my research, she prepared the ritual, completed all the steps but for the sacrifice, and had her death complete it." Dumbledore smiled gently. "No innocent blood was shed to save you, save for Lily's own. She loved you so much, she sacrificed her own life to protect you."
"But…" He trailed off. He had often heard that his parents had died for him, but to hear it had been literally true…
"Self-sacrificial magic is, as should be expected, very rare. Few have the will to sacrifice themselves for others, and fewer still have the skill and determination to plan their own death in advance. But such a sacrifice - one of the most selfless acts, usually at least - can be used to work truly great magic. Lily was a prodigy, one of the smartest witches I have seen in my time at Hogwarts. The things she could have done, had she lived…" Dumbledore sighed again.
And she had sacrificed everything for him. Harry pressed his lips together.
"But we should not lose ourselves contemplating what might have been. She made her decision, and we should respect that." The Headmaster smiled at him. "I hope I have managed to assuage your fears."
Harry nodded, although while he was relieved that his mum hadn't murdered anyone to protect him, to know that she had used her own life instead was a burden he could have done without.
How could he live up to that legacy? What could he do that would do her sacrifice justice?
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1996
Family thought to be on holiday found dead - drained of blood!
That wasn't a headline Hermione Granger wanted to see in the morning. Especially not when she couldn't read the article right away because Sirius was hogging the newspaper.
"What does it say?" she asked instead. "Who was killed? And when?" Maybe if she asked enough questions, Sirius would tire of answering and hand over the Prophet.
"The Clearstones. They were thought to be on holiday in France, so they were not missed until the father didn't return to his post in the Ministry on schedule. So, they were killed three weeks ago, before their holiday."
Hermione glanced at Harry, who was clenching his teeth. Sirius, she noticed, did the same.
"I didn't have a vision of another ritual three weeks ago," Harry answered their unspoken question, a seemingly forgotten croissant in his left hand. "If I had had one, I would have told you!"
"Sorry," she said, feeling guilty for doubting him.
"Dumbledore might have wanted you to keep it a secret," Sirius added.
"I would have told you anyway," Harry insisted.
"Well, you shouldn't have," Sirius retorted. "We're keeping secrets for a reason."
Harry was about to contest that, but Jeanne arrived, which made further discussion of the Order's policies impossible unless they wanted to obliviate the French witch. Which wasn't on the table.
"Good morning!" she greeted them, smiling - until she noticed their expression. "What happened?"
Sirius started to explain, and Hermione used the opportunity to secure the newspaper for herself with a quick Summoning Charm. Ignoring Sirius's protests, she quickly read the article in question.
Father, mother, and ten year old son, all dead, all drained of blood. Suspected vampire attack. Some baseless speculation about Clearstone, a muggleborn, engaging in vampire hunting, and this being a retaliatory attack. And some commentary about his recent promotion being 'controversial'.
"Bloody bigots," she muttered, handing the newspaper back after noting the name of the journalist - Skeeter, of course.
An hour later, Hermione Granger was in Sirius's study and almost finished with his mail when she was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Yes?" She tried not to sound annoyed, even though first reading about the triple murder and then being stuck with the dog's mail while he was off 'checking out the latest brooms' in Diagon Alley with Harry had left her somewhat irritated. At least the two had gone in disguise.
"Hermione? Do you have a minute?"
It was Jeanne. Hermione didn't want to talk with the witch - there was still the danger of being recognised - but sending her away wouldn't help. She forced herself to smile as she opened the door with a flick of her wand. "Of course. What do you need?" she asked in her best 'secretary voice' when the other witch entered.
Jeanne's smile dimmed a little - Hermione wouldn't have noticed it if she didn't know the witch so well. She recovered quickly, though. "You're Harry's best friend, aren't you?"
"Apart from Ron, yes." Hermione liked to think she was Harry's best friend, but he had spent much more time with Ron, even if - technically - they were living together now.
"Do you know why he's so distant with me?"
Probably because you keep pushing yourself into their lives, Hermione thought. Like she had insisted on being called 'Jeanne'. "I think he's a little jealous of you," she said instead, which was also true, even if Harry didn't want to admit it. "Sirius is basically all the family he has left, and he hasn't known him for as long as he should have." And both of them knew the reason for that very well. Sirius had made a lot of progress, but he hadn't fully recovered from Azkaban. Hermione actually doubted that he ever would. "However," she went on, preferring not to dwell on that, "even if that wasn't the case, he would still likely be jealous. That's a normal reaction to a parent figure having a new partner."
"I figured as much, "Jeanna said, sighing as she sat down on the visitor's seat in the study.
Hermine wanted to ask her why she hadn't said so, then, but held her tongue. Jeanne might be a risk to her cover, but she also was Sirius's girlfriend, and she hadn't actually done anything to support the suspicions Harry was so fond of voicing. So Hermione shrugged. "I'm certain that he'll accept you in time."
Jeanne nodded. "Sirius said the same."
"Well, he's right."
"Ah!" The witch sighed. "I had hoped that there was something I could do, other than simply being friendly, that is." She crossed her legs, causing her short robe to fall open along the split up her right side, revealing her leg.
Hermione suppressed an irrational bout of jealousy. She was still growing up, and she was a cat - she was as graceful as the French witch if she wanted to be. She still found herself tugging on her messy ponytail, a stark contrast to Jeanne's elaborate hairstyle.
And Jeanne hadn't missed that, seeing as she suddenly smiled. "Although maybe we could do something about your hair? I know a hairstyle that would look perfect on you!"
Hermione froze for a moment. What was it with people trying to give her a makeover? "I like it like it is," she said. "It's practical."
"Tsk!" Jeanne shook her head. "You think like a muggle. I'll teach you a spell to style it in seconds, no matter how complicated!"
"I like it simple." Hermione protested. "Like my mum," she added.
"There are a lot of simple hairstyles. Have you ever tried a French braid? You'll love it!"
Hermione disagreed - right now, she was feeling a rather strong animosity towards anything and anyone of French origin.
London, Diagon Alley, August 21st, 1996
Usually, Harry Potter enjoyed shopping trips. Between his childhood with the Dursleys and his years at Hogwarts, occasions to go shopping had been very rare. Visiting Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade was still an exceptional treat, in his opinion, and today's trip was no exception.
However, he would have preferred to visit Diagon Alley in his own body, instead of wearing the body and face of an unknown teenager thanks to a vial of Polyjuice Potion. But it had been that, or calling Remus, Tonks and probably another Order member or two to protect him. And Harry hadn't wanted to impose on them, nor take them away from more important work for the Order.
"Look at that hat? How can anyone wear such a monstrosity?" Sirius, also disguised thanks to Polyjuice, exclaimed as he pointed at a hat in a window with a two foot long point. "Anyone who buys that must be compensating for something!"
Harry mumbled his agreement. He wished Sirius would act a little less excited - the owner of the hat shop was glaring at the them. But his godfather either didn't notice, or ignored the witch. Harry thought it was the latter.
"Your mother taught me that expression, you know," Sirius suddenly said. "When James wanted to impress her with his new broom." He frowned. "That was our … fifth, no, sixth year!" He smiled again. "James was so horrified, he almost got rid of the broom. I had to talk to him for an hour to save the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. Lily could pull a mean prank if she wanted to!"
Harry laughed as loudly as Sirius at that - he loved hearing such stories. Not just because he learned more about his parents, but it also meant that Sirius had regained another memory and that his recovery from Azkaban was progressing.
"Oh, Quidditch Supplies is open! Come on, Henry! Let's check out the brooms!" And Sirius was off, headed straight towards the next shop.
"Of course, 'Marius'," Harry mumbled, following him at a slightly slower pace - he was still getting used to his new body. On the way, he tapped the frame of his glasses, and took a peek inside the shop - as Moody had said, the best ambushes preyed on the known habits of the target. But the shop was empty except for the clerk behind the counter.
"Look, a Sturmwind." Sirius rubbed his chin, which was currently free of a goatee. "No matter what it said about the broom in Quidditch Weekly, I don't think it beats the Firebolt."
"R… my friend said it turns better, but has worse acceleration and a slightly slower top speed," Harry said. He pursed his lips, angry at his near lapse.
"Where did he hear that?"
"There was an ad in the special edition of Quidditch Weekly," Harry answered.
"What? Why didn't we get that?" Sirius frowned, then glanced at the rack of magazines inside the shop.
"It's about the Cannons." That explained enough.
"Oh. Never mind then." Sirius returned his attention to the broom in the window. "Worse than the Firebolt, as I said."
Harry shrugged. He could think of situations where a tighter turning radius would be better than speed or acceleration, but it was very situational. And outside Quidditch, top speed was the most important quality of a broom - you had to be able to outpace a pursuer, or catch up to a fleeing enemy.
Movement behind them caught his eye. Two witches, leaving the shoes shop across the street. One of them wore a hat that obscured her face. Harry tapped his glasses out of reflex, just to check who she was. He didn't recognise her face. And she wasn't hiding anything under her robes. He looked away before he felt too guilty.
"Henry?"
"Ah, just looking to see if Fortescue's is open already," he quickly said.
"It should be," Sirius answered. "Want to stop there after lunch? Or before?" he added with a grin.
"After."
"Let's see what's on the menu in the Cauldron, then."
As they walked towards the Leaky Cauldron - Sirius was a fan of the meat pie there; he said it had saved his life after his escape from Azkaban - Harry couldn't help but wondering how long he'd have to pick between having bodyguards following him around or using Polyjuice. And what if he got a new girlfriend? He couldn't decide what would be worse - dating with a teacher, Auror or Sirius looking over his shoulder, or dating while both he and his girlfriend were using other people's bodies.
Although, maybe if they could pick whose hair they could use…
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1996
"We're back!" Sirius yelled as soon as they returned. "And we have a surprise!" He shook the bag containing the sweets they had bought even though neither Jeanne nor Hermione were present yet.
Harry Potter shook his head as he picked himself up from the floor and wished that the Polyjuice Potion's effect would have already finished before he had stepped into the fireplace. It was hard enough to keep your balance while travelling by Floo powder without adjusting to a stranger's body.
Jeanne appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the first floor. "We have a surprise as well," she announced with a wide smile.
'We'?, Harry thought as he saw the witch gesture behind her. Someone was hiding there, and his wand was halfway to his glasses when the person stepped forward and he recognised Hermione. Hermione with a different hairstyle and an expression usually found on Neville's face before a double lesson in Potions.
Jeanne was either unaware of that, or was ignoring it. "Voilà! We have tamed her hair!"
Hermione seemed to hunch over. "It's just a braid."
"A French braid. Come on!" And with that, Jeanne tugged on Hermione's hand, pulling the obviously reluctant girl along.
The hairstyle did look much better than her usual messy ponytail, Harry thought. She must have fought it tooth and nail, though, judging by her scowl. No wonder Jeanne was so proud. He smiled.
"It looks nice," he said. "Stylish." Now if only Hermione would wear one of Jeanne's tight, short robes, or one of the ones slit up to the hips on both sides…
Before he could comment further, the potion's effect wore off, and, for a moment, he felt as if he was melting, before he found himself back in his own body.
"Ah, finally!" Sirius, returned to his own form as well, shook his head. "Even though it's fascinating to try out another body, I much prefer my own."
"As do I," Jeanne said, as she embraced him. And kissed him. The French way.
Harry looked at Hermione, then grabbed the bag with the sweets Sirius had dropped to the floor to better grope his girlfriend. "Let's pack these away," he said.
She nodded. "Yes, let's."
As she led the way to the kitchen, he tapped his glasses' frame again. Just to better imagine how she would look in different clothes.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 22nd, 1996
"Hey, mate!"
"Hi, Ron." Harry Potter greeted his best male friend, only slightly jealous of his apparent ability to walk out of a fireplace without stumbling. He was making progress, after all, as well. Unless Polyjuice Potion messed up his balance.
Ron looked around. "Is Hermione home?"
"She's working in the study. We can fetch her," Harry answered, pointing to the hallway. "You said you had a question when you called?" A question he didn't want to ask through the Floo.
"Yes." Ron said. "It's about muggle customs, so I thought you two were the best to ask, having grown up among muggles."
"Ah." Harry had grown up among a particular family of muggles, but he didn't think that Ron wanted to hear about them, and he didn't want to think about them in the first place. "Is this about Muggle Studies homework? Get ready to be lectured by Hermione about not waiting until the last minute."
"What? No, no. It's not about homework," Ron responded. "And the holidays aren't over yet, anyway."
"You know her. If you haven't done it in the first week, she thinks you're putting it off," Harry said with a chuckle.
Ron nodded. "And you're living with her."
"Yes." Harry glanced at him, wondering if he meant anything else by that, but they had reached Sirius's study. He knocked and entered without waiting for an answer - Sirius was always there for him, after all. And this wasn't Sirius's bedroom.
"Hey!" Harry waved. "Ron's here, and he has a question for me and Hermione, so we'll need her."
"Hi, Hermione!"
"Hello, Ron." Hermione, to Harry's surprise, stood up at once. "I'll leave the rest to you, Sirius," she said with an overly sweet smile. She was, he noticed, wearing her ponytail again, instead of a nicer hairstyle. And her sweater and pants wasn't particularly tight either. At least they weren't oversized.
Harry's godfather grumbled, but didn't object. Not that he could - he had taught Harry that friends came first.
They headed to Harry's room, with a detour to the kitchen to grab some snacks and drinks. On the way, Harry explained that it wasn't about homework, heading off Hermione's lecture. Once they had settled in - Ron on Harry's chair, Harry and Hermione on his bed - Ron cleared his throat. "You know about Luna's investigation into Nargles, don't you?"
"Yes." As a subscriber to The Quibbler, Harry could hardly miss it. Hermione nodded.
"She's asked me to help her on her next fact-finding trip in Muggle England," Ron went on. "So, I need to know how muggle journalists act and dress." He shrugged. "I asked Dad, but… He's not an expert on journalists."
Hermione mumbled something that Harry didn't catch, but thought was a little uncomplimentary about Mr Weasley's expertise. He glanced at her, but she wasn't paying attention to him. He nodded. "He probably knows more about technical things." Mr Weasley could drive, after all, and had managed to enchant a car.
"Yeah." Ron shook his head. "He gave me his Motor and Autocar collections to read, but that didn't help. And his muggle newspapers didn't have anything about journalists either."
"You want to pose as muggle journalists?" Hermione asked.
Ron nodded. "Luna said they had to, so the conspirators hiding the existence of Nargles wouldn't notice them."
"Ron, I do not think that muggles are hiding Nargles," Hermione told him. "There isn't even any proof that Nargles exist. No one has ever observed them. No one reliable, at least. Invisible, intangible creatures?"
Ron shook his head. "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence." Harry was about to use his glasses on him to check if he were an impostor in response to that when Ron added: "That's what Luna said. And it makes sense, you know? Ashwinders were thought mythical for a long time, until one was observed at Hogwarts. And there are several invisible creatures which were only discovered when someone created the spells to detect them. So, Nargles could exist."
Harry thought Ron had spent a little too much time with Luna. He glanced at Hermione, who looked like she had swallowed a lemon. His friend nodded - very reluctantly, he could tell - and said: "I suppose that's true."
Ron grinned, but was wise enough not to rub it in. "And it's fun to look for them. Even if you don't find them, you might find something else interesting." Yes, definitely too much time with Luna, Harry thought. "So," Ron went on, "how do muggle journalists dress and act?"
"They act and dress like normal muggles," Hermione responded, still a little peeved, in Harry's opinion. "They don't have any special clothing, and they only wear press badges at certain functions."
"Press badges?" Ron asked.
"Badges that prove that they are members of the press. Journalists." Hermione explained.
"What do they look like?"
Harry cleared his throat. "I think it would be best if we showed you."
"You know a journalist?" Hermione asked.
"No." Harry grinned. "But I know a great cinema." He wouldn't need to use Polyjuice to hang out in muggle London, and he was certain that there would be at least one journalist in Mission: Impossible. Or in one of the trailers shown before the movie.
As soon as Ron had left through the fireplace again, hours later, Harry Potter knew that he was about to be lectured.
"'I know a great cinema.' Really? If we hadn't bought Ron a book on the subject, and those magazines, he still wouldn't have a clue about journalists!" Hermione had her hands on her hips and was frowning at him.
He grinned at her. "He loved the movie. And didn't you say that journalists dress like normal people? So it was helpful."
"It's an American movie. And journalists don't act or dress like fictional secret agents."
Harry shrugged. "He also spent hours in muggle London." With a grin, he added: "And I didn't hear you complaining too much about the movie."
She sniffed. "There wouldn't have been any point."
"What were you writing during the movie, anyway?" he asked.
"Just a few notes. You did drag me away from work, after all," she responded with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Harry sighed. He might have to have a word with Sirius - trying to work in the middle of a spy movie wasn't healthy. "At least Ron had fun." He frowned. "Although I wonder why Luna didn't ask us for help - she knows we both grew up in muggle England."
Hermione snorted. "She wants to spend time with Ron, not with us."
"Oh?" Why wouldn't Luna want to spend time with them? Had they… Harry blinked. "You think she fancies him?"
"Yes." Hermione sounded as if that was obvious. It wasn't.
"Ron didn't say anything about that."
"I don't think he knows."
"Should we tell him?" Harry frowned. Was it OK to leave Ron ignorant of Luna's interest in him?
"No. Luna can tell him when she's ready," Hermione said in a rather final tone.
"Alright." Harry wasn't certain if it was the correct thing to do, but Luna was Ginny's best friend, and offending her would offend his ex-girlfriend. And he would rather avoid that. And her.
He just hoped that Luna wouldn't try to monopolise Ron.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996
"Hello, Hermione. Do you have a minute?"
Not again, Hermione Granger thought, putting down her pen. She still hadn't caught up with her work after yesterday's trip to the cinema, and her training had suffered as well - although she might be able to use an idea or two from that movie. And now Jeanne wanted to talk again, and certainly for longer than a minute. But she had a cover to maintain.
"Of course," she lied. "What do you need?" But if this was another attempt at forcing a makeover on her...
Jeanne closed the door behind herself before continuing. "What exactly is Sirius doing with you?"
Hermione blinked. What was the witch implying? Her and the dog? "What do you mean?" she asked in her best 'confused' voice. "I'm his secretary. I mostly handle his mail."
"You do more than that." Jeanne hadn't taken a seat. She was standing in front of Hermione's desk, forcing Hermione to look up at her. "You also accompany him to those 'meetings'."
"To take minutes, and inform him of details that might have slipped his mind," Hermione explained.
Jeanne scoffed. "Long meetings about politics, but he never complains about them - unlike Wizengamot sessions. Meetings with Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione wanted to bite her lip. They should have trained the dog in maintaining a cover, too. Out loud, she said: "In the Wizengamot, he's surrounded by people he doesn't like or even hates, and has to listen to them politely. Headmaster Dumbledore is a friend of his. They work well together."
"Do they?" Jeanne raised an eyebrow. "Sirius often brags about his successes in the Wizengamot, but they do not seem to correlate with those meetings."
Hermione wanted to curse herself for missing that weakness in her and Sirius's cover. "Politics take time. It's not unusual for plans to take weeks to be put into action. The Headmaster is fond of planning ahead."
"But Sirius isn't." Jeanne leaned forward, her hands on Hermione's desk. "I remember at least one 'emergency meeting'." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "And his nightmares are always worse after such meetings."
Nightmares? Hermione couldn't keep the surprise off her face, then berated herself. Of course Sirius would have nightmares - she had had some herself, after all, after some of the more dangerous missions and heists. And she hadn't fought in the last war, lost her best friends, and spent a decade in Azkaban. Feeling very guilty and ashamed at missing something that should have been obvious, and even more so for lying about it, she said: "He hasn't yet fully recovered from Azkaban, I think. And I assume some of the topics mentioned in those meetings set him off."
Jeanne wasn't convinced, Hermione knew.
"And does he also get hurt in those sessions?"
"He often trains Harry in Defence," Hermione replied quickly. "It can get rough, but nothing that lasts." She thought Sirius would have ensured that he was fully healed before going to bed with his girlfriend. Would she have to check him for lingering wounds after a heist or fight?
"You're going to keep lying to me, aren't you?" Jeanne glared at her.
Of course she was. You didn't drop your cover unless there was no other way. Especially when faced with someone you didn't trust. "I'm not lying," she lied.
Jeanne scoffed and left.
Hermione muttered curses she had overheard her tutor use in tense situations as soon as the door had closed behind the other witch. She need to talk to Sirius, at once - but he was currently in the Wizengamot. That left her tutor and Dumbledore. Maybe she could…
The door slammed open. Hermione had her wand drawn and aimed before she realised it was Jeanne. The witch looked scared - and not by her wand. "Hermione! Harry collapsed! He's bleeding!"
Harry! Hermione was at the door in seconds. "Where is he?"
"Living room," Jeanne replied.
She raced, barely managing to keep from changing and using her superior speed on four legs in front of Jeanne. Harry was hurt!
She almost crashed into him when she reached the doorway - he was standing and holding his forehead. "Harry?"
"Hermione?" He blinked at her. Blood covered his face, but his glasses were clean. "I need to talk to Dumbledore." He seemed to sway on his feet and when she reached out to steady him, she ended up hugging him. "He has to know," Harry said, and she felt him tremble in her arms, "he's killed again. So much blood…"
"We'll get you to Hogwarts at once. And call Sirius," she told him.
Then a voice made her freeze. "Now I see."
Hermione realised with a sinking feeling that Jeanne had seen and heard everything.
Hogsmeade, Britain, August 10th, 1996
Standing behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore looked up when he heard the the front door of his inn open, then narrowed his eyes. There were few people he loathed seeing more than the one who had just entered. His brother.
"We're closed," he snapped. His left hand gripped the edge of the bar.
"The door was open." Albus smiled patronisingly at him.
Aberforth raised his wand. "You're not welcome here."
"I know." His brother seemed to ignore his wand as he stepped closer. Aberforth wanted to curse him. "I would not have come to visit you if it were not important."
"I don't care. Get out!" Aberforth spat.
In response, Albus slowly drew his wand. Aberforth tensed. If he actually tried…
"I am simply ensuring our privacy." And his brother cast a Mufflatio Charm with that patronising smile Aberforth hated so much.
"I don't care if the whole village knows that I loathe you." Aberforth glared at him. The whole village probably knew it, anyway.
"It is not about that." Albus's smile might have slipped, just a little. Then it vanished entirely. "Voldemort is back."
Aberforth drew a hissing breath. If the Dark Lord had returned… "The blood murders?" He lowered his wand, but kept ahold of it.
Albus nodded. "Exactly."
"You've known that he was back for a while, then." And he hadn't told him.
"Yes, I did."
"Didn't trust me, did you?" Aberforth scoffed. Of course Albus wouldn't trust him, not when he was one of the few willing to defy him.
"I did not trust you to keep it a secret." Albus inclined his head.
"You didn't want me to warn my friends." His brother had never cared for Aberforth's 'milieu', but to go that far… Albus certainly hadn't left his oh-so-noble and law-abiding friends in the dark.
"They might have, inadvertently or not, tipped off Voldemort that I was aware of his return," Albus said. A likely excuse.
"And that has changed?" Aberforth narrowed his eyes.
His brother sighed. "The situation has changed. Whereas before, I expected him to go to ground if discovered, I believe now that he will intensify his efforts to conquer Britain instead."
Aberforth snorted. "Half the Ministry will support him anyway."
"I do not think that things are as dire as that," Albus retorted. "But I do concede that he has enough support among certain parts of the Ministry to risk an open confrontation."
"Which is what you want." Aberforth knew his brother very well.
Once more Albus nodded.
"And why come to me? Are you planning to use my friends for your plots?" If he expected any of them to run to the Dark Lord, Albus would be disappointed - Aberforth's friends didn't like Death Eaters either.
"Not particularly. Whether or not your 'friends' deserve your trust will not affect my plans."
Aberforth scoffed. "And yet you'll use them, if you can."
"I took their actions into account when making my plans."
Aberforth forced himself not to lift his wand and curse his brother. To admit his callous thoughts so openly… "So why have you come bothering me, if you don't need a few expendable gutter-rats for your plots?"
Albus sighed and leaned against the bar. "Researching the Dark Lord's means to survive what would have killed anyone else, I found myself contemplating my own mortality."
"You think he might kill you."
A not quite shrug was his brother's answer. "I would be a fool to assume that my victory was assured when facing such an accomplished enemy."
"Like when you were facing your old love?" Aberforth smirked at the wince that caused. He could still hurt his brother.
Albus recovered quickly, though. With a faint smile, he responded. "I will not have to deal with lingering sentiments in this case."
"But you think you might die, and you crave absolution." Aberforth sneered at his brother.
"It has been over eighty years since she died." Albus was pleading now.
Aberforth scoffed. "And my answer is the same as fifty years ago: Not in your lifetime, Albus! You and your plans killed her. And I'll never forgive you for that."
"It might have been your spell that killed her," Albus said, then pressed his lips together as if he regretted his words.
Aberforth didn't care. To accuse him of that, to blame him for Albus's sins… He lifted his wand, rage filling him. "Get out, or I'll kill you myself!"
Albus nodded and left without another word. Once the door closed behind him, Aberforth forced himself to relax and put his wand down. The nerve of his brother! Shaking his head, he summoned his own personal bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.
He needed more than one drink after this, or he might curse the face off the next bugger who annoyed him.
*****
London, East End, August 10th, 1996
"It's been a week and we haven't received another mission!"
Hermione Granger briefly rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn't react to Sirius's outburst. She had studying to do - the Rosier mission, for all that it had been successful, had taught her that she still had a lot to learn before she could break into the manor of an Old Family. And not simply about Curse-Breaking to get through the wards - she suppressed a shudder, thinking at how close she had come to death at the hands of that madwoman.
"Be glad, Black. We barely survived that last mission," Mr Fletcher said.
"Oh, please! Rosier wasn't even close to being a skilled duellist - or a talented witch." Sirius sneered. "She spent months casting curses on every inch of her home, and she learned a little blood magic and the Killing Curse, but she didn't really know how to fight. If you hadn't been exhausted from dealing with all those curses, she wouldn't have hit you either."
"The reason I was exhausted was that her preparations did work," Mr Fletcher shot back. "Just like with her muggle alarm trick - if it works, it's not stupid."
Hermione pressed her lips together to refrain from correcting Mr Fletcher's mangled saying. She didn't want to get involved in the dispute, but the two wizards were glaring at each other. So she spoke up: "I think it's rather hypocritical of a bigoted member of an Old Family to resort to muggle solutions to make up for their shortcomings."
Both men turned to look at her. Sirius snorted. "Pureblood bigots like my family are hypocrites. If it provides them with an advantage they will use it, no matter who invented it. Why do you think my family maintained extensive business ties to muggles until mother terminated them?"
But Mr Fletcher shook his head. "We shouldn't blame others for problems our own arrogance caused. We can't underestimate them." He sighed. "And we shouldn't overestimate ourselves."
"Speak for yourself!" Sirius retorted. "I don't do that."
Hermione coughed while Mr Fletcher snorted. The dog looked affronted. "You're just jealous that I, as the most skilled fighter, had to save you again."
"You would have been cursed by the very first trap if we hadn't dealt with it," Mr Fletcher told him.
"I've dealt with such curses before."
"Really? I didn't see you dealing with any of the curses there." Mr Fletcher scoffed.
"I didn't want to make you feel even more useless than you already did," Sirius retorted.
Hermione hissed. This was getting too personal. "None of us would have been able to complete - or survive - the mission by ourselves." Dear lord, she thought, that sounded so clichéd. It was true, though. "So, can you stop arguing and let me get back to studying?"
The dog pouted. "I'm still bored."
She smiled sweetly at him. "You can go over the dossier for next week's Wizengamot session, then."
"I'm not that bored. You can give me the gist of it later."
She counted to ten in her head. Then she started an impromptu Defence lesson. With a surprise attack.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 11th, 1996
He shouldn't be doing this. He really shouldn't. Harry Potter was well aware of that. On the other hand, Harry had no doubt that Moody would never let a little guilt about seeing your best friend naked stop him from using his enchanted eye to check for ambushes. Constant Vigilance!
He tapped the frame of his glasses. Then he closed his eyes. What was he thinking? He was at home, in his kitchen. There were no ambushes in Grimmauld Place. Not any more, at least, after the last of the curses left by Sirius's mother had been dealt with. No, he had to be honest with himself. He wasn't checking for ambushes. He was peeping. At his best female friend.
"Harry? Are you alright?"
He jerked and found himself face to face with Hermione. "What?" She had managed to surprise him. Moody would kill him.
"You had your eyes closed and seemed to be troubled. Is anything wrong?"
"No, no. I was just a little tired." He was lying. And peeping. But he couldn't turn his glasses off right now. Not when Hermione was watching him so closely.
"Did you have trouble sleeping?" She was leaning forward and he could see… her hand, before she put it on his forehead.
"A little." Technically, it was true.
She withdrew her hand. "You don't have a fever. But you look tired."
He blinked, and forced himself to look at her face. "Don't you have a spell to check?" he asked with a grin. "Or did you simply want to touch me?"
She snorted. "You don't have to use magic for everything." But she drew her wand and cast a spell. "No fever, but your temperature is a little above normal."
Of course it was - he was staring at her body. Hermione wasn't the most beautiful witch he had ever seen - that was Fleur Delacour, of course - and she didn't have the figure of... Lavender, but she had a nice body nevertheless. Certainly a better body than Ginny. Or Parvati. Probably - Parvati would have grown up a little since they had broken up. Athletic, with well-toned legs and arms. She wouldn't look out of place in the Hogwarts Quidditch locker room, he thought.
"Harry!"
He jerked again and stared at her. "What?"
"You were spacing out again. I'm getting Sirius!" Hermione stood and turned. "Stay here!"
He nodded, looking at her backside until she left the kitchen. Then he sighed and clenched his teeth.
He wasn't looking forward to explaining this to Sirius.
*****
Harry Potter had waited for barely more than a few minutes - long enough to finish his tea - when he heard Hermione's voice.
"...and he was falling asleep again while I was talking to him! I don't know what the Headmaster is doing with him, but he needs rest!"
A moment later, she entered the kitchen with Sirius in tow. His godfather's look of concern rapidly gave way to bemusement when he saw Harry.
"I'm fine," Harry said. "The tea helped." He pointed at the pot on the table.
Hermione narrowed her eyes and flicked her wand - she was casting another spell to check his health, he realised. The results didn't seem to please her, though - she frowned. "You didn't take a Pepper-Up Potion, did you? Those shouldn't be taken lightly."
"I didn't!" he protested. "I just needed a little more time to wake up fully."
"While you were eating breakfast?" Hermione sounded as doubtful as McGonagall when Harry had asked for more supplies for 'Quidditch team building' last year.
He had to change tack. "Well… I was preoccupied. I had some bad dreams, and…" He spread his hands. "Dumbledore isn't pushing me, but the whole thing... it's never far from my mind, you know? I can't really talk about it with anyone, either."
She nodded with such an expression of understanding that he felt a stab of guilt for lying to her. And for peeping at her. "I'm sorry," she said, putting her hand on his arm, "I was simply worried about you."
"As was I," Sirius cut in, but he was grinning widely behind Hermione's back. "You know, you can always talk to me, even if you can't go into details."
"And to me," Hermione was quick to add.
Harry forced himself to smile. "Thank you."
*****
"So, what had you so distracted that Hermione thought you needed help?"
Harry Potter, sitting in the living room and listening to the wireless, winced on hearing Sirius's question. "Don't you have work to do?" he asked, smiling weakly at his godfather, who was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.
Sirius snorted. "I pushed that on to Hermione, which also should keep her too busy to interrupt us." He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "So?"
Harry sighed. "You know, I am working with Dumbledore on a secret project." Even if 'working' was a little misleading when all that he was doing, other than keeping his Occlumency skills sharp, was letting Dumbledore examine his scar.
"Yes. But unlike Hermione, I am quite familiar with the expression you had at breakfast. James looked the same when he was lying."
And here Harry had thought that Snape hating him was the worst consequence of looking like his dad.
"Can't fool your godfather, Harry!" Sirius grinned and sat down in the seat opposite Harry's. "So, spill! Tell your godfather what was so… distracting… that you ignored a pretty girl talking to you."
Harry rolled his eyes. "She surprised me after I had activated the enchantment on my glasses." He didn't have to say which enchantment.
Sirius laughed. "Ah… ogled her, did you?"
"Accidentally." Which was true. Even if he had been planning to check her out.
"Sure, sure." His godfather grinned. "So, finally realised she's a pretty witch with a hot body?"
Harry glared at him. "And why would you know that?"
"From your reaction, of course." Sirius's grin grew wider as he leaned back. "And I saw James's expression after we had enchanted the mirrors in the girls' bathroom at Hogwarts and Lily took a shower."
Harry briefly wondered if he could blame his dad's genes for his own actions. "It's not like that." Sirius raised his eyebrows, and Harry sighed. "I didn't want to ogle her like that."
Sirius nodded. "Much too obvious. If she hadn't been so worried about you, she might have hexed you."
Harry clenched his teeth to suppress his guilty feelings. "Moody said to always be on your guard. To never assume that you were safe."
Sirius beamed at him. "That's a great excuse!"
"It's true." Harry glared at him. It wasn't like that!
"Even better."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Aren't you supposed to tell me not to abuse my friend's trust like that?"
"You already feel guilty about it, so that would be pointless. Besides, everyone does it once they learn the Disillusionment Charm." Sirius blinked. "Or was that James's Cloak? Anyway, it's basically harmless. If it weren't, the Quidditch Team wouldn't share a locker room."
"So, are you telling me to just keep peeping at her?" Harry couldn't tell if his godfather was serious.
"Of course not! Now that you know that she can 'distract' you, you should ask her for a date!"
"I can't."
"Why not? She's your best friend, she's pretty, both of you are single and you live together - it's the perfect setup!"
"First, she doesn't like me like that," Harry pointed out - not for the first time, "or she would have said something." He continued before Sirius could once again claim that his best friend was shy instead of bossy: "And we won't be living together once term starts in September." He wouldn't act like Seamus.
"You can meet during the Hogsmeade weekends."
"Once a month?" He didn't think that was often enough for a relationship. And they would have to rent a room... and people would know... He shook his head. "No, we wouldn't have a future."
"We're talking about dating a witch, Harry. Not about marriage. Live a little!" Sirius smiled at him. "You're too serious."
"I won't use her like that - she's my best friend." He didn't want to risk losing her friendship after a breakup. And she probably could find some really nasty hexes in Sirius's library.
His godfather shrugged. "If you say so. Plenty of witches at Hogwarts, right? Well, not the Slytherins - can't trust them. Although I guess that's a good reason for checking what they are hiding under their robes."
In hindsight, Harry should have expected this from his godfather.
*****
Hermione Granger was sorting through the latest acquisitions to her growing magical library in its temporary home in Grimmauld Place's basement when the dog disturbed her.
"Ah, there you are!"
She glanced at the dog as she slid another copied book into its proper spot on the shelf. "Yes?"
He looked around as if he were seeing her library for the first time. "Did you add a shelf?"
"Yes." Of course she had added a shelf - she had to. Anyway, he could easily extend his basement.
He blinked. "You sound as if you were angry with me."
"Really?" She put as much sarcasm into her words as possible. "And what possible reason would I have to angry with you?"
He shrugged. "Several? That's why I'm asking."
"Several?" And the dog was acting as if that were no reason for concern.
"You're often angry."
"With you." And with good reason.
He frowned. "Shouldn't you still be working on the latest proposal for the Wizengamot?"
She smiled sweetly at him. "I think that requires your personal touch at this point." Try to foist it off on me, would you?
His frown deepened. "Is that why you're angry? You're supposed to love being able to influence the Wizengamot's policies!"
She sniffed. "Not when it's a blatant attempt to keep me busy." And away from Harry.
"Ah!" He smiled at her. "Saw through that, did you?"
"Yes." She tapped her wand on her reading desk. "What did he say?"
Sirius waved his hand. "It was just boy talk."
"Boy talk." She narrowed her eyes at the dog. "Really."
"Really." He nodded. "We talked about witches, and their bodies, and dating."
"Oh." She was still a little sceptical - the dog had that expression on his face he often had when he was not telling the full truth - but it made sense. Even though Harry had had two girlfriends, and should be well aware of the facts of life and relationships - she had also discussed that topic with him, after all. But he was still rather young, and his breakup with Ginny was rather recent.
"I sorted him out," Sirius said, sitting down in her favorite armchair and crossing his legs. "He was far too serious."
"He's just being sensible," she defended her friend. "Which is a good thing in his situation." If he were acting like Seamus… she shuddered at the thought. She didn't know why the dog was laughing at that, but she didn't like it. "Was that all?" Had he really come to bother her just to tell her that he had had another talk with Harry?
"Ah, not exactly." He frowned. "What was I…" Snapping his fingers, he exclaimed. "Ah! I was wondering if you had found a solution to protecting your mask against spells that can see through walls."
She didn't quite pout in response - she hadn't made as much progress as she liked. "Not as much as I had hoped for," she admitted. Wards couldn't be made so small as to protect a single person - nor as mobile. And a Disillusionment Charm was only of limited use for a team of thieves. "The best solution seems to be changing my skin colour, and to use makeup and similar muggle means to alter how my face looks to someone using such a spell, but I still need to extensively test that."
"You mean 'body paint'?" He grinned. "I am available if you need someone to test your defences. Unless you prefer to use Harry for that."
She rolled her eyes at his joke. "Any tests involving Harry would require us telling him about our heists." Which Sirius had vetoed. She still wasn't entirely convinced he was right, but she had to admit that telling Harry would force him to either help them and become a thief as well, or rat them out to the Ministry - which she didn't think Harry would do. And as Sirius had put it, Harry should be the one to decide what he wanted to do with his life.
"So, that leaves me?" Sirius sounded surprised.
She sighed and nodded. She didn't really like having the dog use such spells on her, but the only other alternative was Mr Fletcher. And asking him to check if her artificial tan looked right felt like asking a teacher to look at her naked body.
At least she could teach the dog a lesson, should he misbehave.
*****
Hogwarts, August 16th, 1996
"You just tried to enter my mind," Harry Potter said - with his eyes closed, of course, to break the connection.
Dumbledore laughed. "I did indeed - and you noticed, and shut me out. A remarkable feat for a wizard with far more experience."
Harry opened his eyes and looked at the Headmaster. Dumbledore both looked and sounded as if he were serious in his praise. "I could only lock you out by closing my eyes, though," he said, frowning.
"Did you try to block me, or to mislead me?" The Headmaster smiled gently at him over his reading glasses.
"Neither." He had reacted by reflex, choosing the quickest and easiest way to deal with it.
"I would wager that you would have managed either just as well. You have made remarkable progress over the summer."
"Thank you, sir." Harry felt proud of this achievement - until he reminded himself that 'remarkable progress' wasn't good enough when facing one of the most powerful and experienced wizards in the world. There was a reason so many wizards and witches trembled at the mere mention of Voldemort's name. "And what about your own project?"
Dumbledore's smile faded a little. "I have made significant progress as well, although while I have mastered the theory, practical application of what I've learned has turned out to be a little more difficult than expected."
In other words, Dumbledore hadn't managed to duplicate her work, Harry thought. He nodded anyway. But thinking of his mum… He took a deep breath. "Sir?"
"Yes?"
He didn't want to know, but he had to know. "My mother used blood magic to protect me."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, without any trace of his smile left on his face.
"And she managed to protect me against the Killing Curse. A feat no one had managed before. Something everyone thought impossible. And she managed to have that protection destroy the Dark Lord's body as well." Harry spoke faster, to get it out before he lost his nerve. "She used a sacrifice, didn't she?" He didn't wait for the Headmaster's answer. "And since it was so powerful - it's still protecting me - she didn't sacrifice an animal. She sacrificed a human, didn't she?" He was on his feet, staring at Dumbledore, despite not remembering having stood.
The Headmaster sighed. "And you wonder just who she sacrificed to save you, do you not? Whose life she traded for yours?"
Harry nodded.
"Her own."
"What?" Harry gaped. "How is that possible?" How could anyone die and still cast a spell?
"According to my research, she prepared the ritual, completed all the steps but for the sacrifice, and had her death complete it." Dumbledore smiled gently. "No innocent blood was shed to save you, save for Lily's own. She loved you so much, she sacrificed her own life to protect you."
"But…" He trailed off. He had often heard that his parents had died for him, but to hear it had been literally true…
"Self-sacrificial magic is, as should be expected, very rare. Few have the will to sacrifice themselves for others, and fewer still have the skill and determination to plan their own death in advance. But such a sacrifice - one of the most selfless acts, usually at least - can be used to work truly great magic. Lily was a prodigy, one of the smartest witches I have seen in my time at Hogwarts. The things she could have done, had she lived…" Dumbledore sighed again.
And she had sacrificed everything for him. Harry pressed his lips together.
"But we should not lose ourselves contemplating what might have been. She made her decision, and we should respect that." The Headmaster smiled at him. "I hope I have managed to assuage your fears."
Harry nodded, although while he was relieved that his mum hadn't murdered anyone to protect him, to know that she had used her own life instead was a burden he could have done without.
How could he live up to that legacy? What could he do that would do her sacrifice justice?
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1996
Family thought to be on holiday found dead - drained of blood!
That wasn't a headline Hermione Granger wanted to see in the morning. Especially not when she couldn't read the article right away because Sirius was hogging the newspaper.
"What does it say?" she asked instead. "Who was killed? And when?" Maybe if she asked enough questions, Sirius would tire of answering and hand over the Prophet.
"The Clearstones. They were thought to be on holiday in France, so they were not missed until the father didn't return to his post in the Ministry on schedule. So, they were killed three weeks ago, before their holiday."
Hermione glanced at Harry, who was clenching his teeth. Sirius, she noticed, did the same.
"I didn't have a vision of another ritual three weeks ago," Harry answered their unspoken question, a seemingly forgotten croissant in his left hand. "If I had had one, I would have told you!"
"Sorry," she said, feeling guilty for doubting him.
"Dumbledore might have wanted you to keep it a secret," Sirius added.
"I would have told you anyway," Harry insisted.
"Well, you shouldn't have," Sirius retorted. "We're keeping secrets for a reason."
Harry was about to contest that, but Jeanne arrived, which made further discussion of the Order's policies impossible unless they wanted to obliviate the French witch. Which wasn't on the table.
"Good morning!" she greeted them, smiling - until she noticed their expression. "What happened?"
Sirius started to explain, and Hermione used the opportunity to secure the newspaper for herself with a quick Summoning Charm. Ignoring Sirius's protests, she quickly read the article in question.
Father, mother, and ten year old son, all dead, all drained of blood. Suspected vampire attack. Some baseless speculation about Clearstone, a muggleborn, engaging in vampire hunting, and this being a retaliatory attack. And some commentary about his recent promotion being 'controversial'.
"Bloody bigots," she muttered, handing the newspaper back after noting the name of the journalist - Skeeter, of course.
*****
An hour later, Hermione Granger was in Sirius's study and almost finished with his mail when she was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Yes?" She tried not to sound annoyed, even though first reading about the triple murder and then being stuck with the dog's mail while he was off 'checking out the latest brooms' in Diagon Alley with Harry had left her somewhat irritated. At least the two had gone in disguise.
"Hermione? Do you have a minute?"
It was Jeanne. Hermione didn't want to talk with the witch - there was still the danger of being recognised - but sending her away wouldn't help. She forced herself to smile as she opened the door with a flick of her wand. "Of course. What do you need?" she asked in her best 'secretary voice' when the other witch entered.
Jeanne's smile dimmed a little - Hermione wouldn't have noticed it if she didn't know the witch so well. She recovered quickly, though. "You're Harry's best friend, aren't you?"
"Apart from Ron, yes." Hermione liked to think she was Harry's best friend, but he had spent much more time with Ron, even if - technically - they were living together now.
"Do you know why he's so distant with me?"
Probably because you keep pushing yourself into their lives, Hermione thought. Like she had insisted on being called 'Jeanne'. "I think he's a little jealous of you," she said instead, which was also true, even if Harry didn't want to admit it. "Sirius is basically all the family he has left, and he hasn't known him for as long as he should have." And both of them knew the reason for that very well. Sirius had made a lot of progress, but he hadn't fully recovered from Azkaban. Hermione actually doubted that he ever would. "However," she went on, preferring not to dwell on that, "even if that wasn't the case, he would still likely be jealous. That's a normal reaction to a parent figure having a new partner."
"I figured as much, "Jeanna said, sighing as she sat down on the visitor's seat in the study.
Hermine wanted to ask her why she hadn't said so, then, but held her tongue. Jeanne might be a risk to her cover, but she also was Sirius's girlfriend, and she hadn't actually done anything to support the suspicions Harry was so fond of voicing. So Hermione shrugged. "I'm certain that he'll accept you in time."
Jeanne nodded. "Sirius said the same."
"Well, he's right."
"Ah!" The witch sighed. "I had hoped that there was something I could do, other than simply being friendly, that is." She crossed her legs, causing her short robe to fall open along the split up her right side, revealing her leg.
Hermione suppressed an irrational bout of jealousy. She was still growing up, and she was a cat - she was as graceful as the French witch if she wanted to be. She still found herself tugging on her messy ponytail, a stark contrast to Jeanne's elaborate hairstyle.
And Jeanne hadn't missed that, seeing as she suddenly smiled. "Although maybe we could do something about your hair? I know a hairstyle that would look perfect on you!"
Hermione froze for a moment. What was it with people trying to give her a makeover? "I like it like it is," she said. "It's practical."
"Tsk!" Jeanne shook her head. "You think like a muggle. I'll teach you a spell to style it in seconds, no matter how complicated!"
"I like it simple." Hermione protested. "Like my mum," she added.
"There are a lot of simple hairstyles. Have you ever tried a French braid? You'll love it!"
Hermione disagreed - right now, she was feeling a rather strong animosity towards anything and anyone of French origin.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, August 21st, 1996
Usually, Harry Potter enjoyed shopping trips. Between his childhood with the Dursleys and his years at Hogwarts, occasions to go shopping had been very rare. Visiting Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade was still an exceptional treat, in his opinion, and today's trip was no exception.
However, he would have preferred to visit Diagon Alley in his own body, instead of wearing the body and face of an unknown teenager thanks to a vial of Polyjuice Potion. But it had been that, or calling Remus, Tonks and probably another Order member or two to protect him. And Harry hadn't wanted to impose on them, nor take them away from more important work for the Order.
"Look at that hat? How can anyone wear such a monstrosity?" Sirius, also disguised thanks to Polyjuice, exclaimed as he pointed at a hat in a window with a two foot long point. "Anyone who buys that must be compensating for something!"
Harry mumbled his agreement. He wished Sirius would act a little less excited - the owner of the hat shop was glaring at the them. But his godfather either didn't notice, or ignored the witch. Harry thought it was the latter.
"Your mother taught me that expression, you know," Sirius suddenly said. "When James wanted to impress her with his new broom." He frowned. "That was our … fifth, no, sixth year!" He smiled again. "James was so horrified, he almost got rid of the broom. I had to talk to him for an hour to save the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor. Lily could pull a mean prank if she wanted to!"
Harry laughed as loudly as Sirius at that - he loved hearing such stories. Not just because he learned more about his parents, but it also meant that Sirius had regained another memory and that his recovery from Azkaban was progressing.
"Oh, Quidditch Supplies is open! Come on, Henry! Let's check out the brooms!" And Sirius was off, headed straight towards the next shop.
"Of course, 'Marius'," Harry mumbled, following him at a slightly slower pace - he was still getting used to his new body. On the way, he tapped the frame of his glasses, and took a peek inside the shop - as Moody had said, the best ambushes preyed on the known habits of the target. But the shop was empty except for the clerk behind the counter.
"Look, a Sturmwind." Sirius rubbed his chin, which was currently free of a goatee. "No matter what it said about the broom in Quidditch Weekly, I don't think it beats the Firebolt."
"R… my friend said it turns better, but has worse acceleration and a slightly slower top speed," Harry said. He pursed his lips, angry at his near lapse.
"Where did he hear that?"
"There was an ad in the special edition of Quidditch Weekly," Harry answered.
"What? Why didn't we get that?" Sirius frowned, then glanced at the rack of magazines inside the shop.
"It's about the Cannons." That explained enough.
"Oh. Never mind then." Sirius returned his attention to the broom in the window. "Worse than the Firebolt, as I said."
Harry shrugged. He could think of situations where a tighter turning radius would be better than speed or acceleration, but it was very situational. And outside Quidditch, top speed was the most important quality of a broom - you had to be able to outpace a pursuer, or catch up to a fleeing enemy.
Movement behind them caught his eye. Two witches, leaving the shoes shop across the street. One of them wore a hat that obscured her face. Harry tapped his glasses out of reflex, just to check who she was. He didn't recognise her face. And she wasn't hiding anything under her robes. He looked away before he felt too guilty.
"Henry?"
"Ah, just looking to see if Fortescue's is open already," he quickly said.
"It should be," Sirius answered. "Want to stop there after lunch? Or before?" he added with a grin.
"After."
"Let's see what's on the menu in the Cauldron, then."
As they walked towards the Leaky Cauldron - Sirius was a fan of the meat pie there; he said it had saved his life after his escape from Azkaban - Harry couldn't help but wondering how long he'd have to pick between having bodyguards following him around or using Polyjuice. And what if he got a new girlfriend? He couldn't decide what would be worse - dating with a teacher, Auror or Sirius looking over his shoulder, or dating while both he and his girlfriend were using other people's bodies.
Although, maybe if they could pick whose hair they could use…
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 21st, 1996
"We're back!" Sirius yelled as soon as they returned. "And we have a surprise!" He shook the bag containing the sweets they had bought even though neither Jeanne nor Hermione were present yet.
Harry Potter shook his head as he picked himself up from the floor and wished that the Polyjuice Potion's effect would have already finished before he had stepped into the fireplace. It was hard enough to keep your balance while travelling by Floo powder without adjusting to a stranger's body.
Jeanne appeared at the top of the stairs leading to the first floor. "We have a surprise as well," she announced with a wide smile.
'We'?, Harry thought as he saw the witch gesture behind her. Someone was hiding there, and his wand was halfway to his glasses when the person stepped forward and he recognised Hermione. Hermione with a different hairstyle and an expression usually found on Neville's face before a double lesson in Potions.
Jeanne was either unaware of that, or was ignoring it. "Voilà! We have tamed her hair!"
Hermione seemed to hunch over. "It's just a braid."
"A French braid. Come on!" And with that, Jeanne tugged on Hermione's hand, pulling the obviously reluctant girl along.
The hairstyle did look much better than her usual messy ponytail, Harry thought. She must have fought it tooth and nail, though, judging by her scowl. No wonder Jeanne was so proud. He smiled.
"It looks nice," he said. "Stylish." Now if only Hermione would wear one of Jeanne's tight, short robes, or one of the ones slit up to the hips on both sides…
Before he could comment further, the potion's effect wore off, and, for a moment, he felt as if he was melting, before he found himself back in his own body.
"Ah, finally!" Sirius, returned to his own form as well, shook his head. "Even though it's fascinating to try out another body, I much prefer my own."
"As do I," Jeanne said, as she embraced him. And kissed him. The French way.
Harry looked at Hermione, then grabbed the bag with the sweets Sirius had dropped to the floor to better grope his girlfriend. "Let's pack these away," he said.
She nodded. "Yes, let's."
As she led the way to the kitchen, he tapped his glasses' frame again. Just to better imagine how she would look in different clothes.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 22nd, 1996
"Hey, mate!"
"Hi, Ron." Harry Potter greeted his best male friend, only slightly jealous of his apparent ability to walk out of a fireplace without stumbling. He was making progress, after all, as well. Unless Polyjuice Potion messed up his balance.
Ron looked around. "Is Hermione home?"
"She's working in the study. We can fetch her," Harry answered, pointing to the hallway. "You said you had a question when you called?" A question he didn't want to ask through the Floo.
"Yes." Ron said. "It's about muggle customs, so I thought you two were the best to ask, having grown up among muggles."
"Ah." Harry had grown up among a particular family of muggles, but he didn't think that Ron wanted to hear about them, and he didn't want to think about them in the first place. "Is this about Muggle Studies homework? Get ready to be lectured by Hermione about not waiting until the last minute."
"What? No, no. It's not about homework," Ron responded. "And the holidays aren't over yet, anyway."
"You know her. If you haven't done it in the first week, she thinks you're putting it off," Harry said with a chuckle.
Ron nodded. "And you're living with her."
"Yes." Harry glanced at him, wondering if he meant anything else by that, but they had reached Sirius's study. He knocked and entered without waiting for an answer - Sirius was always there for him, after all. And this wasn't Sirius's bedroom.
"Hey!" Harry waved. "Ron's here, and he has a question for me and Hermione, so we'll need her."
"Hi, Hermione!"
"Hello, Ron." Hermione, to Harry's surprise, stood up at once. "I'll leave the rest to you, Sirius," she said with an overly sweet smile. She was, he noticed, wearing her ponytail again, instead of a nicer hairstyle. And her sweater and pants wasn't particularly tight either. At least they weren't oversized.
Harry's godfather grumbled, but didn't object. Not that he could - he had taught Harry that friends came first.
They headed to Harry's room, with a detour to the kitchen to grab some snacks and drinks. On the way, Harry explained that it wasn't about homework, heading off Hermione's lecture. Once they had settled in - Ron on Harry's chair, Harry and Hermione on his bed - Ron cleared his throat. "You know about Luna's investigation into Nargles, don't you?"
"Yes." As a subscriber to The Quibbler, Harry could hardly miss it. Hermione nodded.
"She's asked me to help her on her next fact-finding trip in Muggle England," Ron went on. "So, I need to know how muggle journalists act and dress." He shrugged. "I asked Dad, but… He's not an expert on journalists."
Hermione mumbled something that Harry didn't catch, but thought was a little uncomplimentary about Mr Weasley's expertise. He glanced at her, but she wasn't paying attention to him. He nodded. "He probably knows more about technical things." Mr Weasley could drive, after all, and had managed to enchant a car.
"Yeah." Ron shook his head. "He gave me his Motor and Autocar collections to read, but that didn't help. And his muggle newspapers didn't have anything about journalists either."
"You want to pose as muggle journalists?" Hermione asked.
Ron nodded. "Luna said they had to, so the conspirators hiding the existence of Nargles wouldn't notice them."
"Ron, I do not think that muggles are hiding Nargles," Hermione told him. "There isn't even any proof that Nargles exist. No one has ever observed them. No one reliable, at least. Invisible, intangible creatures?"
Ron shook his head. "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence." Harry was about to use his glasses on him to check if he were an impostor in response to that when Ron added: "That's what Luna said. And it makes sense, you know? Ashwinders were thought mythical for a long time, until one was observed at Hogwarts. And there are several invisible creatures which were only discovered when someone created the spells to detect them. So, Nargles could exist."
Harry thought Ron had spent a little too much time with Luna. He glanced at Hermione, who looked like she had swallowed a lemon. His friend nodded - very reluctantly, he could tell - and said: "I suppose that's true."
Ron grinned, but was wise enough not to rub it in. "And it's fun to look for them. Even if you don't find them, you might find something else interesting." Yes, definitely too much time with Luna, Harry thought. "So," Ron went on, "how do muggle journalists dress and act?"
"They act and dress like normal muggles," Hermione responded, still a little peeved, in Harry's opinion. "They don't have any special clothing, and they only wear press badges at certain functions."
"Press badges?" Ron asked.
"Badges that prove that they are members of the press. Journalists." Hermione explained.
"What do they look like?"
Harry cleared his throat. "I think it would be best if we showed you."
"You know a journalist?" Hermione asked.
"No." Harry grinned. "But I know a great cinema." He wouldn't need to use Polyjuice to hang out in muggle London, and he was certain that there would be at least one journalist in Mission: Impossible. Or in one of the trailers shown before the movie.
*****
As soon as Ron had left through the fireplace again, hours later, Harry Potter knew that he was about to be lectured.
"'I know a great cinema.' Really? If we hadn't bought Ron a book on the subject, and those magazines, he still wouldn't have a clue about journalists!" Hermione had her hands on her hips and was frowning at him.
He grinned at her. "He loved the movie. And didn't you say that journalists dress like normal people? So it was helpful."
"It's an American movie. And journalists don't act or dress like fictional secret agents."
Harry shrugged. "He also spent hours in muggle London." With a grin, he added: "And I didn't hear you complaining too much about the movie."
She sniffed. "There wouldn't have been any point."
"What were you writing during the movie, anyway?" he asked.
"Just a few notes. You did drag me away from work, after all," she responded with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Harry sighed. He might have to have a word with Sirius - trying to work in the middle of a spy movie wasn't healthy. "At least Ron had fun." He frowned. "Although I wonder why Luna didn't ask us for help - she knows we both grew up in muggle England."
Hermione snorted. "She wants to spend time with Ron, not with us."
"Oh?" Why wouldn't Luna want to spend time with them? Had they… Harry blinked. "You think she fancies him?"
"Yes." Hermione sounded as if that was obvious. It wasn't.
"Ron didn't say anything about that."
"I don't think he knows."
"Should we tell him?" Harry frowned. Was it OK to leave Ron ignorant of Luna's interest in him?
"No. Luna can tell him when she's ready," Hermione said in a rather final tone.
"Alright." Harry wasn't certain if it was the correct thing to do, but Luna was Ginny's best friend, and offending her would offend his ex-girlfriend. And he would rather avoid that. And her.
He just hoped that Luna wouldn't try to monopolise Ron.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996
"Hello, Hermione. Do you have a minute?"
Not again, Hermione Granger thought, putting down her pen. She still hadn't caught up with her work after yesterday's trip to the cinema, and her training had suffered as well - although she might be able to use an idea or two from that movie. And now Jeanne wanted to talk again, and certainly for longer than a minute. But she had a cover to maintain.
"Of course," she lied. "What do you need?" But if this was another attempt at forcing a makeover on her...
Jeanne closed the door behind herself before continuing. "What exactly is Sirius doing with you?"
Hermione blinked. What was the witch implying? Her and the dog? "What do you mean?" she asked in her best 'confused' voice. "I'm his secretary. I mostly handle his mail."
"You do more than that." Jeanne hadn't taken a seat. She was standing in front of Hermione's desk, forcing Hermione to look up at her. "You also accompany him to those 'meetings'."
"To take minutes, and inform him of details that might have slipped his mind," Hermione explained.
Jeanne scoffed. "Long meetings about politics, but he never complains about them - unlike Wizengamot sessions. Meetings with Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione wanted to bite her lip. They should have trained the dog in maintaining a cover, too. Out loud, she said: "In the Wizengamot, he's surrounded by people he doesn't like or even hates, and has to listen to them politely. Headmaster Dumbledore is a friend of his. They work well together."
"Do they?" Jeanne raised an eyebrow. "Sirius often brags about his successes in the Wizengamot, but they do not seem to correlate with those meetings."
Hermione wanted to curse herself for missing that weakness in her and Sirius's cover. "Politics take time. It's not unusual for plans to take weeks to be put into action. The Headmaster is fond of planning ahead."
"But Sirius isn't." Jeanne leaned forward, her hands on Hermione's desk. "I remember at least one 'emergency meeting'." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "And his nightmares are always worse after such meetings."
Nightmares? Hermione couldn't keep the surprise off her face, then berated herself. Of course Sirius would have nightmares - she had had some herself, after all, after some of the more dangerous missions and heists. And she hadn't fought in the last war, lost her best friends, and spent a decade in Azkaban. Feeling very guilty and ashamed at missing something that should have been obvious, and even more so for lying about it, she said: "He hasn't yet fully recovered from Azkaban, I think. And I assume some of the topics mentioned in those meetings set him off."
Jeanne wasn't convinced, Hermione knew.
"And does he also get hurt in those sessions?"
"He often trains Harry in Defence," Hermione replied quickly. "It can get rough, but nothing that lasts." She thought Sirius would have ensured that he was fully healed before going to bed with his girlfriend. Would she have to check him for lingering wounds after a heist or fight?
"You're going to keep lying to me, aren't you?" Jeanne glared at her.
Of course she was. You didn't drop your cover unless there was no other way. Especially when faced with someone you didn't trust. "I'm not lying," she lied.
Jeanne scoffed and left.
Hermione muttered curses she had overheard her tutor use in tense situations as soon as the door had closed behind the other witch. She need to talk to Sirius, at once - but he was currently in the Wizengamot. That left her tutor and Dumbledore. Maybe she could…
The door slammed open. Hermione had her wand drawn and aimed before she realised it was Jeanne. The witch looked scared - and not by her wand. "Hermione! Harry collapsed! He's bleeding!"
Harry! Hermione was at the door in seconds. "Where is he?"
"Living room," Jeanne replied.
She raced, barely managing to keep from changing and using her superior speed on four legs in front of Jeanne. Harry was hurt!
She almost crashed into him when she reached the doorway - he was standing and holding his forehead. "Harry?"
"Hermione?" He blinked at her. Blood covered his face, but his glasses were clean. "I need to talk to Dumbledore." He seemed to sway on his feet and when she reached out to steady him, she ended up hugging him. "He has to know," Harry said, and she felt him tremble in her arms, "he's killed again. So much blood…"
"We'll get you to Hogwarts at once. And call Sirius," she told him.
Then a voice made her freeze. "Now I see."
Hermione realised with a sinking feeling that Jeanne had seen and heard everything.
*****
Chapter 24: Turning Point
Starfox5
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Chapter 24: Turning Point
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996
Jeanne Dubois - she wasn't about to change her name to Selwyn, not if she was expected to marry and take the name of her husband anyway - stared at Hermione and Harry. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. "He's been attacked. Hurt. Through his scar." The two teenagers exchanged a glance. Jeanne went on: "And he's Seen something. A murder..." she trailed off. Things fell into place. The Boy-Who-Lived was a Seer, and he had had a vision about which Dumbledore needed to be told. Related to a bloody murder. Blood magic.
Her eyes widened. Blood Magic. All those 'meetings', all this secrecy. The attack on Harry… "You know who's murdering people!"
Hermione hissed, and Jeanne found herself staring at the tip of the other witch's wand. How had the girl moved so quickly? She stiffened, torn between trying to flee or casting a Shield Charm, but Harry already had his hand on Hermione's arm.
"No."
"But…"
Jeanne saw the two exchange another glance, Harry shaking his head. Then the girl lowered her wand - partially.
"We need to call Dumbledore," Harry said. "And you cannot tell anyone anything about this."
"People's lives are at stake," Hermione added.
Jeanne had the distinct impression that her own was among those - should she not heed their warning.
"The fireplace," Harry said, still leaning against Hermione. "Let's go."
After a second of hesitation, the girl started moving.
Jeanne swallowed, then followed them. Both because she wanted to know more, and because she didn't think the two would leave her by herself. She almost drew her wand to levitate Harry, but stopped when Harry and Hermione looked back at her, both their wands raised.
Apparently, Sirius's boasts about how talented his godson was when it came to duelling hadn't been too far off the mark, she thought. But then, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, trained by Dumbledore himself. On the other hand, Sirius had never boasted about his secretary being particularly talented at duelling. Something else that had been kept secret from her. Had she been trained as one of Harry's bodyguards? No, then she wouldn't be gone from the house so often.
They reached the entrance hall, where the fireplace was. The two teenagers hesitated, then Harry pushed himself away from Hermione and walked, somewhat unsteadily, to the fireplace while Hermione remained standing, glancing back and forth between Jeanne and the boy.
Harry didn't fall down, but he almost spilled the cup of Floo powder when he grabbed a handful. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office!" As soon as the flames turned green, he stuck his head inside, propping himself up with both arms. "Sir? I need to talk to you. With Hermione and Jeanne."
After a moment, she heard Dumbledore's voice. "Of course. Come on through."
Harry slowly stood up, then grabbed another handful of powder. A few seconds later, he was gone.
"After you," Hermione said, gesturing towards the fireplace.
Jeanne pressed her lips together - she didn't like being ordered around by a teenager - but this wasn't the time to object. A step later, she found herself in a room filled with obscure devices, books, scrolls and a heavy desk - and facing Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive. And his phoenix! She barely remembered to step aside before Hermione arrived.
"Hello, Miss Dubois," the old wizard said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Welcome to Hogwarts." He nodded at Hermione. "Miss Granger."
"Harry needs help!" Hermione burst out.
"I'm fine," the boy protested. It wasn't very convincing, seeing as he was holding his forehead.
"You're not!"
"I have examined him, and I can assure you that he is in no immediate danger, Miss Granger." That shut the girl up, Jeanne noticed. Dumbledore gestured, and two more seats appeared. "Let's sit down. We should not discuss such matters while standing."
Jeanne once more felt that objecting wouldn't be a good idea, despite the old wizard's friendly tone. Everyone knew that there was no wizard alive who could match him - and few countries which would dare to defy him.
Jeanne sat down, then felt a shiver run down her spine when Dumbledore looked straight at her, his eyes boring into hers. "I take it that you were witness to one of Harry's 'attacks'," he said.
She couldn't look away. "Yes, sir."
"Based on the demeanour of our two young friends, I conclude that you have realised that there is more to this than simply someone attacking him."
She nodded. Harry was a Seer, of a sort. Of a murder. And a murderer, whom Dumbledore - and Sirius - were hunting. "Yes."
"You are correct. Harry is occasionally able to catch glimpses of certain events. Such as this murder by Voldemort."
She gasped. The worst dark wizard since Grindelwald was alive? The man whose name all British wizards feared to say, was murdering people? Working blood magic? Hadn't he been defeated? Destroyed? But it explained why Harry was in so much danger - and what Sirius was really doing. "You're hunting him. You and Sirius," she managed to say.
He inclined his head. "Indeed, we do - in utmost secrecy. Very few are aware of his return. And you now find yourself among them. And in danger."
She swallowed. She hadn't expected this. Sirius working with Dumbledore to hunt a murderer was one thing. But Voldemort? The only wizard since Grindelwald who was seen as Dumbledore's equal? Sirius and everyone around him was in much greater danger than she had imagined!
What should she do? As Sirius's girlfriend - and, possibly, fiancée - she would be targeted. Was already being targeted, she realised - their relationship was, after all, well known. Would she be safe if she broke it off? Did she want to break it off? Sirius was rich, handsome and charming, a good catch despite his tragic past. But this… was he worth risking her life?
She swallowed again. She liked the man, and could feel herself falling in love with him - he was exactly what her father wanted in a son-in-law, a rich pureblood wizard from an Old Family, and yet also the complete opposite: a radical, often reckless wizard who did not care about tradition unless it suited him, and with a passion few men could match - but was that enough to court death?
She heard Hermione sniff, and Jeanne pressed her lips together, suddenly angry. She wasn't some timid British pureblood witch. She was born and raised in France! And the French didn't run from danger - they fought! She raised her chin and scoffed. "I've been in danger before."
Dumbledore smiled.
Hogwarts, August 23rd, 1996
The vampire was struggling, but his bindings held him fast and the slab of stone on which he lay didn't budge. His mouth was open, long fangs visible, and he was screaming, but no sound escaped his pale lips - he had been silenced. A flick of a wand - a familiar wand - and deep cuts appeared on the vampire's nude body. They didn't bleed as much as one would expect and seemed to close slowly.
A bowl floated over to the vampire's head. His nostrils flared and he froze for a moment. Then he stretched his neck, trying to reach the bowl with his mouth. In response, it slowly tilted and red liquid - blood - dripped into his mouth. He eagerly swallowed the blood, even licking his lips. And the cuts closed.
"Fresh blood is needed for the accelerated healing. An acceptable limitation."
He saw a floating quill - a Dictaquill - write the words down.
The wand flicked and swished, casting several spells - uncommon or exotic detection spells and healing charms. "No change discernible."
Then the wand was pointed at the thick curtains behind the vampire, and they started to move to the side, revealing a window - and sunlight fell into the room, right at the foot of the stone slab.
The vampire's struggles intensified - it looked as if he was breaking his own limbs, trying to free himself - but the bonds, conjured ones, held. And as the curtain kept moving, the sunlight reached the vampire's feet.
Smoke started to rise into the air and the pale flesh darkened under the sun's touch. Red spittle was flying from the vampire's lips as he threw his head back and forth, and red tears filled his eyes. He had to be in agony. And yet, the movement of the curtains didn't stop, and neither did the sun.
His legs were dark as coal now and the sun's rays had just reached his groin and belly when his feet erupted in flames, which quickly spread to his legs.
By the time the sun reached his head, his feet and lower legs had burned to ashes and fire covered his chest. He was shaking his stumps, which had slipped out of their bindings, but other bonds still held him. And the voice mercilessly recorded everything.
When nothing but a blackened skull was left of the creature, the voice stated: "Vulnerability to sunlight has been lessened, but is still fatal."
Harry Potter fought the urge to vomit as he once again remembered his vision. Maybe he shouldn't have copied his memories for Dumbledore, but completely removed them. No. He shook his head. He was no coward. He could endure this.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice was far softer than usual. Almost hesitant.
"Nothing. Just a few unpleasant memories." He tried to sound casual, but neither Hermione nor Jeanne looked as if they were fooled. Not with Dumbledore currently watching his memories in his Pensieve.
But Hermione huffed and glared at him, instead of pitying him, so he chalked it up as a partial success.
"What did you see?" Jeanne asked. She hadn't said anything since Dumbledore had left the room to use his Pensieve.
He looked at her and she flinched, then frowned. He was about to tell her that it was none of her business, but Hermione was quicker. "That's a secret for a reason. I don't know it, either."
"And neither does Sirius," Harry added. The French witch - she certainly was acting more French than British - frowned and looked doubtful.
"It's standard practice that you only are told what you need to know," Hermione elaborated in what Harry thought of as her 'lecture voice'. "It minimises the risks from spies, or of captured members revealing crucial secrets."
His friend sounded quite convincing, though Harry was certain that she wanted to know what he had seen quite badly herself - she hated not knowing something.
"And what are you and Sirius doing?"
That was a question which Harry himself wanted answered. He had known that Sirius was working for Dumbledore, but Hermione? Hermione, who hadn't known anything about fighting a few weeks ago, and was still learning how to move in combat without exposing herself? If Sirius had been risking her…
Hermione bit her lower lip.
"She is helping me with research, the details of which cannot be revealed."
Harry clenched his teeth. He hadn't noticed that Dumbledore had returned from watching his memories. If Moody found out…
The Headmaster sat down behind his desk. "As Miss Granger explained, information has to be strictly controlled in this struggle, or we could lose everything to a single mishap or betrayal - as we came close to doing in the last war."
"But if you are the only one to know everything, that is a vulnerability as well," Jeanne retorted. Harry almost scoffed - if they lost Dumbledore they would lose the war anyway.
"I've taken precautions should something happen to me, even as unlikely as I deem that," Dumbledore answered with his usual smile. "In any case, with you now part of our forces, we have to decide how your talents would be best used. I think it's obvious that you would work best with Sirius and his group."
Jeanne nodded. Rather curtly, in Harry's opinion, but she didn't protest.
He didn't know why Hermione looked as if she wanted to protest, though. Didn't she trust the Headmaster? He had, after all, used Legilimency on Jeanne.
London, Greenwich, August 23rd, 1996
"...and the Headmaster said it was obvious that she would 'work best with Sirius and his group'." Hermione Granger pressed her lips together, controlling her annoyance, as she waited for Mr Fletcher's reaction.
Her tutor shook his head and mumbled: "Old meddler." More loudly, he said: "Well, it is kinda obvious. The witch's as good as Black's fiancée, after all, and it wouldn't make sense to have her work with anyone else."
"It also means that she'll find out our secrets," Hermione said, still frowning. She didn't like that, even if the Headmaster trusted Jeanne - and had read her mind.
"Something Dumbledore certainly took into account. Might even consider it a good thing." Her tutor shrugged.
"What? Why?" That made no sense. They couldn't even tell Harry what they were doing, and now Jeanne would be informed?
"Probably thinks you need someone closer to your own age who you can talk with about what we're doing. I've been thinking something like that myself, lately." He leaned back in his seat.
She scoffed. "I could have talked to Harry about it." If Sirius hadn't told her not to. And if she wanted to force Harry to become a thief instead of an Auror. Which, if she was honest, wouldn't be a bad thing - for her.
Apparently, her tutor also thought that would be the likely outcome. "Think he'd make a good thief? 'Cause that's what tellin' him means. He won't stay back home any more than Black would." He muttered something Hermione didn't catch. Probably a curse. "And remember the rule."
Never talk about heists to someone who's not involved. She sighed. "He'll be the only one in the house who won't know about the heists." But Sirius was insistent that Harry's wish to become an Auror would come to pass. Anything for his godson, in other words.
Her tutor shrugged. "He knows we're working for Dumbledore, just not what exactly. Same as we know he's doing something other than Occlumency training with Dumbledore."
Hermione wasn't certain that this was the same, but telling Harry would mean revealing not just her secret, but her tutor's and Sirius's as well. Which would break another rule she had been taught as a thief. And she owed them too much to do that to them. "So, Jeanne's going to help us." Another untrained helper. And Jeanne probably wasn't even a good fighter. And certainly not an animagus.
Mr Fletcher frowned at her. "She'll be able to sound out marks, and you know she's a dab hand with disguises."
"Makeovers," she corrected him.
"Same thing," he said with a grin that told her she shouldn't have complained to him about the hairstyle forced on her by the other witch. "And there's another good thing about this, too."
"Which would be?" Hermione couldn't think of anything.
"She'll be able to make Black behave."
Hermione grinned. That was true - the dog wouldn't be able to act as outrageously as he usually did. With his girlfriend being involved, he might even act a little less recklessly.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996
Hermione Granger had informed Sirius beforehand, of course, using her enchanted mirror. It wouldn't have done for him to blurt out secrets neither Harry nor Jeanne were meant to know. So when the wizard arrived home after the Wizengamot session had finally ended, he faced the frowning Jeanne with a smile. "I heard Dumbledore told you."
"Yes." Jeanne seemed unimpressed by Sirius's smile, Hermione thought. "And only because Harry had a 'vision'."
Sirius nodded, then looked at Harry. "Dumbledore handled that."
"Yes."
"He was bleeding and shaking," Hermione cut in, earning her a glare from Harry.
"I'm fine now," her friend answered.
She bit her lower lip. She couldn't blame Harry for this - it wasn't his fault. And she couldn't take her anger out on him.
"So… you're going to join my 'cell', then, chérie?" Sirius said.
"That's what Dumbledore said," Jeanne confirmed.
Hermione suppressed a sigh - they had gone over that already.
"You'll meet the rest of the members later, then. Standard rules," Sirius added, with a glance at Harry.
Hermione's friend grimaced. "I know, need to know and all that." He knew, and he didn't like it. But it couldn't be helped, Hermione thought.
"And I think we'll discuss what this means for us in private." Sirius smiled at Jeanne.
She nodded, still rather curtly. Hermione wished she could sneak in and listen to that conversation, then berated herself for it - it would be wrong to intrude on the couple's privacy like that. Even if she really wanted to know what Jeanne thought about this.
"Well, I'll guess it'll be just us this evening, then." Harry's voice interrupted her. He was smiling at her.
Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but Dumbledore needs my help tonight."
His face fell, and she felt a pang of guilt. He must be feeling isolated, with everyone going to their own secret Order meeting. But it couldn't be helped.
Even if she didn't like it, secrecy was needed if they wanted to avoid another disaster like in the last war.
London, Greenwich, August 23rd, 1996
"Comment? Monsieur Smith? Hermione?"
At least Jeanne's reaction to meeting the other members of their cell was satisfactory, Hermione Granger thought. The witch was even speaking in French!
"The name's Fletcher," her tutor said, gesturing to the seats he had arranged for them. "Smith's just a cover."
She gasped. "You…" then she turned to Hermione. "And you…"
Hermione grinned, then said in her best American accent: "I never left Britain. I just changed my style."
Jeanne let loose with a number of interesting French curse words as she sat down heavily in the closest seat and glared at all three of them. "You played me for a fool!"
"No. We simply didn't tell you the truth," Mr Fletcher said.
"I wanted to, but I wasn't allowed," Sirius said. "Security, and all." He shrugged and sat down himself.
Hermione glared at the dog. She didn't know whether or not he was lying, but she didn't like him blaming others for keeping Jeanne in the dark.
Jeanne blinked. "And Harry doesn't know you're working with Sirius," she said to Hermione. "He thinks you're working with Dumbledore."
"Yes," Hermione replied.
"This is worse than some of the novels I read in school!" Jeanne complained. "Why can't you tell him? More 'security reasons'?"
"Yes," Mr Fletcher said. "But let's talk about what we can tell you, instead of what we can't tell to whom." Jeanne didn't look mollified, but she nodded.
"In short, we're thieves," Sirius cut in.
"We're working as thieves," Mr Fletcher corrected the dog. "Black's not really a thief. More like an amateur robber."
"'Amateur robber'?"
"Would you prefer 'hired wand'?"
"Yes, I would!"
Hermione sighed, then smiled apologetically at Jeanne, who was gaping again. "Now do you understand my reluctance to change my hairstyle?"
Jeanne blinked again, then started to smile. "Oh, it's part of your cover."
"Yes." Finally she understood, Hermione thought.
Then Jeanne started to laugh, shaking her head, and Hermione pouted. It really wasn't funny. She narrowed her eyes, then changed and jumped, landing on the witch's lap.
The resulting shriek was eminently satisfying.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 24th, 1996
Sirius was late, Harry Potter thought as he pushed around his empty teacup on the breakfast table. Everyone was late, actually, but for him. He frowned as he looked at the unused dishes and silverware on the table surrounding him - it felt as if he were alone in his home.
Sirius and Jeanne had returned from their meeting with the other members of Sirius's cell close to midnight last night, and had headed straight to their - Sirius's - room. Hermione had arrived a little earlier, but had looked quite tired, and so he hadn't tried to talk to her. And Remus was 'busy at Hogwarts', or so he had claimed. Probably off doing Order work as well - Harry was certain that Remus was part of Sirius's cell.
So he had spent the evening alone, and it looked like he'd spend the morning all by himself too. Kreacher was nowhere to be found, but that was no surprise - the crotchety old elf was probably hiding in the walls again. And he had read the Prophet already - although having the newspaper to himself was a small consolation for eating alone. Well, almost alone, he added with a glance at the floor.
"Looks like it's just the two of us," Harry told Crookshanks, but the ugly tomcat didn't even raise his head in response, ignoring him in favor of emptying another bowl of food.
"You know, the stray is much more sociable," Harry said, "and doesn't even eat half the amount of food you do."
That earned him a half-lidded, rather dismissive glance from Crookshanks while the cat licked his lips.
Harry slumped and rested his head on the table. Today wasn't a good day.
The sound of steps in the hallway interrupted his brooding. One person, long strides… Sirius! Harry leaned back on his chair and greeted his godfather with a glare.
"Hello, Harry! What a wonderful morning!"
It looked like it was 'ignore Harry day'. "You slept through most of it," Harry said.
Sirius laughed as he sat down and grabbed a croissant. "I can assure you that I did not," he said with a distinct leer.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Where's Jeanne?"
Sirius shrugged. "She decided to sleep in."
"Ah."
"It was a long day for her - finding out that we're waging a shadow war was something of a shock."
Harry would have liked to show Sirius how he felt about eating alone in his home, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. "Speaking of," Harry said, "Hermione only came home a little before you did."
Sirius nodded, buttering up his croissant while the teapot filled his cup. "She is a hard worker."
"Do you know what she's doing for Dumbledore?" He wasn't hurt that she hadn't told him - a little, maybe; she could at least have told him that she was working for Dumbledore, security be damned, since she knew that he was working with or for Dumbledore as well.
"I only know what my cell does, not what others do for Dumbledore."
So Hermione wasn't in his cell, Harry thought. And she certainly wouldn't tell him what she was doing. "I worry," he said.
"Huh?" Sirius looked at him, then swallowed the bite he had taken out of the croissant. "What?"
"About what Dumbledore has her doing." Harry shook his head. "He claimed that she's helping him with research, but while she's very smart, she's only just finished her O.W.L.s. What can she do for him?"
Sirius shrugged. "She can find and file things - like books, notes and such. And she can read through books and look things up - she's a very quick reader."
"You think she's working as his librarian?" Harry asked.
"Well, I can personally attest to the fact that she's good at that kind of work. Although as I said, I only know what my group does."
Harry couldn't really see the Headmaster letting Hermione reorganise his personal library, as Sirius had let her. But what else would make sense? Dumbledore wouldn't drag a witch who was at best half-trained into combat. At least Harry didn't think so. He was about to speculate further, but a headbutt to his shin from Hermione's monster interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down at the pushy cat. "You've had your fill."
In response, Crookshanks meowed pitifully. Harry smirked - that wouldn't work on him.
"What are you doing to Crookshanks, Harry?"
But it would work on Hermione. He winced before turning his head. He hadn't heard her entering the kitchen either.
Before he could explain she was already kneeling next to her cat. "Oh, Crookshanks! Your bowl is empty! Didn't anyone feed you?" She glared at Harry and Sirius.
"I did!" Harry protested while Sirius simply shrugged.
"Probably not enough," Hermione said, shaking her head. "The poor thing is starving. Come on, Crookshanks, let's get you some food!"
Harry sighed. His best female friend was hopeless when it came to cats.
London, King's Cross Station, September 1st, 1996
"Mate!"
"Hi, Ron," Harry Potter said, waving from his seat at the window. "I saved us a compartment." As expected, the Weasleys had arrived on platform 9¾ in the last few minutes before the Hogwarts Express departed.
"Move it, Ron, we're blocking the corridor!"
That was Ginny, pushing her brother inside. Harry nodded at her. "Hello, Ginny." Just a normal greeting. Nothing to it.
"Hello, Harry." She looked tense. At least the way her lips seemed to thin a little suggested that, in Harry's opinion.
"Hello, Harry!" Luna exclaimed as she appeared next to Ron.
"Hi, Luna." Harry smiled at her. She was wearing glasses not even Elton John would wear, not that he'd tell her that.
She leaned forward and twisted her head back and forth. "It's free of Nargles too!" she announced. "Good choice!"
Ron nodded in apparent agreement.
"I thought you couldn't see Nargles?" Harry asked.
"You can't. But with the right spells, you can see the aetherical tracks they leave," Luna explained. "And this compartment has no tracks."
"Unlike the Prime Minister's home," Ron commented as he stashed his and the girls' trunks overhead.
Harry froze. "The Prime Minister's home?" They wouldn't have…
"Yes!" Luna nodded. "We had to talk to a portrait of my great-grandfather on my mother's side, so it would talk to the portrait in the Prime Minister's office, which then could talk to the man himself, but it worked! We managed to talk to him. Face to face, I mean." She nodded sagely. "Once he realised that we were wizard journalists he was very receptive to our warnings of the dangers invisible magical creatures pose to muggles."
"To be fair, he was more concerned about Dementors than Nargles," Ron added.
Luna pouted. "Those are not as dangerous as Nargles since at least wizards and squibs can see Dementors." Then she perked up. "But he has sent an official request for help to deal with either to the Minister! That means the Nargles will soon lose their breeding grounds at Westminster!"
Harry didn't know if he should be amused or concerned about this news.
"And it's all thanks to your and Hermione's help, mate!" Ron said with a rather sappy smile as Luna slipped off her shoes and put her feet up on the seat, leaning against him.
Concerned, Harry thought. Definitely concerned.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 3rd, 1996
"Alright, Albus's latest mission sounds like a doozy. We just have to steal the purse of a Death Eater low-life named 'Emile Fawker' and replace it with one filled with leprechaun gold." Sirius smiled and put down a few pictures of a disreputable-looking man on the table in his - their - basement.
He sounded far too confident, in Hermione Granger's opinion. Even if it did sound like a comparatively easy assignment. Easier than breaking into the manor of an Old Family, at least. Although she wondered what its purpose was and whether the Headmaster had leprechaun friends. And if she would be allowed to keep the gold they stole.
"Fawker?" Her tutor scoffed and slid forward in his seat. "He's a well-known thug in Knockturn Alley. He's not an easy mark at all. Not that you'd know that, Black."
"I for one have full confidence in Jeanne and Hermione," Sirius shot back.
"We'll do our best," Jeanne chimed in, though she was looking slightly nervous, in Hermione's opinion.
"So, we'll be doing this in Knockturn Alley?"
"Aye," Mr Fletcher confirmed. "Fawker favors the Drunk Pixie, a tavern in the middle part of the Alley. A dive full of cutthroats and worse. Not a safe place for two girls."
"They'll be with me," Sirius said. "Even in disguise, I'll scare off the riff-raff. Might have to make an example out of one of them, but that's no great loss."
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Really? You have no idea. Two pretty witches with a 'protector'? They'll think you're a pimp. And the Pixie's regulars don't like that kind of competition."
"But wouldn't they also mind seeing two whores by themselves?" Jeanne asked. "If the tavern's controlled by a pimp."
"They would try to recruit you," Mr Fletcher said, "which is why you won't be dressing as whores." He grinned. "You'll pose as hired wands from France, fresh to these shores."
"Ah." Sirius sounded almost disappointed, Hermione thought. "And you'll be our native guide?"
Her tutor shook his head. "No. I'll be around and keeping an eye out for trouble, but I won't associate with you."
"Can we pose as mercenaries?" Hermione asked. Her skill in Defence, while not as low as her O.W.L. result would indicate, wasn't up to fighting a typical gang of thugs in Knockturn Alley. And she doubted that Jeanne was any better at fighting. Unlike Harry, she thought, trying not to feel jealous. Her friend was a natural at Defence, duelling, fighting in general. Sirius had often said so, and after several weeks of being trained by Harry, Hermione was inclined to agree.
"As long as you don't try to duel the real hired wands, yes," Mr Fletcher said. "Make that 'as long as you don't duel', actually. If there's a fight, focus on defending and dodging, and let Black massacre the enemies. It's all he's good for, anyway."
