Harry Potter and the Lady Thief (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 63: Confrontations

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 4th, 1999

Kreacher focused and snapped Kreacher’s fingers, and the large ham floated out of the pantry on to the kitchen counter. Another snap and a knife rose and started to slice the ham while Kreacher prepared the onions. Not many elves could do two things at once, but Kreacher was one of the most experienced elves. And one of the oldest elves. Kreacher could clean a room in half an hour and float two heavy plates at once to the dining room. As befitted the house-elf of the Black Family.

Kreacher was a content elf, these days. That had not always been the case. A mere few years ago, Kreacher had seriously thought about leaving the Black Family. After Mistress Black’s death. Actually, as shameful as it was, Kreacher had thought about leaving before Mistress’s death. Mistress had become… eccentric. Very eccentric. And loud.

But Kreacher had stayed. As a good house-elf should - elves had a reputation for good service for a reason. And Mistress had needed Kreacher more than ever in Mistress’s last years. Mistress had been lonely. The last of the Blacks, other than Master. All others had disgraced themselves. Or left the Black Family through marriage. Or both.

But Kreacher had endured. And had stayed even after Mistress’s death. Kept the house in order, as much as Kreacher, as much as any elf could have, with all the dark magic in the house no longer constrained by Mistress. Kreacher had stuck with the contract and stayed.

And Kreacher’s loyalty had been rewarded when Master had returned. Master wasn’t Master Regulus, but Master was still a Black where it counted - in Master’s blood, and in his magic. The last Black, once again - but not for much longer.

For soon, there would be a young master or mistress, born to Mistress Jeanne. Mistress would have been proud, Kreacher thought, that Master had chosen so wisely. Jeanne was a pureblood witch. A powerful witch. A graceful and beautiful witch. And a fertile witch. A wise choice indeed. With a proper pureblood family, albeit a split one, and a fitting wedding.

Yes, the Blacks were strong again. And powerful. And it was an honour to serve them. Kreacher could be proud again, and Kreacher’s head would be held high when meeting other elves. Such as Dobby, the elf of the Malfoys.

Kreacher’s lips drew back in a sneer. Dobby put on airs as if the Malfoys had been anything but upstarts until Mistress Narcissa married one of them. But soon, Dobby wouldn’t do that any more. At all.

Kreacher sniffed at the onions, then nodded and started on the cucumbers while the ham floated back into the pantry. It was time to toast the bread and melt the cheese. Mistress Jeanne would soon want her sandwich, and a good elf anticipated orders.

A minute later, Kreacher frowned when the bell in the kitchen signalled that the fireplace had been used. It was the family bell, but that didn’t mean much any more. Not since Master had taken in the half-blood godson.

Kreacher frowned again, then sighed and pulled the bread and cheese away. Kreacher hated to be late, but Kreacher had a duty to check on new arrivals. Kreacher quickly opened the elf-door to the elf-passage.

Kreacher reached the entry hall and peered through the lenses hidden in the wall. The arrival was the half-blood godson. The half-blood godson looked upset, Kreacher noticed. But it wasn’t Kreacher’s problem unless and until the half-blood godson called for Kreacher’s help. Which the half-blood didn’t.

Scoffing, Kreacher returned to the kitchen, checking if the owl or the cat had tried to sneak off with food. The animals never seemed to give up, no matter how often Kreacher thwarted them. The half-blood godson was too soft with them.

Mistress wouldn’t have liked the half-blood godson. Too squeamish. Too naive. Not Black enough. And not pure enough. But Master loved him. Even though the half-blood godson was infatuated with the mudblood servant. Which would produce more half-bloods. The shame. And the half-blood godson didn’t even know about the mudblood servant’s talents, nor had the mudblood servant potioned the half-blood godson - Kreacher had checked. At least the other house-guest was a pureblood courting a pureblood witch, as was proper.

And the mudblood servant was useful. The Black fortune had increased greatly thanks to the mudblood servant’s efforts. And the fortunes of the Blacks’ rivals had diminished greatly. Kreacher grinned, showing many teeth. Soon, Dobby would be working for a ruined family.

Unless the half-blood godson ruined the plan. Kreacher scowled. The half-blood godson didn’t know that family came first, as was natural. Laws and politics changed all the time, but blood didn’t change. Blood would tell, as Mistress used to tell Kreacher. And as Kreacher had seen. Even the half-blood cousin, from the disgraced cousin, had shown that and told Master, not the Ministry, first about the plot against the family.

Although it turned out to be a plot against the half-blood godson, in the end. Still, the half-blood cousin had tried to do right by the family.

Kreacher finished the sandwiches right when Mistress Jeanne called for Kreacher. Smiling toothily, Kreacher opened the elf-door again, passing through the walls to Mistress Jeanne’s room. Kreacher noticed that the half-blood godson was in the Pensieve, but paid no mind - the half-blood godson was allowed there. Master had said so. And a proper house-elf obeyed Master. Or sought a new Master.

But Kreacher wouldn’t do that. Not when the Blacks were on the rise again. Richer and more powerful than ever. Kreacher would be the most envied elf in the country!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 4th, 1999

Hermione Granger wasn’t concerned. Not really. But she was a little annoyed that Harry apparently took his new case - hunting her! And Sirius, Jeanne and Mr Fletcher! - so seriously that he had gone straight to the Pensieve upon coming home, without even bothering to take a detour to greet her.

Which bothered her more than it should. She bit her lower lip, pushing away the proposed bill to evaluate a relaxation of the flying carpet ban. What memory was he watching, anyway? She had obliviated the Parkinsons, the Sphinx and the elf of any crucial information. And the Memory Charm worked on Sphinxes - she had checked that beforehand, of course. Any other memories Harry might be studying he had studied before - like the broom chase across London.

She grinned, faintly, as she remembered how often he had studied that particular memory. But her suit was padded, altering her body’s shape, and even if her protections against his glasses failed, she was wearing a disguise underneath it. So what was he studying? And why wasn’t Ron with him?

She knew there weren’t any witnesses. None that had seen anything that could finger her, at least. The clerk in the Ministry archives hadn’t noticed anything. She hadn’t missed any servants at Parkinson Manor. She hadn’t been sloppy.

Hermione pressed her lips together. There was no need to worry. But she was worried.

“Are you and Harry having a row?”

Sirius’s question made her jerk and whip her head round. He was frowning at her.

“You look like you’re about to eat your lower lip,” he went on. “So…?”

She sighed, though it sounded almost like a huff. “No, we’re not having a row. At least,” she added, “I’m not aware of one.”

He grinned at that. “Well, what’s got you so worried then?”

She refrained from claiming that she wasn’t worried; he knew her well enough to instantly see through such a lie. And he was stubborn enough to ignore such a claim even if it were true. Sighing, she admitted: “I can’t help worrying about which memories Harry is studying.”

“Which memories he cares so much about that he skipped kissing you on coming home?” The dog cocked his head with a teasing grin.

She glared at him, and his grin vanished. He sighed. “Sorry.”

She nodded, curtly, in response.

“Well, you could ask him.”

She bit her lower lip again. She didn’t want to abuse their relationship to spy on Harry. Sometimes it happened anyway - but she hadn’t found out anything important from him. Nothing that would have made or broken a heist.

Sirius sighed. She glared at him. But before she could retort, the door to the study was pushed open. It was Harry. And he looked… awful. And angry. And he hadn’t knocked, a part of her noted.

“Oh, Harry!” Sirius said with a chuckle - though Hermione thought it sounded a little forced. Maybe more than a little. “We were starting to get worried about you getting lost in the Pensieve.”

He didn’t answer straight away. Just stared at them. At her. She opened her mouth to ask what was wrong when he took a deep, shuddering breath.

“You are the Night Nargles.”

Hermione felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. He knew. How?

“What?” Sirius said. Was he about to play dumb?

“Don’t you dare deny it,” Harry spat without looking at Sirius. Without taking his eyes off her. He was angrier than she had ever seen him, she realised. “You are the stray.”

She gasped. Despite her training, despite her experience, she couldn’t help it. He knew. And he was furious.

“I’ve never seen you together with the stray cat. But I’ve seen her - in Knockturn Alley. Twice. And I’ve seen her fur - in France. And in the Ministry.” He hadn’t moved from the door. Hadn’t come closer.

She gasped again. The Ministry? But she had cleaned up the air ducts. And she hadn’t left any trace during her earlier strolls through the Ministry. How?

She hadn’t realised that she asked the question out loud until he answered: “A tuft of fur, stuck to a welding seam in the main shaft of the air ducts.”

Where her cleaning charm wouldn’t have reached. She clenched her teeth and wanted to curse. And to cry. It was all her fault.

“Ah.” Sirius nodded. He was even smiling, Hermione realised. “Well done! No wonder you’re the Ministry’s best Auror!”

Hermione didn’t know who wanted to curse Sirius more right now - her or Harry.

*****​

Harry Potter glared at his godfather and struggled not to draw his wand. “Do you think this is funny?” he spat through clenched teeth. Not only had they hidden this… this… this unbelievable betrayal from him, they were even being flippant about it!

Sirius sighed, his smile fading. “No, I don’t think it is. Sorry.” He stood. “I just wanted to…” He shrugged. “Let’s talk about this in a more civilised setting. It’s not just the three of us who are involved in this, anyway.”

“Jeanne,” Harry said.

“Of course.” Sirius nodded. “Did you tell Ron?”

Harry tensed. “I haven’t told him yet.” Would Sirius try to obliviate him?

Sirius nodded again, smiling faintly. “Perhaps we should tell him that we decided to have a double date because I don’t think we’ll be done before dinner, and he wouldn’t miss the general tension during the meal.”

His godfather was far too calm, Harry thought. Unlike Hermione, who hadn’t said more than a few syllables since his accusations and who looked stricken. “Why don’t you want to tell him at the same time?”

“This is family business,” Sirius replied. “And you didn’t tell him either, did you? You came straight to us.”

“That wasn’t because I want to keep him in the dark!” Harry retorted, glaring at Sirius. He wouldn’t do that to his best friend. He was better than that!

“Still, this should be discussed among ourselves first, I think,” Sirius said.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed.

He glanced at her. She was trying to put up a calm front as well, but she wasn’t succeeding - he could tell. Or he thought he could tell. She certainly had completely fooled him for a long time. He ground his teeth. He had to focus. Treat this like a case. A normal case. He couldn’t let his emotions rule him. “I’m not lying to him,” he pressed out.

“Do you want him involved?” Sirius asked. He sounded honest, but he, too, had fooled Harry. And had made a fool out of him.

And, if he was honest, Harry didn’t know if he really wanted Ron involved. But his partner was his best friend. Perhaps his only friend. “He’ll want to know what I found out, anyway,” he pointed out.

“True,” Sirius said. “I’ll tell Kreacher to prepare dinner as usual. It’s a good thing Moody’s still not able to join us at the table. That would have been awkward.”

His godfather was far too calm about this. Harry couldn’t understand. “Why are you so… so…”

Sirius chuckled, though he sounded rather rueful. “Some Black family dinners would make our upcoming discussion look tame, I’d say.”

Harry didn’t laugh. Hermione did, but it sounded more like a sob.

*****​

Kreacher had prepared a great dinner - roast beef and pommes frites with julienne carrots - but Hermione Granger could only pick at her meal. Her stomach still felt as if it were tying itself into knots and trying to drop to the floor at the same time. She glanced at Harry. His jaw muscles were so tense…

She looked at her plate and pushed the piece of meat she had just cut around a little, then stabbed it and put it in her mouth. She didn’t notice when she stopped chewing and swallowed it, nor did she remember the taste. She glanced at Harry again. His lips were pressed together with such force, they formed a pale line.

Sirius and Jeanne were eating, but Sirius was far tenser than he was pretending to be - she could tell since he wasn’t joking around. And Jeanne… well, her smile looked frozen.

Ron’s voice broke through the silence after five minutes. “So, is anyone going to tell me what happened?”

Hermione drew a sharp breath and put the silverware down. This was it. She tried to steady herself. Focus. She could do this. She was a professional thief. Which was the problem. She swallowed.

“Harry found out that we’re the Night Nargles,” Sirius said, after recasting a privacy charm.

Ron blinked, looking stunned for a moment, then whipped his head round to stare at Harry. “What?”

“Yes,” Harry spat, then glared at Sirius - and then at Hermione. “It’s true.”

She flinched, then swallowed, raised her head and met his gaze.