"Hey!" Sirius sounded affronted. "I can pose as a criminal much better than anyone else here - I've been in Azkaban!"
"That's nothing to be proud of," Mr Fletcher retorted. "Anyway - don't lose your nerve, and you'll be fine. As long as you look like you can take care of yourself, the scum won't bother you. Just don't appear too arrogant or you'll have all the local toughs trying to gain a rep by taking you down."
Hermione didn't like the way Sirius grinned at hearing that.
London, Knockturn Alley, September 3rd, 1996
Hermione Granger had thought the way the purebloods at the Smith's ball had looked at her had been bad, but walking through Knockturn Alley in the evening, even dressed for fighting - in tight and low-cut duelling robes made out of dragon leather, slit in the front and back to reveal leather tights and knee-high boots - instead of in provocatively cut dresses, was much, much worse. The pureblood scions of the Old Families had seen a young and pretty witch from the New World who wouldn't have the backing to create a scandal should she end up seduced by a rich young wizard. The denizens of Knockturn Alley, however… She suppressed a shudder. They looked at her as if she were a piece of meat. Literally, in some cases - like the hags hiding in a side alley and the man she suspected was a werewolf, judging by the scars on his face.
"Our robes might be a little too tight," Jeanne remarked in a strong French accent.
"Not at all," Sirius retorted. "We're here to make an impression, after all." His own robes matched theirs.
Hermione couldn't help feeling that they looked a little too daring, and not dangerous enough, but Jeanne had assured her that the French duellists were renowned for looking like that.
She still thought that the only reason no one had tried to attack them so far was that by the time someone made up their mind whether they were as dangerous as they appeared, or simply too stupid to realise the danger they were in, they were already past the next corner, out of the line of sight of the would-be assailant. She hadn't spotted Mr Fletcher yet, even though she had seen his disguise - rather shabby, tattered robes - earlier at home. But he had said he'd be nearby and she trusted him.
Another wizard with patched robes - didn't he know the Mending Charm? Or was this a conscious style choice? Maybe the patches were enchanted - stared at her, his hood not hiding how he licked his lips. She forced herself to stare back until he looked away, flashing her wand to show she was ready to curse him.
She hated that she couldn't see as well in the dark as she was used to when wearing her mask, or as a cat. She needed to enchant some prop glasses for these occasions. Glancing upwards, at the slanted roofs overhead, she wondered if she should have come as a cat, instead of as a hired wand. She dismissed the idea - she wouldn't have been able to do much, and would probably have attracted even worse attention, judging by the kind of grilled meat a street vendor was offering despite the late hour.
"There's the Drunk Pixie," Sirius said, pointing ahead at a rather shabby looking house. A crude picture of a pixie diving into a wine glass hung above the entrance.
A man stumbled out of the tavern, holding his stomach. For a moment, Hermione feared that he had been cursed, but then he emptied his stomach on the cobblestones next to the door and staggered away.
"We best watch what we drink here," Sirius said.
Hermione nodded as she straightened, pushing her chest out. She couldn't look afraid or nervous. She was a hired wand, ready to curse anyone who crossed her. Not a nervous thief about to steal from a thug.
She hoped she could fool others more easily than herself.
Hermione Granger's first thought upon entering was that the inside of the tavern made the Leaky Cauldron look like a high-class restaurant. Her second thought was that it made the alley outside look safe. She counted about two dozen wizards and witches in the tavern, in various states of intoxication, and most of them were staring at her and her friends. She forced herself to stare back, twirling her wand between her fingers. She was posing as a hired wand from France - and the French had a reputation.
"Très pittoresque, à mon avis," Jeanne said, looking around.
Sirius laughed loudly, then strode towards the bar as if he were alone in the tavern. Hermione followed him, a step behind Jeanne. Disgusting was a better description than colourful, she thought as she walked through a puddle of what looked like ale - or urine. Couldn't anyone here cast a cleaning charm? If she had come as a cat, with her fine nose, the stench alone would probably have rendered her unconscious. Unlike the dog, of course - dogs thrived in such environments.
The bartender, a wizard who looked like he had some hag ancestry, looked at them as they reached the bar, neither greeting them nor asking what they wanted to order. Sirius wasn't discouraged, of course. "Your finest wine, mon ami!"
"Est-ce qu'on doit s'accaparer une table?" Jeanne remarked. Hermione tensed up. There wasn't a free table - would Sirius want to start a fight so they could take one? It would certainly serve as the distraction Mr Fletcher said he might need - but she hadn't yet spotted her tutor...
"Non." Sirius shook his head, his freshly dyed ponytail swinging back and forth. "On ne doit pas se mettre à dos les indigènes." Hermione hoped no one in the tavern understood French.
"Five Sickles. Each!" the bartender barked as he levitated three glasses of wine to their corner of the bar.
Sirius flicked a Galleon at him. "Keep the change." He swished his wand over the glasses in what Hermione recognised as a Poison Detection Charm. A sip later he grimaced. "Mon dieu! Quelle horreur! Si ca c'est le meilleur vin qu'on a trouvé ici ..." He shuddered.
Jeanne didn't even bother to hide her distaste. "Dégueulasse!"
Seeing their reaction to the wine, Hermione decided not to actually drink from her own glass, but fake it instead as she searched the room for their mark and Mr Fletcher. She spotted their mark first. Fawker was seated at a corner table, with a hulking brute of a man who strongly reminded her of Goyle.
She couldn't see his purse, though. Which meant she needed to cast several detection spells and get close enough to deal with whatever alarm charms Fawker had used. That meant she needed a table close by. Or… She nodded. The bathroom would do. "Je dois aller aux toilettes."
"Ne touches à rien sans d'abord le nettoyer," Jeanne said.
Hermione had no intention of touching anything, cleaning charm or not. On the way she noticed a very hairy thug who loudly sniffed the air as she passed - a werewolf? She couldn't see any scars, but those could and usually would be hidden. She glared at him - werewolf or not, he certainly acted like a canine, and no self-respecting cat would let that go - and scoffed. Let him smell her perfume - her natural scent was masked.
He chuckled in response, but didn't look away until she entered the bathroom. It matched the tavern, she noted with a shudder, then started to cast. Cleaning charms, first - several of them. She needed to be able to work without fearing for her health. A See-Through-Walls Charm followed as she turned in the direction of Fawker's table.
It took her a few seconds to focus her enhanced vision on the mark - she saw much more of his companion than she had ever wanted to see - but once she'd managed, she easily spotted not just his purse, stuck to the insides of his robes, but also its contents. Too many Galleons for a wizard of his talent, at least as Mr Fletcher had described him. He had to be in the Dark Lord's pay. Shaking her head, she pulled out one of the purses the Headmaster had given to Sirius and altered its appearance to match Fawker's, before adjusting the number of gold coins inside.
Now she just had to deal with the charms on the mark's purse. And she couldn't study them without direct line of sight. She checked whether anyone was looking at the wall, then ended her charm. After shaking her head to readjust to her normal vision, she raised her wand and started casting.
Drilling a hole in the wall was child's play. Placing a lens into the hole so she could see Fawker wasn't that much more difficult. But dealing with the alarm charm - the alarm charms - on Fawker's purse through her contraption was anything but easy.
Fortunately, Fawker's charms were not the best, nor the most difficult. They would sound an alarm if anyone other than him touched his purse and prevented anyone from moving it with magic. Standard spells. It still took her several minutes to disable them, working at this distance, and she was sweating when she had finished.
A Switching Spell later, she held Fawker's purse in her hand. Smiling, she stashed the stolen purse in her enchanted pocket and fixed her appearance. Mission accomplished. Now all they had to do was leave without Sirius starting trouble.
Or, Hermione added to herself as she found her way back to her friends barred by the canine ruffian, without getting into trouble herself.
The thug bared his yellow teeth in a parody of a smile. He had elongated canines, Hermione noticed, and she flinched, remembering how Tripe had almost killed her. But the ruffian was also deeply tanned, and his eyes were yellow, not red. Not a vampire, then, but probably a werewolf.
"Afraid, lil' witch?" he drawled, his smile turning into a leer. "I thought you French liked it rough."
Hermione couldn't tell if the man was trying to start a fight or if he was trying to flirt with her - French witches had, at least among some British wizards, another kind of reputation as well. That he reeked of cheap alcohol didn't help. But, ultimately, it didn't matter - there was only one possible response to such a query from a dog. She sniffed, then hissed: "Vas te faire foutre!"
Apparently, the man understood that French obscenity - no surprise; he had probably heard it every time he'd accosted a French witch - and roared in response, his wand rising.
But Hermione was already moving, jumping to her right and casting a Shield Charm. That put a table of three other ruffians between herself and her attacker. Unfortunately, the thug was either too enraged to stay his casting - or too drunk to aim. A yellowish curse hit one of the three seated lowlifes in the back and sent him to the floor in convulsions. His screams silenced the whole room for a moment.
A sort of pain curse, Hermione thought as she ducked low. Not the Torture Curse, but she didn't want to find out first hand if her Shield Charm could deflect it. What was Sirius doing?, she thought as another curse passed over her head. Dropping to the floor, she rolled further to the right as the two remaining thugs jumped up and started flinging curses of their own.
"Bouge-toi!"
That was Sirius's voice! She glanced towards the bar just in time to see another thug fly through the air and crash on to a different table, the dog twirling his wand as Jeanne motioned to her.
Hermione glanced to her left. Her assailant was under attack by the two friends of the still screaming thug he had hit. But their aim seemed to be even worse than his. Nevertheless, this was an opportunity to rejoin her friends.
She took a deep breath, then jumped on the table in front of her. She ignored the startled yells from the two witches occupying it, took two quick steps, then leaped on the bar - and promptly slipped on the mirrored top, sending half a dozen glasses and bottles to the floor before joining them herself.
Cursing the sloppy bartender and glad that her shield had kept the broken glass on the floor from slicing her up, she jumped to her feet. Two men were between her and Sirius and Jeanne, one of them turning towards her. She sent him to the floor with a quick Stunner and Sirius's next curse flung the other up against the ceiling. He crashed down on to the bar, crushing a few more glasses - without a Shield Charm to protect him.
"Allons-y!" Jeanne yelled, sending a Stunner towards the door. Sirius nodded and flicked his wand. Alongside the path to the door, the tables suddenly turned into wolves. That sent most of the riff-raff not already fighting - Fawker among them, she noticed - fleeing, and the three used the distraction to reach the door.
At the door, held open by Jeanne as Sirius covered the room, Hermione glanced back. The suspected werewolf had just finished smashing the last thug into the ground and was glaring at her. She sneered in response. Predictably, he roared again and came charging straight at her.
Her Stunner caught him in the chest before he had covered half the distance between them and he dropped to the ground.
"Quel chien stupide," she mumbled as she left the dive.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 3rd, 1996
"I'm beginning to think that Black's mere presence causes fights to start," Mr Fletcher said half an hour later, when all of them were back home.
"What?" Sirius frowned. "It wasn't my fault! She started it!" He pointed at Hermione.
Hermione Granger glared at him. "The dog started it. The other dog," she clarified when she saw Sirius's expression. "I think he was a werewolf."
"He certainly acted like one," Jeanne said.
"Yellow eyes, enlarged canines and a rabid attitude? Yes, that brute was a werewolf," Mr Fletcher said.
Hermione pursed her lips. She didn't like the stereotypes being thrown around, but that dog certainly had acted like the worst werewolf cliché.
"In any case, it wasn't my fault," Sirius said. "I didn't start the fight - I finished it."
"Technically, Hermione did, by casting the last spell," Mr Fletcher pointed out. "But it doesn't matter. Good work with Fawker's purse." He nodded at her.
"Thank you." She smiled, even though she was a little irked that he had spotted her without her noticing.
Mr Fletcher nodded. "Woulda been better if you had left without starting a brawl, but that couldn't be helped." It hadn't been her fault, Hermione thought. "I took the liberty of distracting the bouncer when the trouble started," he went on.
So that was why the brawl had broken out without any security intervening. Hermione slowly nodded.
"What exactly was the purpose of this mission?" Jeanne asked. "Any member of an Old Family could easily replace the amount of gold Hermione stole." Like Malfoy, Hermione thought.
"It will probably wreck one of Voldemort's plans. Make him lose confidence in Fawker, or Fawker's associates? Cause a rift - either between the Dark Lord and Fawker, or between Fawker and those he's since paid? Hurt the tavern's reputation?" Sirius shrugged. "Albus didn't tell me much. But he wouldn't have sent us to steal that purse if it wasn't important."
Mr Fletcher snorted. "Fawker's rather important in Knockturn Alley. Losing the Dark Lord's gold will rile him up. And Albus wanted his purse not just stolen, but delivered to him, right?"
Sirius nodded. "I dropped it off at Hogwarts before coming back here."
Hermione's tutor scoffed. "Wouldn't surprise me if there's already a cutpurse from a rival gang spending that gold in the Alley and bragging about pulling one over on Fawker."
"Albus's starting a gang war?" Sirius sounded both surprised and envious.
"Maybe." Mr Fletcher shrugged. "I don't know for sure. Gang wars start for other reasons too."
Hermione wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to know if she had just helped to start a gang war. Or whether the Headmaster was ruthless enough to set one up.
Hogwarts, September 8th, 1996
"Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat."
"Good evening, sir," Harry Potter replied as he sat down.
"You look like something is bothering you," Dumbledore said, offering him some sweets, which he declined.
Harry was tempted to say it was nothing. He didn't want to bother the Headmaster with his concerns, not when Dumbledore must have been very busy this week - Harry hadn't seen him since the Welcoming Feast. Before he could say anything, though, Dumbledore went on: "Or should I say distracted?"
Harry sighed. "Yes, sir." He licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "I was wondering if you had trained Hermione in Occlumency. Seeing as she's helping you with your research." The Headmaster wouldn't let her help him with his research if she couldn't even spot, much less protect herself against Legilimency, would he? Unless her research was meant to be leaked.
"Ah, do not worry. While Miss Granger is not trained in Occlumency, she is nevertheless adequately protected against Legilimency attacks."
"What?" Harry stared at him. "There are other ways to protect your mind?"
"In a manner of speaking." Dumbledore steepled his hands and leaned back. "They wouldn't have been enough for you, given your special situation." His connection to Voldemort, in other words, Harry thought. "But," the Headmaster went on, "Legilimency is a rare skill. Few are proficient enough to use it without being obvious about it - which, given that such an act is as illegal as the unauthorised use of Veritaserum, serves as a quite effective deterrent for most. And even those who have mastered it require prolonged eye contact."
"So, Hermione will avoid looking others in the eyes?" Harry didn't think that would work well, given his best friend's character. On the other hand, she rarely ventured out into Wizarding Britain by herself, and if she was with Sirius in the Ministry, few would look at her. That was his impression, at least.
"More or less."
Harry pressed his lips together. That sounded both far too easy, and far too dangerous. But if the Headmaster thought it was enough… He nodded.
"Was that all that bothered you?"
"Not exactly." Harry took a deep breath. "Have you found out what Voldemort is planning? All those murders, the blood magic… you saw my memories."
Dumbledore nodded. "The clues I have gathered - many of them thanks to you - have allowed me to deduce at least two of his aims with some degree of certainty. First, he continues to undermine the Ministry. His agents are spreading his influence in many departments. My friends and I are opposing them, of course, but we do not know all of his followers. Not everyone who shares his views on muggleborns is one of his agents, after all."
Harry didn't think that that mattered much. Either way, they were helping Voldemort. But he already knew about that. "And the second? The ritual?"
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore sighed again. "Unless your last vision was set up to deceive me - which I do not think likely - then Voldemort is searching for another way to gain what he considers immortality."
"Isn't he already immortal?" He had survived being blown to ashes, after all.
"That is a matter for debate. Or would be, were this known. He has not rendered himself immortal so much as he has prevented his soul from passing on to the afterlife. Instead, upon the destruction of his body, he turns into a shade. It requires a lot of effort for him to regain a body."
Harry frowned. "He seemed to be able to possess people rather easily."
"Possession is at best a short-term solution. A possessed body will not last long. Sooner rather than later, it will decay."
Harry shuddered. The poor souls who had died like that, serving Voldemort… "But he made a new body, didn't he?"
"Indeed, he has created an artificial body. From the looks of it, it is far more resistant to decay. However, I do not think it will last too long either - the laws of magic are harder to break than those of the Ministry." Dumbledore smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, it seems Tom has found a way around this - or rather, a potential solution to his problem. Vampirism."
"Oh."
The Headmaster nodded. "A vampire's body does not decay, despite being a possessed corpse."
"He wants to become a vampire? Or possess one?"
"I think, given your last vision, that the drawbacks of vampirism - the vulnerability to sunlight chief amongst them, but also the hunger for blood; Tom would hate being a slave to his instincts, even though I suspect he already suffers from that to some degree - are unacceptable to him. He wants to be a vampire without any of the drawbacks." He chuckled, once. "Many would be content with having solved a problem thought insurmountable. Not him, though. He would want a perfect solution. And 'perfection is the enemy of good enough', as the saying goes." Dumbledore smiled. "We'll have time to prepare his defeat while he tries to outdo himself. That is why I asked to speak to you this evening. As you know, I have spent considerable time researching your mother's protection."
Harry nodded, grimacing slightly - he was all too aware of that fact.
"And you also know how I was unable to move the blood wards on your aunt's home."
"Can you move them now?" Harry leaned forward. If they could further improve the protection of Grimmauld Place...
"I could. However, since your protection will end the day you turn seventeen, it would not serve any purpose. You do not need to spend any more time at your relatives' home anyway, and Grimmauld Place is already protected."
Harry pressed his lips together. What good was this breakthrough if it came too late?
"But that doesn't change the fact that your mother's protection is the key to defeating Voldemort. The Boy-Who-Lived is the only one who ever defeated him - or so he thinks." Dumbledore shook his head. "I have to confess that I am at least partially responsible for your fame - I wanted to protect Lily's reputation. A little child resisting the Dark Lord is a miracle. But a young muggleborn witch managing to defeat the Dark Lord with an unknown ritual?" He spread his hands.
Harry pressed his lips together. People would talk about her using the Dark Arts. And, as much as he hated to admit it, they wouldn't be entirely wrong. She had used blood magic, after all. He shook his head. "So I'll be serving as bait, then, and hoping he'll personally try to kill me again?" He could handle that.
"Not exactly." Dumbledore's smile looked almost cruel, Harry thought. "I'll be teaching you how to use your blood protection to attack and defeat him."
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996
Jeanne Dubois - she wasn't about to change her name to Selwyn, not if she was expected to marry and take the name of her husband anyway - stared at Hermione and Harry. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. "He's been attacked. Hurt. Through his scar." The two teenagers exchanged a glance. Jeanne went on: "And he's Seen something. A murder..." she trailed off. Things fell into place. The Boy-Who-Lived was a Seer, and he had had a vision about which Dumbledore needed to be told. Related to a bloody murder. Blood magic.
Her eyes widened. Blood Magic. All those 'meetings', all this secrecy. The attack on Harry… "You know who's murdering people!"
Hermione hissed, and Jeanne found herself staring at the tip of the other witch's wand. How had the girl moved so quickly? She stiffened, torn between trying to flee or casting a Shield Charm, but Harry already had his hand on Hermione's arm.
"No."
"But…"
Jeanne saw the two exchange another glance, Harry shaking his head. Then the girl lowered her wand - partially.
"We need to call Dumbledore," Harry said. "And you cannot tell anyone anything about this."
"People's lives are at stake," Hermione added.
Jeanne had the distinct impression that her own was among those - should she not heed their warning.
"The fireplace," Harry said, still leaning against Hermione. "Let's go."
After a second of hesitation, the girl started moving.
Jeanne swallowed, then followed them. Both because she wanted to know more, and because she didn't think the two would leave her by herself. She almost drew her wand to levitate Harry, but stopped when Harry and Hermione looked back at her, both their wands raised.
Apparently, Sirius's boasts about how talented his godson was when it came to duelling hadn't been too far off the mark, she thought. But then, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, trained by Dumbledore himself. On the other hand, Sirius had never boasted about his secretary being particularly talented at duelling. Something else that had been kept secret from her. Had she been trained as one of Harry's bodyguards? No, then she wouldn't be gone from the house so often.
They reached the entrance hall, where the fireplace was. The two teenagers hesitated, then Harry pushed himself away from Hermione and walked, somewhat unsteadily, to the fireplace while Hermione remained standing, glancing back and forth between Jeanne and the boy.
Harry didn't fall down, but he almost spilled the cup of Floo powder when he grabbed a handful. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office!" As soon as the flames turned green, he stuck his head inside, propping himself up with both arms. "Sir? I need to talk to you. With Hermione and Jeanne."
After a moment, she heard Dumbledore's voice. "Of course. Come on through."
Harry slowly stood up, then grabbed another handful of powder. A few seconds later, he was gone.
"After you," Hermione said, gesturing towards the fireplace.
Jeanne pressed her lips together - she didn't like being ordered around by a teenager - but this wasn't the time to object. A step later, she found herself in a room filled with obscure devices, books, scrolls and a heavy desk - and facing Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard alive. And his phoenix! She barely remembered to step aside before Hermione arrived.
"Hello, Miss Dubois," the old wizard said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Welcome to Hogwarts." He nodded at Hermione. "Miss Granger."
"Harry needs help!" Hermione burst out.
"I'm fine," the boy protested. It wasn't very convincing, seeing as he was holding his forehead.
"You're not!"
"I have examined him, and I can assure you that he is in no immediate danger, Miss Granger." That shut the girl up, Jeanne noticed. Dumbledore gestured, and two more seats appeared. "Let's sit down. We should not discuss such matters while standing."
Jeanne once more felt that objecting wouldn't be a good idea, despite the old wizard's friendly tone. Everyone knew that there was no wizard alive who could match him - and few countries which would dare to defy him.
Jeanne sat down, then felt a shiver run down her spine when Dumbledore looked straight at her, his eyes boring into hers. "I take it that you were witness to one of Harry's 'attacks'," he said.
She couldn't look away. "Yes, sir."
"Based on the demeanour of our two young friends, I conclude that you have realised that there is more to this than simply someone attacking him."
She nodded. Harry was a Seer, of a sort. Of a murder. And a murderer, whom Dumbledore - and Sirius - were hunting. "Yes."
"You are correct. Harry is occasionally able to catch glimpses of certain events. Such as this murder by Voldemort."
She gasped. The worst dark wizard since Grindelwald was alive? The man whose name all British wizards feared to say, was murdering people? Working blood magic? Hadn't he been defeated? Destroyed? But it explained why Harry was in so much danger - and what Sirius was really doing. "You're hunting him. You and Sirius," she managed to say.
He inclined his head. "Indeed, we do - in utmost secrecy. Very few are aware of his return. And you now find yourself among them. And in danger."
She swallowed. She hadn't expected this. Sirius working with Dumbledore to hunt a murderer was one thing. But Voldemort? The only wizard since Grindelwald who was seen as Dumbledore's equal? Sirius and everyone around him was in much greater danger than she had imagined!
What should she do? As Sirius's girlfriend - and, possibly, fiancée - she would be targeted. Was already being targeted, she realised - their relationship was, after all, well known. Would she be safe if she broke it off? Did she want to break it off? Sirius was rich, handsome and charming, a good catch despite his tragic past. But this… was he worth risking her life?
She swallowed again. She liked the man, and could feel herself falling in love with him - he was exactly what her father wanted in a son-in-law, a rich pureblood wizard from an Old Family, and yet also the complete opposite: a radical, often reckless wizard who did not care about tradition unless it suited him, and with a passion few men could match - but was that enough to court death?
She heard Hermione sniff, and Jeanne pressed her lips together, suddenly angry. She wasn't some timid British pureblood witch. She was born and raised in France! And the French didn't run from danger - they fought! She raised her chin and scoffed. "I've been in danger before."
Dumbledore smiled.
*****
Hogwarts, August 23rd, 1996
The vampire was struggling, but his bindings held him fast and the slab of stone on which he lay didn't budge. His mouth was open, long fangs visible, and he was screaming, but no sound escaped his pale lips - he had been silenced. A flick of a wand - a familiar wand - and deep cuts appeared on the vampire's nude body. They didn't bleed as much as one would expect and seemed to close slowly.
A bowl floated over to the vampire's head. His nostrils flared and he froze for a moment. Then he stretched his neck, trying to reach the bowl with his mouth. In response, it slowly tilted and red liquid - blood - dripped into his mouth. He eagerly swallowed the blood, even licking his lips. And the cuts closed.
"Fresh blood is needed for the accelerated healing. An acceptable limitation."
He saw a floating quill - a Dictaquill - write the words down.
The wand flicked and swished, casting several spells - uncommon or exotic detection spells and healing charms. "No change discernible."
Then the wand was pointed at the thick curtains behind the vampire, and they started to move to the side, revealing a window - and sunlight fell into the room, right at the foot of the stone slab.
The vampire's struggles intensified - it looked as if he was breaking his own limbs, trying to free himself - but the bonds, conjured ones, held. And as the curtain kept moving, the sunlight reached the vampire's feet.
Smoke started to rise into the air and the pale flesh darkened under the sun's touch. Red spittle was flying from the vampire's lips as he threw his head back and forth, and red tears filled his eyes. He had to be in agony. And yet, the movement of the curtains didn't stop, and neither did the sun.
His legs were dark as coal now and the sun's rays had just reached his groin and belly when his feet erupted in flames, which quickly spread to his legs.
By the time the sun reached his head, his feet and lower legs had burned to ashes and fire covered his chest. He was shaking his stumps, which had slipped out of their bindings, but other bonds still held him. And the voice mercilessly recorded everything.
When nothing but a blackened skull was left of the creature, the voice stated: "Vulnerability to sunlight has been lessened, but is still fatal."
Harry Potter fought the urge to vomit as he once again remembered his vision. Maybe he shouldn't have copied his memories for Dumbledore, but completely removed them. No. He shook his head. He was no coward. He could endure this.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice was far softer than usual. Almost hesitant.
"Nothing. Just a few unpleasant memories." He tried to sound casual, but neither Hermione nor Jeanne looked as if they were fooled. Not with Dumbledore currently watching his memories in his Pensieve.
But Hermione huffed and glared at him, instead of pitying him, so he chalked it up as a partial success.
"What did you see?" Jeanne asked. She hadn't said anything since Dumbledore had left the room to use his Pensieve.
He looked at her and she flinched, then frowned. He was about to tell her that it was none of her business, but Hermione was quicker. "That's a secret for a reason. I don't know it, either."
"And neither does Sirius," Harry added. The French witch - she certainly was acting more French than British - frowned and looked doubtful.
"It's standard practice that you only are told what you need to know," Hermione elaborated in what Harry thought of as her 'lecture voice'. "It minimises the risks from spies, or of captured members revealing crucial secrets."
His friend sounded quite convincing, though Harry was certain that she wanted to know what he had seen quite badly herself - she hated not knowing something.
"And what are you and Sirius doing?"
That was a question which Harry himself wanted answered. He had known that Sirius was working for Dumbledore, but Hermione? Hermione, who hadn't known anything about fighting a few weeks ago, and was still learning how to move in combat without exposing herself? If Sirius had been risking her…
Hermione bit her lower lip.
"She is helping me with research, the details of which cannot be revealed."
Harry clenched his teeth. He hadn't noticed that Dumbledore had returned from watching his memories. If Moody found out…
The Headmaster sat down behind his desk. "As Miss Granger explained, information has to be strictly controlled in this struggle, or we could lose everything to a single mishap or betrayal - as we came close to doing in the last war."
"But if you are the only one to know everything, that is a vulnerability as well," Jeanne retorted. Harry almost scoffed - if they lost Dumbledore they would lose the war anyway.
"I've taken precautions should something happen to me, even as unlikely as I deem that," Dumbledore answered with his usual smile. "In any case, with you now part of our forces, we have to decide how your talents would be best used. I think it's obvious that you would work best with Sirius and his group."
Jeanne nodded. Rather curtly, in Harry's opinion, but she didn't protest.
He didn't know why Hermione looked as if she wanted to protest, though. Didn't she trust the Headmaster? He had, after all, used Legilimency on Jeanne.
*****
London, Greenwich, August 23rd, 1996
"...and the Headmaster said it was obvious that she would 'work best with Sirius and his group'." Hermione Granger pressed her lips together, controlling her annoyance, as she waited for Mr Fletcher's reaction.
Her tutor shook his head and mumbled: "Old meddler." More loudly, he said: "Well, it is kinda obvious. The witch's as good as Black's fiancée, after all, and it wouldn't make sense to have her work with anyone else."
"It also means that she'll find out our secrets," Hermione said, still frowning. She didn't like that, even if the Headmaster trusted Jeanne - and had read her mind.
"Something Dumbledore certainly took into account. Might even consider it a good thing." Her tutor shrugged.
"What? Why?" That made no sense. They couldn't even tell Harry what they were doing, and now Jeanne would be informed?
"Probably thinks you need someone closer to your own age who you can talk with about what we're doing. I've been thinking something like that myself, lately." He leaned back in his seat.
She scoffed. "I could have talked to Harry about it." If Sirius hadn't told her not to. And if she wanted to force Harry to become a thief instead of an Auror. Which, if she was honest, wouldn't be a bad thing - for her.
Apparently, her tutor also thought that would be the likely outcome. "Think he'd make a good thief? 'Cause that's what tellin' him means. He won't stay back home any more than Black would." He muttered something Hermione didn't catch. Probably a curse. "And remember the rule."
Never talk about heists to someone who's not involved. She sighed. "He'll be the only one in the house who won't know about the heists." But Sirius was insistent that Harry's wish to become an Auror would come to pass. Anything for his godson, in other words.
Her tutor shrugged. "He knows we're working for Dumbledore, just not what exactly. Same as we know he's doing something other than Occlumency training with Dumbledore."
Hermione wasn't certain that this was the same, but telling Harry would mean revealing not just her secret, but her tutor's and Sirius's as well. Which would break another rule she had been taught as a thief. And she owed them too much to do that to them. "So, Jeanne's going to help us." Another untrained helper. And Jeanne probably wasn't even a good fighter. And certainly not an animagus.
Mr Fletcher frowned at her. "She'll be able to sound out marks, and you know she's a dab hand with disguises."
"Makeovers," she corrected him.
"Same thing," he said with a grin that told her she shouldn't have complained to him about the hairstyle forced on her by the other witch. "And there's another good thing about this, too."
"Which would be?" Hermione couldn't think of anything.
"She'll be able to make Black behave."
Hermione grinned. That was true - the dog wouldn't be able to act as outrageously as he usually did. With his girlfriend being involved, he might even act a little less recklessly.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 23rd, 1996
Hermione Granger had informed Sirius beforehand, of course, using her enchanted mirror. It wouldn't have done for him to blurt out secrets neither Harry nor Jeanne were meant to know. So when the wizard arrived home after the Wizengamot session had finally ended, he faced the frowning Jeanne with a smile. "I heard Dumbledore told you."
"Yes." Jeanne seemed unimpressed by Sirius's smile, Hermione thought. "And only because Harry had a 'vision'."
Sirius nodded, then looked at Harry. "Dumbledore handled that."
"Yes."
"He was bleeding and shaking," Hermione cut in, earning her a glare from Harry.
"I'm fine now," her friend answered.
She bit her lower lip. She couldn't blame Harry for this - it wasn't his fault. And she couldn't take her anger out on him.
"So… you're going to join my 'cell', then, chérie?" Sirius said.
"That's what Dumbledore said," Jeanne confirmed.
Hermione suppressed a sigh - they had gone over that already.
"You'll meet the rest of the members later, then. Standard rules," Sirius added, with a glance at Harry.
Hermione's friend grimaced. "I know, need to know and all that." He knew, and he didn't like it. But it couldn't be helped, Hermione thought.
"And I think we'll discuss what this means for us in private." Sirius smiled at Jeanne.
She nodded, still rather curtly. Hermione wished she could sneak in and listen to that conversation, then berated herself for it - it would be wrong to intrude on the couple's privacy like that. Even if she really wanted to know what Jeanne thought about this.
"Well, I'll guess it'll be just us this evening, then." Harry's voice interrupted her. He was smiling at her.
Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but Dumbledore needs my help tonight."
His face fell, and she felt a pang of guilt. He must be feeling isolated, with everyone going to their own secret Order meeting. But it couldn't be helped.
Even if she didn't like it, secrecy was needed if they wanted to avoid another disaster like in the last war.
*****
London, Greenwich, August 23rd, 1996
"Comment? Monsieur Smith? Hermione?"
At least Jeanne's reaction to meeting the other members of their cell was satisfactory, Hermione Granger thought. The witch was even speaking in French!
"The name's Fletcher," her tutor said, gesturing to the seats he had arranged for them. "Smith's just a cover."
She gasped. "You…" then she turned to Hermione. "And you…"
Hermione grinned, then said in her best American accent: "I never left Britain. I just changed my style."
Jeanne let loose with a number of interesting French curse words as she sat down heavily in the closest seat and glared at all three of them. "You played me for a fool!"
"No. We simply didn't tell you the truth," Mr Fletcher said.
"I wanted to, but I wasn't allowed," Sirius said. "Security, and all." He shrugged and sat down himself.
Hermione glared at the dog. She didn't know whether or not he was lying, but she didn't like him blaming others for keeping Jeanne in the dark.
Jeanne blinked. "And Harry doesn't know you're working with Sirius," she said to Hermione. "He thinks you're working with Dumbledore."
"Yes," Hermione replied.
"This is worse than some of the novels I read in school!" Jeanne complained. "Why can't you tell him? More 'security reasons'?"
"Yes," Mr Fletcher said. "But let's talk about what we can tell you, instead of what we can't tell to whom." Jeanne didn't look mollified, but she nodded.
"In short, we're thieves," Sirius cut in.
"We're working as thieves," Mr Fletcher corrected the dog. "Black's not really a thief. More like an amateur robber."
"'Amateur robber'?"
"Would you prefer 'hired wand'?"
"Yes, I would!"
Hermione sighed, then smiled apologetically at Jeanne, who was gaping again. "Now do you understand my reluctance to change my hairstyle?"
Jeanne blinked again, then started to smile. "Oh, it's part of your cover."
"Yes." Finally she understood, Hermione thought.
Then Jeanne started to laugh, shaking her head, and Hermione pouted. It really wasn't funny. She narrowed her eyes, then changed and jumped, landing on the witch's lap.
The resulting shriek was eminently satisfying.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, August 24th, 1996
Sirius was late, Harry Potter thought as he pushed around his empty teacup on the breakfast table. Everyone was late, actually, but for him. He frowned as he looked at the unused dishes and silverware on the table surrounding him - it felt as if he were alone in his home.
Sirius and Jeanne had returned from their meeting with the other members of Sirius's cell close to midnight last night, and had headed straight to their - Sirius's - room. Hermione had arrived a little earlier, but had looked quite tired, and so he hadn't tried to talk to her. And Remus was 'busy at Hogwarts', or so he had claimed. Probably off doing Order work as well - Harry was certain that Remus was part of Sirius's cell.
So he had spent the evening alone, and it looked like he'd spend the morning all by himself too. Kreacher was nowhere to be found, but that was no surprise - the crotchety old elf was probably hiding in the walls again. And he had read the Prophet already - although having the newspaper to himself was a small consolation for eating alone. Well, almost alone, he added with a glance at the floor.
"Looks like it's just the two of us," Harry told Crookshanks, but the ugly tomcat didn't even raise his head in response, ignoring him in favor of emptying another bowl of food.
"You know, the stray is much more sociable," Harry said, "and doesn't even eat half the amount of food you do."
That earned him a half-lidded, rather dismissive glance from Crookshanks while the cat licked his lips.
Harry slumped and rested his head on the table. Today wasn't a good day.
The sound of steps in the hallway interrupted his brooding. One person, long strides… Sirius! Harry leaned back on his chair and greeted his godfather with a glare.
"Hello, Harry! What a wonderful morning!"
It looked like it was 'ignore Harry day'. "You slept through most of it," Harry said.
Sirius laughed as he sat down and grabbed a croissant. "I can assure you that I did not," he said with a distinct leer.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Where's Jeanne?"
Sirius shrugged. "She decided to sleep in."
"Ah."
"It was a long day for her - finding out that we're waging a shadow war was something of a shock."
Harry would have liked to show Sirius how he felt about eating alone in his home, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up. "Speaking of," Harry said, "Hermione only came home a little before you did."
Sirius nodded, buttering up his croissant while the teapot filled his cup. "She is a hard worker."
"Do you know what she's doing for Dumbledore?" He wasn't hurt that she hadn't told him - a little, maybe; she could at least have told him that she was working for Dumbledore, security be damned, since she knew that he was working with or for Dumbledore as well.
"I only know what my cell does, not what others do for Dumbledore."
So Hermione wasn't in his cell, Harry thought. And she certainly wouldn't tell him what she was doing. "I worry," he said.
"Huh?" Sirius looked at him, then swallowed the bite he had taken out of the croissant. "What?"
"About what Dumbledore has her doing." Harry shook his head. "He claimed that she's helping him with research, but while she's very smart, she's only just finished her O.W.L.s. What can she do for him?"
Sirius shrugged. "She can find and file things - like books, notes and such. And she can read through books and look things up - she's a very quick reader."
"You think she's working as his librarian?" Harry asked.
"Well, I can personally attest to the fact that she's good at that kind of work. Although as I said, I only know what my group does."
Harry couldn't really see the Headmaster letting Hermione reorganise his personal library, as Sirius had let her. But what else would make sense? Dumbledore wouldn't drag a witch who was at best half-trained into combat. At least Harry didn't think so. He was about to speculate further, but a headbutt to his shin from Hermione's monster interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down at the pushy cat. "You've had your fill."
In response, Crookshanks meowed pitifully. Harry smirked - that wouldn't work on him.
"What are you doing to Crookshanks, Harry?"
But it would work on Hermione. He winced before turning his head. He hadn't heard her entering the kitchen either.
Before he could explain she was already kneeling next to her cat. "Oh, Crookshanks! Your bowl is empty! Didn't anyone feed you?" She glared at Harry and Sirius.
"I did!" Harry protested while Sirius simply shrugged.
"Probably not enough," Hermione said, shaking her head. "The poor thing is starving. Come on, Crookshanks, let's get you some food!"
Harry sighed. His best female friend was hopeless when it came to cats.
*****
London, King's Cross Station, September 1st, 1996
"Mate!"
"Hi, Ron," Harry Potter said, waving from his seat at the window. "I saved us a compartment." As expected, the Weasleys had arrived on platform 9¾ in the last few minutes before the Hogwarts Express departed.
"Move it, Ron, we're blocking the corridor!"
That was Ginny, pushing her brother inside. Harry nodded at her. "Hello, Ginny." Just a normal greeting. Nothing to it.
"Hello, Harry." She looked tense. At least the way her lips seemed to thin a little suggested that, in Harry's opinion.
"Hello, Harry!" Luna exclaimed as she appeared next to Ron.
"Hi, Luna." Harry smiled at her. She was wearing glasses not even Elton John would wear, not that he'd tell her that.
She leaned forward and twisted her head back and forth. "It's free of Nargles too!" she announced. "Good choice!"
Ron nodded in apparent agreement.
"I thought you couldn't see Nargles?" Harry asked.
"You can't. But with the right spells, you can see the aetherical tracks they leave," Luna explained. "And this compartment has no tracks."
"Unlike the Prime Minister's home," Ron commented as he stashed his and the girls' trunks overhead.
Harry froze. "The Prime Minister's home?" They wouldn't have…
"Yes!" Luna nodded. "We had to talk to a portrait of my great-grandfather on my mother's side, so it would talk to the portrait in the Prime Minister's office, which then could talk to the man himself, but it worked! We managed to talk to him. Face to face, I mean." She nodded sagely. "Once he realised that we were wizard journalists he was very receptive to our warnings of the dangers invisible magical creatures pose to muggles."
"To be fair, he was more concerned about Dementors than Nargles," Ron added.
Luna pouted. "Those are not as dangerous as Nargles since at least wizards and squibs can see Dementors." Then she perked up. "But he has sent an official request for help to deal with either to the Minister! That means the Nargles will soon lose their breeding grounds at Westminster!"
Harry didn't know if he should be amused or concerned about this news.
"And it's all thanks to your and Hermione's help, mate!" Ron said with a rather sappy smile as Luna slipped off her shoes and put her feet up on the seat, leaning against him.
Concerned, Harry thought. Definitely concerned.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 3rd, 1996
"Alright, Albus's latest mission sounds like a doozy. We just have to steal the purse of a Death Eater low-life named 'Emile Fawker' and replace it with one filled with leprechaun gold." Sirius smiled and put down a few pictures of a disreputable-looking man on the table in his - their - basement.
He sounded far too confident, in Hermione Granger's opinion. Even if it did sound like a comparatively easy assignment. Easier than breaking into the manor of an Old Family, at least. Although she wondered what its purpose was and whether the Headmaster had leprechaun friends. And if she would be allowed to keep the gold they stole.
"Fawker?" Her tutor scoffed and slid forward in his seat. "He's a well-known thug in Knockturn Alley. He's not an easy mark at all. Not that you'd know that, Black."
"I for one have full confidence in Jeanne and Hermione," Sirius shot back.
"We'll do our best," Jeanne chimed in, though she was looking slightly nervous, in Hermione's opinion.
"So, we'll be doing this in Knockturn Alley?"
"Aye," Mr Fletcher confirmed. "Fawker favors the Drunk Pixie, a tavern in the middle part of the Alley. A dive full of cutthroats and worse. Not a safe place for two girls."
"They'll be with me," Sirius said. "Even in disguise, I'll scare off the riff-raff. Might have to make an example out of one of them, but that's no great loss."
Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Really? You have no idea. Two pretty witches with a 'protector'? They'll think you're a pimp. And the Pixie's regulars don't like that kind of competition."
"But wouldn't they also mind seeing two whores by themselves?" Jeanne asked. "If the tavern's controlled by a pimp."
"They would try to recruit you," Mr Fletcher said, "which is why you won't be dressing as whores." He grinned. "You'll pose as hired wands from France, fresh to these shores."
"Ah." Sirius sounded almost disappointed, Hermione thought. "And you'll be our native guide?"
Her tutor shook his head. "No. I'll be around and keeping an eye out for trouble, but I won't associate with you."
"Can we pose as mercenaries?" Hermione asked. Her skill in Defence, while not as low as her O.W.L. result would indicate, wasn't up to fighting a typical gang of thugs in Knockturn Alley. And she doubted that Jeanne was any better at fighting. Unlike Harry, she thought, trying not to feel jealous. Her friend was a natural at Defence, duelling, fighting in general. Sirius had often said so, and after several weeks of being trained by Harry, Hermione was inclined to agree.
"As long as you don't try to duel the real hired wands, yes," Mr Fletcher said. "Make that 'as long as you don't duel', actually. If there's a fight, focus on defending and dodging, and let Black massacre the enemies. It's all he's good for, anyway."
"Hey!" Sirius sounded affronted. "I can pose as a criminal much better than anyone else here - I've been in Azkaban!"
"That's nothing to be proud of," Mr Fletcher retorted. "Anyway - don't lose your nerve, and you'll be fine. As long as you look like you can take care of yourself, the scum won't bother you. Just don't appear too arrogant or you'll have all the local toughs trying to gain a rep by taking you down."
Hermione didn't like the way Sirius grinned at hearing that.
*****
London, Knockturn Alley, September 3rd, 1996
Hermione Granger had thought the way the purebloods at the Smith's ball had looked at her had been bad, but walking through Knockturn Alley in the evening, even dressed for fighting - in tight and low-cut duelling robes made out of dragon leather, slit in the front and back to reveal leather tights and knee-high boots - instead of in provocatively cut dresses, was much, much worse. The pureblood scions of the Old Families had seen a young and pretty witch from the New World who wouldn't have the backing to create a scandal should she end up seduced by a rich young wizard. The denizens of Knockturn Alley, however… She suppressed a shudder. They looked at her as if she were a piece of meat. Literally, in some cases - like the hags hiding in a side alley and the man she suspected was a werewolf, judging by the scars on his face.
"Our robes might be a little too tight," Jeanne remarked in a strong French accent.
"Not at all," Sirius retorted. "We're here to make an impression, after all." His own robes matched theirs.
Hermione couldn't help feeling that they looked a little too daring, and not dangerous enough, but Jeanne had assured her that the French duellists were renowned for looking like that.
She still thought that the only reason no one had tried to attack them so far was that by the time someone made up their mind whether they were as dangerous as they appeared, or simply too stupid to realise the danger they were in, they were already past the next corner, out of the line of sight of the would-be assailant. She hadn't spotted Mr Fletcher yet, even though she had seen his disguise - rather shabby, tattered robes - earlier at home. But he had said he'd be nearby and she trusted him.
Another wizard with patched robes - didn't he know the Mending Charm? Or was this a conscious style choice? Maybe the patches were enchanted - stared at her, his hood not hiding how he licked his lips. She forced herself to stare back until he looked away, flashing her wand to show she was ready to curse him.
She hated that she couldn't see as well in the dark as she was used to when wearing her mask, or as a cat. She needed to enchant some prop glasses for these occasions. Glancing upwards, at the slanted roofs overhead, she wondered if she should have come as a cat, instead of as a hired wand. She dismissed the idea - she wouldn't have been able to do much, and would probably have attracted even worse attention, judging by the kind of grilled meat a street vendor was offering despite the late hour.
"There's the Drunk Pixie," Sirius said, pointing ahead at a rather shabby looking house. A crude picture of a pixie diving into a wine glass hung above the entrance.
A man stumbled out of the tavern, holding his stomach. For a moment, Hermione feared that he had been cursed, but then he emptied his stomach on the cobblestones next to the door and staggered away.
"We best watch what we drink here," Sirius said.
Hermione nodded as she straightened, pushing her chest out. She couldn't look afraid or nervous. She was a hired wand, ready to curse anyone who crossed her. Not a nervous thief about to steal from a thug.
She hoped she could fool others more easily than herself.
******
Hermione Granger's first thought upon entering was that the inside of the tavern made the Leaky Cauldron look like a high-class restaurant. Her second thought was that it made the alley outside look safe. She counted about two dozen wizards and witches in the tavern, in various states of intoxication, and most of them were staring at her and her friends. She forced herself to stare back, twirling her wand between her fingers. She was posing as a hired wand from France - and the French had a reputation.
"Très pittoresque, à mon avis," Jeanne said, looking around.
Sirius laughed loudly, then strode towards the bar as if he were alone in the tavern. Hermione followed him, a step behind Jeanne. Disgusting was a better description than colourful, she thought as she walked through a puddle of what looked like ale - or urine. Couldn't anyone here cast a cleaning charm? If she had come as a cat, with her fine nose, the stench alone would probably have rendered her unconscious. Unlike the dog, of course - dogs thrived in such environments.
The bartender, a wizard who looked like he had some hag ancestry, looked at them as they reached the bar, neither greeting them nor asking what they wanted to order. Sirius wasn't discouraged, of course. "Your finest wine, mon ami!"
"Est-ce qu'on doit s'accaparer une table?" Jeanne remarked. Hermione tensed up. There wasn't a free table - would Sirius want to start a fight so they could take one? It would certainly serve as the distraction Mr Fletcher said he might need - but she hadn't yet spotted her tutor...
"Non." Sirius shook his head, his freshly dyed ponytail swinging back and forth. "On ne doit pas se mettre à dos les indigènes." Hermione hoped no one in the tavern understood French.
"Five Sickles. Each!" the bartender barked as he levitated three glasses of wine to their corner of the bar.
Sirius flicked a Galleon at him. "Keep the change." He swished his wand over the glasses in what Hermione recognised as a Poison Detection Charm. A sip later he grimaced. "Mon dieu! Quelle horreur! Si ca c'est le meilleur vin qu'on a trouvé ici ..." He shuddered.
Jeanne didn't even bother to hide her distaste. "Dégueulasse!"
Seeing their reaction to the wine, Hermione decided not to actually drink from her own glass, but fake it instead as she searched the room for their mark and Mr Fletcher. She spotted their mark first. Fawker was seated at a corner table, with a hulking brute of a man who strongly reminded her of Goyle.
She couldn't see his purse, though. Which meant she needed to cast several detection spells and get close enough to deal with whatever alarm charms Fawker had used. That meant she needed a table close by. Or… She nodded. The bathroom would do. "Je dois aller aux toilettes."
"Ne touches à rien sans d'abord le nettoyer," Jeanne said.
Hermione had no intention of touching anything, cleaning charm or not. On the way she noticed a very hairy thug who loudly sniffed the air as she passed - a werewolf? She couldn't see any scars, but those could and usually would be hidden. She glared at him - werewolf or not, he certainly acted like a canine, and no self-respecting cat would let that go - and scoffed. Let him smell her perfume - her natural scent was masked.
He chuckled in response, but didn't look away until she entered the bathroom. It matched the tavern, she noted with a shudder, then started to cast. Cleaning charms, first - several of them. She needed to be able to work without fearing for her health. A See-Through-Walls Charm followed as she turned in the direction of Fawker's table.
It took her a few seconds to focus her enhanced vision on the mark - she saw much more of his companion than she had ever wanted to see - but once she'd managed, she easily spotted not just his purse, stuck to the insides of his robes, but also its contents. Too many Galleons for a wizard of his talent, at least as Mr Fletcher had described him. He had to be in the Dark Lord's pay. Shaking her head, she pulled out one of the purses the Headmaster had given to Sirius and altered its appearance to match Fawker's, before adjusting the number of gold coins inside.
Now she just had to deal with the charms on the mark's purse. And she couldn't study them without direct line of sight. She checked whether anyone was looking at the wall, then ended her charm. After shaking her head to readjust to her normal vision, she raised her wand and started casting.
Drilling a hole in the wall was child's play. Placing a lens into the hole so she could see Fawker wasn't that much more difficult. But dealing with the alarm charm - the alarm charms - on Fawker's purse through her contraption was anything but easy.
Fortunately, Fawker's charms were not the best, nor the most difficult. They would sound an alarm if anyone other than him touched his purse and prevented anyone from moving it with magic. Standard spells. It still took her several minutes to disable them, working at this distance, and she was sweating when she had finished.
A Switching Spell later, she held Fawker's purse in her hand. Smiling, she stashed the stolen purse in her enchanted pocket and fixed her appearance. Mission accomplished. Now all they had to do was leave without Sirius starting trouble.
Or, Hermione added to herself as she found her way back to her friends barred by the canine ruffian, without getting into trouble herself.
The thug bared his yellow teeth in a parody of a smile. He had elongated canines, Hermione noticed, and she flinched, remembering how Tripe had almost killed her. But the ruffian was also deeply tanned, and his eyes were yellow, not red. Not a vampire, then, but probably a werewolf.
"Afraid, lil' witch?" he drawled, his smile turning into a leer. "I thought you French liked it rough."
Hermione couldn't tell if the man was trying to start a fight or if he was trying to flirt with her - French witches had, at least among some British wizards, another kind of reputation as well. That he reeked of cheap alcohol didn't help. But, ultimately, it didn't matter - there was only one possible response to such a query from a dog. She sniffed, then hissed: "Vas te faire foutre!"
Apparently, the man understood that French obscenity - no surprise; he had probably heard it every time he'd accosted a French witch - and roared in response, his wand rising.
But Hermione was already moving, jumping to her right and casting a Shield Charm. That put a table of three other ruffians between herself and her attacker. Unfortunately, the thug was either too enraged to stay his casting - or too drunk to aim. A yellowish curse hit one of the three seated lowlifes in the back and sent him to the floor in convulsions. His screams silenced the whole room for a moment.
A sort of pain curse, Hermione thought as she ducked low. Not the Torture Curse, but she didn't want to find out first hand if her Shield Charm could deflect it. What was Sirius doing?, she thought as another curse passed over her head. Dropping to the floor, she rolled further to the right as the two remaining thugs jumped up and started flinging curses of their own.
"Bouge-toi!"
That was Sirius's voice! She glanced towards the bar just in time to see another thug fly through the air and crash on to a different table, the dog twirling his wand as Jeanne motioned to her.
Hermione glanced to her left. Her assailant was under attack by the two friends of the still screaming thug he had hit. But their aim seemed to be even worse than his. Nevertheless, this was an opportunity to rejoin her friends.
She took a deep breath, then jumped on the table in front of her. She ignored the startled yells from the two witches occupying it, took two quick steps, then leaped on the bar - and promptly slipped on the mirrored top, sending half a dozen glasses and bottles to the floor before joining them herself.
Cursing the sloppy bartender and glad that her shield had kept the broken glass on the floor from slicing her up, she jumped to her feet. Two men were between her and Sirius and Jeanne, one of them turning towards her. She sent him to the floor with a quick Stunner and Sirius's next curse flung the other up against the ceiling. He crashed down on to the bar, crushing a few more glasses - without a Shield Charm to protect him.
"Allons-y!" Jeanne yelled, sending a Stunner towards the door. Sirius nodded and flicked his wand. Alongside the path to the door, the tables suddenly turned into wolves. That sent most of the riff-raff not already fighting - Fawker among them, she noticed - fleeing, and the three used the distraction to reach the door.
At the door, held open by Jeanne as Sirius covered the room, Hermione glanced back. The suspected werewolf had just finished smashing the last thug into the ground and was glaring at her. She sneered in response. Predictably, he roared again and came charging straight at her.
Her Stunner caught him in the chest before he had covered half the distance between them and he dropped to the ground.
"Quel chien stupide," she mumbled as she left the dive.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 3rd, 1996
"I'm beginning to think that Black's mere presence causes fights to start," Mr Fletcher said half an hour later, when all of them were back home.
"What?" Sirius frowned. "It wasn't my fault! She started it!" He pointed at Hermione.
Hermione Granger glared at him. "The dog started it. The other dog," she clarified when she saw Sirius's expression. "I think he was a werewolf."
"He certainly acted like one," Jeanne said.
"Yellow eyes, enlarged canines and a rabid attitude? Yes, that brute was a werewolf," Mr Fletcher said.
Hermione pursed her lips. She didn't like the stereotypes being thrown around, but that dog certainly had acted like the worst werewolf cliché.
"In any case, it wasn't my fault," Sirius said. "I didn't start the fight - I finished it."
"Technically, Hermione did, by casting the last spell," Mr Fletcher pointed out. "But it doesn't matter. Good work with Fawker's purse." He nodded at her.
"Thank you." She smiled, even though she was a little irked that he had spotted her without her noticing.
Mr Fletcher nodded. "Woulda been better if you had left without starting a brawl, but that couldn't be helped." It hadn't been her fault, Hermione thought. "I took the liberty of distracting the bouncer when the trouble started," he went on.
So that was why the brawl had broken out without any security intervening. Hermione slowly nodded.
"What exactly was the purpose of this mission?" Jeanne asked. "Any member of an Old Family could easily replace the amount of gold Hermione stole." Like Malfoy, Hermione thought.
"It will probably wreck one of Voldemort's plans. Make him lose confidence in Fawker, or Fawker's associates? Cause a rift - either between the Dark Lord and Fawker, or between Fawker and those he's since paid? Hurt the tavern's reputation?" Sirius shrugged. "Albus didn't tell me much. But he wouldn't have sent us to steal that purse if it wasn't important."
Mr Fletcher snorted. "Fawker's rather important in Knockturn Alley. Losing the Dark Lord's gold will rile him up. And Albus wanted his purse not just stolen, but delivered to him, right?"
Sirius nodded. "I dropped it off at Hogwarts before coming back here."
Hermione's tutor scoffed. "Wouldn't surprise me if there's already a cutpurse from a rival gang spending that gold in the Alley and bragging about pulling one over on Fawker."
"Albus's starting a gang war?" Sirius sounded both surprised and envious.
"Maybe." Mr Fletcher shrugged. "I don't know for sure. Gang wars start for other reasons too."
Hermione wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to know if she had just helped to start a gang war. Or whether the Headmaster was ruthless enough to set one up.
*****
Hogwarts, September 8th, 1996
"Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat."
"Good evening, sir," Harry Potter replied as he sat down.
"You look like something is bothering you," Dumbledore said, offering him some sweets, which he declined.
Harry was tempted to say it was nothing. He didn't want to bother the Headmaster with his concerns, not when Dumbledore must have been very busy this week - Harry hadn't seen him since the Welcoming Feast. Before he could say anything, though, Dumbledore went on: "Or should I say distracted?"
Harry sighed. "Yes, sir." He licked his lips, trying to find the right words. "I was wondering if you had trained Hermione in Occlumency. Seeing as she's helping you with your research." The Headmaster wouldn't let her help him with his research if she couldn't even spot, much less protect herself against Legilimency, would he? Unless her research was meant to be leaked.
"Ah, do not worry. While Miss Granger is not trained in Occlumency, she is nevertheless adequately protected against Legilimency attacks."
"What?" Harry stared at him. "There are other ways to protect your mind?"
"In a manner of speaking." Dumbledore steepled his hands and leaned back. "They wouldn't have been enough for you, given your special situation." His connection to Voldemort, in other words, Harry thought. "But," the Headmaster went on, "Legilimency is a rare skill. Few are proficient enough to use it without being obvious about it - which, given that such an act is as illegal as the unauthorised use of Veritaserum, serves as a quite effective deterrent for most. And even those who have mastered it require prolonged eye contact."
"So, Hermione will avoid looking others in the eyes?" Harry didn't think that would work well, given his best friend's character. On the other hand, she rarely ventured out into Wizarding Britain by herself, and if she was with Sirius in the Ministry, few would look at her. That was his impression, at least.
"More or less."
Harry pressed his lips together. That sounded both far too easy, and far too dangerous. But if the Headmaster thought it was enough… He nodded.
"Was that all that bothered you?"
"Not exactly." Harry took a deep breath. "Have you found out what Voldemort is planning? All those murders, the blood magic… you saw my memories."
Dumbledore nodded. "The clues I have gathered - many of them thanks to you - have allowed me to deduce at least two of his aims with some degree of certainty. First, he continues to undermine the Ministry. His agents are spreading his influence in many departments. My friends and I are opposing them, of course, but we do not know all of his followers. Not everyone who shares his views on muggleborns is one of his agents, after all."
Harry didn't think that that mattered much. Either way, they were helping Voldemort. But he already knew about that. "And the second? The ritual?"
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore sighed again. "Unless your last vision was set up to deceive me - which I do not think likely - then Voldemort is searching for another way to gain what he considers immortality."
"Isn't he already immortal?" He had survived being blown to ashes, after all.
"That is a matter for debate. Or would be, were this known. He has not rendered himself immortal so much as he has prevented his soul from passing on to the afterlife. Instead, upon the destruction of his body, he turns into a shade. It requires a lot of effort for him to regain a body."
Harry frowned. "He seemed to be able to possess people rather easily."
"Possession is at best a short-term solution. A possessed body will not last long. Sooner rather than later, it will decay."
Harry shuddered. The poor souls who had died like that, serving Voldemort… "But he made a new body, didn't he?"
"Indeed, he has created an artificial body. From the looks of it, it is far more resistant to decay. However, I do not think it will last too long either - the laws of magic are harder to break than those of the Ministry." Dumbledore smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, it seems Tom has found a way around this - or rather, a potential solution to his problem. Vampirism."
"Oh."
The Headmaster nodded. "A vampire's body does not decay, despite being a possessed corpse."
"He wants to become a vampire? Or possess one?"
"I think, given your last vision, that the drawbacks of vampirism - the vulnerability to sunlight chief amongst them, but also the hunger for blood; Tom would hate being a slave to his instincts, even though I suspect he already suffers from that to some degree - are unacceptable to him. He wants to be a vampire without any of the drawbacks." He chuckled, once. "Many would be content with having solved a problem thought insurmountable. Not him, though. He would want a perfect solution. And 'perfection is the enemy of good enough', as the saying goes." Dumbledore smiled. "We'll have time to prepare his defeat while he tries to outdo himself. That is why I asked to speak to you this evening. As you know, I have spent considerable time researching your mother's protection."
Harry nodded, grimacing slightly - he was all too aware of that fact.
"And you also know how I was unable to move the blood wards on your aunt's home."
"Can you move them now?" Harry leaned forward. If they could further improve the protection of Grimmauld Place...
"I could. However, since your protection will end the day you turn seventeen, it would not serve any purpose. You do not need to spend any more time at your relatives' home anyway, and Grimmauld Place is already protected."
Harry pressed his lips together. What good was this breakthrough if it came too late?
"But that doesn't change the fact that your mother's protection is the key to defeating Voldemort. The Boy-Who-Lived is the only one who ever defeated him - or so he thinks." Dumbledore shook his head. "I have to confess that I am at least partially responsible for your fame - I wanted to protect Lily's reputation. A little child resisting the Dark Lord is a miracle. But a young muggleborn witch managing to defeat the Dark Lord with an unknown ritual?" He spread his hands.
Harry pressed his lips together. People would talk about her using the Dark Arts. And, as much as he hated to admit it, they wouldn't be entirely wrong. She had used blood magic, after all. He shook his head. "So I'll be serving as bait, then, and hoping he'll personally try to kill me again?" He could handle that.
"Not exactly." Dumbledore's smile looked almost cruel, Harry thought. "I'll be teaching you how to use your blood protection to attack and defeat him."
*****
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Chapter 25: Complications
Starfox5
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Chapter 25: Complications
London, Ministry of Magic, September 10th, 1996
Saul Croaker prided himself on his ability to focus on his work no matter what was happening outside the Department of Mysteries. As the Head Unspeakable, he knew his duty, and unless something affected the research conducted by his department or the numerous artefacts safeguarded in its vaults, it didn't concern him or his department. Ministers had disagreed in the past, but the Department was independent for a reason - you couldn't trust politicians to treat its secrets with the caution and respect they deserved. As a rule, the short-sighted fools only saw an easy way to solve whatever problem they couldn't deal with themselves.
But every rule had its exceptions - in this case, Albus Dumbledore. The Chief Warlock was one of the few wizards outside Saul's department whose knowledge of magic surpassed his own. Who knew what Alchemy would look like today if Dumbledore hadn't wasted his talents running Hogwarts and trying to reform Wizarding Britain. Merlin's beard, the man had worked - worked! Not studied, worked! - with Flamel! If only he had joined the Department instead of becoming a teacher! But Saul's predecessor either hadn't been convincing enough or had - and justly so - suspected that Dumbledore would have replaced him in short order. Unspeakable Parkinson had always been more of a politician than a researcher. If it had been the other way around, he might not have made that fatal mistake when testing a new spell.
Saul shook his head. His thoughts were wandering again. But he didn't even try to focus on his work. Not when Dumbledore was coming to 'discuss a matter of some importance'. The last time he had done that, two Unspeakables had been revealed as Death Eater spies. And Dumbledore had revealed why he had been the one to defeat Grindelwald.
Saul winced at the humiliating memory. He had almost lost his position over that. That Dumbledore had missed a third spy, Rookwood, who was only revealed after Voldemort's defeat, was no consolation. He should have been more attentive.
He had been more attentive afterwards, of course, although his methods might not have met Dumbledore's approval - might. For all his principles, the man was ultimately rather pragmatic when it counted - but at least Saul was certain that there were no more spies among his staff. Almost certain. Which was why he was slightly nervous about the upcoming meeting.
As if on cue, the charm on his desk announced that his visitor had arrived. Saul pushed the unread reports and correspondence away and straightened in his seat.
"Good afternoon, Saul."
"Good afternoon, Albus. Please have a seat."
"Thank you for seeing me on short notice." Dumbledore sat down, smiling as if Saul had had any choice in the matter.
"I always have time for the Chief Warlock." As long as he was called Albus Dumbledore.
"Thank you. Your predecessor was not as hospitable."
For a moment, Saul wondered - not for the first time - if Parkinson's accident had actually been an accident. But then he told himself that Dumbledore wouldn't have needed to go that far to get rid of an Unspeakable. So he simply nodded. "You wished to discuss a matter of importance?" Saul had no stomach for making pleasant conversation while that loomed over this visit.
"Straight to the point - something many members of the Wizengamot would do well to imitate." Dumbledore's smile grew wider for an instant, then vanished. Saul refrained from swallowing dryly. "I bring dire news. Your office is secure?"
"Of course." Saul wanted to frown - to ask if his office was protected against eavesdroppers! Not even the Death Eater spies had managed to get that far.
"I trust that you are aware of the recent string of murders." Dumbledore nodded.
"The ones the public thinks are related to vampires? Yes. Blood magic rituals, according to our investigation." Saul allowed himself to smile. If Dumbledore had just come to warn him of that…
"Blood magic, indeed. But I would not have bothered you if we were dealing with a simple practitioner of that most questionable art," Dumbledore said and Saul froze. The Chief Warlock leaned forward. "It is Voldemort, Saul. He is back."
Saul narrowed his eyes. "He's been back for years. You told me four years ago to tighten security around the Hall of Prophecies."
"I did, and you managed to improve its defences significantly. A testament to the skill of your department." Dumbledore sighed. "Which is why I have come today. I would like you to adjust its defences."
"Adjust?" Saul frowned. Dumbledore had inspected the security measures the Department had added four years ago himself and had told him, in private, that they would give even Voldemort pause. So what adjustments could he… He drew a hissing breath. "You want to use the Prophecy as bait."
Dumbledore nodded with a wry smile. "Yes. Voldemort has been busy researching a blood magic ritual and spreading his influence inside the Ministry. While the situation is not as dire as it was twenty years ago, I would rather stop him now than let him continue."
"He will suspect a trap." Voldemort hadn't almost brought the country to its knees by being stupid.
"He might, but I will endeavour to convince him otherwise. Since he does not know that I am aware of his plans, I think he might take the chance, provided he learns of this new 'weakness' through channels he trusts."
"Spies you mean," Saul spat.
"Not in your department," Dumbledore said, but Saul could almost hear the unsaid 'this time'. "Since anyone who is the subject of a Prophecy can enter the Hall, it should not be too difficult to set up a visit by someone Voldemort can safely interrogate once the spies in the Ministry inform him."
Saul narrowed his eyes. "A disposable stooge who just happens to be the subject of a Prophecy?" That would be very convenient. Too convenient.
Dumbledore smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a very familiar looking sphere.
"You faked a Prophecy Sphere?" Saul was almost as appalled as he was intrigued.
"Not exactly. I repurposed a blank one," Dumbledore said.
Of course, he would be able to get his hands on what Saul had believed to be exclusive to the Department! "Everything has been set up already, then?" he asked.
Dumbledore inclined his head, still smiling.
And Saul knew that if he didn't accede to this scheme, his successor would. "I hope you know what you are doing, Albus," he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.
"So do I, Saul."
"And what if he doesn't take the bait?" Saul asked.
"Then I will have to resort to a more dangerous scheme."
Hogwarts, September 12th, 1996
When he heard the faint noise of footsteps, Harry Potter immediately stopped in the middle of the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office and tapped his glasses. At once, his vision changed, and as usual, it took him a moment to adjust to suddenly being able to see through walls - and clothes. He had to focus his eyes in a certain way to actually see what was behind a specific wall, instead of being blinded by overlapping glimpses of everything in sight. But he was getting used to that, thanks to his constant practice. Constant Vigilance, of a sort, he thought as he looked through the wall to his left, into the corridor to the courtyard. Two witches - two Slytherins - were walking there. Greengrass and Davis. He frowned. They weren't moving as if they were planning to attack him or anyone else - they weren't even holding their wands - but it was late, close to curfew.
He changed his focus, peering into the satchel Davis carried. It was filled with plants. Perhaps they had gathered a few ingredients in the greenhouses since it was the night of the new moon. He refocused his sight anyway, to check if they were hiding anything under their clothes - he wasn't a prefect himself, but if Slytherins were smuggling things into the school, then it would be his duty to inform Neville and Lavender. And if they were smuggling anything dangerous…
They weren't, as he found out. He also found out that their reputations, at least as far as their bodies were concerned, were slightly overblown. Not that Harry was interested in them anyway - even if Sirius hadn't taught him that witches from Old Families were bad news, doubly so if they were in Slytherin, those two had framed Hermione and gotten her expelled.
They were almost at the intersection, and he quickly and almost silently cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. While it wasn't a real secret that he was receiving special lessons from Dumbledore, he'd rather not have Slytherins know his schedule. Even if they were not Death Eaters themselves, their parents might be - and all of them were far too close to the Malfoys.
"Did you hear that?"
"What?"
"Someone whispered."
"It was probably just a ghost."
When the two girls slowly stepped around the corner with their wands drawn, Harry was tempted to scare them - a few hexes Sirius had taught him would do it - but that would expose him. And probably cause some trouble for Dumbledore, should they go tattling to their parents. Malfoy had been rather quiet for months now, and Harry didn't want to risk changing that just for a lark.
So he watched them pass, smirking at their nervous expressions, and didn't move until they had turned the corner to the stairs. A few minutes later, he reached the Headmaster's office.
"Learning how to use the protection your mother left you deliberately, and for things other than what she designed it for, will not be easy." Dumbledore looked straight at Harry Potter with a very serious expression. "Nevertheless, it is crucial to defeating Voldemort. We cannot count on him trying to personally kill you as he tried and failed in 1981 and 1992. He might yet risk a third defeat; his arrogance and need to prove his supremacy is impressive from a certain point of view, but he is no fool."
Harry nodded. He already knew that. Fool me once, and all that.
"So, since your mother used a ritual, you will have to learn how to use one yourself, if not her particular one, so you are familiar with the fundamentals. Then you will need to learn what your mother did to protect you. Only then you will be ready to use its power for yourself."
"And all before my seventeenth birthday. No pressure." Harry forced himself to smile.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I am confident that you will manage it, and with quite some time to spare. I have taken measures to slow his research down."
"What if he takes so long that I lose my mother's protection before he is ready to move?"
"He is acting more cautiously than in the past, but between his arrogance and pride, and since he believes himself to be immortal and is in need of impressing his followers to strengthen their resolve, he is likely to take more risks than would be prudent, if presented with a tempting opportunity."
"You mean a trap," Harry said.
"Precisely." Dumbledore beamed at him.
"With me as bait." Harry nodded. Voldemort wanted him dead anyway; better to use that against the Dark Lord than hiding from him.
"No." The Headmaster shook his head. "Your courage does you credit, but after his two failures, Voldemort is unlikely to attack you personally. He already sent an assassin after you, after all. And that means that you have to be even more cautious, lest his next attempt succeeds."
Or others might die - Remus and Ginny had almost been killed by the vampire trying to kill him. Harry pressed his lips together. He didn't want more people risking their lives for him while he cowered behind the wards of Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place. "What else will tempt him out of hiding?"
"The prophecy tying your two fates together."
"The what?"
"Did you never wonder why Voldemort tried to murder a baby? Why your mother created a ritual to protect you at the cost of her own life?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
Harry had assumed that the Dark Lord had simply been trying to murder his parents and their entire family for fighting against him, as he had done so often in the last war. But if the Headmaster was asking like that… "He needed me for a ritual?" Harry guessed.
"No. There was a prophecy by a Seer, before your birth." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…" he started to say as Harry listened with rapt attention.
"...will be born as the seventh month dies."
Harry Potter's thoughts were racing when the Headmaster finished retelling the prophecy. This was the reason his parents had been murdered. "So… we'll be duelling? Me and the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Prophecies do not work like that, no matter what some people believe. As you may have noticed, the prophecy is rather vague. Easy to misinterpret - or to fit to events after they have already happened. Ultimately, a prophecy is only as powerful as the belief in it."
"But it does fit. I do have that power. I already defeated him twice." Harry didn't remember the first time, but he wouldn't ever forget the second time. Seeing Quirrell die slowly from the poison the Dark Lord had struck him with, the stench of burning flesh when Harry had jumped their possessed attacker, too late to save the teacher…
"You did, but you only received the power because Voldemort attacked your family. If he had ignored you Lily's ritual wouldn't have been completed. One could say that only Voldemort's belief in the prophecy made it happen."
"But if he already knows the prophecy, why would that be good bait for a trap?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore smiled. "Because he does not know the full prophecy. The spy who overheard it was discovered before the Seer had finished, and had to flee. And so Voldemort will have wondered for years what else the Prophecy said about him - and about you. Wondered whether it also held the key to defeating you. Wondered if he would have been able to kill you had he known the full prophecy." He leaned back. "I do not think he will be able to resist the opportunity to get his hands on the entire prophecy."
"And how long will that take?" Harry asked. How much time did he have to master this power?
"Do not worry. I have just started to set things in motion. There are several steps yet to be taken, all of them under my control." Dumbledore smiled. "Keep in mind that he is not aware that we know about him, and about his plans. He is already at a serious disadvantage. Now let us get started with learning about rituals."
Harry nodded. The faster they started, the faster they would be ready.
But he couldn't help wondering if the Dark Lord would actually be fooled. And what they would do should Dumbledore's plan fail.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 19th, 1996
Hermione Granger stared at her reflection in the full body mirror, turning slightly and looking over her shoulder. After a few - more than a few - attempts, she had finally managed to get an even artificial tan.
"That doesn't seem like it would fool anyone. It's just you, with a tan. And not even a deep tan."
She didn't glare at Jeanne. The other witch was correct - using a spray tan wouldn't alter her skin tone enough to suffice as a disguise. There were other muggle methods - using full body makeup - but applying those would be even more time-consuming than using a spray tan.
"I don't know why you even try these muggle methods." Jeanne snorted. "Just use a Skin-Colour-Change Charm."
"That is a known charm - if not as common as the Hair Dyeing Charm - and so people might check for it." Which was why she was planning to use muggle disguises. They were far harder to use, but wouldn't vanish after a single Dispelling Charm.
"A good cleaning charm would still strip all the makeup off your skin."
She pressed her lips together. "Yes. Which is why I'm researching ways to combine muggle and magical methods." Even though she hadn't made much progress.
"You haven't had trouble so far and your 'catsuit' covers you from head to toe," Jeanne pointed out.
"It's better to be prepared for all eventualities," Hermione shot back. "And I can't wear my suit when I'm posing as a debutante from the New World. I'd rather not lose my disguise in the middle of a ball."
"Attempting to remove any kind of charm from a witch at such an event would be incredibly rude." Jeanne sniffed. "Duels have been fought over less."
"I don't think I can count on that," Hermione retorted. The sort of witches who had framed her as a thief wouldn't be above 'accidentally' ruining a foreign upstart's robes and makeup.
"I guess you are correct - I've encountered a number of very rude wizards and witches in Britain. But trying to expose a witch like that…" Jeanne shook her head. "That would never happen in France."
Hermione doubted that, but she would certainly not try to defend the Old Families of Wizarding Britain. Not after what they had done to her. "So, I need to find a way to change my appearance that is not easily reversible, and yet easy to apply and remove when needed. It looks like I'll have to find or create a potion to achieve that effect." And she didn't think she could feasibly create such a potion without spending an inappropriate amount of time on it.
Jeanne nodded in agreement. "You might need a discreet potioneer. Sirius certainly could afford the expense."
Hermione glanced at the French witch - was that a barb aimed at the amount of gold he had spent on her debts? Probably not, judging by Jeanne's expression. She nodded. "But finding someone who will not betray me, willingly or not, might be a little tricky." The Weasley twins were certainly skilled enough for such a task, having opened their own joke shop in Diagon Alley immediately after taking their N.E.W.T.s, but Hermione didn't know if they could be trusted not to spill her secret if they thought she simply wanted to play Cinderella or prank someone with a disguise. And to reveal everything to them… She shook her head.
Jeanne sighed. "I know. Sirius wants me to learn Occlumency, but finding a tutor who has the time to teach me and can be trusted is nigh impossible."
Hermione shrugged. "As long as you avoid their eyes and maintain some mental discipline, you will be fine. And given the kind of robes you like to wear, I do not think too many men will be looking at your eyes." She almost winced at her own words - she hadn't meant to sound like a jealous witch.
Fortunately, Jeanne laughed. "Indeed. However, not everyone is susceptible to such distractions. Like Dumbledore," she added with a frown.
Hermione shrugged. Of course, the Headmaster would check if Jeanne could be trusted. "There are not too many people like him."
"But it only takes one of them - and they can disguise themselves as well."
Hermione knew that also - if the Dark Lord had been a little more suspicious of a cat's presence that time… "Yes. But we can only do so much."
"We haven't had another mission in a week, though."
Hermione frowned at the other witch. "You sound like Sirius."
"Perhaps." Jeanne smiled widely. "He could have been born French. He is certainly brave enough. And passionate enough."
Hermione tried not to frown and bit her lower lip. She was in no mood to hear more details about Sirius and Jeanne's relationship. Not when her own love life was nonexistent.
Unfortunately, Jeanne hadn't missed her reaction. "Oh, don't be like that! You could find a lover of your own, with little effort."
Hermione scoffed. "The frumpy muggleborn? Not even my closest friends think I'm attractive!" Of course, she had done all she could to make that happen, but still…
"I'm certain that they would change their opinion at once, should they see you right now," Jeanne retorted with a grin.
Hermione glared at her and summoned her robe to cover herself. Or as much as the robe - a gift from Jeanne - managed. "They can't. It would ruin my secret identity."
"But you could easily have a lover in your secret identity. Miss Merriweather was very popular, as I recall. And you're an adult witch now."
Hermione scoffed again. "That wouldn't be much of a relationship." And she didn't really feel any different now that she was an adult in the eyes of Wizarding Britain. Just another birthday spent without her best friends. And without her parents.
"Perhaps. On the other hand, many wizards might like an affair without many strings." Jeanne smiled at her. "I think you might enjoy it as well, and learn a few things that will be very useful once you start a real relationship."
Hermione glared at her, but the other witch simply kept smiling at her.
Much like Sirius, she thought. Far too much like the dog.
Hogwarts, September 26th, 1996
"Ron! Harry!"
Harry Potter watched Luna walk towards the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. She was waving a letter - opened, so the odds of it being cursed were low, or she'd have been the first victim. He still tensed slightly - the last session with Moody had focused on traps, and Harry had been checking pretty much everything with his glasses since.
"Luna!" Ron put his glass of pumpkin juice down and glanced at Seamus, who quickly scooted a little to the side, freeing the spot next to Harry's friend. "Have a seat!"
Harry refrained from commenting that the two had been talking to each other right before breakfast - not even ten minutes ago - and so there was no need to act as if they had been separated for weeks. Especially since they weren't a couple. Not yet, at least. But they didn't deserve such comments from him. And doing so would make him look jealous, as Ginny would certainly be quick to point out.
So he took another bite out of his sausage - he already missed the croissants Jeanne had introduced at home - and listened to what Luna had to say.
"Daddy wrote me, look!" She put the letter down on the table and smoothed it out, almost toppling Seamus's teacup in the process. The other student scooted a little further away in response. "He's been in correspondence with the Prime Minister, you know."
"Yes. You told me." Ron smiled, rather sappily. He hadn't told Harry that. At least Harry couldn't remember being told.
"Yes. And now the Prime Minister has informed him that he has had both Westminster and Downing Street protected against Nargles and started an anti-Dementor task force. He wants Daddy on it since he's the foremost expert on invisible creatures in Britain!"
"Great!" Ron looked like he wanted to hug her, Harry thought, but didn't realise it.
He made an agreeing noise himself and finished his sausage.
Luna nodded several times. "But the Ministry is dragging their feet. They claim that the Dementors are under control and no threat to muggles and that there is no need to spend money on taking precautions."
Ron scoffed. "Fools."
Harry nodded in agreement. "They should destroy those monsters." What they had done to Sirius…
"Impossible, mate." Ron shook his head. "Can't kill Dementors."
"Daddy says we might simply not have found out their secrets yet," Luna said. "But nothing is truly immortal."
Harry certainly hoped that that was the case with Voldemort.
"Dumbledore supports the initiative as well," Luna went on. "He said so in the Wizengamot." She smiled. "The Chief Warlock's support means a lot to us! People are finally taking The Quibbler more seriously!"
Harry doubted that, but he didn't say that either. Although he didn't doubt that the Headmaster had good reasons to support this 'task force'. If the Dementors ever got out of control… He shuddered.
Hogwarts, September 27th, 1996
...and then stir five and half a times counter-clockwise until the liquid's colour changes from turquoise to dark blue.
Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter closed his eyes and pushed the Potions book away. What would happen if the colour didn't change after stirring it five and a half times? The book didn't say, but Snape would ask. The git always asked questions as if he expected Harry to fail at every attempt to brew a potion. He frowned. He wasn't actually bad at Potions, no matter what Snape claimed. Certainly not as bad as, say, Neville, who had dropped Potions after the O.W.L.s. Harry was about average for the N.E.W.T. class in his own estimation - if he took Snape's favouritism for the Slytherins into account. Still… "Why do you need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to become an Auror? Do they expect us to brew our own potions for work?"
He hadn't expected an answer, but Ron looked up from his essay and gave him one anyway. "Percy told me when I asked him in summer. When the Auror corps was founded, you were expected to brew your own potions because the Ministry wouldn't pay for them - they could save gold that way. But, as Aurors began to need more complicated potions, they had to drop that policy since an Auror couldn't spend weeks brewing a potion. But the requirement stayed out of tradition."
"I should have known it was something stupid like that," Harry said.
Ron shrugged. "It's not as if you need to have an Outstanding in Potions - an Acceptable is enough. Although knowing Potions can be useful if you're investigating a case, or so I heard."
"It's still two more years with Snape," Harry retorted, and smiled when he saw his friend wince - since Ron was planning to become an Auror as well, he would have to suffer through the same.
Movement on his side - he sat with the back to the wall, of course - drew his attention. He surreptitiously glanced over and saw that a witch from fourth or fifth year had just taken a seat at the table closest to his and Ron's. She wasn't looking at the book in front of her, though, but at him. That was suspicious.
"Do you know the witch to my left?" he whispered, leaning forward as if to ask Ron something about the text he was reading.
"Huh?" Ron glanced over. "Romilda Vane, I think. Ginny once complained about her."
"She's in Ginny's year then?"
"No, fourth year."
Vane didn't look like a fourth year witch, Harry thought. He tapped his glasses. And she didn't dress like a fourth year witch under her robes, either. That looked more like the lingerie Jeanne owned, actually.
And she was smiling at him.
London, Diagon Alley, September 28th, 1996
Hermione Granger slowly walked down Diagon Alley as the sun went down over London. Her mark would soon finish his work and, according to what they had been told, head to his favourite pub, the Bent Unicorn, to drink a pint before heading home. But she didn't want to get there too soon and then have to spend a long time waiting on the street outside the pub.
She reached 'Quidditch Supplies', and, as she had expected, the dog stopped following her in favour of staring at the broom on display. She gave his leash a sharp tug - they weren't here to stare at brooms, no matter how nice the latest Cleansweep looked, and if someone started to wonder why a dog was interested in Quidditch, their carefully chosen disguises would be for naught.
The dog whined and glared at her, but she scoffed in return and scolded him. "Bad dog!" She had to use her wand to clean his now grubby snow white fur again and wondered how he had managed to get it dirty without slipping his leash - it looked like he had rolled on the ground in a side alley!
A young man chuckled at the sight, then smiled when he noticed her looking at him. He was rather attractive, Hermione noticed. And his humour didn't seem to be aimed at her, just at her situation. But she was on a mission, and a friendly bystander could ruin their plan. So she glared at him, huffing, and then focused on cleaning the dog until the man had walked away.
They walked passed four more shops until they reached Gregor's Gloves next to the pub. She wasn't particularly interested in the shop's wares, but this was the right location to wait for their mark. Predictably, the dog made his lack of interest in gloves very clear by lying down and pretending to sleep, but she could safely ignore him while keeping an eye out for their mark. Mr Fletcher and Jeanne, both disguised, were around as well, one opposite the pub checking the vegetables on display there, the other at a street vendor stand, eating a snack. Just in case.
Hermione had spent a few minutes in front of the display window, earning a few glances from the owner inside, when she spotted their mark walking down the Alley. Trevor Dicklebury, thirty-four years old, just old enough to have possibly fought in the last war before entering the Ministry, would be passing her in a minute on his way to the pub.
Or rather, she corrected herself, he would be passing her once he stopped staring at the new Cleansweep in the window. She ignored the dog's growl - they couldn't have known he would do that, and a dog looking at brooms was simply too suspicious.
Still, when Dicklebury finally tore himself away from the display, she almost sighed with relief. Showtime!
When the man was about ten yards away, she dropped the small object she had concealed in her hand to the ground. As planned, the transfigured mouse ran straight at Dicklebury. The man's puzzled expression turned into a terrified one when Sirius started chasing the apparent mouse - straight towards him. Dicklebury managed to yell an instant before the massive dog crashed into him, throwing him to the ground, before continuing to chase his prey.
Hermione gasped and rushed to the man's side. "Bad dog! Bad dog!" she yelled, then bent down to help Dicklebury up. "I'm so sorry - I don't know what got into him. He's usually such a well-behaved dog!" she lied. "You didn't get hurt, did you?" she asked, holding on to his arm.
He shook his head, blinking. "No… I think not…"
"Really?" She sighed in apparent relief and smiled at him, pushing her chest into his arm. "But your robes got dirty! Let me remedy that!" She had her wand out and was casting before he could reply. And, as planned, she used the distraction caused by her casting several different cleaning charms to slip an enchanted Knut into his pocket.
"Thank you, but I think I'm fine now, Miss…?"
"Bennett, Betty Bennett," she answered with a wide smile. "And you are?"
"Trevor Dicklebury." He was smiling as well - and staring at her bust. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the dog returned with the mouse in his mouth.
"Snuffles!" she scolded him. "Drop that at once! You already ate! And you know what the Healer said about your weight." She turned to Dicklebury. "I'm sorry, but I have to take care of my dog now - who knows where he found that rat!"
"I think it looks more like a mouse, actually," Dicklebury said, taking a step towards the dog.