Ron looked at everyone in turn, then cleared his throat. “Ah.” After a moment, he cleared his throat again. “So… I guess we’re not arresting them?”

“That’d be ‘trying to arrest’,” Sirius replied with a toothy grin, which quickly vanished at Harry’s glare. “Sorry.”

“We’re about to explain the whole affair.” Hermione surprised herself by speaking up, then pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t cower like a mouse - she hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, not without good reasons. Well-meaning reasons, at least.

“Over dinner?” Ron said.

“That was the plan,” Hermione replied. Talking to him was far easier than talking to Harry. Or looking at Harry. “Sirius’s, to be exact,” she added. “But it seems it isn’t working as well as he thought it would.”

“Pity. The beef is great,” Ron said.

“Let’s talk,” Harry ground out. “Why did you lie to me?”

Hermione took a deep breath. This was the crucial question. If she botched this...

“It was for your own good,” Sirius said.

Hermione closed her eyes, clenched her teeth and almost hissed in frustration.

*****​

“My own good?” Harry Potter couldn’t believe his ears. He scoffed, shaking his head. “My own good?” How could Sirius claim such nonsense? “You fooled me for my own good?”

“You wanted to become an Auror to clean up the Ministry. If we told you that we were planning to rob Malfoy and his cronies of their gold, you would have had to abandon that dream,” Sirius said.

Harry blinked. “What?”

“After Voldemort’s death,” Hermione cut in, “when you told us of your dream of becoming an Auror, Sirius thought that if we told you, you would be forced to join us.”

He looked at her. She met his eyes, though he caught her flinching. “You thought I would become a thief?” Were they mad? He was an Auror! Not a criminal!

“Would you have become an Auror, knowing that we would be robbing Malfoy’s allies and so you’d be protecting us?” she asked.

He scoffed again. “I would have prevented you from starting this… this…” He shook his head. “This crime spree!” This madness!

“Why did you do it?” Ron suddenly asked. “The Blacks are the richest family in Britain. You don’t need the gold.”

That was a good question. Harry should have asked that first. He looked at Sirius, then Hermione and Jeanne. His godfather was still far too calm, as if this wasn’t serious. Hermione put up a good front, but she was biting her lower lip whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. And Jeanne was frowning. At Harry.

“We want to reform Britain. Root out the corruption. Get rid of Malfoy and his ilk,” Sirius said.

“By becoming criminals?” Harry laughed, once, out of sheer disbelief.

Sirius frowned at him. “As long as Malfoy has his gold, he’s untouchable. You should know how bad things are in the Ministry - how many he has bought. It costs a lot just to counter his plots. The Wizengamot will never find him guilty.”

“And ruining him is the only way to make him pay for what he did to my family and me,” Hermione said. “He and his friends tried to ruin me, and now they are ruined. Only Malfoy is left.” She scowled, baring her teeth.

“You can’t get justice by committing crimes!” Harry shot back. “That’s wrong!” It went against everything the law stood for. It was mere revenge.

“Dumbledore disagreed,” Sirius replied.

“What?” Harry blurted out, then pressed his lips together. As much as he avoided thinking about it, Dumbledore had taught him blood magic - illegal in Britain, and most countries - to defeat Voldemort. But only because there had been no other way.

“He had me trained as a thief since I was expelled,” Hermione said.

“What?” Harry gaped at her.

She frowned at him. “He needed thieves for the fight against Voldemort.”

“And spies,” Jeanne added.

“Did you think we just decided to start robbing manors after Voldemort’s defeat?” Hermione scoffed. “I trained for years for this!”

“So this was what you were doing for Dumbledore,” Ron said.

“Stealing books, gathering information, tracking Death Eaters,” Hermione said, shrugging. “Whatever he needed stolen without anyone knowing, we did.”

“She almost died a few times,” Sirius added.

What? Harry whipped his head around and stared at her, but she was glaring at his godfather. “Only once.”

“Twice at least - you were almost caught by Voldemort himself,” Sirius retorted.

What? Harry blinked. She had robbed the Dark Lord himself? Was she mad?

“Merlin’s arse!” Ron exclaimed. “What happened?”

Hermione huffed. “He only saw a cat; I was perfectly safe.”

“A cat?” Ron asked.

Before Harry could explain, Hermione changed into her cat form and jumped on the table.

“Blimey!” Ron gasped. “Wait a minute… I saw you before!”

“She’s been spying on us on a few occasions,” Harry said, clenching his teeth. Played the harmless cat to fool him.

Hermione returned to her seat and changed back. “Not like that!” she protested. “I was merely watching out for you!”

“Sure you were!” Harry spat. “You spied on us the whole time!” Even in their bed!

She jerked back, stunned for a moment. “I didn’t want to!” She sniffled, and her eyes seemed to glitter a little in the light. “I wanted to keep my distance to avoid exactly that!”

“Well, you failed,” Harry retorted with narrowed eyes.

“So it wasn’t Paul’s fault!” Ron blurted out.

“What?” “What?”

Harry glanced at Hermione, momentarily taken aback by her asking the same question at the same time.

“She wasn’t skittish because of what Paul did, but because of you,” Ron explained.

“Ah.” Harry started to nod, then caught himself. That didn’t matter right now.

“I didn’t want to enter a relationship with a secret between us,” Hermione said, then wiped her eyes. “That ruined my relationship with Paul. I couldn’t tell him about magic.” She glared at Sirius. “And I couldn’t tell you about our robberies, even though I wanted to.”

Harry scoffed at that claim. Of course she could have told him! And she had entered a relationship with him! And deceived him the whole time! Played him for a fool!

“It’s true,” Sirius said. “I forbade her to tell you.”

“It wasn’t just my secret to tell,” Hermione added, though she wasn’t looking at Harry as she spoke.

That made some sense, Harry had to admit. Sirius and Jeanne’s crimes would have been revealed as well. And… “Your tutor! He’s a thief as well isn’t he?” If she had been training to become a thief since her expulsion, then that was the only explanation. Unless there were books on robbing people.

“Yes.” Now she was looking at him.

“You still should have told me,” he said. She should have. “But you used me! You used my training to escape from us on your heists!”

*****​

What? Hermione Granger snarled, baring her teeth. That wasn’t true! “I didn’t! Sirius trained me! I had to act as if I were worse at Defence to keep my cover!”

Harry jerked as if struck, then pressed his lips together. “So that was a lie as well.”

Hermione winced. She shouldn’t have worded it like that. She didn’t mean it like that. And she hadn’t tried to fool him - well, she had, but fooling him hadn’t been her goal, she had had to do it to keep her cover.

“It was almost as amusing as the time you threw her out of the house,” Sirius said. “She had to let herself get hit by Stinging Hexes in every session.”

Hermione glared at the dog, and Harry scowled with clenched teeth.

Sirius sighed. “Sorry.”

“We didn’t spy on you - not deliberately,” Hermione said. Harry’s expression didn’t change. “And I didn’t want to start a relationship with you because it would have been unfair.”

“Yet you did,” he said in a flat voice.

Seeing his expression hurt more than his worst hexes. She bit her lower lip, then slowly nodded. “Yes. It happened. I just couldn’t keep away from you.” She wouldn’t apologise for that.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but she saw his jaw muscles move. And he kept glaring at her.

She blinked to clear her eyes and fought not to sob. This was even worse than she had feared.

“Oh, mon Dieu!” Jeanne exclaimed. “She loves you, you idiot! Of course, she couldn’t keep away from you!”

“You don’t lie like that to someone you love,” Harry spat.

Hermione cringed. “I didn’t want to!” she protested before Jeanne could call Harry more names.

“Really?” He scoffed. “But you did. You lied to me for years.”

That wasn’t true. Hermione almost retorted that withholding the truth wasn’t the same as lying. But that would have made the situation even worse. Instead, she said: “You didn’t tell me what you were doing with Dumbledore either.” He flinched at that.

“And you never even asked me about my work for Dumbledore,” Sirius added.

Harry bared his teeth. “It’s not the same.”

Hermione bit her lower lip to keep from demanding to know how it wasn’t the same.

Harry glanced at her, then looked away. “And even if it was, you kept lying to me after Voldemort’s defeat. All of you.”

“Yes, we did,” Sirius said. “As I said, I decided that. I didn’t want to drag you into this and destroy your dream of becoming an Auror.”

“So you made the decision for me?” Harry scoffed.

Sirius grimaced. “Well… I couldn’t really ask you if you’d rather become a thief, could I? And whenever I tried to feel you out, you were adamant about enforcing the law.”

“That’s because you can’t fight the criminals by becoming a criminal!” Harry retorted.

“Of course you can!” Sirius shot back. “What did you think we did when fighting Voldemort? “Without us, Dumbledore probably wouldn’t have had half the books he needed - those weren’t the sort you could buy in a shop.”

Harry flinched again, Hermione noticed.

And Sirius went on: “And you know how things work at the Ministry - if we don’t ruin Malfoy, we’ll never change the system. It’s rotten to the core. The worst criminals can have their friends judge them in the Wizengamot. You’ve complained often enough about this.”

“You’d ’ave been fired already if not for Sirius throwing ’is gold round,” Jeanne added.

Harry glared at her. “That doesn’t mean it was right.”

The French witch huffed. “Do you want Malfoy and his minions gone from the Ministry and the Wizengamot, or not?”

“Not like this!” Harry bared his teeth again.

“And that’s why I didn’t want to tell you,” Sirius said. “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“You should have told me!” Harry spat.

“Yes, we should,” Sirius said after a moment. “I realise that now. I just wanted the best for you,” he added. “I’m sorry.”

Harry scoffed again. “And yet, you kept me in the dark. Did you find it funny when I complained about you without knowing you were the Night Nargles?”

Hermione pressed her lips together and clenched her teeth. She didn’t want to lie to him, but if she admitted that - sometimes! - it had been funny…

But the lack of answer was enough. Harry shook his head. “I see,” he hissed, then stood so abruptly, his chair almost toppled over. For a moment, he stood there, his lips moving without making a sound, then he turned and stormed out of the room.

With a grimace, Ron stood and followed him.

As soon as the door closed, Sirius sighed and seemed to collapse in his chair, covering his face with his hands. Jeanne moved to hug him.

Hermione looked at the door. Part of her wanted to run after Harry. Apologise. She hadn’t, yet, she realised with a shock. Part of her wanted to hug Sirius. Comfort him. Thank him for taking the blame. Or trying to take the blame, at least.

In the end, she did neither. She kept sitting, staring at the door.

*****​

Harry Potter’s Bludgeoning Curse smashed into the stone figure, pulverising part of its shoulder and causing its left arm to fall away as it was bowled over. His next curse - a Reductor Curse - hit it before the arm had stopped rolling on the floor and blew up the figure’s torso, sending stone shards and fragments through the room, a dozen of them bouncing off his Shield Charm.

But the limbs and part of the hips were still around - thanks to his glasses, he could see them through the dust cloud his spell had thrown up. Snarling, he cast a few more Bludgeoning Curses, smashing the legs and arms to pieces before blowing up the head with another Reductor Curse.

As he waited for the new dust cloud to settle, he clenched his teeth. He didn’t feel any better. He still wanted to smash something. Hurt someone. Do anything to spread the pain he was feeling.

“Whoa!”

Harry whirled around, his wand rising out of reflex. Then he froze and took a short breath. “Ron.” His friend must have entered the training room without Harry noticing. Sloppy.

“Mate.” Ron seemed unconcerned about Harry’s wand pointing at him. He looked at the remains of the stone figure. “Feeling better?”

Harry snorted. “No.”

Ron nodded. “Didn’t think you would.” He flicked his wand and conjured a bench, then sat down.

Harry looked at him. “You gonna watch me vent my anger?”

Ron shrugged. “I figure you need some company, but the last thing you need is someone else pushing you. So I’ll simply wait.”

Harry laughed, once, then had to struggle not to sob. He shook his head and sat down next to his friend, his wand dangling from his hand, and stared at the rubble. After a moment, he took a deep breath. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing, mate.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Bloody hell, I still can’t believe they did this!” How could they have done this? To him?

“Well, in hindsight, it makes sense,” Ron said. Harry jerked his head to glare at him, and his friend went on: “That they robbed the manors, I mean.”

“What?” Harry snarled.

Ron held his hands up. “Mate, you know how it works. As long as Malfoy has gold to spend, he won’t get convicted no matter what he does. And no matter what we do.”

Harry pressed his lips together. “It’s still a crime!” A crime spree, even.

“Well, yeah.” Ron shrugged. “But if it’s the only way to get rid of Malfoy?”

“Ron! We’re Aurors - we’re supposed to enforce the law! We’ve sworn an oath!”

“Well, we did - but we also swore to faithfully serve and defend Wizarding Britain.” Ron chuckled. “And that kind of doesn’t go along with upholding the law in this case, if the law’s protecting Malfoy. And you know that if Sirius were arrested, we’d get fired as soon as Malfoy’s done celebrating - all of his enemies, gone.”

Harry closed his eyes. Not Ron too. Was everyone corrupt?

“And you heard them - Dumbledore had her trained as a thief,” Ron went on.

“Yes,” Harry spat. That didn’t mean it was right.

“And he sent them out to steal stuff.”

“If they’re telling the truth,” Harry replied.

“Do you think they lied?”

They had lied to him before! Harry drew a shuddering breath through clenched teeth. Lied, and laughed at him. He closed his eyes. “No. No, I don’t think so.” Hermione had looked… He shook his head. She deserved it. And Sirius… He didn’t think they had been lying. Not at dinner, at least.

“They should have told you, though,” Ron said.

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he pressed out, “they should have.” They hadn’t, though.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“They made a fool out of me. Out of us,” Harry said.

“They did,” Ron agreed.

Harry glanced at him. His friend was far too calm. “Why aren’t you angry?”

Ron shrugged. “I am a little, I guess. But on the whole? I’ve been made fun of my whole life by my brothers - and not because they thought it would be best for me. And the entire school has made fun of Luna for selfish or cruel reasons. I guess this simply doesn’t seem so bad in comparison.”

Harry hissed through his teeth. Not so bad?

Before he could tell Ron off, though, his friend continued. “I don’t know what I’d do if Luna had done this, though,” he said.

Harry nodded stiffly. “I trusted her.” Well, not with everything. Not with what he had done with Dumbledore. What kind of magic he had learned, and used. Blood magic. Illegal magic, he added, unbidden, before pushing the thought, and the guilt, away. Again. But there were good reasons for not telling her all his secrets. More than ever, after these revelations.

Another moment passed in silence. The remains of one of the figure’s legs suddenly crumbled to the ground, sending dust motes up in the air.

“So, what are you gonna do?” Ron asked.

Harry sighed. “I don’t know.” He didn’t want to betray his oath as an Auror. He didn’t want to break the law. But he didn’t want to see Malfoy rule Britain, either. And to arrest his own family? And Hermione? They were criminals, and they had hurt him, but…

“I don’t bloody know.”

*****​

Hermione Granger managed to stop biting her lower lip before she drew blood, but it was a near thing. As much as it hurt to see Harry like this, she was a professional thief - and she had responsibilities. She glanced at Sirius and Jeanne, who were still holding each other. Yes, someone had to speak up.

“What are we going to do now?”

Sirius didn’t open his eyes, but she saw him tense slightly. Jeanne frowned at her, but Hermione ignored that. They had to do something.

After a few seconds, she added: “We need to prepare in case the Aurors come after us.”

Sirius shook his head, causing Jeanne to loosen her grip on him. “Harry won’t rat us out.”

She bit her lower lip again, then hissed in frustration at herself and took a deep breath. She didn’t share his optimism. “We hurt him. A lot.” She had hurt him. And she had known he’d be hurt. She should have told him!

Sirius sighed. “I know.” He leaned back - still with his eyes closed. “I didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

Hermione swallowed the words that came to mind and stared at the door.

“You can say it, you know?” he told her.

“What?” She turned her head. He was looking at her and grinning, though it felt forced in her opinion.

“You can say ‘I told you so’.”

It wasn’t funny. She didn’t laugh. But she snorted. “We still have to be prepared. Just in case we… misjudge the situation. If Harry discovered our identities, then someone else could do so as well.” It was unlikely - Harry was the only one who had seen her in cat form that close up and so could have identified her. But Moody remained an unknown variable, even crippled as he still was. They had to be prepared. They needed to do something - anything.

“Ron was very quiet,” Jeanne remarked.

“Ron won’t rat us out either,” Sirius said. “Right, Hermione?”

She hesitated a moment - she didn’t know Ron as well as she knew Harry. Or had known, a dark part of her added. “I don’t think so. He’ll take his cue from Harry.”

“And Harry won’t betray us,” Sirius stated.

Hermione hoped that he was right. She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “We still need to do something.” She couldn’t do nothing.

“We’ll continue as planned,” Sirius said. “While I sort this out with Harry.”

Hermione gasped. Was he serious? Just go on as if nothing had happened?

Jeanne shook her head. “Do you think you can do better than today?”

Sirius nodded. “Yes. Harry needs some time to think this over, but he’ll come round.”

“Come round?” Hermione sniffled. She wasn’t going to cry. Not here.

“He’ll understand why we did it. And we’ll finish Malfoy as planned.”

Sirius sounded more than a little as if he wanted to convince himself, Hermione noticed. She still hoped that he was correct.

She nodded and stood. “I’ll go over the plans in my room - without notes,” she added. Moody’s eye was still a threat.

But once she was in her room, sitting on her bed, which she hadn’t used in a while, all alone, she did nothing but cry until she fell asleep.

*****​

His bed felt empty without Hermione. Harry Potter had gotten used to falling asleep with her. His arm around her body, her warmth on his skin…

He pressed his lips together as he stared at the canopy above. He shouldn’t feel like this. She had betrayed him. Lied to him. Deceived him. Spied on him. Played him for a fool. He shouldn’t miss her. But he did.

He remembered her expression when he had left dinner, and his lips curled into a grim smile. She had been hurt. She deserved it, too. And yet… He closed his eyes and pushed the guilt away. She had hurt him. And she was a criminal. A thief.

He snorted against his will. To think that she had become exactly that for which Malfoy had framed her - a thief! It was… He shook his head. It didn’t make sense. And Dumbledore had arranged the whole thing?

He didn’t want to believe it, but it rang true. The Headmaster had been quite ‘practical’ about fighting Voldemort. Breaking the law wouldn’t have fazed him.

Hadn’t fazed him, Harry knew - he had done the same, after all. Blood magic. He clenched his teeth. It wasn’t the same. There had been no other way to defeat Voldemort. And he hadn’t sacrificed anyone - he had merely used the protection his mum had granted him. Through her sacrifice. And the Headmaster had sacrificed himself.

It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t. He had only technically broken the law. Blood magic was part of the Dark Arts and illegal because it required a sacrifice - but if you sacrificed yourself, then was it really a crime?

He snorted. The law was clear on that, although the Wizengamot had acquitted people in the past for using a dark curse or even an Unforgivable to defend themselves. Of course, those verdicts had been against members of the Wizengamot, or close relatives. And likely the results of massive bribes. From people like Malfoy. Or Sirius.

He rolled on to his side and almost reached out with his arm to hug someone who wasn’t there, then rolled back on to his back, cursing under his breath. Malfoy. If Harry enforced the law, as he had sworn he would, Malfoy would profit. With Sirius gone, the man would control the Wizengamot. And Harry knew what Malfoy would do with such power.

But if he didn’t enforce the law, then he wouldn’t be any better than a criminal himself. The end didn’t justify the means. Not always.

But, as he knew very well, sometimes it did. But was it the case here? Malfoy in power would be very bad for Wizarding Britain. Or was that just Harry’s desire not to have to arrest his family, and his… and her?

When he finally fell asleep, alone, he still hadn’t found an answer.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 5th, 1999

Usually, Hermione Granger liked to sleep in at every opportunity - civilised cats didn’t go to bed with the livestock, nor did they get up at dawn; that’s when a good night’s prowl ended - but this morning was different. She was hungry - she hadn’t eaten much last evening - and she knew that staying in bed wouldn’t lead to a relaxing nap, not with her stomach about to growl louder than a scared dog and threaten to scare poor Crookshanks.

So she rose, cast the usual charms for facing the day, dressed and went to the kitchen for an early breakfast - which she hoped would allow her to take a decent nap afterwards. Fresh scones, honey, tea, maybe some rashers and sausages… She was licking her lips as she pushed the kitchen door open - and froze.

Harry and Ron were at the table, eating their breakfast. And Harry was staring at her… and then he looked away.

Despite the pang of pain at seeing that, she stepped inside. “Good morning,” she mumbled more than said.

“Morning.” Ron nodded at her. Harry merely bit into his toast and grabbed the Daily Prophet on the table.

Hermione ignored the pain that caused and took her seat. Kreacher was already serving her tea and scones - the elf had warmed up to her presence. “Thank you, Kreacher.”

He nodded, then went and started frying some sausages. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the tea with her eyes closed. That way, she didn’t have to stare at Harry but wouldn’t look as if she were avoiding eye contact. She cast a silent privacy charm, just in case.

“You’re early,” Ron commented after a moment.

She pressed her lips together, then took a sip to gain time before replying. “I was hungry,” she replied. “Couldn’t sleep in.”

Harry scoffed. She glanced at him, but he was studiously looking at the Daily Prophet. Unless the article about a new bill regulating cauldron bottoms was more controversial than she remembered, that scoff had been aimed at her, though.

Annoyance joined the guilt and pain she felt. “What are you going to do today?” she asked.

She frowned when she saw Ron glance at Harry, who didn’t react, before he cleared his throat and answered with a shrug: “The usual, I guess.”

Harry scoffed again. “We’re not going to arrest you, so you don’t need to spy on us,” he spat without looking at her.

She pressed her lips together, then snorted. “You mean you would try to arrest us.” When he turned to look at her, scowling, she bared her teeth. She had escaped each time he had tried to catch her, after all.

He huffed. “You can’t be lucky every time.”

She almost hissed at that claim. She wasn’t lucky - she was good!

Ron cleared his throat again. “Well, we should go. Don’t want to be late. See you later, Hermione.”

“You’re right.” Harry nodded and stood.

Hermione nodded, curtly. It was Friday - they didn’t have a set shift and could come and go as they pleased. But she didn’t say anything as they left.

Then she sighed and hung her head. She hated this. She loathed the whole situation. Why couldn’t Harry be reasonable? Or at least talk to her so she could explain?

“Here, Miss.” Kreacher served the sausages, and Hermione bit into one with a snarl before she remembered to thank him.

She just wanted to curl up on her bed and nap until the day was over, but with that stupid Moody in their home, she couldn’t even change to do that properly. The sun simply didn’t feel as nice on her skin as it did on her fur.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 5th, 1999

This was so bloody pointless! Harry Potter scowled at the file in front of him. He knew who the Night Nargles were. He knew where they were. He didn’t need to look at the evidence any more. The only thing he needed to do was to sort out what he was going to do about the whole thing. Which was much easier said or thought than done, of course.

He leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes.

“Break time?” Ron asked.

“Might as well,” Harry answered after a moment’s hesitation.

Ron didn’t comment on his lack of enthusiasm.

Harry frowned at him. “You know, you don’t have to treat me as if I’m about to have a breakdown,” he muttered.

Ron stopped at the door. “I’m more worried about you blowing up, actually,” he replied. ‘Something or someone’ remained unsaid, but Harry understood it anyway.

He sighed again. “I’m not gonna blow up,” he said. “I’m just frustrated since this is pointless.” He gestured at the stack of case files in their office. “But we can’t do anything else.” Not, at least, before they decided what they’d do about the whole thing. Not before Harry made up his mind.

“Well…” Ron said with a faint grin, “trying to figure out how they did it, now that we know who they are, is kind of fun.”

“What?” Harry stared at him. Ron really was spending too much time with the Lovegoods - his idea of fun had become more than a little weird.

Although, Harry had to admit to himself, as they left their office and the range of their privacy charms, he was wondering how Hermione had managed to call him from France while he was chasing her through London’s airspace. He had almost caught her leather-covered behind, too, he knew, until she cheated and snuck away as a cat.

That thought made him frown just as they entered the break room. And, of course, Bathilda noticed.

“Is something wrong, Harry?” she asked as Nott, sitting next to her, nodded a greeting.

Harry opened his mouth to lie to her, then reconsidered. He was better than that. “Personal problems at home,” he said as Ron fetched tea.

“Oh!” Bathilda stared at him. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

He nodded.

Nott, of course, had to comment. “Love trouble, Potter?”

Harry scowled at him, which seemed to surprise the man.

“Really?” Bathilda asked, then held a hand in front of her mouth. “Sorry, I was just surprised.”