In response, the dog dropped the mouse on the man's shoes and barked. Wincing, Dicklebury took a few steps back. The dog followed as Hermione grabbed the leash. "Bad dog! No biting nice people or you won't get any supper!"
That made the dog growl and Dicklebury all but flee into the pub. Hermione shook her head and started to drag the dog away, berating him until they were out of sight and could duck into a side alley to apparate.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 28th, 1996
"Another successful yet simple mission anyone else could have done easily!"
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius's pronouncement. The mission hadn't been too difficult, that much was true, but it had still required some training. And the fact that Sirius was a dog animagus had certainly helped. "You sounded as if it were a lethal risk when we prepared for this."
"It was! If anyone had recognised my disguised form, I would have died of embarrassment!"
"I thought you looked rather adorable," Jeanne said while pulling off her wig and restoring her rather drab robes to their usual daring style.
Sirius huffed. "I'm not supposed to look adorable!" And yet he was smiling.
"Not even to me?" Jeanne asked, stepping closer to him.
"Well...." He wrapped his arms around her.
"That's our cue to leave," Mr Fletcher, who hadn't bothered to remove his own disguise yet, muttered. "Unless you have something to report."
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. Everything went according to plan."
"Alright. See you tomorrow then. Tutor Smith's!" The fireplace flashed green and he was gone.
Hermione glanced at the couple, lost in a passionate kiss, as she left the entrance hall. She had some reading and studying to do. And she needed to feed Crookshanks. She had no time to waste on romance, much less on a mere 'affair without strings', no matter what Jeanne said.
Hogwarts, October 1st, 1996
Vane was watching him again, Harry Potter noticed as he glanced at her. Just as she had done at every opportunity during the last few days. And she was still wearing lingerie under her school robes, unlike the other girls with her. She had the body for it, too, despite her age. At least he thought so. And long, slightly curly, black hair, dark eyes and full lips.
She must have noticed him as she suddenly looked away, then started whispering and giggling with her friends. Harry must have been too obvious. But he didn't have a magical eye that kept spinning around and could look behind him. And he didn't want one, either, if it meant giving up one of his own eyes. Even if it would make spying - checking on possible threats - without getting caught much easier. And peeping on girls.
"She fancies you."
Harry whipped his head around and stared at Ron. "What?"
"Vane." Ron twitched his head in the direction of the fourth year and her friends.
Harry pressed his lips together - he had thought Ron was busy with his homework. At least they had, as usual, cast a privacy spell before starting their essays.
"She's a pretty one, but rather flighty, you know? At least that's what Ginny says. A little boy-crazy. Or boy-who-lived-crazy," Ron went on.
Harry frowned. "I don't think that Ginny's a fair judge of character." They had broken up for a reason.
Ron shrugged. "Well, it's what I heard." He paused. "Do you fancy her?"
Did he? "She's pretty."
"She's a fourth year, though. Younger than Ginny," Ron pointed out.
"She doesn't look like a fourth year," Harry retorted. And she didn't dress like a fourth year. Or fifth year. "And Ginny was a fourth year last year."
"Ah." Ron sounded as if Harry had just said something that wasn't obvious. "You gonna ask her out?"
Was he? She fancied him. At least she acted like it. All the staring and giggling with her friends. But he was training to face Voldemort. Between the sessions with Moody and Dumbledore's special lessons, he had even less time for a girlfriend than before his O.W.L.s. He shrugged. "I don't know." He could do without another pushy, demanding witch trying to monopolise him. On the other hand, having a girlfriend was nice. He missed the snogging. And the flying together. "Maybe." He sighed. "But she could be a spy, too, couldn't she?" It would be a good cover. And both Moody and Sirius had taught him about 'honey traps', although from slightly different perspectives.
"You think so?" Ron took another glance at the witch in question. "Have you told Moody or Dumbledore about her?"
"Not yet." Moody might overreact. And Dumbledore… Asking the Headmaster to check out a potential girlfriend felt wrong.
Hogwarts, October 2nd, 1996
Harry Potter clenched his teeth and held his breath. This was the trickiest part of the ritual. The candles were lit, the incense was burning, but the freshly cut oak twig was still whole. He raised his wand and focused on the movements he had studied earlier. It wasn't like casting a spell, not at all - slowly weaving complicated patterns with your wand instead of quickly swishing and flicking felt sluggish.
But he managed it, finishing the ritual with a figure of eight - according to Dumbledore symbolising eternity - and saw the twig crumble to dust - or ashes. And, an instant later, he felt wide-awake and energised. "Whoa!" He shot to his feet.
Dumbledore smiled at him. "Well done, Harry. You completed your first successful ritual."
He smiled, then blinked. "I could have brewed a cauldron's worth of Pepper-Up Potion in half the time this ritual took."
The Headmaster chuckled. "And there you have the reason rituals are rarely used any more - for the vast majority of them, there are far more convenient and effective alternatives. However," he went on, "for some, unfortunately often nefarious, purposes rituals are still the most effective, or even only, option."
"Like the worst of the Dark Arts."
"'The worst' is a matter of opinion," Dumbledore said. "Ranking the horrors which the Dark Arts allow their practitioners to unleash upon their victims is a rather tasteless academic exercise. What purpose would it serve to argue about whether it is worse to use the Imperius Curse and force a father murder his children or to use the Torture Curse on him? None at all. But I digress. I chose this ritual for a reason: Since it works similar to a Pepper-Up Potion, you will have an easier time harnessing and redirecting the ritual's power than with other rituals."
"Ah." Harry nodded. "So… what now?"
"Now you redo the ritual a few more times to better familiarise yourself with it before we take the next step."
Harry almost groaned. "I would think that I'd grow familiar with the ritual anyway while trying to learn the next step."
"That may be the case, but it is better to ensure you have a solid foundation before you attempt to build on it. Especially when exploring new avenues of magic." Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the candles lit themselves, and the incense started burning again before another twig floated towards the circle on the floor.
Harry sighed but dutifully took up his spot again.
Vane was in the common room, apparently reading a book when Harry Potter returned to Gryffindor Tower from Dumbledore's office. She was by herself, though, not with her friends. And staring at him over her book.
Harry hesitated a moment - she could be a spy. Or he could have spent a little too much time with Moody. He was a Gryffindor, after all. And she was a fourth year. Even if she were a spy, she wouldn't get the drop on him. He nodded to himself, then walked towards her. "Hi."
Her eyes widened a little and her smile vanished for a moment. Then it returned. "Hi."
He sat down at her table with his back to the wall, his left side facing her, and glanced at her book. "Quidditch Through the Ages?"
She nodded. "I love Quidditch." She put the book down, though.
"Who doesn't?" Harry chuckled. Even Hermione had come round. He leaned forward, left elbow on the table. "So, I noticed you've been watching me…"
"Ah…" She blushed and her smile grew slightly forced. She didn't look like a spy at all. And she was pretty.
It was clear that Sirius's advice was what fit this situation, not Moody's. He smiled at her. "I've been watching you too," he said, tapping his glasses.
"You have?" She licked her lips.
And she was very pretty.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 7th, 1996
Smoke - no, fog - filled the room. The bloody dog was hiding again. Hermione Granger clenched her teeth and flicked her wand, sending a volley of Paint-Splash Hexes blindly into the cloud blocking her vision as she quickly stepped to the side. She reached up to tap her mask's left side. "Jeanne! Cover the other side!"
"Oui!"
Jeanne slipping into French was a bad sign - the other witch only did that when she wasn't thinking clearly. Hermione crouched down and glanced over her shoulder. As she had feared, her ally was standing there in a perfect duelling stance, firing hexes into the fog. Hermione opened her mouth to warn the witch, but before she could speak, a spell hit Jeanne's head, and her face and hair turned red.
No choice now. The French witch muttered curses as Hermione jumped straight into the fog, rolling over her left shoulder and coming up in a crouch with her wand aimed ahead. Now she just had to detect the dog before she was spotted.
"Stupefy!"
That was to her left! Eyes wide, she dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, sending a hex towards her left before jumping up and sprinting to her right. If she could flank the dog… She gasped when she felt her feet slide over the suddenly slippery floor. Ice! She didn't try to stay upright but instead let herself fall down. A spell flew overhead, nothing more than a flash of red colour in the fog. She tried to stop her movement, but the ice was unnaturally slick, and her own momentum carried her out of the concealing fog.
And into the dog's line of fire. Red paint covered her mask before she could react, and she lowered her head, muttering a few curses of her own. Defeated again.
At least she had lasted longer than Jeanne.
Hermione Granger walked into her room and closed the door behind her, then lay down on her bed and sighed as she rubbed her rear. Sirius's aim had been as precise as ever during today's Defence training session. And to think that Harry and Ron were going through even worse in their sessions with Moody… She clenched her teeth. If they could stand that, she could handle what the dog threw at her!
And she was improving, little by little - she wasn't getting hit as often as before in their sessions. But she still was getting hit too often, she added with a frown. And she didn't get back at the dog as much as she wanted to. Not that she needed to - a good thief was a master of escape, not a master of duelling. And cats won against dogs by outmanoeuvring them, not by outfighting them. Mostly. But still, she would love to put the dog in his place with her wand, instead of her claws.
She rolled on to her back and stared at the ceiling, sighing once more. Sirius and Jeanne were 'resting' until dinner. She knew what they were doing. And Harry had a new girlfriend, some fourth year named Romilda Vane. At least that was what Sirius had said.
And she was alone, with only her cat for company. Who was currently ignoring her in favour of shredding the latest toy she had bought for him.
Snorting, she changed, rolled over and buried her muzzle in her flank for a nap.
Hogwarts, October 14th, 1996
Harry Potter slowly moved his wand through the finishing touches of the ritual. Just… about… now! The twig started to crumble, the candles flickered, and he felt the ritual's power well up inside him, filling him. Power he could use for something else! Light!
His wand lit up, shining light filling the room, and he sighed. That had been a silent spell, not a redirected ritual - he still felt the ritual's effect. "Damn!" he muttered.
"Do not be so hard on yourself - being able to cast a spell silently is an achievement in itself."
Harry shot the Headmaster a not-quite-glare. "Not the achievement I need, though." Voldemort wouldn't be impressed by a silent Wand-Lighting Charm.
Dumbledore smiled. "But you are making progress."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, I'll soon be able to do this ritual in my sleep."
"This is not something that can be mastered quickly. It took me some time as well."
Probably not as long as it is taking me, Harry thought. He didn't contradict the Headmaster any further, though, and gathered the materials for the next ritual. There was no time to waste.
Two hours and four more failed attempts to harness the power of the ritual later, they finished for the evening and Harry Potter made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. It was past curfew already, not that he cared about that. But he cared about the fact that the dark hallways offered plenty of spots suitable for an ambush. Between a Human-presence-revealing Spell and his glasses, though, he would be able to spot anyone laying in wait for him. And thanks to his Cloak, they wouldn't spot him anyway.
Like the witch waiting for him in the alcove outside the Fat Lady's painting. Romilda. She was wearing lingerie again. No one else was around; the prefects would be patrolling the dungeons at this time. Perfect for a private snogging session.
He removed his Cloak before he turned the last corner - when he had surprised her from behind the last time, she had shrieked so loudly they had had to hide from the Gryffindor prefects afterwards - and didn't try to walk silently.
As expected, she stepped out of the alcove before he reached it. "Hi!" she greeted him in a whisper.
"Hi!" He smiled as she jumped into his arms, forcing him to take a step back to keep his balance. "Sorry for taking longer than I thought."
"Don't worry," she whispered, looking up at him. Then she pushed herself up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck so she could kiss him.
Here was a witch who didn't have to be nagged into a snogging session! Without breaking the kiss he moved his arms down, then lifted her up slightly, and pushed her back into the alcove. It was too close to the entrance to the common room but it was past curfew. And the thought of snogging right outside Gryffindor Tower was more than a little exciting. They were both Gryffindors, after all. Besides, he had his Cloak to cover them both.
Under the Cloak, he lifted Romilda up a little more, so she could wrap her legs around his waist and he had his hands free to slip under her robes while they kissed. She was a quick study, too, when it came to snogging.
He had pushed her robes up and over her head, entangling her arms, when he heard the footsteps in the hallway. The prefects? They should be on patrol for another twenty minutes!
"Wha..."
"Shh!" He put a finger on Romilda's lips, silencing her. She looked nervous when he put her down and turned around, moving carefully so as not to pull the Cloak off either of them. "Stay close!" he whispered. She pressed herself into his back, arms wrapping around his chest, as he moved to the corner of the alcove and peered down the hallway.
When he recognised the two figures walking towards the entrance to Gryffindor, he blinked. Ron and Luna? At this time? Had they been off snogging? Ron had mentioned earlier today that he wanted to help Luna with her studies, but had he spent that long with her?
"...sorry we didn't find any Humdingers," he heard Ron say.
"Don't be! It was a fun trip, almost a mini-expedition. We might have more luck in twelve days - they like to dance in the moonlight."
"Good! I had fun too," Ron said. "It's late, though."
"Past curfew!" Luna agreed. Harry saw her nod several times. She was standing close to Ron.
"I should walk you back to your dorm. Help you avoid the prefects' patrols."
Harry almost snorted. Ron hadn't even noticed him and Romilda - he should have cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell. Moody would have a fit if he knew.
"You don't need to. I can avoid them myself." Luna's hair flew around her head as she shook her head.
"I'd feel better if I were with you, though. What is it your father always says? 'You never split the party'?"
"That's sweet!" Luna said. "But then you'll have to walk back alone."
"Well, someone has to, and I'd rather it be me," Ron declared. "And I can detect invisible people."
"But not Nargles!"
"They're not people, are they?"
"Right."
"So… let's go? The prefects won't be in the area for another fifteen minutes."
"Alright!" Luna turned around, then turned back and stepped right up to Ron. She pushed herself up on tiptoe, and kissed him on the lips. Or rather, gave him a peck on the lips. She had her arms behind her back too, instead of hugging him. It was cute, but it wasn't snogging.
Ron was smiling widely, though, and held out his hand. Luna took it, and the two walked off towards Ravenclaw Tower.
Harry was shaking his head, watching them go. Ron had it bad. Then he turned around. "They're gone," he whispered.
"Good," Romilda answered. "How long until the prefects return?"
"Ten minutes, at least."
Plenty of time.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 29th, 1996
"They sealed off the Dementors."
"What?" Hermione Granger looked up from the third chapter of 'A Life in the Ring'.
"They sealed off the Dementors." Sirius's voice sounded as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He pointed at the headline of the Daily Prophet.
Hermione's eyes widened, and she reached out, but he pulled the newspaper away from her. "No, no. Not again. Get your own subscription."
She bared her teeth at the selfish dog, but he didn't budge. Jeanne giggled. And when Hermione glared at her, she laughed.
"The Ministry had the Dementors sealed up - in the deepest level of Azkaban. Dumbledore himself was involved, or so it says here." Sirius shook his head as he read on. "Doubled the regular guards… Hit-Wizards. Curse-Breakers hired from Gringotts to improve the wards of the prison." He snorted. "They can't be serious. That must have cost a fortune."
"About time!" Jeanne commented. "Dementors… We don't need such monsters to guard our prisoners in the Bastille."
"Paid for by the muggles?" Sirius lowered the newspaper. "What the hell is going on?"
Hermione blinked. This reminded her of… but… She noticed that Sirius wasn't keeping a tight grip on the Daily Prophet, and used her wand to switch it with her book.
"Hey!"
She ignored his protests and skimmed the article. There! 'Research into the threat 'Nargles' might pose to Britain ongoing. Muggles insisted.' She looked up. "It's the work of Luna and her father. They managed to convince the Prime Minister that invisible creatures pose a threat to muggle Britain."
"Well, they're right in the case of Dementors," Sirius said, clenching his teeth. "Bloody demons!" he muttered, and Hermione saw that he was trembling, and holding her book so tightly his knuckles were stark white. Jeanne reached out to touch his shoulder and Hermione bit her lower lip. Of course he'd have flashbacks. She should have thought of that.
"Good riddance!" Sirius said, after a moment, holding Jeanne's hand. "But the Minister wouldn't have agreed to this just because the muggles wanted something done. It must have been Dumbledore's work."
That made more sense, Hermione thought. And if the muggles paid the bill, it would likely have been easy to push the proposal through. Probably bribed the Minister, too. "They'll improve security, then."
"Of course. That will make it harder for Voldemort to spring his followers from prison." Sirius grinned.
Hermione forced herself to smile as well. She wasn't completely happy, though - those changes would make it much harder for a cat to escape the prison, should she ever get caught. She would have to adjust her contingency plans.
Hogsmeade, November 2nd, 1996
There wasn't anything wrong with a witch being honest about her desires and taking the initiative with her boyfriend, Hermione Granger thought. And the - predominantly muggle - double-standard regarding the sexuality of boys and girls was utterly hypocritical and deserved to be eradicated with extreme prejudice. And Romilda hadn't made a single veiled comment towards her or shown any hint of jealousy, which put her far above the likes of Patil.
But Harry's new girlfriend was still a vapid witch with an overactive libido and no sense of modesty, Hermione Granger thought as her best friend and his new girlfriend lost themselves in another French kiss right across from her. Of course, Vane had neither any reason nor any opportunity to show any jealousy if Harry spent the Hogsmeade weekend with his lips glued to hers!
She took a sip from her overpriced tea and glanced at her other best friend. Ron and Luna weren't snogging, but judging by the way the two were staring at each other, they were probably wishing they were. At least Luna wasn't taking notes on snogging any more.
Hermione sighed.
"Hm?" Luna looked at her. "Is something wrong?"
"No." She shook her head, glancing at Harry, who hadn't even noticed. "Nothing's wrong."
Perhaps Jeanne was correct about having an affair.
Hogwarts, November 4th, 1996
Harry Potter finished the ritual with his eyes closed. He didn't need to see his wand to complete the figure. He didn't need to watch the twig crumble to ashes. He knew what would happen by heart now.
And this time he was ready. He felt the energy entering him as if it were a mental probe entering his mind. And he knew how to deal with those. All he had to do was to learn how to deal with this. And he knew what he had to do for that, too. Clenching his teeth, he focused his will. Instead of letting the power rejuvenate him, he channelled it into his wand. It was almost like casting a spell. Just different. Almost like finishing a complicated spell. Directing the magic. The power. Even if that was just a mental construct, it helped.
When he opened his eyes, the tip of his wand was shining brightly and he felt tired. He threw his head back and balled his left hand into a fist. "Yes! Yes! YES!"
"Indeed. Well done, Harry." Dumbledore was beaming at him. "You have taken a step that few ever manage."
Harry nodded. "It was easy, once I could visualise it." Occlumency had helped him a lot. It was all in the details.
"That is the most important step. Most of the limits of magic are actually the limits of our imagination. It is hard to do something if you think it is impossible." Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, most wizards and witches have a rather limited imagination. Few have a vision that goes beyond the familiar. And many of those who do abandon their dreams as soon as they encounter the first obstacles."
"Well, knowing that there's a Dark Lord out there who wants to murder me helps a lot in focusing the mind," Harry said. "Maybe more people should try that?"
Dumbledore laughed, briefly. "Alas, most people would either be too afraid to do anything in your position or would try to ignore the threat." He shook his head. "But I digress again. Let us ensure that you have mastered this feat before we proceed to the next step."
Harry grimaced, but waved his wand in the now all too familiar pattern, rearranging the ritual circle. At least he would never, ever have to brew a Pepper-Up Potion again - he could do this ritual in his sleep now. Which certainly helped when he had had a late snogging session with Romilda.
London, Diagon Alley, November 11th, 1996
Hermione Granger guided her broom towards the roof below her without worrying much about being spotted - between her Disillusionment Charm and the black-painted shaft of her broomstick, she was all but invisible in the dark night of the new moon. Besides, she would be out of the range of any Human-presence-revealing Spells anyway, unless they were cast by someone right outside the building below her. And this wasn't Knockturn Alley, where such guards might be expected - even in the current cold weather.
She stopped her broom right next to the chimney. The house was old, but the wards were new - Mr Fletcher had said there had been an attack by Death Eaters during the last war that had left the building's original owners dead and the wards torn down. The new owner, a Heathcliff Selwyn, who was suspected to work for the Dark Lord, hadn't spent much gold on the house, and so his new wards were rather weak and directly anchored to the walls. It didn't take her long to go through them. When she dismounted, her soft boots didn't make any sound on the shingled roof. She left her broom hovering next to her and looked around.
From up here, she could see the entrance and part of Knockturn Alley. It looked far less daunting than on the ground below. The few lights made it almost look pittoresque, as Jeanne would say - Hermione was picking up more French words than she had thought. Few would be able to tell that there was a war being waged in the Alley. A war between thugs and Death Eaters. A war which she had helped start. She shook her head - she had a mission and no time for wool-gathering.
Even if it was an easy mission. Kneeling down, she studied the roof. She was at the right spot, according to Mr Fletcher. Right above the mark's flat. A jab of her wand drilled a hole in a shingle that had darkened with age. She waited a moment, tapping her mask to enhance her hearing, but she couldn't hear anything suspicious. Nodding, she pulled out a small vial, unstoppered it and let the contents - small artificial bugs that would record all words said nearby - slide into the hole.
A quick Mending Charm resealed the hole, leaving no trace of hole or bugs.
Mission accomplished.
Hogwarts, December 12th, 1996
Compared to mastering a simple ritual and then altering it, this was torture, Harry Potter thought as he once again tried to find whatever power his mum had left him as protection. Only he had no clue how and where it was supposed to be. Unlike with the ritual, he couldn't feel any change. He couldn't feel anything in his body that felt as if it didn't belong. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to imagine the 'blood protection'. To no avail.
Sighing, he slumped in his seat. "It's no use. I can't find any trace of this supposed power." He looked at Dumbledore. "I'll need to see what you see thanks to your spell."
The Headmaster stroked his beard. "I fear you might be correct. I do not think I can teach you this particular spell in the time we have left, however. It is very complicated, and it took me quite a while to learn it."
Harry muttered a curse under his breath. If Dumbledore took so long, he might as well give up.
"Although there is an alternative."
Harry looked up. "Yes?" Anything.
"I can enter your mind and show you, but that is a rather dangerous course of action. We both will have to maintain perfect mental discipline, or the effects could be… uncontrollable."
"What about showing me the memory?" Harry asked.
"That would not work - you would not see what I see, but what an observer would see." Dumbledore inclined his head. "A quirk of the magic involved, I think. No, I need to impart to you my own vision, so to speak. A very dangerous undertaking even for those who have mastered Occlumency. Many wizards have gone mad in the past when they tried and failed to do similar things - although most of them tried to transfer a skill." He looked at his familiar, and the phoenix leapt off his perch and landed on his shoulder.
Harry swallowed. That didn't sound good. If something went wrong… On the other hand, if he couldn't do this, Voldemort would win. He nodded. "Let's do it!"
Dumbledore smiled. "I think we should wait a day, and be well-rested before we attempt it."
Harry sighed, both relieved and disappointed. "Let's just hope that Voldemort doesn't make a move in the meantime."
"Ah… I do not think there's any danger of that happening. As much as I loathe saying it, I have to assume that my gambit has failed." Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, rubbing Fawke's head.
"He didn't take the bait?"
"No, he did not. I set up a fake Prophecy for a supporter of his, allowing him to enter the well-guarded place where they are stored, but Tom has not contacted the man at all. He is being more cautious than I expected."
That was really bad news, Harry thought. "So, what do we do then?"
"I have something in mind that he will not be able to ignore," Dumbledore said. His smile slipped a little. "Although since it will be very dangerous for those involved, you chief among them, he will not expect me to take such a risk." He sighed. "But sometimes, great risks must be taken, or all may be lost. After all, your protection will not last forever. Quite the contrary, in fact."
Harry swallowed again.
London, Ministry of Magic, September 10th, 1996
Saul Croaker prided himself on his ability to focus on his work no matter what was happening outside the Department of Mysteries. As the Head Unspeakable, he knew his duty, and unless something affected the research conducted by his department or the numerous artefacts safeguarded in its vaults, it didn't concern him or his department. Ministers had disagreed in the past, but the Department was independent for a reason - you couldn't trust politicians to treat its secrets with the caution and respect they deserved. As a rule, the short-sighted fools only saw an easy way to solve whatever problem they couldn't deal with themselves.
But every rule had its exceptions - in this case, Albus Dumbledore. The Chief Warlock was one of the few wizards outside Saul's department whose knowledge of magic surpassed his own. Who knew what Alchemy would look like today if Dumbledore hadn't wasted his talents running Hogwarts and trying to reform Wizarding Britain. Merlin's beard, the man had worked - worked! Not studied, worked! - with Flamel! If only he had joined the Department instead of becoming a teacher! But Saul's predecessor either hadn't been convincing enough or had - and justly so - suspected that Dumbledore would have replaced him in short order. Unspeakable Parkinson had always been more of a politician than a researcher. If it had been the other way around, he might not have made that fatal mistake when testing a new spell.
Saul shook his head. His thoughts were wandering again. But he didn't even try to focus on his work. Not when Dumbledore was coming to 'discuss a matter of some importance'. The last time he had done that, two Unspeakables had been revealed as Death Eater spies. And Dumbledore had revealed why he had been the one to defeat Grindelwald.
Saul winced at the humiliating memory. He had almost lost his position over that. That Dumbledore had missed a third spy, Rookwood, who was only revealed after Voldemort's defeat, was no consolation. He should have been more attentive.
He had been more attentive afterwards, of course, although his methods might not have met Dumbledore's approval - might. For all his principles, the man was ultimately rather pragmatic when it counted - but at least Saul was certain that there were no more spies among his staff. Almost certain. Which was why he was slightly nervous about the upcoming meeting.
As if on cue, the charm on his desk announced that his visitor had arrived. Saul pushed the unread reports and correspondence away and straightened in his seat.
"Good afternoon, Saul."
"Good afternoon, Albus. Please have a seat."
"Thank you for seeing me on short notice." Dumbledore sat down, smiling as if Saul had had any choice in the matter.
"I always have time for the Chief Warlock." As long as he was called Albus Dumbledore.
"Thank you. Your predecessor was not as hospitable."
For a moment, Saul wondered - not for the first time - if Parkinson's accident had actually been an accident. But then he told himself that Dumbledore wouldn't have needed to go that far to get rid of an Unspeakable. So he simply nodded. "You wished to discuss a matter of importance?" Saul had no stomach for making pleasant conversation while that loomed over this visit.
"Straight to the point - something many members of the Wizengamot would do well to imitate." Dumbledore's smile grew wider for an instant, then vanished. Saul refrained from swallowing dryly. "I bring dire news. Your office is secure?"
"Of course." Saul wanted to frown - to ask if his office was protected against eavesdroppers! Not even the Death Eater spies had managed to get that far.
"I trust that you are aware of the recent string of murders." Dumbledore nodded.
"The ones the public thinks are related to vampires? Yes. Blood magic rituals, according to our investigation." Saul allowed himself to smile. If Dumbledore had just come to warn him of that…
"Blood magic, indeed. But I would not have bothered you if we were dealing with a simple practitioner of that most questionable art," Dumbledore said and Saul froze. The Chief Warlock leaned forward. "It is Voldemort, Saul. He is back."
Saul narrowed his eyes. "He's been back for years. You told me four years ago to tighten security around the Hall of Prophecies."
"I did, and you managed to improve its defences significantly. A testament to the skill of your department." Dumbledore sighed. "Which is why I have come today. I would like you to adjust its defences."
"Adjust?" Saul frowned. Dumbledore had inspected the security measures the Department had added four years ago himself and had told him, in private, that they would give even Voldemort pause. So what adjustments could he… He drew a hissing breath. "You want to use the Prophecy as bait."
Dumbledore nodded with a wry smile. "Yes. Voldemort has been busy researching a blood magic ritual and spreading his influence inside the Ministry. While the situation is not as dire as it was twenty years ago, I would rather stop him now than let him continue."
"He will suspect a trap." Voldemort hadn't almost brought the country to its knees by being stupid.
"He might, but I will endeavour to convince him otherwise. Since he does not know that I am aware of his plans, I think he might take the chance, provided he learns of this new 'weakness' through channels he trusts."
"Spies you mean," Saul spat.
"Not in your department," Dumbledore said, but Saul could almost hear the unsaid 'this time'. "Since anyone who is the subject of a Prophecy can enter the Hall, it should not be too difficult to set up a visit by someone Voldemort can safely interrogate once the spies in the Ministry inform him."
Saul narrowed his eyes. "A disposable stooge who just happens to be the subject of a Prophecy?" That would be very convenient. Too convenient.
Dumbledore smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a very familiar looking sphere.
"You faked a Prophecy Sphere?" Saul was almost as appalled as he was intrigued.
"Not exactly. I repurposed a blank one," Dumbledore said.
Of course, he would be able to get his hands on what Saul had believed to be exclusive to the Department! "Everything has been set up already, then?" he asked.
Dumbledore inclined his head, still smiling.
And Saul knew that if he didn't accede to this scheme, his successor would. "I hope you know what you are doing, Albus," he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice.
"So do I, Saul."
"And what if he doesn't take the bait?" Saul asked.
"Then I will have to resort to a more dangerous scheme."
*****
Hogwarts, September 12th, 1996
When he heard the faint noise of footsteps, Harry Potter immediately stopped in the middle of the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office and tapped his glasses. At once, his vision changed, and as usual, it took him a moment to adjust to suddenly being able to see through walls - and clothes. He had to focus his eyes in a certain way to actually see what was behind a specific wall, instead of being blinded by overlapping glimpses of everything in sight. But he was getting used to that, thanks to his constant practice. Constant Vigilance, of a sort, he thought as he looked through the wall to his left, into the corridor to the courtyard. Two witches - two Slytherins - were walking there. Greengrass and Davis. He frowned. They weren't moving as if they were planning to attack him or anyone else - they weren't even holding their wands - but it was late, close to curfew.
He changed his focus, peering into the satchel Davis carried. It was filled with plants. Perhaps they had gathered a few ingredients in the greenhouses since it was the night of the new moon. He refocused his sight anyway, to check if they were hiding anything under their clothes - he wasn't a prefect himself, but if Slytherins were smuggling things into the school, then it would be his duty to inform Neville and Lavender. And if they were smuggling anything dangerous…
They weren't, as he found out. He also found out that their reputations, at least as far as their bodies were concerned, were slightly overblown. Not that Harry was interested in them anyway - even if Sirius hadn't taught him that witches from Old Families were bad news, doubly so if they were in Slytherin, those two had framed Hermione and gotten her expelled.
They were almost at the intersection, and he quickly and almost silently cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. While it wasn't a real secret that he was receiving special lessons from Dumbledore, he'd rather not have Slytherins know his schedule. Even if they were not Death Eaters themselves, their parents might be - and all of them were far too close to the Malfoys.
"Did you hear that?"
"What?"
"Someone whispered."
"It was probably just a ghost."
When the two girls slowly stepped around the corner with their wands drawn, Harry was tempted to scare them - a few hexes Sirius had taught him would do it - but that would expose him. And probably cause some trouble for Dumbledore, should they go tattling to their parents. Malfoy had been rather quiet for months now, and Harry didn't want to risk changing that just for a lark.
So he watched them pass, smirking at their nervous expressions, and didn't move until they had turned the corner to the stairs. A few minutes later, he reached the Headmaster's office.
*****
"Learning how to use the protection your mother left you deliberately, and for things other than what she designed it for, will not be easy." Dumbledore looked straight at Harry Potter with a very serious expression. "Nevertheless, it is crucial to defeating Voldemort. We cannot count on him trying to personally kill you as he tried and failed in 1981 and 1992. He might yet risk a third defeat; his arrogance and need to prove his supremacy is impressive from a certain point of view, but he is no fool."
Harry nodded. He already knew that. Fool me once, and all that.
"So, since your mother used a ritual, you will have to learn how to use one yourself, if not her particular one, so you are familiar with the fundamentals. Then you will need to learn what your mother did to protect you. Only then you will be ready to use its power for yourself."
"And all before my seventeenth birthday. No pressure." Harry forced himself to smile.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I am confident that you will manage it, and with quite some time to spare. I have taken measures to slow his research down."
"What if he takes so long that I lose my mother's protection before he is ready to move?"
"He is acting more cautiously than in the past, but between his arrogance and pride, and since he believes himself to be immortal and is in need of impressing his followers to strengthen their resolve, he is likely to take more risks than would be prudent, if presented with a tempting opportunity."
"You mean a trap," Harry said.
"Precisely." Dumbledore beamed at him.
"With me as bait." Harry nodded. Voldemort wanted him dead anyway; better to use that against the Dark Lord than hiding from him.
"No." The Headmaster shook his head. "Your courage does you credit, but after his two failures, Voldemort is unlikely to attack you personally. He already sent an assassin after you, after all. And that means that you have to be even more cautious, lest his next attempt succeeds."
Or others might die - Remus and Ginny had almost been killed by the vampire trying to kill him. Harry pressed his lips together. He didn't want more people risking their lives for him while he cowered behind the wards of Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place. "What else will tempt him out of hiding?"
"The prophecy tying your two fates together."
"The what?"
"Did you never wonder why Voldemort tried to murder a baby? Why your mother created a ritual to protect you at the cost of her own life?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
Harry had assumed that the Dark Lord had simply been trying to murder his parents and their entire family for fighting against him, as he had done so often in the last war. But if the Headmaster was asking like that… "He needed me for a ritual?" Harry guessed.
"No. There was a prophecy by a Seer, before your birth." Dumbledore cleared his throat. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…" he started to say as Harry listened with rapt attention.
*****
"...will be born as the seventh month dies."
Harry Potter's thoughts were racing when the Headmaster finished retelling the prophecy. This was the reason his parents had been murdered. "So… we'll be duelling? Me and the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "Prophecies do not work like that, no matter what some people believe. As you may have noticed, the prophecy is rather vague. Easy to misinterpret - or to fit to events after they have already happened. Ultimately, a prophecy is only as powerful as the belief in it."
"But it does fit. I do have that power. I already defeated him twice." Harry didn't remember the first time, but he wouldn't ever forget the second time. Seeing Quirrell die slowly from the poison the Dark Lord had struck him with, the stench of burning flesh when Harry had jumped their possessed attacker, too late to save the teacher…
"You did, but you only received the power because Voldemort attacked your family. If he had ignored you Lily's ritual wouldn't have been completed. One could say that only Voldemort's belief in the prophecy made it happen."
"But if he already knows the prophecy, why would that be good bait for a trap?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore smiled. "Because he does not know the full prophecy. The spy who overheard it was discovered before the Seer had finished, and had to flee. And so Voldemort will have wondered for years what else the Prophecy said about him - and about you. Wondered whether it also held the key to defeating you. Wondered if he would have been able to kill you had he known the full prophecy." He leaned back. "I do not think he will be able to resist the opportunity to get his hands on the entire prophecy."
"And how long will that take?" Harry asked. How much time did he have to master this power?
"Do not worry. I have just started to set things in motion. There are several steps yet to be taken, all of them under my control." Dumbledore smiled. "Keep in mind that he is not aware that we know about him, and about his plans. He is already at a serious disadvantage. Now let us get started with learning about rituals."
Harry nodded. The faster they started, the faster they would be ready.
But he couldn't help wondering if the Dark Lord would actually be fooled. And what they would do should Dumbledore's plan fail.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 19th, 1996
Hermione Granger stared at her reflection in the full body mirror, turning slightly and looking over her shoulder. After a few - more than a few - attempts, she had finally managed to get an even artificial tan.
"That doesn't seem like it would fool anyone. It's just you, with a tan. And not even a deep tan."
She didn't glare at Jeanne. The other witch was correct - using a spray tan wouldn't alter her skin tone enough to suffice as a disguise. There were other muggle methods - using full body makeup - but applying those would be even more time-consuming than using a spray tan.
"I don't know why you even try these muggle methods." Jeanne snorted. "Just use a Skin-Colour-Change Charm."
"That is a known charm - if not as common as the Hair Dyeing Charm - and so people might check for it." Which was why she was planning to use muggle disguises. They were far harder to use, but wouldn't vanish after a single Dispelling Charm.
"A good cleaning charm would still strip all the makeup off your skin."
She pressed her lips together. "Yes. Which is why I'm researching ways to combine muggle and magical methods." Even though she hadn't made much progress.
"You haven't had trouble so far and your 'catsuit' covers you from head to toe," Jeanne pointed out.
"It's better to be prepared for all eventualities," Hermione shot back. "And I can't wear my suit when I'm posing as a debutante from the New World. I'd rather not lose my disguise in the middle of a ball."
"Attempting to remove any kind of charm from a witch at such an event would be incredibly rude." Jeanne sniffed. "Duels have been fought over less."
"I don't think I can count on that," Hermione retorted. The sort of witches who had framed her as a thief wouldn't be above 'accidentally' ruining a foreign upstart's robes and makeup.
"I guess you are correct - I've encountered a number of very rude wizards and witches in Britain. But trying to expose a witch like that…" Jeanne shook her head. "That would never happen in France."
Hermione doubted that, but she would certainly not try to defend the Old Families of Wizarding Britain. Not after what they had done to her. "So, I need to find a way to change my appearance that is not easily reversible, and yet easy to apply and remove when needed. It looks like I'll have to find or create a potion to achieve that effect." And she didn't think she could feasibly create such a potion without spending an inappropriate amount of time on it.
Jeanne nodded in agreement. "You might need a discreet potioneer. Sirius certainly could afford the expense."
Hermione glanced at the French witch - was that a barb aimed at the amount of gold he had spent on her debts? Probably not, judging by Jeanne's expression. She nodded. "But finding someone who will not betray me, willingly or not, might be a little tricky." The Weasley twins were certainly skilled enough for such a task, having opened their own joke shop in Diagon Alley immediately after taking their N.E.W.T.s, but Hermione didn't know if they could be trusted not to spill her secret if they thought she simply wanted to play Cinderella or prank someone with a disguise. And to reveal everything to them… She shook her head.
Jeanne sighed. "I know. Sirius wants me to learn Occlumency, but finding a tutor who has the time to teach me and can be trusted is nigh impossible."
Hermione shrugged. "As long as you avoid their eyes and maintain some mental discipline, you will be fine. And given the kind of robes you like to wear, I do not think too many men will be looking at your eyes." She almost winced at her own words - she hadn't meant to sound like a jealous witch.
Fortunately, Jeanne laughed. "Indeed. However, not everyone is susceptible to such distractions. Like Dumbledore," she added with a frown.
Hermione shrugged. Of course, the Headmaster would check if Jeanne could be trusted. "There are not too many people like him."
"But it only takes one of them - and they can disguise themselves as well."
Hermione knew that also - if the Dark Lord had been a little more suspicious of a cat's presence that time… "Yes. But we can only do so much."
"We haven't had another mission in a week, though."
Hermione frowned at the other witch. "You sound like Sirius."
"Perhaps." Jeanne smiled widely. "He could have been born French. He is certainly brave enough. And passionate enough."
Hermione tried not to frown and bit her lower lip. She was in no mood to hear more details about Sirius and Jeanne's relationship. Not when her own love life was nonexistent.
Unfortunately, Jeanne hadn't missed her reaction. "Oh, don't be like that! You could find a lover of your own, with little effort."
Hermione scoffed. "The frumpy muggleborn? Not even my closest friends think I'm attractive!" Of course, she had done all she could to make that happen, but still…
"I'm certain that they would change their opinion at once, should they see you right now," Jeanne retorted with a grin.
Hermione glared at her and summoned her robe to cover herself. Or as much as the robe - a gift from Jeanne - managed. "They can't. It would ruin my secret identity."
"But you could easily have a lover in your secret identity. Miss Merriweather was very popular, as I recall. And you're an adult witch now."
Hermione scoffed again. "That wouldn't be much of a relationship." And she didn't really feel any different now that she was an adult in the eyes of Wizarding Britain. Just another birthday spent without her best friends. And without her parents.
"Perhaps. On the other hand, many wizards might like an affair without many strings." Jeanne smiled at her. "I think you might enjoy it as well, and learn a few things that will be very useful once you start a real relationship."
Hermione glared at her, but the other witch simply kept smiling at her.
Much like Sirius, she thought. Far too much like the dog.
*****
Hogwarts, September 26th, 1996
"Ron! Harry!"
Harry Potter watched Luna walk towards the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. She was waving a letter - opened, so the odds of it being cursed were low, or she'd have been the first victim. He still tensed slightly - the last session with Moody had focused on traps, and Harry had been checking pretty much everything with his glasses since.
"Luna!" Ron put his glass of pumpkin juice down and glanced at Seamus, who quickly scooted a little to the side, freeing the spot next to Harry's friend. "Have a seat!"
Harry refrained from commenting that the two had been talking to each other right before breakfast - not even ten minutes ago - and so there was no need to act as if they had been separated for weeks. Especially since they weren't a couple. Not yet, at least. But they didn't deserve such comments from him. And doing so would make him look jealous, as Ginny would certainly be quick to point out.
So he took another bite out of his sausage - he already missed the croissants Jeanne had introduced at home - and listened to what Luna had to say.
"Daddy wrote me, look!" She put the letter down on the table and smoothed it out, almost toppling Seamus's teacup in the process. The other student scooted a little further away in response. "He's been in correspondence with the Prime Minister, you know."
"Yes. You told me." Ron smiled, rather sappily. He hadn't told Harry that. At least Harry couldn't remember being told.
"Yes. And now the Prime Minister has informed him that he has had both Westminster and Downing Street protected against Nargles and started an anti-Dementor task force. He wants Daddy on it since he's the foremost expert on invisible creatures in Britain!"
"Great!" Ron looked like he wanted to hug her, Harry thought, but didn't realise it.
He made an agreeing noise himself and finished his sausage.
Luna nodded several times. "But the Ministry is dragging their feet. They claim that the Dementors are under control and no threat to muggles and that there is no need to spend money on taking precautions."
Ron scoffed. "Fools."
Harry nodded in agreement. "They should destroy those monsters." What they had done to Sirius…
"Impossible, mate." Ron shook his head. "Can't kill Dementors."
"Daddy says we might simply not have found out their secrets yet," Luna said. "But nothing is truly immortal."
Harry certainly hoped that that was the case with Voldemort.
"Dumbledore supports the initiative as well," Luna went on. "He said so in the Wizengamot." She smiled. "The Chief Warlock's support means a lot to us! People are finally taking The Quibbler more seriously!"
Harry doubted that, but he didn't say that either. Although he didn't doubt that the Headmaster had good reasons to support this 'task force'. If the Dementors ever got out of control… He shuddered.
*****
Hogwarts, September 27th, 1996
...and then stir five and half a times counter-clockwise until the liquid's colour changes from turquoise to dark blue.
Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter closed his eyes and pushed the Potions book away. What would happen if the colour didn't change after stirring it five and a half times? The book didn't say, but Snape would ask. The git always asked questions as if he expected Harry to fail at every attempt to brew a potion. He frowned. He wasn't actually bad at Potions, no matter what Snape claimed. Certainly not as bad as, say, Neville, who had dropped Potions after the O.W.L.s. Harry was about average for the N.E.W.T. class in his own estimation - if he took Snape's favouritism for the Slytherins into account. Still… "Why do you need a N.E.W.T. in Potions to become an Auror? Do they expect us to brew our own potions for work?"
He hadn't expected an answer, but Ron looked up from his essay and gave him one anyway. "Percy told me when I asked him in summer. When the Auror corps was founded, you were expected to brew your own potions because the Ministry wouldn't pay for them - they could save gold that way. But, as Aurors began to need more complicated potions, they had to drop that policy since an Auror couldn't spend weeks brewing a potion. But the requirement stayed out of tradition."
"I should have known it was something stupid like that," Harry said.
Ron shrugged. "It's not as if you need to have an Outstanding in Potions - an Acceptable is enough. Although knowing Potions can be useful if you're investigating a case, or so I heard."
"It's still two more years with Snape," Harry retorted, and smiled when he saw his friend wince - since Ron was planning to become an Auror as well, he would have to suffer through the same.
Movement on his side - he sat with the back to the wall, of course - drew his attention. He surreptitiously glanced over and saw that a witch from fourth or fifth year had just taken a seat at the table closest to his and Ron's. She wasn't looking at the book in front of her, though, but at him. That was suspicious.
"Do you know the witch to my left?" he whispered, leaning forward as if to ask Ron something about the text he was reading.
"Huh?" Ron glanced over. "Romilda Vane, I think. Ginny once complained about her."
"She's in Ginny's year then?"
"No, fourth year."
Vane didn't look like a fourth year witch, Harry thought. He tapped his glasses. And she didn't dress like a fourth year witch under her robes, either. That looked more like the lingerie Jeanne owned, actually.
And she was smiling at him.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, September 28th, 1996
Hermione Granger slowly walked down Diagon Alley as the sun went down over London. Her mark would soon finish his work and, according to what they had been told, head to his favourite pub, the Bent Unicorn, to drink a pint before heading home. But she didn't want to get there too soon and then have to spend a long time waiting on the street outside the pub.
She reached 'Quidditch Supplies', and, as she had expected, the dog stopped following her in favour of staring at the broom on display. She gave his leash a sharp tug - they weren't here to stare at brooms, no matter how nice the latest Cleansweep looked, and if someone started to wonder why a dog was interested in Quidditch, their carefully chosen disguises would be for naught.
The dog whined and glared at her, but she scoffed in return and scolded him. "Bad dog!" She had to use her wand to clean his now grubby snow white fur again and wondered how he had managed to get it dirty without slipping his leash - it looked like he had rolled on the ground in a side alley!
A young man chuckled at the sight, then smiled when he noticed her looking at him. He was rather attractive, Hermione noticed. And his humour didn't seem to be aimed at her, just at her situation. But she was on a mission, and a friendly bystander could ruin their plan. So she glared at him, huffing, and then focused on cleaning the dog until the man had walked away.
They walked passed four more shops until they reached Gregor's Gloves next to the pub. She wasn't particularly interested in the shop's wares, but this was the right location to wait for their mark. Predictably, the dog made his lack of interest in gloves very clear by lying down and pretending to sleep, but she could safely ignore him while keeping an eye out for their mark. Mr Fletcher and Jeanne, both disguised, were around as well, one opposite the pub checking the vegetables on display there, the other at a street vendor stand, eating a snack. Just in case.
Hermione had spent a few minutes in front of the display window, earning a few glances from the owner inside, when she spotted their mark walking down the Alley. Trevor Dicklebury, thirty-four years old, just old enough to have possibly fought in the last war before entering the Ministry, would be passing her in a minute on his way to the pub.
Or rather, she corrected herself, he would be passing her once he stopped staring at the new Cleansweep in the window. She ignored the dog's growl - they couldn't have known he would do that, and a dog looking at brooms was simply too suspicious.
Still, when Dicklebury finally tore himself away from the display, she almost sighed with relief. Showtime!
When the man was about ten yards away, she dropped the small object she had concealed in her hand to the ground. As planned, the transfigured mouse ran straight at Dicklebury. The man's puzzled expression turned into a terrified one when Sirius started chasing the apparent mouse - straight towards him. Dicklebury managed to yell an instant before the massive dog crashed into him, throwing him to the ground, before continuing to chase his prey.
Hermione gasped and rushed to the man's side. "Bad dog! Bad dog!" she yelled, then bent down to help Dicklebury up. "I'm so sorry - I don't know what got into him. He's usually such a well-behaved dog!" she lied. "You didn't get hurt, did you?" she asked, holding on to his arm.
He shook his head, blinking. "No… I think not…"
"Really?" She sighed in apparent relief and smiled at him, pushing her chest into his arm. "But your robes got dirty! Let me remedy that!" She had her wand out and was casting before he could reply. And, as planned, she used the distraction caused by her casting several different cleaning charms to slip an enchanted Knut into his pocket.
"Thank you, but I think I'm fine now, Miss…?"
"Bennett, Betty Bennett," she answered with a wide smile. "And you are?"
"Trevor Dicklebury." He was smiling as well - and staring at her bust. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the dog returned with the mouse in his mouth.
"Snuffles!" she scolded him. "Drop that at once! You already ate! And you know what the Healer said about your weight." She turned to Dicklebury. "I'm sorry, but I have to take care of my dog now - who knows where he found that rat!"
"I think it looks more like a mouse, actually," Dicklebury said, taking a step towards the dog.
In response, the dog dropped the mouse on the man's shoes and barked. Wincing, Dicklebury took a few steps back. The dog followed as Hermione grabbed the leash. "Bad dog! No biting nice people or you won't get any supper!"
That made the dog growl and Dicklebury all but flee into the pub. Hermione shook her head and started to drag the dog away, berating him until they were out of sight and could duck into a side alley to apparate.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, September 28th, 1996
"Another successful yet simple mission anyone else could have done easily!"
Hermione Granger rolled her eyes at Sirius's pronouncement. The mission hadn't been too difficult, that much was true, but it had still required some training. And the fact that Sirius was a dog animagus had certainly helped. "You sounded as if it were a lethal risk when we prepared for this."
"It was! If anyone had recognised my disguised form, I would have died of embarrassment!"
"I thought you looked rather adorable," Jeanne said while pulling off her wig and restoring her rather drab robes to their usual daring style.
Sirius huffed. "I'm not supposed to look adorable!" And yet he was smiling.
"Not even to me?" Jeanne asked, stepping closer to him.
"Well...." He wrapped his arms around her.
"That's our cue to leave," Mr Fletcher, who hadn't bothered to remove his own disguise yet, muttered. "Unless you have something to report."
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing. Everything went according to plan."
"Alright. See you tomorrow then. Tutor Smith's!" The fireplace flashed green and he was gone.
Hermione glanced at the couple, lost in a passionate kiss, as she left the entrance hall. She had some reading and studying to do. And she needed to feed Crookshanks. She had no time to waste on romance, much less on a mere 'affair without strings', no matter what Jeanne said.
*****
Hogwarts, October 1st, 1996
Vane was watching him again, Harry Potter noticed as he glanced at her. Just as she had done at every opportunity during the last few days. And she was still wearing lingerie under her school robes, unlike the other girls with her. She had the body for it, too, despite her age. At least he thought so. And long, slightly curly, black hair, dark eyes and full lips.
She must have noticed him as she suddenly looked away, then started whispering and giggling with her friends. Harry must have been too obvious. But he didn't have a magical eye that kept spinning around and could look behind him. And he didn't want one, either, if it meant giving up one of his own eyes. Even if it would make spying - checking on possible threats - without getting caught much easier. And peeping on girls.
"She fancies you."
Harry whipped his head around and stared at Ron. "What?"
"Vane." Ron twitched his head in the direction of the fourth year and her friends.
Harry pressed his lips together - he had thought Ron was busy with his homework. At least they had, as usual, cast a privacy spell before starting their essays.
"She's a pretty one, but rather flighty, you know? At least that's what Ginny says. A little boy-crazy. Or boy-who-lived-crazy," Ron went on.
Harry frowned. "I don't think that Ginny's a fair judge of character." They had broken up for a reason.
Ron shrugged. "Well, it's what I heard." He paused. "Do you fancy her?"
Did he? "She's pretty."
"She's a fourth year, though. Younger than Ginny," Ron pointed out.
"She doesn't look like a fourth year," Harry retorted. And she didn't dress like a fourth year. Or fifth year. "And Ginny was a fourth year last year."
"Ah." Ron sounded as if Harry had just said something that wasn't obvious. "You gonna ask her out?"
Was he? She fancied him. At least she acted like it. All the staring and giggling with her friends. But he was training to face Voldemort. Between the sessions with Moody and Dumbledore's special lessons, he had even less time for a girlfriend than before his O.W.L.s. He shrugged. "I don't know." He could do without another pushy, demanding witch trying to monopolise him. On the other hand, having a girlfriend was nice. He missed the snogging. And the flying together. "Maybe." He sighed. "But she could be a spy, too, couldn't she?" It would be a good cover. And both Moody and Sirius had taught him about 'honey traps', although from slightly different perspectives.
"You think so?" Ron took another glance at the witch in question. "Have you told Moody or Dumbledore about her?"
"Not yet." Moody might overreact. And Dumbledore… Asking the Headmaster to check out a potential girlfriend felt wrong.
*****
Hogwarts, October 2nd, 1996
Harry Potter clenched his teeth and held his breath. This was the trickiest part of the ritual. The candles were lit, the incense was burning, but the freshly cut oak twig was still whole. He raised his wand and focused on the movements he had studied earlier. It wasn't like casting a spell, not at all - slowly weaving complicated patterns with your wand instead of quickly swishing and flicking felt sluggish.
But he managed it, finishing the ritual with a figure of eight - according to Dumbledore symbolising eternity - and saw the twig crumble to dust - or ashes. And, an instant later, he felt wide-awake and energised. "Whoa!" He shot to his feet.
Dumbledore smiled at him. "Well done, Harry. You completed your first successful ritual."
He smiled, then blinked. "I could have brewed a cauldron's worth of Pepper-Up Potion in half the time this ritual took."
The Headmaster chuckled. "And there you have the reason rituals are rarely used any more - for the vast majority of them, there are far more convenient and effective alternatives. However," he went on, "for some, unfortunately often nefarious, purposes rituals are still the most effective, or even only, option."
"Like the worst of the Dark Arts."
"'The worst' is a matter of opinion," Dumbledore said. "Ranking the horrors which the Dark Arts allow their practitioners to unleash upon their victims is a rather tasteless academic exercise. What purpose would it serve to argue about whether it is worse to use the Imperius Curse and force a father murder his children or to use the Torture Curse on him? None at all. But I digress. I chose this ritual for a reason: Since it works similar to a Pepper-Up Potion, you will have an easier time harnessing and redirecting the ritual's power than with other rituals."
"Ah." Harry nodded. "So… what now?"
"Now you redo the ritual a few more times to better familiarise yourself with it before we take the next step."
Harry almost groaned. "I would think that I'd grow familiar with the ritual anyway while trying to learn the next step."
"That may be the case, but it is better to ensure you have a solid foundation before you attempt to build on it. Especially when exploring new avenues of magic." Dumbledore flicked his wand, and the candles lit themselves, and the incense started burning again before another twig floated towards the circle on the floor.
Harry sighed but dutifully took up his spot again.
*****
Vane was in the common room, apparently reading a book when Harry Potter returned to Gryffindor Tower from Dumbledore's office. She was by herself, though, not with her friends. And staring at him over her book.
Harry hesitated a moment - she could be a spy. Or he could have spent a little too much time with Moody. He was a Gryffindor, after all. And she was a fourth year. Even if she were a spy, she wouldn't get the drop on him. He nodded to himself, then walked towards her. "Hi."
Her eyes widened a little and her smile vanished for a moment. Then it returned. "Hi."
He sat down at her table with his back to the wall, his left side facing her, and glanced at her book. "Quidditch Through the Ages?"
She nodded. "I love Quidditch." She put the book down, though.
"Who doesn't?" Harry chuckled. Even Hermione had come round. He leaned forward, left elbow on the table. "So, I noticed you've been watching me…"
"Ah…" She blushed and her smile grew slightly forced. She didn't look like a spy at all. And she was pretty.
It was clear that Sirius's advice was what fit this situation, not Moody's. He smiled at her. "I've been watching you too," he said, tapping his glasses.
"You have?" She licked her lips.
And she was very pretty.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 7th, 1996
Smoke - no, fog - filled the room. The bloody dog was hiding again. Hermione Granger clenched her teeth and flicked her wand, sending a volley of Paint-Splash Hexes blindly into the cloud blocking her vision as she quickly stepped to the side. She reached up to tap her mask's left side. "Jeanne! Cover the other side!"
"Oui!"
Jeanne slipping into French was a bad sign - the other witch only did that when she wasn't thinking clearly. Hermione crouched down and glanced over her shoulder. As she had feared, her ally was standing there in a perfect duelling stance, firing hexes into the fog. Hermione opened her mouth to warn the witch, but before she could speak, a spell hit Jeanne's head, and her face and hair turned red.
No choice now. The French witch muttered curses as Hermione jumped straight into the fog, rolling over her left shoulder and coming up in a crouch with her wand aimed ahead. Now she just had to detect the dog before she was spotted.
"Stupefy!"
That was to her left! Eyes wide, she dropped to the ground and rolled to the side, sending a hex towards her left before jumping up and sprinting to her right. If she could flank the dog… She gasped when she felt her feet slide over the suddenly slippery floor. Ice! She didn't try to stay upright but instead let herself fall down. A spell flew overhead, nothing more than a flash of red colour in the fog. She tried to stop her movement, but the ice was unnaturally slick, and her own momentum carried her out of the concealing fog.
And into the dog's line of fire. Red paint covered her mask before she could react, and she lowered her head, muttering a few curses of her own. Defeated again.
At least she had lasted longer than Jeanne.
*****
Hermione Granger walked into her room and closed the door behind her, then lay down on her bed and sighed as she rubbed her rear. Sirius's aim had been as precise as ever during today's Defence training session. And to think that Harry and Ron were going through even worse in their sessions with Moody… She clenched her teeth. If they could stand that, she could handle what the dog threw at her!
And she was improving, little by little - she wasn't getting hit as often as before in their sessions. But she still was getting hit too often, she added with a frown. And she didn't get back at the dog as much as she wanted to. Not that she needed to - a good thief was a master of escape, not a master of duelling. And cats won against dogs by outmanoeuvring them, not by outfighting them. Mostly. But still, she would love to put the dog in his place with her wand, instead of her claws.
She rolled on to her back and stared at the ceiling, sighing once more. Sirius and Jeanne were 'resting' until dinner. She knew what they were doing. And Harry had a new girlfriend, some fourth year named Romilda Vane. At least that was what Sirius had said.
And she was alone, with only her cat for company. Who was currently ignoring her in favour of shredding the latest toy she had bought for him.
Snorting, she changed, rolled over and buried her muzzle in her flank for a nap.
*****
Hogwarts, October 14th, 1996
Harry Potter slowly moved his wand through the finishing touches of the ritual. Just… about… now! The twig started to crumble, the candles flickered, and he felt the ritual's power well up inside him, filling him. Power he could use for something else! Light!
His wand lit up, shining light filling the room, and he sighed. That had been a silent spell, not a redirected ritual - he still felt the ritual's effect. "Damn!" he muttered.
"Do not be so hard on yourself - being able to cast a spell silently is an achievement in itself."
Harry shot the Headmaster a not-quite-glare. "Not the achievement I need, though." Voldemort wouldn't be impressed by a silent Wand-Lighting Charm.
Dumbledore smiled. "But you are making progress."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, I'll soon be able to do this ritual in my sleep."
"This is not something that can be mastered quickly. It took me some time as well."
Probably not as long as it is taking me, Harry thought. He didn't contradict the Headmaster any further, though, and gathered the materials for the next ritual. There was no time to waste.
*****
Two hours and four more failed attempts to harness the power of the ritual later, they finished for the evening and Harry Potter made his way back to Gryffindor Tower. It was past curfew already, not that he cared about that. But he cared about the fact that the dark hallways offered plenty of spots suitable for an ambush. Between a Human-presence-revealing Spell and his glasses, though, he would be able to spot anyone laying in wait for him. And thanks to his Cloak, they wouldn't spot him anyway.
Like the witch waiting for him in the alcove outside the Fat Lady's painting. Romilda. She was wearing lingerie again. No one else was around; the prefects would be patrolling the dungeons at this time. Perfect for a private snogging session.
He removed his Cloak before he turned the last corner - when he had surprised her from behind the last time, she had shrieked so loudly they had had to hide from the Gryffindor prefects afterwards - and didn't try to walk silently.
As expected, she stepped out of the alcove before he reached it. "Hi!" she greeted him in a whisper.
"Hi!" He smiled as she jumped into his arms, forcing him to take a step back to keep his balance. "Sorry for taking longer than I thought."
"Don't worry," she whispered, looking up at him. Then she pushed herself up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around his neck so she could kiss him.
Here was a witch who didn't have to be nagged into a snogging session! Without breaking the kiss he moved his arms down, then lifted her up slightly, and pushed her back into the alcove. It was too close to the entrance to the common room but it was past curfew. And the thought of snogging right outside Gryffindor Tower was more than a little exciting. They were both Gryffindors, after all. Besides, he had his Cloak to cover them both.
Under the Cloak, he lifted Romilda up a little more, so she could wrap her legs around his waist and he had his hands free to slip under her robes while they kissed. She was a quick study, too, when it came to snogging.
He had pushed her robes up and over her head, entangling her arms, when he heard the footsteps in the hallway. The prefects? They should be on patrol for another twenty minutes!
"Wha..."
"Shh!" He put a finger on Romilda's lips, silencing her. She looked nervous when he put her down and turned around, moving carefully so as not to pull the Cloak off either of them. "Stay close!" he whispered. She pressed herself into his back, arms wrapping around his chest, as he moved to the corner of the alcove and peered down the hallway.
When he recognised the two figures walking towards the entrance to Gryffindor, he blinked. Ron and Luna? At this time? Had they been off snogging? Ron had mentioned earlier today that he wanted to help Luna with her studies, but had he spent that long with her?
"...sorry we didn't find any Humdingers," he heard Ron say.
"Don't be! It was a fun trip, almost a mini-expedition. We might have more luck in twelve days - they like to dance in the moonlight."
"Good! I had fun too," Ron said. "It's late, though."
"Past curfew!" Luna agreed. Harry saw her nod several times. She was standing close to Ron.
"I should walk you back to your dorm. Help you avoid the prefects' patrols."
Harry almost snorted. Ron hadn't even noticed him and Romilda - he should have cast a Human-presence-revealing Spell. Moody would have a fit if he knew.
"You don't need to. I can avoid them myself." Luna's hair flew around her head as she shook her head.
"I'd feel better if I were with you, though. What is it your father always says? 'You never split the party'?"
"That's sweet!" Luna said. "But then you'll have to walk back alone."
"Well, someone has to, and I'd rather it be me," Ron declared. "And I can detect invisible people."
"But not Nargles!"
"They're not people, are they?"
"Right."
"So… let's go? The prefects won't be in the area for another fifteen minutes."
"Alright!" Luna turned around, then turned back and stepped right up to Ron. She pushed herself up on tiptoe, and kissed him on the lips. Or rather, gave him a peck on the lips. She had her arms behind her back too, instead of hugging him. It was cute, but it wasn't snogging.
Ron was smiling widely, though, and held out his hand. Luna took it, and the two walked off towards Ravenclaw Tower.
Harry was shaking his head, watching them go. Ron had it bad. Then he turned around. "They're gone," he whispered.
"Good," Romilda answered. "How long until the prefects return?"
"Ten minutes, at least."
Plenty of time.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, October 29th, 1996
"They sealed off the Dementors."
"What?" Hermione Granger looked up from the third chapter of 'A Life in the Ring'.
"They sealed off the Dementors." Sirius's voice sounded as if he couldn't believe his eyes. He pointed at the headline of the Daily Prophet.
Hermione's eyes widened, and she reached out, but he pulled the newspaper away from her. "No, no. Not again. Get your own subscription."
She bared her teeth at the selfish dog, but he didn't budge. Jeanne giggled. And when Hermione glared at her, she laughed.
"The Ministry had the Dementors sealed up - in the deepest level of Azkaban. Dumbledore himself was involved, or so it says here." Sirius shook his head as he read on. "Doubled the regular guards… Hit-Wizards. Curse-Breakers hired from Gringotts to improve the wards of the prison." He snorted. "They can't be serious. That must have cost a fortune."
"About time!" Jeanne commented. "Dementors… We don't need such monsters to guard our prisoners in the Bastille."
"Paid for by the muggles?" Sirius lowered the newspaper. "What the hell is going on?"
Hermione blinked. This reminded her of… but… She noticed that Sirius wasn't keeping a tight grip on the Daily Prophet, and used her wand to switch it with her book.
"Hey!"
She ignored his protests and skimmed the article. There! 'Research into the threat 'Nargles' might pose to Britain ongoing. Muggles insisted.' She looked up. "It's the work of Luna and her father. They managed to convince the Prime Minister that invisible creatures pose a threat to muggle Britain."
"Well, they're right in the case of Dementors," Sirius said, clenching his teeth. "Bloody demons!" he muttered, and Hermione saw that he was trembling, and holding her book so tightly his knuckles were stark white. Jeanne reached out to touch his shoulder and Hermione bit her lower lip. Of course he'd have flashbacks. She should have thought of that.
"Good riddance!" Sirius said, after a moment, holding Jeanne's hand. "But the Minister wouldn't have agreed to this just because the muggles wanted something done. It must have been Dumbledore's work."
That made more sense, Hermione thought. And if the muggles paid the bill, it would likely have been easy to push the proposal through. Probably bribed the Minister, too. "They'll improve security, then."
"Of course. That will make it harder for Voldemort to spring his followers from prison." Sirius grinned.
Hermione forced herself to smile as well. She wasn't completely happy, though - those changes would make it much harder for a cat to escape the prison, should she ever get caught. She would have to adjust her contingency plans.
*****
Hogsmeade, November 2nd, 1996
There wasn't anything wrong with a witch being honest about her desires and taking the initiative with her boyfriend, Hermione Granger thought. And the - predominantly muggle - double-standard regarding the sexuality of boys and girls was utterly hypocritical and deserved to be eradicated with extreme prejudice. And Romilda hadn't made a single veiled comment towards her or shown any hint of jealousy, which put her far above the likes of Patil.
But Harry's new girlfriend was still a vapid witch with an overactive libido and no sense of modesty, Hermione Granger thought as her best friend and his new girlfriend lost themselves in another French kiss right across from her. Of course, Vane had neither any reason nor any opportunity to show any jealousy if Harry spent the Hogsmeade weekend with his lips glued to hers!
She took a sip from her overpriced tea and glanced at her other best friend. Ron and Luna weren't snogging, but judging by the way the two were staring at each other, they were probably wishing they were. At least Luna wasn't taking notes on snogging any more.
Hermione sighed.
"Hm?" Luna looked at her. "Is something wrong?"
"No." She shook her head, glancing at Harry, who hadn't even noticed. "Nothing's wrong."
Perhaps Jeanne was correct about having an affair.
*****
Hogwarts, November 4th, 1996
Harry Potter finished the ritual with his eyes closed. He didn't need to see his wand to complete the figure. He didn't need to watch the twig crumble to ashes. He knew what would happen by heart now.
And this time he was ready. He felt the energy entering him as if it were a mental probe entering his mind. And he knew how to deal with those. All he had to do was to learn how to deal with this. And he knew what he had to do for that, too. Clenching his teeth, he focused his will. Instead of letting the power rejuvenate him, he channelled it into his wand. It was almost like casting a spell. Just different. Almost like finishing a complicated spell. Directing the magic. The power. Even if that was just a mental construct, it helped.
When he opened his eyes, the tip of his wand was shining brightly and he felt tired. He threw his head back and balled his left hand into a fist. "Yes! Yes! YES!"
"Indeed. Well done, Harry." Dumbledore was beaming at him. "You have taken a step that few ever manage."
Harry nodded. "It was easy, once I could visualise it." Occlumency had helped him a lot. It was all in the details.
"That is the most important step. Most of the limits of magic are actually the limits of our imagination. It is hard to do something if you think it is impossible." Dumbledore sighed. "Unfortunately, most wizards and witches have a rather limited imagination. Few have a vision that goes beyond the familiar. And many of those who do abandon their dreams as soon as they encounter the first obstacles."
"Well, knowing that there's a Dark Lord out there who wants to murder me helps a lot in focusing the mind," Harry said. "Maybe more people should try that?"
Dumbledore laughed, briefly. "Alas, most people would either be too afraid to do anything in your position or would try to ignore the threat." He shook his head. "But I digress again. Let us ensure that you have mastered this feat before we proceed to the next step."
Harry grimaced, but waved his wand in the now all too familiar pattern, rearranging the ritual circle. At least he would never, ever have to brew a Pepper-Up Potion again - he could do this ritual in his sleep now. Which certainly helped when he had had a late snogging session with Romilda.
*****
London, Diagon Alley, November 11th, 1996
Hermione Granger guided her broom towards the roof below her without worrying much about being spotted - between her Disillusionment Charm and the black-painted shaft of her broomstick, she was all but invisible in the dark night of the new moon. Besides, she would be out of the range of any Human-presence-revealing Spells anyway, unless they were cast by someone right outside the building below her. And this wasn't Knockturn Alley, where such guards might be expected - even in the current cold weather.
She stopped her broom right next to the chimney. The house was old, but the wards were new - Mr Fletcher had said there had been an attack by Death Eaters during the last war that had left the building's original owners dead and the wards torn down. The new owner, a Heathcliff Selwyn, who was suspected to work for the Dark Lord, hadn't spent much gold on the house, and so his new wards were rather weak and directly anchored to the walls. It didn't take her long to go through them. When she dismounted, her soft boots didn't make any sound on the shingled roof. She left her broom hovering next to her and looked around.
From up here, she could see the entrance and part of Knockturn Alley. It looked far less daunting than on the ground below. The few lights made it almost look pittoresque, as Jeanne would say - Hermione was picking up more French words than she had thought. Few would be able to tell that there was a war being waged in the Alley. A war between thugs and Death Eaters. A war which she had helped start. She shook her head - she had a mission and no time for wool-gathering.
Even if it was an easy mission. Kneeling down, she studied the roof. She was at the right spot, according to Mr Fletcher. Right above the mark's flat. A jab of her wand drilled a hole in a shingle that had darkened with age. She waited a moment, tapping her mask to enhance her hearing, but she couldn't hear anything suspicious. Nodding, she pulled out a small vial, unstoppered it and let the contents - small artificial bugs that would record all words said nearby - slide into the hole.
A quick Mending Charm resealed the hole, leaving no trace of hole or bugs.
Mission accomplished.
*****
Hogwarts, December 12th, 1996
Compared to mastering a simple ritual and then altering it, this was torture, Harry Potter thought as he once again tried to find whatever power his mum had left him as protection. Only he had no clue how and where it was supposed to be. Unlike with the ritual, he couldn't feel any change. He couldn't feel anything in his body that felt as if it didn't belong. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to imagine the 'blood protection'. To no avail.
Sighing, he slumped in his seat. "It's no use. I can't find any trace of this supposed power." He looked at Dumbledore. "I'll need to see what you see thanks to your spell."
The Headmaster stroked his beard. "I fear you might be correct. I do not think I can teach you this particular spell in the time we have left, however. It is very complicated, and it took me quite a while to learn it."
Harry muttered a curse under his breath. If Dumbledore took so long, he might as well give up.
"Although there is an alternative."
Harry looked up. "Yes?" Anything.
"I can enter your mind and show you, but that is a rather dangerous course of action. We both will have to maintain perfect mental discipline, or the effects could be… uncontrollable."
"What about showing me the memory?" Harry asked.
"That would not work - you would not see what I see, but what an observer would see." Dumbledore inclined his head. "A quirk of the magic involved, I think. No, I need to impart to you my own vision, so to speak. A very dangerous undertaking even for those who have mastered Occlumency. Many wizards have gone mad in the past when they tried and failed to do similar things - although most of them tried to transfer a skill." He looked at his familiar, and the phoenix leapt off his perch and landed on his shoulder.
Harry swallowed. That didn't sound good. If something went wrong… On the other hand, if he couldn't do this, Voldemort would win. He nodded. "Let's do it!"
Dumbledore smiled. "I think we should wait a day, and be well-rested before we attempt it."
Harry sighed, both relieved and disappointed. "Let's just hope that Voldemort doesn't make a move in the meantime."
"Ah… I do not think there's any danger of that happening. As much as I loathe saying it, I have to assume that my gambit has failed." Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, rubbing Fawke's head.
"He didn't take the bait?"
"No, he did not. I set up a fake Prophecy for a supporter of his, allowing him to enter the well-guarded place where they are stored, but Tom has not contacted the man at all. He is being more cautious than I expected."
That was really bad news, Harry thought. "So, what do we do then?"
"I have something in mind that he will not be able to ignore," Dumbledore said. His smile slipped a little. "Although since it will be very dangerous for those involved, you chief among them, he will not expect me to take such a risk." He sighed. "But sometimes, great risks must be taken, or all may be lost. After all, your protection will not last forever. Quite the contrary, in fact."
Harry swallowed again.
*****
Chapter 26: Preparations
Starfox5
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Chapter 26: Preparations
Bay of Islands, New Zealand, December 27th, 1996
Oliver Anderson usually loved his job - mainly because being a customs official in Magical New Zealand didn't involve much actual work. Especially at his post in the Bay of Islands. These days most travellers either took an International Portkey to the Ministry in Wellington or a muggle plane. Few ever used ships any more, and few of those who did sailed to the Bay of Islands. The only reason the Bay was still staffed was its historical significance. And the fact that the Australians still used the place to drop off their unwanted muggleborns - which meant all those of non-Aboriginal descent, of course - in accordance with the treaty of 1892.
But that only happened once a year, and the diplomats from the Ministry handled most of the work on those occasions - which was just fine with Oliver; no sane wizard wanted anything to do with the Australians.
Other than that, there were just enough travellers to keep Oliver from dying of boredom, but not so many that he had to work every day. Which meant he could spend most days reading and listening to the Quidditch broadcasts from Wizarding Britain in his office, conveniently kept cool with a few charms.
Most days, but not today, he thought, when he heard the chime informing him of a visitor. Probably a tourist wanting to go sightseeing. Or a muggleborn coming to visit the spot where they had arrived in New Zealand - some of them did that as if doing so would give them their memories back. Sighing, he turned the wireless off - it wouldn't do to make a bad impression on a visitor - and slid the latest Quidditch Weekly into his top drawer before getting up and heading to the entrance hall.
It wasn't a tourist, he realised with a gasp as he saw the man through the glass door. It was the Supreme Mugwump - Albus Dumbledore! Waiting in front of his office!
He ripped the door open in his haste - you didn't leave the most powerful wizard in the world waiting. "Sir! Welcome to the Bay of Islands! How may I help you?"
"Hello, my boy." The man smiled at him, teeth flashing in the midst of his thick beard. "I've just come to borrow one of your ships."
"One of my ships?" Oliver blinked. What use might Dumbledore have for one of the old ships the customs office kept around? If not for their use by tourists, they would have been scrapped years ago.
"Yes. Even I can't apparate to this particular destination, and this is the closest harbour with a ship available." Dumbledore hadn't lost his smile. "It's been a while since I took my last trip on a ship, but it'll come back to me quickly once I'm at sea."
"At sea?" Oliver blinked. Dumbledore couldn't mean… "Are you going fishing?" he asked, then wanted to hex himself for his inane question.
The other wizard laughed. "No, no, I'm not going fishing. Although once I'm done with my other business, I might take a little vacation." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I need to visit Australia, you see."
"What?" Oliver didn't trust his ears. No one went to Australia. And those who did didn't return. Not alive. Dumbledore had to be joking. After all, he was still smiling widely.
"I need to visit Australia," Dumbledore repeated. "And I need a ship to take me there - riding a broom over such a distance wouldn't be comfortable, not at my age."
"But… the dangers…"
"Oh, pish!" Dumbledore frowned. "Nothing I can't handle."
Oliver gulped. He had no doubt that trying to tell the Supreme Mugwump what he could and couldn't do would destroy his career. And he was Dumbledore - the Vanquisher of Grindelwald. If anyone could survive an encounter with the Australian wizards, it would be him. Hadn't Barry from the office in Wellington told him repeatedly that even the Australians were stepping lightly around the ICW these days, all because of Dumbledore? "Alright then, sir," he said. "Let me show you the best ship we have available…"
"...and this is how you control the ship's speed," Oliver finished his explanation. "However, it is advised not to sail without a full crew, including a navigator." Not just 'advised' - regulations prohibited the use of the ships without a full crew. But Oliver had been in the employ of New Zealand's Ministry of Magic long enough to know that you couldn't tell that to the Supreme Mugwump.
"Navigation shouldn't be a problem," Dumbledore retorted blithely. "I just have to head west and I'll make landfall sooner or later."
"Err… yes, sir." Oliver grimaced. There was no helping it - Dumbledore seemed determined to take this 'trip'.
"Good, that's settled then!" The man still hadn't stopped smiling. "I'll be off as soon as you're back on the pier."
"Right, sir. Err… do you want me to pass on anything to the Ministry? The Ministry in Wellington, I mean."
"Ah… just tell 'em that I am off to Australia on private business."
"Private business?" Oliver stared. What kind of private business did anyone have in Australia?
"Yes." Dumbledore looked up at the sky. "I think you better disembark - I want to use the remaining daylight to follow the coast up north. Unless you want to come with me?"
Oliver apparated to the pier.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 27th, 1996
I could reach out and torch the paintings if I wanted, Harry Potter thought as he descended the stairs from the first floor to the ground floor of his home. Even when he didn't focus on it he could feel the power his mum had left him. It was like a constant presence in the back of his mind, tempting him to use it. And he couldn't. He couldn't waste it. He could only use it against Voldemort. He almost wished that he hadn't accepted Dumbledore's offer - if he had discovered the power himself, it might feel more natural. Less like a pressure cooker about to burst.
"Open your mind, Harry," Dumbledore had said. And Harry had done so. Had stared straight into the Headmaster's eyes, unflinchingly. Hadn't moved when Dumbledore had raised his wand and aimed it straight at his head. Hadn't squeezed his eyes shut when he felt him enter his mind.
But he had gasped when his mind had suddenly been filled with a vision. Not a vision of Voldemort murdering people. A vision of himself, as Dumbledore saw him. Or Dumbledore's spell saw him. Or felt him - it had been more than a picture. It had been knowledge. He had known what Dumbledore knew as if he had cast the spell and examined himself.
He had suddenly known the power the Dark Lord knew not.
Learning how to use it had been easy - the power, despite its origin, was not really different from the energy produced by the other ritual. But to know it, feel it and not use it… that had been hard. He suspected, but hadn't asked to have it confirmed, that it was because of his Occlumency training that he could never truly ignore the power's presence.
Harry shook his head when he realised that he had stopped in the middle of the hallway. He couldn't act like this - Sirius, Hermione and Jeanne would grow suspicious. And Dumbledore had been adamant that Harry couldn't tell anyone about this. Or about the Headmaster's plan.
He sighed. He knew why he had to keep those secrets. He understood the Headmaster's reasons and agreed with them. If anyone else knew about it the whole plan could be put in jeopardy. But to leave his family and friends in the dark still felt wrong.
But as Dumbledore had said - in war, you were often forced to do things you didn't like but which were necessary. And Harry knew that his friends were keeping secrets of their own. Sirius had never told him what he was doing for Dumbledore, but Harry had his suspicions. Sirius was a skilled fighter, and there had been rumours about fights in Knockturn Alley, according to Moody. And he didn't expect Hermione to tell him what she was doing for Dumbledore if Dumbledore himself didn't tell him. Although, once again, he had his suspicions - he knew what Dumbledore was researching, after all.
He entered the kitchen, noticing that no one else but Kreacher was present. And Crookshanks, who was too busy stuffing his face to even glance at him. Hermione would be sleeping in - she did that a lot, Harry had noticed. She even took frequent naps during the day. She must be staying up, reading or researching, far too often. But it was probably needed for the war. And Sirius and Jeanne would have stayed up late doing… well, what Harry would like to do himself if Romilda were living with him.
He grabbed a croissant - warm and fresh - and had Kreacher fill his teacup. He missed his girlfriend. He truly did. Maybe… It wasn't as if he had anything to do but wait. Wait and do nothing. Especially do nothing with the power he knew he had. A little distraction would only help him do what he needed to.
Smiling, he summoned a sheet of parchment and called Hedwig. He had a letter to send to his girlfriend.
Hermione Granger yawned as she entered the kitchen. It was far too early for any self-respecting cat to be up, but any later and she'd miss out on breakfast. Everyone else was already there. Sirius and Jeanne were feeding each other, Crookshank was waiting for her to feed him, as usual - he was such a good cat - she ignored Kreacher as he ignored her and Harry was… frowning at a letter?
"Bad news?" she asked, sitting down next to him and stretching her arms over her head, then rolling her neck. Which had the side effect of pushing out her chest. Which Harry didn't even notice.
"No," he said.
"Yes," Sirius said. "He wanted to meet his girlfriend today, but she is busy with family."
"Oh." Hermione buried her first thought - the little witch probably didn't want her family to know what she had been doing with Harry at Hogwarts - as she took a sip of her tea.
"It's not bad news," Harry said. "We can meet next week."
"At the New Year's Ball, right?" Jeanne said, smiling at Hermione.
"Ah, yes." Harry looked surprised.
"You didn't forget about the ball, did you?" Hermione asked.
"No, of course not." He stared at the letter again. He had, she thought. Boys! He'd probably spend the entire ball snogging in the winter garden. Well, if Romilda was alright with missing out on dancing, then it was her own fault.
"Chérie, do you know if your friend, Miss Merriweather, will be attending the ball?" Sirius asked suddenly. The dog was smiling with that expression of innocence that didn't fool anyone who knew him.
"Miss Merriweather?" That was Harry.
Jeanne frowned. "Ah, I don't know. I haven't had much contact with her since she went back to the New World."
"Ah." And Harry was back to brooding. Just because he couldn't spend the day snogging with Vane.
Hermione scoffed. She was of a mind to attend the ball in disguise again. Just to test her skills, of course. And maybe establish another fake identity. She'd need an invitation, of course, but she should be able to get one without too much difficulty. Only if she wanted to go to the ball, of course.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 29th, 1996
Dumbledore missing! Ministry Cover-up!
Harry Potter winced when he saw the headline of the Daily Prophet, even though he had expected it. Dumbledore had told him it would happen, after all. But only him, and no one else. And today of all days everyone was early to breakfast!
He could hear Sirius mutter a curse under his breath as he started to read the article. "Seen in New Zealand... headed to Australia… Australia?" Sirius put the newspaper down and shook his head in apparent disbelief. "Merlin's beard, why would he do that? It's full of Australians!"
Hermione gasped. "Australia? My parents are there!" Harry felt guilty when he saw her scared expression. "Did something happen to them?"
"He would have told you," Harry said quickly. "He wouldn't have gone off without a word to you."
She bit her lower lip. "But… if it was an emergency…" She stood. "I have to call them!"
And she dashed out of the kitchen as if her robes were on fire. Harry clenched his teeth. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to worry about her parents, but Dumbledore's instructions had been explicit on the matter.
"This could be a trap," Sirius said. "A way to find her parents. Dumbledore said he would be away for a few days at least, but..."
Harry flinched under his godfather's gaze. "I can't tell you," he said.
But judging by Sirius's expression, he had told him enough anyway. "Hell! Australia?" He suddenly frowned. "Did he send the Grangers there in preparation for this?"
"I don't think so," Harry said. Not in the way Sirius meant, that much he knew.
"But you know what he's doing." It wasn't a question.
Harry slowly nodded, pressing his lips together.
Sirius sighed. "And you can't tell us."
He shook his head.
Sirius cursed again. But he didn't press Harry for an answer. Instead, he picked up the Prophet again and continued reading. "How did Skeeter find out about this?"
The Headmaster had arranged that, Harry knew. He shrugged anyway. "Coincidence? She might know someone in New Zealand's Ministry who overheard something. News of Dumbledore travelling there would be a big thing, wouldn't it?"
Sirius snorted. "Hell of a coincidence." He shook his head again, and continued reading.
"Should we let Hermione go out alone?" Jeanne asked. She looked worried, glancing at the door through which Hermione had left.
"She's going to muggle London," Harry answered. He tried to smile confidently. "Unless she's going to her home, she'll be safe." And she was too smart to go to her home to call her parents.
He still felt guilty for not telling her. And making her and the others worry.
London, Greenwich, December 29th, 1996
Hermione Granger clenched her teeth as she listened to the dialling tone and gripped the receiver of the payphone so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her parents should be at home - at their hotel. She had their travel itinerary memorised. Unless they had changed their plans on a whim without telling her in advance. That had happened before.
She pressed her lips together. How long would the reception desk take to pick up the phone? Bloody Australians!
"Hilton Darwin, Makepeace speaking. How may I help you?"
Finally! She forced herself not to yell and instead speak calmly. "Hello. I'm Hermione Granger. I would like to speak to Mr and Mrs Granger."
"One moment, please."
"Thank you." She slid a few more coins into the phone. Just in case. And bit her lower lip.
"Hello? Hermione?"
Mum! That was Mum's voice! "Mum! It's me! What did I do on my sixth birthday?"
"You had a tantrum because your aunt had sent you a children's book as a present, and not a 'real book'. What did I tell you?"
It was Mum. Hermione smiled. "That I couldn't blame her since I had never told her what I wanted. How are you?"
"We're fine. We've been touring the city. We're planning to go to the Kakadu National Park next."
They were sticking to their itinerary, then. Good. "I'm happy to hear that." She hesitated a moment. Should she worry her parents? They would have told her if Dumbledore had contacted them, wouldn't they? Or would they assume that she already knew about it? "Mum, did anyone contact you?"
"You mean one of your friends?"
"Or acquaintances." Any wizard or witch, actually.
"No. You're the only one from home we've been in contact with - other than a few tourists like us, of course."
Muggle tourists. So, the Headmaster hadn't contacted them. In hindsight, that was rather obvious - Dumbledore would have asked her how to reach her parents before taking off. Hermione shook her head, berating herself. She had panicked and acted like a fool. But she was still relieved that her parents were fine.
"Dad wants to talk to you, too," her mum said.
"Alright."
"Hermione? How are you doing? Are you planning anything for New Year's Eve?"
"The usual," she said. Which wasn't exactly a lie. Her parents just didn't know what she usually did on New Year's Eve.
"You can read a book at any time, dear. You should go out and have fun."
"Dad! I'm going to have fun! Just my kind of fun!" she retorted, smiling despite feeling a little guilty. If her parents knew what she was doing… But they didn't, and they were safe.
Half an hour later, back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione Granger's good mood had disappeared entirely. "The xenophobia of Magical Australia is widely known," she said, frowning. "And while the Headmaster is a very powerful wizard, and has dealt with similarly feared wizards himself, I doubt that he would risk a conflict with the Aborigines unless he had no choice."