Harry forced himself to smile. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

But, as he noticed how many other Aurors in the room had been listening in and were now whispering to each other, he couldn’t help thinking that the Night Nargles were causing even more trouble for him.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 6th, 1999

Another morning after a silent dinner and a lonely night, Hermione Granger thought as she bit into a buttered scone in her room. Not even Crookshanks had kept her company. At least Harry and Ron had a weekend shift today - though she wondered if that had already been scheduled or if they had volunteered - and so they had already gone to work by the time she had left her bed.

Hermione would consider eating out to avoid having another awkward meal that ruined her appetite and mood, but she wasn’t about to abandon her home. Especially not with her parents still on their cruise.

If only Harry wouldn’t be so… She swallowed the thought. And the guilt, as well as the annoyance, with the last part of the scone. She had to focus on her work. One more heist and they were done. Done with heists.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to stop. Heists were fun. Unless they hurt people about whom you cared. And if she continued her career, Harry would be hurt. She sighed. She really didn’t want to stop doing heists. The thrill, the challenge, the satisfaction of beating all the guards and wards… But if she had to choose between Harry and heists, she knew whom she’d choose.

Provided, she added with a grimace, that was still an option - Harry wasn’t showing any sign of forgiving them. Or her.

But she couldn’t let such gloomy thoughts distract her. She had a heist to plan. And at least part of the planning she could do at home, regardless of whether or not Moody’s eye could see through her privacy charms.

With a grin that was not entirely forced, she opened what passed for the Daily Prophet’s society pages. And froze, rage welling up inside her.

Boy-Who-Lived Betrayed? Did His Girlfriend Cheat On Him With His Godfather?

Hermione hissed. Whoever was responsible for this travesty would regret it!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 6th, 1999

Harry Potter threw the Daily Prophet on the low table and barely resisted the urge to set it on fire. Once he found out who had started that rumour, he would teach them to respect his privacy! The Ministry was worse than Hogwarts - and that was already a pretty low bar.

“I’ll be in my room, talking to Luna,” Ron said. He was out of the living room before Harry could do more than nod in response.

Harry frowned - he hadn’t been that bad, had he? Anyone would have been angry at reading such drivel in the Prophet. And checking if Skeeter was still in Azkaban, and hadn’t escaped, was merely being thorough - it wasn’t as if they had anything more important to do, anyway.

Well, he could apologise to Ron later. Before dinner.

He scowled. He wasn’t looking forward to dinner. All that tension, the awkward glances, seeing Hermione being all… well, seeing her. Hearing her. Remembering…

He clenched his teeth and forced his eyes shut. He didn’t want to remember. Not the leather-suited thief, not the seductress, not the…

He sighed. If only Occlumency allowed him to erase memories. Maybe then it would hurt less.

The sound of steps in the hallway made him tense up. No one usually bothered him after he returned from work, not until dinner. It couldn’t be Moody - he still couldn’t stand up, much less walk. Kreacher used the elf-sized passages in the walls. And Hermione wouldn’t make so much noise when walking. Unless she wanted him to notice her.

“’Arry?”

Jeanne. He nodded at her. “Is it time for dinner already?”

She shook her head and stepped into the living room, closing the door behind her.

Harry tensed up again. He didn’t want to have another talk. But he didn’t want to flee from her. This was his home as much as hers, and Aurors didn’t flee from thieves.

She sat down in her usual armchair, sighing - she was showing her pregnancy now. “I’ve got a question for you, ’Arry.”

He nodded, already thinking of how to tell her that Sirius might love him, but he had hurt him a lot so she’d understand that this went past a simple row.

“What ’urt you more - that you were left ignorant or that ’Ermione beat you so often?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t have a problem with her escaping from me,” he said. She had been lucky. And she had cheated with her animagus form. And her disguises.

“Ah.” She nodded slowly - she didn’t believe him.

But insisting wouldn’t help, Harry knew. So he didn’t. She was wrong anyway. He wasn’t that petty. This was about trust, not about the fact that Hermione had played him for a fool.

“Sirius ’asn’t told me everything either, you know.”

He scoffed. “He told you about the thieving.”

“That was actually your fault.”

“What?” He blinked. “Oh, that.” He remembered.

She nodded. “I was recruited for Dumbledore’s Order after witnessing one of your visions. And since I was already involved with Sirius, I joined ’is cell.”

He shrugged. “That doesn’t change the fact that none of you told me.”

“I ’aven’t told Sirius everything I did, either,” she went on. “Nor what my family did. And neither ’as ’e told me much about ’is family. Or Azkaban.”

“Well, he doesn’t like to talk about it.” Not about his family nor about the Dementors. Harry suppressed the pity that made him feel.

“But ’ave you told ’im everything? Or ’er?”

He stared at her. Did she know? Did they know? If they did, why hadn’t they ever said anything? No, they didn’t know. She was fishing. Spying, like Hermione.

She smiled. “I see.”

No, she didn’t. This was different. It wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. He raised his chin. “If I kept a secret, then it wasn’t because I found it funny to play anyone for a fool.”

She shrugged in that French manner of hers, then grinned - rather maliciously. “But you did enjoy ’exing her during training, didn’t you?”

That was different. And it had been funny - in some ways. And he had done it because he thought she needed the training to be safe. Because he had thought…

He rose. “I’ll be in my room until dinner,” he snapped and left.

He didn’t look back but he knew she was smiling. As if she had won.

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 7th, 1999

Hermione Granger was a professional thief. She wouldn’t let a family crisis keep her from doing her job, so to speak. Nor a libellous article in what passed for the leading newspaper in Wizarding Britain. Wizarding Britain really needed a professional newspaper. First the ridiculous moniker, now this rumour about her cheating on Harry…

She cleared her throat. “I’ve been studying the news. It seems that the Malfoys dare, once again, to socialise with the rest of Wizarding Britain’s so-called elite.”

Sirius snorted at that, but it lacked his usual humour. “Bloody parasites,” he muttered.

She glanced at him and bit her lower lip. He had been like this - forced cheerfulness and optimism, but a much darker mood behind his jokes - ever since the confrontation with Harry. She didn’t think he had fully recovered from his ordeal in Azkaban - and perhaps never would - and this rift in the family certainly wasn’t helping. But there wasn’t much she could do about it. She had to trust Jeanne. And hope that the situation with Harry would get resolved soon.

If only he’d talk to them! Or, at least, to her.

“That means your plan is feasible,” Mr Fletcher said. “Provided your boyfriend doesn’t have a change of heart and arrest the lot of you.”

Hermione pressed her lips together as Sirius snapped: “He won’t.”

Mr Fletcher scoffed. “I’ve heard that before.” He looked at Hermione, and she flinched. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had been more careful.”

“I had no way of cleaning the central shaft,” she defended herself.

“You should have had a solution prepared in advance,” he chided her. “And you should have noticed that you lost some fur there.”

He was correct, of course, even though she hated to admit it. It was her fault. “Yes,” she pressed out through her teeth.

He huffed. “And getting involved with him made it worse.”

She knew that as well. “I didn’t want to! It just happened!” Which was the truth.

Mr Fletcher shook his head. “What’s done is done. But I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. We need a plan that he can’t foil if he tries.”

That would mean deceiving him again. Luring him somewhere, distracting him or even drugging him for the heist’s duration. Hermione shook her head. “No. We can’t do that to him.” She wouldn’t sacrifice Harry for this.

“You don’t have to be involved,” Sirius said. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t know about you.”

“He knows I was trained by a thief, but he doesn’t know your identity,” Hermione nodded at Mr Fletcher as she corrected Sirius. And even if the worst happened, they would be able to warn Mr Fletcher so he could avoid being arrested.

Mr Fletcher shook his head. “You need to sort this out. Otherwise, this heist is doomed. And not just because of Potter’s meddling, but because you two can’t think straight right now.” He tapped Malfoy’s picture in the article. “Fortunately, you still have time for that - I’ll have to make a few inquiries about our mark’s habits before we can proceed with the next part.”

Hermione stepped on Sirius’s foot when he opened his mouth. The last thing she wanted was another row between the two men. She was feeling miserable enough already with the other half of her family falling apart.

Mr Fletcher grinned - he had noticed that, of course - and left their base.

Sirius frowned at her. “That was unnecessary.”

“Sorry.” She didn’t really mean it.

He sighed. “But the guttersnipe is correct - we need to set things straight.”

“Harry isn’t talking to us.” Jeanne had talked to him, but Hermione wasn’t sure whether that hadn’t made things worse.

“He will.”

She didn’t share his optimism. “Eventually.” Probably.

After a moment, Sirius went on: “I’ll take the blame.”

“What?” She stared at him.

“It’s my fault. I told you not to tell him.” He smiled thinly.

“I decided to go along with it,” she said. “I decided to get involved with him, even though I knew better.” Secrets had destroyed her relationship with Paul. Well, secrets and his attitude. And she had enjoyed outdoing Harry. Quite a bit.

“You would have told him without me, though.”

“And without Jeanne and Mr Fletcher,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “He would have been fine, and Jeanne wouldn’t have minded.”

Hermione agreed with that - although she suspected that Jeanne would have done something rather… French… if Harry had posed a threat to her family. And might still attempt to do so, if things grew worse.

Sirius shook his head. “No. It was my mistake, and I’ll shoulder the blame for this.” He nodded at her with a lopsided grin that reminded her of the dog. And with rather wet eyes.

She nodded, feeling both relieved and guilty about Sirius’s plan. And sacrifice. And worried whether it would be enough for her to save her relationship with Harry.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 7th, 1999

“Harry?”

On his bed, on the part not taken up by Crookshanks, who apparently still thought that this was his room, Harry Potter looked up from the book he wasn’t reading. That was Sirius. And Harry didn’t want to talk to his godfather. “I’m busy,” he replied without getting up or opening the door.

“Good.” And Sirius opened the door.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “That usually means that I don’t want to be bothered,” he snapped. Least of all by Sirius.

“Tough.” Sirius closed the door and cast a few privacy charms.

Harry sat up and crossed his arms. “This is my room.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it were someone else’s,” Sirius replied as he conjured a chair for himself. But he sighed right away. “Sorry. Didn’t want to sound so…”

“...Sirius?”

His godfather flinched. “I guess.” He took a deep breath. “I came to apologise. I should have told you from the start. And I should have listened to Hermione when she wanted to tell you.”

Harry scoffed. “She should have told me anyway.” She shouldn’t have valued his godfather more than him.

“Did you really expect her to?” Sirius shook his head. “Betray me, Jeanne and her mentor? After all we went through?”

Harry glared at him. “After all your heists, you mean.”

“More or less.” Sirius shrugged. “I taught her how to become an animagus, too. I would have taught you as well, but you were learning Occlumency…”

“You taught her?” Harry had thought she had learned that from her mentor.

“Yes.” Sirius looked at him. “I’m a dog.”

Harry pressed his lips together. Another secret. “No wonder she’s…”

“I also saved her life.”

“What?” Harry blurted out, then snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t want to hear about this. Not really.

“Yes.” Sirius nodded, looking at the wall behind Harry. “We were breaking into that vampire’s den. This was back when we were still inexperienced. And the vampire wasn’t asleep - caught her by surprise and took out her teacher. He was about to bite her when I got him.”

Harry resisted the urge to curse. If he had known about that…

Sirius nodded. “Yes, Dumbledore’s missions were dangerous.”

“She shouldn’t have been doing them,” Harry snapped. She shouldn’t have been trained as a thief in the first place!

Sirius had the gall to chuckle. “I would have liked to see anyone try to stop her from being involved - the missions were for you, after all.”

Harry gasped - he couldn’t help it. “You know?”

Sirius shrugged with a faint grin on his face. “Who do you think stole all the blood magic grimoires for Dumbledore?” He shook his head before Harry could say anything. “But that doesn’t make my mistake any better. I should have told you. I thought I knew best what was best for you, and I was wrong. And I made everyone follow my lead.”

“You didn’t put them under the Imperius Curse,” Harry retorted.

“I didn’t have to. I paid her debts. I restored her family’s home. I saved her life. I helped her get revenge on those who wronged her. What kind of witch do you think she would be if she could ignore all that?”

Harry didn’t want to answer that. She should have told him anyway. He huffed.

“Do you think Ron’s to blame for not arresting us?”

Harry glared at his godfather. Ron was his best friend. He wouldn’t betray him like that. Unlike... He closed his eyes and sighed.