She saw that Harry was pressing his lips together and wasn't looking at anyone else in the room. He had to know what Dumbledore was planning! "Harry?"
"I can't tell you," he said. "Sorry."
She opened her mouth and drew breath to tell him that he very well could tell her, but Sirius cut her off.
"We understand," the dog said. He glanced at her, and she frowned as she met his eyes. "Don't we?"
He started to glare at her, and Hermione pressed her lips together. They were also keeping secrets from Harry, and her friend hadn't complained about not being told what exactly Hermione was doing for the Headmaster. And yet, she wanted to know what Dumbledore was planning! But she sighed and nodded. If the Headmaster had wanted her to know, he would have told her.
Dumbledore knew what he was doing, after all.
London, Ministry of Magic, December 30th, 1996
Sitting near the lift, outside the Wizengamot Chamber, Hermione Granger watched the last members of the Wizengamot arrive for today's special session - an emergency session in all but name - to discuss Dumbledore's disappearance which had so scared Wizarding Britain. Including many members of the Wizengamot - she could tell despite their attempts to hide their fear; thanks to her cover as Sirius's secretary, she was familiar with a number of his 'esteemed colleagues'. Of course, any member of the Order of the Phoenix would have good reason to be concerned - they knew that the Dark Lord was back. But even wizards and witches she was certain were not involved in the war were scared. Like the Minister, she thought as she spotted him leaving the lift.
She narrowed her eyes when she saw who was walking at his side - Lucius Malfoy. The man who had framed her as a thief. The man who had gotten her expelled from Hogwarts and driven her family to ruin. The man who was one of Voldemort's most important supporters.
He would pay for all of that, she thought as she hid her face behind a sheet of parchment and tried to catch what they were talking about.
"The people are demanding answers, Lucius!" Fudge prattled as the two wizards passed her, "And I can't give them what they want without Dumbledore!"
"And they shall have them. Dumbledore might be ignoring the turmoil in the Prophet - his opinion of it is well known, after all - but he will not ignore a formal inquiry by the Wizengamot."
"But what if he doesn't know what we are doing?"
"Please, Cornelius! You know as well as I do that his friends will inform him."
They passed through the entrance and the privacy enchantments of the Chamber cut off their conversation. She bit her lower lip. Usually, such conversations were protected by privacy spells. Fudge might be not the sharpest wizard in Britain - Hermione didn't quite share Sirius's opinion of the man; Fudge was an experienced politician, after all - but even if he might have forgotten to cast a spell, Malfoy wouldn't have. But had Malfoy recognised her, and this was staged so Sirius would draw the wrong conclusions, or had he not expected her to be present?
She couldn't tell. She knew Malfoy was a Death Eater, though, and he would want to check for his master whether or not Dumbledore was still alive. And seeing how scared everyone was - even the Hit-Wizards guarding the Ministry seemed nervous - Hermione had no doubts that Malfoy would succeed in having the Wizengamot formally require Dumbledore's presence. Something the Headmaster couldn't easily ignore without consequences. Whether he abandoned whatever he was currently doing - which had to be very important - or not, the Dark Lord would profit. Just like Malfoy would have planned.
And if Dumbledore was dead… Hermione clenched her teeth. He couldn't be dead. Once again, she wished Harry would tell her what he knew. He would if she and Sirius pressed him. But they couldn't. It would be wrong. Only an idiot would try to break security that way.
And yet she wanted to know what was going on anyway. Very badly.
Half an hour after the session had started, the lift doors opened again. Hermione Granger looked up from the draft of a proposal for next week's session. A good thief had to keep an eye out, after all, as Mr Fletcher always said.
"Hello!"
Hermione blinked. "Luna?"
"Yes!" The blonde witch quickly joined her on the bench.
"What are you doing here?"
Luna held up an oversized notepad. "I'm here to report on today's special session of the Wizengamot. Daddy couldn't come - he's investigating another Nargle sighting, although since you can't see them, it might not be correct to call it a sighting, right?"
Hermione blinked. "I don't think that's how it works," she said.
"Exactly!" Luna beamed at her. "We'll have to invent a new word, then! Maybe 'hearing'?"
"That's not a new word," Hermione pointed out.
Luna pouted. "It would fit perfectly, though. And it would make sense."
Hermione shrugged. As expected, Luna quickly cheered up. "So, what do you think will happen in the session? Will they pass the emergency bill to ban Dumbledore from importing drop bears?"
"What?"
"Dumbledore was last seen heading to Australia - which, as everyone knows, even muggles, is the home of the deadliest species known to the Magical World. It's logical that the Wizengamot would be concerned about the danger of an invasive species being introduced to Britain's ecosystem as a result of his trip."
"I don't think that the Wizengamot is concerned about that," Hermione said. "As far as I know, the Wizengamot has assembled to discuss formally requesting Dumbledore's presence."
"To answer charges of smuggling protected species?" Luna asked, leaning towards Hermione with an eager expression on her face.
"I don't think so."
Luna huffed. "It seems that despite the progress made concerning the threat from invisible creatures, the Wizengamot continues to display an appalling lack of concern about the dangers to Wizarding Britain's ecosystem." She shook her head. "Daddy was correct; this is an important issue about which the public needs to know!"
Hermione sighed as Luna started to scribble down notes for an article Hermione was certain she didn't want to read.
Sirius was in a bad mood, Hermione Granger noticed straight away when she saw him leave the chamber. That meant that the proposal must have passed. As Malfoy had planned.
"Mr Black! Can you tell us if the Wizengamot has taken measures to protect the ecosystem against invasive Australian species?" Luna piped up, apparently unaware of the man's dark mood.
"What?" Sirius stared at the witch.
"Luna's concerned about Dumbledore bringing drop bears to Britain," Hermione explained.
Luna nodded. "And other Australian magical creatures. They might make good pets and perfect souvenirs, but one must not let one's love of animals blind oneself to the danger they represent to British species."
"I think that's a question the Minister and Mr Malfoy should field," Sirius said, pointing towards the entrance to the chamber. "They called the session, after all."
"Alright!" Luna nodded eagerly.
Hermione cast a privacy spell as soon as Luna had marched off to ambush the Minister. "What happened?"
Sirius sighed. "No one knows where Albus is. Not even Doge has any idea. New Zealand's Ministry doesn't have any information and the Australians have ignored our inquiry. And so the Wizengamot approved Fudge's proposal. Albus has a week to present himself to the Wizengamot or he might lose his position as Chief Warlock."
She muttered a curse. That would help Voldemort immensely.
"He should have made arrangements in case there was an emergency session of the Wizengamot. The Chief Warlock cannot be incommunicado." Sirius frowned.
"He wouldn't risk losing his position, would he?"
"I don't think so." He pressed his lips together.
Hermione knew what he was thinking. There was one explanation for Dumbledore's absence. But that would be a catastrophe.
Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1996
"Australia? I can't believe..."
"...Dumbledore's been missing for…"
"...Zealand's Ministry claims that…"
Harry Potter fought not to frown as he led Romilda to the dance floor. He was heartily sick of hearing everyone talking about Dumbledore's disappearance. Especially since that seemed to be the only thing everyone wanted to talk about with him - that he had received special lessons with Dumbledore wasn't the secret it should have been.
At least they couldn't bother him on the dance floor - that would have been the kind of faux pas that led to not being invited to the next New Year's Ball. He almost sighed with relief when the music started and he could finally dance with Romilda.
"You're a good dancer." She smiled at him.
"I can but strive not to embarrass you, milady." He flashed her a smile of his own. She blushed. Sirius's lines still worked, he noted. But then, he hadn't really used any 'old school charm', as his godfather called it, on Romilda yet. If only it were a slow dance, he thought as he led her into a turn.
"Can we explore the Winter Garden?" she whispered as the song came to a close. "I've heard you can find some marvellous things there." Her smile told him exactly what she meant. "You brought your Cloak, right?"
He felt his smile slip. "I would love to, but Sirius told me not to leave his sight."
She frowned in that cute, pouty way of hers. "Isn't he aware of what we do at Hogwarts?" She glanced over her shoulder at Harry's godfather, who was chatting with Jeanne and an old wizard Harry didn't recognise. "Or doesn't he approve of me?"
"No, no," Harry was quick to reassure her. "But with Dumbledore missing, he worries about my safety. I was attacked a year ago, remember?"
He felt her tense. "Yes." She turned around herself, then returned to his arms. "But that was in Hogsmeade. We're safe here."
She didn't know that there were several Death Eaters or sympathisers among the guests. And she didn't know about Voldemort. So he quoted Moody. "Nothing and nowhere is safe."
"Really?" Romilda didn't look like she agreed with him. "Not even the arms of the Boy-Who-Lived?"
That was a perfect set-up if Harry had ever heard one. He grinned and leaned forward slightly. "Especially not my arms," he whispered with a wink as he moved his hand a little lower down the small of her back.
She drew a hissing breath and he could see her cheeks gain some more colour. But she recovered quickly. "Well, your godfather could watch," she retorted with a toothy grin.
Sirius would probably agree to that, Harry knew. But the thought of snogging while his godfather - or anyone else - was watching… He snorted. "We could go to my home, first, before I take you back to yours."
"Mh." She smiled as she slowly nodded.
Maybe he'd be able to forget all about Dumbledore's plan for tonight.
Hermione Granger didn't frown as she watched Harry and Vane dancing. She was too skilled in maintaining her cover for that, no matter how obvious it was that Vane wanted to drag her friend off to the garden or a dark corner elsewhere in the manor. If they were at a muggle club, she'd probably be humping his leg right there on the dance floor, Hermione thought.
At least Sirius and Jeanne were keeping an eye on Harry. It would be utterly irresponsible for him to go snog Vane with the Headmaster missing and Voldemort gathering his forces. And she was keeping an eye on her friend as well. She raised her glass to her lips and took another sip of the excellent wine.
"Are you enjoying the wine, Miss Davis?"
She nodded at Smith - Fairfax Smith. A cousin of Zacharias Smith's. "I am, yes. Excellent vintage."
"In these dark times, my uncle has made every effort to make this ball memorable."
He was laying it on rather thickly, she thought. She had expected that, of course - he had done the same when trying to seduce Miss Merriweather. "It's very impressive."
He smiled as if it had been his gold that paid for the ball. "Are you certain that you're not related to the Davis family?"
She managed not to frown. She'd get her revenge on that family as well. But she had to play her role. "Oh, I don't actually know. My family emigrated to the New World a few generations ago."
"Ah." His smile grew wider, as she had expected. Implying that she was a pureblood, yet had no close relationship to the Davis family would make her even more attractive to a wizard from an Old Family looking to have an affair.
Unbidden, Jeanne's 'advice' flashed through her mind. She dismissed it - again. She wasn't looking to have an affair. And if she were, it would certainly not be with Smith. She glanced at Harry, who was dancing a little too close to Vane to be proper. She'd want someone with more intelligence and less bigotry. On the other hand, a dumb bigot would be ideal for an affair without any attachments - she certainly wouldn't feel guilty for dumping him after she tired of him.
She blinked. Was she actually considering Jeanne's advice? Certainly not! She had no need of a meaningless affair. Especially not when Dumbledore was missing and Harry was in danger.
Speaking of which, she should probably make contact with Harry. It would be far easier to keep an eye on him if he and Miss Davis were acquainted. She emptied her glass and looked around for a place to put it down. There was a tray floating nearby.
"Allow me!" Smith said, holding out his hand.
She handed her glass to him, and he turned towards the tray. She would have to ditch him before she could 'meet' Harry. Without being rude, too. That would require a little more time, she thought. But it didn't look like Vane would succeed in dragging Harry off any time soon.
Smith returned and she was about to mention her wish to dance - that would get her close to Harry, and allow her daring robes to catch his eye - when she noticed a commotion near the entrance. And Sirius was moving towards Harry, without a care for the other dancing couples that he shouldered his way past.
He wasn't the only one, either - she saw Amelia Bones march out, followed by Rufus Scrimgeour.
She clenched her teeth. What was going on? She couldn't ask Sirius, not while disguised… But there was Mr Fletcher. She slowly made her way towards him, not bothering to hide her approach.
As soon as she stood behind him, she heard him whisper: "The Australians claim that they killed Dumbledore. They delivered his wand as proof."
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 31st, 1996
Harry Potter heard his godfather sigh as soon as they were in the entrance hall of their home. Safely behind their wards. "Was that really necessary?" Harry asked as Jeanne closed and locked the door.
"What do you mean?" Sirius glanced at him.
Harry shrugged. "Leaving the ball early. Apparating home. Sending Romilda back with Tonks." He hadn't even been able to properly kiss her goodbye. He hoped that she would understand and not blame him for Sirius's actions. And getting dragged away by his godfather wouldn't have looked impressive either, he realised with a frown.
"Yes. Your safety takes priority." Sirius didn't quite glare at him.
"The Smiths' home was safe. You said so yourself," Harry objected. Voldemort wouldn't risk exposure by having one of his followers among the guests attack Harry and the Thief's Downfall at the entrance would defeat even Polyjuice Potion and the Imperius Curse.
"That was before I heard about Dumbledore's... wand." Sirius pressed his lips together. Jeanne squeezed his shoulder.
"Do you really think Voldemort would attack the ball?" Harry didn't quite snort, but he came close.
"Better safe than sorry," Sirius shot back. "At least until we know more. Dumbledore's wand…" He shook his head.
Harry clenched his teeth. Everyone knew that if the Australians had the Headmaster's wand, odds were that they were telling the truth about his death. Just as… He saw something move near the stairs and drew his wand before he realised that it was the stray. The cat was staring at him, seemingly frozen for an instant, before darting up the stairs.
Harry sighed and lowered his wand again. Hermione might claim it wasn't her cat, but the stray certainly didn't act like that was true. Then he blinked. They were still standing in the entrance hall, and his friend hadn't shown up yet. "Does Hermione know about this already?"
"I don't think so," Sirius said.
"I'll go tell her then," Harry said. Hermione would want to know about this at once, he knew.
"Ah… she might already be asleep," Jeanne said. "Or indecent. I'll go fetch her."
Harry snorted. "She comes to breakfast in her pyjamas." And he had seen her naked thanks to his glasses anyway. Several times, he thought with a guilty feeling.
"Oh, you want to catch her naked? By all means, go ahead then!" Sirius said with a sudden leer.
Harry glared at him as Jeanne walked towards the stairs.
A few minutes later she returned with Hermione - in her pyjamas, as expected - in tow.
"Harry! Are you alright?" His friend moved towards him and, for a moment, he expected her to hug him. She stopped short, though, and looked him over.
"I'm fine," he responded. "Sirius overreacted. Almost dragged me away from the ball."
"Oh."
He nodded, then frowned. Was that perfume? But she had already been in bed. Probably a new shower lotion, he concluded. "Romilda wasn't happy to have her evening cut short either," he added.
Hermione shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."
He snorted. If Romilda didn't understand that it was Sirius's fault, Harry might end up both safe and sorry.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 1st, 1997
"...and Ollivander also confirmed it: It's Dumbledore's wand. His grandfather made it." Tonks grimaced as she finished her report.
Harry Potter wasn't the only one who winced upon hearing that. Everyone in Sirius's living room did. Hermione reached over and squeezed his knee, and he felt another pang of guilt shoot through him. If she knew…
"Mate," Ron said, looking grim. "You know what this means."
"He'll come for me," Harry said. As expected.
"And he'll have to go through us to get you." Ron nodded and clasped Harry's shoulder. "With the Headmaster… missing, you're our only hope."
Harry had to laugh at that, despite the situation. He glanced to his side and saw that Hermione was smiling. Ron looked confused. "What?"
"Nothing," Harry said. "Just thought of something funny."
Ron huffed.
"There's more," Tonks said. She looked at Harry. "Your presence is requested at the Wizengamot session tomorrow." She sighed. "Sirius is talking to Fudge, that's why he didn't come back with me, but he won't be able to reverse the decision even if he manages to convince Fudge. The Wizengamot's panicking. At least the ones who aren't Death Eaters."
"Are they so scared that they want Harry to protect them?" Jeanne asked. She could sound a little less incredulous, Harry thought.
"They've heard about your special lessons with Dumbledore," Tonks nodded at him. "And Malfoy's been telling everyone that you'd know more about the Headmaster's disappearance and that you have to appear to be interrogated."
"Bloody bugger," Ron muttered.
Harry expected Hermione to tell Ron to watch his language, but she nodded in agreement instead.
"This looks like a set-up," she said with a snarl. "Malfoy demanding that Harry has to appear before the Wizengamot? It's a trap!"
"You can't go!" Ron agreed.
"That's probably what Malfoy wants - if Harry doesn't go, he'll be a wanted wizard," Tonks said.
Steps in the hallway made everyone tense, but when the door was pushed open, Harry saw it was Sirius. His godfather seemed spitting mad - he slammed the door shut. "That useless bloody fool!" He sat down in his favourite armchair and Jeanne moved to sit on the armrest. They held hands for a moment. "Did Tonks tell you?" he asked, looking at Harry.
"That Malfoy wants to lure me into a trap? Yes," Harry said.
"Yes." Sirius bared his teeth. "Fudge wouldn't budge - Malfoy must have paid him a fortune. And the rest are scared. Even Doge voted to question Harry!"
"He doesn't have to go," Hermione said. "Even if the Wizengamot has the Aurors hunt him he'd be safer than there." She stood. "We can move to a safe house."
"There's no house that's safe with Dumbledore dead," Ron said. "We should…"
Everyone froze as the door opened again. Then gasps and curse words filled the room.
"The reports of my death have been slightly exaggerated."
The Headmaster was alive! Hermione Granger almost cried with relief. He must have succeeded at whatever he had been doing, and returned in time to counter Malfoy's plots. Then she noticed that Harry wasn't looking surprised. Nor really relieved. That meant…
"This was planned!" she blurted out, glaring at her friend. He had known the truth and hadn't told her while everyone had been afraid and worried! "You knew the Headmaster wasn't missing!"
Harry cringed, but before he could answer, Dumbledore spoke up. "Indeed. I apologise for deceiving you, and for having Harry keep my secret while you were left ignorant and worried, but I needed your reactions to be genuine to fool Voldemort." The Headmaster slowly nodded with a faint smile.
Hermione blinked. "It's a trap, but for Voldemort?"
"Yes, Miss Granger. What better way to trap him than by using his own plans?" Dumbledore's smile grew.
"With Harry as bait!" Sirius stood, almost causing Jeanne to fall to the ground as he bared his teeth and snarled. "What are you…"
"I volunteered," Harry cut in, standing as well. He was staring at his godfather "And no, I can't wait until I'm an adult. Mum's protection won't last forever. If we don't do this soon, I'll be defenceless against him."
Sirius clenched his teeth. If he had been in his dog form, he would likely have been growling loudly enough to scare a dragon. Even so, he made a decent effort, Hermione noticed.
"Please, Sirius."
Dumbledore, probably wisely, didn't say anything as Harry and Sirius stared at each other. Hermione held her breath.
Slowly, Sirius nodded and pressed his lips together. He was trembling. Harry stepped up to him and hugged him, but even then Hermione saw that it took Sirius half a minute before he started to relax. Jeanne was looking at them with a rather sad smile but didn't move closer. And Ron looked like he wasn't certain whether or not he should be present as Sirius and Harry whispered to each other.
After another minute, Sirius sighed, then released Harry and glared at Dumbledore. "So, what exactly is your plan?"
Dumbledore took a seat in an armchair he conjured - with a different wand than his usual one, Hermione noticed. Had he sacrificed his wand for this deception, or did he plan to recover it before tomorrow? "Voldemort will not be able to resist the opportunity with which he has been presented. In one fell swoop, he not only rids himself of Harry - the only one who can threaten him, or so he believes - along with the Order who will be protecting him, but also terrifies the Wizengamot and the Ministry by triumphantly announcing his return. And when he makes his entrance, Harry and I will face and defeat him while the Order and those among the Ministry's wands willing to fight will take on the Death Eaters with him. With the Dark Lord defeated, his followers will break."
Sirius scoffed. "The Aurors are worthless."
"Hey!" Tonks glared at him, her wand twitching.
"Present company excluded," he added hastily. "However, what makes you so certain that he'll appear in person? He was defeated twice by Harry. He could just as well simply send his Death Eaters. Or use some imperiused Auror to try and kill Harry."
Dumbledore shook his head. "He will not let someone else upstage him. Even if he might plan to avoid facing Harry directly, he will have to be present for his return to have the greatest possible impact on the country." With a slightly grim smile, he added: "We have a spy in his inner circle."
"It's not Snivellus, is it? The Dark Lord would be an utter idiot to trust that git again after his first betrayal," Sirius said with a sneer. Hermione had to agree.
"It's not Severus," Dumbledore answered, stressing the name.
"Who is it, then?" Tonks asked. "I'd rather not curse an ally by mistake."
"If it's a spy like Snivellus, then curse away. They'd deserve it," Sirius muttered.
"They will reveal themselves once the trap is sprung; do not worry," Dumbledore said.
"I think you are going a little overboard with the secrecy," Sirius said in a bitter tone. "Do you even know everything that's going on any more?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I would rather err on the side of caution than risk exposing our plan to the enemy." He held up his left hand. "I do trust the Order members not to betray us, but it is better to be safe than sorry."
Sirius flinched slightly at that. Hermione wondered if he'd realised that he'd be a hypocrite to complain about being kept in the dark while keeping secrets of his own from Harry. Not that she was any better - she wasn't telling Harry everything either. But they could have told her. She was a good actress - she wouldn't have let anything slip! They could have trusted her. It was probably the Headmaster's fault.
"So, you're calling the whole Order for this?" Tonks asked.
"Those among the Order who can fight. I have taken steps to ensure that we can use the Floo Network to enter the Ministry while our enemies will be stuck once the trap has been sprung." Dumbledore leaned back. "That will also allow you to familiarise yourself with your allies, and avoid confusion during the battle."
"Good." Sirius nodded. "We'll be the vanguard then?"
"Yes." Dumbledore nodded at the gathered wizards and witches. "With the exception of Mr Weasley; his presence might tip off our enemies."
"Like hell!" Ron jumped up. "If they know about Harry's special lessons, then they know that I've been with him all the way! I'll be with him."
Dumbledore looked at Ron, but Ron didn't flinch. After a moment, the Headmaster nodded. "Very well. I am certain your mother will understand."
Ron flinched at that but pressed his lips together. "Harry's my best friend."
Dumbledore chuckled, once. "And I somehow doubt I or anyone else could stop you from coming along anyway. Very well."
"But Hermione should stay at home," Harry said. "We can claim she's sick."
"What?" Hermione glared at him and bared her teeth. How dare he!
"Be reasonable! You can't fight as well as the rest of us. Putting yourself in danger for no gain makes no sense at all."
"I can fight well enough!" She was tempted to demonstrate right then how well - on him.
"No, you can't!" Harry looked at Sirius. "Tell her!"
When he didn't correct Harry at once she glared at the dog. "If I'm not with you then Voldemort might suspect a trap. I'm your secretary." Officially, at least.
"We can claim she's sick."
Now Harry wasn't even talking to her again? Hermione huffed. "I can take care of myself and you know it," she told the dog.
He coughed. "Well, you're harder to hit than you were when you trained with Harry, but you're not on the level of him or Ron. Or Tonks. I think you shouldn't be fighting."
She was about to tell the dog what she thought of his arrogance when Dumbledore spoke up: "I have to concur with your friends, Miss Granger. While you have been training hard with Sirius, your training focused on escaping when attacked - and tomorrow, we will be the ones attacking the enemy. Your presence might be exploited by the enemy to distract Harry at a crucial moment. Further, while you are correct in that you would usually be present at Sirius's side, our enemy does expect Harry and his guardians to be scared after my apparent demise. It would not be very suspicious to leave you at home under those circumstances."
Hermione swallowed her angry retort - with some difficulty. She couldn't yell at the Headmaster. That would be pointless and make her look childish and stupid. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was correct - and yet not. She wasn't as helpless or as useless as Harry thought. But he didn't know that and he would worry about her. And that might get him killed.
But knowing that didn't mean she liked it. Or wanted to admit it. Not that she thought she could say anything without yelling. So she clenched her teeth until they hurt, sat down and glared at her stupid friend and the stupid dog as they planned the ambush tomorrow.
Hermione Granger was about to go to bed - she'd have to get up early tomorrow to prepare - when she heard someone knocking on her door. "Yes?" she said, after a quick check that nothing incriminating had been left in the open.
The door opened and Dumbledore entered. "Good evening, Miss Granger. I am glad that I caught you before you went to bed."
She tensed. She could handle Harry, and the dog would approve of what she was planning - anything to protect Harry - but the Headmaster… When he closed the door behind her and cast a privacy spell, she bit her lower lip. "How can I help you?" she asked, sitting down on her bed.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped over to her desk and sat down on her chair. "It is about tomorrow."
She frowned. "You've made your opinion clear. I don't like it, but I have to agree: We can't risk Harry being distracted by worrying about me during the battle." Which her stupid friend would.
He smiled. "While I applaud your wisdom, I have to point out that what you said doesn't mean that you agree that you should stay away from the Ministry."
She didn't flinch - she was a good actress. And a good thief never admitted anything, even when confronted with the truth. "What do you mean?"
His smile only grew wider. "You would not be planning to sneak into the Ministry tomorrow in disguise, would you?"
She pressed her lips together. Why had she thought that she would be able to get one over on the Headmaster? He knew exactly what she was capable of. "That would be reckless."
"Without a doubt." He inclined his head. "But you have not denied it."
She hung her head in response. "I can't just sit here and wait. I'm not as bad as he thinks I am."
"I trust you did not plan to enter the fight disguised as a stranger."
"No!" she retorted. "That would be foolish."
"What was your plan, then?" he asked in a calm voice, as if he was asking after her homework.
"Sneak in, ambush a straggler or two." And keep an eye on Harry.
He shook his head. "I think our cause would be much better served if you put your talents to a different use."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Allow me to explain."
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 2nd, 1997
Harry Potter couldn't help feeling nervous as he waited in the entrance hall of his home. Soon he would be headed to the Ministry to trigger Voldemort's ambush. That Dumbledore was already there - Sirius had checked twice through a mirror - was not as reassuring as it should have been; Harry knew it would come down to him to defeat Voldemort.
And that Hermione was frowning at him didn't help either, of course.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She huffed and looked at the fireplace behind him. "The Headmaster was right."
She didn't say that Harry was right, he noted. "Well…" he trailed off. He didn't know what to tell his best friend. She couldn't come with him, but leaving her to wait like this felt wrong as well. He shrugged instead.
She bit her lower lip for a moment, then lunged at him, hugging him before he could react. Hard, too - but then, he knew how toned her body was. "Stay safe, you hear?" she whispered.
"Of course," he said, patting her back. He hoped he wasn't lying.
She sniffed - or sniffled; he couldn't tell - and released him. Ron had a moment to brace himself before she hugged him as well. Harry could see him tense, then nod.
She released Ron as well and took a few steps back, facing them. "Remember: Stay safe. Don't do anything foolish." She nodded sharply at them, then marched off before they could say anything in response.
Once she had disappeared upstairs, Ron sighed and looked at Harry. "Luna was the same, yesterday."
Harry nodded, then looked at the clock on the wall. Still not time to go. The Order would have already gathered at Hogwarts, at least those members who had no excuse to be at the Ministry.
"We're not to go until Dumbledore gives us the go-ahead," Ron said. "Percy has to secure the Floo Network first, or we might get rerouted."
"I know," Harry said, trying to hide his irritation. "I wouldn't go without Sirius anyway." He sighed. The waiting was the worst. Maybe he should have sneaked out last night and visited Romilda for a last snog. Or something more. But even if he had managed to evade Sirius and the others watching over him, her home wasn't safe. He snorted. And Sirius and Hermione would have cursed him.
Ron polished his wand again as if that would help him fight. Harry looked at the clock again. Was it even working? He wanted to go now. To get it over with. Before he lost his nerve. Stick to the plan, he reminded himself. Everyone was counting on him.
When Sirius and Jeanne arrived in the hall, Harry was so startled he almost drew on his godfather.
Sirius didn't seem to notice.
"Dumbledore called. It is safe to go to the Atrium, but he hasn't spotted Voldemort yet."
Which meant Harry had to be the bait to draw him out and couldn't simply wait until Dumbledore had engaged the Dark Lord. He nodded, swallowing dryly.
"Let's go then."
Bay of Islands, New Zealand, December 27th, 1996
Oliver Anderson usually loved his job - mainly because being a customs official in Magical New Zealand didn't involve much actual work. Especially at his post in the Bay of Islands. These days most travellers either took an International Portkey to the Ministry in Wellington or a muggle plane. Few ever used ships any more, and few of those who did sailed to the Bay of Islands. The only reason the Bay was still staffed was its historical significance. And the fact that the Australians still used the place to drop off their unwanted muggleborns - which meant all those of non-Aboriginal descent, of course - in accordance with the treaty of 1892.
But that only happened once a year, and the diplomats from the Ministry handled most of the work on those occasions - which was just fine with Oliver; no sane wizard wanted anything to do with the Australians.
Other than that, there were just enough travellers to keep Oliver from dying of boredom, but not so many that he had to work every day. Which meant he could spend most days reading and listening to the Quidditch broadcasts from Wizarding Britain in his office, conveniently kept cool with a few charms.
Most days, but not today, he thought, when he heard the chime informing him of a visitor. Probably a tourist wanting to go sightseeing. Or a muggleborn coming to visit the spot where they had arrived in New Zealand - some of them did that as if doing so would give them their memories back. Sighing, he turned the wireless off - it wouldn't do to make a bad impression on a visitor - and slid the latest Quidditch Weekly into his top drawer before getting up and heading to the entrance hall.
It wasn't a tourist, he realised with a gasp as he saw the man through the glass door. It was the Supreme Mugwump - Albus Dumbledore! Waiting in front of his office!
He ripped the door open in his haste - you didn't leave the most powerful wizard in the world waiting. "Sir! Welcome to the Bay of Islands! How may I help you?"
"Hello, my boy." The man smiled at him, teeth flashing in the midst of his thick beard. "I've just come to borrow one of your ships."
"One of my ships?" Oliver blinked. What use might Dumbledore have for one of the old ships the customs office kept around? If not for their use by tourists, they would have been scrapped years ago.
"Yes. Even I can't apparate to this particular destination, and this is the closest harbour with a ship available." Dumbledore hadn't lost his smile. "It's been a while since I took my last trip on a ship, but it'll come back to me quickly once I'm at sea."
"At sea?" Oliver blinked. Dumbledore couldn't mean… "Are you going fishing?" he asked, then wanted to hex himself for his inane question.
The other wizard laughed. "No, no, I'm not going fishing. Although once I'm done with my other business, I might take a little vacation." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I need to visit Australia, you see."
"What?" Oliver didn't trust his ears. No one went to Australia. And those who did didn't return. Not alive. Dumbledore had to be joking. After all, he was still smiling widely.
"I need to visit Australia," Dumbledore repeated. "And I need a ship to take me there - riding a broom over such a distance wouldn't be comfortable, not at my age."
"But… the dangers…"
"Oh, pish!" Dumbledore frowned. "Nothing I can't handle."
Oliver gulped. He had no doubt that trying to tell the Supreme Mugwump what he could and couldn't do would destroy his career. And he was Dumbledore - the Vanquisher of Grindelwald. If anyone could survive an encounter with the Australian wizards, it would be him. Hadn't Barry from the office in Wellington told him repeatedly that even the Australians were stepping lightly around the ICW these days, all because of Dumbledore? "Alright then, sir," he said. "Let me show you the best ship we have available…"
*****
"...and this is how you control the ship's speed," Oliver finished his explanation. "However, it is advised not to sail without a full crew, including a navigator." Not just 'advised' - regulations prohibited the use of the ships without a full crew. But Oliver had been in the employ of New Zealand's Ministry of Magic long enough to know that you couldn't tell that to the Supreme Mugwump.
"Navigation shouldn't be a problem," Dumbledore retorted blithely. "I just have to head west and I'll make landfall sooner or later."
"Err… yes, sir." Oliver grimaced. There was no helping it - Dumbledore seemed determined to take this 'trip'.
"Good, that's settled then!" The man still hadn't stopped smiling. "I'll be off as soon as you're back on the pier."
"Right, sir. Err… do you want me to pass on anything to the Ministry? The Ministry in Wellington, I mean."
"Ah… just tell 'em that I am off to Australia on private business."
"Private business?" Oliver stared. What kind of private business did anyone have in Australia?
"Yes." Dumbledore looked up at the sky. "I think you better disembark - I want to use the remaining daylight to follow the coast up north. Unless you want to come with me?"
Oliver apparated to the pier.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 27th, 1996
I could reach out and torch the paintings if I wanted, Harry Potter thought as he descended the stairs from the first floor to the ground floor of his home. Even when he didn't focus on it he could feel the power his mum had left him. It was like a constant presence in the back of his mind, tempting him to use it. And he couldn't. He couldn't waste it. He could only use it against Voldemort. He almost wished that he hadn't accepted Dumbledore's offer - if he had discovered the power himself, it might feel more natural. Less like a pressure cooker about to burst.
"Open your mind, Harry," Dumbledore had said. And Harry had done so. Had stared straight into the Headmaster's eyes, unflinchingly. Hadn't moved when Dumbledore had raised his wand and aimed it straight at his head. Hadn't squeezed his eyes shut when he felt him enter his mind.
But he had gasped when his mind had suddenly been filled with a vision. Not a vision of Voldemort murdering people. A vision of himself, as Dumbledore saw him. Or Dumbledore's spell saw him. Or felt him - it had been more than a picture. It had been knowledge. He had known what Dumbledore knew as if he had cast the spell and examined himself.
He had suddenly known the power the Dark Lord knew not.
Learning how to use it had been easy - the power, despite its origin, was not really different from the energy produced by the other ritual. But to know it, feel it and not use it… that had been hard. He suspected, but hadn't asked to have it confirmed, that it was because of his Occlumency training that he could never truly ignore the power's presence.
Harry shook his head when he realised that he had stopped in the middle of the hallway. He couldn't act like this - Sirius, Hermione and Jeanne would grow suspicious. And Dumbledore had been adamant that Harry couldn't tell anyone about this. Or about the Headmaster's plan.
He sighed. He knew why he had to keep those secrets. He understood the Headmaster's reasons and agreed with them. If anyone else knew about it the whole plan could be put in jeopardy. But to leave his family and friends in the dark still felt wrong.
But as Dumbledore had said - in war, you were often forced to do things you didn't like but which were necessary. And Harry knew that his friends were keeping secrets of their own. Sirius had never told him what he was doing for Dumbledore, but Harry had his suspicions. Sirius was a skilled fighter, and there had been rumours about fights in Knockturn Alley, according to Moody. And he didn't expect Hermione to tell him what she was doing for Dumbledore if Dumbledore himself didn't tell him. Although, once again, he had his suspicions - he knew what Dumbledore was researching, after all.
He entered the kitchen, noticing that no one else but Kreacher was present. And Crookshanks, who was too busy stuffing his face to even glance at him. Hermione would be sleeping in - she did that a lot, Harry had noticed. She even took frequent naps during the day. She must be staying up, reading or researching, far too often. But it was probably needed for the war. And Sirius and Jeanne would have stayed up late doing… well, what Harry would like to do himself if Romilda were living with him.
He grabbed a croissant - warm and fresh - and had Kreacher fill his teacup. He missed his girlfriend. He truly did. Maybe… It wasn't as if he had anything to do but wait. Wait and do nothing. Especially do nothing with the power he knew he had. A little distraction would only help him do what he needed to.
Smiling, he summoned a sheet of parchment and called Hedwig. He had a letter to send to his girlfriend.
*****
Hermione Granger yawned as she entered the kitchen. It was far too early for any self-respecting cat to be up, but any later and she'd miss out on breakfast. Everyone else was already there. Sirius and Jeanne were feeding each other, Crookshank was waiting for her to feed him, as usual - he was such a good cat - she ignored Kreacher as he ignored her and Harry was… frowning at a letter?
"Bad news?" she asked, sitting down next to him and stretching her arms over her head, then rolling her neck. Which had the side effect of pushing out her chest. Which Harry didn't even notice.
"No," he said.
"Yes," Sirius said. "He wanted to meet his girlfriend today, but she is busy with family."
"Oh." Hermione buried her first thought - the little witch probably didn't want her family to know what she had been doing with Harry at Hogwarts - as she took a sip of her tea.
"It's not bad news," Harry said. "We can meet next week."
"At the New Year's Ball, right?" Jeanne said, smiling at Hermione.
"Ah, yes." Harry looked surprised.
"You didn't forget about the ball, did you?" Hermione asked.
"No, of course not." He stared at the letter again. He had, she thought. Boys! He'd probably spend the entire ball snogging in the winter garden. Well, if Romilda was alright with missing out on dancing, then it was her own fault.
"Chérie, do you know if your friend, Miss Merriweather, will be attending the ball?" Sirius asked suddenly. The dog was smiling with that expression of innocence that didn't fool anyone who knew him.
"Miss Merriweather?" That was Harry.
Jeanne frowned. "Ah, I don't know. I haven't had much contact with her since she went back to the New World."
"Ah." And Harry was back to brooding. Just because he couldn't spend the day snogging with Vane.
Hermione scoffed. She was of a mind to attend the ball in disguise again. Just to test her skills, of course. And maybe establish another fake identity. She'd need an invitation, of course, but she should be able to get one without too much difficulty. Only if she wanted to go to the ball, of course.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 29th, 1996
Dumbledore missing! Ministry Cover-up!
Harry Potter winced when he saw the headline of the Daily Prophet, even though he had expected it. Dumbledore had told him it would happen, after all. But only him, and no one else. And today of all days everyone was early to breakfast!
He could hear Sirius mutter a curse under his breath as he started to read the article. "Seen in New Zealand... headed to Australia… Australia?" Sirius put the newspaper down and shook his head in apparent disbelief. "Merlin's beard, why would he do that? It's full of Australians!"
Hermione gasped. "Australia? My parents are there!" Harry felt guilty when he saw her scared expression. "Did something happen to them?"
"He would have told you," Harry said quickly. "He wouldn't have gone off without a word to you."
She bit her lower lip. "But… if it was an emergency…" She stood. "I have to call them!"
And she dashed out of the kitchen as if her robes were on fire. Harry clenched his teeth. He wanted to tell her she didn't have to worry about her parents, but Dumbledore's instructions had been explicit on the matter.
"This could be a trap," Sirius said. "A way to find her parents. Dumbledore said he would be away for a few days at least, but..."
Harry flinched under his godfather's gaze. "I can't tell you," he said.
But judging by Sirius's expression, he had told him enough anyway. "Hell! Australia?" He suddenly frowned. "Did he send the Grangers there in preparation for this?"
"I don't think so," Harry said. Not in the way Sirius meant, that much he knew.
"But you know what he's doing." It wasn't a question.
Harry slowly nodded, pressing his lips together.
Sirius sighed. "And you can't tell us."
He shook his head.
Sirius cursed again. But he didn't press Harry for an answer. Instead, he picked up the Prophet again and continued reading. "How did Skeeter find out about this?"
The Headmaster had arranged that, Harry knew. He shrugged anyway. "Coincidence? She might know someone in New Zealand's Ministry who overheard something. News of Dumbledore travelling there would be a big thing, wouldn't it?"
Sirius snorted. "Hell of a coincidence." He shook his head again, and continued reading.
"Should we let Hermione go out alone?" Jeanne asked. She looked worried, glancing at the door through which Hermione had left.
"She's going to muggle London," Harry answered. He tried to smile confidently. "Unless she's going to her home, she'll be safe." And she was too smart to go to her home to call her parents.
He still felt guilty for not telling her. And making her and the others worry.
*****
London, Greenwich, December 29th, 1996
Hermione Granger clenched her teeth as she listened to the dialling tone and gripped the receiver of the payphone so hard that her knuckles turned white. Her parents should be at home - at their hotel. She had their travel itinerary memorised. Unless they had changed their plans on a whim without telling her in advance. That had happened before.
She pressed her lips together. How long would the reception desk take to pick up the phone? Bloody Australians!
"Hilton Darwin, Makepeace speaking. How may I help you?"
Finally! She forced herself not to yell and instead speak calmly. "Hello. I'm Hermione Granger. I would like to speak to Mr and Mrs Granger."
"One moment, please."
"Thank you." She slid a few more coins into the phone. Just in case. And bit her lower lip.
"Hello? Hermione?"
Mum! That was Mum's voice! "Mum! It's me! What did I do on my sixth birthday?"
"You had a tantrum because your aunt had sent you a children's book as a present, and not a 'real book'. What did I tell you?"
It was Mum. Hermione smiled. "That I couldn't blame her since I had never told her what I wanted. How are you?"
"We're fine. We've been touring the city. We're planning to go to the Kakadu National Park next."
They were sticking to their itinerary, then. Good. "I'm happy to hear that." She hesitated a moment. Should she worry her parents? They would have told her if Dumbledore had contacted them, wouldn't they? Or would they assume that she already knew about it? "Mum, did anyone contact you?"
"You mean one of your friends?"
"Or acquaintances." Any wizard or witch, actually.
"No. You're the only one from home we've been in contact with - other than a few tourists like us, of course."
Muggle tourists. So, the Headmaster hadn't contacted them. In hindsight, that was rather obvious - Dumbledore would have asked her how to reach her parents before taking off. Hermione shook her head, berating herself. She had panicked and acted like a fool. But she was still relieved that her parents were fine.
"Dad wants to talk to you, too," her mum said.
"Alright."
"Hermione? How are you doing? Are you planning anything for New Year's Eve?"
"The usual," she said. Which wasn't exactly a lie. Her parents just didn't know what she usually did on New Year's Eve.
"You can read a book at any time, dear. You should go out and have fun."
"Dad! I'm going to have fun! Just my kind of fun!" she retorted, smiling despite feeling a little guilty. If her parents knew what she was doing… But they didn't, and they were safe.
*****
Half an hour later, back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione Granger's good mood had disappeared entirely. "The xenophobia of Magical Australia is widely known," she said, frowning. "And while the Headmaster is a very powerful wizard, and has dealt with similarly feared wizards himself, I doubt that he would risk a conflict with the Aborigines unless he had no choice."
She saw that Harry was pressing his lips together and wasn't looking at anyone else in the room. He had to know what Dumbledore was planning! "Harry?"
"I can't tell you," he said. "Sorry."
She opened her mouth and drew breath to tell him that he very well could tell her, but Sirius cut her off.
"We understand," the dog said. He glanced at her, and she frowned as she met his eyes. "Don't we?"
He started to glare at her, and Hermione pressed her lips together. They were also keeping secrets from Harry, and her friend hadn't complained about not being told what exactly Hermione was doing for the Headmaster. And yet, she wanted to know what Dumbledore was planning! But she sighed and nodded. If the Headmaster had wanted her to know, he would have told her.
Dumbledore knew what he was doing, after all.
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, December 30th, 1996
Sitting near the lift, outside the Wizengamot Chamber, Hermione Granger watched the last members of the Wizengamot arrive for today's special session - an emergency session in all but name - to discuss Dumbledore's disappearance which had so scared Wizarding Britain. Including many members of the Wizengamot - she could tell despite their attempts to hide their fear; thanks to her cover as Sirius's secretary, she was familiar with a number of his 'esteemed colleagues'. Of course, any member of the Order of the Phoenix would have good reason to be concerned - they knew that the Dark Lord was back. But even wizards and witches she was certain were not involved in the war were scared. Like the Minister, she thought as she spotted him leaving the lift.
She narrowed her eyes when she saw who was walking at his side - Lucius Malfoy. The man who had framed her as a thief. The man who had gotten her expelled from Hogwarts and driven her family to ruin. The man who was one of Voldemort's most important supporters.
He would pay for all of that, she thought as she hid her face behind a sheet of parchment and tried to catch what they were talking about.
"The people are demanding answers, Lucius!" Fudge prattled as the two wizards passed her, "And I can't give them what they want without Dumbledore!"
"And they shall have them. Dumbledore might be ignoring the turmoil in the Prophet - his opinion of it is well known, after all - but he will not ignore a formal inquiry by the Wizengamot."
"But what if he doesn't know what we are doing?"
"Please, Cornelius! You know as well as I do that his friends will inform him."
They passed through the entrance and the privacy enchantments of the Chamber cut off their conversation. She bit her lower lip. Usually, such conversations were protected by privacy spells. Fudge might be not the sharpest wizard in Britain - Hermione didn't quite share Sirius's opinion of the man; Fudge was an experienced politician, after all - but even if he might have forgotten to cast a spell, Malfoy wouldn't have. But had Malfoy recognised her, and this was staged so Sirius would draw the wrong conclusions, or had he not expected her to be present?
She couldn't tell. She knew Malfoy was a Death Eater, though, and he would want to check for his master whether or not Dumbledore was still alive. And seeing how scared everyone was - even the Hit-Wizards guarding the Ministry seemed nervous - Hermione had no doubts that Malfoy would succeed in having the Wizengamot formally require Dumbledore's presence. Something the Headmaster couldn't easily ignore without consequences. Whether he abandoned whatever he was currently doing - which had to be very important - or not, the Dark Lord would profit. Just like Malfoy would have planned.
And if Dumbledore was dead… Hermione clenched her teeth. He couldn't be dead. Once again, she wished Harry would tell her what he knew. He would if she and Sirius pressed him. But they couldn't. It would be wrong. Only an idiot would try to break security that way.
And yet she wanted to know what was going on anyway. Very badly.
*****
Half an hour after the session had started, the lift doors opened again. Hermione Granger looked up from the draft of a proposal for next week's session. A good thief had to keep an eye out, after all, as Mr Fletcher always said.
"Hello!"
Hermione blinked. "Luna?"
"Yes!" The blonde witch quickly joined her on the bench.
"What are you doing here?"
Luna held up an oversized notepad. "I'm here to report on today's special session of the Wizengamot. Daddy couldn't come - he's investigating another Nargle sighting, although since you can't see them, it might not be correct to call it a sighting, right?"
Hermione blinked. "I don't think that's how it works," she said.
"Exactly!" Luna beamed at her. "We'll have to invent a new word, then! Maybe 'hearing'?"
"That's not a new word," Hermione pointed out.
Luna pouted. "It would fit perfectly, though. And it would make sense."
Hermione shrugged. As expected, Luna quickly cheered up. "So, what do you think will happen in the session? Will they pass the emergency bill to ban Dumbledore from importing drop bears?"
"What?"
"Dumbledore was last seen heading to Australia - which, as everyone knows, even muggles, is the home of the deadliest species known to the Magical World. It's logical that the Wizengamot would be concerned about the danger of an invasive species being introduced to Britain's ecosystem as a result of his trip."
"I don't think that the Wizengamot is concerned about that," Hermione said. "As far as I know, the Wizengamot has assembled to discuss formally requesting Dumbledore's presence."
"To answer charges of smuggling protected species?" Luna asked, leaning towards Hermione with an eager expression on her face.
"I don't think so."
Luna huffed. "It seems that despite the progress made concerning the threat from invisible creatures, the Wizengamot continues to display an appalling lack of concern about the dangers to Wizarding Britain's ecosystem." She shook her head. "Daddy was correct; this is an important issue about which the public needs to know!"
Hermione sighed as Luna started to scribble down notes for an article Hermione was certain she didn't want to read.
*****
Sirius was in a bad mood, Hermione Granger noticed straight away when she saw him leave the chamber. That meant that the proposal must have passed. As Malfoy had planned.
"Mr Black! Can you tell us if the Wizengamot has taken measures to protect the ecosystem against invasive Australian species?" Luna piped up, apparently unaware of the man's dark mood.
"What?" Sirius stared at the witch.
"Luna's concerned about Dumbledore bringing drop bears to Britain," Hermione explained.
Luna nodded. "And other Australian magical creatures. They might make good pets and perfect souvenirs, but one must not let one's love of animals blind oneself to the danger they represent to British species."
"I think that's a question the Minister and Mr Malfoy should field," Sirius said, pointing towards the entrance to the chamber. "They called the session, after all."
"Alright!" Luna nodded eagerly.
Hermione cast a privacy spell as soon as Luna had marched off to ambush the Minister. "What happened?"
Sirius sighed. "No one knows where Albus is. Not even Doge has any idea. New Zealand's Ministry doesn't have any information and the Australians have ignored our inquiry. And so the Wizengamot approved Fudge's proposal. Albus has a week to present himself to the Wizengamot or he might lose his position as Chief Warlock."
She muttered a curse. That would help Voldemort immensely.
"He should have made arrangements in case there was an emergency session of the Wizengamot. The Chief Warlock cannot be incommunicado." Sirius frowned.
"He wouldn't risk losing his position, would he?"
"I don't think so." He pressed his lips together.
Hermione knew what he was thinking. There was one explanation for Dumbledore's absence. But that would be a catastrophe.
*****
Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1996
"Australia? I can't believe..."
"...Dumbledore's been missing for…"
"...Zealand's Ministry claims that…"
Harry Potter fought not to frown as he led Romilda to the dance floor. He was heartily sick of hearing everyone talking about Dumbledore's disappearance. Especially since that seemed to be the only thing everyone wanted to talk about with him - that he had received special lessons with Dumbledore wasn't the secret it should have been.
At least they couldn't bother him on the dance floor - that would have been the kind of faux pas that led to not being invited to the next New Year's Ball. He almost sighed with relief when the music started and he could finally dance with Romilda.
"You're a good dancer." She smiled at him.
"I can but strive not to embarrass you, milady." He flashed her a smile of his own. She blushed. Sirius's lines still worked, he noted. But then, he hadn't really used any 'old school charm', as his godfather called it, on Romilda yet. If only it were a slow dance, he thought as he led her into a turn.
"Can we explore the Winter Garden?" she whispered as the song came to a close. "I've heard you can find some marvellous things there." Her smile told him exactly what she meant. "You brought your Cloak, right?"
He felt his smile slip. "I would love to, but Sirius told me not to leave his sight."
She frowned in that cute, pouty way of hers. "Isn't he aware of what we do at Hogwarts?" She glanced over her shoulder at Harry's godfather, who was chatting with Jeanne and an old wizard Harry didn't recognise. "Or doesn't he approve of me?"
"No, no," Harry was quick to reassure her. "But with Dumbledore missing, he worries about my safety. I was attacked a year ago, remember?"
He felt her tense. "Yes." She turned around herself, then returned to his arms. "But that was in Hogsmeade. We're safe here."
She didn't know that there were several Death Eaters or sympathisers among the guests. And she didn't know about Voldemort. So he quoted Moody. "Nothing and nowhere is safe."
"Really?" Romilda didn't look like she agreed with him. "Not even the arms of the Boy-Who-Lived?"
That was a perfect set-up if Harry had ever heard one. He grinned and leaned forward slightly. "Especially not my arms," he whispered with a wink as he moved his hand a little lower down the small of her back.
She drew a hissing breath and he could see her cheeks gain some more colour. But she recovered quickly. "Well, your godfather could watch," she retorted with a toothy grin.
Sirius would probably agree to that, Harry knew. But the thought of snogging while his godfather - or anyone else - was watching… He snorted. "We could go to my home, first, before I take you back to yours."
"Mh." She smiled as she slowly nodded.
Maybe he'd be able to forget all about Dumbledore's plan for tonight.
*****
Hermione Granger didn't frown as she watched Harry and Vane dancing. She was too skilled in maintaining her cover for that, no matter how obvious it was that Vane wanted to drag her friend off to the garden or a dark corner elsewhere in the manor. If they were at a muggle club, she'd probably be humping his leg right there on the dance floor, Hermione thought.
At least Sirius and Jeanne were keeping an eye on Harry. It would be utterly irresponsible for him to go snog Vane with the Headmaster missing and Voldemort gathering his forces. And she was keeping an eye on her friend as well. She raised her glass to her lips and took another sip of the excellent wine.
"Are you enjoying the wine, Miss Davis?"
She nodded at Smith - Fairfax Smith. A cousin of Zacharias Smith's. "I am, yes. Excellent vintage."
"In these dark times, my uncle has made every effort to make this ball memorable."
He was laying it on rather thickly, she thought. She had expected that, of course - he had done the same when trying to seduce Miss Merriweather. "It's very impressive."
He smiled as if it had been his gold that paid for the ball. "Are you certain that you're not related to the Davis family?"
She managed not to frown. She'd get her revenge on that family as well. But she had to play her role. "Oh, I don't actually know. My family emigrated to the New World a few generations ago."
"Ah." His smile grew wider, as she had expected. Implying that she was a pureblood, yet had no close relationship to the Davis family would make her even more attractive to a wizard from an Old Family looking to have an affair.
Unbidden, Jeanne's 'advice' flashed through her mind. She dismissed it - again. She wasn't looking to have an affair. And if she were, it would certainly not be with Smith. She glanced at Harry, who was dancing a little too close to Vane to be proper. She'd want someone with more intelligence and less bigotry. On the other hand, a dumb bigot would be ideal for an affair without any attachments - she certainly wouldn't feel guilty for dumping him after she tired of him.
She blinked. Was she actually considering Jeanne's advice? Certainly not! She had no need of a meaningless affair. Especially not when Dumbledore was missing and Harry was in danger.
Speaking of which, she should probably make contact with Harry. It would be far easier to keep an eye on him if he and Miss Davis were acquainted. She emptied her glass and looked around for a place to put it down. There was a tray floating nearby.
"Allow me!" Smith said, holding out his hand.
She handed her glass to him, and he turned towards the tray. She would have to ditch him before she could 'meet' Harry. Without being rude, too. That would require a little more time, she thought. But it didn't look like Vane would succeed in dragging Harry off any time soon.
Smith returned and she was about to mention her wish to dance - that would get her close to Harry, and allow her daring robes to catch his eye - when she noticed a commotion near the entrance. And Sirius was moving towards Harry, without a care for the other dancing couples that he shouldered his way past.
He wasn't the only one, either - she saw Amelia Bones march out, followed by Rufus Scrimgeour.
She clenched her teeth. What was going on? She couldn't ask Sirius, not while disguised… But there was Mr Fletcher. She slowly made her way towards him, not bothering to hide her approach.
As soon as she stood behind him, she heard him whisper: "The Australians claim that they killed Dumbledore. They delivered his wand as proof."
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 31st, 1996
Harry Potter heard his godfather sigh as soon as they were in the entrance hall of their home. Safely behind their wards. "Was that really necessary?" Harry asked as Jeanne closed and locked the door.
"What do you mean?" Sirius glanced at him.
Harry shrugged. "Leaving the ball early. Apparating home. Sending Romilda back with Tonks." He hadn't even been able to properly kiss her goodbye. He hoped that she would understand and not blame him for Sirius's actions. And getting dragged away by his godfather wouldn't have looked impressive either, he realised with a frown.
"Yes. Your safety takes priority." Sirius didn't quite glare at him.
"The Smiths' home was safe. You said so yourself," Harry objected. Voldemort wouldn't risk exposure by having one of his followers among the guests attack Harry and the Thief's Downfall at the entrance would defeat even Polyjuice Potion and the Imperius Curse.
"That was before I heard about Dumbledore's... wand." Sirius pressed his lips together. Jeanne squeezed his shoulder.
"Do you really think Voldemort would attack the ball?" Harry didn't quite snort, but he came close.
"Better safe than sorry," Sirius shot back. "At least until we know more. Dumbledore's wand…" He shook his head.
Harry clenched his teeth. Everyone knew that if the Australians had the Headmaster's wand, odds were that they were telling the truth about his death. Just as… He saw something move near the stairs and drew his wand before he realised that it was the stray. The cat was staring at him, seemingly frozen for an instant, before darting up the stairs.
Harry sighed and lowered his wand again. Hermione might claim it wasn't her cat, but the stray certainly didn't act like that was true. Then he blinked. They were still standing in the entrance hall, and his friend hadn't shown up yet. "Does Hermione know about this already?"
"I don't think so," Sirius said.
"I'll go tell her then," Harry said. Hermione would want to know about this at once, he knew.
"Ah… she might already be asleep," Jeanne said. "Or indecent. I'll go fetch her."
Harry snorted. "She comes to breakfast in her pyjamas." And he had seen her naked thanks to his glasses anyway. Several times, he thought with a guilty feeling.
"Oh, you want to catch her naked? By all means, go ahead then!" Sirius said with a sudden leer.
Harry glared at him as Jeanne walked towards the stairs.
A few minutes later she returned with Hermione - in her pyjamas, as expected - in tow.
"Harry! Are you alright?" His friend moved towards him and, for a moment, he expected her to hug him. She stopped short, though, and looked him over.
"I'm fine," he responded. "Sirius overreacted. Almost dragged me away from the ball."
"Oh."
He nodded, then frowned. Was that perfume? But she had already been in bed. Probably a new shower lotion, he concluded. "Romilda wasn't happy to have her evening cut short either," he added.
Hermione shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."
He snorted. If Romilda didn't understand that it was Sirius's fault, Harry might end up both safe and sorry.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 1st, 1997
"...and Ollivander also confirmed it: It's Dumbledore's wand. His grandfather made it." Tonks grimaced as she finished her report.
Harry Potter wasn't the only one who winced upon hearing that. Everyone in Sirius's living room did. Hermione reached over and squeezed his knee, and he felt another pang of guilt shoot through him. If she knew…
"Mate," Ron said, looking grim. "You know what this means."
"He'll come for me," Harry said. As expected.
"And he'll have to go through us to get you." Ron nodded and clasped Harry's shoulder. "With the Headmaster… missing, you're our only hope."
Harry had to laugh at that, despite the situation. He glanced to his side and saw that Hermione was smiling. Ron looked confused. "What?"
"Nothing," Harry said. "Just thought of something funny."
Ron huffed.
"There's more," Tonks said. She looked at Harry. "Your presence is requested at the Wizengamot session tomorrow." She sighed. "Sirius is talking to Fudge, that's why he didn't come back with me, but he won't be able to reverse the decision even if he manages to convince Fudge. The Wizengamot's panicking. At least the ones who aren't Death Eaters."
"Are they so scared that they want Harry to protect them?" Jeanne asked. She could sound a little less incredulous, Harry thought.
"They've heard about your special lessons with Dumbledore," Tonks nodded at him. "And Malfoy's been telling everyone that you'd know more about the Headmaster's disappearance and that you have to appear to be interrogated."
"Bloody bugger," Ron muttered.
Harry expected Hermione to tell Ron to watch his language, but she nodded in agreement instead.
"This looks like a set-up," she said with a snarl. "Malfoy demanding that Harry has to appear before the Wizengamot? It's a trap!"
"You can't go!" Ron agreed.
"That's probably what Malfoy wants - if Harry doesn't go, he'll be a wanted wizard," Tonks said.
Steps in the hallway made everyone tense, but when the door was pushed open, Harry saw it was Sirius. His godfather seemed spitting mad - he slammed the door shut. "That useless bloody fool!" He sat down in his favourite armchair and Jeanne moved to sit on the armrest. They held hands for a moment. "Did Tonks tell you?" he asked, looking at Harry.
"That Malfoy wants to lure me into a trap? Yes," Harry said.
"Yes." Sirius bared his teeth. "Fudge wouldn't budge - Malfoy must have paid him a fortune. And the rest are scared. Even Doge voted to question Harry!"
"He doesn't have to go," Hermione said. "Even if the Wizengamot has the Aurors hunt him he'd be safer than there." She stood. "We can move to a safe house."
"There's no house that's safe with Dumbledore dead," Ron said. "We should…"
Everyone froze as the door opened again. Then gasps and curse words filled the room.
"The reports of my death have been slightly exaggerated."
*****
The Headmaster was alive! Hermione Granger almost cried with relief. He must have succeeded at whatever he had been doing, and returned in time to counter Malfoy's plots. Then she noticed that Harry wasn't looking surprised. Nor really relieved. That meant…
"This was planned!" she blurted out, glaring at her friend. He had known the truth and hadn't told her while everyone had been afraid and worried! "You knew the Headmaster wasn't missing!"
Harry cringed, but before he could answer, Dumbledore spoke up. "Indeed. I apologise for deceiving you, and for having Harry keep my secret while you were left ignorant and worried, but I needed your reactions to be genuine to fool Voldemort." The Headmaster slowly nodded with a faint smile.
Hermione blinked. "It's a trap, but for Voldemort?"
"Yes, Miss Granger. What better way to trap him than by using his own plans?" Dumbledore's smile grew.
"With Harry as bait!" Sirius stood, almost causing Jeanne to fall to the ground as he bared his teeth and snarled. "What are you…"
"I volunteered," Harry cut in, standing as well. He was staring at his godfather "And no, I can't wait until I'm an adult. Mum's protection won't last forever. If we don't do this soon, I'll be defenceless against him."
Sirius clenched his teeth. If he had been in his dog form, he would likely have been growling loudly enough to scare a dragon. Even so, he made a decent effort, Hermione noticed.
"Please, Sirius."
Dumbledore, probably wisely, didn't say anything as Harry and Sirius stared at each other. Hermione held her breath.
Slowly, Sirius nodded and pressed his lips together. He was trembling. Harry stepped up to him and hugged him, but even then Hermione saw that it took Sirius half a minute before he started to relax. Jeanne was looking at them with a rather sad smile but didn't move closer. And Ron looked like he wasn't certain whether or not he should be present as Sirius and Harry whispered to each other.
After another minute, Sirius sighed, then released Harry and glared at Dumbledore. "So, what exactly is your plan?"
Dumbledore took a seat in an armchair he conjured - with a different wand than his usual one, Hermione noticed. Had he sacrificed his wand for this deception, or did he plan to recover it before tomorrow? "Voldemort will not be able to resist the opportunity with which he has been presented. In one fell swoop, he not only rids himself of Harry - the only one who can threaten him, or so he believes - along with the Order who will be protecting him, but also terrifies the Wizengamot and the Ministry by triumphantly announcing his return. And when he makes his entrance, Harry and I will face and defeat him while the Order and those among the Ministry's wands willing to fight will take on the Death Eaters with him. With the Dark Lord defeated, his followers will break."
Sirius scoffed. "The Aurors are worthless."
"Hey!" Tonks glared at him, her wand twitching.
"Present company excluded," he added hastily. "However, what makes you so certain that he'll appear in person? He was defeated twice by Harry. He could just as well simply send his Death Eaters. Or use some imperiused Auror to try and kill Harry."
Dumbledore shook his head. "He will not let someone else upstage him. Even if he might plan to avoid facing Harry directly, he will have to be present for his return to have the greatest possible impact on the country." With a slightly grim smile, he added: "We have a spy in his inner circle."
"It's not Snivellus, is it? The Dark Lord would be an utter idiot to trust that git again after his first betrayal," Sirius said with a sneer. Hermione had to agree.
"It's not Severus," Dumbledore answered, stressing the name.
"Who is it, then?" Tonks asked. "I'd rather not curse an ally by mistake."
"If it's a spy like Snivellus, then curse away. They'd deserve it," Sirius muttered.
"They will reveal themselves once the trap is sprung; do not worry," Dumbledore said.
"I think you are going a little overboard with the secrecy," Sirius said in a bitter tone. "Do you even know everything that's going on any more?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I would rather err on the side of caution than risk exposing our plan to the enemy." He held up his left hand. "I do trust the Order members not to betray us, but it is better to be safe than sorry."
Sirius flinched slightly at that. Hermione wondered if he'd realised that he'd be a hypocrite to complain about being kept in the dark while keeping secrets of his own from Harry. Not that she was any better - she wasn't telling Harry everything either. But they could have told her. She was a good actress - she wouldn't have let anything slip! They could have trusted her. It was probably the Headmaster's fault.
"So, you're calling the whole Order for this?" Tonks asked.
"Those among the Order who can fight. I have taken steps to ensure that we can use the Floo Network to enter the Ministry while our enemies will be stuck once the trap has been sprung." Dumbledore leaned back. "That will also allow you to familiarise yourself with your allies, and avoid confusion during the battle."
"Good." Sirius nodded. "We'll be the vanguard then?"
"Yes." Dumbledore nodded at the gathered wizards and witches. "With the exception of Mr Weasley; his presence might tip off our enemies."
"Like hell!" Ron jumped up. "If they know about Harry's special lessons, then they know that I've been with him all the way! I'll be with him."
Dumbledore looked at Ron, but Ron didn't flinch. After a moment, the Headmaster nodded. "Very well. I am certain your mother will understand."
Ron flinched at that but pressed his lips together. "Harry's my best friend."
Dumbledore chuckled, once. "And I somehow doubt I or anyone else could stop you from coming along anyway. Very well."
"But Hermione should stay at home," Harry said. "We can claim she's sick."
"What?" Hermione glared at him and bared her teeth. How dare he!
"Be reasonable! You can't fight as well as the rest of us. Putting yourself in danger for no gain makes no sense at all."
"I can fight well enough!" She was tempted to demonstrate right then how well - on him.
"No, you can't!" Harry looked at Sirius. "Tell her!"
When he didn't correct Harry at once she glared at the dog. "If I'm not with you then Voldemort might suspect a trap. I'm your secretary." Officially, at least.
"We can claim she's sick."
Now Harry wasn't even talking to her again? Hermione huffed. "I can take care of myself and you know it," she told the dog.
He coughed. "Well, you're harder to hit than you were when you trained with Harry, but you're not on the level of him or Ron. Or Tonks. I think you shouldn't be fighting."
She was about to tell the dog what she thought of his arrogance when Dumbledore spoke up: "I have to concur with your friends, Miss Granger. While you have been training hard with Sirius, your training focused on escaping when attacked - and tomorrow, we will be the ones attacking the enemy. Your presence might be exploited by the enemy to distract Harry at a crucial moment. Further, while you are correct in that you would usually be present at Sirius's side, our enemy does expect Harry and his guardians to be scared after my apparent demise. It would not be very suspicious to leave you at home under those circumstances."
Hermione swallowed her angry retort - with some difficulty. She couldn't yell at the Headmaster. That would be pointless and make her look childish and stupid. And as much as she hated to admit it, he was correct - and yet not. She wasn't as helpless or as useless as Harry thought. But he didn't know that and he would worry about her. And that might get him killed.
But knowing that didn't mean she liked it. Or wanted to admit it. Not that she thought she could say anything without yelling. So she clenched her teeth until they hurt, sat down and glared at her stupid friend and the stupid dog as they planned the ambush tomorrow.
*****
Hermione Granger was about to go to bed - she'd have to get up early tomorrow to prepare - when she heard someone knocking on her door. "Yes?" she said, after a quick check that nothing incriminating had been left in the open.
The door opened and Dumbledore entered. "Good evening, Miss Granger. I am glad that I caught you before you went to bed."
She tensed. She could handle Harry, and the dog would approve of what she was planning - anything to protect Harry - but the Headmaster… When he closed the door behind her and cast a privacy spell, she bit her lower lip. "How can I help you?" she asked, sitting down on her bed.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped over to her desk and sat down on her chair. "It is about tomorrow."
She frowned. "You've made your opinion clear. I don't like it, but I have to agree: We can't risk Harry being distracted by worrying about me during the battle." Which her stupid friend would.
He smiled. "While I applaud your wisdom, I have to point out that what you said doesn't mean that you agree that you should stay away from the Ministry."
She didn't flinch - she was a good actress. And a good thief never admitted anything, even when confronted with the truth. "What do you mean?"
His smile only grew wider. "You would not be planning to sneak into the Ministry tomorrow in disguise, would you?"
She pressed her lips together. Why had she thought that she would be able to get one over on the Headmaster? He knew exactly what she was capable of. "That would be reckless."
"Without a doubt." He inclined his head. "But you have not denied it."
She hung her head in response. "I can't just sit here and wait. I'm not as bad as he thinks I am."
"I trust you did not plan to enter the fight disguised as a stranger."
"No!" she retorted. "That would be foolish."
"What was your plan, then?" he asked in a calm voice, as if he was asking after her homework.
"Sneak in, ambush a straggler or two." And keep an eye on Harry.
He shook his head. "I think our cause would be much better served if you put your talents to a different use."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Allow me to explain."
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 2nd, 1997
Harry Potter couldn't help feeling nervous as he waited in the entrance hall of his home. Soon he would be headed to the Ministry to trigger Voldemort's ambush. That Dumbledore was already there - Sirius had checked twice through a mirror - was not as reassuring as it should have been; Harry knew it would come down to him to defeat Voldemort.
And that Hermione was frowning at him didn't help either, of course.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She huffed and looked at the fireplace behind him. "The Headmaster was right."
She didn't say that Harry was right, he noted. "Well…" he trailed off. He didn't know what to tell his best friend. She couldn't come with him, but leaving her to wait like this felt wrong as well. He shrugged instead.
She bit her lower lip for a moment, then lunged at him, hugging him before he could react. Hard, too - but then, he knew how toned her body was. "Stay safe, you hear?" she whispered.
"Of course," he said, patting her back. He hoped he wasn't lying.
She sniffed - or sniffled; he couldn't tell - and released him. Ron had a moment to brace himself before she hugged him as well. Harry could see him tense, then nod.
She released Ron as well and took a few steps back, facing them. "Remember: Stay safe. Don't do anything foolish." She nodded sharply at them, then marched off before they could say anything in response.
Once she had disappeared upstairs, Ron sighed and looked at Harry. "Luna was the same, yesterday."
Harry nodded, then looked at the clock on the wall. Still not time to go. The Order would have already gathered at Hogwarts, at least those members who had no excuse to be at the Ministry.
"We're not to go until Dumbledore gives us the go-ahead," Ron said. "Percy has to secure the Floo Network first, or we might get rerouted."
"I know," Harry said, trying to hide his irritation. "I wouldn't go without Sirius anyway." He sighed. The waiting was the worst. Maybe he should have sneaked out last night and visited Romilda for a last snog. Or something more. But even if he had managed to evade Sirius and the others watching over him, her home wasn't safe. He snorted. And Sirius and Hermione would have cursed him.
Ron polished his wand again as if that would help him fight. Harry looked at the clock again. Was it even working? He wanted to go now. To get it over with. Before he lost his nerve. Stick to the plan, he reminded himself. Everyone was counting on him.
When Sirius and Jeanne arrived in the hall, Harry was so startled he almost drew on his godfather.
Sirius didn't seem to notice.
"Dumbledore called. It is safe to go to the Atrium, but he hasn't spotted Voldemort yet."
Which meant Harry had to be the bait to draw him out and couldn't simply wait until Dumbledore had engaged the Dark Lord. He nodded, swallowing dryly.
"Let's go then."
*****
Chapter 27: Culmination
Starfox5
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Chapter 27: Culmination
London, Ministry of Magic, January 2nd, 1997
"Morning."
Rodney Smith nodded to the two Hit-Wizards standing guard as he passed them, taking the stairs leading up to what the Ministry employees working there called the 'attic floor' - the floor above the Atrium's ceiling, above all of the Ministry's floors - where most of the maintenance charms were cast when needed.
Unlike the floor below the Department of Mysteries, where the anchors of the wards and the central Air-Refreshing and Cooling Charms were located, this floor wasn't restricted to only a few key Ministry employees and heavily guarded. The charms maintained here were not crucial or essential, but convenient.
Although, Rodney thought as he approached the door to the floor, if the lifts stopped working and the water stopped flowing in the pipes, the Ministry would likely break down - most of his so-called colleagues would probably collapse after three flights of stairs, and he doubted that even a tenth of them could cast a Water-Making Spell. Or an Air-Cleaning Charm. Or any of the other spells cast here. And yet, none of them cared about those who kept all those spells going, as if that were beneath them.
He snorted as he opened the door. Not that he could blame them - he didn't care about his co-workers either. Half-bloods and mudbloods, the lot of them, and a few purebloods too poor or too stupid to land a decent job.
Or, in his own case, too honest to lie and suck up to their superiors, and toe the Ministry's line about equality as dictated by Dumbledore. He scoffed as he closed the door behind him and cast an Alarm Charm on it. But Dumbledore was dead, and the Dark Lord would show the fools the error of their ways. And those who stood for what was right, those who knew blood counted, would be rewarded.
Like himself.
He looked around. No one but him was present. The small area that had been turned into a mixture of office and break room was empty. He didn't spot any bottles or newspapers stained with fat and vinegar, which meant that Clarke had had the last shift yesterday. She was a mudblood, but at least she cleaned up after herself. And after her co-workers.
One might even say she knew her place.
He chuckled, briefly, as he stepped past the battered ice box holding some beer bottles, and approached the plaque - or 'headstone', as his co-workers called it in a dim-witted attempt at humour - for the spells controlling the lifts and drew his wand. The Dark Lord's orders were clear - Rodney was to sabotage the lifts first, then the Air-Cleaning Charms.
He was about to replace the spells controlling the lifts' doors when he saw something move in the shadows. "Who's there?" he yelled, then clenched his teeth. If one of his co-workers had missed the notification about the 'schedule changes' he had faked...
"Miaow!"
He blinked. A cat? Here? Had someone other than him shown some initiative and common sense and brought a cat to get rid of the mice and rats infesting the attic? He chuckled when he spotted a black cat eyeing him from behind a plaque listing the spells that controlled the Air-Cleaning Charms - not to be mistaken with Air-Refreshing Charms - on the third floor. "Better get away from there," he said, making shooing motions with his hand, "you might not like the backlash when I disable them." Or the poison spells with which he was to replace a select few of those charms.
As if it had understood him, the cat moved away from the plaque, towards the ice box and table behind him. "Good kitty!" he said, then turned around, back to work. He raised his wand - and froze when he heard someone behind him.
"Drop your wand!"
He swallowed. How had they managed to get through the door? He hadn't heard the chime from his spell. If he botched the mission the Dark Lord had given him…
"Now!"
He dropped his wand, then watched as it jumped up and away, summoned from behind him. "I'm just doing some maintenance," he said, slowly turning his head, then froze again. There was a figure with a black mask covering her entire face behind him. A witch - her black leather clothing left no doubt - with her wand aimed at him.
Fear gave way to hope. She wasn't an Auror or Hit-Wizard. And while she wasn't wearing black robes and a white mask, her outfit certainly looked fit for a dark witch. Who else would infiltrate the Ministry in such an outfit but a follower of the Dark Lord? He swallowed again.
"Disabling the Air-Cleaning Charms?" She had a rather husky voice, he noticed even as he cursed himself for speaking to the cat.
"I'm just following orders. Special orders." If she was a Death Eater, she would understand what he meant.
"I see." She nodded, and he started to smile. Were those stripes on her mask? Or...
Then her wand moved, and everything went dark.
Hermione Granger pointed her wand at the fallen wizard and cast a full Body-Bind Curse on him. As soon as he had snapped into a stiff position on the ground, she followed it up with an Incarcerous Spell, tying him up with conjured ropes. She hesitated a moment - she wanted to interrogate the Death Eater. Find out what he knew. Who had given him his orders. But she had orders of her own. And neither the time nor the Veritaserum to interrogate the traitor. So after a look at his badge and a quick check for poison vials or other dangerous items in his possession, she aimed her wand at his head and removed the last few minutes from his memory. It wouldn't do to have anyone hear about a thief, or a black cat, in the attic of the Ministry.
Then she walked back to the Air-Cleaning Charm she had been in the process of unravelling when the man had disturbed her. It took her but a few more moments to finish her work. Finding the right conduits that transported the cleaned air down to the offices below her took longer, even with the notes she had been given - which, she suspected, had come from Percy Weasley. They weren't in his handwriting, but she recognised the style from the notes Ron had passed to her when she had been revising for her O.W.L.s.
Smiling slightly, she cast a Bubble-Head Charm and pulled out the vials Dumbledore had given her, then unstoppered one straight under the conduit marked '3-2'. She didn't see any smoke raise from the vial, but the light blue liquid quickly evaporated. An odourless and colourless sleeping gas - just what she'd expect from a renowned alchemist like the Headmaster.
Nodding, she moved to the next conduit. There were five more offices presumably occupied by traitors to neutralise.
Unlike Jeanne, she might not be allowed to openly fight at Harry's side - if only she had been allowed to tell him that she wasn't as helpless as he thought she was! - and, as the traitor sleeping next to her showed, she couldn't risk fighting while masked either, or she might be mistaken for a Death Eater, but she would do her part to keep her friends safe.
She just wished she had been allowed to deal with Malfoy and his ilk in the Wizengamot.
Harry Potter stumbled and almost fell as he stepped out of the fireplace in the Atrium. Sirius moved to catch him, but he recovered before his godfather could reach him. One of the Hit-Wizards standing guard snickered and Harry clenched his teeth. If that idiot knew what was about to happen…
He took a deep breath as Ron appeared behind him, trying not to feel too jealous of how his friend didn't stumble at all, walking out of the fireplace as easily and smoothly as if he were walking through a door. He couldn't get angry over such petty things. Not when he was about to confront the Dark Lord himself.
He used a cleaning charm to remove the soot and ash from his robes and didn't reholster his wand. While Sirius cast a privacy charm, Harry ran his free hand through his hair, using the gesture to mask how he tapped the frame of his glasses to activate its See-Through-Walls Charm. He let his gaze wander over the Atrium. As he had been told, the walls and floors of the Ministry had been protected against that kind of spell - apparently, as Sirius had explained, to keep employees from spying on their rivals, not because they feared ambushes. But the pillars and decorations hadn't been protected and he spotted two people sitting behind the fountain who had drawn their wands but kept them in their robes. Two wizards he didn't know.
"Two behind the statue," he reported as he stepped up to his godfather.
"Tonks has an eye on them," Sirius said in response, his head moving slightly.
Harry glanced over and saw a rather frumpy-looking witch cleaning a spill on the floor near the lift that led to muggle London above them. Another wizard seemed to be taking his time pruning the potted plants near the stairs. He knew there were no others in hiding, although Dumbledore said he had picked the Hit-Wizards and Aurors deployed in the Atrium with Madam Bones. They might not be in the know, but they weren't traitors either. Not even the man who'd laughed at him stumbling. Still, that made three suspected spies nearby, but no Dark Lord.
And they couldn't spring the trap until Voldemort appeared. Dumbledore couldn't lock the Ministry down and call in their reinforcements until they knew their trap had worked. Which meant Harry had to keep acting as bait. What if Voldemort had grown suspicious and sent three assassins to kill Harry instead of coming in person? Could they really trust Dumbledore's plan? It all seemed based on his still unknown spy. It had been easy to believe in the Headmaster back in Grimmauld Place, but now...
He took a deep breath and started to walk towards the lift, where two more Hit-Wizards stood guard. The two suspects hiding behind the fountain's statue weren't moving, but the one pruning the plants was looking at him. Harry tensed. The man was using his wand and could easily cast at him instead of at the ferns, or whatever those plants were - he didn't remember them from Herbology.
Was Voldemort waiting until he was in the lift? Dumbledore had said they would control all of the lifts in the Ministry, but what if something went wrong? Harry didn't want to die in a trapped cabin, unable to defend himself.
They were halfway through the Atrium now. Just about the worst position - no cover nearby, and everyone, even the ones hiding behind the fountain, now had a line of sight on him. He felt horribly exposed. Sweat started to run down his face and he expected a curse to fly towards him at any moment.
The lift doors opened and a young wizard strode out. Followed by half a dozen floating markers - Harry's Human-presence-revealing Spell pointing out disillusioned wizards and witches. He wasn't paying attention to them, though. He was staring at the wizard. He knew that face. He had seen it in his visions - and his nightmares.
Suddenly, he wasn't sweating any more. Or nervous. He clenched his teeth and glared at the man and spat out: "Voldemort!"
He saw the eyes of the man - of the Dark Lord - widen for an instant and Harry flicked his wand up. Voldemort was already moving, though - falling into a duelling stance as a Shield Charm appeared around him. But Harry hadn't been casting at the Dark Lord - he had aimed at the ground before him, conjuring a stone wall. An instant later, Sirius added another right in front of it.
Just in time to stop the fragments from Harry's wall when Voldemort blew it up. Ron added another wall as the three of them were turning to run towards cover, followed by a second explosion. Harry clenched his teeth - where was Dumbledore? The other Death Eaters with Voldemort would cast any second now, and the Dark Lord would not keep blasting walls. If the Headmaster didn't…
At that moment, the floor underneath his feet rose, forming a wave that both shielded Sirius, Ron and himself and carried them rapidly towards the fountain. The fountain! He gasped, trying to aim his wand while riding a stone wave - there were two Death Eaters hiding behind it! But when he was deposited behind the fountain's marble basin, the wave freezing and forming a shelter covering half the atrium, he saw both of them on the ground - one face down in a spreading pool of blood, the other crumpled against the foot of the statue, the water around him turning pink.
Tonks! He flicked his head around - the Auror was fighting the suspect who had been pruning the plants. Both were using the pillars, which were already sporting dents and craters, as cover, stepping out from behind them to cast, before darting back into cover. But Harry had a clear line of sight on the Death Eater.
His Piercing Curse splashed against the man's shield, shattering it. His Bludgeoning Curse missed the man - he had thrown himself to the ground - but Harry's Blasting Curse hit the ground right next to him, throwing the man back and out of his cover. The Death Eater's screams were cut off by Tonks's next curse, and he collapsed in a heap on the marble floor.
Tonks started towards his position and Harry whipped his head around. The stone wave was still holding - Dumbledore's spells were much harder to dispel or destroy, of course. But where… There! He saw the Headmaster in a corner, near the stairs, moving quicker and more gracefully than Harry would have expected as curses flew at him, some splashing against his Shield Charm, others being intercepted by floating blocks of shiny metal that whirled around Dumbledore. One of the guards stationed there was on the ground, missing most of his lower body and legs, the other had taken cover behind the closest pillar.
Dumbledore's voice - amplified - filled the Atrium. "There's no way out, Tom. We were ready for you."
Harry couldn't see what Voldemort and his followers were doing - the stone wave was blocking his line of sight. He cast a Shield Charm and was about to move to the end of the wave when he noticed something moving above him. A white cloud was rolling over the edge of the stone wave, sinking down towards the ground.
"Watch out!" he shouted, throwing himself away from the shelter. Ron and Sirius were slower to react and they went through the cloud as they, too, jumped back. Harry saw the cloud seep through their shields, disappearing as it touched them. Tonks stopped her sprint and fell to the floor. Or threw herself down, Harry couldn't tell. The cloud hit the ground and formed a pool. An instant later, it ignited, creating a wall of fire.
And Sirius and Ron screamed as they, too, caught fire. Harry gasped, horrified, then stabbed his wand forward.
"Aguamenti!"
Water covered both, but their Shield Charms stopped it from touching the fire. "Drop the shields!" he yelled, then recast his spell. After a moment, the shields disappeared, and the water splashed over them, extinguishing the flames - for a moment. The fire reappeared as soon as the stream of water from Harry's wand let up. That meant… "Flame-Freezing Charm!" Harry yelled as he cast, followed by Tonks. Sirius and Ron added their own.
For a moment, Harry stared at them - covered in flames but alive. Ron cursed. "Bloody Hell! Let's get this stuff off! Scourgify! Scourgify!"
And the flames on the ground were growing closer - the liquid was spreading. Harry aimed his wand and vanished the closest part of the spreading pool while Tonks raised another wall as cover.
The fire stopped for the moment and, Voldemort's line of sight still blocked by Dumbledore's wave, Harry glanced at Sirius and Ron. Both looked awful, large parts of their hair missing, holes and blackened stains covering their robes, and their exposed skin… He winced at the sight.
"Wasn't a dark curse," Ron managed to say with a forced grin. "Hurts like one, though."
Flashes drew Harry's attention, and he almost started casting before he realised that the fireplaces in the Atrium were activating. To his relief, the first one out of them was Moody, a grin on his scarred face and his wand flashing. And, behind the old Auror, more Order members poured out of the fireplace, fanning out.
Not a moment too soon - Dumbledore was standing alone now, the second guard having fallen at his side, and was still facing the Dark Lord and his followers. And behind him, someone was descending the stairs. Harry's eyes widened when he recognised Lucius Malfoy.
"Headmaster! Behind you!" he yelled, as loudly as he could, as he raised his wand - at that distance, any precise spell was likely to miss, and a Blasting Curse would endanger Dumbledore as well. That left a conjured…
But Malfoy was already casting, his wand flashing - and a red spell flew past Dumbledore, towards the Death Eaters' position. Harry gaped.
And the Dark Lord yelled: "Traitor!"
A moment later, Malfoy collapsed, screaming and holding his left arm. Whatever was hurting him let up as soon as Dumbledore took a step forward, though, and sent more spells at the Dark Lord. Once more, the Headmaster's voice rang through the entire Atrium. "Lay down your wands! The Dark Lord's plan was doomed from the start. You are outnumbered and trapped. Surrender and your lives will be spared."
"Sirius!"
Harry glanced to his side. That was Jeanne, rushing towards them, Remus right behind her, as the rest of the Order surged forward.
"Ron!"
And Mrs Weasley! He winced at her expression.
"Mum! I'm OK!" Ron lied.
Harry was about to say that it hadn't been a dark curse when the lift to muggle London vanished in an explosion. He stepped forward, his Shield Charm stopping stone fragments from hitting him or the people behind him, as a dust cloud filled that part of the Atrium.
And then figures on brooms shot out of the cloud. Figures wearing black robes and white masks.
That lift was supposed to have been locked!, Harry thought as he sent a Bludgeoning Charm at the closest broom rider. The spell splashed against the man's Shield Charm, but it was strong enough to push the Death Eater off course - and straight into another Death Eater. Both lost control over their brooms, one crashing and sliding several yards over the marble floor while the other flew into a pillar.
"Taking right!" Ron yelled as he caught that one with a Piercing Curse before the Death Eater, whose shield hadn't survived the impact with the pillar, reached the ground.
Harry hit the other Death Eater with a Cutting Curse just as he was trying to get up and the man collapsed, blood spurting from the stump of his leg. Harry took him out with a Piercing Curse to the head before the man could stop the bleeding.