“I understand why you did it.” And why she hadn’t told him. Even though she should have. “But that doesn’t mean I can forget it.” Or trust him. Them. Her. It still hurt. A lot.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Sirius said. But his expression told Harry that Sirius had hoped he would. After a few seconds, he continued: “We’re planning to rob Malfoy Manor.”

“I know.” Harry ground his teeth. “It’s wrong.” It was a crime.

“So’s blood magic.”

Harry glared at him. “It’s not the same.”

“But it’s close enough. And the principle is the same.” Sirius stood. “It’ll be her last heist, you know. If you ask her to stop. She’ll do anything for you.”

Harry snorted. Anything but telling him the truth about herself. He closed his eyes as Sirius opened the door.

“Harry?”

That was Hermione standing in the doorway, looking at him. He sat up and glared at her. He couldn’t bear another talk. Not now. Not here. Not her.

She flinched in the doorway. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. And I shouldn’t have enjoyed playing with you on our heists. I’m sorry.” She sniffled. Once.

He managed to nod, curtly, in response.

“Will you try to stop us from robbing Malfoy?”

‘Try to’. He glared at her, but she didn’t flinch this time. “What choice do I have? It’s you or Malfoy.” He scoffed. Even if he followed the law, it would only lead to Malfoy breaking and bending it as he pleased. “I hate it!” he snapped, baring his teeth.

She nodded and left.

He closed his eyes and laid back down on his bed, dislodging the fat cat on his pillow. He couldn’t win. He had tried, he had done his best, and he couldn’t win. Not without breaking the law.

And that failure hurt more than anything she had done.

*****​

 

Chapter 64: Contemplation and Preparation

London, Diagon Alley, February 8th, 1999

Draco Malfoy took a deep breath as he entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron. Even two weeks after he had finally been allowed out of the Manor again, it still felt great. You never really appreciated what you had until you lost it and had to fight to get it back, or something like that.

And how he had had to fight! He loved his parents, but they were far too protective of him - it wasn’t as if Draco couldn’t protect himself; he had passed his Defence N.E.W.T., after all. And Crouch was dead and not a threat to them any more, anyway. But even so, it had taken him days of struggling to regain his freedom. His mother just was too emotional to consider things rationally.

“Oh, look, Draco! They’ve got the new brooms in!”

He forced himself to smile in response to Pansy’s words. Her presence was the only flaw in an otherwise excellent day. It wasn’t as if he minded spending time with her - she was pretty, of the purest blood and born to an Old Family - but she had gotten clingy after her family’s fortune had been stolen by the Night Nargles.

But the worst thing was the way she was so grateful for him not ending their engagement despite her unfortunate circumstances. Draco hadn’t even considered breaking it before Father had ordered him to keep it, but his father had clearly implied that it would be a temporary affair - ‘for now’.

And it felt wrong to let Pansy hope that they would marry when Draco already knew it wouldn’t happen and the engagement would be broken as soon as his parents deemed it necessary. After their time together, Pansy deserved better than that. She had been ever loyal and supportive, as a partner should be. Like his parents were.

But Draco had had to struggle for days to be allowed outside the Manor or similarly warded homes - he knew it would be pointless to try to change his father’s mind about the engagement.

They spent some time looking at the new brooms in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Nothing truly groundbreaking; merely some slightly improved versions of older models. If not for Pansy’s presence, Draco would have bought the latest model of the Nimbus 2000 series anyway - nothing but the best was good enough for him, after all - but that would have been tacky, given the unfortunate reversal her family had suffered.

He’d have to visit the shop later this week to buy the broom.

“Can we go to Fortescue’s?” Pansy asked as they were leaving the shop.

“Of course,” Draco answered automatically. Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour was the best in Britain, and, despite the season, he wouldn’t mind sampling their latest creations. The owner might claim not to be actually related to the pureblood family of the same name, but there was no way a mere mudblood would be able to create such magical recipes.

Unfortunately, others had had the same thought, Draco discovered as they entered the Parlour - Daphne and Tracey were sitting at a table in the corner. He felt Pansy clinging even more to his left arm in response and turned to walk towards the bar instead of their usual place. It was rude to snub the two witches like this, but he was not the kind of wizard who’d expose Pansy to Tracey’s sharp tongue or Daphne’s scathing remarks.

They sat down on the stools at the bar - not the most comfortable seats, but they would do. If they picked a different table than their usual at the window, it would look as if they were avoiding Daphne and Tracey.

“Have you heard the latest?” Pansy asked after they had ordered - Draco had picked the new ‘Florence Cayenne Surprise’ while Pansy had gone with a ‘Spiced Strawberry Split’.

Draco cocked his head slightly as he looked at her. “About?” He was well-informed about everything important, as befitted a Malfoy.

“I heard Theo is actually dating his Auror colleague.”

“Really?” Draco was surprised. The witch was a pureblood, but not closely related to an Old Family. He didn’t think Nott’s parents would approve of such a match.

“Indeed. I heard it from my aunt, who works in the Ministry. They’ve been spending their lunches together for two weeks now.”

“Ah.” That didn’t sound too serious, yet. Draco nodded anyway. Stranger things had happened. Mother’s sister had married a mudblood, after all - though that wasn’t a subject that ever came up in polite conversation, of course. Although… He frowned. “Isn’t she a friend of Potter and Weasley’s?”

“Well, last I heard, so is Theo,” Pansy said.

“What?” Draco stared at her. “Theo? Friends with Potter?”

“They’ve spent all their breaks together - Theo, her, Potter and Weasley.”

Draco sneered. How could anyone associate with such disgraces to their kind? Weasley was apparently engaged to a witch with hereditary madness, and Potter had not only been sleeping with Granger, but the mudblood had been cheating on him with his own godfather! How Draco’s poor mother was suffering at the sight of how far her family had fallen! “It seems Granger’s finally showing her true colours,” he commented.

“Disgraceful,” Pansy agreed. “Although one can hope that Black’s wife will settle things in the French manner.”

Draco nodded. Duels were outlawed, but that wasn’t really enforced in the right circles and wouldn’t stop a French witch anyway. And if she managed to kill Black, perhaps Father would manage to get her prosecuted, which would let Mother reclaim her birthright… “We can but hope,” he said. Seeing Black and Potter both brought low by their weakness for mudbloods would be delightfully fitting, even though Father said they were still needed until the thieves were caught.

Draco disagreed - lesser families might fall prey to that kind of criminal, but not the Malfoys. The thieves had failed to break into Longbottom Manor and Grimmauld Place; they obviously had their limits.

And Malfoy Manor was far better protected than either of those two locations. His father had seen to that.

No, Draco had much more pressing problems than worrying about some irrelevant criminals. After the last few months, spent as basically a prisoner in his own home, he was in dire need of reacquainting himself with a few locations in the Alley. And some of them he couldn’t visit with Pansy on his arm.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 9th, 1999

Hermione Granger frowned as she studied the building across the street from her perch on the roof. The ‘Oasis’ didn’t look like much from the outside - it was very discreet, only a small plaque announcing the club’s name. But a ‘private club’ - a brothel according to her information - frequented by the likes of Malfoy would need to be very discreet, and Mr Fletcher had found out that Malfoy had been a regular there until Crouch had scared him into hiding in his home.

There were two other brothels Malfoy had frequented according to her mentor’s information, but those were in Knockturn Alley, and Sirius didn’t think the Malfoys would let their scion visit there yet.

Hermione wasn’t sure whether she agreed with that assessment, but someone had to take care of the Oasis, and everyone but herself had been in agreement that she was the best choice for that job.

Hermione suspected it was less her skills as a thief than a desire to keep her out of Knockturn Alley without anyone backing her up, but she hadn’t protested against the decision - the Oasis was the hardest location to break into since, unlike the other brothels, you couldn’t just enter as a client; it was a private club, after all.

And a very well guarded club at that, she noted as she studied the building. Strong wards covered not just the club, but the two neighbouring buildings as well. She wouldn’t be able to break into the club using the same method she had used to break into Greengrass’s shop.

And she doubted that the cellar was a weak spot, either, if the club’s owners had gone to that extent to secure the walls. She might be able to use a disillusioned floating platform to break through the wards, but she had a suspicion that the roof was quite well protected against breaking in beyond the wards. That would be the smart thing to do, after all - especially after the decoy attack on Grimmauld Place had revealed that method.

No, she didn’t think that going through the wards like a Curse-Breaker would be a good idea here. Fortunately, she added to herself with a grin, she was no mere Curse-Breaker - she was a professional thief. And that meant she wasn’t limited to a Curse-Breaker’s methods.

Her grin faded a little as she remembered, unbidden, what else being a professional thief meant for her: relationship trouble. She bared her teeth. She had to focus on her job. She couldn’t afford to dwell on her troubled private life. Or wonder what Harry was doing right now. And how he was feeling.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 9th, 1999

The house felt empty without Sirius, Jeanne and…

Harry Potter hissed in frustration. They had hurt him. She had hurt him. And they were criminals. Thieves. He was an Auror.

“Something wrong?”

Harry looked up from the book he wasn’t really reading - an old Defence tract from the family library - and noticed that Ron was looking at him, apparently having turned down the volume on the live wireless broadcast from the Bulgarian Quidditch Cup game. Crookshanks was looking at him as well, from his perch on the sofa, but Harry ignored him. He wasn’t fond of cats at the moment. Nor of dogs.

“No,” he lied. At his friend’s frown, he sighed. “It’s just… It was better when I didn’t know, you know?”

Ron nodded.

Harry explained it anyway. “I was merely waiting for my… for them to return from France, or from work. I didn’t know they were out there, breaking into homes, or preparing to break into homes.” And risking their lives, but that was something else he didn’t want to think about.

“Ah.” Ron nodded again. He didn’t turn back to the wireless receiver, though.

“Is the game over already?” Harry asked, despite knowing better.

“No. But Krum’s team is leading a hundred seventy to ten, and he’ll get the Snitch anyway.”

“Ah.” Though Harry was aware that knowing the outcome of a match never stopped Ron from avidly listening to any Cannons match. Why was his friend here, anyway, and not chatting with Luna through the mirror - or sneaking into Hogwarts? Was he keeping an eye on Harry? He snorted at the thought. Perhaps he was a little too paranoid. “You don’t have to keep me company, you know,” he said. “I’m fine,” he added before he could help himself.

Ron snorted at that, of course.

Harry closed his eyes. “I really am fine,” he insisted.

“You always say that. Mate, you’re not fine. I can tell, Bathilda can tell, Nott can tell. Hell, even Dawlish could probably tell, if he weren’t sulking in his office all day.”

Harry huffed and picked up his book again.

“You miss her.”

Harry refrained from lashing out. Of course he did, but, damn it, she had lied to him. Hurt him. He glared at Ron. “She made her bed.”

Ron shrugged. “She made a mistake.” Harry scoffed. “A big, stupid mistake,” Ron amended. “But she apologised, didn’t she?”

Harry sneered. He knew where this was going. “She didn’t hurt you.”

“Well, not like she hurt you,” Ron replied. “But I know what making a mistake feels like.”

Harry almost scoffed. Ron wasn’t the Auror with a girlfriend who had turned out to be Britain’s most wanted thief. Ron was the one who was happy with his girlfriend - had been so for years, now. “What did you do?”

Ron sighed. “I was a jerk to Luna when we were younger. Made fun of her behind her back, too.”

“That was years ago,” Harry retorted. “And you were kids.”

“I still feel bad when I think about it. And I never told her or apologised.”

Harry snorted. “It’s not the same.” Not even close.

“Of course not. But we all make mistakes, don’t we?”

Harry snorted again and focused on his book. Some mistakes were worse than others.

He still missed her, though. Usually, she’d be here, they’d be talking, reading together, discussing what they were reading, listening to music, perhaps going to see a movie…

He closed his eyes. It was her fault, not his. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And he wasn’t doing anything wrong, either, no matter what Ron was implying.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 9th, 1999

Hermione Granger shook her head as she studied the side alley next to the Oasis. Even though all the members of the private club entered through the Floo Network instead of through the front door - as important members of the Old Families they couldn’t be seen entering such a club, after all - the staff was still forced to use the side entrance. Jeanne had uttered a few choice words about the foolishness of British morals upon hearing that from Mr Fletcher. In Magical France, courtesans were a respected profession - well, some of them were. Those with influential lovers.

Hermione had her doubts that the kind of witches working in the Oasis would be any more respected if they were working in a similar club in France. On the other hand, the French would keep in mind that any such witch might become the mistress of a member of the Duc’s Court, so they might not dare to snub them and risk their revenge.