But at least a dozen Death Eaters were still left, with more coming down the shaft. And half of them were veering around, wands flashing as they aimed at Harry's group while the rest flew towards Voldemort's position.
A wall rose in the air in front of them, courtesy of Sirius, but it started to crumble after a moment as spells slammed into it.
"Above us!" Jeanne yelled as her curse missed a broom rider diving at them.
Harry jumped to the side as the floor near him blew up. Reductor Curse, he thought as he rolled over the floor, his shield dealing with the fragments thrown his way. A Blasting Curse would have been a better choice. Ron cast and missed the Death Eater as well, but Sirius got him with a Flame-Whip Spell that cut the man and his broom in two.
Harry glanced at the rest of the Order. Mrs Weasley was screaming - but she was standing and casting, and didn't seem hurt. Mr Weasley had joined her, his own wand weaving. Remus was near Tonks, casting curses at a Death Eater circling above them. Then the remains of Sirius's wall shattered, and Harry threw himself on the ground as half a dozen curses flew through the resulting dust cloud. He heard a scream behind him, but he couldn't spare the time to check who was it - the Death Eaters were charging.
One was flying straight at him, yelling and casting wildly. Harry clenched his teeth and rose into a crouch as a curse passed over his head and another went wide. His own Piercing Curses didn't miss - the first shattered the man's Shield Charm, the second went through his throat, destroying his mask in the process. The Death Eater's scream turned into a gurgling noise, blood shooting out of his neck as he crashed into the fountain.
But the other Death Eaters were now above him and the rest of the Order and curses started to rain down on them. One spell clipped Harry's shield and only a roll to the side saved him from getting splashed with the green, sizzling liquid - acid or poison - created by the curse.
He rolled and came up with his wand leading, but the Death Eater had already pulled away. It didn't matter - there were plenty of targets in the air. Harry hit another Death Eater with a Piercing Curse, shattering the man's shield, a moment before a fire whip sliced into the man. He fell from his broom, clutching at his side, and didn't get up. Harry hit him with a Cutting Curse anyway - Moody had played possum once too often for Harry to be sloppy.
The Order had rallied and curses started to fill the air, but most had trouble hitting the broom riders. Fortunately, the Death Eaters also had trouble aiming while flying at high speed inside the Atrium.
Unfortunately, Blasting Curses didn't require much precision. Harry saw one curse hit the floor near two older wizards. The explosion left both of them on the ground, unconscious or dead. Another Order member ran screaming through the Atrium towards Harry - no, towards the fountain behind Harry. The wizard's arms seemed to be melting, Harry saw, feeling sick. The man collapsed in front of Harry, his legs starting to liquify as well.
Harry aimed his wand, but he couldn't think of a spell that would help the man. And then the wizard exploded, struck by another Blasting Curse, and Harry was thrown back, his Shield Charm shattering.
He landed hard, bruising his back on some rubble, and came to rest in a puddle - the fountain was leaking. He recast his Shield Charm as he changed position - always stay moving, Moody had taught him - and a curse struck the fountain behind him, shattering the marble basin. Water started to rush out, and Harry had to struggle to stay upright as he returned fire with a few Bludgeoning Curses. He missed the wizard, but the man's frantic evasions caused him to fly into a pillar. That stopped his flight long enough for Harry to hit him with a Cutting Curse that almost cut him in two.
Breathing heavily and fighting nausea, Harry looked around. There were half a dozen Death Eaters left in the air. But a number were guarding the lift shaft - and that had to be closed up to prevent Voldemort from fleeing. They needed… Harry's eyes widened. Sirius was on the ground, Jeanne kneeling next to him, sheltered by a crumbling stone wall, waving her wand.
He started to run towards his godfather, barely remembering to weave as he ran to present a difficult target. Sirius had to be alive!
"Harry! Duck!"
Harry dropped to the ground as soon as he heard Ron yelling, and a yellow curse barely missed his head, covering the ground in front of him with yellow goo - yellow moving goo that left a smoking trail as it started to flow towards him.
He rolled to the side and on to his back, sending a spell up at whoever was behind him - missing the Death Eater, who pulled up - then jumped up. Ron stood next to him, sending more curses at the Death Eater, but the man was a good flyer. Not as good as Harry, but better than most of the Death Eaters in the Atrium. He evaded Harry and Ron's curses with seeming ease, even if doing so prevented him from casting himself.
And Sirius still needed their help! Harry sent another curse upwards, missing again. He was tempted to use his power, but he couldn't. He had to save it for Voldemort. Had to wait until Dumbledore gave the signal.
"I'll box him in!" Ron yelled and started to cast a volley of hexes. The Death Eater didn't even bother dodging them, though, and let his shield absorb them. He was very good.
And he was casting at them again. Harry and Ron jumped to the side to evade the man's Blasting Curse that left a crater in the marble floor big enough to swallow a half-giant. Harry cursed under his breath and stuck his hand into his enchanted pocket. "I'm going up!" he yelled.
But before he could pull out his own broom, the Death Eater started to scream as multiple gashes appeared on his body. He kept screaming as he lost control of his broom, flailing wildly as his body became covered with cuts. Sectumsempra, Harry realised - a dark curse popular with Death Eaters in the last war, Moody had told him. But who would...
"Don't just stand there gaping, Potter!" he heard a familiar and hated voice. Snape! "We need to seal up that shaft!"
There was the Potions Master, his usual sneer on his face. "Move!" he bellowed.
Harry didn't want to - but Snape was right. They had to close the hole, or Voldemort might be able to escape. He still glanced at Sirius. Mrs Weasley was there as well. And her husband.
Hating himself, Harry followed Snape, Ron at his side, and ran towards the handful of Death Eaters guarding the hole where the lift to muggle London had been.
Hermione Granger was about to leave the attic when she heard a chime behind her. She froze - had she made a mistake and triggered an alarm charm? It was coming from a plaque she had checked earlier. One of the spells controlling the lifts. Clenching her teeth, she cast a quick charm on the door to warn her of anyone opening it and hurried back.
It was the spell controlling the lift to muggle London. She tapped her mask to check it, then cursed - the entire spell was gone. But that wouldn't happen unless… Unless the lift was gone. Someone must have destroyed it. But would that mean that the shaft had collapsed, or was it still open? And what could she do to check that?
Rush down to the Atrium? Her allies would mistake her for a Death Eater, and the Death Eaters would curse her anyway. Dig a hole through the wall facing the lift? She might be able to reach the shaft that way, but… that would take quite some time. She bit her lower lip. She couldn't simply do nothing, could she? Dumbledore had said that that lift was taken care of, but…
"Two, I need some help."
Mr Fletcher's voice interrupted her thoughts. She tapped her mask. "What happened? Where are you?"
"Wizengamot Level. Runcorn was in his office. I took him out, but he got me with a curse. Can't use my leg, and there are Aurors outside."
She drew a hissing breath. He couldn't reach the fireplace they were supposed to take to flee, then. That left… "Can you reach Dumbledore's office?" she asked as she ran back to the stairs. The fireplace there was an alternative means of escape.
"Not without a distraction," came the terse reply.
"You'll have one!" she said as she opened the door. She didn't bother with dropping a potion to the floor to change the colour of her fur. There was no time to be wasted.
A second later, a brown cat was racing down the stairs.
There were six of them, split into two groups - four forming a half-circle around the hole, rubble, probably enlarged, from the explosion serving as cover, and two behind the closest pillar - setting up a crossfire, Harry Potter realised.
Not the best odds, even with the other Order members behind Harry providing covering fire. He forced the thought away - there was no room for doubt when charging an enemy. He started to weave as he ran towards the pillar, Ron behind him.
Snape cursed - Harry's change of course had forced the Potions Master to fall behind both him and Ron - but Harry didn't pay attention to him. They could deal with the two Death Eaters there and then flank the others. And running at that angle they would provide a harder target for the enemy's main force.
Several curses flew past them. A Blasting Curse blew up part of a bench, but the splinters and rock fragments were deflected by their Shield Charms. The two Death Eaters by the pillar stepped out from behind their cover to cast - they had a better angle; Harry was charging at them - but they cast hastily and their aim was bad. The first two curses went wide. Harry caught the wizard on the right with a Bludgeoning Curse that clipped the man's Shield Charm and forced him to stumble back a few steps, interrupting his next curse as well. Exposed like that and off-balance, he was an easy target. Ron's Piercing Curse shattered his shield, and Harry's Cutting Curse sliced off the Death Eater's wand arm and half of his face.
The other Death Eater was clutching his belly as he collapsed, coughing up blood - a whole lot of blood. Probably another dark curse from Snape, Harry thought as he threw himself behind the pillar, rolling over his shoulder and ending up in a crouch at the edge of his new cover - and close to the still twitching Death Eater he had killed.
He cast a Bubble-Head Charm and took a few deep breaths. "Ready."
"Ready," Ron said behind him.
"What are you waiting for?" Snape complained.
Harry tried to ignore the man's complaints. Snape hadn't been trained by Moody, unlike Ron and himself. "Let's go!" he yelled, going low around the pillar and casting a Blasting Curse at the closest Death Eater near the lift shaft. He didn't hit the man, but the heap of rubble serving as the enemy's cover blew up nicely, and the cloud of dust thrown up covered the area long enough for Harry and Ron - and Snape - to dash over the open ground between them and the Death Eaters.
Harry reached the rubble first and ducked, keeping his wand aimed upwards. Ron fell in at his side. Snape arrived a second later, as the cloud was starting to settle. "OK, we're going..." Harry started.
"Save it!" Snape hissed. "I have just the potion for this." He pulled out a vial from his dark robes and threw it over the rubble. Screaming followed. "Stay away from the purple smoke!" the Potions Master said with the cruellest smile Harry had ever seen on his ugly face.
He crawled up on the rubble and peered over it, then swallowed. A purple cloud covered most of the floor in front of the hole leading to the lift shaft. Two Death Eaters were on the ground at its edges, screaming and jerking as they held their legs. Two more were backing away. "Taking left!" Harry said and flicked his wand, casting three Piercing Curses at the closest enemy. Two of them hit and the man went down with a hole in his chest. Ron's Cutting Curse was stopped by a hastily cast Shield Charm, but Snape killed the man a second later with a Reductor Curse to the head.
"Now let's seal this up!" Snape said, flicking his wand and turning the rubble on this side into a ramp which he slid down. "Don't touch the smoke!" he said and dispatched the two Death Eaters on the ground with a Piercing Curse each.
"I'm not feeling suicidal," Harry heard Ron mutter as the two of them climbed over the rubble and followed Snape. Up close, Harry saw that the legs of the two Death Eaters looked as if they had rotted off - robes, flesh and bones. He swallowed, glad for his Bubble-Head Charm.
Then he caught movement in the air above - someone was flying towards them. "Above us!" he shouted, throwing himself to the ground behind the closest heap of rubble. And he froze - if the Death Eater used a Blasting Curse and hit Snape's rotting smoke…
"Wall! We need walls!" he yelled, conjuring one behind him.
Ron cursed as he followed Harry's example, despite the green curses - Killing Curses - the broom rider cast at them.
Snape sent curses of his own at the attacker, but the man evaded them with a roll. Another curse hit the wall behind Harry, showering him and Ron with splinters. He clenched his teeth - they were in a really bad spot there, caught between Killing Curses from above and a poison cloud behind them. They were very fortunate that their attacker was much better at flying than at aiming.
"Can you neutralise the smoke?" he yelled, hoping Snape could hear him. Then he had to roll to the side when two more curses struck the rubble in front of him. Ron managed to drive the broom-riding Death Eater off with a few hastily cast curses, but Harry could see the man turning round in a skilled evasive manoeuvre. A very familiar manoeuvre, actually. One that Harry had seen numerous times on the pitch.
"Flint," he spat, as he raised his wand. If this was the former Slytherin Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, then he would add another roll before pulling to the left. Harry stabbed his wand forward and let loose with a Cutting Curse.
The Death Eater flew straight into it and the curse cut his broom in half. He screamed until he smashed head-first into the marble floor.
"Nice shot!" Ron said, looking around for another attacker.
"Stop congratulating yourselves!" Snape snapped. "We have a shaft to seal!"
Harry peered around the remains of the wall he had conjured and saw that the purple smoke was gone.
"Yes, it's gone. I designed it to render itself inert after half a minute. Now stop dawdling!" Snape sneered at him. "We havARGH!" He clutched his left arm, doubling over. "The potion stopped…" he spat through clenched teeth as he stumbled through the rubble, exposing himself. "Have to…"
Snape never finished his sentence - a Killing Curse hit him in the chest and he collapsed. Harry whirled around. Who had… He froze. Voldemort had moved, and now had a clear line of sight to him and Ron.
Hermione Granger hissed as she closed in on the Atrium and heard the screams and explosions from the battle raging there. The battle in which her friends were fighting for their lives. Harry. Ron. Sirius and Jeanne. The battle she wasn't joining. Couldn't join. She rounded a corner, her claws ripping into the carpet, allowing her to keep running as fast as she could manage, and had a clear line of sight into the Atrium. And to the dead Hit-Wizard lying on the stairs in a pool of his blood.
The stench of blood - and worse - filled her nose as she jumped over the corpse, landing on a patch of carpet slick with blood. Spells were flashing in the Atrium, screams reached her ears, but she ducked her head and sped on, towards the corner that would provide her with cover. Mr Fletcher needed her.
Another spell slammed into the wall above her - a stray curse, or so she hoped. A glance didn't show anyone aiming at her, but between the rubble, the huge stone wave blocking most of the middle of the Atrium, and the smoke rising everywhere, it was hard to tell. She pressed on, darting around the corner, down the next flight of stairs. Safe. For the moment.
She slowed down slightly, resisting the urge to stop and clean her paws, even though she was leaving bloody prints behind her. Another corner. And another. Then she heard footsteps. Many footsteps. She skidded to a stop, her claws ripping up the carpet, and reversed direction, dashing up to the next floor. She had to hide before she was spotted. A door was open, and she darted into the hallway behind it, then hid behind a potted plant, making herself as small and harmless-looking as possible. Just a cute cat scared by all the noise.
The footsteps reached her floor - and went past. "Rufus! Take your group and head to the gallery. We'll need covering fire."
"Yes, ma'am!"
That meant the footsteps were Aurors rushing upwards. She raised her head to peer through the foliage. A witch in dark robes stood at the entrance, her back to Hermione. She recognised the voice from her visits to the Wizengamot: Amelia Bones. "John, take two and check this floor for any intruders or traitors."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Dawlish! She bared her teeth. That dolt!
Bones went on: "The rest of you - with me. Don't attack anyone not wearing Death Eater garments unless you're attacked first!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Hermione saw more Aurors, and some Hit-Wizards in their grey robes, charge upwards, then ducked down when she saw Dawlish step into the hallway. Had he seen her? She tensed, waiting. She would either have to play the harmless cat or make a break for it. Dawlish would probably curse a cute cat on principle; he was just so stupid. She eyed the closest door anyway as she pressed herself into the space between the planter and the wall.
But Dawlish and his two stooges didn't spot her as they trampled past, wands out as they looked for enemies in an empty hallway. Hermione waited a moment, then darted out from behind the planter and on to the stairs. She had her mentor to rescue.
A few more flights later, she reached the Wizengamot's floor. She stopped on the last stair. Mr Fletcher would be in Runcorn's office. But there were Aurors and Hit-Wizards in the entrance hall. She crept forward, her belly almost dragging over the floor, then peered around the corner.
The door to the floor was closed. Once more, she hissed in frustration. That would… actually make it easier for her, since she could take their original escape route afterwards. She crept back, then changed and tapped her mask behind the ear. "I'm outside the entrance to your floor. Be ready."
"Ready," came the terse reply. Mr Fletcher sounded tense - tenser than expected. Either the Aurors were getting close, or he was hurt worse than he had admitted. She tapped a small button on her mask, and her field of vision filled with dazzling colours as she perceived the spells in the area. The floor and walls were reinforced and protected against detection spells. Standard procedure. The door had the same spells, anchored to it, but there were new spells on it as well. An alarm charm, no, two of them - trickier than expected. And some spells to render the door impervious to various attacks. The Wizengamot's guards apparently knew their business.
But she also knew hers. Better, even. Grinning, she pulled out a small metal box from her pocket and threw it forwards. It came to a stop at the door, and, with a flick of her wand, she dispelled the Shrinking Charm on it. Then she focused on the spells on the floor. Where was the…? There! She quickly dealt with the Anti-Fire Charm - it wasn't a ward, and a tad sloppily cast - and a Cutting Charm sliced the jerry can open a moment later, spilling napalm on to the floor.
She grinned as she set it ablaze. That should serve as a distraction. She stepped back and tapped her mask again. "Distraction started."
"I can hear them yelling. What did you do? Set fire to the place?"
"Yes." It was only the Wizengamot, after all.
He scoffed but didn't berate her for the collateral damage. A minute later, she heard him again. "I'm in Dumbledore's office now. Get out yourself."
"Will do," she answered, and changed again. She had a fireplace to reach, and cats were smaller targets than thieves.
Harry Potter threw himself to the floor, behind the remaining rubble barricade. A reddish curse missed him by what felt like inches, and he had barely recast his Shield Charm and rolled to the side - Moody had taught him to change position as soon as he broke the line of sight - when the rubble exploded and propelled him further to the right and backwards.
He heard Ron curse, so his friend was still alive, but he couldn't see much in the smoke and dust thrown up by the Blasting Curse. He scrambled on his elbows and knees, crawling further to his right, towards the closest pillar. If he could get better cover…
A gust of wind swept the dust away, and Harry stopped five yards short. Five yards without cover. He crawled back a few more yards, then conjured a wall linking the rubble and the pillar.
A moment later, the wall and part of the rubble in front of him turned into a green liquid that splashed on the ground. Harry cursed and scrambled further back. "Don't take cover inside any craters!" he yelled to Ron. "Poison on the floor!"
"Bloody hell!"
Harry crawled forward, then peered over the rubble. Voldemort was almost in the centre of the Atrium now, but Dumbledore had him hemmed in with several transfigured and animated figures, as well as a near-constant barrage of spells. But the Headmaster looked hurt - his robes were torn, and he was limping, and… Harry couldn't tell if that was blood on Dumbledore or just some daring pattern.
"Reinforcements!"
Ron's yell made him look to his left. Aurors and Hit-Wizards were rushing from the stairs into the Atrium. And more of the red and grey robes appeared in the gallery above. Harry smiled - more than a dozen more wands, and the Death Eaters were down to half a dozen in the air and half that number on the ground. And Voldemort.
Then one of the Aurors pointed his wand upwards and blew the gallery apart from below. Harry gasped as several Aurors were thrown clear and fell down on to the marble floor.
"Bloody traitors!" Ron cursed as the Aurors and Hit-Wizards started to curse each other.
Whatever he was yelling was suddenly drowned out by a cacophony of shouts and screams - right next to Harry!
"Attack!"
"Bite!"
"Bite!"
"Charge!"
"Bite!"
"Feed!"
"Get them!"
Harry threw himself back, rolling over his shoulder and ignoring the pain from several sharp rock fragments digging into his back, and ended in a crouch, his wand aimed forward. What was… Snakes! Dozens of snakes were swarming over the barrier. "Snakes!" he yelled. "Watch out!"
To his surprise, the snakes stopped and looked around. His connection - they thought he was Voldemort! "Leave this room! Hide! Don't bite anyone!" Harry yelled at them. When they obeyed and slithered away, he relaxed.
"Merlin's beard, Harry!"
Ron was staring at him.
"What?" Harry asked.
"You…"
Ron couldn't finish his sentence as the ground between them suddenly turned into a giant snake made of marble. Its coils started to thrash around, and only Harry's shield saved him from being crushed. He was pushed to the side instead.
Ron wasn't as lucky - the stone snake's tail whipped around and flung him into the wall behind them, his shield shattering upon impact.
Harry was about to get up, but the snake darted forward, maw opening as if it wanted to swallow him whole. Harry rolled to the side and hit the snake's gaping mouth with a Reductor Curse that blew up a yard-long fang but didn't seem to do much more damage.
And the bloody thing was as fast as it was tough. Harry managed to scramble to his feet just in time to dodge the snake's next strike. He rolled over his shoulder and came up running. A glance over his shoulder showed that the snake's remaining fang was stuck in the floor. He sent a Blasting Curse at its neck, but his aim was spoiled when the snake's tail whipped towards him.
It clipped his shield, shattering it, and slammed his left arm into his side, sending him sprawling on to the ground, his breath knocked out of him. He rolled to his right, then screamed when his left arm erupted in pain. Broken, he realised - he was familiar with the feeling from training. He flicked his wand, numbing his arm as he pushed himself to his feet. He had to keep moving, had to get away from the snake.
Another Blasting Curse blew the tip of its tail off when it pulled back for another blow - Ron! Harry's friend was on the floor, but could still cast. More spells impacted on the snake, blowing craters into its body. Tonks and Remus!
It wasn't enough, though. Not nearly enough. The snake was too massive, too tough. And too fast. Harry was still running to his right, trying to reach the closest pillar, when it ripped its fang out of the floor and reared its head up for a strike. At him.
He changed course, but the tail was whipping towards him from behind. He couldn't dodge both parts of the snake. He tried, anyway, recasting his Shield Charm, knowing it wouldn't be enough, felt his mother's power surge inside him, knowing it would be too late…
...and the snake vanished before it reached him. Harry was frozen for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest, then whipped his head around. Dumbledore! The Headmaster had managed to dispel Voldemort's spell!
But it had cost him, Harry realised. Dumbledore was turning, still, to face Voldemort again, but Harry saw the Headmaster's floating metal and stone shields shatter under a hail of curses from the Dark Lord.
Harry raised his wand. Dumbledore had told him to wait for his signal, but he couldn't wait any longer. He had to intervene!
He was too slow, though. While he was still aiming, still gathering the power dwelling inside him, he saw the Headmaster look at him, smile, even - and saw him get hit by Voldemort's Killing Curse.
And, a moment later, Harry collapsed to the ground, screaming and feeling as if someone had driven a searing hot spike through his forehead. Blood ran down his face, half-blinding him, as he rocked back, reeling as if from a blow.
Shaking his head, he wiped the blood from his face, then staggered to his feet, his broken, numbed arm dangling uselessly at his side. Dumbledore was dead! He clenched his teeth, panting, as his good eye searched for Voldemort.
But when he saw the Dark Lord thrashing on the ground, when he heard him screaming in agony, Harry smiled. And understood what Dumbledore had done.
He felt his mother's power swell inside him. Gathered it as he raised his wand and pointed it at her murderer. Focused it as he took a step forward, then another, blood running down his face and dripping on to the floor. Trembling, he pulled his arm back, muttered the incantation, then stabbed his wand forward, towards Voldemort, releasing the power.
The Dark Lord had managed to get to his knees, raising his own wand, when Harry's spell hit him in the chest and his head was thrown back. Harry kept screaming, kept his wand aimed at the Dark Lord as his enemy howled.
Voldemort didn't bleed. Didn't break. Didn't burn. And didn't stop howling as he slowly turned to dust. Harry saw his arms disappear, vanishing in a trail of scattering motes, followed by his legs. Voldemort's torso started to topple over, but faded in mid-motion, and, finally, an instant before it would have crashed to the floor, his head turned to dust as well, and his screams cut off.
Harry stood there, panting, his throat aching, and looked around. There were still Death Eaters around. Traitors. People were still fighting. Ron was on his knees, trying to stand. Sirius was still down. He couldn't see Remus.
Suddenly, a voice, magically enhanced, filled the Atrium. "The Dark Lord has fallen! The Boy-Who-Lived has vanquished him! Throw down your wands and surrender, and your lives will be spared!"
A familiar voice.
Lucius Malfoy.
London, Ministry of Magic, January 2nd, 1997
"Morning."
Rodney Smith nodded to the two Hit-Wizards standing guard as he passed them, taking the stairs leading up to what the Ministry employees working there called the 'attic floor' - the floor above the Atrium's ceiling, above all of the Ministry's floors - where most of the maintenance charms were cast when needed.
Unlike the floor below the Department of Mysteries, where the anchors of the wards and the central Air-Refreshing and Cooling Charms were located, this floor wasn't restricted to only a few key Ministry employees and heavily guarded. The charms maintained here were not crucial or essential, but convenient.
Although, Rodney thought as he approached the door to the floor, if the lifts stopped working and the water stopped flowing in the pipes, the Ministry would likely break down - most of his so-called colleagues would probably collapse after three flights of stairs, and he doubted that even a tenth of them could cast a Water-Making Spell. Or an Air-Cleaning Charm. Or any of the other spells cast here. And yet, none of them cared about those who kept all those spells going, as if that were beneath them.
He snorted as he opened the door. Not that he could blame them - he didn't care about his co-workers either. Half-bloods and mudbloods, the lot of them, and a few purebloods too poor or too stupid to land a decent job.
Or, in his own case, too honest to lie and suck up to their superiors, and toe the Ministry's line about equality as dictated by Dumbledore. He scoffed as he closed the door behind him and cast an Alarm Charm on it. But Dumbledore was dead, and the Dark Lord would show the fools the error of their ways. And those who stood for what was right, those who knew blood counted, would be rewarded.
Like himself.
He looked around. No one but him was present. The small area that had been turned into a mixture of office and break room was empty. He didn't spot any bottles or newspapers stained with fat and vinegar, which meant that Clarke had had the last shift yesterday. She was a mudblood, but at least she cleaned up after herself. And after her co-workers.
One might even say she knew her place.
He chuckled, briefly, as he stepped past the battered ice box holding some beer bottles, and approached the plaque - or 'headstone', as his co-workers called it in a dim-witted attempt at humour - for the spells controlling the lifts and drew his wand. The Dark Lord's orders were clear - Rodney was to sabotage the lifts first, then the Air-Cleaning Charms.
He was about to replace the spells controlling the lifts' doors when he saw something move in the shadows. "Who's there?" he yelled, then clenched his teeth. If one of his co-workers had missed the notification about the 'schedule changes' he had faked...
"Miaow!"
He blinked. A cat? Here? Had someone other than him shown some initiative and common sense and brought a cat to get rid of the mice and rats infesting the attic? He chuckled when he spotted a black cat eyeing him from behind a plaque listing the spells that controlled the Air-Cleaning Charms - not to be mistaken with Air-Refreshing Charms - on the third floor. "Better get away from there," he said, making shooing motions with his hand, "you might not like the backlash when I disable them." Or the poison spells with which he was to replace a select few of those charms.
As if it had understood him, the cat moved away from the plaque, towards the ice box and table behind him. "Good kitty!" he said, then turned around, back to work. He raised his wand - and froze when he heard someone behind him.
"Drop your wand!"
He swallowed. How had they managed to get through the door? He hadn't heard the chime from his spell. If he botched the mission the Dark Lord had given him…
"Now!"
He dropped his wand, then watched as it jumped up and away, summoned from behind him. "I'm just doing some maintenance," he said, slowly turning his head, then froze again. There was a figure with a black mask covering her entire face behind him. A witch - her black leather clothing left no doubt - with her wand aimed at him.
Fear gave way to hope. She wasn't an Auror or Hit-Wizard. And while she wasn't wearing black robes and a white mask, her outfit certainly looked fit for a dark witch. Who else would infiltrate the Ministry in such an outfit but a follower of the Dark Lord? He swallowed again.
"Disabling the Air-Cleaning Charms?" She had a rather husky voice, he noticed even as he cursed himself for speaking to the cat.
"I'm just following orders. Special orders." If she was a Death Eater, she would understand what he meant.
"I see." She nodded, and he started to smile. Were those stripes on her mask? Or...
Then her wand moved, and everything went dark.
*****
Hermione Granger pointed her wand at the fallen wizard and cast a full Body-Bind Curse on him. As soon as he had snapped into a stiff position on the ground, she followed it up with an Incarcerous Spell, tying him up with conjured ropes. She hesitated a moment - she wanted to interrogate the Death Eater. Find out what he knew. Who had given him his orders. But she had orders of her own. And neither the time nor the Veritaserum to interrogate the traitor. So after a look at his badge and a quick check for poison vials or other dangerous items in his possession, she aimed her wand at his head and removed the last few minutes from his memory. It wouldn't do to have anyone hear about a thief, or a black cat, in the attic of the Ministry.
Then she walked back to the Air-Cleaning Charm she had been in the process of unravelling when the man had disturbed her. It took her but a few more moments to finish her work. Finding the right conduits that transported the cleaned air down to the offices below her took longer, even with the notes she had been given - which, she suspected, had come from Percy Weasley. They weren't in his handwriting, but she recognised the style from the notes Ron had passed to her when she had been revising for her O.W.L.s.
Smiling slightly, she cast a Bubble-Head Charm and pulled out the vials Dumbledore had given her, then unstoppered one straight under the conduit marked '3-2'. She didn't see any smoke raise from the vial, but the light blue liquid quickly evaporated. An odourless and colourless sleeping gas - just what she'd expect from a renowned alchemist like the Headmaster.
Nodding, she moved to the next conduit. There were five more offices presumably occupied by traitors to neutralise.
Unlike Jeanne, she might not be allowed to openly fight at Harry's side - if only she had been allowed to tell him that she wasn't as helpless as he thought she was! - and, as the traitor sleeping next to her showed, she couldn't risk fighting while masked either, or she might be mistaken for a Death Eater, but she would do her part to keep her friends safe.
She just wished she had been allowed to deal with Malfoy and his ilk in the Wizengamot.
*****
Harry Potter stumbled and almost fell as he stepped out of the fireplace in the Atrium. Sirius moved to catch him, but he recovered before his godfather could reach him. One of the Hit-Wizards standing guard snickered and Harry clenched his teeth. If that idiot knew what was about to happen…
He took a deep breath as Ron appeared behind him, trying not to feel too jealous of how his friend didn't stumble at all, walking out of the fireplace as easily and smoothly as if he were walking through a door. He couldn't get angry over such petty things. Not when he was about to confront the Dark Lord himself.
He used a cleaning charm to remove the soot and ash from his robes and didn't reholster his wand. While Sirius cast a privacy charm, Harry ran his free hand through his hair, using the gesture to mask how he tapped the frame of his glasses to activate its See-Through-Walls Charm. He let his gaze wander over the Atrium. As he had been told, the walls and floors of the Ministry had been protected against that kind of spell - apparently, as Sirius had explained, to keep employees from spying on their rivals, not because they feared ambushes. But the pillars and decorations hadn't been protected and he spotted two people sitting behind the fountain who had drawn their wands but kept them in their robes. Two wizards he didn't know.
"Two behind the statue," he reported as he stepped up to his godfather.
"Tonks has an eye on them," Sirius said in response, his head moving slightly.
Harry glanced over and saw a rather frumpy-looking witch cleaning a spill on the floor near the lift that led to muggle London above them. Another wizard seemed to be taking his time pruning the potted plants near the stairs. He knew there were no others in hiding, although Dumbledore said he had picked the Hit-Wizards and Aurors deployed in the Atrium with Madam Bones. They might not be in the know, but they weren't traitors either. Not even the man who'd laughed at him stumbling. Still, that made three suspected spies nearby, but no Dark Lord.
And they couldn't spring the trap until Voldemort appeared. Dumbledore couldn't lock the Ministry down and call in their reinforcements until they knew their trap had worked. Which meant Harry had to keep acting as bait. What if Voldemort had grown suspicious and sent three assassins to kill Harry instead of coming in person? Could they really trust Dumbledore's plan? It all seemed based on his still unknown spy. It had been easy to believe in the Headmaster back in Grimmauld Place, but now...
He took a deep breath and started to walk towards the lift, where two more Hit-Wizards stood guard. The two suspects hiding behind the fountain's statue weren't moving, but the one pruning the plants was looking at him. Harry tensed. The man was using his wand and could easily cast at him instead of at the ferns, or whatever those plants were - he didn't remember them from Herbology.
Was Voldemort waiting until he was in the lift? Dumbledore had said they would control all of the lifts in the Ministry, but what if something went wrong? Harry didn't want to die in a trapped cabin, unable to defend himself.
They were halfway through the Atrium now. Just about the worst position - no cover nearby, and everyone, even the ones hiding behind the fountain, now had a line of sight on him. He felt horribly exposed. Sweat started to run down his face and he expected a curse to fly towards him at any moment.
The lift doors opened and a young wizard strode out. Followed by half a dozen floating markers - Harry's Human-presence-revealing Spell pointing out disillusioned wizards and witches. He wasn't paying attention to them, though. He was staring at the wizard. He knew that face. He had seen it in his visions - and his nightmares.
Suddenly, he wasn't sweating any more. Or nervous. He clenched his teeth and glared at the man and spat out: "Voldemort!"
He saw the eyes of the man - of the Dark Lord - widen for an instant and Harry flicked his wand up. Voldemort was already moving, though - falling into a duelling stance as a Shield Charm appeared around him. But Harry hadn't been casting at the Dark Lord - he had aimed at the ground before him, conjuring a stone wall. An instant later, Sirius added another right in front of it.
Just in time to stop the fragments from Harry's wall when Voldemort blew it up. Ron added another wall as the three of them were turning to run towards cover, followed by a second explosion. Harry clenched his teeth - where was Dumbledore? The other Death Eaters with Voldemort would cast any second now, and the Dark Lord would not keep blasting walls. If the Headmaster didn't…
At that moment, the floor underneath his feet rose, forming a wave that both shielded Sirius, Ron and himself and carried them rapidly towards the fountain. The fountain! He gasped, trying to aim his wand while riding a stone wave - there were two Death Eaters hiding behind it! But when he was deposited behind the fountain's marble basin, the wave freezing and forming a shelter covering half the atrium, he saw both of them on the ground - one face down in a spreading pool of blood, the other crumpled against the foot of the statue, the water around him turning pink.
Tonks! He flicked his head around - the Auror was fighting the suspect who had been pruning the plants. Both were using the pillars, which were already sporting dents and craters, as cover, stepping out from behind them to cast, before darting back into cover. But Harry had a clear line of sight on the Death Eater.
His Piercing Curse splashed against the man's shield, shattering it. His Bludgeoning Curse missed the man - he had thrown himself to the ground - but Harry's Blasting Curse hit the ground right next to him, throwing the man back and out of his cover. The Death Eater's screams were cut off by Tonks's next curse, and he collapsed in a heap on the marble floor.
Tonks started towards his position and Harry whipped his head around. The stone wave was still holding - Dumbledore's spells were much harder to dispel or destroy, of course. But where… There! He saw the Headmaster in a corner, near the stairs, moving quicker and more gracefully than Harry would have expected as curses flew at him, some splashing against his Shield Charm, others being intercepted by floating blocks of shiny metal that whirled around Dumbledore. One of the guards stationed there was on the ground, missing most of his lower body and legs, the other had taken cover behind the closest pillar.
Dumbledore's voice - amplified - filled the Atrium. "There's no way out, Tom. We were ready for you."
Harry couldn't see what Voldemort and his followers were doing - the stone wave was blocking his line of sight. He cast a Shield Charm and was about to move to the end of the wave when he noticed something moving above him. A white cloud was rolling over the edge of the stone wave, sinking down towards the ground.
"Watch out!" he shouted, throwing himself away from the shelter. Ron and Sirius were slower to react and they went through the cloud as they, too, jumped back. Harry saw the cloud seep through their shields, disappearing as it touched them. Tonks stopped her sprint and fell to the floor. Or threw herself down, Harry couldn't tell. The cloud hit the ground and formed a pool. An instant later, it ignited, creating a wall of fire.
And Sirius and Ron screamed as they, too, caught fire. Harry gasped, horrified, then stabbed his wand forward.
"Aguamenti!"
Water covered both, but their Shield Charms stopped it from touching the fire. "Drop the shields!" he yelled, then recast his spell. After a moment, the shields disappeared, and the water splashed over them, extinguishing the flames - for a moment. The fire reappeared as soon as the stream of water from Harry's wand let up. That meant… "Flame-Freezing Charm!" Harry yelled as he cast, followed by Tonks. Sirius and Ron added their own.
For a moment, Harry stared at them - covered in flames but alive. Ron cursed. "Bloody Hell! Let's get this stuff off! Scourgify! Scourgify!"
And the flames on the ground were growing closer - the liquid was spreading. Harry aimed his wand and vanished the closest part of the spreading pool while Tonks raised another wall as cover.
The fire stopped for the moment and, Voldemort's line of sight still blocked by Dumbledore's wave, Harry glanced at Sirius and Ron. Both looked awful, large parts of their hair missing, holes and blackened stains covering their robes, and their exposed skin… He winced at the sight.
"Wasn't a dark curse," Ron managed to say with a forced grin. "Hurts like one, though."
Flashes drew Harry's attention, and he almost started casting before he realised that the fireplaces in the Atrium were activating. To his relief, the first one out of them was Moody, a grin on his scarred face and his wand flashing. And, behind the old Auror, more Order members poured out of the fireplace, fanning out.
Not a moment too soon - Dumbledore was standing alone now, the second guard having fallen at his side, and was still facing the Dark Lord and his followers. And behind him, someone was descending the stairs. Harry's eyes widened when he recognised Lucius Malfoy.
"Headmaster! Behind you!" he yelled, as loudly as he could, as he raised his wand - at that distance, any precise spell was likely to miss, and a Blasting Curse would endanger Dumbledore as well. That left a conjured…
But Malfoy was already casting, his wand flashing - and a red spell flew past Dumbledore, towards the Death Eaters' position. Harry gaped.
And the Dark Lord yelled: "Traitor!"
A moment later, Malfoy collapsed, screaming and holding his left arm. Whatever was hurting him let up as soon as Dumbledore took a step forward, though, and sent more spells at the Dark Lord. Once more, the Headmaster's voice rang through the entire Atrium. "Lay down your wands! The Dark Lord's plan was doomed from the start. You are outnumbered and trapped. Surrender and your lives will be spared."
"Sirius!"
Harry glanced to his side. That was Jeanne, rushing towards them, Remus right behind her, as the rest of the Order surged forward.
"Ron!"
And Mrs Weasley! He winced at her expression.
"Mum! I'm OK!" Ron lied.
Harry was about to say that it hadn't been a dark curse when the lift to muggle London vanished in an explosion. He stepped forward, his Shield Charm stopping stone fragments from hitting him or the people behind him, as a dust cloud filled that part of the Atrium.
And then figures on brooms shot out of the cloud. Figures wearing black robes and white masks.
That lift was supposed to have been locked!, Harry thought as he sent a Bludgeoning Charm at the closest broom rider. The spell splashed against the man's Shield Charm, but it was strong enough to push the Death Eater off course - and straight into another Death Eater. Both lost control over their brooms, one crashing and sliding several yards over the marble floor while the other flew into a pillar.
"Taking right!" Ron yelled as he caught that one with a Piercing Curse before the Death Eater, whose shield hadn't survived the impact with the pillar, reached the ground.
Harry hit the other Death Eater with a Cutting Curse just as he was trying to get up and the man collapsed, blood spurting from the stump of his leg. Harry took him out with a Piercing Curse to the head before the man could stop the bleeding.
But at least a dozen Death Eaters were still left, with more coming down the shaft. And half of them were veering around, wands flashing as they aimed at Harry's group while the rest flew towards Voldemort's position.
A wall rose in the air in front of them, courtesy of Sirius, but it started to crumble after a moment as spells slammed into it.
"Above us!" Jeanne yelled as her curse missed a broom rider diving at them.
Harry jumped to the side as the floor near him blew up. Reductor Curse, he thought as he rolled over the floor, his shield dealing with the fragments thrown his way. A Blasting Curse would have been a better choice. Ron cast and missed the Death Eater as well, but Sirius got him with a Flame-Whip Spell that cut the man and his broom in two.
Harry glanced at the rest of the Order. Mrs Weasley was screaming - but she was standing and casting, and didn't seem hurt. Mr Weasley had joined her, his own wand weaving. Remus was near Tonks, casting curses at a Death Eater circling above them. Then the remains of Sirius's wall shattered, and Harry threw himself on the ground as half a dozen curses flew through the resulting dust cloud. He heard a scream behind him, but he couldn't spare the time to check who was it - the Death Eaters were charging.
One was flying straight at him, yelling and casting wildly. Harry clenched his teeth and rose into a crouch as a curse passed over his head and another went wide. His own Piercing Curses didn't miss - the first shattered the man's Shield Charm, the second went through his throat, destroying his mask in the process. The Death Eater's scream turned into a gurgling noise, blood shooting out of his neck as he crashed into the fountain.
But the other Death Eaters were now above him and the rest of the Order and curses started to rain down on them. One spell clipped Harry's shield and only a roll to the side saved him from getting splashed with the green, sizzling liquid - acid or poison - created by the curse.
He rolled and came up with his wand leading, but the Death Eater had already pulled away. It didn't matter - there were plenty of targets in the air. Harry hit another Death Eater with a Piercing Curse, shattering the man's shield, a moment before a fire whip sliced into the man. He fell from his broom, clutching at his side, and didn't get up. Harry hit him with a Cutting Curse anyway - Moody had played possum once too often for Harry to be sloppy.
The Order had rallied and curses started to fill the air, but most had trouble hitting the broom riders. Fortunately, the Death Eaters also had trouble aiming while flying at high speed inside the Atrium.
Unfortunately, Blasting Curses didn't require much precision. Harry saw one curse hit the floor near two older wizards. The explosion left both of them on the ground, unconscious or dead. Another Order member ran screaming through the Atrium towards Harry - no, towards the fountain behind Harry. The wizard's arms seemed to be melting, Harry saw, feeling sick. The man collapsed in front of Harry, his legs starting to liquify as well.
Harry aimed his wand, but he couldn't think of a spell that would help the man. And then the wizard exploded, struck by another Blasting Curse, and Harry was thrown back, his Shield Charm shattering.
He landed hard, bruising his back on some rubble, and came to rest in a puddle - the fountain was leaking. He recast his Shield Charm as he changed position - always stay moving, Moody had taught him - and a curse struck the fountain behind him, shattering the marble basin. Water started to rush out, and Harry had to struggle to stay upright as he returned fire with a few Bludgeoning Curses. He missed the wizard, but the man's frantic evasions caused him to fly into a pillar. That stopped his flight long enough for Harry to hit him with a Cutting Curse that almost cut him in two.
Breathing heavily and fighting nausea, Harry looked around. There were half a dozen Death Eaters left in the air. But a number were guarding the lift shaft - and that had to be closed up to prevent Voldemort from fleeing. They needed… Harry's eyes widened. Sirius was on the ground, Jeanne kneeling next to him, sheltered by a crumbling stone wall, waving her wand.
He started to run towards his godfather, barely remembering to weave as he ran to present a difficult target. Sirius had to be alive!
"Harry! Duck!"
Harry dropped to the ground as soon as he heard Ron yelling, and a yellow curse barely missed his head, covering the ground in front of him with yellow goo - yellow moving goo that left a smoking trail as it started to flow towards him.
He rolled to the side and on to his back, sending a spell up at whoever was behind him - missing the Death Eater, who pulled up - then jumped up. Ron stood next to him, sending more curses at the Death Eater, but the man was a good flyer. Not as good as Harry, but better than most of the Death Eaters in the Atrium. He evaded Harry and Ron's curses with seeming ease, even if doing so prevented him from casting himself.
And Sirius still needed their help! Harry sent another curse upwards, missing again. He was tempted to use his power, but he couldn't. He had to save it for Voldemort. Had to wait until Dumbledore gave the signal.
"I'll box him in!" Ron yelled and started to cast a volley of hexes. The Death Eater didn't even bother dodging them, though, and let his shield absorb them. He was very good.
And he was casting at them again. Harry and Ron jumped to the side to evade the man's Blasting Curse that left a crater in the marble floor big enough to swallow a half-giant. Harry cursed under his breath and stuck his hand into his enchanted pocket. "I'm going up!" he yelled.
But before he could pull out his own broom, the Death Eater started to scream as multiple gashes appeared on his body. He kept screaming as he lost control of his broom, flailing wildly as his body became covered with cuts. Sectumsempra, Harry realised - a dark curse popular with Death Eaters in the last war, Moody had told him. But who would...
"Don't just stand there gaping, Potter!" he heard a familiar and hated voice. Snape! "We need to seal up that shaft!"
There was the Potions Master, his usual sneer on his face. "Move!" he bellowed.
Harry didn't want to - but Snape was right. They had to close the hole, or Voldemort might be able to escape. He still glanced at Sirius. Mrs Weasley was there as well. And her husband.
Hating himself, Harry followed Snape, Ron at his side, and ran towards the handful of Death Eaters guarding the hole where the lift to muggle London had been.
*****
Hermione Granger was about to leave the attic when she heard a chime behind her. She froze - had she made a mistake and triggered an alarm charm? It was coming from a plaque she had checked earlier. One of the spells controlling the lifts. Clenching her teeth, she cast a quick charm on the door to warn her of anyone opening it and hurried back.
It was the spell controlling the lift to muggle London. She tapped her mask to check it, then cursed - the entire spell was gone. But that wouldn't happen unless… Unless the lift was gone. Someone must have destroyed it. But would that mean that the shaft had collapsed, or was it still open? And what could she do to check that?
Rush down to the Atrium? Her allies would mistake her for a Death Eater, and the Death Eaters would curse her anyway. Dig a hole through the wall facing the lift? She might be able to reach the shaft that way, but… that would take quite some time. She bit her lower lip. She couldn't simply do nothing, could she? Dumbledore had said that that lift was taken care of, but…
"Two, I need some help."
Mr Fletcher's voice interrupted her thoughts. She tapped her mask. "What happened? Where are you?"
"Wizengamot Level. Runcorn was in his office. I took him out, but he got me with a curse. Can't use my leg, and there are Aurors outside."
She drew a hissing breath. He couldn't reach the fireplace they were supposed to take to flee, then. That left… "Can you reach Dumbledore's office?" she asked as she ran back to the stairs. The fireplace there was an alternative means of escape.
"Not without a distraction," came the terse reply.
"You'll have one!" she said as she opened the door. She didn't bother with dropping a potion to the floor to change the colour of her fur. There was no time to be wasted.
A second later, a brown cat was racing down the stairs.
*****
There were six of them, split into two groups - four forming a half-circle around the hole, rubble, probably enlarged, from the explosion serving as cover, and two behind the closest pillar - setting up a crossfire, Harry Potter realised.
Not the best odds, even with the other Order members behind Harry providing covering fire. He forced the thought away - there was no room for doubt when charging an enemy. He started to weave as he ran towards the pillar, Ron behind him.
Snape cursed - Harry's change of course had forced the Potions Master to fall behind both him and Ron - but Harry didn't pay attention to him. They could deal with the two Death Eaters there and then flank the others. And running at that angle they would provide a harder target for the enemy's main force.
Several curses flew past them. A Blasting Curse blew up part of a bench, but the splinters and rock fragments were deflected by their Shield Charms. The two Death Eaters by the pillar stepped out from behind their cover to cast - they had a better angle; Harry was charging at them - but they cast hastily and their aim was bad. The first two curses went wide. Harry caught the wizard on the right with a Bludgeoning Curse that clipped the man's Shield Charm and forced him to stumble back a few steps, interrupting his next curse as well. Exposed like that and off-balance, he was an easy target. Ron's Piercing Curse shattered his shield, and Harry's Cutting Curse sliced off the Death Eater's wand arm and half of his face.
The other Death Eater was clutching his belly as he collapsed, coughing up blood - a whole lot of blood. Probably another dark curse from Snape, Harry thought as he threw himself behind the pillar, rolling over his shoulder and ending up in a crouch at the edge of his new cover - and close to the still twitching Death Eater he had killed.
He cast a Bubble-Head Charm and took a few deep breaths. "Ready."
"Ready," Ron said behind him.
"What are you waiting for?" Snape complained.
Harry tried to ignore the man's complaints. Snape hadn't been trained by Moody, unlike Ron and himself. "Let's go!" he yelled, going low around the pillar and casting a Blasting Curse at the closest Death Eater near the lift shaft. He didn't hit the man, but the heap of rubble serving as the enemy's cover blew up nicely, and the cloud of dust thrown up covered the area long enough for Harry and Ron - and Snape - to dash over the open ground between them and the Death Eaters.
Harry reached the rubble first and ducked, keeping his wand aimed upwards. Ron fell in at his side. Snape arrived a second later, as the cloud was starting to settle. "OK, we're going..." Harry started.
"Save it!" Snape hissed. "I have just the potion for this." He pulled out a vial from his dark robes and threw it over the rubble. Screaming followed. "Stay away from the purple smoke!" the Potions Master said with the cruellest smile Harry had ever seen on his ugly face.
He crawled up on the rubble and peered over it, then swallowed. A purple cloud covered most of the floor in front of the hole leading to the lift shaft. Two Death Eaters were on the ground at its edges, screaming and jerking as they held their legs. Two more were backing away. "Taking left!" Harry said and flicked his wand, casting three Piercing Curses at the closest enemy. Two of them hit and the man went down with a hole in his chest. Ron's Cutting Curse was stopped by a hastily cast Shield Charm, but Snape killed the man a second later with a Reductor Curse to the head.
"Now let's seal this up!" Snape said, flicking his wand and turning the rubble on this side into a ramp which he slid down. "Don't touch the smoke!" he said and dispatched the two Death Eaters on the ground with a Piercing Curse each.
"I'm not feeling suicidal," Harry heard Ron mutter as the two of them climbed over the rubble and followed Snape. Up close, Harry saw that the legs of the two Death Eaters looked as if they had rotted off - robes, flesh and bones. He swallowed, glad for his Bubble-Head Charm.
Then he caught movement in the air above - someone was flying towards them. "Above us!" he shouted, throwing himself to the ground behind the closest heap of rubble. And he froze - if the Death Eater used a Blasting Curse and hit Snape's rotting smoke…
"Wall! We need walls!" he yelled, conjuring one behind him.
Ron cursed as he followed Harry's example, despite the green curses - Killing Curses - the broom rider cast at them.
Snape sent curses of his own at the attacker, but the man evaded them with a roll. Another curse hit the wall behind Harry, showering him and Ron with splinters. He clenched his teeth - they were in a really bad spot there, caught between Killing Curses from above and a poison cloud behind them. They were very fortunate that their attacker was much better at flying than at aiming.
"Can you neutralise the smoke?" he yelled, hoping Snape could hear him. Then he had to roll to the side when two more curses struck the rubble in front of him. Ron managed to drive the broom-riding Death Eater off with a few hastily cast curses, but Harry could see the man turning round in a skilled evasive manoeuvre. A very familiar manoeuvre, actually. One that Harry had seen numerous times on the pitch.
"Flint," he spat, as he raised his wand. If this was the former Slytherin Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, then he would add another roll before pulling to the left. Harry stabbed his wand forward and let loose with a Cutting Curse.
The Death Eater flew straight into it and the curse cut his broom in half. He screamed until he smashed head-first into the marble floor.
"Nice shot!" Ron said, looking around for another attacker.
"Stop congratulating yourselves!" Snape snapped. "We have a shaft to seal!"
Harry peered around the remains of the wall he had conjured and saw that the purple smoke was gone.
"Yes, it's gone. I designed it to render itself inert after half a minute. Now stop dawdling!" Snape sneered at him. "We havARGH!" He clutched his left arm, doubling over. "The potion stopped…" he spat through clenched teeth as he stumbled through the rubble, exposing himself. "Have to…"
Snape never finished his sentence - a Killing Curse hit him in the chest and he collapsed. Harry whirled around. Who had… He froze. Voldemort had moved, and now had a clear line of sight to him and Ron.
*****
Hermione Granger hissed as she closed in on the Atrium and heard the screams and explosions from the battle raging there. The battle in which her friends were fighting for their lives. Harry. Ron. Sirius and Jeanne. The battle she wasn't joining. Couldn't join. She rounded a corner, her claws ripping into the carpet, allowing her to keep running as fast as she could manage, and had a clear line of sight into the Atrium. And to the dead Hit-Wizard lying on the stairs in a pool of his blood.
The stench of blood - and worse - filled her nose as she jumped over the corpse, landing on a patch of carpet slick with blood. Spells were flashing in the Atrium, screams reached her ears, but she ducked her head and sped on, towards the corner that would provide her with cover. Mr Fletcher needed her.
Another spell slammed into the wall above her - a stray curse, or so she hoped. A glance didn't show anyone aiming at her, but between the rubble, the huge stone wave blocking most of the middle of the Atrium, and the smoke rising everywhere, it was hard to tell. She pressed on, darting around the corner, down the next flight of stairs. Safe. For the moment.
She slowed down slightly, resisting the urge to stop and clean her paws, even though she was leaving bloody prints behind her. Another corner. And another. Then she heard footsteps. Many footsteps. She skidded to a stop, her claws ripping up the carpet, and reversed direction, dashing up to the next floor. She had to hide before she was spotted. A door was open, and she darted into the hallway behind it, then hid behind a potted plant, making herself as small and harmless-looking as possible. Just a cute cat scared by all the noise.
The footsteps reached her floor - and went past. "Rufus! Take your group and head to the gallery. We'll need covering fire."
"Yes, ma'am!"
That meant the footsteps were Aurors rushing upwards. She raised her head to peer through the foliage. A witch in dark robes stood at the entrance, her back to Hermione. She recognised the voice from her visits to the Wizengamot: Amelia Bones. "John, take two and check this floor for any intruders or traitors."
"Yes, ma'am!"
Dawlish! She bared her teeth. That dolt!
Bones went on: "The rest of you - with me. Don't attack anyone not wearing Death Eater garments unless you're attacked first!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
Hermione saw more Aurors, and some Hit-Wizards in their grey robes, charge upwards, then ducked down when she saw Dawlish step into the hallway. Had he seen her? She tensed, waiting. She would either have to play the harmless cat or make a break for it. Dawlish would probably curse a cute cat on principle; he was just so stupid. She eyed the closest door anyway as she pressed herself into the space between the planter and the wall.
But Dawlish and his two stooges didn't spot her as they trampled past, wands out as they looked for enemies in an empty hallway. Hermione waited a moment, then darted out from behind the planter and on to the stairs. She had her mentor to rescue.
A few more flights later, she reached the Wizengamot's floor. She stopped on the last stair. Mr Fletcher would be in Runcorn's office. But there were Aurors and Hit-Wizards in the entrance hall. She crept forward, her belly almost dragging over the floor, then peered around the corner.
The door to the floor was closed. Once more, she hissed in frustration. That would… actually make it easier for her, since she could take their original escape route afterwards. She crept back, then changed and tapped her mask behind the ear. "I'm outside the entrance to your floor. Be ready."
"Ready," came the terse reply. Mr Fletcher sounded tense - tenser than expected. Either the Aurors were getting close, or he was hurt worse than he had admitted. She tapped a small button on her mask, and her field of vision filled with dazzling colours as she perceived the spells in the area. The floor and walls were reinforced and protected against detection spells. Standard procedure. The door had the same spells, anchored to it, but there were new spells on it as well. An alarm charm, no, two of them - trickier than expected. And some spells to render the door impervious to various attacks. The Wizengamot's guards apparently knew their business.
But she also knew hers. Better, even. Grinning, she pulled out a small metal box from her pocket and threw it forwards. It came to a stop at the door, and, with a flick of her wand, she dispelled the Shrinking Charm on it. Then she focused on the spells on the floor. Where was the…? There! She quickly dealt with the Anti-Fire Charm - it wasn't a ward, and a tad sloppily cast - and a Cutting Charm sliced the jerry can open a moment later, spilling napalm on to the floor.
She grinned as she set it ablaze. That should serve as a distraction. She stepped back and tapped her mask again. "Distraction started."
"I can hear them yelling. What did you do? Set fire to the place?"
"Yes." It was only the Wizengamot, after all.
He scoffed but didn't berate her for the collateral damage. A minute later, she heard him again. "I'm in Dumbledore's office now. Get out yourself."
"Will do," she answered, and changed again. She had a fireplace to reach, and cats were smaller targets than thieves.
*****
Harry Potter threw himself to the floor, behind the remaining rubble barricade. A reddish curse missed him by what felt like inches, and he had barely recast his Shield Charm and rolled to the side - Moody had taught him to change position as soon as he broke the line of sight - when the rubble exploded and propelled him further to the right and backwards.
He heard Ron curse, so his friend was still alive, but he couldn't see much in the smoke and dust thrown up by the Blasting Curse. He scrambled on his elbows and knees, crawling further to his right, towards the closest pillar. If he could get better cover…
A gust of wind swept the dust away, and Harry stopped five yards short. Five yards without cover. He crawled back a few more yards, then conjured a wall linking the rubble and the pillar.
A moment later, the wall and part of the rubble in front of him turned into a green liquid that splashed on the ground. Harry cursed and scrambled further back. "Don't take cover inside any craters!" he yelled to Ron. "Poison on the floor!"
"Bloody hell!"
Harry crawled forward, then peered over the rubble. Voldemort was almost in the centre of the Atrium now, but Dumbledore had him hemmed in with several transfigured and animated figures, as well as a near-constant barrage of spells. But the Headmaster looked hurt - his robes were torn, and he was limping, and… Harry couldn't tell if that was blood on Dumbledore or just some daring pattern.
"Reinforcements!"
Ron's yell made him look to his left. Aurors and Hit-Wizards were rushing from the stairs into the Atrium. And more of the red and grey robes appeared in the gallery above. Harry smiled - more than a dozen more wands, and the Death Eaters were down to half a dozen in the air and half that number on the ground. And Voldemort.
Then one of the Aurors pointed his wand upwards and blew the gallery apart from below. Harry gasped as several Aurors were thrown clear and fell down on to the marble floor.
"Bloody traitors!" Ron cursed as the Aurors and Hit-Wizards started to curse each other.
Whatever he was yelling was suddenly drowned out by a cacophony of shouts and screams - right next to Harry!
"Attack!"
"Bite!"
"Bite!"
"Charge!"
"Bite!"
"Feed!"
"Get them!"
Harry threw himself back, rolling over his shoulder and ignoring the pain from several sharp rock fragments digging into his back, and ended in a crouch, his wand aimed forward. What was… Snakes! Dozens of snakes were swarming over the barrier. "Snakes!" he yelled. "Watch out!"
To his surprise, the snakes stopped and looked around. His connection - they thought he was Voldemort! "Leave this room! Hide! Don't bite anyone!" Harry yelled at them. When they obeyed and slithered away, he relaxed.
"Merlin's beard, Harry!"
Ron was staring at him.
"What?" Harry asked.
"You…"
Ron couldn't finish his sentence as the ground between them suddenly turned into a giant snake made of marble. Its coils started to thrash around, and only Harry's shield saved him from being crushed. He was pushed to the side instead.
Ron wasn't as lucky - the stone snake's tail whipped around and flung him into the wall behind them, his shield shattering upon impact.
Harry was about to get up, but the snake darted forward, maw opening as if it wanted to swallow him whole. Harry rolled to the side and hit the snake's gaping mouth with a Reductor Curse that blew up a yard-long fang but didn't seem to do much more damage.
And the bloody thing was as fast as it was tough. Harry managed to scramble to his feet just in time to dodge the snake's next strike. He rolled over his shoulder and came up running. A glance over his shoulder showed that the snake's remaining fang was stuck in the floor. He sent a Blasting Curse at its neck, but his aim was spoiled when the snake's tail whipped towards him.
It clipped his shield, shattering it, and slammed his left arm into his side, sending him sprawling on to the ground, his breath knocked out of him. He rolled to his right, then screamed when his left arm erupted in pain. Broken, he realised - he was familiar with the feeling from training. He flicked his wand, numbing his arm as he pushed himself to his feet. He had to keep moving, had to get away from the snake.
Another Blasting Curse blew the tip of its tail off when it pulled back for another blow - Ron! Harry's friend was on the floor, but could still cast. More spells impacted on the snake, blowing craters into its body. Tonks and Remus!
It wasn't enough, though. Not nearly enough. The snake was too massive, too tough. And too fast. Harry was still running to his right, trying to reach the closest pillar, when it ripped its fang out of the floor and reared its head up for a strike. At him.
He changed course, but the tail was whipping towards him from behind. He couldn't dodge both parts of the snake. He tried, anyway, recasting his Shield Charm, knowing it wouldn't be enough, felt his mother's power surge inside him, knowing it would be too late…
...and the snake vanished before it reached him. Harry was frozen for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest, then whipped his head around. Dumbledore! The Headmaster had managed to dispel Voldemort's spell!
But it had cost him, Harry realised. Dumbledore was turning, still, to face Voldemort again, but Harry saw the Headmaster's floating metal and stone shields shatter under a hail of curses from the Dark Lord.
Harry raised his wand. Dumbledore had told him to wait for his signal, but he couldn't wait any longer. He had to intervene!
He was too slow, though. While he was still aiming, still gathering the power dwelling inside him, he saw the Headmaster look at him, smile, even - and saw him get hit by Voldemort's Killing Curse.
And, a moment later, Harry collapsed to the ground, screaming and feeling as if someone had driven a searing hot spike through his forehead. Blood ran down his face, half-blinding him, as he rocked back, reeling as if from a blow.
Shaking his head, he wiped the blood from his face, then staggered to his feet, his broken, numbed arm dangling uselessly at his side. Dumbledore was dead! He clenched his teeth, panting, as his good eye searched for Voldemort.
But when he saw the Dark Lord thrashing on the ground, when he heard him screaming in agony, Harry smiled. And understood what Dumbledore had done.
He felt his mother's power swell inside him. Gathered it as he raised his wand and pointed it at her murderer. Focused it as he took a step forward, then another, blood running down his face and dripping on to the floor. Trembling, he pulled his arm back, muttered the incantation, then stabbed his wand forward, towards Voldemort, releasing the power.
The Dark Lord had managed to get to his knees, raising his own wand, when Harry's spell hit him in the chest and his head was thrown back. Harry kept screaming, kept his wand aimed at the Dark Lord as his enemy howled.
Voldemort didn't bleed. Didn't break. Didn't burn. And didn't stop howling as he slowly turned to dust. Harry saw his arms disappear, vanishing in a trail of scattering motes, followed by his legs. Voldemort's torso started to topple over, but faded in mid-motion, and, finally, an instant before it would have crashed to the floor, his head turned to dust as well, and his screams cut off.
Harry stood there, panting, his throat aching, and looked around. There were still Death Eaters around. Traitors. People were still fighting. Ron was on his knees, trying to stand. Sirius was still down. He couldn't see Remus.
Suddenly, a voice, magically enhanced, filled the Atrium. "The Dark Lord has fallen! The Boy-Who-Lived has vanquished him! Throw down your wands and surrender, and your lives will be spared!"
A familiar voice.
Lucius Malfoy.
*****
Chapter 28: Decisions
Starfox5
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Chapter 28: Decisions
Hogsmeade, January 3rd, 1997
Alastor Moody stopped a hundred yards away from the inn and scanned the area. The building's walls blocked his enchanted eye - which was what he had expected. That didn't mean it wasn't a trap, of course. His enemies would expect him to expect a trap, and to know that the inn was normally warded to block his sight. A truly cunning enemy, of course, would expect that, and plan accordingly.
Not that there were many such enemies left. And after yesterday, the number of wizards who could both best him in battle and were cunning enough to out-think him had shrunk even further. And the scumbag owning the Hog's Head Inn wasn't on that list, no matter how highly the old goat thought of himself.
Although Albus's brother might not know that and might even try to settle their differences, now that Albus was dead. Alastor narrowed his good eye. He'd be inside the man's wards. On the other hand, the scumbag would know that Alastor would be prepared for an ambush. And, as loathsome as the man was, he had some loyalty towards the other criminals frequenting his dive.
So, while it wasn't actually safe to enter the inn, the risk was acceptable. And Alastor had to talk to the scumbag. He owed it to Albus.
He slowly made his way over to the shabby inn's door - any enemy watching would assume his peg leg gave him more trouble, especially in the wet snow, than was the case. Any stupid enemy, at least - smarter enemies would know that he wouldn't settle for a simple peg leg when he had replaced his missing eye with a much improved artificial one.
His wand twitched when he spotted movement behind him. Two figures. A wizard and a witch. Acting like a couple. If they did something threatening… but they didn't. Just a couple out for an afternoon stroll. Locals. Or that was what they wanted him to think. A quick scan showed nothing suspicious beneath their robes, but that, too, would be expected from cunning foes. He kept his eye on them until they were out of range.
He had reached the entrance in the meantime. He narrowed his normal eye at the sounds from inside. Some song in the background, and voices nearby. Perfectly normal - which would be the best cover for an ambush. But they wouldn't really expect him to simply walk in, would they?
He snorted and, with a flick of his wand, pushed the door open with enough force to almost tear it off its hinges as it slammed into the wall.
He grinned at the scum inside, knowing they both recognised and feared him. Half of them had jumped up and were ready to bolt. The other half had drawn their wands. He scoffed. "I'm not here for you. Not today," he said as he stepped inside. His grin told the criminals what would happen should they try anything.
No one did. Most didn't even move while he slowly walked towards the bar, the sound of his peg leg striking the wooden floor ringing through the room. Guttersnipes and whores, the lot of them.
Albus's brother was the only one who didn't look nervous. The man looked mad. He had his wand ready, too, as Alastor spotted through the counter. But he wouldn't start a fight. Not with so many of his 'friends' nearby. So Alastor grinned. "Afternoon."
"You're not welcome here," came the snarled response.
"I don't give a damn," Alastor retorted. "I don't want to be here anyway." Unless it was with an Auror squad raiding the place. Or even Hit-Wizards. Their usual collateral damage would only improve the place, and no Aurors would be at risk. "You know why I've come."
The other wizard snorted but didn't deny it. He didn't offer Alastor a seat. Not that such an offer would have been accepted, anyway - much too dangerous. Alastor raised his wand, ignoring how Albus's brother tensed and gripped his own wand, and slowly cast a privacy spell. It wouldn't do to let anyone, much less the scum in this inn, overhear them.
"If you've come to offer me your condolences, don't bother," the man spat.
Alastor snorted. "I know better than that." The man wouldn't shed a tear over Albus's death. "He left you a note, didn't he?"
"I burned it."
"Did you read it?" Alastor squinted at the man.
Albus's brother sneered but didn't answer.
"You did." Alastor chuckled, slowly. "He knew how to word it, didn't he?"
Albus's brother scoffed. "If he had known how to lead as well as he could speak, your Order might not have lost so many people. At least he had the decency to die as well. This time."
Alastor glared at him. As if the scumbag had any idea about fighting a war, much less leading people in battle! "It was a good plan. Lured the bugger into a trap, which was sprung as planned. That the Dark Lord had a few wands up his sleeve about which he didn't tell our spy was to be expected as well." He wouldn't mention that there had been traitors in the Corps as well. Not to scum like this man.
"He's dead; sucking up to him won't get you anything any more." The man sneered, worse than Malfoy. "He buggered things up, as usual. He just had to assume no one was as clever as him. He should have been prepared for the attack through the muggle entrance. The battle would have been over before the traitors arrived, if that lift had been better protected."
The man was very well informed, Alastor had to admit. Someone had talked to him already. "Couldn't spare the wands for that. Too many cowards in Britain, you know."
Albus's brother clenched his teeth at the barb. "Not enough idiots doing his bidding, you mean. Not enough curse-fodder for his plans."
"That 'curse-fodder' fought and died for everyone in Britain." He wouldn't let the scumbag besmirch their memory. Alastor stared at the man. "And Albus sacrificed himself." A perfectly ambiguous wording. Nothing to incriminate either Albus or Potter. Almost everyone would assume Alastor was talking about Albus exposing himself to a lethal attack as he saved the Boy-Who-Lived.
Judging by the man's glare, Albus's brother knew what he really meant, though. "He was a hypocrite to the end. Using blood magic for his goals!"
"He sacrificed himself to deal with the worst dark magic I've seen so far," Alastor corrected the bugger. "Rendered the Dark Lord mortal."
"And then had a kid kill him." Albus's brother scoffed. "Couldn't even arrange for one of you lot to do the deed? Had to use Potter for it?"
"Potter was Plan B. If Albus's sacrifice hadn't been enough, he might have been able to do it."
"Did anyone bother to tell him that?"
"Didn't matter. There was no time to check. And Potter had to act quickly while the bugger was still hurting." Alastor had been too far away to kill the Dark Lord. Most of the Order wouldn't have tried even if they had been nearby. Not after seeing Dumbledore fall. Potter had been the only one ready.
"And did it work?"
"Yes." Alastor slowly nodded. He had checked the diary as soon as he had managed to get away from the Ministry. Which meant Albus's other contingency plans wouldn't have to be enacted. Like the letter Albus's brother had received.
"Good. There's no need for you to be here any longer, then." The other wizard looked at the door.
"There's no need for anything of what we talked about to be mentioned, ever," Alastor said, staring at him.
The other wizard didn't look away. He had guts, at least. "It's not as if anyone would believe me. Albus died saving the Boy-Who-Lived, who then took down the Dark Lord with righteous anger. The sheep will eat it up and crucify anyone who dares to tell them that their hero wasn't perfect!"
"De mortuis nil nisi bonum." Alastor smiled. "As long as you remember that, we'll get along fine."
"Get out!"
Alastor nodded and left. One loose end tied up.
Hogwarts, January 3rd, 1997
Harry Potter rubbed his left arm as he sat at Sirius's bed in the infirmary at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey had healed his broken bones easily, but he still felt them itch, or twinge, when he focused on them, no matter how often the nurse claimed it was his imagination.
Which wasn't very often, actually. Not with so many wounded Order members in need of help. And those were just the ones Pomfrey could treat. Not the ones who had been struck with dark curses. Those were in St Mungo's - if they were still alive.
He hunched over. Too many had been killed in the Battle of the Ministry, as the Daily Prophet was calling it. Order members, Aurors, Hit-Wizards. Snape. And employees who had been unlucky enough to catch a stray curse while trying to flee.
He looked at Sirius. His godfather was still unconscious. Which was good - he wouldn't be feeling the pain from the Skele-Gro regrowing half his bones. His skin looked a little patchy; the newly grown parts not matching the slight tan of the rest. And his hair was such a mess, half of it burned, it made Hermione's 'morning mane' look good. But he was alive, and he would recover. In time. A few days, maybe a week, Pomfrey had said.
"Mate!"
That was Ron! Harry whirled around and put a finger to his lips. "Shush!" He nodded towards the other side of Sirius's bed, where Jeanne was sleeping in a rather awkward position, half on her seat, half on Sirius's pillow.
Ron snorted but didn't yell further as he limped over to them, wincing when he stepped on his healed leg. His skin looked better than Sirius's - he hadn't been tanned even a little and was naturally pale. In a quiet tone, he asked. "Did you read the Prophet?"
Harry pointed at the wastebasket in the corner.
"Ah." Ron scoffed. "Anyone reading that shite would think that Malfoy had personally defeated Voldemort." He looked around, then frowned.
"It wasn't that bad," Harry corrected him. "But the article certainly pays a lot of attention to him 'bravely risking his life and soul' to lure the Dark Lord into Dumbledore's trap."
"Dumbledore's and yours," Ron said, conjuring a chair for himself as he sat down with a relieved sigh.
Harry shrugged. "It was his plan, and his trap." And his sacrifice. The Headmaster must have copied the ritual of Harry's mother. "I just was lucky enough to be in a position to take out Voldemort." He sighed. "How's your family?"
"Fine." Ron blinked. "I mean, they're well. Mum wasn't really hurt, Dad's been healed already, Percy apparently wasn't even in danger - he's back at the Ministry, but he was at breakfast at home. Bill's a little roughed up but wasn't at The Burrow. Apparently, he has a girlfriend. Mum's ticked off that he didn't say anything."
"Good." Harry hadn't thought that the Weasleys had been seriously hurt, but you never really knew. "I mean about them being fine. Not about your mum being angry."
"I know what you mean." Ron chuckled. "She was very unhappy with me. What about your family?"
"Sirius'll need a few more days to recover." He had told Ron that yesterday already. "Jeanne's alright, just a few bruises. Remus and Tonks…" He bit his lower lip. "They're at St Mungo's. Last I heard they should recover." Should. You never knew. "And Hermione is mad at me." Relieved and happy, as well - her hug when he had headed to Grimmauld Place to tell her what had happened had almost broken bones, Harry thought.
Ron winced. "Really?"
"Yes." Harry nodded. "Said she needed to calm down before visiting, or she'd hex the lot of us."
His friend laughed. "At least she's safe. Luna cried, you know," he said in a lower voice.
"Oh?" Harry was surprised - Ron was fine, after all.
"Yes. She was at The Burrow as well." Ron sighed. "She wanted to visit as well, but McGonagall and Moody limited visitors to Order members and their family." He shook his head. "They are afraid of attacks by desperate Death Eaters. Like after the last war."
On Neville's parents, Harry thought. He nodded. "I hope they don't try to keep Hermione out." That would probably drive her into a rage.
Ron chuckled. "McGonagall wouldn't. Besides, she's an Order member, right?"
Harry nodded. "Right." He leaned back. "I just wish Sirius was awake. He could do something to counter Malfoy."
"Dad's working on that," Ron said. "Percy too. And you're the Boy-Who-Lived. Even Malfoy can't do much against the vanquisher of Voldemort."
Harry sighed. He hoped that he wouldn't have to use his fame like that. Malfoy had been Dumbledore's spy, after all, so he had been on the Order's side. He blinked. "Do you think Malfoy is an Order member as well?"
"Bloody hell, I hope he doesn't visit!"
Harry nodded in agreement.
After about a minute, Ron said: "Hey - how did Romilda react?"
Harry froze. He had completely forgotten about his girlfriend!
London, Greenwich, January 3rd, 1997
Hermione Granger knew something wasn't right as soon as she entered her tutor's flat. There was a faint but distinct smell of… rotten meat? Clenching her teeth, she closed the door and drew her wand. "It's me."
"I know," came Mr Fletcher's answer from his bedroom. If he were under duress, he'd have said something else - not that she suspected something like that. Still, she kept her wand drawn as she pushed the door, which was only angled, open. Then she hissed.
Mr Fletcher was on his bed, half sitting up. He waved, but she didn't pay attention - she was staring at his left leg instead, which ended between his knee and ankle, the stump wrapped in bandages. And the smell…
Her head snapped up to glare at him. "You didn't tell me you were cursed that badly!"
He shrugged, smiling - though she could see how he forced himself to do so. "Wouldn't have done any good. You had to go back home as soon as possible, and I managed to stop the curse from rotting my leg off."
"By cutting off your own foot?" she asked, realising as she spoke that it wasn't as absurd as she had thought. Then he nodded, confirming it, and she felt ill.
"There was no choice." He shrugged.
"You need to be in St Mungo's!" The leg needed to be treated. To be regrown. What if it was infected?
He scoffed. "They can't do anything - it was a dark curse."
"There are counter-curses!" Hermione retorted.
"Yeah. But I had to cut it off since I wouldn't have been able to get help in time. And there's no counter-curse for that." He shrugged.
"But… torn limbs can be regrown."
"Not when dark curses are involved. That's pretty much the definition of dark magic. One of them, at least." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Besides, it's my own fault - I shouldn't have underestimated Runcorn. I should have been faster, too. I'm getting old."
"But if you cut it off, then that wasn't done by a dark curse." Hermione bit her lower lip as she pondered this. "That should be treatable."
"Not with magic. And muggle medicine can't make limbs regrow." He shook his head. "Let it rest. I won't die, and I know a Healer who'll treat this without asking questions."
"What? Why won't you go to…" Hermione started.
He interrupted her by holding up his hand. "I can't go to St Mungo's. The Healers would report such a curse. And then the Aurors would investigate - a dark curse means a dark wizard attack. And given the timing, they'd know that I was involved in the battle in the Ministry. At the very least, they would realise that I'm an Order member. And I would rather do without such scrutiny. Or such a reputation."
"But you could go to Hogwarts! Sirius's there!" And Harry and Ron - who still thought she was mad at them for making her stay at home while they fought. Well, she was - but not as much as they thought. Not that she had actually stayed at home.
He scoffed. "Poppy's a good nurse, but she can't do anything my acquaintance can't do as well."
"And is your 'acquaintance' also more trustworthy than her?" Hermione asked.
"Not really. But he'll assume that I was on the wrong side of the battle if I'm coming to him and not to a respectable Healer. And that means no one in Knockturn Alley will connect me to the Order." He coughed. "Well, Fletcher, at least."
"And Smith?" Hermione frowned. "As you said, the timing for Smith to lose a foot is suspicious."
He grinned, but it looked forced again - he didn't succeed in hiding his pain, she thought. "That's why Smith will have returned to the New World after the New Year's Ball. And there, in his old home country, he'll have run afoul of a dark wizard. I'll have a new story to tell once I'm officially back in England in a month or two." He closed his eyes. "It's for the best."
She bit her lower lip to avoid yelling at him. He was wrong. And yet, she didn't know what to say to convince him. Going to some shady Healer in Knockturn Alley… "Will you leave the country?"
He shook his head without opening his eyes. "Just stay out of Wizarding Britain. I still have to tutor you, after all."
"Thank you." She smiled, both feeling relieved that she wouldn't lose her tutor and ashamed of her selfishness in the face of his crippling injury.
"Of course," he said, "you'll have to stop doing heists until you've finished your training."
Hermione gasped. "What do you mean?"
He looked at her. "Without two good feet, I won't be able to come along on the kind of heists you're planning. And you're not good enough, yet, to do them by yourself. And Black won't be any help anyway."
She almost mentioned Moody - Harry and Ron's trainer had a peg leg, and it hadn't slowed him down much, if at all, judging by Harry's stories. But Mr Fletcher knew that as well.
So she nodded. "Let's get you to your 'acquaintance' then!"
"Once you're properly disguised." He grinned - and, for the first time today, it didn't seem forced. "A guttersnipe like Fletcher doesn't know pretty witches. So, rags and Polyjuice Potion."
She grimaced at the thought of looking ugly - and dirty, which was even worse! She was a cat, not a hag!
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1997
Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of his home. He had to work on that. If Voldemort had been waiting right in the Atrium, Harry would have been an easy target. Maybe he could spend a day not doing anything other than using the Floo Network to travel around over and over until he figured out how to 'just keep walking', as Sirius called it.
He smiled at the thought - Sirius had woken up. Harry's godfather was in pain from the Skele-Gro, and he still looked like he had lost a battle with a flock of Bludgers, but he was awake and would be fine in a few days.
Harry looked around. No one greeted him. He pressed his lips together, briefly debating whether or not he should call Romilda. Shaking his head, he headed to the stairs. Hermione first. He sighed as he made his way up to the first floor. He had hurt her by not allowing her to accompany him to the Ministry, but it had been for the best. If she had been in that battle… Harry shuddered at the thought of her getting hurt, or worse.
He reached her door - it wasn't closed; there was a gap of about five inches - and knocked. "Hermione?" When there was no answer, he slowly pushed the door open. "Hermione?" Was she giving him 'the silent treatment', as Sirius had called it? No, the only occupant of the room was Crookshanks, who was occupying her bed and staring at him as if he were an intruder.
Harry stared back. He had faced and defeated Voldemort; a cat, half-Kneazle or not, simply didn't measure up. The fat monster sniffed and went back to napping, but somehow made him feel as if he didn't measure up. There was a reason he didn't like the animal. At least Hermione's other cat wasn't as arrogant.
Shaking his head, he left Hermione's room to check Sirius's study and the library.
She wasn't in either of those rooms. Where was she? He blinked, then sighed. "Kreacher!"
After a minute, the little elf stepped out of the servant's passage hidden inside the wall. "Yes, young master?"
"Do you know where Hermione is?"
"Master's servant told me to tell you that she went out to 'clear her head'."
"Couldn't you have told me that when I arrived?"
"Young master didn't ask." Kreacher showed his teeth as he smiled, not bothering to hide his amusement.
Harry refrained from trying to correct the elf - he knew it wouldn't achieve anything. Kreacher had served the Black family for almost two hundred years and was very set in his ways. And Harry suspected that Hermione had told the elf not to tell him unless asked. "Did she say when she would be back?"
"No."
He sighed. "Thank you."
The elf vanished through the concealed door, presumably to return to his duties, and Harry shook his head. If he couldn't talk to Hermione, then that left Romilda. Or maybe he could check if there was any news about Remus and Tonks.
The alert informing him that someone wanted to enter the house through the Floo Network interrupted his thoughts. He rushed to the entrance hall. Had something happened to Sirius? Or Remus? Tonks?
He knelt down at the fireplace, throwing a pinch of Floo Powder into the flames. "Yes?"
"Potter? Can I come through?"
Moody. At least it sounded like him. "What did you tell me when I left the Ministry?"
He heard the old Auror chuckle. "That you shouldn't tell anyone what Albus did."
Harry nodded, even though no one could see him, then stood and tapped the fireplace with his wand. "Come through," he said, not lowering his wand and taking a few steps back and to the side.
A moment later, Moody stepped out of the flames. Even with a peg leg, the man didn't so much as miss a step, Harry noticed with some envy.
Moody nodded at Harry's wand, aimed at the Auror. "Good to see you haven't picked up bad habits just because the Dark Lord's gone." A flick of his wand put them under the effect of a privacy charm.
Harry wasn't certain he agreed with Moody - the old Auror was paranoid, after all - but he knew disagreeing wouldn't do any good. "He's gone for good then?" he asked instead.
"Yes. I checked."
Harry smiled. He had been certain - almost certain - after seeing and feeling the effects of Dumbledore's ritual, but it felt good to have it confirmed. "How did it go at the Ministry?"
"As expected." Moody scoffed. "Amelia's investigating, but I think the best we can expect is that the more cowardly spies and sympathisers panic and flee the country. It'll be hard to get them - the Dark Lord kept his cards close to his chest. Like Albus. At least someone took out Runcorn in his office during the battle and left him stunned and surrounded by evidence implicating the bastard."
"Runcorn? The oldest Wizengamot member?" Sirius had complained about that wizard often enough.
"Yeah." Moody nodded. "Bloody traitor won't escape this time. But Malfoy's already vouching for his friends. The scumbag's milking the deal he made with Albus for all it's worth, and Fudge, of course, is falling for it. He had already secured a pardon for all he did 'prior to the Dark Lord's defeat' from Albus himself, but apparently, that's not enough for him."
Harry cursed under his breath. The man who framed Hermione as a thief was going to escape justice once again. On the other hand, he had spied on the Dark Lord for Dumbledore. Probably had also helped lure Voldemort to the Ministry. And he had been the one to stop the battle and make the remaining Death Eaters surrender. Most of them, at least.
"Well, Albus left me some information, so dear old Malfoy won't be able to get much more than was agreed," Moody added. "If only Albus hadn't died…" Both his eyes stared at Harry.
Harry knew what he meant. "Then the Dark Lord would still be alive."
"Don't tell anyone what really happened. Some might suspect, but as long as they can't prove anything…"
"I know." Admitting that he and Dumbledore had used blood magic would be stupid. Harry frowned. "I'll have to talk to Hermione, though. She helped Dumbledore research things."
"Find out what she knows, and make sure she knows to keep her mouth shut."
Harry nodded.
Moody stared at him for a few moments, then nodded. "Now, I didn't just come to chat. Albus left me a few instructions. One concerns you."
Harry blinked, surprised. And concerned. Why wouldn't the Headmaster have left him such instructions?
Moody chuckled. "Don't look like that. I'm not here to obliviate you or anything." He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a slim case. "Here. Dumbledore said you should have it. There's a vial with a message for you as well. Sealed."
Harry opened the case and stared. It was the Headmaster's wand - his real one, as he had explained when he had told Harry about his decoy. The wand he had used for his rituals and to fight Voldemort. And he had left it to Harry?
London, Knockturn Alley, January 3rd, 1997
Hermione Granger tried not to let her thoughts show as she watched Mr Fletcher getting treated. His stump looked ghastly with the bandages removed. Her tutor hadn't just cut off his foot; it looked like he had cauterised the wound as well. Unless the blackened flesh was the result of the curse. But, in that case, the curse would have spread, wouldn't it? It certainly smelled as if it were spreading, but the Healer didn't seem to be alarmed. Not that it would surprise her if 'Healer Brown' were too incompetent to catch a dark curse's effect - the man practised in what was literally the back room of a pawn shop in Knockturn Alley!
"Alright, Dung! Looks well enough to me. I'll just remove the burned flesh and close ya up, and yer missus can take care of ya, right?" The man didn't just speak with a worse accent than Mr Fletcher when he was playing the gutter rat, he cackled like a hag, too. Hermione could tell, now - a couple of those creatures had watched her and Fletcher make their way through a dirty side alley to this 'clinic'.
"Thanks, Brown."
The Healer swept his wand back and forth, and the putrid flesh - probably; Hermione wasn't an expert - started to vanish. After a few minutes, only clean looking flesh and bone remained. And blood. Another spell closed the wound. "Done. I guess you'll need a peg leg too?"
"I'll manage with a crutch, thanks."
"Already have an eye on a prosthetic then? I could use an alternate supplier; rumours are that the Ministry's conducting a purge."
"Sorry, I'm just cashing in a favour," Mr Fletcher said.
"Too bad. Now about my fee…"
As Mr Fletcher paid the Healer, Hermione sighed and checked her watch. Twenty more minutes until the Polyjuice Potion wore off. Twenty more minutes of being an ugly, old witch.
"Alright, let's go!" he interrupted her thoughts.
She nodded, drawing her wand. Just in case the hags outside were getting more aggressive. And to cast another privacy spell. "Where are we going to get the prosthetic?" she asked as she opened the door.
"Muggle England, of course." He grinned as he moved his crutches. "Mr Smith wouldn't go for something as crude looking as Mad-Eye's peg leg. And the muggle clinic will be all too glad to help a poor victim of a landmine laid by the Eighth Army."
"That sounds awfully specific," Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes.
"Well… it's a favourite excuse of those who get maimed while trying to rob graves in Egypt." He shrugged. "Acquaintance of mine lost an arm like that. And when he went back with a new one, he lost his life."
"Let's hope you don't follow his example," Hermione said.
"Oh, I'm not as stupid, don't worry. I can take a hint."
Somehow, that made her worry.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1997
Harry Potter was just about to - finally - call Romilda's home when he heard the front door open.
"Harry?"
"Hermione!" He stood. "You're back."
He half-expected her make a sarcastic comment about stating the obvious, but she simply nodded. She must have calmed down, then. Good.
"Is there any news about Sirius and the others?"
"Sirius was awake earlier today. He's sleeping again," Harry told her. "Pomfrey said he could go home tomorrow, or the day after." He took a deep breath. "No news yet from Remus or Tonks - they're still getting treated. Can't even visit them."
She nodded. "Nothing we can do, then." She didn't sound happy about it.
"No." He shook his head. "Are you going to visit Sirius?"
"Once it's safe to do so," she said. "I wouldn't want to make you worry about me, would I?"
There was the sarcasm. Harry winced. "I'm sorry."
She took a deep breath, then waved her hand. "I understand why you acted as you did, but I'm not happy about it."
He knew that. Sirius knew it. Tonks and Remus knew it. Crookshanks probably also knew it. He didn't say that. But he couldn't help saying something else. "It was a brutal battle. If you had been there…" He shook his head. "I still have trouble realising that Dumbledore's dead." Even though he would probably never forget that horrible moment. He closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his teeth. A moment later, he felt her hand on his arm. She didn't say anything, though. He sighed, remembering Moody's instructions. "Do you know what happened?"
He could see her bite her lower lip, then nod. "You told me yesterday. And I read the Prophet today."
He sighed again. "There's more to the battle. You know the Headmaster's trap worked - thanks to Malfoy, I guess." She clenched her teeth in response; he noticed her jaw muscles twitching. "But Voldemort didn't kill Dumbledore. Or rather, he didn't defeat him. Dumbledore sacrificed himself to defeat him. Like my mum."
Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything. So she knew. "Yes," he said. "Blood magic. You can't tell anyone." He didn't have to explain why - she would know that.
Hermione nodded. "But why does everyone think you killed Voldemort if the Headmaster did it?"
Harry hesitated. He wanted to tell her everything, but Moody - and Dumbledore - had been explicit about that. "I actually killed him. But I wouldn't have been able to without the Headmaster weakening him." Technically, it wasn't a lie, he told himself as she nodded.
"So what's going to happen now, with Malfoy being revealed as the 'heroic' spy for Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Dumbledore would have expected that, and he left instructions for Moody and probably for others. Mr Weasley and Percy are doing their best, I think. But I don't know anything about the Headmaster's plans for Malfoy."
She frowned. "He might have gone overboard with his secrecy."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, trying to ignore his guilty feelings.
Romilda was smiling when she stepped out of the fireplace, Harry Potter noticed. "Harry!" And she was certainly not showing even a little anger as she hugged him. Nor when they kissed. "I'm so proud of you!" she said when they separated.
"Thank you," he said. "I'm terribly sorry for not calling you sooner, but…" He sighed. "There was just so much to do - Sirius was hurt, Remus and Tonks were hurt, Snape was killed…" He shrugged. It wasn't a good excuse for forgetting to call his girlfriend. "I wanted to call you earlier, but then more things came up." Like Moody, and Hermione. And dinner.
She shook her head. "Don't be sorry! You're a hero! Of course you had a lot to deal with!"
"You're not mad?" he asked. Hermione was still not too happy with him, and he had told her what had happened as soon as he had managed to leave the Ministry.
"Of course not! I'm happy!"
As she was kissing him again, he realised that she really wasn't mad at him even though he had not thought of calling her until a day after the battle.
He was relieved but also - somehow - disappointed.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 5th, 1997
"Good to be home!" Hermione Granger heard Sirius exclaim when they stepped into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. "Poppy is a competent nurse, but the infirmary at Hogwarts lacks some crucial functionality."
"What functionality?" She knew she shouldn't ask, but she did anyway - Sirius was overacting, and she could see he was still hurting when he moved. It was like throwing a hurt dog a bone.
"Why, Miss Granger!" He grinned at her and slipped an arm around Jeanne. "It distinctly lacks privacy!"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course." As she had expected - mostly, at least.
"Don't be like that just because mine and Jeanne's return means that you can't sneak your lover into the house any more!" the dog said.
"Lover?" Harry was staring at her.
"He's joking," Hermione said. "Or rather, he's trying to be funny, but failing at it. I have no lover."
"Ah." Harry smiled.
Before she could glare at him for presuming that she couldn't get a lover if she wanted one - which she didn't, thank you very much - Jeanne cut in: "Well, she should get a lover. A girl her age needs to explore love."
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "There are more important things to worry about than my love life." She looked at Sirius. "Like the situation at the Ministry."
Sirius sighed. "Spoil my fun, will you?" He held up a hand. "Let's discuss this in the living room."
"All your mail is in your study," Hermione pointed out. She didn't have to also point out that there was ample room for all four of them there.
"But the liquor cabinet is in the living room," the dog retorted. She glared at him, and he sighed again. "At least I have a bottle of Ogden's Finest in my desk."
"So," Sirius said, half an hour, lots of complaining about all the letters and notes she had compiled for him and no whisky later, "Malfoy's got the Wizengamot convinced that as Dumbledore's spy, he's so trustworthy, he can vouch for a number of suspected Death Eaters. Such as his good friends Parkinson, Nott and Bulstrode."
"Yes," Hermione Granger confirmed.
"And if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't been killed and captured, respectively, in the battle, he probably would be vouching for them as well," Harry said. "Can you do something about that?"
"I wish I could," Sirius said. "The notes Dumbledore left to me do state that Malfoy wasn't privy to the Death Eater roster. The Dark Lord wasn't that trusting, after all." He scowled. "But according to the Wizengamot notes my dear secretary diligently collected for me, he's claiming that he was ordered on the morning of the battle to ensure that they would support the Dark Lord."
"Which would mean that they couldn't have been ordered around by Voldemort." Hermione shook her head.
"Rubbish!" Harry shot to his feet.
"Of course it's rubbish, but we can't disprove his claims. Interrogating Malfoy with Veritaserum without concrete evidence of his guilt would have been nigh-impossible under the best circumstances, but after he was seen fighting side by side with Dumbledore? And with that damned letter of Dumbledore's proving that he was his spy?" Sirius snorted. "It would be easier to convince the Wizengamot to unceremoniously bury Dumbledore in a shallow grave in a muggle cemetery."
"And Parkinson, Nott and Bulstrode?" Harry stood. "They're not seen as heroes - they hid in the Wizengamot during the battle!"
"Malfoy's basically vouching for them. Without any evidence of our own, they're pretty much untouchable by the law." Sirius shrugged. "I'd curse Dumbledore for this if I weren't certain that Malfoy was essential for ambushing Voldemort."
"But…" Harry clenched his teeth and looked at her, Hermione noticed. "We have to do something! They framed Hermione! They got her expelled!"
"Nott wasn't involved in that," Hermione corrected him. The Notts weren't on her list. But if Malfoy was vouching for them, maybe they should be?
"Bah!" Harry shook his head, pacing. "We can't let Malfoy use this to take over the Wizengamot!"
"And we won't," Sirius said. He held up a thick stack of parchment and a vial. "Dumbledore left me a sort of political testament. Including the memory of a posthumous address to the Wizengamot." He grinned. "Malfoy will find it hard to publicly go against the final wishes of the man who sacrificed his life fighting Voldemort. Especially if Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived gives us his support."
Harry beamed. "Yes!"
"He'll try to subvert it, though," Hermione pointed out. "Obstruct the proposals by adding riders or alter the wording until the original aim is perverted." As Sirius's secretary, she had quite the insight into how the Wizengamot and the Ministry operated.
"He can try," Sirius said. His grin widened as he turned to her. "Let's see Malfoy attempt to explain why Dumbledore's dying wish that your case be reviewed in light of new evidence - evidence the Headmaster himself collected - shouldn't be heeded!"
London, Ministry of Magic, January 6th, 1997
"...and while she might have committed a crime as a child, she worked hard to contribute in our struggle against the Dark Lord. She hasn't crossed wands with Death Eaters like so many brave Order members, but not everyone is able to fight in battle, and I think that she has redeemed herself through her work as the secretary of my esteemed colleague and ally in the Order, Sirius Black. In recognition of that, I therefore propose to grant Miss Granger a pardon for her past crimes." Malfoy smiled widely and nodded as the Wizengamot began to applaud.
Hermione Granger clenched her fists to refrain from standing and cursing the man. She had fought for the Order - she had risked her life against vampires and dark wizards! She had even taken down a traitor in the Ministry during the battle! She wasn't just Sirius's secretary!
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, whispering despite the privacy spell he had cast once they had taken their seats on the visitor's gallery of the Wizengamot Chamber.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and school her features before answering - it wouldn't do to reveal her and her friends' secrets in an angry outburst. "He's proposing to pardon me, instead of exonerating me." At his puzzled look, she explained. "You pardon a convicted criminal, but you exonerate an innocent victim of a miscarriage of justice. I'll still have a criminal record if his proposal passes." She clenched her teeth. "And by making it look like all I did was handling mail and making tea for Sirius, he's acting as if this is a favour for Sirius, not a reward for me."
"What?" Harry frowned. "But Dumbledore gathered proof of your innocence!"
"Enough to review my case, not enough to prove my innocence without further evidence," Hermione corrected him. The Headmaster had outlined the investigation which would have - with political pressure - led to such evidence. "But if Malfoy's proposal gets accepted, then the Wizengamot won't also vote to review my case. Even though Dumbledore asked for it. They'll consider the matter settled."
"But…"
Harry now looked like he wanted to curse Malfoy, so she put her hand on his arm to calm him down. "Let Sirius answer that."
But, listening to the next Wizengamot member speaking in support of Malfoy's proposal, Hermione was certain that Sirius wouldn't be able to stave it off. A number of members wouldn't even know the difference between a pardon and an exoneration, and many more wouldn't care. Enough to sway the vote.
"...in light of my esteemed colleague's bravery, I therefore fully support this proposal. I think I speak for everyone that the late Chief Warlock would also have wanted this - those of my generation will certainly remember how he redeemed Severus Snape, another brave soul who died fighting the Dark Lord, after a troubled youth. With the Chief Warlock's funeral coming up, the timing would also be perfect for such a gesture."
A gesture. Nothing about justice. Nothing about repaying the gold those bigots had stolen from her family and Sirius's coffers. Hermione pressed her lips together and tried to hide her anger.
"But… does that mean your expulsion won't be reversed?" Harry asked.
She glanced at him, then shook her head. "No, that was part of the punishment, and would be repealed."
Harry smiled. "Well, that's something, at least."
She nodded. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
Hogwarts, January 7th, 1997
Harry Potter sat on his bed in Gryffindor Tower and stared at his new wand. The Elder Wand. He still couldn't really believe that the Headmaster had left it to him. Nor that it was actually real. One of the three Deathly Hallows.
He held it up and concentrated. Its tip started to glow brightly. It felt just like when he used his first wand. Did that mean that he was the wand's master? He remembered watching Dumbledore's message in the Pensieve Sirius had recovered from Hogwarts.
"Harry, my boy, if you are hearing this then I am dead." Dumbledore, sitting at his desk, had chuckled. "I had to say that. More seriously, if you are hearing this, then my plan will have worked and Voldemort has been rendered mortal by my sacrifice and then defeated by you using your mother's sacrifice. Or maybe a stray curse - the best-laid plans of mice and men, and so on. If you are feeling guilty about my death, don't. I chose this, fully cognisant of the consequences. It was the best, the only practical solution to deal with Voldemort's soul anchors. I do not think that we could have found and destroyed all of them by other means."
He had smiled. "You may have noticed that your scar will have been affected as well - it was a connection to Voldemort's soul, and therefore suffered the same fate as his anchors. I do not think that the scar will vanish as a result, but you are unlikely to suffer headaches from it any more."
Dumbledore had leaned back. "However, that is not why I am leaving you this message. It will have been given to you together with my wand. You are aware that not every wand will suit every wizard - matching wand to wizard is actually far more difficult than crafting a wand - but this wand is special. It is the Elder Wand, and it will serve whoever defeats the prior owner of it. I took it from Grindelwald after our duel. If all went as planned, then you will be its new master - although there is a chance that you might not have won its allegiance. You should be able to figure that out on your own. I caution you to use it wisely, though - it will help you tremendously in a fight, but it will switch its allegiance as soon as you are defeated, so do not use it frivolously, but limit your use to occasions when you must risk its loss. Grindelwald is not the only, but just the most recent, example of how much evil a wizard wielding it can cause. I implore you to keep your possession of it a secret. Let people believe that you were left my wand as a sign of trust, lest too many greedy wizards come after you.
"The notes about the Deathly Hallows I am also leaving you should explain more about the wand's powers. Study them well." And with a grin, Dumbledore had added: "You might also find a few surprising notes about your father's cloak, better known as the Invisibility Cloak. It has been in your family's possession since..."
His father's cloak - the second Deathly Hallow. Harry shook his head. No wonder Ron hadn't noticed him that evening when he and Romilda had hidden in that alcove!
Harry sighed. Two legendary items, both in his possession. If anyone knew or suspected… He snorted.
"Mate? Did you go to bed already?"
He looked up. "Ron?"
His friend pushed the curtains of Harry's bed back and peered inside. "What are you doing?"
Harry shrugged. "Just…" He spread his hands and sighed.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, I know. I still see the battle when I close my eyes, too."
Harry clenched his teeth. He didn't want to lie to Ron. Not even by omission. But Dumbledore had asked him to keep the secret. And yet… "You know…"
"I wanted to..." Ron said at the same time as Harry started to talk.
"You first," Harry said. He didn't mind waiting to reveal his secret.
"I wanted to talk to you about the battle. Specifically, about the snakes." Ron looked around, then cast a privacy spell.
"The enchanted snakes Voldemort sent after us?" Harry asked.
"Yes. The ones you ordered away." Ron was staring at him.
Harry nodded. "Yes?"
His friend looked confused. "The ones you talked to."
"Yes?" Why was Ron being so weird?
"Why didn't you tell me that you were a Parselmouth?"
"A what?"
"A wizard able to talk to snakes. You were hissing at them."
"What?" Harry stared at him. "I was talking normally to them." Shouting, actually.
"I heard you hiss, mate. And they obeyed you."
"That was because I had a connection to the Dark Lord," Harry said, pointing at his scar. "It's…" He blinked. "You think I can talk to any snake? I remember a trip to the zoo, and a snake talking to me…"
"You're a Parselmouth then, mate. That's not good." Ron leaned forward. "People usually think that's a sign of a dark wizard. If anyone hears about this, it'll be bad."
Harry closed his eyes and muttered a few curses. "Especially with Malfoy being so popular." If Malfoy managed to frame him as a dark wizard… Merlin's beard, since Harry had technically used blood magic, he might even be unable to prove his innocence.
"Better watch your mouth when you're around snakes," Ron said. "You don't want to hiss in the middle of Care for Magical Creatures."
"I didn't even notice that I wasn't speaking English!" Harry said through clenched teeth.
"Then you'll need to learn how to notice that," Ron shot back.
"I'll need a snake for that." They hadn't learned how to conjure snakes yet. Moody had said snakes were too slow, usually, and too weak to be effective in a fight. Good for ambushing your enemy, and assassinating the unwary, though.
"I can ask Luna to get one," Ron said. "She's good with animals."
With weird animals, Harry thought. But it would be rude to say that. "Thanks." He sighed and cleared his throat. "There's something I have to tell you, too."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Ever heard about the Elder Wand?" Harry raised it and wiggled it in Ron's face until he saw his friend's eyes widen. "Yes."
"Merlin's arse!"
"That was my thought, too," Harry said.
London, Greenwich, January 10th, 1997
"You got your pardon." Mr Fletcher nodded at the scroll Hermione Granger had dropped on his table right after entering the flat. "Heard it on the wireless."
She scoffed. "That was never in doubt once Malfoy asked for it."
"Still remarkable that they managed to grant it within five days," he commented as he read the parchment. "Without mistakes, even."
"They wanted to pass it before Dumbledore's funeral." Hermione took a seat at the table.
"And it covers all of your past crimes - which includes the heists we did for Albus. Quite clever," Mr Fletcher said.
"They probably simply copied Malfoy's pardon." Something, she had realised, that Dumbledore might have arranged. He might even have thought that it outweighed the benefits of clearing her name. Might. She didn't want to think about that right now. "Speaking of Dumbledore's funeral: Will you be attending?"
"No."
She didn't frown, even though his reply had been rather curt. "Is your prosthetic working?"
"Like a charm." He chuckled at his own joke, but it sounded forced to her.
"I thought it took longer to craft a tailored prosthetic," Hermione said, tilting her head to look at Mr Fletcher's left leg. Much longer.
"Like with wizards, money helps things along." He grinned and pulled his trouser leg up, exposing shiny metal and plastic.
"And some spells, I wager."
He nodded. "I didn't want to be useless and stuck with crutches any longer than necessary."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're not useless."
"I got crippled by a senile bigot because I got sloppy." He was scowling now. "I'm worse than useless."
"That was bad luck."
He scoffed. "Only a fool blames bad luck for his mistakes."
"And only a fool doesn't learn from their mistakes," she quoted him.
He chuckled without mirth again. "And I'm no fool." He sat down in his favourite chair. "I learned my lesson." He knocked on his artificial lower leg. "Can't burglarise anything any more. At least nothing important."
"We can enchant it," she protested. They could add a lot of spells, add a lot of functionality.
"Aye, we could. And we will." He closed his eyes for a moment. "But it won't be as good as my old one. And I won't be as good as I was." He looked straight at her. "I'd be more hindrance than help to you, like this."
"That's not true! You're still the best thief I know!"
He shook his head. "But I'm not the best thief I know. Not any more."
"But…" She bit her lower lip. How could she convince him that he wasn't useless? She needed him! "You just lost a foot, not your head! You still have all your experience! And your wand arm!"
He laughed at that. "I do, and I'm still willing to teach you all I know, as I promised. But I would only drag you down on a real heist." He shook his head, then met her eyes again. "I'm not going to be responsible for your arrest. Or worse."
Oh. That was his problem, she suddenly realised. She should have known. "But…" she trailed off, unsure what to say.
"Besides," he nodded at her pardon, "you can return to Hogwarts now."
"Yes." She slowly nodded. Professor - Headmistress, now - McGonagall had already sent her a letter. "Yes, I can."
But did she want to?
Hogwarts, January 11th, 1997
"...and I think I speak for everyone here when I say that Albus Dumbledore will be terribly missed. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, as Chief Warlock, as Supreme Mugwump, he worked tirelessly to help everyone! I would not call myself a close friend of his, but…"
Harry Potter was proud that he managed not to roll his eyes during that twit Selwyn's speech. "It's clear that he's the most senior member of the Wizengamot - he's already senile," he muttered.
Romilda, sitting next to him, leaned over. "Your speech was much better. And much shorter."
"Thanks," Harry said. It had been a struggle, too, with everyone and their dog trying to tell him what to say. Hermione had written a three-foot draft - and a four-foot one for Sirius. He leaned forward, startling Romilda, and glanced at his friend, sitting on the other side of Sirius and Jeanne. She didn't look angry at his editing, but that could be deceptive. "I wish Remus and Tonks were here," he whispered, straightening.
"They're still in St Mungo's?"
"Yes. Dark curses." The prognosis was good for both - but they would have scars. He squeezed Romilda's hand when he saw her wince.
After another five minutes, Selwin finally finished his speech, and Mr Doge - one of Dumbledore's oldest friends, Harry had learned, who had given a truly moving and also short speech - stepped forward. "Thank you, Matthias."
Selwyn solemnly nodded as he returned to his seat, but Doge was already addressing the crowd assembled in front of the monolith that would mark Dumbledore's grave on the grounds of Hogwarts. "Now rise, everyone, so we can salute our friend and teacher as he takes his last journey."
Harry stood and raised his wand, together with hundreds of wizards and witches.
"Lumos!" Doge said as Dumbledore's coffin - a stone sarcophagus - started to float and slowly travel towards the opening in the monolith.
"Lumos!"
Hundreds of light shone - in many different colours, exactly as Dumbledore had wished in his last will and testament. 'Something to brighten the day', he had called it.
Harry kept staring at the coffin until it disappeared into the polished white marble.
Hermione Granger slowly lowered her wand when she saw the marble seal itself up behind the Headmaster's coffin. "Nox," she whispered, cancelling her spell, then took a deep breath. Dumbledore's grave was sealed. It was over. The funeral. The war. An era, even. Probably. It certainly felt like it.
"Let's go to the Great Hall!" Sirius said. "I'm starving!"
She glared at the dog - couldn't he show some decorum, instead of thinking with his stomach?
He frowned at her. "Don't give me that look! Dumbledore would have wanted us to enjoy the buffet. He said so in his will."
She didn't doubt that. "It's still unbecoming," she said. This was a funeral, after all.
"And I'm still hungry! Let's fetch Harry and the others and go!"
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, then looked around for Harry, Ron and the others. And Harry's little girlfriend. Seeing the little witch cling to Harry's arm as if he'd float away if she weren't weighing him down almost made her reconsider her decision. Luna certainly didn't act like that with Ron.
She was shaking her head when she approached them. "Hey! Sirius wants to head to the Great Hall." She nodded towards Hogwarts.
"Good idea! I'm starving!" Ron said, then frowned as if he didn't know why she was glaring at him. Boys!
Half an hour later, Hermione Granger finally managed to be alone with her two best friends. She felt bad for jinxing the mistletoe at the side entrance to the Great Hall, prompting Luna to search for Nargles in the corridor behind it. She didn't feel bad for casting a Full-Bladder Hex at Harry's girlfriend, though. That witch simply couldn't take a hint.
She sighed and cast a privacy spell. Harry and Ron immediately tensed. "What's up?" Ron asked.
"Was there any trouble at the Ministry? Or with registering at Hogwarts?" Harry looked around, presumably for the Headmistress.
"No," Hermione said. "I just need to tell you something in private." As nice as Luna was, Hermione wasn't certain that the girl could keep a secret. She took a deep breath. "I'm not returning to Hogwarts."
Hogsmeade, January 3rd, 1997
Alastor Moody stopped a hundred yards away from the inn and scanned the area. The building's walls blocked his enchanted eye - which was what he had expected. That didn't mean it wasn't a trap, of course. His enemies would expect him to expect a trap, and to know that the inn was normally warded to block his sight. A truly cunning enemy, of course, would expect that, and plan accordingly.
Not that there were many such enemies left. And after yesterday, the number of wizards who could both best him in battle and were cunning enough to out-think him had shrunk even further. And the scumbag owning the Hog's Head Inn wasn't on that list, no matter how highly the old goat thought of himself.
Although Albus's brother might not know that and might even try to settle their differences, now that Albus was dead. Alastor narrowed his good eye. He'd be inside the man's wards. On the other hand, the scumbag would know that Alastor would be prepared for an ambush. And, as loathsome as the man was, he had some loyalty towards the other criminals frequenting his dive.
So, while it wasn't actually safe to enter the inn, the risk was acceptable. And Alastor had to talk to the scumbag. He owed it to Albus.
He slowly made his way over to the shabby inn's door - any enemy watching would assume his peg leg gave him more trouble, especially in the wet snow, than was the case. Any stupid enemy, at least - smarter enemies would know that he wouldn't settle for a simple peg leg when he had replaced his missing eye with a much improved artificial one.
His wand twitched when he spotted movement behind him. Two figures. A wizard and a witch. Acting like a couple. If they did something threatening… but they didn't. Just a couple out for an afternoon stroll. Locals. Or that was what they wanted him to think. A quick scan showed nothing suspicious beneath their robes, but that, too, would be expected from cunning foes. He kept his eye on them until they were out of range.
He had reached the entrance in the meantime. He narrowed his normal eye at the sounds from inside. Some song in the background, and voices nearby. Perfectly normal - which would be the best cover for an ambush. But they wouldn't really expect him to simply walk in, would they?
He snorted and, with a flick of his wand, pushed the door open with enough force to almost tear it off its hinges as it slammed into the wall.
He grinned at the scum inside, knowing they both recognised and feared him. Half of them had jumped up and were ready to bolt. The other half had drawn their wands. He scoffed. "I'm not here for you. Not today," he said as he stepped inside. His grin told the criminals what would happen should they try anything.
No one did. Most didn't even move while he slowly walked towards the bar, the sound of his peg leg striking the wooden floor ringing through the room. Guttersnipes and whores, the lot of them.
Albus's brother was the only one who didn't look nervous. The man looked mad. He had his wand ready, too, as Alastor spotted through the counter. But he wouldn't start a fight. Not with so many of his 'friends' nearby. So Alastor grinned. "Afternoon."
"You're not welcome here," came the snarled response.
"I don't give a damn," Alastor retorted. "I don't want to be here anyway." Unless it was with an Auror squad raiding the place. Or even Hit-Wizards. Their usual collateral damage would only improve the place, and no Aurors would be at risk. "You know why I've come."
The other wizard snorted but didn't deny it. He didn't offer Alastor a seat. Not that such an offer would have been accepted, anyway - much too dangerous. Alastor raised his wand, ignoring how Albus's brother tensed and gripped his own wand, and slowly cast a privacy spell. It wouldn't do to let anyone, much less the scum in this inn, overhear them.
"If you've come to offer me your condolences, don't bother," the man spat.
Alastor snorted. "I know better than that." The man wouldn't shed a tear over Albus's death. "He left you a note, didn't he?"
"I burned it."
"Did you read it?" Alastor squinted at the man.
Albus's brother sneered but didn't answer.
"You did." Alastor chuckled, slowly. "He knew how to word it, didn't he?"
Albus's brother scoffed. "If he had known how to lead as well as he could speak, your Order might not have lost so many people. At least he had the decency to die as well. This time."
Alastor glared at him. As if the scumbag had any idea about fighting a war, much less leading people in battle! "It was a good plan. Lured the bugger into a trap, which was sprung as planned. That the Dark Lord had a few wands up his sleeve about which he didn't tell our spy was to be expected as well." He wouldn't mention that there had been traitors in the Corps as well. Not to scum like this man.
"He's dead; sucking up to him won't get you anything any more." The man sneered, worse than Malfoy. "He buggered things up, as usual. He just had to assume no one was as clever as him. He should have been prepared for the attack through the muggle entrance. The battle would have been over before the traitors arrived, if that lift had been better protected."
The man was very well informed, Alastor had to admit. Someone had talked to him already. "Couldn't spare the wands for that. Too many cowards in Britain, you know."
Albus's brother clenched his teeth at the barb. "Not enough idiots doing his bidding, you mean. Not enough curse-fodder for his plans."
"That 'curse-fodder' fought and died for everyone in Britain." He wouldn't let the scumbag besmirch their memory. Alastor stared at the man. "And Albus sacrificed himself." A perfectly ambiguous wording. Nothing to incriminate either Albus or Potter. Almost everyone would assume Alastor was talking about Albus exposing himself to a lethal attack as he saved the Boy-Who-Lived.
Judging by the man's glare, Albus's brother knew what he really meant, though. "He was a hypocrite to the end. Using blood magic for his goals!"
"He sacrificed himself to deal with the worst dark magic I've seen so far," Alastor corrected the bugger. "Rendered the Dark Lord mortal."
"And then had a kid kill him." Albus's brother scoffed. "Couldn't even arrange for one of you lot to do the deed? Had to use Potter for it?"
"Potter was Plan B. If Albus's sacrifice hadn't been enough, he might have been able to do it."
"Did anyone bother to tell him that?"
"Didn't matter. There was no time to check. And Potter had to act quickly while the bugger was still hurting." Alastor had been too far away to kill the Dark Lord. Most of the Order wouldn't have tried even if they had been nearby. Not after seeing Dumbledore fall. Potter had been the only one ready.
"And did it work?"
"Yes." Alastor slowly nodded. He had checked the diary as soon as he had managed to get away from the Ministry. Which meant Albus's other contingency plans wouldn't have to be enacted. Like the letter Albus's brother had received.
"Good. There's no need for you to be here any longer, then." The other wizard looked at the door.
"There's no need for anything of what we talked about to be mentioned, ever," Alastor said, staring at him.
The other wizard didn't look away. He had guts, at least. "It's not as if anyone would believe me. Albus died saving the Boy-Who-Lived, who then took down the Dark Lord with righteous anger. The sheep will eat it up and crucify anyone who dares to tell them that their hero wasn't perfect!"
"De mortuis nil nisi bonum." Alastor smiled. "As long as you remember that, we'll get along fine."
"Get out!"
Alastor nodded and left. One loose end tied up.
*****
Hogwarts, January 3rd, 1997
Harry Potter rubbed his left arm as he sat at Sirius's bed in the infirmary at Hogwarts. Madam Pomfrey had healed his broken bones easily, but he still felt them itch, or twinge, when he focused on them, no matter how often the nurse claimed it was his imagination.
Which wasn't very often, actually. Not with so many wounded Order members in need of help. And those were just the ones Pomfrey could treat. Not the ones who had been struck with dark curses. Those were in St Mungo's - if they were still alive.
He hunched over. Too many had been killed in the Battle of the Ministry, as the Daily Prophet was calling it. Order members, Aurors, Hit-Wizards. Snape. And employees who had been unlucky enough to catch a stray curse while trying to flee.
He looked at Sirius. His godfather was still unconscious. Which was good - he wouldn't be feeling the pain from the Skele-Gro regrowing half his bones. His skin looked a little patchy; the newly grown parts not matching the slight tan of the rest. And his hair was such a mess, half of it burned, it made Hermione's 'morning mane' look good. But he was alive, and he would recover. In time. A few days, maybe a week, Pomfrey had said.
"Mate!"
That was Ron! Harry whirled around and put a finger to his lips. "Shush!" He nodded towards the other side of Sirius's bed, where Jeanne was sleeping in a rather awkward position, half on her seat, half on Sirius's pillow.
Ron snorted but didn't yell further as he limped over to them, wincing when he stepped on his healed leg. His skin looked better than Sirius's - he hadn't been tanned even a little and was naturally pale. In a quiet tone, he asked. "Did you read the Prophet?"
Harry pointed at the wastebasket in the corner.
"Ah." Ron scoffed. "Anyone reading that shite would think that Malfoy had personally defeated Voldemort." He looked around, then frowned.
"It wasn't that bad," Harry corrected him. "But the article certainly pays a lot of attention to him 'bravely risking his life and soul' to lure the Dark Lord into Dumbledore's trap."
"Dumbledore's and yours," Ron said, conjuring a chair for himself as he sat down with a relieved sigh.
Harry shrugged. "It was his plan, and his trap." And his sacrifice. The Headmaster must have copied the ritual of Harry's mother. "I just was lucky enough to be in a position to take out Voldemort." He sighed. "How's your family?"
"Fine." Ron blinked. "I mean, they're well. Mum wasn't really hurt, Dad's been healed already, Percy apparently wasn't even in danger - he's back at the Ministry, but he was at breakfast at home. Bill's a little roughed up but wasn't at The Burrow. Apparently, he has a girlfriend. Mum's ticked off that he didn't say anything."
"Good." Harry hadn't thought that the Weasleys had been seriously hurt, but you never really knew. "I mean about them being fine. Not about your mum being angry."
"I know what you mean." Ron chuckled. "She was very unhappy with me. What about your family?"
"Sirius'll need a few more days to recover." He had told Ron that yesterday already. "Jeanne's alright, just a few bruises. Remus and Tonks…" He bit his lower lip. "They're at St Mungo's. Last I heard they should recover." Should. You never knew. "And Hermione is mad at me." Relieved and happy, as well - her hug when he had headed to Grimmauld Place to tell her what had happened had almost broken bones, Harry thought.
Ron winced. "Really?"
"Yes." Harry nodded. "Said she needed to calm down before visiting, or she'd hex the lot of us."
His friend laughed. "At least she's safe. Luna cried, you know," he said in a lower voice.
"Oh?" Harry was surprised - Ron was fine, after all.
"Yes. She was at The Burrow as well." Ron sighed. "She wanted to visit as well, but McGonagall and Moody limited visitors to Order members and their family." He shook his head. "They are afraid of attacks by desperate Death Eaters. Like after the last war."
On Neville's parents, Harry thought. He nodded. "I hope they don't try to keep Hermione out." That would probably drive her into a rage.
Ron chuckled. "McGonagall wouldn't. Besides, she's an Order member, right?"
Harry nodded. "Right." He leaned back. "I just wish Sirius was awake. He could do something to counter Malfoy."
"Dad's working on that," Ron said. "Percy too. And you're the Boy-Who-Lived. Even Malfoy can't do much against the vanquisher of Voldemort."
Harry sighed. He hoped that he wouldn't have to use his fame like that. Malfoy had been Dumbledore's spy, after all, so he had been on the Order's side. He blinked. "Do you think Malfoy is an Order member as well?"
"Bloody hell, I hope he doesn't visit!"
Harry nodded in agreement.
After about a minute, Ron said: "Hey - how did Romilda react?"
Harry froze. He had completely forgotten about his girlfriend!
*****
London, Greenwich, January 3rd, 1997
Hermione Granger knew something wasn't right as soon as she entered her tutor's flat. There was a faint but distinct smell of… rotten meat? Clenching her teeth, she closed the door and drew her wand. "It's me."
"I know," came Mr Fletcher's answer from his bedroom. If he were under duress, he'd have said something else - not that she suspected something like that. Still, she kept her wand drawn as she pushed the door, which was only angled, open. Then she hissed.
Mr Fletcher was on his bed, half sitting up. He waved, but she didn't pay attention - she was staring at his left leg instead, which ended between his knee and ankle, the stump wrapped in bandages. And the smell…
Her head snapped up to glare at him. "You didn't tell me you were cursed that badly!"
He shrugged, smiling - though she could see how he forced himself to do so. "Wouldn't have done any good. You had to go back home as soon as possible, and I managed to stop the curse from rotting my leg off."
"By cutting off your own foot?" she asked, realising as she spoke that it wasn't as absurd as she had thought. Then he nodded, confirming it, and she felt ill.
"There was no choice." He shrugged.
"You need to be in St Mungo's!" The leg needed to be treated. To be regrown. What if it was infected?
He scoffed. "They can't do anything - it was a dark curse."
"There are counter-curses!" Hermione retorted.
"Yeah. But I had to cut it off since I wouldn't have been able to get help in time. And there's no counter-curse for that." He shrugged.
"But… torn limbs can be regrown."
"Not when dark curses are involved. That's pretty much the definition of dark magic. One of them, at least." Mr Fletcher scoffed. "Besides, it's my own fault - I shouldn't have underestimated Runcorn. I should have been faster, too. I'm getting old."
"But if you cut it off, then that wasn't done by a dark curse." Hermione bit her lower lip as she pondered this. "That should be treatable."
"Not with magic. And muggle medicine can't make limbs regrow." He shook his head. "Let it rest. I won't die, and I know a Healer who'll treat this without asking questions."
"What? Why won't you go to…" Hermione started.
He interrupted her by holding up his hand. "I can't go to St Mungo's. The Healers would report such a curse. And then the Aurors would investigate - a dark curse means a dark wizard attack. And given the timing, they'd know that I was involved in the battle in the Ministry. At the very least, they would realise that I'm an Order member. And I would rather do without such scrutiny. Or such a reputation."
"But you could go to Hogwarts! Sirius's there!" And Harry and Ron - who still thought she was mad at them for making her stay at home while they fought. Well, she was - but not as much as they thought. Not that she had actually stayed at home.
He scoffed. "Poppy's a good nurse, but she can't do anything my acquaintance can't do as well."
"And is your 'acquaintance' also more trustworthy than her?" Hermione asked.
"Not really. But he'll assume that I was on the wrong side of the battle if I'm coming to him and not to a respectable Healer. And that means no one in Knockturn Alley will connect me to the Order." He coughed. "Well, Fletcher, at least."
"And Smith?" Hermione frowned. "As you said, the timing for Smith to lose a foot is suspicious."
He grinned, but it looked forced again - he didn't succeed in hiding his pain, she thought. "That's why Smith will have returned to the New World after the New Year's Ball. And there, in his old home country, he'll have run afoul of a dark wizard. I'll have a new story to tell once I'm officially back in England in a month or two." He closed his eyes. "It's for the best."
She bit her lower lip to avoid yelling at him. He was wrong. And yet, she didn't know what to say to convince him. Going to some shady Healer in Knockturn Alley… "Will you leave the country?"
He shook his head without opening his eyes. "Just stay out of Wizarding Britain. I still have to tutor you, after all."
"Thank you." She smiled, both feeling relieved that she wouldn't lose her tutor and ashamed of her selfishness in the face of his crippling injury.
"Of course," he said, "you'll have to stop doing heists until you've finished your training."
Hermione gasped. "What do you mean?"
He looked at her. "Without two good feet, I won't be able to come along on the kind of heists you're planning. And you're not good enough, yet, to do them by yourself. And Black won't be any help anyway."
She almost mentioned Moody - Harry and Ron's trainer had a peg leg, and it hadn't slowed him down much, if at all, judging by Harry's stories. But Mr Fletcher knew that as well.
So she nodded. "Let's get you to your 'acquaintance' then!"
"Once you're properly disguised." He grinned - and, for the first time today, it didn't seem forced. "A guttersnipe like Fletcher doesn't know pretty witches. So, rags and Polyjuice Potion."
She grimaced at the thought of looking ugly - and dirty, which was even worse! She was a cat, not a hag!
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1997
Harry Potter stumbled out of the fireplace in the entrance hall of his home. He had to work on that. If Voldemort had been waiting right in the Atrium, Harry would have been an easy target. Maybe he could spend a day not doing anything other than using the Floo Network to travel around over and over until he figured out how to 'just keep walking', as Sirius called it.
He smiled at the thought - Sirius had woken up. Harry's godfather was in pain from the Skele-Gro, and he still looked like he had lost a battle with a flock of Bludgers, but he was awake and would be fine in a few days.
Harry looked around. No one greeted him. He pressed his lips together, briefly debating whether or not he should call Romilda. Shaking his head, he headed to the stairs. Hermione first. He sighed as he made his way up to the first floor. He had hurt her by not allowing her to accompany him to the Ministry, but it had been for the best. If she had been in that battle… Harry shuddered at the thought of her getting hurt, or worse.
He reached her door - it wasn't closed; there was a gap of about five inches - and knocked. "Hermione?" When there was no answer, he slowly pushed the door open. "Hermione?" Was she giving him 'the silent treatment', as Sirius had called it? No, the only occupant of the room was Crookshanks, who was occupying her bed and staring at him as if he were an intruder.
Harry stared back. He had faced and defeated Voldemort; a cat, half-Kneazle or not, simply didn't measure up. The fat monster sniffed and went back to napping, but somehow made him feel as if he didn't measure up. There was a reason he didn't like the animal. At least Hermione's other cat wasn't as arrogant.
Shaking his head, he left Hermione's room to check Sirius's study and the library.
She wasn't in either of those rooms. Where was she? He blinked, then sighed. "Kreacher!"
After a minute, the little elf stepped out of the servant's passage hidden inside the wall. "Yes, young master?"
"Do you know where Hermione is?"
"Master's servant told me to tell you that she went out to 'clear her head'."
"Couldn't you have told me that when I arrived?"
"Young master didn't ask." Kreacher showed his teeth as he smiled, not bothering to hide his amusement.
Harry refrained from trying to correct the elf - he knew it wouldn't achieve anything. Kreacher had served the Black family for almost two hundred years and was very set in his ways. And Harry suspected that Hermione had told the elf not to tell him unless asked. "Did she say when she would be back?"
"No."
He sighed. "Thank you."
The elf vanished through the concealed door, presumably to return to his duties, and Harry shook his head. If he couldn't talk to Hermione, then that left Romilda. Or maybe he could check if there was any news about Remus and Tonks.
The alert informing him that someone wanted to enter the house through the Floo Network interrupted his thoughts. He rushed to the entrance hall. Had something happened to Sirius? Or Remus? Tonks?
He knelt down at the fireplace, throwing a pinch of Floo Powder into the flames. "Yes?"
"Potter? Can I come through?"
Moody. At least it sounded like him. "What did you tell me when I left the Ministry?"
He heard the old Auror chuckle. "That you shouldn't tell anyone what Albus did."
Harry nodded, even though no one could see him, then stood and tapped the fireplace with his wand. "Come through," he said, not lowering his wand and taking a few steps back and to the side.
A moment later, Moody stepped out of the flames. Even with a peg leg, the man didn't so much as miss a step, Harry noticed with some envy.
Moody nodded at Harry's wand, aimed at the Auror. "Good to see you haven't picked up bad habits just because the Dark Lord's gone." A flick of his wand put them under the effect of a privacy charm.
Harry wasn't certain he agreed with Moody - the old Auror was paranoid, after all - but he knew disagreeing wouldn't do any good. "He's gone for good then?" he asked instead.
"Yes. I checked."
Harry smiled. He had been certain - almost certain - after seeing and feeling the effects of Dumbledore's ritual, but it felt good to have it confirmed. "How did it go at the Ministry?"
"As expected." Moody scoffed. "Amelia's investigating, but I think the best we can expect is that the more cowardly spies and sympathisers panic and flee the country. It'll be hard to get them - the Dark Lord kept his cards close to his chest. Like Albus. At least someone took out Runcorn in his office during the battle and left him stunned and surrounded by evidence implicating the bastard."
"Runcorn? The oldest Wizengamot member?" Sirius had complained about that wizard often enough.
"Yeah." Moody nodded. "Bloody traitor won't escape this time. But Malfoy's already vouching for his friends. The scumbag's milking the deal he made with Albus for all it's worth, and Fudge, of course, is falling for it. He had already secured a pardon for all he did 'prior to the Dark Lord's defeat' from Albus himself, but apparently, that's not enough for him."
Harry cursed under his breath. The man who framed Hermione as a thief was going to escape justice once again. On the other hand, he had spied on the Dark Lord for Dumbledore. Probably had also helped lure Voldemort to the Ministry. And he had been the one to stop the battle and make the remaining Death Eaters surrender. Most of them, at least.
"Well, Albus left me some information, so dear old Malfoy won't be able to get much more than was agreed," Moody added. "If only Albus hadn't died…" Both his eyes stared at Harry.
Harry knew what he meant. "Then the Dark Lord would still be alive."
"Don't tell anyone what really happened. Some might suspect, but as long as they can't prove anything…"
"I know." Admitting that he and Dumbledore had used blood magic would be stupid. Harry frowned. "I'll have to talk to Hermione, though. She helped Dumbledore research things."
"Find out what she knows, and make sure she knows to keep her mouth shut."
Harry nodded.
Moody stared at him for a few moments, then nodded. "Now, I didn't just come to chat. Albus left me a few instructions. One concerns you."
Harry blinked, surprised. And concerned. Why wouldn't the Headmaster have left him such instructions?
Moody chuckled. "Don't look like that. I'm not here to obliviate you or anything." He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a slim case. "Here. Dumbledore said you should have it. There's a vial with a message for you as well. Sealed."
Harry opened the case and stared. It was the Headmaster's wand - his real one, as he had explained when he had told Harry about his decoy. The wand he had used for his rituals and to fight Voldemort. And he had left it to Harry?
*****
London, Knockturn Alley, January 3rd, 1997
Hermione Granger tried not to let her thoughts show as she watched Mr Fletcher getting treated. His stump looked ghastly with the bandages removed. Her tutor hadn't just cut off his foot; it looked like he had cauterised the wound as well. Unless the blackened flesh was the result of the curse. But, in that case, the curse would have spread, wouldn't it? It certainly smelled as if it were spreading, but the Healer didn't seem to be alarmed. Not that it would surprise her if 'Healer Brown' were too incompetent to catch a dark curse's effect - the man practised in what was literally the back room of a pawn shop in Knockturn Alley!
"Alright, Dung! Looks well enough to me. I'll just remove the burned flesh and close ya up, and yer missus can take care of ya, right?" The man didn't just speak with a worse accent than Mr Fletcher when he was playing the gutter rat, he cackled like a hag, too. Hermione could tell, now - a couple of those creatures had watched her and Fletcher make their way through a dirty side alley to this 'clinic'.
"Thanks, Brown."
The Healer swept his wand back and forth, and the putrid flesh - probably; Hermione wasn't an expert - started to vanish. After a few minutes, only clean looking flesh and bone remained. And blood. Another spell closed the wound. "Done. I guess you'll need a peg leg too?"
"I'll manage with a crutch, thanks."
"Already have an eye on a prosthetic then? I could use an alternate supplier; rumours are that the Ministry's conducting a purge."
"Sorry, I'm just cashing in a favour," Mr Fletcher said.
"Too bad. Now about my fee…"
As Mr Fletcher paid the Healer, Hermione sighed and checked her watch. Twenty more minutes until the Polyjuice Potion wore off. Twenty more minutes of being an ugly, old witch.
"Alright, let's go!" he interrupted her thoughts.
She nodded, drawing her wand. Just in case the hags outside were getting more aggressive. And to cast another privacy spell. "Where are we going to get the prosthetic?" she asked as she opened the door.
"Muggle England, of course." He grinned as he moved his crutches. "Mr Smith wouldn't go for something as crude looking as Mad-Eye's peg leg. And the muggle clinic will be all too glad to help a poor victim of a landmine laid by the Eighth Army."
"That sounds awfully specific," Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes.
"Well… it's a favourite excuse of those who get maimed while trying to rob graves in Egypt." He shrugged. "Acquaintance of mine lost an arm like that. And when he went back with a new one, he lost his life."
"Let's hope you don't follow his example," Hermione said.
"Oh, I'm not as stupid, don't worry. I can take a hint."
Somehow, that made her worry.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 3rd, 1997
Harry Potter was just about to - finally - call Romilda's home when he heard the front door open.
"Harry?"
"Hermione!" He stood. "You're back."
He half-expected her make a sarcastic comment about stating the obvious, but she simply nodded. She must have calmed down, then. Good.
"Is there any news about Sirius and the others?"
"Sirius was awake earlier today. He's sleeping again," Harry told her. "Pomfrey said he could go home tomorrow, or the day after." He took a deep breath. "No news yet from Remus or Tonks - they're still getting treated. Can't even visit them."
She nodded. "Nothing we can do, then." She didn't sound happy about it.
"No." He shook his head. "Are you going to visit Sirius?"
"Once it's safe to do so," she said. "I wouldn't want to make you worry about me, would I?"
There was the sarcasm. Harry winced. "I'm sorry."
She took a deep breath, then waved her hand. "I understand why you acted as you did, but I'm not happy about it."
He knew that. Sirius knew it. Tonks and Remus knew it. Crookshanks probably also knew it. He didn't say that. But he couldn't help saying something else. "It was a brutal battle. If you had been there…" He shook his head. "I still have trouble realising that Dumbledore's dead." Even though he would probably never forget that horrible moment. He closed his eyes for a moment and clenched his teeth. A moment later, he felt her hand on his arm. She didn't say anything, though. He sighed, remembering Moody's instructions. "Do you know what happened?"
He could see her bite her lower lip, then nod. "You told me yesterday. And I read the Prophet today."
He sighed again. "There's more to the battle. You know the Headmaster's trap worked - thanks to Malfoy, I guess." She clenched her teeth in response; he noticed her jaw muscles twitching. "But Voldemort didn't kill Dumbledore. Or rather, he didn't defeat him. Dumbledore sacrificed himself to defeat him. Like my mum."
Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth but closed it again without saying anything. So she knew. "Yes," he said. "Blood magic. You can't tell anyone." He didn't have to explain why - she would know that.
Hermione nodded. "But why does everyone think you killed Voldemort if the Headmaster did it?"
Harry hesitated. He wanted to tell her everything, but Moody - and Dumbledore - had been explicit about that. "I actually killed him. But I wouldn't have been able to without the Headmaster weakening him." Technically, it wasn't a lie, he told himself as she nodded.
"So what's going to happen now, with Malfoy being revealed as the 'heroic' spy for Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.
"I don't know." He shrugged. "Dumbledore would have expected that, and he left instructions for Moody and probably for others. Mr Weasley and Percy are doing their best, I think. But I don't know anything about the Headmaster's plans for Malfoy."
She frowned. "He might have gone overboard with his secrecy."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, trying to ignore his guilty feelings.
*****
Romilda was smiling when she stepped out of the fireplace, Harry Potter noticed. "Harry!" And she was certainly not showing even a little anger as she hugged him. Nor when they kissed. "I'm so proud of you!" she said when they separated.
"Thank you," he said. "I'm terribly sorry for not calling you sooner, but…" He sighed. "There was just so much to do - Sirius was hurt, Remus and Tonks were hurt, Snape was killed…" He shrugged. It wasn't a good excuse for forgetting to call his girlfriend. "I wanted to call you earlier, but then more things came up." Like Moody, and Hermione. And dinner.
She shook her head. "Don't be sorry! You're a hero! Of course you had a lot to deal with!"
"You're not mad?" he asked. Hermione was still not too happy with him, and he had told her what had happened as soon as he had managed to leave the Ministry.
"Of course not! I'm happy!"
As she was kissing him again, he realised that she really wasn't mad at him even though he had not thought of calling her until a day after the battle.
He was relieved but also - somehow - disappointed.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, January 5th, 1997
"Good to be home!" Hermione Granger heard Sirius exclaim when they stepped into the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. "Poppy is a competent nurse, but the infirmary at Hogwarts lacks some crucial functionality."
"What functionality?" She knew she shouldn't ask, but she did anyway - Sirius was overacting, and she could see he was still hurting when he moved. It was like throwing a hurt dog a bone.
"Why, Miss Granger!" He grinned at her and slipped an arm around Jeanne. "It distinctly lacks privacy!"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course." As she had expected - mostly, at least.
"Don't be like that just because mine and Jeanne's return means that you can't sneak your lover into the house any more!" the dog said.
"Lover?" Harry was staring at her.
"He's joking," Hermione said. "Or rather, he's trying to be funny, but failing at it. I have no lover."
"Ah." Harry smiled.
Before she could glare at him for presuming that she couldn't get a lover if she wanted one - which she didn't, thank you very much - Jeanne cut in: "Well, she should get a lover. A girl her age needs to explore love."
Hermione rolled her eyes again. "There are more important things to worry about than my love life." She looked at Sirius. "Like the situation at the Ministry."
Sirius sighed. "Spoil my fun, will you?" He held up a hand. "Let's discuss this in the living room."
"All your mail is in your study," Hermione pointed out. She didn't have to also point out that there was ample room for all four of them there.
"But the liquor cabinet is in the living room," the dog retorted. She glared at him, and he sighed again. "At least I have a bottle of Ogden's Finest in my desk."
*****
"So," Sirius said, half an hour, lots of complaining about all the letters and notes she had compiled for him and no whisky later, "Malfoy's got the Wizengamot convinced that as Dumbledore's spy, he's so trustworthy, he can vouch for a number of suspected Death Eaters. Such as his good friends Parkinson, Nott and Bulstrode."
"Yes," Hermione Granger confirmed.
"And if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't been killed and captured, respectively, in the battle, he probably would be vouching for them as well," Harry said. "Can you do something about that?"
"I wish I could," Sirius said. "The notes Dumbledore left to me do state that Malfoy wasn't privy to the Death Eater roster. The Dark Lord wasn't that trusting, after all." He scowled. "But according to the Wizengamot notes my dear secretary diligently collected for me, he's claiming that he was ordered on the morning of the battle to ensure that they would support the Dark Lord."
"Which would mean that they couldn't have been ordered around by Voldemort." Hermione shook her head.
"Rubbish!" Harry shot to his feet.
"Of course it's rubbish, but we can't disprove his claims. Interrogating Malfoy with Veritaserum without concrete evidence of his guilt would have been nigh-impossible under the best circumstances, but after he was seen fighting side by side with Dumbledore? And with that damned letter of Dumbledore's proving that he was his spy?" Sirius snorted. "It would be easier to convince the Wizengamot to unceremoniously bury Dumbledore in a shallow grave in a muggle cemetery."
"And Parkinson, Nott and Bulstrode?" Harry stood. "They're not seen as heroes - they hid in the Wizengamot during the battle!"
"Malfoy's basically vouching for them. Without any evidence of our own, they're pretty much untouchable by the law." Sirius shrugged. "I'd curse Dumbledore for this if I weren't certain that Malfoy was essential for ambushing Voldemort."
"But…" Harry clenched his teeth and looked at her, Hermione noticed. "We have to do something! They framed Hermione! They got her expelled!"
"Nott wasn't involved in that," Hermione corrected him. The Notts weren't on her list. But if Malfoy was vouching for them, maybe they should be?
"Bah!" Harry shook his head, pacing. "We can't let Malfoy use this to take over the Wizengamot!"
"And we won't," Sirius said. He held up a thick stack of parchment and a vial. "Dumbledore left me a sort of political testament. Including the memory of a posthumous address to the Wizengamot." He grinned. "Malfoy will find it hard to publicly go against the final wishes of the man who sacrificed his life fighting Voldemort. Especially if Harry as the Boy-Who-Lived gives us his support."
Harry beamed. "Yes!"
"He'll try to subvert it, though," Hermione pointed out. "Obstruct the proposals by adding riders or alter the wording until the original aim is perverted." As Sirius's secretary, she had quite the insight into how the Wizengamot and the Ministry operated.
"He can try," Sirius said. His grin widened as he turned to her. "Let's see Malfoy attempt to explain why Dumbledore's dying wish that your case be reviewed in light of new evidence - evidence the Headmaster himself collected - shouldn't be heeded!"
*****
London, Ministry of Magic, January 6th, 1997
"...and while she might have committed a crime as a child, she worked hard to contribute in our struggle against the Dark Lord. She hasn't crossed wands with Death Eaters like so many brave Order members, but not everyone is able to fight in battle, and I think that she has redeemed herself through her work as the secretary of my esteemed colleague and ally in the Order, Sirius Black. In recognition of that, I therefore propose to grant Miss Granger a pardon for her past crimes." Malfoy smiled widely and nodded as the Wizengamot began to applaud.
Hermione Granger clenched her fists to refrain from standing and cursing the man. She had fought for the Order - she had risked her life against vampires and dark wizards! She had even taken down a traitor in the Ministry during the battle! She wasn't just Sirius's secretary!
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, whispering despite the privacy spell he had cast once they had taken their seats on the visitor's gallery of the Wizengamot Chamber.
She forced herself to take a deep breath and school her features before answering - it wouldn't do to reveal her and her friends' secrets in an angry outburst. "He's proposing to pardon me, instead of exonerating me." At his puzzled look, she explained. "You pardon a convicted criminal, but you exonerate an innocent victim of a miscarriage of justice. I'll still have a criminal record if his proposal passes." She clenched her teeth. "And by making it look like all I did was handling mail and making tea for Sirius, he's acting as if this is a favour for Sirius, not a reward for me."
"What?" Harry frowned. "But Dumbledore gathered proof of your innocence!"
"Enough to review my case, not enough to prove my innocence without further evidence," Hermione corrected him. The Headmaster had outlined the investigation which would have - with political pressure - led to such evidence. "But if Malfoy's proposal gets accepted, then the Wizengamot won't also vote to review my case. Even though Dumbledore asked for it. They'll consider the matter settled."
"But…"
Harry now looked like he wanted to curse Malfoy, so she put her hand on his arm to calm him down. "Let Sirius answer that."
But, listening to the next Wizengamot member speaking in support of Malfoy's proposal, Hermione was certain that Sirius wouldn't be able to stave it off. A number of members wouldn't even know the difference between a pardon and an exoneration, and many more wouldn't care. Enough to sway the vote.
"...in light of my esteemed colleague's bravery, I therefore fully support this proposal. I think I speak for everyone that the late Chief Warlock would also have wanted this - those of my generation will certainly remember how he redeemed Severus Snape, another brave soul who died fighting the Dark Lord, after a troubled youth. With the Chief Warlock's funeral coming up, the timing would also be perfect for such a gesture."
A gesture. Nothing about justice. Nothing about repaying the gold those bigots had stolen from her family and Sirius's coffers. Hermione pressed her lips together and tried to hide her anger.
"But… does that mean your expulsion won't be reversed?" Harry asked.
She glanced at him, then shook her head. "No, that was part of the punishment, and would be repealed."
Harry smiled. "Well, that's something, at least."
She nodded. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.
*****
Hogwarts, January 7th, 1997
Harry Potter sat on his bed in Gryffindor Tower and stared at his new wand. The Elder Wand. He still couldn't really believe that the Headmaster had left it to him. Nor that it was actually real. One of the three Deathly Hallows.
He held it up and concentrated. Its tip started to glow brightly. It felt just like when he used his first wand. Did that mean that he was the wand's master? He remembered watching Dumbledore's message in the Pensieve Sirius had recovered from Hogwarts.
"Harry, my boy, if you are hearing this then I am dead." Dumbledore, sitting at his desk, had chuckled. "I had to say that. More seriously, if you are hearing this, then my plan will have worked and Voldemort has been rendered mortal by my sacrifice and then defeated by you using your mother's sacrifice. Or maybe a stray curse - the best-laid plans of mice and men, and so on. If you are feeling guilty about my death, don't. I chose this, fully cognisant of the consequences. It was the best, the only practical solution to deal with Voldemort's soul anchors. I do not think that we could have found and destroyed all of them by other means."
He had smiled. "You may have noticed that your scar will have been affected as well - it was a connection to Voldemort's soul, and therefore suffered the same fate as his anchors. I do not think that the scar will vanish as a result, but you are unlikely to suffer headaches from it any more."
Dumbledore had leaned back. "However, that is not why I am leaving you this message. It will have been given to you together with my wand. You are aware that not every wand will suit every wizard - matching wand to wizard is actually far more difficult than crafting a wand - but this wand is special. It is the Elder Wand, and it will serve whoever defeats the prior owner of it. I took it from Grindelwald after our duel. If all went as planned, then you will be its new master - although there is a chance that you might not have won its allegiance. You should be able to figure that out on your own. I caution you to use it wisely, though - it will help you tremendously in a fight, but it will switch its allegiance as soon as you are defeated, so do not use it frivolously, but limit your use to occasions when you must risk its loss. Grindelwald is not the only, but just the most recent, example of how much evil a wizard wielding it can cause. I implore you to keep your possession of it a secret. Let people believe that you were left my wand as a sign of trust, lest too many greedy wizards come after you.
"The notes about the Deathly Hallows I am also leaving you should explain more about the wand's powers. Study them well." And with a grin, Dumbledore had added: "You might also find a few surprising notes about your father's cloak, better known as the Invisibility Cloak. It has been in your family's possession since..."
His father's cloak - the second Deathly Hallow. Harry shook his head. No wonder Ron hadn't noticed him that evening when he and Romilda had hidden in that alcove!
Harry sighed. Two legendary items, both in his possession. If anyone knew or suspected… He snorted.
"Mate? Did you go to bed already?"
He looked up. "Ron?"
His friend pushed the curtains of Harry's bed back and peered inside. "What are you doing?"
Harry shrugged. "Just…" He spread his hands and sighed.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, I know. I still see the battle when I close my eyes, too."
Harry clenched his teeth. He didn't want to lie to Ron. Not even by omission. But Dumbledore had asked him to keep the secret. And yet… "You know…"
"I wanted to..." Ron said at the same time as Harry started to talk.
"You first," Harry said. He didn't mind waiting to reveal his secret.
"I wanted to talk to you about the battle. Specifically, about the snakes." Ron looked around, then cast a privacy spell.
"The enchanted snakes Voldemort sent after us?" Harry asked.
"Yes. The ones you ordered away." Ron was staring at him.
Harry nodded. "Yes?"
His friend looked confused. "The ones you talked to."
"Yes?" Why was Ron being so weird?
"Why didn't you tell me that you were a Parselmouth?"
"A what?"
"A wizard able to talk to snakes. You were hissing at them."
"What?" Harry stared at him. "I was talking normally to them." Shouting, actually.
"I heard you hiss, mate. And they obeyed you."
"That was because I had a connection to the Dark Lord," Harry said, pointing at his scar. "It's…" He blinked. "You think I can talk to any snake? I remember a trip to the zoo, and a snake talking to me…"
"You're a Parselmouth then, mate. That's not good." Ron leaned forward. "People usually think that's a sign of a dark wizard. If anyone hears about this, it'll be bad."
Harry closed his eyes and muttered a few curses. "Especially with Malfoy being so popular." If Malfoy managed to frame him as a dark wizard… Merlin's beard, since Harry had technically used blood magic, he might even be unable to prove his innocence.
"Better watch your mouth when you're around snakes," Ron said. "You don't want to hiss in the middle of Care for Magical Creatures."
"I didn't even notice that I wasn't speaking English!" Harry said through clenched teeth.
"Then you'll need to learn how to notice that," Ron shot back.
"I'll need a snake for that." They hadn't learned how to conjure snakes yet. Moody had said snakes were too slow, usually, and too weak to be effective in a fight. Good for ambushing your enemy, and assassinating the unwary, though.
"I can ask Luna to get one," Ron said. "She's good with animals."
With weird animals, Harry thought. But it would be rude to say that. "Thanks." He sighed and cleared his throat. "There's something I have to tell you, too."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Ever heard about the Elder Wand?" Harry raised it and wiggled it in Ron's face until he saw his friend's eyes widen. "Yes."
"Merlin's arse!"
"That was my thought, too," Harry said.
*****
London, Greenwich, January 10th, 1997
"You got your pardon." Mr Fletcher nodded at the scroll Hermione Granger had dropped on his table right after entering the flat. "Heard it on the wireless."
She scoffed. "That was never in doubt once Malfoy asked for it."
"Still remarkable that they managed to grant it within five days," he commented as he read the parchment. "Without mistakes, even."
"They wanted to pass it before Dumbledore's funeral." Hermione took a seat at the table.
"And it covers all of your past crimes - which includes the heists we did for Albus. Quite clever," Mr Fletcher said.
"They probably simply copied Malfoy's pardon." Something, she had realised, that Dumbledore might have arranged. He might even have thought that it outweighed the benefits of clearing her name. Might. She didn't want to think about that right now. "Speaking of Dumbledore's funeral: Will you be attending?"
"No."
She didn't frown, even though his reply had been rather curt. "Is your prosthetic working?"
"Like a charm." He chuckled at his own joke, but it sounded forced to her.
"I thought it took longer to craft a tailored prosthetic," Hermione said, tilting her head to look at Mr Fletcher's left leg. Much longer.
"Like with wizards, money helps things along." He grinned and pulled his trouser leg up, exposing shiny metal and plastic.
"And some spells, I wager."
He nodded. "I didn't want to be useless and stuck with crutches any longer than necessary."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're not useless."
"I got crippled by a senile bigot because I got sloppy." He was scowling now. "I'm worse than useless."
"That was bad luck."
He scoffed. "Only a fool blames bad luck for his mistakes."
"And only a fool doesn't learn from their mistakes," she quoted him.
He chuckled without mirth again. "And I'm no fool." He sat down in his favourite chair. "I learned my lesson." He knocked on his artificial lower leg. "Can't burglarise anything any more. At least nothing important."
"We can enchant it," she protested. They could add a lot of spells, add a lot of functionality.
"Aye, we could. And we will." He closed his eyes for a moment. "But it won't be as good as my old one. And I won't be as good as I was." He looked straight at her. "I'd be more hindrance than help to you, like this."
"That's not true! You're still the best thief I know!"
He shook his head. "But I'm not the best thief I know. Not any more."
"But…" She bit her lower lip. How could she convince him that he wasn't useless? She needed him! "You just lost a foot, not your head! You still have all your experience! And your wand arm!"
He laughed at that. "I do, and I'm still willing to teach you all I know, as I promised. But I would only drag you down on a real heist." He shook his head, then met her eyes again. "I'm not going to be responsible for your arrest. Or worse."
Oh. That was his problem, she suddenly realised. She should have known. "But…" she trailed off, unsure what to say.
"Besides," he nodded at her pardon, "you can return to Hogwarts now."
"Yes." She slowly nodded. Professor - Headmistress, now - McGonagall had already sent her a letter. "Yes, I can."
But did she want to?
*****
Hogwarts, January 11th, 1997
"...and I think I speak for everyone here when I say that Albus Dumbledore will be terribly missed. As Headmaster of Hogwarts, as Chief Warlock, as Supreme Mugwump, he worked tirelessly to help everyone! I would not call myself a close friend of his, but…"
Harry Potter was proud that he managed not to roll his eyes during that twit Selwyn's speech. "It's clear that he's the most senior member of the Wizengamot - he's already senile," he muttered.
Romilda, sitting next to him, leaned over. "Your speech was much better. And much shorter."
"Thanks," Harry said. It had been a struggle, too, with everyone and their dog trying to tell him what to say. Hermione had written a three-foot draft - and a four-foot one for Sirius. He leaned forward, startling Romilda, and glanced at his friend, sitting on the other side of Sirius and Jeanne. She didn't look angry at his editing, but that could be deceptive. "I wish Remus and Tonks were here," he whispered, straightening.
"They're still in St Mungo's?"
"Yes. Dark curses." The prognosis was good for both - but they would have scars. He squeezed Romilda's hand when he saw her wince.
After another five minutes, Selwin finally finished his speech, and Mr Doge - one of Dumbledore's oldest friends, Harry had learned, who had given a truly moving and also short speech - stepped forward. "Thank you, Matthias."
Selwyn solemnly nodded as he returned to his seat, but Doge was already addressing the crowd assembled in front of the monolith that would mark Dumbledore's grave on the grounds of Hogwarts. "Now rise, everyone, so we can salute our friend and teacher as he takes his last journey."
Harry stood and raised his wand, together with hundreds of wizards and witches.
"Lumos!" Doge said as Dumbledore's coffin - a stone sarcophagus - started to float and slowly travel towards the opening in the monolith.
"Lumos!"
Hundreds of light shone - in many different colours, exactly as Dumbledore had wished in his last will and testament. 'Something to brighten the day', he had called it.
Harry kept staring at the coffin until it disappeared into the polished white marble.
*****
Hermione Granger slowly lowered her wand when she saw the marble seal itself up behind the Headmaster's coffin. "Nox," she whispered, cancelling her spell, then took a deep breath. Dumbledore's grave was sealed. It was over. The funeral. The war. An era, even. Probably. It certainly felt like it.
"Let's go to the Great Hall!" Sirius said. "I'm starving!"
She glared at the dog - couldn't he show some decorum, instead of thinking with his stomach?
He frowned at her. "Don't give me that look! Dumbledore would have wanted us to enjoy the buffet. He said so in his will."
She didn't doubt that. "It's still unbecoming," she said. This was a funeral, after all.
"And I'm still hungry! Let's fetch Harry and the others and go!"
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, then looked around for Harry, Ron and the others. And Harry's little girlfriend. Seeing the little witch cling to Harry's arm as if he'd float away if she weren't weighing him down almost made her reconsider her decision. Luna certainly didn't act like that with Ron.
She was shaking her head when she approached them. "Hey! Sirius wants to head to the Great Hall." She nodded towards Hogwarts.
"Good idea! I'm starving!" Ron said, then frowned as if he didn't know why she was glaring at him. Boys!
*****
Half an hour later, Hermione Granger finally managed to be alone with her two best friends. She felt bad for jinxing the mistletoe at the side entrance to the Great Hall, prompting Luna to search for Nargles in the corridor behind it. She didn't feel bad for casting a Full-Bladder Hex at Harry's girlfriend, though. That witch simply couldn't take a hint.
She sighed and cast a privacy spell. Harry and Ron immediately tensed. "What's up?" Ron asked.
"Was there any trouble at the Ministry? Or with registering at Hogwarts?" Harry looked around, presumably for the Headmistress.
"No," Hermione said. "I just need to tell you something in private." As nice as Luna was, Hermione wasn't certain that the girl could keep a secret. She took a deep breath. "I'm not returning to Hogwarts."
*****
Chapter 29: Relationships
Starfox5
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Chapter 29: Relationships
Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, Britain, January 11th, 1997
Narcissa Malfoy née Black kept her - expected - expression of sorrow and mourning until Draco, Lucius and herself returned to their home. It wouldn't have done to even hint at a smile when attending Dumbledore's funeral. Not when the mudblood-loving fool was currently considered Britain's greatest hero.
Once she was in the entrance hall of her manor, though, she dropped the facade and schooled her features into a cool and composed expression - as befitted a pureblood witch of good breeding. She had not forgotten what her mother and aunt had taught her: a daughter of an Old Family was always in control - of her appearance, her temper and her magic.
"So, with Dumbledore dead and you ruling the Ministry, can I finally teach Potter and the blood traitors their place again?"
Even if her darling son made it difficult at times. Like today. Draco was a wonderful wizard and a loving child, but his temper suited a Gryffindor more than a Slytherin.
"No, Draco," Lucius said in a firm voice.
"Why not? You said that the Dark Lord had betrayed us and was worse than Dumbledore. That's why you worked with the Headmaster! But now they are both dead!"
She smiled at Draco. "They are dead, and your father is the most influential wizard in the Wizengamot, but that doesn't mean that he can do as he wishes." Fudge might be pliable, but manipulating the Minister still took a certain amount of finesse and caution.
"Why not?"
She frowned at him. "Do not whine. It doesn't become the scion of the Malfoy family. And it doesn't fit the last pureblood heir of the Black family either." Unless her rotten cousin managed to beget a child on his French whore.
He sulked, but he didn't whine.
"I'll explain," Lucius said. "Let's go to the salon. Dobby!"
A moment later, the house-elf's voice piped up from behind a curtain. "Yes, Master?"
"We'll be having a few refreshments in the salon."
"Yes, Master."
When they arrived a few minutes later in the salon, three trays with tea and confectionery were laid out next to the sofa and Lucius's seat, though Narcissa could just discern the movement of the curtain in the corner. Dobby meant well, but he was no Kreacher.
He did brew acceptable tea, at least. And could cook well, Narcissa reminded herself while nibbling on a scone as Lucius filled her cup.
"So… why can't we oust the Weasleys?"
She frowned at her son to remind him to wait patiently for his parents to start talking as Lucius cleared his throat.
"In fact, we took you home with us for this afternoon to discuss that exact topic. It goes without saying that you shouldn't tell anyone that we didn't stay in Hogsmeade." Lucius nodded and took a sip from his cup with perfect poise. "While my actions in the conflict with the Dark Lord have earned our family a great deal of prestige and influence, Dumbledore's heroic death and Potter killing the - although greatly weakened - Dark Lord means that Black and his ilk have profited from the battle's outcome as well."
Which was a very unfortunate outcome in Narcissa's opinion. Her husband had been the one to risk his life and soul daily for a year to spy on the Dark Lord. He had been the one who had lured that madman into the ambush, at even greater risk. And, most importantly, he had been the one to reveal the Dark Lord's Horcruxes to Dumbledore. Without Lucius, the Dark Lord would have still been as immortal as he had thought himself to be when he walked into the Ministry. All Sirius had done was absorb a few curses in the battle while casting some of his own - as typical for a Gryffindor. He hadn't even had the grace to die heroically and leave the Black family fortune to Narcissa.
"But shouldn't you have moved against them, then, instead of helping Black's mudblood return to Hogwarts?" Draco put his teacup down and Narcissa refilled it with a flick of her wand.
"I did, Draco." Lucius smiled. "It may look like I supported Black, but instead, I have hurt him. The Wizengamot is now convinced that pardoning Black's thieving pet mudblood was only done as a favour to Black. Taking notes and handling mail for your betters certainly is not a heroic deed worthy of redemption."
"Ah!"
Narcissa made a mental note to give Draco a few more lessons in hiding his reactions. He was too open with his emotions.
"So, not only will many of my 'esteemed colleagues' feel that Black spent a sizeable amount of the political capital he gained from his own actions during the battle on helping out his mudblood mistress, but I also countered his plans to have the mudblood's case reviewed."
"Reviewed?"
"There was a slight possibility that the girl's conviction might have been overturned, depending on what evidence Dumbledore had collected during the years since," Lucius explained. "While I made sure that our part in those events was covered by the blanket pardon Dumbledore granted me in exchange for spying on the Dark Lord, certain friends of ours would not have fared as well."
Draco blinked, then nodded. "Pansy, Daphne, Tracey and Bulstrode."
"Their families," Narcissa cut in, "would have been forced to return the compensation they were awarded."
"By granting the mudblood a pardon, though," Lucius went on, "I nipped that in the bud."
And, Narcissa knew, he had hastened the decline of Sirius's influence.
"But the mudblood's still returning to Hogwarts." Draco huffed. "And everyone thinks Potter is a big hero!"
"That couldn't have been avoided," Lucius retorted. "Which is why I didn't oppose it. Never waste your gold and influence fighting the inevitable, Draco. Always go with the tide and use the currents to your best advantage."
Draco nodded, but Narcissa knew that it would be best to drive this lesson home. "Which, in this case, means that those families are in our debt twice - once for your father saving them from prosecution, and once for saving their reputation and their gold." It was a very good thing that no one but the Dark Lord had known the identities of all his followers.
"Ah!" Draco smiled widely.
Narcissa knew that smile - and frowned at him. "That does not mean that you should antagonise them, Draco, by wounding their pride. All of them are Old Families, and while they owe us, that does not mean we can order them around." Not without causing so much resentment that it wasn't worth the trouble. Her son pouted, and so she smiled and reached over to ruffle his hair.
"Don't fret, Draco. Their families will be aware of these debts, and I have no doubt that they'll instruct your friends to treat you accordingly. A lighter touch will net you more than acting like a Gryffindor."
Judging by the horrified expression on her son's face at being compared to Gryffindors, this was a lesson he would not forget. Unlike, also obvious due to his grimace, his last lesson on keeping his emotions hidden.
Hogwarts, January 11th, 1997
"She doesn't want to return to Hogwarts!" Harry Potter gestured with his left arm as he paced inside the area of his privacy spell in the Gryffindor common room. He barely noticed one of the lower years nearby flinching - and didn't care; it had taken days to get the other students to stop bothering him about the battle in the Ministry. "She's finally pardoned, her expulsion reversed, but she doesn't want to return!" He didn't understand Hermione. She loved school! And she loved Hogwarts! He turned to stare at Ron. "Why?"
"Well, she said that she wouldn't fit in any more," Ron answered. "That she's used to…"
"I know what she said," Harry interrupted him. "But I don't believe it! She was mad about her O.W.L. results, and blamed them on having a tutor! And now she refuses to come to the best school in the world?" She couldn't really prefer a tutor to Hogwarts! Especially with Snape gone.
"She'd be behind in a few subjects," Ron retorted, but he was shrugging even before Harry could tell him off for that. "I don't get it either, OK?"
Harry huffed. "She could easily catch up by the end of this year, and she'd be ready for seventh year. Probably be ahead of everyone, too." He had told her that, too.
"Maybe she has a muggle boyfriend and doesn't want to leave him?" Romilda said.
"She doesn't have a boyfriend," Harry corrected her. "She said so herself." He shook his head. "No, that isn't it. Maybe…" He clenched his teeth and cut himself off. Hermione wouldn't be as petty as to abandon Hogwarts - to abandon the opportunity to join him and Ron, her best friends - just because she was an adult and didn't want to have a curfew again.
"Maybe she misses her parents?" Luna asked.
He turned to look at her. She had stopped poking through the magazines the Gryffindors had collected in the room - 'the Gryffindor library', she had called it on her first visit - and smiled at him. "What?" he asked.
"Her parents left Britain half a year ago, didn't they? So the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to find them," Luna said. Harry didn't think they had ever told her the real reason for the Granger's 'vacation'. He glanced at Ron, who looked as surprised as Harry at that. So, no.
"Yes?" Harry didn't know what Luna meant. "But they would be able to return now…" He blinked. Hermione's parents would be able to return, but if she were at Hogwarts, she wouldn't be able to see them. Ron still looked puzzled. As did Romilda.
Luna nodded several times. "She isn't used to being away from her parents, is she?"
Harry sighed. That made some sense. Not too much, but some. He was glad he hadn't blown up at Hermione when she had told them about her decision. Not too much, at least.
But he still wanted Hermione to return to Hogwarts. To be with him. And with Ron. But he couldn't fault her for choosing to be with her parents instead. He'd do the same, after all.
Sighing, he sat down in his armchair, then gasped, surprised, when Romilda moved to sit in his lap after he had closed his eyes for a moment. He frowned at her, but she smirked, unimpressed, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders before kissing him.
He was already kissing her back when he heard Luna pipe up: "Good idea!", followed by Ron making a surprised noise.
Hogwarts, January 14th, 1997
"This is Mr Biggles," Luna said, holding out a small green snake to Harry Potter.
"Mr Biggles?" Harry stared at the snake.
"Yes?" the snake answered.
"That's your name?"
"Yes?"
"Oh, what's he saying?" Luna said.
"He confirmed that he's Mr Biggles," Harry answered.
"Of course he would!" Luna replied, nodding firmly.
"How did you know his name?" Harry asked.
"Well, he looks like a Mr Biggles, doesn't he?" she answered.
Harry decided not to pry further. The snake's name didn't matter. All that mattered was that he learned how not to speak Parseltongue whenever he saw a snake.
Which, he soon found out, wasn't as easy as he had thought.
After an hour of fruitless attempts to not hiss at Mr Biggles, he handed him back to Luna. "Thank you."
She smiled at him and cooed at the snake. "Bye-bye, Mr Biggles. You will now be staying with your new friend, Harry." She patted the snake's head with one finger, then smiled at Harry. "Take good care of him, he's a nice snake."
Harry blinked. He opened his mouth to explain that he couldn't keep a snake with him - he was a Gryffindor, and even if he managed to hide Mr Biggles, he couldn't risk accidentally outing himself, but Ron was shaking his head behind Luna.
Harry took the snake back with a forced smile.
He had to talk to Sirius. Or Hermione.
Longford, Heathrow Airport, Britain, January 27th, 1997
"Dad! Mum!"
Hermione Granger's parents had barely made it out of the arrival gate when she jumped them - literally, in her dad's case.
"Ooof!" He staggered back, almost stumbling into their trolley in the process, before he recovered his balance and managed to return her hug. "Careful! You're not as little as you were when we left."
She ignored his comment and squeezed a little harder, then released him and hugged her mother. "Mum!"
"Hermione!"
Both were wiping tears from their eyes after Hermione released them.
"Well, that's a good way to start making up for cutting our vacation short!" Dad said, but when Hermione pouted at him she couldn't help but notice that his eyes also looked rather wet. "I'm joking."
"You're trying to joke," she corrected him. "Let's go; the car's waiting."
"The car?"
"Sirius hired a limousine. With a chauffeur," she added. Her parents exchanged a glance, and Hermione sighed. "I tried telling him that we'd be fine with a cab." She shrugged. "You know how he is."
"I guess we should be grateful that he didn't remodel the house in our absence," Dad said.
She flinched.
"Dear, that was your cue to laugh." Mum was frowning now.
Hermione sighed. "We just improved its security." Mostly. The escape tunnels were hidden and wouldn't inconvenience anyone. And they needed more shelves for the books she had bought anyway. Now if only there were a way to get the telly working inside wards...
Two hours later, they were sitting at the dining table - also new - and drinking tea. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop griping about the furniture! Or the tea set!" It wasn't as if she had taken the new additions from the loot from her heists - she knew better than that.
Mum sighed. "It's just… we already owe Mr Black so much."
"I owe him so much," Hermione corrected her. "You don't owe him anything."
"We'll have to agree to disagree about that," Dad said.
She frowned at him, but if he hadn't seen reason after a discussion lasting half an hour in the cab, reiterating her arguments once again wouldn't do much good. "So," she changed the subject, "you know that the Dark Lord is dead, and the danger from his followers is mostly gone."
"Mostly."
She nodded at him. "Yes, mostly. The Ministry's still looking for surviving moles, but we can safely assume that none of them are willing to risk exposing themselves by avenging their master." They would have been ordered to fight in that case - Voldemort had had to resort to mercenaries to bolster his ranks.
"I don't think there would be much risk to them in going after a pair of muggles."
Hermione didn't wince. Her mum was sharp. "No, but that's where the enhanced security comes in."
"I thought that would mean we couldn't use electronics inside the house." Dad wasn't slow either.
"Only wards have that effect. But Sirius hired a pair of wizards as guards for you." She saw her parents' expression and hastily continued. "Not like bodyguards. They're just keeping an eye on the house and the office - you know, patrolling. Checking out the neighbours, casting alarm charms at night…"
Judging by the way Mum was pressing her lips together and Dad was looking for his scotch, it was time to change the subject again.
"Also, while I've received a pardon and my expulsion was reversed, I will not be returning to Hogwarts. I'll stay in London with you, and continue my studies with my tutor and work for Sirius." And she would be able to visit muggle London and Diagon Alley whenever she wanted, instead of being confined to Hogwarts. Officially, at least - it wasn't as if she couldn't already come and go as she pleased at night.
Hermione smiled brightly at them. Fortunately, they took that news very well - much better than Harry and Ron had - and she didn't have to explain her real reasons for not returning to Hogwarts.
Because her parents wouldn't have reacted well to her planning to finish her training as a professional thief. Not at all.
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1997
"...and I want you to write two feet about the effects of Stunners on a Shield Charm for next week."
Harry Potter didn't groan at the homework assignment, unlike most of the class. Nor did he rush out of the Defence classroom as soon as he had written down the instructions. Instead, he waited until everyone but Ron and himself had left.
"Do you have questions about the lesson?" Remus asked as he cast a quick Mending Charm on the training dummy Seamus had accidentally scorched during the lesson and floated it back to where the rest of them were stored.
"No," Harry said, shaking his head.
"We learned that over a year ago," Ron added.
Harry nodded - Remus had taught them that himself, after all.
"You still have to write the essay," Remus said.
Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't comment; he and Ron had argued at length that they should be allowed to skip such homework, but Remus hadn't budged. Apparently, with Voldemort dead, they didn't need special exemptions any more.
"Just because you can use it in practice doesn't mean you can skimp on the theory; both are required for your N.E.W.T.s," Remus continued. "But if you don't have any questions about the essay, what questions do you have?"
Harry quickly cast a privacy charm. "Did Tonks get our copies of the Auror handbook?"
Remus frowned at him. "It's barely been a week since she returned to work, and you expect her to violate regulations and copy manuals for you? And, anyway, why would you think that I would know anything about that?"
"Please," Harry said. "We saw you together in St Mungo's."
Remus narrowed his eyes. "Did you use your Cloak to spy on us?"
Harry grinned. "No. I was bluffing, but you just confirmed it." Sirius had told him, but Harry's godfather wasn't the most dependable source where relationships were concerned. He still claimed that Hermione had a crush on Harry.
"You make a cute couple," Ron added. "Luna said so."
Harry knew that this wasn't the time to make jokes about matching scars. Even though Remus had claimed that a few more scars wouldn't matter given how many he had already had before the Battle of the Ministry when Sirius had joked about witches thinking scars were sexy.
Remus snorted. "Luna also thinks Thestrals are cute."
"Well…" Ron shrugged. "They have a sort of charm."
"I'll take your word for it," Harry said. He had no intention of feeding or petting the things - 'getting to know them', as Luna called it. "So… Tonks hasn't brought you the manuals yet."
"No, she hasn't," Remus said. "And you better not bother her about it - she's still on light duty."
The way Remus bared his teeth was not even close to a friendly smile and he was growling, Harry realised, despite the full moon having been a week ago. Harry nodded quickly before leaving with his friend.
"Well, I guess we'll have to be patient," Ron said outside the classroom. "Never thought I'd miss Moody's lesson so much."
Harry nodded. "I wish they'd finish the mole hunt at the Ministry."
"Won't help," Ron said. "Percy told me that they lost too many Aurors; Moody's going to be very busy until the next class finishes the Auror course."
Harry sighed. "It's weird, having so much free time and nothing to do. Other than school."
"And spending time with our girlfriends," Ron said.
"Right."
When Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room with Ron, he found Romilda waiting for him. She stood as soon as she saw him and started to walk towards him. Her friends - Cerys and Carol - waved at him, and he nodded back at them before kissing his girlfriend. "Hi."
"Hi." She beamed at him. "Do you have Quidditch training later?"
He shook his head. "Not today. Do you want to do a little flying?"
She nodded. "I'd love to."
"Unless you want to do something else," Harry added belatedly.
"No, no. Let's go flying!"
"Alright. Let me drop off my books and get my broom." Harry kissed her again, then went up the stairs.
When he dropped his book bag on his bed, he saw Ron stuffing a chess board into his pocket. He looked at it, then at Ron.
"Luna and I are going to play a few games of exchange chess. We're going to trounce Cho and Marietta," Ron answered with a grin.
"I'm going flying with Romilda," Harry said.
"You're lucky that she loves flying as much as you do," Ron said. "Luna likes playing chess, but not as often as I'd like."
Harry grinned and waved as Ron left, then went and grabbed his Quidditch goggles for Romilda - the enchantments on his glasses were good enough for flying.
Maybe some Quidditch goggles would make a good Valentine gift for Romilda, Harry thought as he left his room. As often as they went flying together, she certainly could use some.
London, Merton, January 31st, 1997
Hermione Granger loved that her parents were back from their 'protective vacation', as her dad called it, and that she was once again living with them - part-time, at least. While she was a witch and would never seriously contemplate abandoning magic or the magical world, she had missed being able to watch the BBC at home and use a computer. And being able to explore the rapidly growing 'Internet', as it was called - even though her collection of books had finally caught up and then exceeded her original collection, and she had usually bought at least The Times while staying at Grimmauld Place.
However, shopping for groceries as a muggle didn't fall amongst those parts of muggle culture that she had missed. Passing through aisles stuffed with goods, most of them things she didn't need nor want, listening to fragments of pop songs when passing people who had to be deaf already judging by the volume of their headphones and trying to get around the other customers of the supermarket who were blocking the aisles was testing her patience. It would be so easy to simply summon everything she needed. Or delegate the whole task to Kreacher, if this were a shop in Diagon Alley.