In any case, the British peculiarities made her job easier. She changed and descended via the roof, gutter and windowsills to the alley below. And she double-checked that she hadn’t left any fur behind.

Once on the ground, she picked a rain barrel - with enough holes in the wood to qualify as a sieve - as her perch. The wood was rotten - soft enough that her claws dug in without any effort - but clean, and seemed stable enough. And even if her guess turned out to be wrong, there wasn’t any water inside the barrel, so there was no danger of getting wet either way.

Now she had just to wait until the witches working at the club started to leave - no one would be able to resist a beautiful cat like herself. Well, almost no one, she corrected herself, remembering the time Harry had thrown her out of her home. Growling, she pushed that humiliating memory out of her mind. That wouldn’t happen here.

She got comfortable on her spot and rested her chin on her front paws. As much as her… situation… with Harry hurt, at least she didn’t have to lie to him any more and make up excuses for her absence. And she could spend more time on a heist such as this one, too.

But if she were honest, she really would prefer the alternative.

With that gloomy thought, she settled in to wait for her opportunity.

She didn’t have to wait as long as she had feared - shortly after midnight, the side entrance opened, and two witches stepped out. Well, it was Tuesday - Wednesday now - and those club members with family probably wouldn’t want to explain where they had spent the night.

Hermione studied the two witches for a moment, her gaze not hindered by the alley’s shadows. They were both pretty, young-looking and knew how to apply makeup to great effect. Employees.

She let them come towards her, then miaowed.

“What was that?” one of the witches asked. Apparently, not a very bright one.

“A cat,” the other replied.

Hermione took her cue and jumped down from the barrel, then padded towards them, tail held high.

“Oh, there it is.”

She almost huffed. She was a cat, not a thing. But she was also a thief on a mission. So she approached them and rubbed her flank against their legs, miaowing again, more softly this time.

As expected, both witches cooed over her. The smarter one crouched down and started to pet her. Yes, this witch knew how to treat cats. She probably had one herself at home. Hermione pushed her head against the woman’s robes and sniffed. She didn’t detected the scent of another cat, though.

Which was ideal. A cat-lover without a cat of her own would be more willing to take in a cat at work.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 10th, 1999

Harry Potter wasn’t in a good mood when he arrived in the kitchen for breakfast. Apparently, Crookshanks had decided that with Hermione absent, he’d take over her spot and had picked Harry’s chest on which to sleep. The fat cat’s snoring face wasn’t the kind of view with which Harry wanted to start the day. And it had made him remember how he used to start the day as well, which made him miss her. Again.

And Kreacher had him wait for his breakfast, too - the elf made his annoyance at Harry subtly known. He didn’t mix up Harry’s food or burn it, but when you were used to your favourite breakfast already being ready when you entered the kitchen, having to wait a few minutes while the elf fixed it was clear enough.

Especially since Jeanne’s breakfast was ready when she arrived - and Kreacher had prepared not only her usual croissants and coffee, but pickles, mustard, salted fish and dark bread as well. Harry hoped she’d lose those pregnancy cravings soon - the smell was almost bad enough to cast a Bubble-Head Charm.

“Bonjour.” She nodded at him.

“Morning.”

“Where’s Ron?”

Harry shrugged. “He’s probably still asleep.” His friend must have talked too long with Luna through his mirror after they had gone to bed last night. “Where’s Sirius?”

“Still sleeping. ’E spent the night out,” she replied.

“Oh?” Harry cocked his head, then frowned. Of course - they were preparing their next heist. He stared at his meal, then grabbed the Daily Prophet.

“There won’t be anything in the news,” she said, after casting a privacy charm. “They didn’t do anything.”

Harry snorted. “They did nothing for the whole night?” Yeah, right.

Jeanne shrugged. “Just reconnaissance. In brothels.”

“What?” Harry gaped at her. Reconnaissance? In brothels? Hermione?

Jeanne smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. ’Ermione’s going as a cat. She’s not posing as a courtesan - not that you ’ave courtesans in Britain, anyway.”

Harry clenched his teeth and glared at her. She had worded it like that on purpose, to get a reaction out of him.

But he was still relieved.

*****​

London, Greenwich, February 10th, 1999

“...and ideally, I should be able to slip inside the club in my cat form in the next few days,” Hermione Granger said in their safehouse. “If they do not let cats inside, though, I’ll have to slip in behind one of the staff while disillusioned as a cat - and for that, I’ll need help.” That way, she’d be able to avoid triggering any Human-presence-revealing Spells.

“I’ll do it. Or Black, then,” Mr Fletcher said, “since it doesn’t look like Malfoy’s son has been visiting Knockturn Alley.”

“That doesn’t mean ’e won’t in the future. I can disillusion ’er,” Jeanne cut in. Before anyone could object, she narrowed her eyes. “My pregnancy doesn’t prevent me from casting spells.” She twirled her wand to emphasise the point.

Hermione smirked when she saw Sirius close his mouth and frown.

“But if something goes wrong,” Mr Fletcher pointed out, “Hermione’ll need backup.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to keep from protesting. She had made a mistake, which had led to Harry discovering their identities. But she wouldn’t make another mistake!

“I can create a distraction as well as you could,” Jeanne said. “Neither of us will be able to break through the wards in time, anyway. And,” she once more cut off Sirius’s objection, “if you were able to become a member of the Oasis, chéri, ’Ermione wouldn’t ’ave to sneak in.”

This time, Sirius pouted. Hermione shook her head. They were a little too protective. Besides, she didn’t doubt that, should she be discovered, she would be able to escape. She had escaped from far more dangerous wizards than whoever guarded a brothel. Like Harry.

She suppressed a frown. She hadn’t even seen him today - by the time she had woken up, Harry and Ron had already left. Breakfast hadn’t been awkward, but it had been lonely. Which, as she had found out, was worse.

But at least they didn’t waste much time hashing out the assignments for the evening. Which were the same as yesterday evening’s, with the exception of Jeanne covering Hermione.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 10th, 1999

“I talked to ’Arry.”

Hermione Granger had just gotten comfortable in her favourite armchair in the living room when Jeanne’s words made her jerk and almost drop the book in her lap. She glanced at the older witch and frowned at the faint smirk on her friend’s face. “You did?”

“So I said.” Jeanne leaned back on the couch, one hand resting on her belly.

“What did he say?” Hermione bit her lower lip. When had Jeanne talked to Harry? And why hadn’t she said something sooner?

Jeanne’s smirk grew more pronounced. “’E was relieved when ’e ’eard that you weren’t infiltrating a brothel disguised as a courtesan.”

Hermione blinked. That was… reassuring, somewhat. But also annoying. “Did he really think I would do such a thing?” She was a thief, not a prostitute! That was among the first things Mr Fletcher had taught her!

“’Ave you talked to ’im about what you do and what you don’t do?”

Hermione pressed her lips together. She had apologised - after a fashion. Nothing more. But still!

Jeanne shook her head. “’E doesn’t know anything about your secret life.”

Hermione sighed and hung her head. “And he won’t trust me until he does.” And perhaps not even then.

“’E still loves you.”

Hermione hoped that her friend was correct. “That’s not enough.”

“Then talk to ’im.”

Hermione frowned at her. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“So? ’E didn’t want to talk to me either.” Jeanne scoffed. “But if ’e’s acting like a little boy nursing ’is wounded pride, I’ll treat ’im like one.”

Hermione glared at her. “This isn’t about his pride! This is about his trust!” In her.

Jeanne sniffed. “’E’s smart enough to understand that sometimes, you have to keep secrets even from those you love. ’E kept secrets as well, didn’t ’e?” She shook her head. “And yet, ’e expects to be told everything?”

“We should have told him about our plans!” Hermione insisted. “It was a mistake to keep him in the dark!”

“Yes, it was. But everyone makes mistakes. This isn’t about the secret. This is about pride. ’E doesn’t like that you proved to be better as a thief than ’e was as an Auror.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Hermione replied. Harry wasn’t like that.

Jeanne shook her head again. “It’s also about your pride.”

“What?”

“Go to ’im. Apologise again. You can’t just wait for ’im to come to ’is senses because you’re too proud to take the first step.”

“I’m not too proud to take the first step,” Hermione retorted. She wasn’t.

She was afraid that it wouldn’t work.

“Then do it. Explain. Grovel if you ’ave to. You love each other.”

Hermione knew that. But she also knew that, sometimes, that wasn’t enough.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 10th, 1999

“Have you heard the latest?” Nott asked as soon as Harry and Ron had sat at their table in the break room.

Harry Potter had grown to loathe such questions after the recent slew of rumours about him, his family and his relationship. But if he snapped at Nott, Bathilda would get upset. Even though Nott had started it with his smirking expression.

So he shook his head. “No, but I guess you’ll lose no time telling us everything in great detail.” There, polite and diplomatic.

“Temper, temper, Potter,” Nott replied. He looked as if he was about to add another needling comment, but a glare from Bathilda shut him up. Nott even looked apologetic, Harry noticed. “Sorry. Anyway - they’re expediting Umbridge’s trial. The Wizengamot really wants this over and done with.”

Ron snorted. “They don’t want to risk her spilling all the secrets she knows about them. Are they pushing for the Veil?”

Nott shrugged, apparently unconcerned about the witch’s fate. “Father didn’t say, but I guess so - even in Azkaban, she could make trouble. It was different with the Dementors, but now? Too easy to let something slip to a guard.”

Reducing the horror of the Dementors to a convenient way to keep prisoners from spilling secrets… Harry clenched his teeth, wanting to tell off the jerk. Sirius had gone through hell for over ten years. And if he got caught, he’d be sent back to that horrible place. Even without the Dementors, the memories would… He almost shook his head. Why was Sirius risking so much - his family, his sanity, his accomplices?

Because Malfoy couldn’t be left in power, of course. Harry knew that already. That was why he had become an Auror. An Auror who had to let thieves commit crimes to do what he was unable to achieve legally.

He pushed the thought away. “If Umbridge was smart, she’ll have prepared a dead man’s switch.”

“A what?” Nott asked.

“Necromancy?” Bathilda looked shocked.

“It’s a muggle term,” Harry explained. “It means setting up a way to ensure that your information will be revealed to the public after your death - usually by making it so you need to do something regularly to prevent that from happening.”

“Clever. And the Wizengamot can’t risk questioning her thoroughly, or the secrets they want to keep hidden will be spilt anyway.” Nott looked impressed.

“Well, if she could think of such a thing, wouldn’t she have had a better plan for hiring an assassin?” Ron asked.

“But she has to have had a way to keep the Old Families from dealing with her before this,” Nott pointed out.

“That’s true.” Harry nodded. “And we know what our esteemed members of the Wizengamot would have done to protect their secrets, don’t we? Some of them, at least.”

Nott snorted. “The Blacks have a reputation for a reason.”

Harry almost blurted out that Sirius wasn’t like the rest of his family. But in a way, his godfather was - he didn’t care what laws he broke, as long as he got what he wanted.

But then, if there was no other way… sometimes, the end did justify the means.

Harry just wished it wouldn’t apply here.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 10th, 1999

Harry Potter didn’t seek out Hermione once he was back from work, but he didn’t avoid her by going to his room, either. He went to the living room instead. It was empty, but if she wasn’t hiding from him - or busy planning her heist - she would show up there. At least for dinner.

He closed his eyes at that thought and sighed. He could go to his room until dinner. Ask - confront - her then. He wouldn’t appear as though he missed her, then. He would just be checking up on the crimes they had committed last night.

But, damn it, he did miss her.

And he wanted to know what she was doing. Where. And how dangerous it was.

But he couldn’t - wouldn’t - go and ask her. She had hurt him, not the other way round.

He clenched his teeth in frustration and anger as he read an issue of Quidditch Weekly he had already read before. It was her fault, not his. Hers and Sirius’s. And Jeanne’s. And the fault of that still unknown tutor of hers who had taught her to be a thief. And Dumbledore’s, for setting it up.

It wasn’t his fault at all. He was doing the right thing. Had done so, at least, until he had found out their secret.

The sound of steps in the hallway - he had left the door open - made him look up. That sounded like… it was her.

Hermione appeared in the doorway, stopping for a moment before entering. “Hello, Harry.” She sounded more timid than usual.

“Hello.” He nodded at her. Curtly.

She didn’t react to that and took her favourite seat, but she didn’t pick up a book or newspaper, so he didn’t bother acting as if he were reading his magazine either.