She should never have volunteered to do the grocery shopping when Mum had called and told her that she'd be late today - a boy had had an accident on the playground that had smashed his front teeth. Something magic would have been able to fix in five minutes, too.
She grabbed the last item on her list - olive oil - and proceeded to steer her shopping trolley towards the checkout, cutting off the old lady who had spent far too many minutes deciding between two brands of detergent a little earlier, in the process blocking Hermione. Her smile at that small piece of payback - the woman was buying dog food, too! - vanished as soon as she turned the corner of the last aisle and saw that only two tills were staffed, both with a long queue of waiting customers.
Five minutes worth, maybe ten - why were people doing their weekly shopping on a Friday afternoon? Hermione sighed as she picked the left queue, then bit her lower lip. Could she risk getting a book out of her enchanted pocket? A glance upwards told her that she couldn't - there were cameras. She should have brought a purse large enough - before extending it, of course - for a decent-sized book. Sighing, she looked at the newspaper stand at the till then clenched her teeth. Tabloids that made The Quibbler look like The Times. She closed her eyes and sighed again, more loudly.
"I would offer you my spot, but I don't think it would help you much."
What? Hermione looked to her right. A boy - a young man, she corrected herself; he was about her age - was smiling at her, leaning on his own shopping trolley.
He gestured at his queue. "I don't think it'll move faster than yours."
"Ah." She smiled and nodded, politely, as she looked him over. Beige woollen sweater, polo shirt beneath it, she could spot the collar, and black jeans. Trainers. Brown hair, fashionably cut. Handsome face. She wasn't staring. Not long enough for him to notice, at least. "As my mum would say: Your own queue is always the slowest."
"That's a rather egocentric view, don't you think?"
Hermione nodded. "I told her so, too." She had been ten at the time, too, and her parents hadn't let her forget it for years. She smiled at the memory. And at the man.
He smiled back. "Are you in a hurry? Late for a date?"
"No," she answered. Was he checking if she was single? "Just impatient. I should have brought a book."
He laughed. "I hope it won't take that long."
"Why? Are you late for a date?" She tilted her head, just a little. Not quite like Miss Merriweather.
He shook his head. "No."
Her queue advanced, and she pushed her trolley forward, then turned to face him again. She saw his eyes look up, at her face - they had been wandering over her turtleneck and jeans. Briefly, at least. "No date on a Friday?" she asked. She wasn't using Miss Merriweather's smile. But she wasn't just smiling politely.
He shook his head. "No." He paused for a moment. "Although I've heard that The Frighteners is a good movie."
Did he expect her to ask him out on a date? "What's it about?" she asked.
"Someone who can see ghosts and has to deal with a ghost who murders people," he explained as his queue advanced.
She frowned - ghosts couldn't affect the living. The most they could do would be scare people and hope they had an accident.
"It's a horror comedy," he added after he had stopped his trolley again. "A friend of mine said it was quite funny."
"Ah." She nodded. "I haven't been to the movies in a few months…" she trailed off and smiled at him.
"Would you like to go watch the movie with me this evening?"
She bit her lower lip - she had planned to have dinner with her parents. On the other hand, they had said that she should go out more often, so they couldn't really complain about such a change of plans. "Does that include dinner?"
"Of course!"
That would make it a date. She belatedly realised that she didn't know his name. Nor he hers. She rectified that: "Hermione Granger."
"Paul Simms," he said. "Hermione?"
She had expected that reaction. "From 'A Winter's Tale'. My parents love Shakespeare," she explained.
"Ah. I bet you have to explain that to almost everyone you meet."
She nodded. "Oh, yes." Her own queue advanced again.
"So… can I have your number?"
She pulled out her notebook and wrote down her address and phone number, then noticed that he was staring at her behind. No, her back pocket, which was just a little too small for her notebook. "See something you like?" she asked, channelling Miss Merriweather this time, to distract him.
It worked - he blushed.
And, after a moment, so did she.
London, Merton, January 31st, 1997
"Italian?" Hermione Granger asked when she saw the restaurant Paul had chosen for their date. She noted with a little relief that she wasn't underdressed for the venue - she had picked a nice set of slacks and a tighter cashmere turtleneck for the occasion.
"It offers pasta, pizza and meat dishes - something for almost everyone. A safer bet than Asian or French," Paul explained as he opened the door for her.
"Smart. Obviously, this isn't your first date." She nodded with a grin.
"Can I answer that without destroying whatever good impression of me made you accept my invitation?" He smiled, but she didn't think he was as confident as he tried to appear.
Instead of answering, she laughed, and his smile grew more relaxed. The head waiter asking for their reservation prevented further conversation until they had taken their seats.
"And what about you? Are you a dating expert?" he asked.
"I haven't been dating much." Not at all, unless attending balls in disguise counted. But she didn't need darting experience to know that even hinting at her training to lead men on to gather intel wouldn't go over well. "I was too busy studying and working."
He nodded. "What are you studying?"
"I'm working on my A Levels." It wasn't much of a lie - the N.E.W.T.s were the magical equivalent, after all.
He blinked, looking surprised. "And you're already working? I mean…" he trailed off, looking confused and a little embarrassed.
He didn't ask how old she was, so it was probably not that. But Hermione remembered that he had seen her house and her parents' car when he had come to pick her up. "My family had financial troubles a few years ago. I started working part-time at the time to help out, and by the time we had solved our problems, I had become used to earning my own money."
"Ah." As he nodded in apparent understanding, the waiter arrived with the menu, and they ordered their drinks. They didn't take long to order - Paul was obviously familiar with the menu and picked the pizza of the week, and Hermione quickly decided on a salad and lasagna al forno.
"What kind of work do you do?" he asked after the waiter had brought their drinks and taken their order.
"I'm the secretary of an independently wealthy gentleman who prefers to focus on his French mistress and his hobbies rather than on his investments," Hermione said. His obvious surprise made her smile. "It sounds more important than it is - I mainly handle his correspondence and schedule. And remind him of his appointments when needed." Which was all too often the case - the dog probably enjoyed riling her up like that. She watched him, but he didn't seem to think there was more to her work. Unless he was far better at hiding his thoughts than he had appeared so far.
"I am working part-time as a clerk at a bank myself, and I'm studying economics at South Thames College," Paul said. "I just started, though."
"Both working and studying?"
"Yes. Is it easy to balance school and your work? I wouldn't have managed during school myself. Not at my current job."
"Oh, I'm not going to school any more; I have a private tutor helping me to prepare for my A Levels." That probably made him think that her parents were spending more on her tutor than she was earning as a secretary.
"Ah."
"It's not ideal, but I like being able to schedule my own hours - mostly. I was in a boarding school for a while but that… didn't work out." Hermione wasn't lying. Not really.
He nodded. "I never went to a boarding school. Pretty much stayed in Merton all my life - even my own flat is just a ten-minute walk from my parents' home."
"My parents just returned from a six-month vacation in Australia," Hermione said. "I'm glad they made it home safely."
"Ah, yes. Australia. Deadliest continent in the world. Most of its flora and fauna want to kill you, and the rest are venomous."
She almost corrected him - he probably meant 'poisonous' as he'd included plants - but held her tongue. "They weren't reckless or stupid."
"My parents would say that that's a teenager's job."
She snorted. "My parents say I went straight from toddler to twenty going on thirty." She blushed a little, remembering. "I had a tendency to be a know-it-all." She wasn't, not any more. Or not as much, at least. Despite the dog's claims.
He laughed. "Is that the result or the source of your love of books?" At her glance, he elaborated: "You mentioned you wanted to bring a book to the supermarket and your home had a lot of bookshelves."
"I can't really say, if I'm honest - as far back as I can remember, I've always loved books." She was about to go into her favourites but refrained. "Do you like to read?"
"Well, despite my teachers and professors' best attempts to make me hate reading, I like historical novels - and history books."
She beamed at him. They spent the rest of the meals talking about historical novels, and whether or not they should be as historically accurate as possible.
"So, what did you think of the movie?" Paul asked three hours later, as they were leaving the theatre.
Hermione Granger frowned. "I didn't like how they portrayed the ghosts."
"I thought the special effects were quite good."
"Not that," she corrected him. "I didn't like that they had the ghosts being able to affect physical things and people." That was completely wrong - ghosts couldn't do that.
"Well, the movie wouldn't have worked if they couldn't affect people. Kind of hard to murder someone if you can't touch them or do anything else," Paul replied.
"Not necessarily. You could surprise and shock someone by suddenly appearing next to them and yelling. Timed correctly that could make them have an accident. Or a heart attack," Hermione said. "And even if you didn't manage that, you could cause them to suffer sleep deprivation and ultimately drive them to suicide by not letting them rest at all."
"You have given this some thought, I see." He grinned. "If I read about an unexplained murder, I'll know who to suspect."
"That just means that you'll be my first victim!" She snorted, then sniffed. "After all, you picked a horror movie to scare me into your arms, didn't you?"
He laughed at that, then slipped his arm around her shoulders - as he had during the movie. "Well, you didn't object to my pick, did you?"
"No, I didn't." She leaned into him as they walked back towards her home - and his; they were almost neighbours, as she had found out. Although she had expected that since they had met in the local supermarket.
Ten minutes later, they were standing in front of the door to her home.
"Well, I had fun," he said. "I'd like to do that again. Go on a date, I mean."
She nodded. "I had fun as well." She didn't know many people with whom she could discuss muggle books. Not in that much depth, at least.
"So… next Friday?"
She was tempted to say 'How about tomorrow?', but that would have been too eager. So she nodded, then wet her lips and kept looking at him - he was slightly taller than her.
And when he leaned forward to kiss her, she didn't object to that either.
Hogwarts, February 2nd, 1997
Standing in the hallway outside the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter tapped his glasses, activating their enchantment, then checked the corridors. He didn't spot anyone hiding nearby - no ambushes. He hadn't expected any, but you could never be sure. Not even after Voldemort's defeat. Two witches strolled past - Ravenclaws - and he almost checked them out. He controlled himself in time, though. While Moody might disagree, Harry had come to doubt that seeing through robes made him any safer; almost everyone carried a wand, and potions were not uncommon either. You couldn't really tell an attacker from a harmless passer-by. And he hadn't ever found anyone dangerous that way either.
It felt wrong, too. A little.
The door opened behind him, and he stepped to the side and turned, keeping his wand out. Romilda stood there, smiling at him. "Hi!"
"Ready to go flying?" he asked, patting his enchanted pocket, where his Firebolt rested.
She nodded and lifted her - not shrunken - broom. A Cleansweep Five. "Yes."
"Let's go then." He offered her his left arm, and she took it.
He hadn't turned the enchantment off - he was used to its effect by now, at least enough to be able to walk without blinding himself to his environment. Halfway to the gate, in the courtyard, he spotted a group of students. Slytherins. Half a dozen of them, with Draco Malfoy in their midst.
He frowned. He could change their route. The side door would be a bit of a detour, but he could explain it to Romilda as being more private. That, of course, would make them take even longer.
He scoffed. He had fought and defeated Voldemort; he wouldn't turn tail at the sight of a bunch of idiots like Malfoy and his cronies.
He heard the git before he saw him: "...and Professor Slughorn has personally invited me to the first party of the Slug Club at Hogwarts in decades!"
Romilda giggled at hearing that.
"We're invited as well," Harry reminded her in a whisper.
"It's still a silly name," she retorted.
She giggled again as they rounded the corner.
"Professor Slughorn realises, of course, how important my father is, after the Battle of the Ministry, where he..."
As soon as the Slytherins - Parkinson, Nott, Greengrass, Davis and Zabini - spotted Harry and his girlfriend, they stiffened. Malfoy even stopped in mid-sentence. "Potter," he said with a forced smile.
"Malfoy." Harry nodded at him. "Telling tales about the battle against the Dark Lord? I don't remember you being there."
"My father was there!" Malfoy shot back.
"I don't see him here," Harry retorted. "I don't see Crabbe or Goyle either, but we all know why they're missing, don't we?"
Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth and the rest of the Slytherins flinched. Parkinson glared at Harry.
"What?" Harry snorted. "Your father betrayed Voldemort. Did you honestly think they wouldn't try to take revenge?"
"That's none of your business," Malfoy replied with his typical sneer.
"Since their fathers tried to kill my friends and me, I think it's my business." He scoffed. "Hell, I might have been the one to kill Crabbe's father. I certainly couldn't tell who I was fighting since they were all masked."
That made them flinch even more, and he felt Romilda's grip tighten on his arm. He waited a moment, but no one said anything in response. Perfect.
Smiling toothily, he nodded at the Slytherins again and walked away with Romilda.
An hour later, they set down again after a long but rather slow, by Harry Potter's standards, aerial chase. He was the first to land, and he watched Romilda come in.
"Whew!" She said, handing over the broom shouldering her broom. "That was fun. But it was freezing."
He frowned. "Did the Warming Charms fail?" She should have said so - he could have cast one that lasted.
"Mh." She hugged him. "I need someone to warm me up."
"Ah!" He returned her hug and rubbed her back.
A few kisses later, they were walking back to the school - to the side door, this time. "Did you have fun?"
"Of course!"
"We can do something other than flying if you want to."
"No, no, it's fine. I like flying!"
"Are you sure?"
"Why would I lie?"
Why, indeed. But if she loved flying, why didn't she have better gear? The Cleansweep Five was a decent broom, but it was getting old. There were better brooms to be had - not too expensive either; it wasn't as if her family was poor.
"As long as I can spend time with you I'm happy." She was beaming at him, and they stopped outside the door for a quick - or not so quick - snog.
"I'm happy to hear that." And he was. "But if you ever want to, well - explore the Forbidden Forest, for example, we can do that too."
"We can do that if you want to."
She was smiling at him, but he had to force himself to smile back. A little, at least.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 7th, 1997
"Here are your notes and your itinerary for the Wizengamot next week!" Hermione Granger announced, dropping a stack of parchment on Sirius's desk. "If you have any questions, I'll be back tomorrow."
Her employer eyed the parchment with the same expression a dog would have when confronted with a tiger. No wonder he had been happy about her decision not to return to Hogwarts, which would have meant she couldn't work for him any more. Then he perked up. "Not staying for dinner? Hot date tonight?"
The dog's wide, mocking smile just begged for a cat to rake his nose with her claws. But not today. Instead of teaching him a lesson, she smiled. "Yes."
"What?"
He was gaping with such a flabbergasted expression that she glared at him. "I have a date this evening. Did you really think I wouldn't be able to get a date if I wanted to?"
"No, no!"
Which, of course, meant 'yes'. She scoffed and shook her head.
"Who is the lucky boy?" He had recovered and was leaning forward in his seat.
"A neighbour. I met him in the supermarket."
"A muggle?" He was looking as if he were surprised again.
"Is there something wrong with muggles?" She narrowed her eyes at the dog.
"No. Just… I didn't expect that." He shook his head.
"Really?" She didn't bother to hide her doubt. "Did you expect me to flirt with the Ministry staff when we visit the Wizengamot? Or go and ask out students in Hogsmeade?" She snorted at the idea.
"When you put it like that…" He pouted. "But isn't it awkward dating someone who can't know about the real you?"
"No more awkward than not telling Harry about what I did during the war." And what she was planning to do, once she had completed her training.
"Ah, right."
She rolled her eyes. He had been the one who told her to keep that a secret. Even though his reasons made sense - if one believed letting Harry become an Auror was as important as Sirius thought it was. "I'm heading home to get ready for my date now."
Hermione felt surprisingly pleased to say that.
London, Merton, February 7th, 1997
"What did you think of the movie?" Hermione Granger asked as she and Paul were leaving the theatre.
"Hm." Paul looked pensive. "It was nice, but a little too 'family friendly', you know what I mean?" It must have been a rhetorical question since he continued before she could answer: "Not much action, and a lot of feel-good clichés. The idealistic little girl against the evil investors, cute animals and the good people cheering the kid in a happy ending." He shook his head. "It didn't even have a real villain. No real danger at all." He grinned at her. "All this for saving food with wings?"
"It's not about geese," Hermione retorted. "It's about a young girl learning to fight for what she believes in. She overcomes all obstacles to protect those weaker than herself." 'Fly Away Home' was a very uplifting movie.
Paul shrugged. "Not enough fighting for my taste. Not enough guns." He grinned. "Family-friendly. I like a bit more blood and gore with my action."
She was tempted to tell him that he wouldn't be saying that if he had been in a real fight, but held her tongue. "The flying scenes were beautiful." Flying an ultralight must be almost like flying on a broom, she thought - but with more comfortable seating arrangements and less agility.
He grinned again. "I prefer planes with guns on them in my movies."
She snorted. "I prefer to fly instead of watching actors wave props around and playing soldiers." Harry and Ron would agree with her, she knew.
He blinked. "Don't tell me that you can fly!"
She almost winced, then forced herself to grin. "Well, not without a plane. Or a magic broom."
That made him laugh. She smiled. "I would like to be able to, though."
"Don't we all?" He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. "But we'll have to make do with the next best thing."
"Which would be?"
"Dancing as if nobody's watching. I know a great club."
"Lead the way." It was certainly better than dissecting a movie.
An hour later, she found that kissing on the dance floor was better than dissecting a movie as well. Much better.
And snogging in dark corner of the club was even better.
Hogwarts, February 21st, 1997
Harry Potter ducked and Sirius's stunner passed overhead, not even hitting his Shield Charm. He jumped forward, rolled over his shoulder, barely noticing another Stunner missing him, and cast a Piercing Curse followed by a Stunner at near point-blank range. His godfather's shield shattered, and he went down a moment later.
A flick of his wand revived Sirius and Harry offered a hand to the groaning wizard to help him up. "That was a good session."
Sirius frowned at him. "If I weren't still suffering from the wounds I took at the Ministry, I'd have completely trounced you."
"Pomfrey released you in perfect health over a month ago!" Harry retorted. He had won a few rounds fair and square!
"I'm talking about the wounds taken by attending the Wizengamot, and listening to idiots who couldn't outwit a mountain troll," Sirius said. "I'm suffering."
Harry remembered his own encounter with a mountain troll as he shook his head. "Excuses, excuses."
Sirius scoffed. "I'll show you excuses next week." He sat down on the bench near the door of the Defence classroom and summoned a bottle of Butterbeer. "So, how are you doing when you're not abusing a wounded man? Or dumping snakes on your godfather? Everything's alright? Any trouble with Tonks's handbooks?"
Harry joined him and grabbed a bottle for himself. "Other than their size, they're fine." Studying the manuals would take more time than Ron and Harry had expected, but they had the time to spare, now that Voldemort was gone. "Slughorn's a good teacher, but he's a little too pushy about his club. McGonagall hasn't found a replacement Transfiguration teacher yet, so she's teaching as well as acting as Headmistress. But that's not a really big change."
Sirius nodded. "Yeah. She mostly let the prefects run things anyway."
Harry shrugged. Dumbledore had left a lot of the school's daily business to her, or so Harry had heard. "Malfoy's acting as if he fought Voldemort himself, but that was to be expected."
"His father's the same." Sirius scoffed. "Bigoted bastard."
Harry didn't disagree with the sentiment. Hermione would have corrected Sirius that neither Malfoy was technically a bastard. He took a sip from his own bottle. "I've been thinking."
"Hm?"
"About Romilda." Harry took another sip.
"Oh?" Sirius put his own bottle down.
"Things should be great. She's always happy to see me, she likes flying with me, she doesn't nag me, she doesn't try to get me to drop my friends, and we snog a lot…" Harry sighed.
"That does sound great," Sirius said.
"Yes. But…" Harry shrugged. "I just feel like… like something's missing, you know?" Before Sirius could say something lewd, he went on: "She goes along with everything I say. And when I ask her if she wants to do something with me, we end up doing something I like." He stood and started to pace. "When I mentioned exploring the Forbidden Forest as an example, she said OK." He gestured. "I brought it up because Luna and Ron are doing that - Luna loves those excursions. But they are also playing chess, which Ron loves."
Sirius rubbed his goatee. "So you don't like being in charge all the time?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't like it. It feels as if she's just going along with whatever I want. That makes the whole thing feel… wrong." He shrugged. "As if it doesn't matter at all what I want; she'll just nod and do it."
"As long as she can do you?"
He rolled his eyes at Sirius. "I just…" He sighed. "It sounds stupid, but it feels as if I'm doing all the work. Even if all I have to do is say something and she goes along with it. I just want more." Something more. Something more like Luna and Ron had. Or what he had had with Ginny. Before the rows, at least.
"Ah." His godfather nodded. "You're not satisfied." Harry rolled his eyes - he had just said that. "Well, if you're not happy in a relationship, there are only two possible solutions: You break up with her, or you change her. But changing someone is hard. Very hard. Trust me."
Harry snorted. "And what if I break up with Romilda? Get another girlfriend and hope she's a better fit?"
"Yes." Sirius grinned. "You're still young. You'll find the right witch yet! You'll also discover that as you grow older, you change. And the witches change as well."
That would have sounded far more convincing if Sirius wasn't about to marry a witch about fifteen years younger than he was, Harry thought. He changed the subject. "So how is it going in the Wizengamot?"
Sirius scowled. "Not too well."
"Can't outwit wizards who are dumber than a troll?" Harry asked with a grin.
His godfather scoffed. "Malfoy's Fudge's best friend and doing all he can to undermine Arthur and Amelia in the Ministry. And he's trying to control the Wizengamot. We might need you to make an appearance or two, to counter him. Or at least give an interview."
"Alright." Harry nodded. Compared to fighting Voldemort, playing the hero or giving an interview was easy. "Unless it's Skeeter. I'm not talking to her."
Sirius laughed. "No one wants you to talk to her." He stood. "Well, it's about time to return home."
"Is Jeanne waiting for you?" Harry grinned. "Or did you try dumping your work on Hermione again?"
"I wish!" Sirius said. "Since she's got herself a boyfriend, she's not around as much as before."
Harry blinked. "Hermione has a boyfriend?" Hermione?
"Yes. Some muggle boy she met at the 'supermarket'."
Harry narrowed his eyes. If that boy was taking advantage of his best friend...
Hogwarts, March 9th, 1997
"So, where do you want to go first?" Harry Potter asked when he climbed out of the carriages in Hogsmeade with Romilda.
"I don't have anything specific in mind," Romilda answered. Then she beamed at him. "Where do you want to go first?"
Harry almost sighed, then smiled and shrugged. "I don't have any plans other than to spend time with you. So, you'll have to decide where we go!" Let's see her weasel out of that!
"Hm." For a moment, she looked lost. Then she smiled again. "Let's go to Spintwitches!"
That was the local Quidditch shop - well, they also sold other sporting goods, but who cared about anything other than Quidditch? - and they had been there before. Almost every Hogsmeade weekend, in fact. But at least Romilda had picked something by herself. So Harry nodded. "Alright."
It didn't take them long to make their way to the shop. There was no new broom on display - not that Harry would have expected one; the new models were usually revealed before the summer training camps started - but they had the new Quidditch Weekly. Harry smiled and went to grab one. Then he realised that Romilda had followed him.
"Oh, that's Gwenog Jones!" she said, pointing at the cover. "She's great."
"Yes. There's a poster of her on sale, too," Harry said. He nodded at the poster, showing Jones hitting two Bludgers with one swing in the game against Puddlemere last autumn. That had decided the match.
"Are you gonna buy it?" Romilda asked.
"Do you want it?" He asked back.
She shook her head. "No, no, I'm good."
It wasn't expensive. It was just a poster. But if she didn't want it, or didn't want to say it… He nodded. "Alright. I'll be right back." He went to the counter, then glanced over his shoulder at her while the saleswitch operated the till.
Romilda was looking at him and smiling.
He forced himself to smile back at her.
London, Merton, March 24th, 1997
Harry Potter didn't like Paul Simms. Not at all. He was smiling far too much. And the way he always had his arm around Hermione, as if she weren't allowed to leave him…
"Another boring movie," the man - the boy; he wasn't that much older - said, theatrically sighing as he pointed at the poster above the entrance.
"Have you already seen it?" Ron asked. "I thought this was a new movie."
"He hasn't," Hermione said, and Harry saw her elbow Paul in the side. She was dressed up a little, he'd noticed - she even wore makeup. It looked very nice on her. "But Paul prefers action movies, and this is a movie about a sports agent who wants to change his work."
"A sports agent?" Ron looked lost. Maybe they shouldn't have invited him to come along - but then it would have just been Harry with Hermione and her boyfriend. Which would have looked very bad. And Romilda didn't know enough about muggles to fool Paul.
"A man who works for professional athletes, negotiating their contracts for them with the team owners," Hermione explained.
"Ah." Ron nodded. "I didn't know that that was a profession."
"You didn't?" Paul looked surprised.
Harry shrugged. "Ron's not interested in sports. He doesn't even watch football."
"Really? You don't look the type." Paul had that arrogant expression on his face again, Harry thought.
"The type?" Ron asked.
"You know, all intellectual, no sweaty sports." Paul grinned. "Although Hermione isn't a big fan of sports either."
Harry almost smirked. Paul obviously had no clue about Hermione's love for Quidditch.
"I prefer to do sports rather than watch others do them," Hermione said. "Which is why Paul won't jog with me: He's the opposite."
"Indeed - my weak male ego can't stand being bested by a girl." Paul laughed and pulled Hermione close to press a kiss on her head. "But I love watching her work out."
Paul didn't have to leer like that, Harry thought. And his jokes weren't really funny. He didn't like seeing Hermione blush like that either.
"And I'll love watching this movie," Hermione stated firmly. "All the critics say it's great."
"As long as we're going to watch Star Wars next week," Paul retorted.
Ron opened his mouth - presumably to ask about Star Wars - but Harry distracted him with an elbow to the ribs before he could start. "Yes. We'll go watch that one as well."
"With your girlfriends?" Paul sounded far too sceptical.
"Yes. Luna and Romilda will love it," Harry said.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked.
"Yes." Harry nodded. They could use privacy spells in the theatre, to keep Luna from disturbing the audience.
"Romilda?" Paul shook his head. "Who names their daughter Romilda? Or Luna?"
Harry wanted to hex the guy. And Ron looked as if he shared the feeling.
"You've got interesting friends."
Hermione Granger glanced over her shoulder at Harry and Ron. They were still at the bus stop, looking at Paul and herself, but too far away to overhear Paul. Unless they were using spells. Which they weren't. She waved, and they waved back.
"They're the best friends you could wish for," she said as they turned the corner. Who else would risk their lives for her?
"They seemed to be a little jealous."
"Jealous?" She frowned. "Maybe they're afraid that you'll act like Harry's first girlfriend. She was so insecure and possessive, she wanted him to stop spending time with Ron and me."
"Well, I'm not insecure or possessive, am I?" He pulled her closer to him as he said so. "Just because I want to hold you and never let go again."
She snorted. "As long as you don't try to convince me not to visit them at their boarding school you'll be fine."
"I know better than to try to convince you to do anything you don't want to," he said.
She blushed slightly - she knew he wasn't just talking about visiting her friends. But while she wasn't averse to what he meant, they had been dating for less than two months. Although it wasn't as if there were a minimum time you had to wait before you had sex. And if there were, two months would be fine. Or almost two months. And Mum had ensured that she knew how to use contraceptives. So she was prepared. If she felt ready. Which she usually did, when they were snogging. Still…
"Want to come to my flat for tea?"
"Sure," she answered. It wouldn't be the first time they'd be snogging on his couch. Or done more. But they hadn't gone all the way. Yet.
She leaned into him as they walked towards his home.
"So, what did you think?"
What Hermione Granger thought was that that wasn't a question you should ask after you've had sex with someone for the first time. She took a deep breath and glanced at Paul, lying next to her in his bed. He looked nervous. Which meant that an honest answer - 'Not bad, but I expected more' or 'I hope it gets better with practice' - was out of the question. She liked him. She didn't want to lose him. He was a good kisser. She liked talking with him. And discussing - debating - the merits of various books and movies. Being honest wasn't worth hurting his ego - while he was joking about it, he hadn't taken well to her running him into the ground the first and only time they went jogging.
So she sat up, smiled at him and ran her fingers over his chest.
"I think that we'll be late for work and uni tomorrow."
Hogwarts, April 11th, 1997
"There you are!"
Harry Potter winced, then forced himself to smile before turning round. Romilda was standing in the door. "Hi."
She stepped inside and closed the door. "Why did you want to meet me in the Defence classroom?" she asked as she walked towards him.
"It's private. Remus isn't around."
"Oh!" She grinned, then looked at the desks and the open duelling area. "Doesn't look too comfortable, though."
Harry swished his wand and conjured two seats facing each other. "Let's sit down."
Romilda looked puzzled but took her seat. "A couch would be better, I think."
"I don't think so," Harry said, then clenched his teeth as she started to frown. He pushed on. "I'm sorry." She opened her mouth but didn't say anything as he continued. "I don't think that it's working between us." He shook his head, trying to both keep looking at her and ignoring the way her expression shifted from surprised to shocked. "It's just…" He took a deep breath. He had prepared a little speech, but he couldn't recall most of it. "I mean, I like you. Very much. But I don't think we're good for each other. I don't think we'll be happy if we stay together."
"Why not?" There were tears in her eyes now.
Harry wanted to curse Moody's lesson about watching an enemy's eyes. "I can't explain it. Not well. It's just…" He sighed. "Something's missing." Honesty was best, or so he had heard, but telling her that he was sick of how she went along with everything he said? That would make her blame herself, and she didn't deserve that.
"What?" She was crying now.
He felt as if he had cursed a child. Or a kitten. "I don't know what exactly. But I know that I'm not happy as things are. It's not your fault. Maybe I've changed, after Voldemort, and it took me time to notice?" he lied. "But it's best we break up before we start hating each other."
Romilda shook her head, staring at him. Her lips trembled as tears ran down her cheek. Then she stood and ran out of the room, sobbing.
Harry closed his eyes, leaned back and cursed under his breath.
That had been as bad as he had feared. Or worse. But what else could he have done? He couldn't string her along any longer and act as if everything was alright.
Maybe he should have talked to Ron or Hermione about this.
Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, Britain, January 11th, 1997
Narcissa Malfoy née Black kept her - expected - expression of sorrow and mourning until Draco, Lucius and herself returned to their home. It wouldn't have done to even hint at a smile when attending Dumbledore's funeral. Not when the mudblood-loving fool was currently considered Britain's greatest hero.
Once she was in the entrance hall of her manor, though, she dropped the facade and schooled her features into a cool and composed expression - as befitted a pureblood witch of good breeding. She had not forgotten what her mother and aunt had taught her: a daughter of an Old Family was always in control - of her appearance, her temper and her magic.
"So, with Dumbledore dead and you ruling the Ministry, can I finally teach Potter and the blood traitors their place again?"
Even if her darling son made it difficult at times. Like today. Draco was a wonderful wizard and a loving child, but his temper suited a Gryffindor more than a Slytherin.
"No, Draco," Lucius said in a firm voice.
"Why not? You said that the Dark Lord had betrayed us and was worse than Dumbledore. That's why you worked with the Headmaster! But now they are both dead!"
She smiled at Draco. "They are dead, and your father is the most influential wizard in the Wizengamot, but that doesn't mean that he can do as he wishes." Fudge might be pliable, but manipulating the Minister still took a certain amount of finesse and caution.
"Why not?"
She frowned at him. "Do not whine. It doesn't become the scion of the Malfoy family. And it doesn't fit the last pureblood heir of the Black family either." Unless her rotten cousin managed to beget a child on his French whore.
He sulked, but he didn't whine.
"I'll explain," Lucius said. "Let's go to the salon. Dobby!"
A moment later, the house-elf's voice piped up from behind a curtain. "Yes, Master?"
"We'll be having a few refreshments in the salon."
"Yes, Master."
When they arrived a few minutes later in the salon, three trays with tea and confectionery were laid out next to the sofa and Lucius's seat, though Narcissa could just discern the movement of the curtain in the corner. Dobby meant well, but he was no Kreacher.
He did brew acceptable tea, at least. And could cook well, Narcissa reminded herself while nibbling on a scone as Lucius filled her cup.
"So… why can't we oust the Weasleys?"
She frowned at her son to remind him to wait patiently for his parents to start talking as Lucius cleared his throat.
"In fact, we took you home with us for this afternoon to discuss that exact topic. It goes without saying that you shouldn't tell anyone that we didn't stay in Hogsmeade." Lucius nodded and took a sip from his cup with perfect poise. "While my actions in the conflict with the Dark Lord have earned our family a great deal of prestige and influence, Dumbledore's heroic death and Potter killing the - although greatly weakened - Dark Lord means that Black and his ilk have profited from the battle's outcome as well."
Which was a very unfortunate outcome in Narcissa's opinion. Her husband had been the one to risk his life and soul daily for a year to spy on the Dark Lord. He had been the one who had lured that madman into the ambush, at even greater risk. And, most importantly, he had been the one to reveal the Dark Lord's Horcruxes to Dumbledore. Without Lucius, the Dark Lord would have still been as immortal as he had thought himself to be when he walked into the Ministry. All Sirius had done was absorb a few curses in the battle while casting some of his own - as typical for a Gryffindor. He hadn't even had the grace to die heroically and leave the Black family fortune to Narcissa.
"But shouldn't you have moved against them, then, instead of helping Black's mudblood return to Hogwarts?" Draco put his teacup down and Narcissa refilled it with a flick of her wand.
"I did, Draco." Lucius smiled. "It may look like I supported Black, but instead, I have hurt him. The Wizengamot is now convinced that pardoning Black's thieving pet mudblood was only done as a favour to Black. Taking notes and handling mail for your betters certainly is not a heroic deed worthy of redemption."
"Ah!"
Narcissa made a mental note to give Draco a few more lessons in hiding his reactions. He was too open with his emotions.
"So, not only will many of my 'esteemed colleagues' feel that Black spent a sizeable amount of the political capital he gained from his own actions during the battle on helping out his mudblood mistress, but I also countered his plans to have the mudblood's case reviewed."
"Reviewed?"
"There was a slight possibility that the girl's conviction might have been overturned, depending on what evidence Dumbledore had collected during the years since," Lucius explained. "While I made sure that our part in those events was covered by the blanket pardon Dumbledore granted me in exchange for spying on the Dark Lord, certain friends of ours would not have fared as well."
Draco blinked, then nodded. "Pansy, Daphne, Tracey and Bulstrode."
"Their families," Narcissa cut in, "would have been forced to return the compensation they were awarded."
"By granting the mudblood a pardon, though," Lucius went on, "I nipped that in the bud."
And, Narcissa knew, he had hastened the decline of Sirius's influence.
"But the mudblood's still returning to Hogwarts." Draco huffed. "And everyone thinks Potter is a big hero!"
"That couldn't have been avoided," Lucius retorted. "Which is why I didn't oppose it. Never waste your gold and influence fighting the inevitable, Draco. Always go with the tide and use the currents to your best advantage."
Draco nodded, but Narcissa knew that it would be best to drive this lesson home. "Which, in this case, means that those families are in our debt twice - once for your father saving them from prosecution, and once for saving their reputation and their gold." It was a very good thing that no one but the Dark Lord had known the identities of all his followers.
"Ah!" Draco smiled widely.
Narcissa knew that smile - and frowned at him. "That does not mean that you should antagonise them, Draco, by wounding their pride. All of them are Old Families, and while they owe us, that does not mean we can order them around." Not without causing so much resentment that it wasn't worth the trouble. Her son pouted, and so she smiled and reached over to ruffle his hair.
"Don't fret, Draco. Their families will be aware of these debts, and I have no doubt that they'll instruct your friends to treat you accordingly. A lighter touch will net you more than acting like a Gryffindor."
Judging by the horrified expression on her son's face at being compared to Gryffindors, this was a lesson he would not forget. Unlike, also obvious due to his grimace, his last lesson on keeping his emotions hidden.
*****
Hogwarts, January 11th, 1997
"She doesn't want to return to Hogwarts!" Harry Potter gestured with his left arm as he paced inside the area of his privacy spell in the Gryffindor common room. He barely noticed one of the lower years nearby flinching - and didn't care; it had taken days to get the other students to stop bothering him about the battle in the Ministry. "She's finally pardoned, her expulsion reversed, but she doesn't want to return!" He didn't understand Hermione. She loved school! And she loved Hogwarts! He turned to stare at Ron. "Why?"
"Well, she said that she wouldn't fit in any more," Ron answered. "That she's used to…"
"I know what she said," Harry interrupted him. "But I don't believe it! She was mad about her O.W.L. results, and blamed them on having a tutor! And now she refuses to come to the best school in the world?" She couldn't really prefer a tutor to Hogwarts! Especially with Snape gone.
"She'd be behind in a few subjects," Ron retorted, but he was shrugging even before Harry could tell him off for that. "I don't get it either, OK?"
Harry huffed. "She could easily catch up by the end of this year, and she'd be ready for seventh year. Probably be ahead of everyone, too." He had told her that, too.
"Maybe she has a muggle boyfriend and doesn't want to leave him?" Romilda said.
"She doesn't have a boyfriend," Harry corrected her. "She said so herself." He shook his head. "No, that isn't it. Maybe…" He clenched his teeth and cut himself off. Hermione wouldn't be as petty as to abandon Hogwarts - to abandon the opportunity to join him and Ron, her best friends - just because she was an adult and didn't want to have a curfew again.
"Maybe she misses her parents?" Luna asked.
He turned to look at her. She had stopped poking through the magazines the Gryffindors had collected in the room - 'the Gryffindor library', she had called it on her first visit - and smiled at him. "What?" he asked.
"Her parents left Britain half a year ago, didn't they? So the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to find them," Luna said. Harry didn't think they had ever told her the real reason for the Granger's 'vacation'. He glanced at Ron, who looked as surprised as Harry at that. So, no.
"Yes?" Harry didn't know what Luna meant. "But they would be able to return now…" He blinked. Hermione's parents would be able to return, but if she were at Hogwarts, she wouldn't be able to see them. Ron still looked puzzled. As did Romilda.
Luna nodded several times. "She isn't used to being away from her parents, is she?"
Harry sighed. That made some sense. Not too much, but some. He was glad he hadn't blown up at Hermione when she had told them about her decision. Not too much, at least.
But he still wanted Hermione to return to Hogwarts. To be with him. And with Ron. But he couldn't fault her for choosing to be with her parents instead. He'd do the same, after all.
Sighing, he sat down in his armchair, then gasped, surprised, when Romilda moved to sit in his lap after he had closed his eyes for a moment. He frowned at her, but she smirked, unimpressed, and wrapped her arm around his shoulders before kissing him.
He was already kissing her back when he heard Luna pipe up: "Good idea!", followed by Ron making a surprised noise.
*****
Hogwarts, January 14th, 1997
"This is Mr Biggles," Luna said, holding out a small green snake to Harry Potter.
"Mr Biggles?" Harry stared at the snake.
"Yes?" the snake answered.
"That's your name?"
"Yes?"
"Oh, what's he saying?" Luna said.
"He confirmed that he's Mr Biggles," Harry answered.
"Of course he would!" Luna replied, nodding firmly.
"How did you know his name?" Harry asked.
"Well, he looks like a Mr Biggles, doesn't he?" she answered.
Harry decided not to pry further. The snake's name didn't matter. All that mattered was that he learned how not to speak Parseltongue whenever he saw a snake.
Which, he soon found out, wasn't as easy as he had thought.
After an hour of fruitless attempts to not hiss at Mr Biggles, he handed him back to Luna. "Thank you."
She smiled at him and cooed at the snake. "Bye-bye, Mr Biggles. You will now be staying with your new friend, Harry." She patted the snake's head with one finger, then smiled at Harry. "Take good care of him, he's a nice snake."
Harry blinked. He opened his mouth to explain that he couldn't keep a snake with him - he was a Gryffindor, and even if he managed to hide Mr Biggles, he couldn't risk accidentally outing himself, but Ron was shaking his head behind Luna.
Harry took the snake back with a forced smile.
He had to talk to Sirius. Or Hermione.
*****
Longford, Heathrow Airport, Britain, January 27th, 1997
"Dad! Mum!"
Hermione Granger's parents had barely made it out of the arrival gate when she jumped them - literally, in her dad's case.
"Ooof!" He staggered back, almost stumbling into their trolley in the process, before he recovered his balance and managed to return her hug. "Careful! You're not as little as you were when we left."
She ignored his comment and squeezed a little harder, then released him and hugged her mother. "Mum!"
"Hermione!"
Both were wiping tears from their eyes after Hermione released them.
"Well, that's a good way to start making up for cutting our vacation short!" Dad said, but when Hermione pouted at him she couldn't help but notice that his eyes also looked rather wet. "I'm joking."
"You're trying to joke," she corrected him. "Let's go; the car's waiting."
"The car?"
"Sirius hired a limousine. With a chauffeur," she added. Her parents exchanged a glance, and Hermione sighed. "I tried telling him that we'd be fine with a cab." She shrugged. "You know how he is."
"I guess we should be grateful that he didn't remodel the house in our absence," Dad said.
She flinched.
"Dear, that was your cue to laugh." Mum was frowning now.
Hermione sighed. "We just improved its security." Mostly. The escape tunnels were hidden and wouldn't inconvenience anyone. And they needed more shelves for the books she had bought anyway. Now if only there were a way to get the telly working inside wards...
Two hours later, they were sitting at the dining table - also new - and drinking tea. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop griping about the furniture! Or the tea set!" It wasn't as if she had taken the new additions from the loot from her heists - she knew better than that.
Mum sighed. "It's just… we already owe Mr Black so much."
"I owe him so much," Hermione corrected her. "You don't owe him anything."
"We'll have to agree to disagree about that," Dad said.
She frowned at him, but if he hadn't seen reason after a discussion lasting half an hour in the cab, reiterating her arguments once again wouldn't do much good. "So," she changed the subject, "you know that the Dark Lord is dead, and the danger from his followers is mostly gone."
"Mostly."
She nodded at him. "Yes, mostly. The Ministry's still looking for surviving moles, but we can safely assume that none of them are willing to risk exposing themselves by avenging their master." They would have been ordered to fight in that case - Voldemort had had to resort to mercenaries to bolster his ranks.
"I don't think there would be much risk to them in going after a pair of muggles."
Hermione didn't wince. Her mum was sharp. "No, but that's where the enhanced security comes in."
"I thought that would mean we couldn't use electronics inside the house." Dad wasn't slow either.
"Only wards have that effect. But Sirius hired a pair of wizards as guards for you." She saw her parents' expression and hastily continued. "Not like bodyguards. They're just keeping an eye on the house and the office - you know, patrolling. Checking out the neighbours, casting alarm charms at night…"
Judging by the way Mum was pressing her lips together and Dad was looking for his scotch, it was time to change the subject again.
"Also, while I've received a pardon and my expulsion was reversed, I will not be returning to Hogwarts. I'll stay in London with you, and continue my studies with my tutor and work for Sirius." And she would be able to visit muggle London and Diagon Alley whenever she wanted, instead of being confined to Hogwarts. Officially, at least - it wasn't as if she couldn't already come and go as she pleased at night.
Hermione smiled brightly at them. Fortunately, they took that news very well - much better than Harry and Ron had - and she didn't have to explain her real reasons for not returning to Hogwarts.
Because her parents wouldn't have reacted well to her planning to finish her training as a professional thief. Not at all.
*****
Hogwarts, January 30th, 1997
"...and I want you to write two feet about the effects of Stunners on a Shield Charm for next week."
Harry Potter didn't groan at the homework assignment, unlike most of the class. Nor did he rush out of the Defence classroom as soon as he had written down the instructions. Instead, he waited until everyone but Ron and himself had left.
"Do you have questions about the lesson?" Remus asked as he cast a quick Mending Charm on the training dummy Seamus had accidentally scorched during the lesson and floated it back to where the rest of them were stored.
"No," Harry said, shaking his head.
"We learned that over a year ago," Ron added.
Harry nodded - Remus had taught them that himself, after all.
"You still have to write the essay," Remus said.
Harry rolled his eyes, but didn't comment; he and Ron had argued at length that they should be allowed to skip such homework, but Remus hadn't budged. Apparently, with Voldemort dead, they didn't need special exemptions any more.
"Just because you can use it in practice doesn't mean you can skimp on the theory; both are required for your N.E.W.T.s," Remus continued. "But if you don't have any questions about the essay, what questions do you have?"
Harry quickly cast a privacy charm. "Did Tonks get our copies of the Auror handbook?"
Remus frowned at him. "It's barely been a week since she returned to work, and you expect her to violate regulations and copy manuals for you? And, anyway, why would you think that I would know anything about that?"
"Please," Harry said. "We saw you together in St Mungo's."
Remus narrowed his eyes. "Did you use your Cloak to spy on us?"
Harry grinned. "No. I was bluffing, but you just confirmed it." Sirius had told him, but Harry's godfather wasn't the most dependable source where relationships were concerned. He still claimed that Hermione had a crush on Harry.
"You make a cute couple," Ron added. "Luna said so."
Harry knew that this wasn't the time to make jokes about matching scars. Even though Remus had claimed that a few more scars wouldn't matter given how many he had already had before the Battle of the Ministry when Sirius had joked about witches thinking scars were sexy.
Remus snorted. "Luna also thinks Thestrals are cute."
"Well…" Ron shrugged. "They have a sort of charm."
"I'll take your word for it," Harry said. He had no intention of feeding or petting the things - 'getting to know them', as Luna called it. "So… Tonks hasn't brought you the manuals yet."
"No, she hasn't," Remus said. "And you better not bother her about it - she's still on light duty."
The way Remus bared his teeth was not even close to a friendly smile and he was growling, Harry realised, despite the full moon having been a week ago. Harry nodded quickly before leaving with his friend.
"Well, I guess we'll have to be patient," Ron said outside the classroom. "Never thought I'd miss Moody's lesson so much."
Harry nodded. "I wish they'd finish the mole hunt at the Ministry."
"Won't help," Ron said. "Percy told me that they lost too many Aurors; Moody's going to be very busy until the next class finishes the Auror course."
Harry sighed. "It's weird, having so much free time and nothing to do. Other than school."
"And spending time with our girlfriends," Ron said.
"Right."
*****
When Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room with Ron, he found Romilda waiting for him. She stood as soon as she saw him and started to walk towards him. Her friends - Cerys and Carol - waved at him, and he nodded back at them before kissing his girlfriend. "Hi."
"Hi." She beamed at him. "Do you have Quidditch training later?"
He shook his head. "Not today. Do you want to do a little flying?"
She nodded. "I'd love to."
"Unless you want to do something else," Harry added belatedly.
"No, no. Let's go flying!"
"Alright. Let me drop off my books and get my broom." Harry kissed her again, then went up the stairs.
When he dropped his book bag on his bed, he saw Ron stuffing a chess board into his pocket. He looked at it, then at Ron.
"Luna and I are going to play a few games of exchange chess. We're going to trounce Cho and Marietta," Ron answered with a grin.
"I'm going flying with Romilda," Harry said.
"You're lucky that she loves flying as much as you do," Ron said. "Luna likes playing chess, but not as often as I'd like."
Harry grinned and waved as Ron left, then went and grabbed his Quidditch goggles for Romilda - the enchantments on his glasses were good enough for flying.
Maybe some Quidditch goggles would make a good Valentine gift for Romilda, Harry thought as he left his room. As often as they went flying together, she certainly could use some.
*****
London, Merton, January 31st, 1997
Hermione Granger loved that her parents were back from their 'protective vacation', as her dad called it, and that she was once again living with them - part-time, at least. While she was a witch and would never seriously contemplate abandoning magic or the magical world, she had missed being able to watch the BBC at home and use a computer. And being able to explore the rapidly growing 'Internet', as it was called - even though her collection of books had finally caught up and then exceeded her original collection, and she had usually bought at least The Times while staying at Grimmauld Place.
However, shopping for groceries as a muggle didn't fall amongst those parts of muggle culture that she had missed. Passing through aisles stuffed with goods, most of them things she didn't need nor want, listening to fragments of pop songs when passing people who had to be deaf already judging by the volume of their headphones and trying to get around the other customers of the supermarket who were blocking the aisles was testing her patience. It would be so easy to simply summon everything she needed. Or delegate the whole task to Kreacher, if this were a shop in Diagon Alley.
She should never have volunteered to do the grocery shopping when Mum had called and told her that she'd be late today - a boy had had an accident on the playground that had smashed his front teeth. Something magic would have been able to fix in five minutes, too.
She grabbed the last item on her list - olive oil - and proceeded to steer her shopping trolley towards the checkout, cutting off the old lady who had spent far too many minutes deciding between two brands of detergent a little earlier, in the process blocking Hermione. Her smile at that small piece of payback - the woman was buying dog food, too! - vanished as soon as she turned the corner of the last aisle and saw that only two tills were staffed, both with a long queue of waiting customers.
Five minutes worth, maybe ten - why were people doing their weekly shopping on a Friday afternoon? Hermione sighed as she picked the left queue, then bit her lower lip. Could she risk getting a book out of her enchanted pocket? A glance upwards told her that she couldn't - there were cameras. She should have brought a purse large enough - before extending it, of course - for a decent-sized book. Sighing, she looked at the newspaper stand at the till then clenched her teeth. Tabloids that made The Quibbler look like The Times. She closed her eyes and sighed again, more loudly.
"I would offer you my spot, but I don't think it would help you much."
What? Hermione looked to her right. A boy - a young man, she corrected herself; he was about her age - was smiling at her, leaning on his own shopping trolley.
He gestured at his queue. "I don't think it'll move faster than yours."
"Ah." She smiled and nodded, politely, as she looked him over. Beige woollen sweater, polo shirt beneath it, she could spot the collar, and black jeans. Trainers. Brown hair, fashionably cut. Handsome face. She wasn't staring. Not long enough for him to notice, at least. "As my mum would say: Your own queue is always the slowest."
"That's a rather egocentric view, don't you think?"
Hermione nodded. "I told her so, too." She had been ten at the time, too, and her parents hadn't let her forget it for years. She smiled at the memory. And at the man.
He smiled back. "Are you in a hurry? Late for a date?"
"No," she answered. Was he checking if she was single? "Just impatient. I should have brought a book."
He laughed. "I hope it won't take that long."
"Why? Are you late for a date?" She tilted her head, just a little. Not quite like Miss Merriweather.
He shook his head. "No."
Her queue advanced, and she pushed her trolley forward, then turned to face him again. She saw his eyes look up, at her face - they had been wandering over her turtleneck and jeans. Briefly, at least. "No date on a Friday?" she asked. She wasn't using Miss Merriweather's smile. But she wasn't just smiling politely.
He shook his head. "No." He paused for a moment. "Although I've heard that The Frighteners is a good movie."
Did he expect her to ask him out on a date? "What's it about?" she asked.
"Someone who can see ghosts and has to deal with a ghost who murders people," he explained as his queue advanced.
She frowned - ghosts couldn't affect the living. The most they could do would be scare people and hope they had an accident.
"It's a horror comedy," he added after he had stopped his trolley again. "A friend of mine said it was quite funny."
"Ah." She nodded. "I haven't been to the movies in a few months…" she trailed off and smiled at him.
"Would you like to go watch the movie with me this evening?"
She bit her lower lip - she had planned to have dinner with her parents. On the other hand, they had said that she should go out more often, so they couldn't really complain about such a change of plans. "Does that include dinner?"
"Of course!"
That would make it a date. She belatedly realised that she didn't know his name. Nor he hers. She rectified that: "Hermione Granger."
"Paul Simms," he said. "Hermione?"
She had expected that reaction. "From 'A Winter's Tale'. My parents love Shakespeare," she explained.
"Ah. I bet you have to explain that to almost everyone you meet."
She nodded. "Oh, yes." Her own queue advanced again.
"So… can I have your number?"
She pulled out her notebook and wrote down her address and phone number, then noticed that he was staring at her behind. No, her back pocket, which was just a little too small for her notebook. "See something you like?" she asked, channelling Miss Merriweather this time, to distract him.
It worked - he blushed.
And, after a moment, so did she.
*****
London, Merton, January 31st, 1997
"Italian?" Hermione Granger asked when she saw the restaurant Paul had chosen for their date. She noted with a little relief that she wasn't underdressed for the venue - she had picked a nice set of slacks and a tighter cashmere turtleneck for the occasion.
"It offers pasta, pizza and meat dishes - something for almost everyone. A safer bet than Asian or French," Paul explained as he opened the door for her.
"Smart. Obviously, this isn't your first date." She nodded with a grin.
"Can I answer that without destroying whatever good impression of me made you accept my invitation?" He smiled, but she didn't think he was as confident as he tried to appear.
Instead of answering, she laughed, and his smile grew more relaxed. The head waiter asking for their reservation prevented further conversation until they had taken their seats.
"And what about you? Are you a dating expert?" he asked.
"I haven't been dating much." Not at all, unless attending balls in disguise counted. But she didn't need darting experience to know that even hinting at her training to lead men on to gather intel wouldn't go over well. "I was too busy studying and working."
He nodded. "What are you studying?"
"I'm working on my A Levels." It wasn't much of a lie - the N.E.W.T.s were the magical equivalent, after all.
He blinked, looking surprised. "And you're already working? I mean…" he trailed off, looking confused and a little embarrassed.
He didn't ask how old she was, so it was probably not that. But Hermione remembered that he had seen her house and her parents' car when he had come to pick her up. "My family had financial troubles a few years ago. I started working part-time at the time to help out, and by the time we had solved our problems, I had become used to earning my own money."
"Ah." As he nodded in apparent understanding, the waiter arrived with the menu, and they ordered their drinks. They didn't take long to order - Paul was obviously familiar with the menu and picked the pizza of the week, and Hermione quickly decided on a salad and lasagna al forno.
"What kind of work do you do?" he asked after the waiter had brought their drinks and taken their order.
"I'm the secretary of an independently wealthy gentleman who prefers to focus on his French mistress and his hobbies rather than on his investments," Hermione said. His obvious surprise made her smile. "It sounds more important than it is - I mainly handle his correspondence and schedule. And remind him of his appointments when needed." Which was all too often the case - the dog probably enjoyed riling her up like that. She watched him, but he didn't seem to think there was more to her work. Unless he was far better at hiding his thoughts than he had appeared so far.
"I am working part-time as a clerk at a bank myself, and I'm studying economics at South Thames College," Paul said. "I just started, though."
"Both working and studying?"
"Yes. Is it easy to balance school and your work? I wouldn't have managed during school myself. Not at my current job."
"Oh, I'm not going to school any more; I have a private tutor helping me to prepare for my A Levels." That probably made him think that her parents were spending more on her tutor than she was earning as a secretary.
"Ah."
"It's not ideal, but I like being able to schedule my own hours - mostly. I was in a boarding school for a while but that… didn't work out." Hermione wasn't lying. Not really.
He nodded. "I never went to a boarding school. Pretty much stayed in Merton all my life - even my own flat is just a ten-minute walk from my parents' home."
"My parents just returned from a six-month vacation in Australia," Hermione said. "I'm glad they made it home safely."
"Ah, yes. Australia. Deadliest continent in the world. Most of its flora and fauna want to kill you, and the rest are venomous."
She almost corrected him - he probably meant 'poisonous' as he'd included plants - but held her tongue. "They weren't reckless or stupid."
"My parents would say that that's a teenager's job."
She snorted. "My parents say I went straight from toddler to twenty going on thirty." She blushed a little, remembering. "I had a tendency to be a know-it-all." She wasn't, not any more. Or not as much, at least. Despite the dog's claims.
He laughed. "Is that the result or the source of your love of books?" At her glance, he elaborated: "You mentioned you wanted to bring a book to the supermarket and your home had a lot of bookshelves."
"I can't really say, if I'm honest - as far back as I can remember, I've always loved books." She was about to go into her favourites but refrained. "Do you like to read?"
"Well, despite my teachers and professors' best attempts to make me hate reading, I like historical novels - and history books."
She beamed at him. They spent the rest of the meals talking about historical novels, and whether or not they should be as historically accurate as possible.
*****
"So, what did you think of the movie?" Paul asked three hours later, as they were leaving the theatre.
Hermione Granger frowned. "I didn't like how they portrayed the ghosts."
"I thought the special effects were quite good."
"Not that," she corrected him. "I didn't like that they had the ghosts being able to affect physical things and people." That was completely wrong - ghosts couldn't do that.
"Well, the movie wouldn't have worked if they couldn't affect people. Kind of hard to murder someone if you can't touch them or do anything else," Paul replied.
"Not necessarily. You could surprise and shock someone by suddenly appearing next to them and yelling. Timed correctly that could make them have an accident. Or a heart attack," Hermione said. "And even if you didn't manage that, you could cause them to suffer sleep deprivation and ultimately drive them to suicide by not letting them rest at all."
"You have given this some thought, I see." He grinned. "If I read about an unexplained murder, I'll know who to suspect."
"That just means that you'll be my first victim!" She snorted, then sniffed. "After all, you picked a horror movie to scare me into your arms, didn't you?"
He laughed at that, then slipped his arm around her shoulders - as he had during the movie. "Well, you didn't object to my pick, did you?"
"No, I didn't." She leaned into him as they walked back towards her home - and his; they were almost neighbours, as she had found out. Although she had expected that since they had met in the local supermarket.
Ten minutes later, they were standing in front of the door to her home.
"Well, I had fun," he said. "I'd like to do that again. Go on a date, I mean."
She nodded. "I had fun as well." She didn't know many people with whom she could discuss muggle books. Not in that much depth, at least.
"So… next Friday?"
She was tempted to say 'How about tomorrow?', but that would have been too eager. So she nodded, then wet her lips and kept looking at him - he was slightly taller than her.
And when he leaned forward to kiss her, she didn't object to that either.
*****
Hogwarts, February 2nd, 1997
Standing in the hallway outside the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter tapped his glasses, activating their enchantment, then checked the corridors. He didn't spot anyone hiding nearby - no ambushes. He hadn't expected any, but you could never be sure. Not even after Voldemort's defeat. Two witches strolled past - Ravenclaws - and he almost checked them out. He controlled himself in time, though. While Moody might disagree, Harry had come to doubt that seeing through robes made him any safer; almost everyone carried a wand, and potions were not uncommon either. You couldn't really tell an attacker from a harmless passer-by. And he hadn't ever found anyone dangerous that way either.
It felt wrong, too. A little.
The door opened behind him, and he stepped to the side and turned, keeping his wand out. Romilda stood there, smiling at him. "Hi!"
"Ready to go flying?" he asked, patting his enchanted pocket, where his Firebolt rested.
She nodded and lifted her - not shrunken - broom. A Cleansweep Five. "Yes."
"Let's go then." He offered her his left arm, and she took it.
He hadn't turned the enchantment off - he was used to its effect by now, at least enough to be able to walk without blinding himself to his environment. Halfway to the gate, in the courtyard, he spotted a group of students. Slytherins. Half a dozen of them, with Draco Malfoy in their midst.
He frowned. He could change their route. The side door would be a bit of a detour, but he could explain it to Romilda as being more private. That, of course, would make them take even longer.
He scoffed. He had fought and defeated Voldemort; he wouldn't turn tail at the sight of a bunch of idiots like Malfoy and his cronies.
He heard the git before he saw him: "...and Professor Slughorn has personally invited me to the first party of the Slug Club at Hogwarts in decades!"
Romilda giggled at hearing that.
"We're invited as well," Harry reminded her in a whisper.
"It's still a silly name," she retorted.
She giggled again as they rounded the corner.
"Professor Slughorn realises, of course, how important my father is, after the Battle of the Ministry, where he..."
As soon as the Slytherins - Parkinson, Nott, Greengrass, Davis and Zabini - spotted Harry and his girlfriend, they stiffened. Malfoy even stopped in mid-sentence. "Potter," he said with a forced smile.
"Malfoy." Harry nodded at him. "Telling tales about the battle against the Dark Lord? I don't remember you being there."
"My father was there!" Malfoy shot back.
"I don't see him here," Harry retorted. "I don't see Crabbe or Goyle either, but we all know why they're missing, don't we?"
Malfoy hissed through clenched teeth and the rest of the Slytherins flinched. Parkinson glared at Harry.
"What?" Harry snorted. "Your father betrayed Voldemort. Did you honestly think they wouldn't try to take revenge?"
"That's none of your business," Malfoy replied with his typical sneer.
"Since their fathers tried to kill my friends and me, I think it's my business." He scoffed. "Hell, I might have been the one to kill Crabbe's father. I certainly couldn't tell who I was fighting since they were all masked."
That made them flinch even more, and he felt Romilda's grip tighten on his arm. He waited a moment, but no one said anything in response. Perfect.
Smiling toothily, he nodded at the Slytherins again and walked away with Romilda.
*****
An hour later, they set down again after a long but rather slow, by Harry Potter's standards, aerial chase. He was the first to land, and he watched Romilda come in.
"Whew!" She said, handing over the broom shouldering her broom. "That was fun. But it was freezing."
He frowned. "Did the Warming Charms fail?" She should have said so - he could have cast one that lasted.
"Mh." She hugged him. "I need someone to warm me up."
"Ah!" He returned her hug and rubbed her back.
A few kisses later, they were walking back to the school - to the side door, this time. "Did you have fun?"
"Of course!"
"We can do something other than flying if you want to."
"No, no, it's fine. I like flying!"
"Are you sure?"
"Why would I lie?"
Why, indeed. But if she loved flying, why didn't she have better gear? The Cleansweep Five was a decent broom, but it was getting old. There were better brooms to be had - not too expensive either; it wasn't as if her family was poor.
"As long as I can spend time with you I'm happy." She was beaming at him, and they stopped outside the door for a quick - or not so quick - snog.
"I'm happy to hear that." And he was. "But if you ever want to, well - explore the Forbidden Forest, for example, we can do that too."
"We can do that if you want to."
She was smiling at him, but he had to force himself to smile back. A little, at least.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 7th, 1997
"Here are your notes and your itinerary for the Wizengamot next week!" Hermione Granger announced, dropping a stack of parchment on Sirius's desk. "If you have any questions, I'll be back tomorrow."
Her employer eyed the parchment with the same expression a dog would have when confronted with a tiger. No wonder he had been happy about her decision not to return to Hogwarts, which would have meant she couldn't work for him any more. Then he perked up. "Not staying for dinner? Hot date tonight?"
The dog's wide, mocking smile just begged for a cat to rake his nose with her claws. But not today. Instead of teaching him a lesson, she smiled. "Yes."
"What?"
He was gaping with such a flabbergasted expression that she glared at him. "I have a date this evening. Did you really think I wouldn't be able to get a date if I wanted to?"
"No, no!"
Which, of course, meant 'yes'. She scoffed and shook her head.
"Who is the lucky boy?" He had recovered and was leaning forward in his seat.
"A neighbour. I met him in the supermarket."
"A muggle?" He was looking as if he were surprised again.
"Is there something wrong with muggles?" She narrowed her eyes at the dog.
"No. Just… I didn't expect that." He shook his head.
"Really?" She didn't bother to hide her doubt. "Did you expect me to flirt with the Ministry staff when we visit the Wizengamot? Or go and ask out students in Hogsmeade?" She snorted at the idea.
"When you put it like that…" He pouted. "But isn't it awkward dating someone who can't know about the real you?"
"No more awkward than not telling Harry about what I did during the war." And what she was planning to do, once she had completed her training.
"Ah, right."
She rolled her eyes. He had been the one who told her to keep that a secret. Even though his reasons made sense - if one believed letting Harry become an Auror was as important as Sirius thought it was. "I'm heading home to get ready for my date now."
Hermione felt surprisingly pleased to say that.
*****
London, Merton, February 7th, 1997
"What did you think of the movie?" Hermione Granger asked as she and Paul were leaving the theatre.
"Hm." Paul looked pensive. "It was nice, but a little too 'family friendly', you know what I mean?" It must have been a rhetorical question since he continued before she could answer: "Not much action, and a lot of feel-good clichés. The idealistic little girl against the evil investors, cute animals and the good people cheering the kid in a happy ending." He shook his head. "It didn't even have a real villain. No real danger at all." He grinned at her. "All this for saving food with wings?"
"It's not about geese," Hermione retorted. "It's about a young girl learning to fight for what she believes in. She overcomes all obstacles to protect those weaker than herself." 'Fly Away Home' was a very uplifting movie.
Paul shrugged. "Not enough fighting for my taste. Not enough guns." He grinned. "Family-friendly. I like a bit more blood and gore with my action."
She was tempted to tell him that he wouldn't be saying that if he had been in a real fight, but held her tongue. "The flying scenes were beautiful." Flying an ultralight must be almost like flying on a broom, she thought - but with more comfortable seating arrangements and less agility.
He grinned again. "I prefer planes with guns on them in my movies."
She snorted. "I prefer to fly instead of watching actors wave props around and playing soldiers." Harry and Ron would agree with her, she knew.
He blinked. "Don't tell me that you can fly!"
She almost winced, then forced herself to grin. "Well, not without a plane. Or a magic broom."
That made him laugh. She smiled. "I would like to be able to, though."
"Don't we all?" He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. "But we'll have to make do with the next best thing."
"Which would be?"
"Dancing as if nobody's watching. I know a great club."
"Lead the way." It was certainly better than dissecting a movie.
An hour later, she found that kissing on the dance floor was better than dissecting a movie as well. Much better.
And snogging in dark corner of the club was even better.
*****
Hogwarts, February 21st, 1997
Harry Potter ducked and Sirius's stunner passed overhead, not even hitting his Shield Charm. He jumped forward, rolled over his shoulder, barely noticing another Stunner missing him, and cast a Piercing Curse followed by a Stunner at near point-blank range. His godfather's shield shattered, and he went down a moment later.
A flick of his wand revived Sirius and Harry offered a hand to the groaning wizard to help him up. "That was a good session."
Sirius frowned at him. "If I weren't still suffering from the wounds I took at the Ministry, I'd have completely trounced you."
"Pomfrey released you in perfect health over a month ago!" Harry retorted. He had won a few rounds fair and square!
"I'm talking about the wounds taken by attending the Wizengamot, and listening to idiots who couldn't outwit a mountain troll," Sirius said. "I'm suffering."
Harry remembered his own encounter with a mountain troll as he shook his head. "Excuses, excuses."
Sirius scoffed. "I'll show you excuses next week." He sat down on the bench near the door of the Defence classroom and summoned a bottle of Butterbeer. "So, how are you doing when you're not abusing a wounded man? Or dumping snakes on your godfather? Everything's alright? Any trouble with Tonks's handbooks?"
Harry joined him and grabbed a bottle for himself. "Other than their size, they're fine." Studying the manuals would take more time than Ron and Harry had expected, but they had the time to spare, now that Voldemort was gone. "Slughorn's a good teacher, but he's a little too pushy about his club. McGonagall hasn't found a replacement Transfiguration teacher yet, so she's teaching as well as acting as Headmistress. But that's not a really big change."
Sirius nodded. "Yeah. She mostly let the prefects run things anyway."
Harry shrugged. Dumbledore had left a lot of the school's daily business to her, or so Harry had heard. "Malfoy's acting as if he fought Voldemort himself, but that was to be expected."
"His father's the same." Sirius scoffed. "Bigoted bastard."
Harry didn't disagree with the sentiment. Hermione would have corrected Sirius that neither Malfoy was technically a bastard. He took a sip from his own bottle. "I've been thinking."
"Hm?"
"About Romilda." Harry took another sip.
"Oh?" Sirius put his own bottle down.
"Things should be great. She's always happy to see me, she likes flying with me, she doesn't nag me, she doesn't try to get me to drop my friends, and we snog a lot…" Harry sighed.
"That does sound great," Sirius said.
"Yes. But…" Harry shrugged. "I just feel like… like something's missing, you know?" Before Sirius could say something lewd, he went on: "She goes along with everything I say. And when I ask her if she wants to do something with me, we end up doing something I like." He stood and started to pace. "When I mentioned exploring the Forbidden Forest as an example, she said OK." He gestured. "I brought it up because Luna and Ron are doing that - Luna loves those excursions. But they are also playing chess, which Ron loves."
Sirius rubbed his goatee. "So you don't like being in charge all the time?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't like it. It feels as if she's just going along with whatever I want. That makes the whole thing feel… wrong." He shrugged. "As if it doesn't matter at all what I want; she'll just nod and do it."
"As long as she can do you?"
He rolled his eyes at Sirius. "I just…" He sighed. "It sounds stupid, but it feels as if I'm doing all the work. Even if all I have to do is say something and she goes along with it. I just want more." Something more. Something more like Luna and Ron had. Or what he had had with Ginny. Before the rows, at least.
"Ah." His godfather nodded. "You're not satisfied." Harry rolled his eyes - he had just said that. "Well, if you're not happy in a relationship, there are only two possible solutions: You break up with her, or you change her. But changing someone is hard. Very hard. Trust me."
Harry snorted. "And what if I break up with Romilda? Get another girlfriend and hope she's a better fit?"
"Yes." Sirius grinned. "You're still young. You'll find the right witch yet! You'll also discover that as you grow older, you change. And the witches change as well."
That would have sounded far more convincing if Sirius wasn't about to marry a witch about fifteen years younger than he was, Harry thought. He changed the subject. "So how is it going in the Wizengamot?"
Sirius scowled. "Not too well."
"Can't outwit wizards who are dumber than a troll?" Harry asked with a grin.
His godfather scoffed. "Malfoy's Fudge's best friend and doing all he can to undermine Arthur and Amelia in the Ministry. And he's trying to control the Wizengamot. We might need you to make an appearance or two, to counter him. Or at least give an interview."
"Alright." Harry nodded. Compared to fighting Voldemort, playing the hero or giving an interview was easy. "Unless it's Skeeter. I'm not talking to her."
Sirius laughed. "No one wants you to talk to her." He stood. "Well, it's about time to return home."
"Is Jeanne waiting for you?" Harry grinned. "Or did you try dumping your work on Hermione again?"
"I wish!" Sirius said. "Since she's got herself a boyfriend, she's not around as much as before."
Harry blinked. "Hermione has a boyfriend?" Hermione?
"Yes. Some muggle boy she met at the 'supermarket'."
Harry narrowed his eyes. If that boy was taking advantage of his best friend...
*****
Hogwarts, March 9th, 1997
"So, where do you want to go first?" Harry Potter asked when he climbed out of the carriages in Hogsmeade with Romilda.
"I don't have anything specific in mind," Romilda answered. Then she beamed at him. "Where do you want to go first?"
Harry almost sighed, then smiled and shrugged. "I don't have any plans other than to spend time with you. So, you'll have to decide where we go!" Let's see her weasel out of that!
"Hm." For a moment, she looked lost. Then she smiled again. "Let's go to Spintwitches!"
That was the local Quidditch shop - well, they also sold other sporting goods, but who cared about anything other than Quidditch? - and they had been there before. Almost every Hogsmeade weekend, in fact. But at least Romilda had picked something by herself. So Harry nodded. "Alright."
It didn't take them long to make their way to the shop. There was no new broom on display - not that Harry would have expected one; the new models were usually revealed before the summer training camps started - but they had the new Quidditch Weekly. Harry smiled and went to grab one. Then he realised that Romilda had followed him.
"Oh, that's Gwenog Jones!" she said, pointing at the cover. "She's great."
"Yes. There's a poster of her on sale, too," Harry said. He nodded at the poster, showing Jones hitting two Bludgers with one swing in the game against Puddlemere last autumn. That had decided the match.
"Are you gonna buy it?" Romilda asked.
"Do you want it?" He asked back.
She shook her head. "No, no, I'm good."
It wasn't expensive. It was just a poster. But if she didn't want it, or didn't want to say it… He nodded. "Alright. I'll be right back." He went to the counter, then glanced over his shoulder at her while the saleswitch operated the till.
Romilda was looking at him and smiling.
He forced himself to smile back at her.
*****
London, Merton, March 24th, 1997
Harry Potter didn't like Paul Simms. Not at all. He was smiling far too much. And the way he always had his arm around Hermione, as if she weren't allowed to leave him…
"Another boring movie," the man - the boy; he wasn't that much older - said, theatrically sighing as he pointed at the poster above the entrance.
"Have you already seen it?" Ron asked. "I thought this was a new movie."
"He hasn't," Hermione said, and Harry saw her elbow Paul in the side. She was dressed up a little, he'd noticed - she even wore makeup. It looked very nice on her. "But Paul prefers action movies, and this is a movie about a sports agent who wants to change his work."
"A sports agent?" Ron looked lost. Maybe they shouldn't have invited him to come along - but then it would have just been Harry with Hermione and her boyfriend. Which would have looked very bad. And Romilda didn't know enough about muggles to fool Paul.
"A man who works for professional athletes, negotiating their contracts for them with the team owners," Hermione explained.
"Ah." Ron nodded. "I didn't know that that was a profession."
"You didn't?" Paul looked surprised.
Harry shrugged. "Ron's not interested in sports. He doesn't even watch football."
"Really? You don't look the type." Paul had that arrogant expression on his face again, Harry thought.
"The type?" Ron asked.
"You know, all intellectual, no sweaty sports." Paul grinned. "Although Hermione isn't a big fan of sports either."
Harry almost smirked. Paul obviously had no clue about Hermione's love for Quidditch.
"I prefer to do sports rather than watch others do them," Hermione said. "Which is why Paul won't jog with me: He's the opposite."
"Indeed - my weak male ego can't stand being bested by a girl." Paul laughed and pulled Hermione close to press a kiss on her head. "But I love watching her work out."
Paul didn't have to leer like that, Harry thought. And his jokes weren't really funny. He didn't like seeing Hermione blush like that either.
"And I'll love watching this movie," Hermione stated firmly. "All the critics say it's great."
"As long as we're going to watch Star Wars next week," Paul retorted.
Ron opened his mouth - presumably to ask about Star Wars - but Harry distracted him with an elbow to the ribs before he could start. "Yes. We'll go watch that one as well."
"With your girlfriends?" Paul sounded far too sceptical.
"Yes. Luna and Romilda will love it," Harry said.
"Are you sure?" Ron asked.
"Yes." Harry nodded. They could use privacy spells in the theatre, to keep Luna from disturbing the audience.
"Romilda?" Paul shook his head. "Who names their daughter Romilda? Or Luna?"
Harry wanted to hex the guy. And Ron looked as if he shared the feeling.
*****
"You've got interesting friends."
Hermione Granger glanced over her shoulder at Harry and Ron. They were still at the bus stop, looking at Paul and herself, but too far away to overhear Paul. Unless they were using spells. Which they weren't. She waved, and they waved back.
"They're the best friends you could wish for," she said as they turned the corner. Who else would risk their lives for her?
"They seemed to be a little jealous."
"Jealous?" She frowned. "Maybe they're afraid that you'll act like Harry's first girlfriend. She was so insecure and possessive, she wanted him to stop spending time with Ron and me."
"Well, I'm not insecure or possessive, am I?" He pulled her closer to him as he said so. "Just because I want to hold you and never let go again."
She snorted. "As long as you don't try to convince me not to visit them at their boarding school you'll be fine."
"I know better than to try to convince you to do anything you don't want to," he said.
She blushed slightly - she knew he wasn't just talking about visiting her friends. But while she wasn't averse to what he meant, they had been dating for less than two months. Although it wasn't as if there were a minimum time you had to wait before you had sex. And if there were, two months would be fine. Or almost two months. And Mum had ensured that she knew how to use contraceptives. So she was prepared. If she felt ready. Which she usually did, when they were snogging. Still…
"Want to come to my flat for tea?"
"Sure," she answered. It wouldn't be the first time they'd be snogging on his couch. Or done more. But they hadn't gone all the way. Yet.
She leaned into him as they walked towards his home.
*****
"So, what did you think?"
What Hermione Granger thought was that that wasn't a question you should ask after you've had sex with someone for the first time. She took a deep breath and glanced at Paul, lying next to her in his bed. He looked nervous. Which meant that an honest answer - 'Not bad, but I expected more' or 'I hope it gets better with practice' - was out of the question. She liked him. She didn't want to lose him. He was a good kisser. She liked talking with him. And discussing - debating - the merits of various books and movies. Being honest wasn't worth hurting his ego - while he was joking about it, he hadn't taken well to her running him into the ground the first and only time they went jogging.
So she sat up, smiled at him and ran her fingers over his chest.
"I think that we'll be late for work and uni tomorrow."
*****
Hogwarts, April 11th, 1997
"There you are!"
Harry Potter winced, then forced himself to smile before turning round. Romilda was standing in the door. "Hi."
She stepped inside and closed the door. "Why did you want to meet me in the Defence classroom?" she asked as she walked towards him.
"It's private. Remus isn't around."
"Oh!" She grinned, then looked at the desks and the open duelling area. "Doesn't look too comfortable, though."
Harry swished his wand and conjured two seats facing each other. "Let's sit down."
Romilda looked puzzled but took her seat. "A couch would be better, I think."
"I don't think so," Harry said, then clenched his teeth as she started to frown. He pushed on. "I'm sorry." She opened her mouth but didn't say anything as he continued. "I don't think that it's working between us." He shook his head, trying to both keep looking at her and ignoring the way her expression shifted from surprised to shocked. "It's just…" He took a deep breath. He had prepared a little speech, but he couldn't recall most of it. "I mean, I like you. Very much. But I don't think we're good for each other. I don't think we'll be happy if we stay together."
"Why not?" There were tears in her eyes now.
Harry wanted to curse Moody's lesson about watching an enemy's eyes. "I can't explain it. Not well. It's just…" He sighed. "Something's missing." Honesty was best, or so he had heard, but telling her that he was sick of how she went along with everything he said? That would make her blame herself, and she didn't deserve that.
"What?" She was crying now.
He felt as if he had cursed a child. Or a kitten. "I don't know what exactly. But I know that I'm not happy as things are. It's not your fault. Maybe I've changed, after Voldemort, and it took me time to notice?" he lied. "But it's best we break up before we start hating each other."
Romilda shook her head, staring at him. Her lips trembled as tears ran down her cheek. Then she stood and ran out of the room, sobbing.
Harry closed his eyes, leaned back and cursed under his breath.
That had been as bad as he had feared. Or worse. But what else could he have done? He couldn't string her along any longer and act as if everything was alright.
Maybe he should have talked to Ron or Hermione about this.
*****
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Chapter 30: Secrets
Starfox5
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Chapter 30: Secrets
London, Ministry of Magic, April 14th, 1997
"But Arthur! With the Dark Lord gone, we don't need as many Hit-Wizards any more. We can use the gold we pay them elsewhere - like for the repairs needed in the Ministry. Marcus Selwyn's proposal is very sound."
Arthur Weasley wasn't a man who was easy to anger. His patience and tolerance had been a boon when raising seven children - especially Fred and George. Nevertheless, even he could lose his temper when pushed too far, and Fudge was doing his best to make Arthur curse him. "Cornelius," he said with a forced smile, "the number of Hit-Wizards hasn't been increased since the end of the last war, despite us needing more guards for Azkaban after the removal of the Dementors. Marcus's proposal would see us not even replace those Hit-Wizards lost in the battle against the Dark Lord."
"But we what we lose in quantity we make up in quality," Fudge retorted, fiddling with a quill on his desk. "By raising the standards of our force, we will be able to do more with fewer wands."
That had to be straight from Malfoy's mouth, Arthur thought. He scoffed. "Raising standards? I don't see anything about that in this proposal."
"That will be handled in a second bill," Fudge explained. "It's still being worked on."
"I've read Dolores's draft," Arthur said.
Fudge blinked. "You have?"
"Yes." Arthur didn't smile. "I've also read her draft for the proposed entrance exam for new employees." He leaned forward. "She wants to test new Ministry employees on their knowledge of 'Wizarding Britain's Traditions and Customs'."
"Any employee of the Ministry is expected to know how to comport themselves in society, especially at a social event." Fudge shook his head. "Imagine the scandal if someone insulted a diplomat!"
"Are you aware that there is no course covering such a subject at Hogwarts?" Arthur asked.
"An oversight that can be easily corrected." Fudge smiled. "I know of a number of wizards and witches who could teach such courses."
"Do you know why there is no such course?"
"I think Albus opposed it in the past, for budgetary reasons. Which is why this is a very good opportunity to both reduce the amount of dead weight in the Ministry and fund a new course!"
"The course was opposed by the Board of Governors. The official reason given was that wizarding traditions and customs couldn't be taught at school. That was to be the prerogative of the parents." Arthur scoffed. "And now you want to test prospective employees on knowledge only a member of an Old Family could have? How do you think the majority of our population will react to such a blatant attempt at discrimination?"
"Discrimination? Now, Arthur, be fair!"
"Yes, discrimination. There's nothing in that test about Defence at all. It's not even about Hit-Wizards and Aurors - it's a generic test for Ministry employees. How do you think you will get more capable Hit-Wizards if you don't test for skills that are actually relevant to their duties?" Fudge opened his mouth, but Arthur ploughed on. "How do you think Harry Potter will react, once he realises that you plan to discriminate against muggleborns? As the son of a muggleborn witch?"
"What?"
"Imagine the Vanquisher of Voldemort speaking out against a Minister who supports such blatant attempts to favour Old Families in the Ministry." Arthur hated to use Harry's name like that, but it was the best way to stop this latest attempt to build up the influence of the Old Families. "Imagine if he refused the Order of Merlin you want to award him, in protest against such measures."
Fudge gaped, then frowned. "No one would refuse such an honour!"
"You know his godfather."
Fudge paled. "But… if he refused…"
"If he refused, you'd be the one everyone would blame. You would be seen as the Minister who made the Boy-Who-Lived despise him. You. Not anyone else."
Fudge sagged in his seat. "But we have to balance the budget somehow! The damage done to the Ministry in the battle, the gold needed by St Mungo's - they already went through this year's budget for treating curses! - and the pensions for the next of kin of the dead..."
"Sirius proposed a bill to fine those caught or killed while fighting for the Dark Lord," Arthur said.
"But… that would be cutting into the family fortunes!" Fudge protested. "It would be like punishing the children for the sins of their parents!"
"How is fighting for the Dark Lord different from gambling away the family fortune?" Arthur asked. "Both are mistakes. But the former is also treason."
"Well…" Fudge trailed off. "That's for the Wizengamot to decide!"
That was the best Arthur would get, and he knew that. "And Marcus's proposal?"
"Will certainly have to be reworked," Fudge said with an expression as though he were having a tooth pulled. "As will Dolores's draft."
Arthur nodded. "Good." It wasn't defeated for good but stalled for the foreseeable future. "Now, I have a proposal of my own. Or rather, a joint proposal with Sirius and Amelia. It's about the regulations regarding the Auror Corps's size."
Fudge looked like he'd prefer to be cursed.
*****
Hogwarts, April 15th, 1997
As soon as Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room, coming from Quidditch practice, he saw Romilda sitting in the corner. She wasn't looking at him at all. Her friends, though, were glaring at him as one of them hugged her. They weren't the only ones - a number of the other girls were looking at him as if he had hexed Romilda. And Ginny looked as if she wanted to hex him herself.
He sighed as he went up to his room. Neville, Seamus and Dean were not around - probably in the library, working on their essays or something. He hadn't seen them in the common room. Ron had followed him inside, though. "Why are they acting like that?" Harry asked as he sat down on his bed and sent his Quidditch gear to his trunk with a few flicks and swishes of his wand.
"Well, mate," he heard Ron answer, "I'd say it's because you made Romilda cry. A lot."
Harry looked at his friend. "I was just being honest! What should I have done instead? Lied and acted as if everything were fine?" He snapped his trunk's lid shut, loudly enough to startle Ron.
"Luna said that being honest isn't all that's it cracked up to be, but it's better than lying."
"That's very helpful." Harry scoffed.
Ron shrugged and closed his own trunk, more gently than Harry had done. "Maybe it isn't what you did, but how you did it."
"And what should I have done differently?" Harry stood and shook his head, then walked over to Ron's bed. "How do you break up with a girl without making her cry?"
"I don't know," Ron said. "Be nice about it?"
Harry scoffed again. "I was nice. I told her I liked her, and that it wasn't her fault." He gestured. "That it wasn't working out between us. That we're not good for each other. And that we wouldn't be happy if we stayed together." He noticed that Ron was staring at him. "What?"
"That's nice?"
"But it's true!" Harry retorted. "She was just doing what I wanted. Nothing else. That's not healthy."
"But she seemed happy. As far as I could tell."
"I wasn't," Harry shot back. He walked back to his bed and let himself fall into it. "I didn't want to keep lying to her, and now everyone - or at least every witch - in Gryffindor hates me."
"Well, not everyone."
Harry rolled his eyes. A few witches had flirted with him as soon as news of his break-up had spread. He wasn't certain if that was worse than if they had been glaring at him, too, or not.
"Maybe you should be asking yourself what you should do, instead of what you should have done?"
Harry glanced at Ron. "What should I do?" he asked, in as flat a voice as he could manage.
Ron chuckled. "Luna says that if you hurt someone, you should apologise."
Harry snorted. "Sirius said that if a witch is mad at me, I should apologise, regardless of whose fault it is."
"Well, if Sirius and Luna agree on something…"
Harry almost snapped that that would be a reason to rethink the whole thing - Sirius's advice had gotten him into this, and Luna certainly didn't think like most witches he knew. Nor most wizards, either - but that might have made Ron mad - his friend was very protective of Luna. And as much as it galled him to admit, Ron might have a point. He sighed once more. "Great. Now I just need to find a way to talk to her in private again."
Ron cleared his throat.
Harry glared at him.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 16th, 1997
Hermione Granger stared at Harry. "You snuck out of Hogwarts and came to see me because you need to ask me how to apologise to your girlfriend?"
"Ex-girlfriend. That's the reason I need to apologise to her." He smiled at her. "No other witch I know well will talk to me. You're my only hope."
"Stop quoting Star Wars," Hermione snapped. "You're no princess, and I'm not an old hermit." Nor an old maid - she had a boyfriend. And they had sex!