“I’m sorry,” she said after casting a privacy charm.

He was tempted to reply with “Again?”, but managed to control himself and nodded instead.

“I should have told you. And I shouldn’t have enjoyed escaping from you,” she went on.

“But you did.”

She flinched, then nodded. “Yes. And I can’t change that. I can only apologise.”

“You could stop stealing right now, too,” he not quite snapped.

“Before we ruin Malfoy?” She shook her head. “As long as he has gold to spend and the reputation of a hero, Britain won’t ever change. He’ll be pulling the Ministry’s strings as he’s done for years.”

“You’ve already robbed four Old Families. Sirius can outspend Malfoy without even touching the family fortune,” Harry retorted.

“By feeding corrupt officials.” Hermione scoffed. “Leaving aside how that would only further entrench the culture of nepotism and corruption in the Ministry, it would also take far too long. Years, at least. Decades, if Malfoy starts to use his gold sparingly - just enough to keep his position. And if he sees his ruin coming, he might decide to copy Umbridge - but he has the money and experience to actually hire a skilled assassin.”

As much as Harry loathed to admit it, Hermione wasn’t wrong. “Malfoy can’t do as he wishes any more, not with Sirius blocking him in the Wizengamot and undermining him in the Ministry.”

“He still can block all of Sirius’s proposals for reforming the Wizengamot and the Ministry. Too many members will realise that the reforms will curb their power and won’t need much to follow his lead. Wizarding Britain wouldn’t change for years. Is that the kind of country in which you want to live? Where you want to raise your children?”

Children? He buried that thought. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” He asked, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

She shook her head. “If that were true, then I’d know how to deal with... this.” She waved her hand in a gesture that encompassed both of them. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I didn’t see a way to tell you without betraying the others.” She sighed.

“But you enjoyed beating me.”

“Yes.” She nodded. After a moment, she went on: “It’s a rush. A challenge. Planning a heist, finding a way past or around the target’s protections, into their vault, and getting away with it?” She shook her head with a wry grin. “It’s a great feeling. Like catching the Snitch in the Cup.”

He knew how that felt. But it wasn’t the same. “It’s not a game. It’s a crime.”

She shrugged. “We use Stunners. We don’t kill or curse anyone. And if we don’t break the law, it’ll keep being bent and twisted by the Wizengamot. And people like Sirius or me will suffer.”

He didn’t have an answer to that. Not one that didn’t make him sound like he preferred Malfoy over her and Sirius, at least. “I still don’t like it,” he said after a moment.

“I know.”

He sighed. “Will you stop after Malfoy, at least?”

“If you want me to. And if there’s no need for me any more.”

He nodded. There wouldn’t be. He would make sure of it.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 11th, 1999

Hermione Granger saw her prey approaching and prepared herself. She got up on all fours and stretched, then shook her head and jumped down to the ground just as the witch in question - Laura - came close.

The witch gasped and took a step back in surprise, and Hermione cocked her head, letting out a confused miaow.

“Oh, it’s you. The stray.”

Hermione pushed the memories that brought up away and approached the witch, rubbing her flank against the witch’s robes.

“Do you live here? This is the third time we’ve met.”

Hermione miaowed in response, then stood on her hind legs and patted the witch’s thigh.

“Aw… are you hungry? Do you want some food?”

Hermione replied to that offer as any self-respecting cat would and purred.

“Aw… but I have no food on me.” The witch sounded contrite as she petted Hermione’s head.

Hermione added a more pitiful miaow. Who could resist a hungry cat?

“Poor thing… maybe I could sneak you some food from the bar…”

Yes!

“Laura? What are you doing? We’re going to be late!”

The witch gasped. “Merlin’s beard! You’re right! Bye, kitty!”

No! Hermione followed Laura as she joined her friend and quickly walked towards the side entrance.

“You and your love for cats! The little buggers are exploiting you!”

Hermione didn’t like that witch. At all.

“Mary! Look at the poor thing! Hungry and cold!” Laura shook her head.

“It looks well-fed to me.”

“That’s just because her fur’s so bushy.”

Hermione miaowed again.

“You can’t take her with you!”

“Why not?”

“Quentin will hex the thing as soon as he spots it.”

“He wouldn’t!”

“Of course he would. Didn’t Rebecca tell you what he did to the dog her friend took to work once?”

Hermione was a cat, not a dog, but this ‘Quentin’ might not appreciate the difference. And while she was nimble and graceful, and a thug or brute working in a brothel would not find it easy to hit her, she wouldn’t be able to accomplish her mission if she had to dodge hexes. So she took her leave when Laura half-heartedly shooed her away.

It looked as if she would have to have Jeanne disillusion her. And she was already relying on Jeanne’s enchanted bug for the mission.

This heist wasn’t doing much for her pride. Especially not if it was to be her last.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 12th, 1999

“We have heard how the accused planned to have Auror Potter assassinated. We have heard how she tried to hire an assassin - and would have succeeded if not for fortunate circumstances.”

Harry Potter snorted, silently, at the way Scrimgeour hid Tonks’s role in the affair. While the Wizengamot was, without a doubt, aware of her talent and assignments, the general public - meaning, those without ties to the various Old Families - wouldn’t be told about her undercover missions. He grew serious as soon as he looked at Umbridge, chained to accused’s chair, who sneered at the prosecutor’s words. She had been quite defiant during the trial so far, though if she had made a deal, then Harry hadn’t heard anything about it.

“Moreover, we have heard her motive: Auror Potter was targeted merely because she disagreed with the policies - suspected future policies, to be precise - of his godfather, Mr Black, and wanted to deprive him of the support of his godson and heir.” Scrimgeour raised his head, throwing his thick mane of hair back. “Imagine her disagreeing with your policies next - and targeting your children in an insane attempt to stop you.”

Harry could hear several members of the Wizengamot gasp at that. Umbridge, though, looked shocked. She was gaping at Scrimgeour with wide eyes and rapidly growing pale.

“This is no mere murder attempt, as abhorrent as that would be - this is a despicable attack on the Wizengamot as a whole - and a threat to the families of every member of this chamber!”

Umbridge was shaking her head now, wildly, frantically. Her lips were moving, but one of the Aurors guarding her must have cast a Silencing Charm on her. That wasn’t unusual - the Wizengamot didn’t tolerate the accused disrupting a trial - but it had been a little too smooth. Umbridge hadn’t managed to say anything before she had been silenced.

“For such a heinous crime there is only one fitting punishment: the Veil.” Scrimgeour drew a deep breath as he raised his chin and looked at the Chief Warlock presiding over the trial, before stepping down to retake his seat.

Umbridge looked frozen on her seat. Harry was surprised - even multiple murders usually didn’t result in a death sentence. He glanced at Sirius. His godfather was baring his teeth in a snarl. But Harry couldn’t tell if it was aimed at Umbridge, or at Scrimgeour. Or at both.

Rosier, who would be speaking for the accused, rose from his seat. “Honoured members of the Wizengamot! The guilt of the accused has been proven by her own words under the effects of Veritaserum. Her motives are also known. I can only appeal to my peers to consider mercy, despite the gravity of the accused’s crimes and the utter lack of remorse she has shown during the trial.”

Harry pressed his lips together. This was the worst attempt at defending the accused he had ever witnessed. Rosier didn’t even try to fake an effort. Umbridge was crying now, shaking - no sign of the defiance she had shown just minutes ago. She had realised that she would be executed.

Sirius rose from his seat, not bothering to hide his anger and disgust. “Honoured members of the Wizengamot! No one here will be under the impression that I harbour any sympathy for the accused, seeing as she tried to have my godson murdered! But even a criminal like her deserves a better defence than this… this farce! And when the death penalty is on the table, no less!”

Harry’s godfather wasn’t reprimanded for speaking out of turn. But Harry could see from the reactions of the rest of the members that Sirius’s attempt to stop this travesty would fail.

Apparently, the Wizengamot members had decided to ensure that whatever secrets of theirs that Umbridge knew wouldn’t be revealed to anyone, ever - law and justice be damned.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 13th, 1999

Umbridge Executed After Trial!

One glance at the headline of the Daily Prophet was enough to ruin Harry Potter’s appetite for breakfast. The witch had been a murderous bigot, but what the Wizengamot had done… He flicked his wand and floated the newspaper over to the counter so he didn’t have to look at the picture on the front page showing her getting dragged out of the Wizengamot Chamber to the Death Chamber while he spread some butter over his toast.

“Morning, Harry.” Sirius entered the kitchen dressed in a house robe.

“Morning.” Harry nodded curtly at his godfather. He didn’t want to talk to him. Not now. If only Ron were here, instead of in Hogsmeade. Or Hogwarts.

Sirius seemed to hesitate for a moment, then sat down. He glanced at the newspaper, then at Harry, but didn’t say anything.

Harry pressed his lips together. He knew what Sirius was thinking. “Just say it!” he snapped after a moment. “Tell me how that proves that the system isn’t working!”

“Those are Hermione’s words,” Sirius replied with a frown. “Is she up already?”

“Haven’t seen her this morning,” Harry muttered.

“Ah.” Sirius sounded disappointed. “I would have been surprised - she likes sleeping in.”

Harry knew that already. He had been disentangling himself from her sleepy form in the morning for two months. He shook his head at the memories. “I still don’t like what you’re doing,” he said.

“I know. But it has to be done,” Sirius replied.

But not by you. Or Hermione, Harry thought. He finished his toast - he didn’t remember starting to eat it - and stood. He didn’t tell Sirius where he was going, nor did his godfather ask.

Back in his room, Harry let himself fall on his bed and stared at the ceiling. As much as he loathed to admit it, he didn’t see a better way of dealing with the Wizengamot than what Sirius, Hermione and Jeanne were doing. The Wizengamot members were willing to abuse their power to murder Umbridge so she couldn’t reveal their secrets. To expect them to uphold the law… He closed his eyes and cursed. Even if Sirius and... the others… were right about that, that didn’t change the fact that they had lied to him. Betrayed his trust. With good intentions, but still… It hurt.

Jeanne was wrong - this wasn’t about Hermione beating him. It was about her hurting him. He cursed again, clenching his teeth.

“Were you bitten?”

Harry blinked, then turned his head. Mr Biggles was looking at him from the snake’s favourite spot in his habitat.

“You look like you’re hurting. Did someone bite you? I don’t see any blood, though.”

Harry snorted. His snake’s concern was touching, but he had got it wrong. “I’m hurting, but it’s not a wound.”

“Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Hungry?”

Harry chuckled. “No.”

“Why are you hurting then?”

“I was… betrayed,” Harry replied. The snake didn’t understand much in the way of nuance, after all.

“Betrayed?”

Case in point. “I was lied to by my family.”

“Oh. Did they eat all the food and not tell you?”

“No. They kept a secret they should have told me because they thought I would be happier not knowing.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That’s because they lied to me, not because I now know the secret.”

“Oh. Did your mate go and have sex with someone else?”

“No.”

“Will she do that?”

“No.” He didn’t think so.

“Doesn’t she want to have sex with you any more?”

Was he really discussing his love life with a snake? Harry shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

“You’re weird.”

“Weird?” He was talking to a snake, Harry reminded himself. But Mr Biggles was Harry’s snake - he would have expected some support, at least.

“Yes. If you don’t have anything to worry about in the future then you shouldn’t worry.”

“She hurt me,” Harry snapped, glaring at the snake.

“You’re not even bleeding.”

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. Mr Biggles was a snake, not a human. He didn’t understand human emotions. It was still annoying. “She beat me.”

“Beat you?”

“She stole food I was guarding.” That should be clear enough for a snake.

“Did you go hungry?”

“No. It wasn’t my food.”

“Why are you guarding someone’s food?”

Harry sighed. “That’s not the point. She fought me.”

“Will she do it again?”

“No.” Unless she was still lying to him.

“What’s the problem then?”

“I don’t know if I can trust her,” Harry replied.

“You said she won’t do it again.”

“Yes,” Harry pressed out through clenched teeth. Was he losing an argument with a snake?

“So you can trust her.”

“It’s complicated;” Harry said, turning away from the habitat.

This was about trust, not his ego. She had lied to him. And made him look like a fool.

And Jeanne was wrong. She had to be wrong.

Hermione had cheated anyway. And she had enjoyed beating him.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 15th, 1999

“’E’ll come around, you know.”