He raised his arms. "Sorry, sorry. So, can you help me? Please?" His smile grew more desperate.
She sighed. "Alright." She couldn't let her best friend down. Not when everyone else, especially the dog, had apparently done so. Especially not when it probably had been that little witch's fault in the first place. Maybe she should look into that… No. She mentally shook her head. She wouldn't meddle in Harry's love life. "First thing, get her a gift. Something she likes. But not too expensive, so that it won't look like a bribe. And nothing that reminds her of you." That should be enough for Vane.
"Uh…" He grimaced.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "What is the problem?"
"I don't know what she really likes. That's why I broke up with her in the first place." He shrugged.
Hermione blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him. "You'll have to explain that."
Five minutes and a few questions later, she was pinching the bridge of her nose again. To think that she could feel sympathy for that little witch… "You are an idiot."
"I know." He pouted. It didn't look good on him.
"Tell that to Romilda as well." She sighed. "And get her a box of Honeydukes' best selection as an apology gift."
"I thought you said that I shouldn't try to bribe her?"
"It's not a bribe. It's compensation." She glared at him. "And next time, be more sensitive! And don't listen to Sirius when it comes to witches!"
That dog was such a bad influence on her friend!
London, Merton, April 18th, 1997
"It's the best of the trilogy!" Philip exclaimed.
"No, A New Hope is better." Mark shook his head.
"A New Hope is second best, at best."
"A New Hope has a happy ending. The Empire Strikes Back ends on a downer."
"That's what makes it so good. It's darker. Not such a fairy tale." Philip's sneer looked remarkably like Malfoy's.
"The Empire Strikes Back has a muppet." Mark scoffed. "I'll take a fairy tale any day over fat Kermit the Jedi."
Hermione Granger cleared her throat. "The Empire Strikes Back is the most critically acclaimed movie of the trilogy."
"That doesn't mean anything!" Mark protested. "Critics don't know nothing."
"Don't know anything," she corrected him. Mark nodded in agreement, but Paul poked her side with his elbow. She frowned at him. It wasn't her fault that his friends didn't speak properly. And it was certainly his fault that their - by now traditional - Friday movie date had turned into an outing with his friends. His 'interesting' friends. Not that she expected him to drop his friends for her; she wasn't Parvati. But it would have been a nice gesture if he had gone to watch the movie with his fellow Star Wars fans on another date.
"Well, I like The Empire Strikes Back best as well," Paul chimed in. "It's the most mature of the movies. We see the rebels get beaten, on the run, we see them take casualties - and there isn't a victory against all odds in the last second, unlike in the other two movies."
"The Empire winning doesn't make the movie more mature," Hermione countered.
"It makes it darker, though, which is also better," Paul said. Philip nodded.
Hermione briefly and silently wondered if Paul would think that if he had ever been in battle. Or in danger. She shook her head, both at her own thoughts and his argument. "I disagree."
"It's also more realistic," Paul went on with a grin. "Life is tough, then you die."
Hermione pressed her lips together. She shouldn't have complained about how unrealistic the plot of the latest romantic comedy they had seen together had been. "It's a science fiction movie with space physics patterned after World War II aerial combat. It's not supposed to be realistic."
"That just means that the plot itself needs an even larger dose of realism!"
Paul could stand to be a little more graceful when he scored a point against her, Hermione thought as his friends agreed with him. And she could stand to be a little less jealous, she added, when she caught herself wishing that Philip and Mark would leave already.
"So, Paul said you're already working while you study for your A-Levels," Philip said as he set his pint down.
It sounded less like a question about her work to get her to talk, and more like he was questioning her claim, Hermione Granger thought. But he was Paul's friend. She nodded. "Yes. I'm working as the secretary of an independently wealthy but somewhat lazy gentleman who prefers to spend his time with his French lover rather than managing his own affairs."
"And he lets you run his affairs?" Mark sounded as if he doubted her as well.
Hermione kept smiling, as Mr Fletcher had taught her. "I mostly handle his correspondence. He makes the final decisions, but he often follows my proposals. Almost all of his wealth other than his cash is in long-term investments which do not require much work."
"Doesn't sound like he has much work," Mark said.
"He corresponds with a number of friends, and is heavily involved in the running of his gentlemen's club," Hermione elaborated. Wizarding Britain and especially the Wizengamot had more than a few similarities to a traditional gentlemen's club.
"He's got a gentlemen's club?" Mark's smile turned into a leer, and Philip was suddenly far more attentive.
"The traditional gentlemen's club. He isn't running a strip club," Hermione clarified.
Paul chuckled. "You running that kind of club would be hot, though!"
She glared at him, and he smiled and patted her hand. "Sorry. You look so cute when you're riled up."
She smiled, although she had to clench her teeth at his friends' chuckles.
"So, who's the gentleman?" Mark asked.
"I'm not about to violate his privacy," Hermione responded.
"Well, in that case: Do you have any juicy stories to tell?" Philip leaned forward. "Elderly British gentleman, French mistress - that sounds like a set-up for a movie."
"Or a TV show," Mark added.
"He isn't elderly," Hermione corrected him. Sirius wasn't even forty - and he certainly didn't act his age most of the time!
"Oh!"
She didn't like what Mark's grin implied. Not at all. She didn't have a crush on the dog. But before she could think of a way to tell him that Philip went even further: "Don't take this the wrong way, but why did he hire a teenager as a secretary?"
"I went to school with his godson, whom he is raising. Harry's my best friend, and when I was looking for work, he told his godfather."
"Ah."
She caught Philip glancing at Paul and realised that he thought that the dog had taken pity on her. Which hadn't been entirely untrue, she had to admit - he had paid off her debt mostly to help her, after all. But while it had started as a cover, she was doing real work these days. And she was good at it.
But if she told anyone what had really happened, even if she left out magic, no one would believe her.
Paul wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "Now, you two idiots, stop badgering my girlfriend! Let's talk about Star Wars again!"
And now her boyfriend had stepped in to protect her. Hermione would have felt a little less conflicted about that - though she would have still resented it at least somewhat - if she didn't suspect that he didn't fully believe her story either.
If only she could tell him the truth! Fortunately, he respected her privacy and didn't pry. He was a really good boyfriend, in that regard.
She ordered a cola for herself and leaned into his side.
Hogwarts, April 19th, 1997
Standing on the stairs, right at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter noted that Romilda was sitting where he expected her to be, then turned his glasses' enchantment off. He cleared his throat, then checked his appearance. It wouldn't do to have missed some stain or tear - what he was about to do would be embarrassing and humiliating enough. He patted his enchanted pocket - the box from Honeydukes hadn't disappeared. It had better not have; it had been expensive.
For a moment, he thought about delaying again. Maybe he would manage to catch her outside, or alone… No. He had procrastinated enough, as Hermione would say. So he took a deep breath and then entered the room, heading straight towards his ex-girlfriend.
She saw him coming and ducked her head, and he felt a twinge of guilt that hurt far more than the glares from her friends. One of them even drew her wand, though she didn't aim it at him.
He cleared his throat again. "Romilda?"
"She doesn't want to talk to you, Potter!" her friend with the wand - Marcy - hissed. The other witches at the table nodded in support.
He ignored them. He wasn't here for them. "I'm here to apologise, Romilda."
She didn't look up, and, if anything, seemed to hunch a little more. But Marcy didn't say whatever she had been about to say, and the other girls looked surprised. And, as he had feared, the whole room had fallen silent and was now shamelessly eavesdropping. Great. But if he cast a privacy charm, rumours would fly. Or rather, worse rumours.
He continued. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I did. I made a mess of that, and it's my fault." She started to glance at him but stopped. "I should have talked to you about my… feelings much earlier. I should have been honest, instead of acting as if everything was fine until…" He took another deep breath. "Until the break-up."
She was looking at him now, though without fully facing him. Marcy looked like couldn't decide whether she should hug Romilda or hex him. Well, try to hex him, at least.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you. It wasn't right, and it's all my fault. I was an idiot."
She finished turning her head and looked at him for the first time. And she wiped the tears from her eyes. "What did I do wrong?" she finally asked, still sniffling.
He clenched his teeth for a moment. "You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes, people change. And feelings just change. Voldemort's death changed me. I killed him. I killed others, too. I've lived years with the knowledge that he was back, and that he wanted to kill me. I'd trained for years to face him. And with him finally dead..." He shrugged. "I changed." Or rather, without that pressure and with more free time, he had discovered that he wanted more out of a relationship than snogging. But telling her that would make it look like their entire relationship had been based on a lie.
She nodded slowly. He pulled the box out of his pocket and held it out to her. "It's… well, you liked the box we got on Valentine's Day."
She stared at it, then met his eyes again. "Is there another girl?"
He shook his head. "No." And given how much grief he had gotten from everyone for hurting Romilda, it didn't look like there'd be another girl for some time.
She took the box and mumbled something that might have been a thank you. Harry waited a few seconds but couldn't think of anything else to say, so he turned and walked away.
Once he was on the stairs again, out of her sight, he sighed with relief. He raised his hand to touch the frame of his glasses - to check how Romilda was doing - but refrained from doing so.
She deserved better.
London, Greenwich, May 2nd, 1997
When Mr Fletcher had told her that he'd avoid Wizarding Britain for a few months to fake a trip 'back' to the New World while he trained her in muggle Britain, Hermione Granger hadn't expected that this would mean training in muggle methods.
She glared at the lock on the table in her tutor's flat. She should have been able to pick it easily - she had been picking locks for years - but she hadn't managed for over ten minutes. And had broken a few of her lockpicks.
Mr Fletcher didn't even bother to hide his amusement. "That's one of the latest locks on the market. You'll need to analyse it before you know how to handle it."
She turned her glare on him. "You said I couldn't use magic."
"I said you couldn't use magic to pick it. I didn't say you couldn't use magic to analyse it." He grinned. "If you don't keep up with the magical and muggle security measures, you'll fail as a thief."
"I'm not planning to rob muggles," she retorted, angry at herself for missing the - now - obvious solution.
"That doesn't matter. A number of pureblood wizards and witches buy muggle locks to enhance their wards. And those among them who have things worth stealing tend to pick the best muggle locks they can get - even if only so they don't have to actually bother trying to learn anything about them."
Hermione sighed. At least she didn't have to worry about electronic locks in wizarding manors. Then she pressed her lips together and aimed her wand at the infuriatingly difficult lock and cast her first spell at it.
An hour later, she had finally figured out a way to pick the lock. Which still took her five minutes.
"I know, I know. I need to be faster," she said before Mr Fletcher could. It wasn't the best comeback, not even close, but it made her feel a little better for her earlier lapse.
"Yeah," he said, going back to reading the newspaper. The Times this time. His prosthetic foot was whipping in the air - it looked perfectly natural covered up by a sock and a shoe, but it wasn't quite moving like a real foot.
"Do you have a date today?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes." She and Paul always went to the movies on a Friday evening. It always made her remember their first date.
"Return of the Jedi?"
She blinked. Mr Fletcher knew more about muggle pop culture than she had expected. "Yes. Without his annoying friends, this time." Paul could learn.
"Annoying?"
She frowned. "They think Sirius is my 'sugar daddy'," she quoted Philip's comment, which she had overheard without him realising. Noticing Mr Fletcher's expression, she explained: "They think that he's employing me because I'm his lover."
"Ah." He nodded. "Like the Prophet's slander."
"Yes. And because I can't tell them about magic, or Sirius's name, I have to be so vague that they don't believe me." She scowled.
"What about your boyfriend?"
"He believes me." Or at least he had told her so.
"That's good then." He sighed and leaned back in his favourite seat. "Relationships with muggles are always a little tricky. You're not allowed to tell them about magic unless you marry them. And afterwards, it's a shock. Had a friend in school, muggleborn, who married a muggle girl. She left him after the wedding."
Hermione winced. That must have been awful.
He shrugged. "If she couldn't handle that, then the marriage wouldn't have lasted anyway."
"He could have told her before, though," she said. Marrying someone with such a secret between them...
"That would have been illegal."
She rolled her eyes at that. "Just as doing magic outside school is illegal, and yet everyone does it if they can get away with it."
He chuckled. "Yeah." He looked at her. "If you plan on telling your boyfriend, don't. Not until you're certain that you want to marry him."
"I'm not planning to."
Though she couldn't help wondering how Paul would react.
Hogsmeade, May 10th, 1997
"Welcome to Hogsmeade, milady." Harry Potter held open the door of the carriage he and Fay had taken from Hogwarts. He gestured with his free hand in a flourish, putting on the 'Old Family Charm', as Sirius called it.
"Thank you, milord." Fay held out her hand to him as she stepped down.
He didn't wince, even though 'milord' reminded him of Voldemort. "So, where do you want to go?" he asked with a smile instead.
She hesitated for a moment, not quite managing to raise an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have our date planned out?"
Was that a dig at his dates with Romilda? He hoped it wasn't and chuckled, perhaps a little too loudly. "I like to be a little more spontaneous than that. It's not as if we're going to the movies."
"Movies?"
"Muggle entertainment. Like the telly, just bigger. They're on a schedule."
"Ah."
He didn't know if she really understood what movies were. But saying that they were like the wireless with pictures would be patronising. "So, let's each pick a destination, and see where that leaves us. You first. Where would you like to go?"
"Hm." She looked quite cute as she pouted. "Let's go to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop! Sophie said that they had a new cake on the menu that was just marvellous!"
"Alright." At least Fay knew what she wanted.
And half an hour later, Harry knew what he didn't want: the new cake in Madam Puddifoot's. "They must have simply replaced any flour with sugar," he muttered as he took another sip from his - fortunately very good - tea.
Fay simply nodded with a bright smile partially hampered by the fork sticking out of her mouth.
He pushed his plate over to her and her eyes lit up.
"Thank you!" She beamed at him, then started to eat again.
"Have you listened to the Weird Sisters' latest song?" she asked between bites.
"Haven't heard it yet," he answered. "The wireless in our room belongs to Seamus, so he usually decides on the music. Unless we use Silencing Charms."
She giggled. "Well, you should listen to it. It's great! Myron really knows how to sing about heartbreak!" She sighed. "I wonder if he's writing the songs based on personal experience, or if it's a subtle dig at Donaghan - he married two years ago, you know, and there were rumours his wife isn't happy with their latest tour arrangement." She leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though Harry had cast a privacy charm earlier. "I heard that she might be in a relationship with Orsino."
He had no idea who Orsino was. "Ah." At least Parvati used to gossip about people he knew.
"Though I think it's actually Herman. He plays the lute, and he's the most attractive and sensitive in the group. If Donaghan's wife were to fall for anyone, it would be him!"
"Ah." He would be saying that a lot, Harry thought. She hadn't asked him yet what kind of bands he liked.
After half an hour filled with more details about the Weird Sisters than Harry had ever wanted to know, and another slice of cake, Fay finally stood. "So, what do you want to do now?"
"Check out Spintwitches," he said. "They might have a new broom model on display."
She nodded but didn't show much enthusiasm. He didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign.
Hogwarts, May 10th, 1997
"How did your date go?" Ron asked when Harry Potter met him on the way to the Great Hall for dinner.
Harry looked around, checking that they were alone, then sighed. "I wish Hermione didn't have a date today." Ron blinked and looked confused, so Harry added: "I wouldn't have had to listen to hours of gossip about the Weird Sisters." He'd have to struggle not to blast the wireless to pieces when it next played a song by them.
"Oh." Ron winced. "That sounds awful."
"I got her back, though - I dragged her through Spintwitches for an hour and she doesn't like Quidditch." Harry grinned.
"She doesn't like Quidditch?" Ron sounded shocked.
"She doesn't." Harry shook his head. "We agreed that we wouldn't have another date."
"Probably a good idea. Exams are coming up.," Ron said. "Luna's revising a lot."
"Ah." He had thought that Ron was around a little more than usual lately.
"I'm helping her in Defence," Ron added. "Mostly on the practical side."
"Hexing your girlfriend?" Harry mock-gasped.
"I'm not training her Moody-style." Ron snorted. "You're the one who dragged your girlfriend to those lessons."
"She insisted," Harry shot back, laughing as they entered the Great Hall. He looked around and saw Fay was already seated. She glanced at him, then went back to whispering to Parvati and Lavender, who also glanced at him.
It didn't look like Harry would be dating any of the Gryffindor girls in his year for the foreseeable future, but he didn't mind.
London, Merton, May 10th, 1997
"It's delicious!"
Hermione Granger noted with relief that Paul didn't repeat his mistake of assuming that her mum had cooked the meal. Or that Hermione had.
"Thank you." Mum smiled.
Even though, this time, Mum had cooked.
Her dad smiled as well. "You're learning, Paul. Hermione used to be quite put out when her friends assumed that Ellen was doing all the cooking in our home." He sighed theatrically. "The lectures she would give…"
Hermione glared at him. "I was ten!"
"A very vocal ten-year-old," Mum chimed in.
Hermione switched her glare to her traitorous mother as Paul laughed.
"I can imagine."
He received a glare for good measure as well as Hermione huffed. "I haven't done that since I was twelve." Because she had been at Hogwarts, and after her expulsion and move, she had lost contact with most of her old friends and hadn't made any new ones. But that wasn't something Paul needed to know.
"Oh? Harry and Ron never made that mistake?" Paul asked.
She was surprised that he remembered when she had met her friends for the first time. And wondered why he'd pick such a topic.
"No." Dad shook his head. "To be fair, since they met Hermione at their boarding school, she probably lectured them there."
Everyone but Hermione laughed again. She pressed her lips together, then masked her silence by taking another bite of the - truly delicious - veal escalope with cream sauce. Or, as Mum liked to call it, 'escalopes à la crème'. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and said: "I didn't lecture them; I just told them in advance that everyone in our family shares the chores, including the cooking."
"Even if they can't cook yet." Dad earned himself another glare.
"And I didn't merit such an advance warning?" Paul's pout seemed not to be entirely faked, Hermione thought.
"I expected better of you." She shook her head and stuck out her tongue at him. "You're living in your own flat, after all."
"And I'm not living with a rich godfather who spends all his time with a French mistress," Paul said.
Hermione frowned. That sounded like a dig at Harry. "They have a male housekeeper," she said, maybe a little sharper than she should have.
"A male housekeeper? Not a butler?" he asked.
"No." Kreacher couldn't be called a butler.
"Well, if we'd had a housekeeper, my childhood would have been much more comfortable," Paul said. "Alas, my mum had us do chores as well."
"Harry had to do a lot of chores when he was living with his aunt," Hermione said, frowning. "He wasn't - isn't - some spoiled rich child." Rich, but not spoiled.
"Yes. He was very polite when we met him for the first time," Mum added. "That was before his godfather took him in."
"Why did he go to live with his godfather?" Paul asked.
Hermione said: "That's private."
"Ah, I forgot." Paul smiled. "You can't talk about your employer."
Was there an edge to that remark? Hermione smiled overly sweetly - he should know better than to pry. "Discretion is the hallmark of a personal secretary."
"They're called 'personal assistants' these days, or so I believe," Paul said.
"Semantics," Hermione said with a shrug.
"Words have power," he shot back. "Calling your employee your personal secretary sends a different message than calling her your personal assistant."
"My employer isn't concerned with that." Hermione pressed her lips together before she said anything more about Sirius.
"I'd certainly believe that!" Dad cut in. "He's a memorable man, if a little eccentric."
Mum nodded.
"You've met him then," Paul said.
"Of course we did," Mum replied. "We wouldn't have let Hermione take such a job otherwise."
"Ah." It looked like Paul was about to say something, but he caught himself and nodded. After a moment, he said: "Could you pass me the salt?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
"Which movie are you going to see next weekend?" Mum changed the topic.
"Not Beverly Hills Ninja," Hermione said.
"Aw." Paul pouted again. "I heard it's funny."
He was winding her up, Hermione knew. But at least he wasn't asking questions about Sirius any more.
Two hours and a great tiramisu later, as they 'took a stroll' through the next park on the way to Paul's flat, Hermione Granger still hadn't forgotten the conversation at dinner. "Why are you so interested in my employer?"
She saw him tense before he answered. "I'm just curious."
"You know that I can't tell tales."
They stopped walking and he turned to face her. "I just want to know if you're happy with your job."
"I am."
His expression told her that he had his doubts. Or maybe suspicions.
She sighed. "I'm happy there. My employer's a little eccentric, but he's a good man." Or dog. As much as a dog could be good. "And he's my best friend's godfather."
"Ah." He pressed his lips together.
"What do you mean?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't tell me that you're jealous of Harry!"
"He seemed a little jealous when I met him."
"You joked about his girlfriend's name," she said. "And he's protective of all his friends."
"Ah." He didn't look as if he were convinced.
"He's not a spoiled kid, nor is he trying to seduce me; trust me, he didn't see me as a girl for years."
"He's a fool then," Paul replied with a sweet smile that made her smile at him in return.
"When it comes to girls, yes," Hermione agreed. "But I'd trust him with my life." She owed him and Ron her life, too - but that wasn't something she could tell Paul.
Which meant Paul would misunderstand her remark.
She kept smiling, though. "But I'm trusting you with my heart."
That made him smile again. "And with your body," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist.
She didn't like that remark - it reminded her a little too much of the bigots she had spied on as Miss Merriweather - but it was better than letting him stew about Sirius and Harry. So she kissed him and then leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, as they continued towards his flat.
Hogwarts, May 17th, 1997
"Mr Potter! Welcome to my humble abode!"
Harry Potter didn't really like Slughorn. The man was jovial, a much better teacher than Snape and probably a better Potioneer as well, but he was just a little too friendly. And too focused on influential people. But, as Sirius, Hermione and Mr Weasley had told him, Slughorn was useful. Or, rather, his network was useful. If Harry wanted to keep Malfoy's father from taking over the Ministry and the Wizengamot, then he couldn't afford to antagonise the head of Slytherin house. Which meant attending the Slug Club parties. And smiling at Slughorn.
"Thank you, sir. I'm glad I could make it." He nodded at Slughorn, then at Katie. "This is Katie Bell, my date. She's a Chaser for Gryffindor."
"Welcome, Miss Bell!" The man kissed Katie's hand with more grace than Harry had expected. "If either of you is interested in a career as a professional player, my dear friend Gwenog accepted my invitation for this evening's soirée."
"Gwenog Jones?" Katie perked up.
"Indeed." Slughorn's smile grew wider. "I think she's… yes, there, near the buffet. Do try the shrimps; they're marvellous - an old student of mine caught them himself and sent me a basketful fresh from the sea."
"Thank you, sir, we will," Harry said, then tried to act as if he was guiding his date towards the Holyhead Harpies' Beater, instead of getting dragged along. "Slow down, Katie," he whispered. "She won't run away. Let's get some food first."
"Sorry!" she whispered back. "I'm just so excited - this might be my chance to get a foot in the league!"
"Ripping my arm out won't help with that goal," he shot back. "And what about Alicia?"
"She's a rookie, she won't be able to do anything for me," Katie explained as they reached the buffet table.
"Ah." That made sense. Harry summoned two trays, and they started to sample the food.
"Mh." Katie closed her eyes for a moment. "Slughorn was right - the shrimps are delicious."
Harry nodded, although he wasn't that fond of seafood. "The pastrami sandwiches aren't bad either," he added.
"Pastrami?" Katie asked.
"Romanian speciality," he said. He'd have added that it was very popular in the USA if Katie had any idea about muggle countries.
"Ah." She nodded, but he could see her eyes straying to Jones. "Would you mind coming with me, to break the ice, before you veer off to talk to the Head Auror?"
"Of course," he said. That was the deal, after all.
"Thanks. You know, you could go pro much more easily," she said, before finishing her last shrimp.
Harry shrugged. "As much as I like flying, I'd rather be an Auror than a Seeker." He could do much more good that way.
"I understand," Katie said.
She didn't, though. Not really, Harry thought. "But even if I wanted to go pro, the Harpies wouldn't be my team of choice," he said as he led her towards Jones.
"I didn't think so," she agreed, giggling.
Ten minutes later - he had stayed with Jones and Katie long enough not to be seen as rude - Harry Potter was at the buffet again, sampling the desserts and looking for Scrimgeour. He noticed Greengrass approaching the table and moved a little to the side. Both to be polite and in case he needed more room to dodge. But she was headed towards him, not the buffet, he quickly realised.
She nodded at him in greeting. "Good evening, Potter."
"'Evening," he replied, with a tiny nod.
She didn't acknowledge his curt manners and the message they sent. "Did you try the shrimp? It's delicious."
"I did. It's not bad." She was wearing very thin, very expensive robes, he noted. Daringly cut, too - a slit went up her right leg to her waist, and her décolleté plunged further than Krum doing a Wronski Feint. She was wearing her wand in a holster on her thigh - that fashion hadn't been popular in Britain for a number of years, or so Parvati had once told him.
She must have noticed his eyes wandering, since she smiled and nodded towards where Katie and Jones were talking. "Your date seems to be more interested in Jones than in you, Potter."
He shrugged. "I knew that when I asked her to accompany me to this party." He smiled. "We are teammates and friends, nothing more."
She blinked, but kept smiling and pushed her right leg forward a little - enough for the robes to reveal most of it. "And are you looking for more?"
She was actually flirting with him. He couldn't tell if she was serious - she didn't seem to be tipsy - but it didn't matter. He nodded. "Yes." And right when she was about to say something more, he continued. "Although I certainly wouldn't consider anyone who was involved in framing my best friend. Or any of their friends."
She blinked with her mouth half-open.
Harry nodded towards Slughorn. "If not for Malfoy and the likes of you, Hermione would be here. With a personal invitation from Slughorn." Any witch who managed to brew Veritaserum in her second year would have been seen as a prodigy.
Greengrass sneered. "I've seen her O.W.L. results. She wouldn't have made the cut. Unless she were sleeping with you."
So someone had leaked Hermione's tests. Not really a surprise. He scoffed. "She did that while studying mostly by herself, with just one tutor. Imagine what she would have done at Hogwarts, with the best teachers in Britain." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "And if you know what's good for you, you won't speak like that about her ever again."
She paled slightly - it wasn't easy to spot given her natural skin tone - but then raised her chin. "You should know better than to threaten me!"
He scoffed again. "I've faced and killed Voldemort. You think your father or his friends impress me?" He shook his head with a snort. "Now pardon me, I need to talk to the Head Auror about my future career in the Ministry."
Harry smiled when he noticed that she paled a little more upon hearing that. As if he'd give a Slytherin friend of Malfoy's the time of day, much less date them.
London, Merton, May 18th, 1997
Hermione Granger gracefully walked past Mrs Jefferson's house, ignoring the stupid rat-sized dog barking at her from behind the fence. That animal was an embarrassment to dogs, and that took some work. She sniffed in derision and jumped on Mr Grey's fence, stopping to clean her fur for a moment or two as the stupid chihuahua almost went insane down on the lawn. It even tried to jump up and snap at her, despite not having any hope of even reaching halfway up to her spot. Dogs!
She sighed and went on, passing Mr Grey's house, to slip into the Vanderbilt's garden. That family had very nice children who appreciated a fine cat visiting. They weren't home today, though, so Hermione continued roaming her territory.
Well, it should be hers. Crookshank had taught every other cat that he was not to be messed with, and he answered to her. Unfortunately, not every cat - none but her, actually - could appreciate logic.
And so she skipped the Brown's garden and crossed the street - after checking for traffic, of course - before their old tomcat came after her again. A few fences later, she had reached Paul's home and jumped up on to the stone pillar from which the mailboxes of Paul and his neighbours hung.
She wasn't spying on her boyfriend. Just… passing by. And checking if there were any cats nearby. Just in case. Maybe some people watching, too. And basking in a few rays of sunlight on this fine Sunday morning. And maybe catching Paul when he was taking a break from his studying, to see if he appreciated a fine cat gracing him with her presence.
She was nodding to herself when she saw the door open.
"Argh… the light! It burns!" Mark stood there, shielding his face with his arm and hissing as if he were a Hollywood vampire.
Hermione sat up and eyed the man. He didn't look well. Tired. Maybe hungover. But he was laughing as he stepped out, followed by the definitely not laughing Philip. And Paul. She sniffed. That didn't look like the aftermath of a study session - Paul wasn't taking the same courses as his two friends.
Her suspicions were proven correct when she saw Paul hand Mark a bag full of video cassettes. Star Trek, her sharp eyes told her from her vantage point.
"Oh, look, Paul, you've got a visitor!" Mark laughed loudly and pointed at her - they must have watched videos throughout the night, Hermione concluded, seeing as her presence apparently caused such amusement.
"A rather fuzzy one, too!" Philip added. "Probably a stray."
She hissed. She wasn't a stray! And she wasn't fuzzy either! She was a beautiful, graceful, perfect cat!
"And it's got an attitude," Mark said, shaking his head. "It's not your girlfriend's cat, isn't it? Same hair colour."
Paul laughed. "No, she's got a massive orange cat with a face as if it had smashed it into a wall a few times when it was little."
Crookshanks was a lovely tomcat, Hermione thought, glaring at her ignorant boyfriend.
"Speaking of her, was she working last night?" Philip asked. "For her mysterious employer?"
Paul frowned. "I told you: I didn't invite you two just because she wasn't available!"
"So, she was 'working'!" Mark said, and Hermione could hear the air quotes. If she jumped, she could give his nose a good swat, maybe also claw his legs a little before dashing away from the fool.
"Studying. She's got exams coming up."
"Ah. What subjects?"
Paul shrugged. "I didn't ask."
"And if you asked, she wouldn't tell you." Philip shook his head. "Mate, I tell you, she's not good for you."
"She's cheating on you!" Mark said. "Working late, not telling you about her work, not even telling you where she works - the perfect setup for an affair."
"Or you're the affair," Philip said.
Hermione wanted to claw both of them. If Paul were the affair, would she have taken him to meet her parents?
Paul snorted. "You're just jealous." But he didn't sound that convincing.
And he didn't pet her, either, when she jumped down to weave around his legs.
Hogwarts, June 5th, 1997
"...then stir three times clockwise and reduce the heat to let it simmer for three minutes."
Harry Potter sighed and closed his eyes, repeating the instructions for brewing a Cramps-Relieving Potion in his head. "Why is this covered in sixth year?" he asked.
"I don't know," Mr Biggles answered.
Harry froze - he must have been speaking Parseltongue! He looked around. No one seemed to have noticed the snake peeking out from behind his robes on the bed next to his desk, and the privacy charms would have kept anyone from hearing him hiss. "What are you doing out of your habitat?" he hissed.
"Your sleeping spot is warmer," Mr Biggles said as if that explained it.
"The terrarium is hotter than this room," Harry retorted.
"It doesn't smell as nice," Mr Biggles said, then started to burrow under his sheets.
Harry rubbed his face and sighed. He still hadn't learned how not to speak Parseltongue when he saw a snake. At least it was limited to living snakes - pictures and figures didn't trigger him.
And he hadn't told anyone about it either. Ron only knew because he had been the one to tell him, and Luna because she had procured Mr Biggles for him. But he hadn't told Sirius and Hermione. Nor had he told anyone but Ron about the Elder Wand.
He sighed. He would have to tell Sirius soon enough - or at least explain why he had a pet snake. And Hermione, too. And tell Hedwig not to eat Mr Biggles. At least Crookshanks wasn't living at Grimmauld Place any more or Mr Biggles would be in danger. Hermione's stray, though… He'd have to ask her to take it home. Or ward the house against cats.
He chuckled at that thought, then sighed again. Sirius would probably be hurt that he hadn't told him right away. And he might even think Harry was… No. His godfather loved him. He wouldn't condemn him for talking to snakes. He wouldn't. Harry knew that. And yet, he was still nervous. Anxious, maybe.
He'd tell Sirius, though. And Hermione too. So they'd know about this and would be prepared if Harry was exposed as a Parselmouth. And maybe they could help him learn how not to hiss when he saw a snake.
But the Elder Wand and the Cloak… Could he tell Sirius? Dumbledore hadn't told anyone until his death. Not even Moody had known about it, as far as Harry knew. And his father hadn't even told Sirius, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, according to Sirius, that this was the Cloak of Invisibility. Would knowing about such secrets endanger his family and friends? Sirius hadn't been told the truth about Dumbledore's plans. And he was still suffering from Azkaban. Could he be trusted with this? Should he be trusted with this?
Could Harry handle this by himself? Dumbledore had managed, but Harry wasn't Dumbledore.
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He almost wished he didn't know the truth about the wand, his Cloak and about being a Parselmouth.
London, Merton, June 6th, 1997
"Now that was a great movie! Non-stop action!"
Hermione Granger smiled as she listened to Paul go over the movie they had seen, gesturing as he praised it. She liked it very much when he was that excited.
"And the villain was great. Truly evil, not some half-arsed 'misguided soul'. And the twist with the serial killer!"
"Garland," she said.
"Yeah, Garland. He had a happy ending in Vegas."
"He'll probably kill more people," Hermione said, frowning.
"He let the girl live."
"Doesn't mean he won't kill again. Serial killers aren't funny."
"In movies they are." He grinned.
She rolled her eyes. Not for the first time, she wondered if he'd find them funny if he had ever encountered a murderer. "It was a good action movie," she said. "I thought The Rock was better, though."
"Why?" He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
"It had Connery as the lead," she answered, grinning. "Much sexier than Cage."
"Ah." He didn't laugh and his smile felt a little forced.
Why would he… She pressed her lips together. Did he think this was a dig at him? A veiled hint that she preferred older men, such as Sirius? Who, incidentally, had escaped from Wizarding Britain's version of Alcatraz, just like Connery's character in The Rock had from the original. She chuckled at the thought of Sirius as James Bond.
Then she saw Paul wince and wanted to curse herself for her stupidity.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, June 7th, 1997
Hermione Granger went straight to Sirius's study as soon as she arrived in Grimmauld Place. To her surprise, he was already up and even working. Or at least, at his desk, she corrected herself when she saw that he was reading a muggle magazine. In as much as you could call staring at nude women 'reading'.
"Good morning," the dog greeted her as he hastily hid the magazine he certainly hadn't bought for the articles. "You're early," he said, with a wide if forced-looking smile.
She curtly nodded. "We need to talk."
"No." He shook his head.
"Yes." She bared her teeth.
"Those words have never heralded anything good for me." He hunched over and pouted. "Especially coming from a witch."
"Tough. We need to talk." She cast a privacy spell, then leaned forward on his desk. "I don't want to hide from Harry any more." She narrowed her eyes at him as she continued. "My boyfriend thinks I'm having an affair with you. All because I can't tell him about magic, and so can't tell him about you and my work."
"Your boyfriend is jealous of me?" He sounded far too happy to hear about her troubled relationship. When she glared at him and raised her wand, he winced and held up his hand. "Sorry, sorry. But what does your boyfriend's jealousy have to do with Harry?"
She sighed. "Harry will soon be back home. With Voldemort gone, we have lost our cover for our heists. And Harry will suspect something if we disappear for an evening or a night - he's not dumb."
Sirius shrugged. "Well, we don't have to pull any heists during the summer. Fletcher's not yet up for anything anyway. Lost his nerve with his foot."
She glared at him for that. "It's not just that. I feel bad hiding this from Harry. He's the only one in the house who doesn't know what everyone else did in the war."
"It's necessary. If he knew what we're planning, he'd abandon his dream of becoming an Auror. He would probably join us."
"He'd insist," she said - she knew him well, after all. "And why shouldn't he? Wouldn't you enjoy doing a heist with him?"
He sighed. "Of course I'd love to do a heist with Harry! We'd be a great team - all of us. And Harry would fit right in." He smiled, shaking his head. "It would be like doing pranks with James." Then he pressed his lips together and stared at her. "But it would be selfish of me. I'd have fun, but he'd be abandoning his dream. For me. For you. And I'm not going to do that to him. I'm not that selfish!"
"He's sixteen years old. Who says he'll still want to become an Auror in a year? He might want to become a professional Quidditch player," Hermione said. England's team certainly could use a better Seeker.
"He's been studying the Auror handbook Tonks gave him for months. He's kept his training up, even with Voldemort dead. Moody said he's already better than most rookie Aurors." Sirius snorted. "Harry's working harder for this than for school. He wouldn't do that if he didn't want to become an Auror. It's his dream. And neither you nor I nor anyone else will ruin this for him! All of us owe him too much for that."
She wasn't leaning over his desk any more, Hermione realised. She must have taken a step back during his speech - Sirius could be very intense if he wanted to. And cared enough.
He was wrong, though, Hermione thought. But she couldn't go behind his back. She owed him too much. And Harry, too. If she were wrong… She sighed and nodded. "As you wish."
"It's for Harry."
She nodded again.
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, June 21st, 1997
"Sirius? Do you have a minute?" Harry Potter asked, poking his head into his godfather's study.
"Always, Harry! Come in."
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Harry said as he closed the door behind him.
"Just boring work. Hermione can do it better than I." Sirius smiled. "Sit down."
"She'd love to hear you saying that," Harry said, grinning when he saw Sirius wince.
"Where is she, anyway?"
"Dealing with her cat."
"Crookshanks?"
"No, the stray with the bushy tail."
"Ah." Sirius chuckled.
"I told her that she has to keep that cat out of the house. I don't want Mr Biggles to end up being eaten. He keeps escaping his habitat."
"Mr Biggles?" Sirius blinked.
"My pet snake. Luna named him." Harry said as casually as he could.
"You've got a pet snake?" Sirius wasn't quite yelling, but he certainly came close.
"Yes. I've got a good reason for that, though." Harry forced himself to smile. "I'm a Parselmouth."
Sirius blinked with his mouth open.
"I've been trying to learn not to talk in Parseltongue whenever I see a snake," Harry went on. "But it's going slowly." He clenched his teeth. "I hoped to have it down before returning from Hogwarts, but…" He shrugged.
"You're a Parselmouth. You can talk to snakes."
"Yes." Harry was getting a little worried.
"How did that happen?"
"I don't know. I remember talking to a snake in the zoo, before Hogwarts, but I thought that was accidental magic. Then Ron noticed that I could talk to the snakes Voldemort conjured in the Ministry. No one else noticed, though."
"Ah." Sirius slowly nodded. "The ability is inherited."
"Dad or Mum?"
"I'd say Lily, but… if James were a Parselmouth, he'd have kept it quiet, but he'd have told me. I lived with him and his parents, you know."
"I know."
"So… might have been Lily. Or it happened like Tonks - she's a metamorphmagus, but neither of her parents has that talent."
"Ah." That made Harry feel a little better.
"Well, you're right in hiding it. Malfoy would love to paint you as a dark wizard. As if that slime is anything but a Death Eater who got smart!" Sirius shook his head. "Thank you for telling me."
"Of course," Harry said. "Sorry for not telling you sooner."
"Don't worry; you had your reasons." Sirius smiled, though it looked a little forced to Harry.
He winced, feeling guilty. Then he took a deep breath. "There's more."
"You can talk to dogs too?"
Harry chuckled, despite the weak joke. He drew the Elder Wand. Sirius's eyes widened - he must have recognised it. "Dumbledore left me this." Harry put it on the desk. "It's the Elder Wand."
Sirius cursed so loudly, Harry was glad he had decided not to tell his godfather about the Cloak.
London, Ministry of Magic, April 14th, 1997
"But Arthur! With the Dark Lord gone, we don't need as many Hit-Wizards any more. We can use the gold we pay them elsewhere - like for the repairs needed in the Ministry. Marcus Selwyn's proposal is very sound."
Arthur Weasley wasn't a man who was easy to anger. His patience and tolerance had been a boon when raising seven children - especially Fred and George. Nevertheless, even he could lose his temper when pushed too far, and Fudge was doing his best to make Arthur curse him. "Cornelius," he said with a forced smile, "the number of Hit-Wizards hasn't been increased since the end of the last war, despite us needing more guards for Azkaban after the removal of the Dementors. Marcus's proposal would see us not even replace those Hit-Wizards lost in the battle against the Dark Lord."
"But we what we lose in quantity we make up in quality," Fudge retorted, fiddling with a quill on his desk. "By raising the standards of our force, we will be able to do more with fewer wands."
That had to be straight from Malfoy's mouth, Arthur thought. He scoffed. "Raising standards? I don't see anything about that in this proposal."
"That will be handled in a second bill," Fudge explained. "It's still being worked on."
"I've read Dolores's draft," Arthur said.
Fudge blinked. "You have?"
"Yes." Arthur didn't smile. "I've also read her draft for the proposed entrance exam for new employees." He leaned forward. "She wants to test new Ministry employees on their knowledge of 'Wizarding Britain's Traditions and Customs'."
"Any employee of the Ministry is expected to know how to comport themselves in society, especially at a social event." Fudge shook his head. "Imagine the scandal if someone insulted a diplomat!"
"Are you aware that there is no course covering such a subject at Hogwarts?" Arthur asked.
"An oversight that can be easily corrected." Fudge smiled. "I know of a number of wizards and witches who could teach such courses."
"Do you know why there is no such course?"
"I think Albus opposed it in the past, for budgetary reasons. Which is why this is a very good opportunity to both reduce the amount of dead weight in the Ministry and fund a new course!"
"The course was opposed by the Board of Governors. The official reason given was that wizarding traditions and customs couldn't be taught at school. That was to be the prerogative of the parents." Arthur scoffed. "And now you want to test prospective employees on knowledge only a member of an Old Family could have? How do you think the majority of our population will react to such a blatant attempt at discrimination?"
"Discrimination? Now, Arthur, be fair!"
"Yes, discrimination. There's nothing in that test about Defence at all. It's not even about Hit-Wizards and Aurors - it's a generic test for Ministry employees. How do you think you will get more capable Hit-Wizards if you don't test for skills that are actually relevant to their duties?" Fudge opened his mouth, but Arthur ploughed on. "How do you think Harry Potter will react, once he realises that you plan to discriminate against muggleborns? As the son of a muggleborn witch?"
"What?"
"Imagine the Vanquisher of Voldemort speaking out against a Minister who supports such blatant attempts to favour Old Families in the Ministry." Arthur hated to use Harry's name like that, but it was the best way to stop this latest attempt to build up the influence of the Old Families. "Imagine if he refused the Order of Merlin you want to award him, in protest against such measures."
Fudge gaped, then frowned. "No one would refuse such an honour!"
"You know his godfather."
Fudge paled. "But… if he refused…"
"If he refused, you'd be the one everyone would blame. You would be seen as the Minister who made the Boy-Who-Lived despise him. You. Not anyone else."
Fudge sagged in his seat. "But we have to balance the budget somehow! The damage done to the Ministry in the battle, the gold needed by St Mungo's - they already went through this year's budget for treating curses! - and the pensions for the next of kin of the dead..."
"Sirius proposed a bill to fine those caught or killed while fighting for the Dark Lord," Arthur said.
"But… that would be cutting into the family fortunes!" Fudge protested. "It would be like punishing the children for the sins of their parents!"
"How is fighting for the Dark Lord different from gambling away the family fortune?" Arthur asked. "Both are mistakes. But the former is also treason."
"Well…" Fudge trailed off. "That's for the Wizengamot to decide!"
That was the best Arthur would get, and he knew that. "And Marcus's proposal?"
"Will certainly have to be reworked," Fudge said with an expression as though he were having a tooth pulled. "As will Dolores's draft."
Arthur nodded. "Good." It wasn't defeated for good but stalled for the foreseeable future. "Now, I have a proposal of my own. Or rather, a joint proposal with Sirius and Amelia. It's about the regulations regarding the Auror Corps's size."
Fudge looked like he'd prefer to be cursed.
*****
Hogwarts, April 15th, 1997
As soon as Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room, coming from Quidditch practice, he saw Romilda sitting in the corner. She wasn't looking at him at all. Her friends, though, were glaring at him as one of them hugged her. They weren't the only ones - a number of the other girls were looking at him as if he had hexed Romilda. And Ginny looked as if she wanted to hex him herself.
He sighed as he went up to his room. Neville, Seamus and Dean were not around - probably in the library, working on their essays or something. He hadn't seen them in the common room. Ron had followed him inside, though. "Why are they acting like that?" Harry asked as he sat down on his bed and sent his Quidditch gear to his trunk with a few flicks and swishes of his wand.
"Well, mate," he heard Ron answer, "I'd say it's because you made Romilda cry. A lot."
Harry looked at his friend. "I was just being honest! What should I have done instead? Lied and acted as if everything were fine?" He snapped his trunk's lid shut, loudly enough to startle Ron.
"Luna said that being honest isn't all that's it cracked up to be, but it's better than lying."
"That's very helpful." Harry scoffed.
Ron shrugged and closed his own trunk, more gently than Harry had done. "Maybe it isn't what you did, but how you did it."
"And what should I have done differently?" Harry stood and shook his head, then walked over to Ron's bed. "How do you break up with a girl without making her cry?"
"I don't know," Ron said. "Be nice about it?"
Harry scoffed again. "I was nice. I told her I liked her, and that it wasn't her fault." He gestured. "That it wasn't working out between us. That we're not good for each other. And that we wouldn't be happy if we stayed together." He noticed that Ron was staring at him. "What?"
"That's nice?"
"But it's true!" Harry retorted. "She was just doing what I wanted. Nothing else. That's not healthy."
"But she seemed happy. As far as I could tell."
"I wasn't," Harry shot back. He walked back to his bed and let himself fall into it. "I didn't want to keep lying to her, and now everyone - or at least every witch - in Gryffindor hates me."
"Well, not everyone."
Harry rolled his eyes. A few witches had flirted with him as soon as news of his break-up had spread. He wasn't certain if that was worse than if they had been glaring at him, too, or not.
"Maybe you should be asking yourself what you should do, instead of what you should have done?"
Harry glanced at Ron. "What should I do?" he asked, in as flat a voice as he could manage.
Ron chuckled. "Luna says that if you hurt someone, you should apologise."
Harry snorted. "Sirius said that if a witch is mad at me, I should apologise, regardless of whose fault it is."
"Well, if Sirius and Luna agree on something…"
Harry almost snapped that that would be a reason to rethink the whole thing - Sirius's advice had gotten him into this, and Luna certainly didn't think like most witches he knew. Nor most wizards, either - but that might have made Ron mad - his friend was very protective of Luna. And as much as it galled him to admit, Ron might have a point. He sighed once more. "Great. Now I just need to find a way to talk to her in private again."
Ron cleared his throat.
Harry glared at him.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 16th, 1997
Hermione Granger stared at Harry. "You snuck out of Hogwarts and came to see me because you need to ask me how to apologise to your girlfriend?"
"Ex-girlfriend. That's the reason I need to apologise to her." He smiled at her. "No other witch I know well will talk to me. You're my only hope."
"Stop quoting Star Wars," Hermione snapped. "You're no princess, and I'm not an old hermit." Nor an old maid - she had a boyfriend. And they had sex!
He raised his arms. "Sorry, sorry. So, can you help me? Please?" His smile grew more desperate.
She sighed. "Alright." She couldn't let her best friend down. Not when everyone else, especially the dog, had apparently done so. Especially not when it probably had been that little witch's fault in the first place. Maybe she should look into that… No. She mentally shook her head. She wouldn't meddle in Harry's love life. "First thing, get her a gift. Something she likes. But not too expensive, so that it won't look like a bribe. And nothing that reminds her of you." That should be enough for Vane.
"Uh…" He grimaced.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "What is the problem?"
"I don't know what she really likes. That's why I broke up with her in the first place." He shrugged.
Hermione blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him. "You'll have to explain that."
Five minutes and a few questions later, she was pinching the bridge of her nose again. To think that she could feel sympathy for that little witch… "You are an idiot."
"I know." He pouted. It didn't look good on him.
"Tell that to Romilda as well." She sighed. "And get her a box of Honeydukes' best selection as an apology gift."
"I thought you said that I shouldn't try to bribe her?"
"It's not a bribe. It's compensation." She glared at him. "And next time, be more sensitive! And don't listen to Sirius when it comes to witches!"
That dog was such a bad influence on her friend!
*****
London, Merton, April 18th, 1997
"It's the best of the trilogy!" Philip exclaimed.
"No, A New Hope is better." Mark shook his head.
"A New Hope is second best, at best."
"A New Hope has a happy ending. The Empire Strikes Back ends on a downer."
"That's what makes it so good. It's darker. Not such a fairy tale." Philip's sneer looked remarkably like Malfoy's.
"The Empire Strikes Back has a muppet." Mark scoffed. "I'll take a fairy tale any day over fat Kermit the Jedi."
Hermione Granger cleared her throat. "The Empire Strikes Back is the most critically acclaimed movie of the trilogy."
"That doesn't mean anything!" Mark protested. "Critics don't know nothing."
"Don't know anything," she corrected him. Mark nodded in agreement, but Paul poked her side with his elbow. She frowned at him. It wasn't her fault that his friends didn't speak properly. And it was certainly his fault that their - by now traditional - Friday movie date had turned into an outing with his friends. His 'interesting' friends. Not that she expected him to drop his friends for her; she wasn't Parvati. But it would have been a nice gesture if he had gone to watch the movie with his fellow Star Wars fans on another date.
"Well, I like The Empire Strikes Back best as well," Paul chimed in. "It's the most mature of the movies. We see the rebels get beaten, on the run, we see them take casualties - and there isn't a victory against all odds in the last second, unlike in the other two movies."
"The Empire winning doesn't make the movie more mature," Hermione countered.
"It makes it darker, though, which is also better," Paul said. Philip nodded.
Hermione briefly and silently wondered if Paul would think that if he had ever been in battle. Or in danger. She shook her head, both at her own thoughts and his argument. "I disagree."
"It's also more realistic," Paul went on with a grin. "Life is tough, then you die."
Hermione pressed her lips together. She shouldn't have complained about how unrealistic the plot of the latest romantic comedy they had seen together had been. "It's a science fiction movie with space physics patterned after World War II aerial combat. It's not supposed to be realistic."
"That just means that the plot itself needs an even larger dose of realism!"
Paul could stand to be a little more graceful when he scored a point against her, Hermione thought as his friends agreed with him. And she could stand to be a little less jealous, she added, when she caught herself wishing that Philip and Mark would leave already.
*****
"So, Paul said you're already working while you study for your A-Levels," Philip said as he set his pint down.
It sounded less like a question about her work to get her to talk, and more like he was questioning her claim, Hermione Granger thought. But he was Paul's friend. She nodded. "Yes. I'm working as the secretary of an independently wealthy but somewhat lazy gentleman who prefers to spend his time with his French lover rather than managing his own affairs."
"And he lets you run his affairs?" Mark sounded as if he doubted her as well.
Hermione kept smiling, as Mr Fletcher had taught her. "I mostly handle his correspondence. He makes the final decisions, but he often follows my proposals. Almost all of his wealth other than his cash is in long-term investments which do not require much work."
"Doesn't sound like he has much work," Mark said.
"He corresponds with a number of friends, and is heavily involved in the running of his gentlemen's club," Hermione elaborated. Wizarding Britain and especially the Wizengamot had more than a few similarities to a traditional gentlemen's club.
"He's got a gentlemen's club?" Mark's smile turned into a leer, and Philip was suddenly far more attentive.
"The traditional gentlemen's club. He isn't running a strip club," Hermione clarified.
Paul chuckled. "You running that kind of club would be hot, though!"
She glared at him, and he smiled and patted her hand. "Sorry. You look so cute when you're riled up."
She smiled, although she had to clench her teeth at his friends' chuckles.
"So, who's the gentleman?" Mark asked.
"I'm not about to violate his privacy," Hermione responded.
"Well, in that case: Do you have any juicy stories to tell?" Philip leaned forward. "Elderly British gentleman, French mistress - that sounds like a set-up for a movie."
"Or a TV show," Mark added.
"He isn't elderly," Hermione corrected him. Sirius wasn't even forty - and he certainly didn't act his age most of the time!
"Oh!"
She didn't like what Mark's grin implied. Not at all. She didn't have a crush on the dog. But before she could think of a way to tell him that Philip went even further: "Don't take this the wrong way, but why did he hire a teenager as a secretary?"
"I went to school with his godson, whom he is raising. Harry's my best friend, and when I was looking for work, he told his godfather."
"Ah."
She caught Philip glancing at Paul and realised that he thought that the dog had taken pity on her. Which hadn't been entirely untrue, she had to admit - he had paid off her debt mostly to help her, after all. But while it had started as a cover, she was doing real work these days. And she was good at it.
But if she told anyone what had really happened, even if she left out magic, no one would believe her.
Paul wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. "Now, you two idiots, stop badgering my girlfriend! Let's talk about Star Wars again!"
And now her boyfriend had stepped in to protect her. Hermione would have felt a little less conflicted about that - though she would have still resented it at least somewhat - if she didn't suspect that he didn't fully believe her story either.
If only she could tell him the truth! Fortunately, he respected her privacy and didn't pry. He was a really good boyfriend, in that regard.
She ordered a cola for herself and leaned into his side.
*****
Hogwarts, April 19th, 1997
Standing on the stairs, right at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter noted that Romilda was sitting where he expected her to be, then turned his glasses' enchantment off. He cleared his throat, then checked his appearance. It wouldn't do to have missed some stain or tear - what he was about to do would be embarrassing and humiliating enough. He patted his enchanted pocket - the box from Honeydukes hadn't disappeared. It had better not have; it had been expensive.
For a moment, he thought about delaying again. Maybe he would manage to catch her outside, or alone… No. He had procrastinated enough, as Hermione would say. So he took a deep breath and then entered the room, heading straight towards his ex-girlfriend.
She saw him coming and ducked her head, and he felt a twinge of guilt that hurt far more than the glares from her friends. One of them even drew her wand, though she didn't aim it at him.
He cleared his throat again. "Romilda?"
"She doesn't want to talk to you, Potter!" her friend with the wand - Marcy - hissed. The other witches at the table nodded in support.
He ignored them. He wasn't here for them. "I'm here to apologise, Romilda."
She didn't look up, and, if anything, seemed to hunch a little more. But Marcy didn't say whatever she had been about to say, and the other girls looked surprised. And, as he had feared, the whole room had fallen silent and was now shamelessly eavesdropping. Great. But if he cast a privacy charm, rumours would fly. Or rather, worse rumours.
He continued. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I did. I made a mess of that, and it's my fault." She started to glance at him but stopped. "I should have talked to you about my… feelings much earlier. I should have been honest, instead of acting as if everything was fine until…" He took another deep breath. "Until the break-up."
She was looking at him now, though without fully facing him. Marcy looked like couldn't decide whether she should hug Romilda or hex him. Well, try to hex him, at least.
"I'm sorry that I hurt you. It wasn't right, and it's all my fault. I was an idiot."
She finished turning her head and looked at him for the first time. And she wiped the tears from her eyes. "What did I do wrong?" she finally asked, still sniffling.
He clenched his teeth for a moment. "You didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes, people change. And feelings just change. Voldemort's death changed me. I killed him. I killed others, too. I've lived years with the knowledge that he was back, and that he wanted to kill me. I'd trained for years to face him. And with him finally dead..." He shrugged. "I changed." Or rather, without that pressure and with more free time, he had discovered that he wanted more out of a relationship than snogging. But telling her that would make it look like their entire relationship had been based on a lie.
She nodded slowly. He pulled the box out of his pocket and held it out to her. "It's… well, you liked the box we got on Valentine's Day."
She stared at it, then met his eyes again. "Is there another girl?"
He shook his head. "No." And given how much grief he had gotten from everyone for hurting Romilda, it didn't look like there'd be another girl for some time.
She took the box and mumbled something that might have been a thank you. Harry waited a few seconds but couldn't think of anything else to say, so he turned and walked away.
Once he was on the stairs again, out of her sight, he sighed with relief. He raised his hand to touch the frame of his glasses - to check how Romilda was doing - but refrained from doing so.
She deserved better.
*****
London, Greenwich, May 2nd, 1997
When Mr Fletcher had told her that he'd avoid Wizarding Britain for a few months to fake a trip 'back' to the New World while he trained her in muggle Britain, Hermione Granger hadn't expected that this would mean training in muggle methods.
She glared at the lock on the table in her tutor's flat. She should have been able to pick it easily - she had been picking locks for years - but she hadn't managed for over ten minutes. And had broken a few of her lockpicks.
Mr Fletcher didn't even bother to hide his amusement. "That's one of the latest locks on the market. You'll need to analyse it before you know how to handle it."
She turned her glare on him. "You said I couldn't use magic."
"I said you couldn't use magic to pick it. I didn't say you couldn't use magic to analyse it." He grinned. "If you don't keep up with the magical and muggle security measures, you'll fail as a thief."
"I'm not planning to rob muggles," she retorted, angry at herself for missing the - now - obvious solution.
"That doesn't matter. A number of pureblood wizards and witches buy muggle locks to enhance their wards. And those among them who have things worth stealing tend to pick the best muggle locks they can get - even if only so they don't have to actually bother trying to learn anything about them."
Hermione sighed. At least she didn't have to worry about electronic locks in wizarding manors. Then she pressed her lips together and aimed her wand at the infuriatingly difficult lock and cast her first spell at it.
An hour later, she had finally figured out a way to pick the lock. Which still took her five minutes.
"I know, I know. I need to be faster," she said before Mr Fletcher could. It wasn't the best comeback, not even close, but it made her feel a little better for her earlier lapse.
"Yeah," he said, going back to reading the newspaper. The Times this time. His prosthetic foot was whipping in the air - it looked perfectly natural covered up by a sock and a shoe, but it wasn't quite moving like a real foot.
"Do you have a date today?" he suddenly asked.
"Yes." She and Paul always went to the movies on a Friday evening. It always made her remember their first date.
"Return of the Jedi?"
She blinked. Mr Fletcher knew more about muggle pop culture than she had expected. "Yes. Without his annoying friends, this time." Paul could learn.
"Annoying?"
She frowned. "They think Sirius is my 'sugar daddy'," she quoted Philip's comment, which she had overheard without him realising. Noticing Mr Fletcher's expression, she explained: "They think that he's employing me because I'm his lover."
"Ah." He nodded. "Like the Prophet's slander."
"Yes. And because I can't tell them about magic, or Sirius's name, I have to be so vague that they don't believe me." She scowled.
"What about your boyfriend?"
"He believes me." Or at least he had told her so.
"That's good then." He sighed and leaned back in his favourite seat. "Relationships with muggles are always a little tricky. You're not allowed to tell them about magic unless you marry them. And afterwards, it's a shock. Had a friend in school, muggleborn, who married a muggle girl. She left him after the wedding."
Hermione winced. That must have been awful.
He shrugged. "If she couldn't handle that, then the marriage wouldn't have lasted anyway."
"He could have told her before, though," she said. Marrying someone with such a secret between them...
"That would have been illegal."
She rolled her eyes at that. "Just as doing magic outside school is illegal, and yet everyone does it if they can get away with it."
He chuckled. "Yeah." He looked at her. "If you plan on telling your boyfriend, don't. Not until you're certain that you want to marry him."
"I'm not planning to."
Though she couldn't help wondering how Paul would react.
*****
Hogsmeade, May 10th, 1997
"Welcome to Hogsmeade, milady." Harry Potter held open the door of the carriage he and Fay had taken from Hogwarts. He gestured with his free hand in a flourish, putting on the 'Old Family Charm', as Sirius called it.
"Thank you, milord." Fay held out her hand to him as she stepped down.
He didn't wince, even though 'milord' reminded him of Voldemort. "So, where do you want to go?" he asked with a smile instead.
She hesitated for a moment, not quite managing to raise an eyebrow at him. "Don't you have our date planned out?"
Was that a dig at his dates with Romilda? He hoped it wasn't and chuckled, perhaps a little too loudly. "I like to be a little more spontaneous than that. It's not as if we're going to the movies."
"Movies?"
"Muggle entertainment. Like the telly, just bigger. They're on a schedule."
"Ah."
He didn't know if she really understood what movies were. But saying that they were like the wireless with pictures would be patronising. "So, let's each pick a destination, and see where that leaves us. You first. Where would you like to go?"
"Hm." She looked quite cute as she pouted. "Let's go to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop! Sophie said that they had a new cake on the menu that was just marvellous!"
"Alright." At least Fay knew what she wanted.
And half an hour later, Harry knew what he didn't want: the new cake in Madam Puddifoot's. "They must have simply replaced any flour with sugar," he muttered as he took another sip from his - fortunately very good - tea.
Fay simply nodded with a bright smile partially hampered by the fork sticking out of her mouth.
He pushed his plate over to her and her eyes lit up.
"Thank you!" She beamed at him, then started to eat again.
"Have you listened to the Weird Sisters' latest song?" she asked between bites.
"Haven't heard it yet," he answered. "The wireless in our room belongs to Seamus, so he usually decides on the music. Unless we use Silencing Charms."
She giggled. "Well, you should listen to it. It's great! Myron really knows how to sing about heartbreak!" She sighed. "I wonder if he's writing the songs based on personal experience, or if it's a subtle dig at Donaghan - he married two years ago, you know, and there were rumours his wife isn't happy with their latest tour arrangement." She leaned forward and lowered her voice, even though Harry had cast a privacy charm earlier. "I heard that she might be in a relationship with Orsino."
He had no idea who Orsino was. "Ah." At least Parvati used to gossip about people he knew.
"Though I think it's actually Herman. He plays the lute, and he's the most attractive and sensitive in the group. If Donaghan's wife were to fall for anyone, it would be him!"
"Ah." He would be saying that a lot, Harry thought. She hadn't asked him yet what kind of bands he liked.
After half an hour filled with more details about the Weird Sisters than Harry had ever wanted to know, and another slice of cake, Fay finally stood. "So, what do you want to do now?"
"Check out Spintwitches," he said. "They might have a new broom model on display."
She nodded but didn't show much enthusiasm. He didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign.
*****
Hogwarts, May 10th, 1997
"How did your date go?" Ron asked when Harry Potter met him on the way to the Great Hall for dinner.
Harry looked around, checking that they were alone, then sighed. "I wish Hermione didn't have a date today." Ron blinked and looked confused, so Harry added: "I wouldn't have had to listen to hours of gossip about the Weird Sisters." He'd have to struggle not to blast the wireless to pieces when it next played a song by them.
"Oh." Ron winced. "That sounds awful."
"I got her back, though - I dragged her through Spintwitches for an hour and she doesn't like Quidditch." Harry grinned.
"She doesn't like Quidditch?" Ron sounded shocked.
"She doesn't." Harry shook his head. "We agreed that we wouldn't have another date."
"Probably a good idea. Exams are coming up.," Ron said. "Luna's revising a lot."
"Ah." He had thought that Ron was around a little more than usual lately.
"I'm helping her in Defence," Ron added. "Mostly on the practical side."
"Hexing your girlfriend?" Harry mock-gasped.
"I'm not training her Moody-style." Ron snorted. "You're the one who dragged your girlfriend to those lessons."
"She insisted," Harry shot back, laughing as they entered the Great Hall. He looked around and saw Fay was already seated. She glanced at him, then went back to whispering to Parvati and Lavender, who also glanced at him.
It didn't look like Harry would be dating any of the Gryffindor girls in his year for the foreseeable future, but he didn't mind.
*****
London, Merton, May 10th, 1997
"It's delicious!"
Hermione Granger noted with relief that Paul didn't repeat his mistake of assuming that her mum had cooked the meal. Or that Hermione had.
"Thank you." Mum smiled.
Even though, this time, Mum had cooked.
Her dad smiled as well. "You're learning, Paul. Hermione used to be quite put out when her friends assumed that Ellen was doing all the cooking in our home." He sighed theatrically. "The lectures she would give…"
Hermione glared at him. "I was ten!"
"A very vocal ten-year-old," Mum chimed in.
Hermione switched her glare to her traitorous mother as Paul laughed.
"I can imagine."
He received a glare for good measure as well as Hermione huffed. "I haven't done that since I was twelve." Because she had been at Hogwarts, and after her expulsion and move, she had lost contact with most of her old friends and hadn't made any new ones. But that wasn't something Paul needed to know.
"Oh? Harry and Ron never made that mistake?" Paul asked.
She was surprised that he remembered when she had met her friends for the first time. And wondered why he'd pick such a topic.
"No." Dad shook his head. "To be fair, since they met Hermione at their boarding school, she probably lectured them there."
Everyone but Hermione laughed again. She pressed her lips together, then masked her silence by taking another bite of the - truly delicious - veal escalope with cream sauce. Or, as Mum liked to call it, 'escalopes à la crème'. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and said: "I didn't lecture them; I just told them in advance that everyone in our family shares the chores, including the cooking."
"Even if they can't cook yet." Dad earned himself another glare.
"And I didn't merit such an advance warning?" Paul's pout seemed not to be entirely faked, Hermione thought.
"I expected better of you." She shook her head and stuck out her tongue at him. "You're living in your own flat, after all."
"And I'm not living with a rich godfather who spends all his time with a French mistress," Paul said.
Hermione frowned. That sounded like a dig at Harry. "They have a male housekeeper," she said, maybe a little sharper than she should have.
"A male housekeeper? Not a butler?" he asked.
"No." Kreacher couldn't be called a butler.
"Well, if we'd had a housekeeper, my childhood would have been much more comfortable," Paul said. "Alas, my mum had us do chores as well."
"Harry had to do a lot of chores when he was living with his aunt," Hermione said, frowning. "He wasn't - isn't - some spoiled rich child." Rich, but not spoiled.
"Yes. He was very polite when we met him for the first time," Mum added. "That was before his godfather took him in."
"Why did he go to live with his godfather?" Paul asked.
Hermione said: "That's private."
"Ah, I forgot." Paul smiled. "You can't talk about your employer."
Was there an edge to that remark? Hermione smiled overly sweetly - he should know better than to pry. "Discretion is the hallmark of a personal secretary."
"They're called 'personal assistants' these days, or so I believe," Paul said.
"Semantics," Hermione said with a shrug.
"Words have power," he shot back. "Calling your employee your personal secretary sends a different message than calling her your personal assistant."
"My employer isn't concerned with that." Hermione pressed her lips together before she said anything more about Sirius.
"I'd certainly believe that!" Dad cut in. "He's a memorable man, if a little eccentric."
Mum nodded.
"You've met him then," Paul said.
"Of course we did," Mum replied. "We wouldn't have let Hermione take such a job otherwise."
"Ah." It looked like Paul was about to say something, but he caught himself and nodded. After a moment, he said: "Could you pass me the salt?"
"Of course."
"Thank you."
"Which movie are you going to see next weekend?" Mum changed the topic.
"Not Beverly Hills Ninja," Hermione said.
"Aw." Paul pouted again. "I heard it's funny."
He was winding her up, Hermione knew. But at least he wasn't asking questions about Sirius any more.
*****
Two hours and a great tiramisu later, as they 'took a stroll' through the next park on the way to Paul's flat, Hermione Granger still hadn't forgotten the conversation at dinner. "Why are you so interested in my employer?"
She saw him tense before he answered. "I'm just curious."
"You know that I can't tell tales."
They stopped walking and he turned to face her. "I just want to know if you're happy with your job."
"I am."
His expression told her that he had his doubts. Or maybe suspicions.
She sighed. "I'm happy there. My employer's a little eccentric, but he's a good man." Or dog. As much as a dog could be good. "And he's my best friend's godfather."
"Ah." He pressed his lips together.
"What do you mean?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't tell me that you're jealous of Harry!"
"He seemed a little jealous when I met him."
"You joked about his girlfriend's name," she said. "And he's protective of all his friends."
"Ah." He didn't look as if he were convinced.
"He's not a spoiled kid, nor is he trying to seduce me; trust me, he didn't see me as a girl for years."
"He's a fool then," Paul replied with a sweet smile that made her smile at him in return.
"When it comes to girls, yes," Hermione agreed. "But I'd trust him with my life." She owed him and Ron her life, too - but that wasn't something she could tell Paul.
Which meant Paul would misunderstand her remark.
She kept smiling, though. "But I'm trusting you with my heart."
That made him smile again. "And with your body," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist.
She didn't like that remark - it reminded her a little too much of the bigots she had spied on as Miss Merriweather - but it was better than letting him stew about Sirius and Harry. So she kissed him and then leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, as they continued towards his flat.
*****
Hogwarts, May 17th, 1997
"Mr Potter! Welcome to my humble abode!"
Harry Potter didn't really like Slughorn. The man was jovial, a much better teacher than Snape and probably a better Potioneer as well, but he was just a little too friendly. And too focused on influential people. But, as Sirius, Hermione and Mr Weasley had told him, Slughorn was useful. Or, rather, his network was useful. If Harry wanted to keep Malfoy's father from taking over the Ministry and the Wizengamot, then he couldn't afford to antagonise the head of Slytherin house. Which meant attending the Slug Club parties. And smiling at Slughorn.
"Thank you, sir. I'm glad I could make it." He nodded at Slughorn, then at Katie. "This is Katie Bell, my date. She's a Chaser for Gryffindor."
"Welcome, Miss Bell!" The man kissed Katie's hand with more grace than Harry had expected. "If either of you is interested in a career as a professional player, my dear friend Gwenog accepted my invitation for this evening's soirée."
"Gwenog Jones?" Katie perked up.
"Indeed." Slughorn's smile grew wider. "I think she's… yes, there, near the buffet. Do try the shrimps; they're marvellous - an old student of mine caught them himself and sent me a basketful fresh from the sea."
"Thank you, sir, we will," Harry said, then tried to act as if he was guiding his date towards the Holyhead Harpies' Beater, instead of getting dragged along. "Slow down, Katie," he whispered. "She won't run away. Let's get some food first."
"Sorry!" she whispered back. "I'm just so excited - this might be my chance to get a foot in the league!"
"Ripping my arm out won't help with that goal," he shot back. "And what about Alicia?"
"She's a rookie, she won't be able to do anything for me," Katie explained as they reached the buffet table.
"Ah." That made sense. Harry summoned two trays, and they started to sample the food.
"Mh." Katie closed her eyes for a moment. "Slughorn was right - the shrimps are delicious."
Harry nodded, although he wasn't that fond of seafood. "The pastrami sandwiches aren't bad either," he added.
"Pastrami?" Katie asked.
"Romanian speciality," he said. He'd have added that it was very popular in the USA if Katie had any idea about muggle countries.
"Ah." She nodded, but he could see her eyes straying to Jones. "Would you mind coming with me, to break the ice, before you veer off to talk to the Head Auror?"
"Of course," he said. That was the deal, after all.
"Thanks. You know, you could go pro much more easily," she said, before finishing her last shrimp.
Harry shrugged. "As much as I like flying, I'd rather be an Auror than a Seeker." He could do much more good that way.
"I understand," Katie said.
She didn't, though. Not really, Harry thought. "But even if I wanted to go pro, the Harpies wouldn't be my team of choice," he said as he led her towards Jones.
"I didn't think so," she agreed, giggling.
*****
Ten minutes later - he had stayed with Jones and Katie long enough not to be seen as rude - Harry Potter was at the buffet again, sampling the desserts and looking for Scrimgeour. He noticed Greengrass approaching the table and moved a little to the side. Both to be polite and in case he needed more room to dodge. But she was headed towards him, not the buffet, he quickly realised.
She nodded at him in greeting. "Good evening, Potter."
"'Evening," he replied, with a tiny nod.
She didn't acknowledge his curt manners and the message they sent. "Did you try the shrimp? It's delicious."
"I did. It's not bad." She was wearing very thin, very expensive robes, he noted. Daringly cut, too - a slit went up her right leg to her waist, and her décolleté plunged further than Krum doing a Wronski Feint. She was wearing her wand in a holster on her thigh - that fashion hadn't been popular in Britain for a number of years, or so Parvati had once told him.
She must have noticed his eyes wandering, since she smiled and nodded towards where Katie and Jones were talking. "Your date seems to be more interested in Jones than in you, Potter."
He shrugged. "I knew that when I asked her to accompany me to this party." He smiled. "We are teammates and friends, nothing more."
She blinked, but kept smiling and pushed her right leg forward a little - enough for the robes to reveal most of it. "And are you looking for more?"
She was actually flirting with him. He couldn't tell if she was serious - she didn't seem to be tipsy - but it didn't matter. He nodded. "Yes." And right when she was about to say something more, he continued. "Although I certainly wouldn't consider anyone who was involved in framing my best friend. Or any of their friends."
She blinked with her mouth half-open.
Harry nodded towards Slughorn. "If not for Malfoy and the likes of you, Hermione would be here. With a personal invitation from Slughorn." Any witch who managed to brew Veritaserum in her second year would have been seen as a prodigy.
Greengrass sneered. "I've seen her O.W.L. results. She wouldn't have made the cut. Unless she were sleeping with you."
So someone had leaked Hermione's tests. Not really a surprise. He scoffed. "She did that while studying mostly by herself, with just one tutor. Imagine what she would have done at Hogwarts, with the best teachers in Britain." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "And if you know what's good for you, you won't speak like that about her ever again."
She paled slightly - it wasn't easy to spot given her natural skin tone - but then raised her chin. "You should know better than to threaten me!"
He scoffed again. "I've faced and killed Voldemort. You think your father or his friends impress me?" He shook his head with a snort. "Now pardon me, I need to talk to the Head Auror about my future career in the Ministry."
Harry smiled when he noticed that she paled a little more upon hearing that. As if he'd give a Slytherin friend of Malfoy's the time of day, much less date them.
*****
London, Merton, May 18th, 1997
Hermione Granger gracefully walked past Mrs Jefferson's house, ignoring the stupid rat-sized dog barking at her from behind the fence. That animal was an embarrassment to dogs, and that took some work. She sniffed in derision and jumped on Mr Grey's fence, stopping to clean her fur for a moment or two as the stupid chihuahua almost went insane down on the lawn. It even tried to jump up and snap at her, despite not having any hope of even reaching halfway up to her spot. Dogs!
She sighed and went on, passing Mr Grey's house, to slip into the Vanderbilt's garden. That family had very nice children who appreciated a fine cat visiting. They weren't home today, though, so Hermione continued roaming her territory.
Well, it should be hers. Crookshank had taught every other cat that he was not to be messed with, and he answered to her. Unfortunately, not every cat - none but her, actually - could appreciate logic.
And so she skipped the Brown's garden and crossed the street - after checking for traffic, of course - before their old tomcat came after her again. A few fences later, she had reached Paul's home and jumped up on to the stone pillar from which the mailboxes of Paul and his neighbours hung.
She wasn't spying on her boyfriend. Just… passing by. And checking if there were any cats nearby. Just in case. Maybe some people watching, too. And basking in a few rays of sunlight on this fine Sunday morning. And maybe catching Paul when he was taking a break from his studying, to see if he appreciated a fine cat gracing him with her presence.
She was nodding to herself when she saw the door open.
"Argh… the light! It burns!" Mark stood there, shielding his face with his arm and hissing as if he were a Hollywood vampire.
Hermione sat up and eyed the man. He didn't look well. Tired. Maybe hungover. But he was laughing as he stepped out, followed by the definitely not laughing Philip. And Paul. She sniffed. That didn't look like the aftermath of a study session - Paul wasn't taking the same courses as his two friends.
Her suspicions were proven correct when she saw Paul hand Mark a bag full of video cassettes. Star Trek, her sharp eyes told her from her vantage point.
"Oh, look, Paul, you've got a visitor!" Mark laughed loudly and pointed at her - they must have watched videos throughout the night, Hermione concluded, seeing as her presence apparently caused such amusement.
"A rather fuzzy one, too!" Philip added. "Probably a stray."
She hissed. She wasn't a stray! And she wasn't fuzzy either! She was a beautiful, graceful, perfect cat!
"And it's got an attitude," Mark said, shaking his head. "It's not your girlfriend's cat, isn't it? Same hair colour."
Paul laughed. "No, she's got a massive orange cat with a face as if it had smashed it into a wall a few times when it was little."
Crookshanks was a lovely tomcat, Hermione thought, glaring at her ignorant boyfriend.
"Speaking of her, was she working last night?" Philip asked. "For her mysterious employer?"
Paul frowned. "I told you: I didn't invite you two just because she wasn't available!"
"So, she was 'working'!" Mark said, and Hermione could hear the air quotes. If she jumped, she could give his nose a good swat, maybe also claw his legs a little before dashing away from the fool.
"Studying. She's got exams coming up."
"Ah. What subjects?"
Paul shrugged. "I didn't ask."
"And if you asked, she wouldn't tell you." Philip shook his head. "Mate, I tell you, she's not good for you."
"She's cheating on you!" Mark said. "Working late, not telling you about her work, not even telling you where she works - the perfect setup for an affair."
"Or you're the affair," Philip said.
Hermione wanted to claw both of them. If Paul were the affair, would she have taken him to meet her parents?
Paul snorted. "You're just jealous." But he didn't sound that convincing.
And he didn't pet her, either, when she jumped down to weave around his legs.
*****
Hogwarts, June 5th, 1997
"...then stir three times clockwise and reduce the heat to let it simmer for three minutes."
Harry Potter sighed and closed his eyes, repeating the instructions for brewing a Cramps-Relieving Potion in his head. "Why is this covered in sixth year?" he asked.
"I don't know," Mr Biggles answered.
Harry froze - he must have been speaking Parseltongue! He looked around. No one seemed to have noticed the snake peeking out from behind his robes on the bed next to his desk, and the privacy charms would have kept anyone from hearing him hiss. "What are you doing out of your habitat?" he hissed.
"Your sleeping spot is warmer," Mr Biggles said as if that explained it.
"The terrarium is hotter than this room," Harry retorted.
"It doesn't smell as nice," Mr Biggles said, then started to burrow under his sheets.
Harry rubbed his face and sighed. He still hadn't learned how not to speak Parseltongue when he saw a snake. At least it was limited to living snakes - pictures and figures didn't trigger him.
And he hadn't told anyone about it either. Ron only knew because he had been the one to tell him, and Luna because she had procured Mr Biggles for him. But he hadn't told Sirius and Hermione. Nor had he told anyone but Ron about the Elder Wand.
He sighed. He would have to tell Sirius soon enough - or at least explain why he had a pet snake. And Hermione, too. And tell Hedwig not to eat Mr Biggles. At least Crookshanks wasn't living at Grimmauld Place any more or Mr Biggles would be in danger. Hermione's stray, though… He'd have to ask her to take it home. Or ward the house against cats.
He chuckled at that thought, then sighed again. Sirius would probably be hurt that he hadn't told him right away. And he might even think Harry was… No. His godfather loved him. He wouldn't condemn him for talking to snakes. He wouldn't. Harry knew that. And yet, he was still nervous. Anxious, maybe.
He'd tell Sirius, though. And Hermione too. So they'd know about this and would be prepared if Harry was exposed as a Parselmouth. And maybe they could help him learn how not to hiss when he saw a snake.
But the Elder Wand and the Cloak… Could he tell Sirius? Dumbledore hadn't told anyone until his death. Not even Moody had known about it, as far as Harry knew. And his father hadn't even told Sirius, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, according to Sirius, that this was the Cloak of Invisibility. Would knowing about such secrets endanger his family and friends? Sirius hadn't been told the truth about Dumbledore's plans. And he was still suffering from Azkaban. Could he be trusted with this? Should he be trusted with this?
Could Harry handle this by himself? Dumbledore had managed, but Harry wasn't Dumbledore.
He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He almost wished he didn't know the truth about the wand, his Cloak and about being a Parselmouth.
*****
London, Merton, June 6th, 1997
"Now that was a great movie! Non-stop action!"
Hermione Granger smiled as she listened to Paul go over the movie they had seen, gesturing as he praised it. She liked it very much when he was that excited.
"And the villain was great. Truly evil, not some half-arsed 'misguided soul'. And the twist with the serial killer!"
"Garland," she said.
"Yeah, Garland. He had a happy ending in Vegas."
"He'll probably kill more people," Hermione said, frowning.
"He let the girl live."
"Doesn't mean he won't kill again. Serial killers aren't funny."
"In movies they are." He grinned.
She rolled her eyes. Not for the first time, she wondered if he'd find them funny if he had ever encountered a murderer. "It was a good action movie," she said. "I thought The Rock was better, though."
"Why?" He looked at her with narrowed eyes.
"It had Connery as the lead," she answered, grinning. "Much sexier than Cage."
"Ah." He didn't laugh and his smile felt a little forced.
Why would he… She pressed her lips together. Did he think this was a dig at him? A veiled hint that she preferred older men, such as Sirius? Who, incidentally, had escaped from Wizarding Britain's version of Alcatraz, just like Connery's character in The Rock had from the original. She chuckled at the thought of Sirius as James Bond.
Then she saw Paul wince and wanted to curse herself for her stupidity.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, June 7th, 1997
Hermione Granger went straight to Sirius's study as soon as she arrived in Grimmauld Place. To her surprise, he was already up and even working. Or at least, at his desk, she corrected herself when she saw that he was reading a muggle magazine. In as much as you could call staring at nude women 'reading'.
"Good morning," the dog greeted her as he hastily hid the magazine he certainly hadn't bought for the articles. "You're early," he said, with a wide if forced-looking smile.
She curtly nodded. "We need to talk."
"No." He shook his head.
"Yes." She bared her teeth.
"Those words have never heralded anything good for me." He hunched over and pouted. "Especially coming from a witch."
"Tough. We need to talk." She cast a privacy spell, then leaned forward on his desk. "I don't want to hide from Harry any more." She narrowed her eyes at him as she continued. "My boyfriend thinks I'm having an affair with you. All because I can't tell him about magic, and so can't tell him about you and my work."
"Your boyfriend is jealous of me?" He sounded far too happy to hear about her troubled relationship. When she glared at him and raised her wand, he winced and held up his hand. "Sorry, sorry. But what does your boyfriend's jealousy have to do with Harry?"
She sighed. "Harry will soon be back home. With Voldemort gone, we have lost our cover for our heists. And Harry will suspect something if we disappear for an evening or a night - he's not dumb."
Sirius shrugged. "Well, we don't have to pull any heists during the summer. Fletcher's not yet up for anything anyway. Lost his nerve with his foot."
She glared at him for that. "It's not just that. I feel bad hiding this from Harry. He's the only one in the house who doesn't know what everyone else did in the war."
"It's necessary. If he knew what we're planning, he'd abandon his dream of becoming an Auror. He would probably join us."
"He'd insist," she said - she knew him well, after all. "And why shouldn't he? Wouldn't you enjoy doing a heist with him?"
He sighed. "Of course I'd love to do a heist with Harry! We'd be a great team - all of us. And Harry would fit right in." He smiled, shaking his head. "It would be like doing pranks with James." Then he pressed his lips together and stared at her. "But it would be selfish of me. I'd have fun, but he'd be abandoning his dream. For me. For you. And I'm not going to do that to him. I'm not that selfish!"
"He's sixteen years old. Who says he'll still want to become an Auror in a year? He might want to become a professional Quidditch player," Hermione said. England's team certainly could use a better Seeker.
"He's been studying the Auror handbook Tonks gave him for months. He's kept his training up, even with Voldemort dead. Moody said he's already better than most rookie Aurors." Sirius snorted. "Harry's working harder for this than for school. He wouldn't do that if he didn't want to become an Auror. It's his dream. And neither you nor I nor anyone else will ruin this for him! All of us owe him too much for that."
She wasn't leaning over his desk any more, Hermione realised. She must have taken a step back during his speech - Sirius could be very intense if he wanted to. And cared enough.
He was wrong, though, Hermione thought. But she couldn't go behind his back. She owed him too much. And Harry, too. If she were wrong… She sighed and nodded. "As you wish."
"It's for Harry."
She nodded again.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, June 21st, 1997
"Sirius? Do you have a minute?" Harry Potter asked, poking his head into his godfather's study.
"Always, Harry! Come in."
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Harry said as he closed the door behind him.
"Just boring work. Hermione can do it better than I." Sirius smiled. "Sit down."
"She'd love to hear you saying that," Harry said, grinning when he saw Sirius wince.
"Where is she, anyway?"
"Dealing with her cat."
"Crookshanks?"
"No, the stray with the bushy tail."
"Ah." Sirius chuckled.
"I told her that she has to keep that cat out of the house. I don't want Mr Biggles to end up being eaten. He keeps escaping his habitat."
"Mr Biggles?" Sirius blinked.
"My pet snake. Luna named him." Harry said as casually as he could.
"You've got a pet snake?" Sirius wasn't quite yelling, but he certainly came close.
"Yes. I've got a good reason for that, though." Harry forced himself to smile. "I'm a Parselmouth."
Sirius blinked with his mouth open.
"I've been trying to learn not to talk in Parseltongue whenever I see a snake," Harry went on. "But it's going slowly." He clenched his teeth. "I hoped to have it down before returning from Hogwarts, but…" He shrugged.
"You're a Parselmouth. You can talk to snakes."
"Yes." Harry was getting a little worried.
"How did that happen?"
"I don't know. I remember talking to a snake in the zoo, before Hogwarts, but I thought that was accidental magic. Then Ron noticed that I could talk to the snakes Voldemort conjured in the Ministry. No one else noticed, though."
"Ah." Sirius slowly nodded. "The ability is inherited."
"Dad or Mum?"
"I'd say Lily, but… if James were a Parselmouth, he'd have kept it quiet, but he'd have told me. I lived with him and his parents, you know."
"I know."
"So… might have been Lily. Or it happened like Tonks - she's a metamorphmagus, but neither of her parents has that talent."
"Ah." That made Harry feel a little better.
"Well, you're right in hiding it. Malfoy would love to paint you as a dark wizard. As if that slime is anything but a Death Eater who got smart!" Sirius shook his head. "Thank you for telling me."
"Of course," Harry said. "Sorry for not telling you sooner."
"Don't worry; you had your reasons." Sirius smiled, though it looked a little forced to Harry.
He winced, feeling guilty. Then he took a deep breath. "There's more."
"You can talk to dogs too?"
Harry chuckled, despite the weak joke. He drew the Elder Wand. Sirius's eyes widened - he must have recognised it. "Dumbledore left me this." Harry put it on the desk. "It's the Elder Wand."
Sirius cursed so loudly, Harry was glad he had decided not to tell his godfather about the Cloak.
*****