Hermione Granger clenched her teeth. Jeanne meant well, but this wasn’t the time to talk about her troubled love life. “We need to focus on the heist,” she said in a low voice. They were disillusioned and using a privacy charm, but you couldn’t be complacent. Being complacent had revealed her secret to Harry, after all.

“We’re just waiting for the first girls,” Jeanne replied. “And we don’t even know if Malfoy will visit this evening.”

“He’s got nothing else planned as far as we know,” Hermione said. According to Mr Fletcher, Draco Malfoy’s visits tended to happen on Sundays, but yesterday had been Valentine’s Day, and Malfoy had been seen in Diagon Alley for hours with Parkinson stuck to his arm, playing the happy couple, which meant he hadn’t been able to visit in the evening.

And, she added with a sneer, after a whole day with Parkinson, he probably needed other company - she certainly would. If she had spent Valentine’s Day with Harry, though, instead of alone… She buried that thought. She had to focus on the heist. “It won’t be much longer. I’ll change.”

Jeanne made a snorting sound but agreed. “Alright.”

A moment later, Hermione was disillusioned and padding towards the side-entrance to the Oasis, a small leather pouch gripped between her teeth. She had to be ready when the first girls arrived. Which, according to her observations last week, shouldn’t take long.

Her estimate was proven correct a few minutes later when a lone witch entered the side alley and headed straight towards the entrance. Hermione let her pass, then followed her silently. The witch knocked on the door. A moment later, it was opened from the inside, and a tall, lanky wizard peered at her.

“Gwen?”

“Yes, Brad,” the witch replied with a sigh.

The wizard scoffed and waved his wand, casting a Human-presence-revealing Spell. “Can’t be too cautious, you know.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Isn’t the Thief’s Downfall enough?”

Hermione revised her estimate of the club’s security. And their financial means. That could be a problem. Even the dullest guard would notice if a cat suddenly appeared out of thin air after passing through that.

If she had to pass through it, of course - she was a cat, and cats could squeeze into places humans could only dream of. And if it were too dangerous, she would simply wait and leave once the next witch arrived.

So she darted past Gwen and through the door as soon as the wizard stepped aside. There was indeed a Thief’s Downfall - or something that looked like it, she belatedly realised; it might be a fake meant to scare off thieves. Such as herself.

Still, she didn’t need to take that risk - the corridor in which she found herself was wider than the contraption barring the way. Wide enough for a lithe cat to pass through. Without leaving pieces of her fur behind, of course.

Once past the Thief’s Downfall, she had no trouble finding the main area of the club - someone was giving orders loud enough to be heard in muggle London if not for the privacy charms covering the house. Probably the ‘Quentin’ Laura feared would hex innocent cats, she thought. He certainly sounded like that kind of monster.

And, she noted once she reached the main room and looked around, he looked like it as well - a small, thin man with a whisker-like moustache and thinning hair. He reminded her of a rat in human form, and the way he was yelling at the bartender to hurry up didn’t do anything to repudiate that impression. If he treated his clients like that...

On the other hand, the main room was impressive. Far larger than would fit into the building without Extension Charms, it had a stage that wouldn’t be amiss in a muggle club like the Moulin Rouge. The tables on the floor were elegant, with comfortable-looking benches and seats, a circular bar forming a barrier between the main area and the entrance hall and booths lining the walls to the left and right, with curtains and plants providing privacy.

Definitely no mere brothel - though the robes, if the skimpy scraps of fabric which the witches preparing for the evening wore even deserved that name, made it clear that the club offered more than drinks and a show.

But she wasn’t here for either. She was here for her prey - Draco Malfoy. Hermione strolled through the room, dodging the waitresses and other staff Quentin - that was indeed his name - was ordering around and looked for a nice spot out of the way with a good view of the fireplaces in the entrance hall.

Now all she had to do was to wait for her prey to arrive and use Jeanne’s device when he was about to leave again.

*****​

A few hours later, Hermione Granger was ready to change back and curse Malfoy even if that would ruin the heist. The blasted mark had spent hours in the club already and didn’t seem ready to leave yet! She had seen far more of what the club offered as entertainment on stage than she had ever wanted to see, and far more of what Malfoy’s robes hid than she could stomach as well - and she hadn’t even tried to follow him into the private room in which he had spent an hour.

She should have brought some of the Weasley twins’ Puking Pastilles. Drop one in Malfoy’s drink - she could easily do that as a cat - and see him rush home to get pampered by his mother. But given her current luck, he might instead rush to St Mungo’s, fearing for his sorry life, and ruin the heist.

She closed her eyes when yet another ‘waitress’ ended up on Draco’s lap while the witch’s robes dropped to the floor. No wonder everyone was so friendly towards the git - he must be tipping more than any five other guests combined!

But, she noticed with relief a few minutes later, all the gold in the Malfoy vault couldn’t keep him going forever. He finally announced that he was leaving. Of course, the staff’s token attempts to make him stay delayed his departure a few minutes longer, but things were finally moving!

Hermione gripped the pouch in her mouth again and silently padded into the entrance hall ahead of Malfoy. She had picked her spot hours ago and disappeared behind a potted plant there, where she dropped the pouch and tapped it three times with her paw as soon as Malfoy appeared nearby.

That would start the recording. She watched attentively as Malfoy threw Floo powder into the fire, and even more closely when he waved his wand before stepping into the green flames.

Perfect!

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 16th, 1999

Harry Potter found Sirius and Hermione in the living room after he arrived from work. Both were reading books - probably from the Black Library, judging by the look of them. “Where’s Jeanne?” he asked, after casting a privacy charm. Moody was still confined to his bed, but that wouldn’t stop him from spying.

“Pouring over the recordings Hermione took last night,” Sirius answered.

And both of them were here? Harry looked at Hermione before he could help himself.

She pouted. “It’s her device, not mine. I wouldn’t be of much help.”

Which would vex her, he knew. “Ah.”

“It’s part of the plan to enter Malfoy Manor,” Sirius explained. “We recorded him using the Floo Network.”

“That won’t get you into the manor,” Harry pointed out. Mere words were not enough to beat the security charms.

Hermione frowned. “Of course it won’t. It’s a little more complicated than that.”

As far as Harry knew, it wasn’t possible. But he wasn’t a thief.

“Jeanne’s working on it, so we don’t know yet if it’s possible,” Sirius added.

“If not for Crouch, we could have used the original plan.” Hermione scowled as if spoiling her heist was Crouch’s worst crime.

“Ah,” Harry said again.

“We’ll also ensure that whatever method we discover cannot be used against us,” Hermione said after a moment. She was smiling, tentatively, when he glanced at her.

He nodded in response, and her smile vanished as she bit her lower lip. He had the sudden urge to comfort her in her obvious distress but pushed that feeling away. He couldn’t. Perhaps… but not yet. Certainly not now.

“I just wanted the best for you and dragged everyone else along,” Sirius said a moment later. “And I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Harry replied.

“And there is no alternative - we need to ruin Malfoy and his allies,” Hermione added. “You’ve seen what happened to Umbridge.”

“I know,” he repeated himself, a little sharper than he had intended.

She flinched at that. “Sorry.”

He closed his eyes - it was easier that way - and sighed. “I know why you did it. I know you meant well.” He heard her draw a sharp breath. “I don’t know a better alternative either,” he added through clenched teeth. “But what you did still hurt me.”

“Sorry,” he heard her whisper.

“It won’t happen again,” Sirius said. “You know that. No more secrets. We told you about the next heist, didn’t we? Without the boring details, of course.”

“I know,” Harry said once more. “But I can’t help still feeling hurt.”

Hermione seemed to shrink a little as she ducked her head. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault,” Sirius said.

Hermione looked so miserable, Harry shook his head and reached out, touching her knee. “We’ll need to sort things out once this is over.”

She nodded, slowly, and smiled faintly as she brushed some tears away.

*****​

 

Chapter 65: Crossing Wands

Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, February 16th, 1999

“You look ravissante today, dear.” Lucius Malfoy smiled at his wife as he bent down to kiss her before taking his seat at the table.

Narcissa smiled in return. “It wouldn’t do to look less than perfect for our meeting with the Rosiers, would it?”

Of course not. Standards had to be maintained, and his family had, owing to their position at the very top of society, the very highest of standards. And as a Black, Narcissa had been raised, from birth, according to those same standards.

And even after more than twenty years, he still had to smirk at her frown when Dobby served his breakfast - croissants and coffee, instead of what she considered a proper British breakfast. Which, of course, she was eating.

But even a member of an Old Family like Lucius was allowed some eccentricities. And no one would dare claim that a meal favoured by the Duc d’Orléans himself was unsuitable for a pureblood with French roots, no matter how long ago the family had left France.

Which, in the Malfoys’ case, had been when William the Conqueror had taken over Britain and civilised the barbarians. Not many families could claim such a lineage, even though the family had been a little closer to muggle nobility than was fashionable to mention these days.

“Draco came home late again,” Narcissa remarked after a moment. “Very late. I worry about the quality of his friends.”

Lucius knew what she really meant - she disapproved of the boy’s visit to that private club. “He’s still young. Let him enjoy his freedom. Especially now the recent unpleasantness is finally behind us.” Draco had really resented being confined to the manor and similarly protected homes of trusted families, but it had been for his own good - Lucius shuddered at the thought of what those monsters would have done to the boy, should they have caught him.

Narcissa’s frown deepened. “Appearances matter. What will people think if he’s seen carousing with courtesans while he is engaged to Miss Parkinson?”

Lucius chuckled. “The club’s very discreet.” The penalties in the contracts of the staff should ensure that there would be no indiscretions - Lucius certainly hadn’t had any trouble when he had frequented the club in the past. Not that he would mention that, of course - despite the fact that his visits had ended when they had become engaged, and that Narcissa would know who had referred Draco to the club.

She sniffed in response.

“Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Father.”

Draco arrived - Lucius had expected him ever since he had seen Dobby getting ready to serve his son’s meal.

“Good morning, Draco.” Narcissa smiled at him. “Did you sleep well?”

“Ah, yes, Mother. Thank you.” Draco nodded, but Lucius caught a slight blush - his son had caught the hidden reproof. Good. Draco would need that kind of subtlety to one day succeed him.

“Is there any news about the affair between the mudblood and Black?”

Lucius almost sighed at his son’s eager expression. Yes, Draco still had a little way to go in that area.

Narcissa took it upon herself to educate the boy. “Draco, dear, that’s scandalous gossip and almost certainly not true. And certainly not a subject for breakfast.”

“But Mother! It’s in the Prophet!”

“Which means you can read about it, but there’s no need to talk about it,” she retorted.

Draco sulked. “Pansy talked about it as well.”

Narcissa frowned. “That’s really not proper. It was at least in private, I hope?”

The boy hesitated for just a moment. “Yes, Mother.”

“At the very least, it’ll give us another pretext to break off the engagement once the time for that has arrived,” Lucius said, then frowned when Draco pressed his lips together. Was the boy having second thoughts?

Narcissa hadn’t missed that either. “Is there something you want to tell us, Draco?”

“No, Mother,” Draco hastily replied.

And wasn’t that worrying? Lucius sighed. “Draco, we’ve explained to you that, due to the Parkinsons’ altered circumstances, Miss Parkinson isn’t a suitable match any more.”

“I know,” Draco replied. “And I understand.”

Which didn’t mean that he approved, Lucius noted. But Draco was a good boy - he’d do right by his family.

“It just feels as if I’m stringing her along,” Draco said.

Well, he was doing precisely that, of course. Lucius had no doubt that the Parkinsons knew that as well - with the possible exception of their daughter, who seemed genuinely infatuated with Draco. But it was politics. Lucius couldn’t be seen to be abandoning his old allies just after they had suffered a robbery. Appearances had to be maintained. And the Parkinsons would be grateful for any help in maintaining the illusion that they weren’t ruined. Delusional, but that was how things were.

It wouldn’t be necessary if not for Black, anyway. Lucius had to struggle not to sneer - thinking of that blood traitor had a way of enraging him. How far could a man fall that he would betray not just his peers, but also his own family? They could rule Britain together, if only Black weren’t so obstinate.

And so determined to carry on Dumbledore’s legacy. Lucius had hoped that foolish ideal had died with the Headmaster, but Black had taken up the wand. And had proven to be a far better schemer than Lucius had expected based on his and Narcissa’s prior experience of the man.

But even Black wouldn’t be that much of a problem - the Black fortune was great, but their coffers weren’t bottomless - if not for those damnable thieves! Four of his closest allies, ruined. They still held their seats, but no one of substance took them seriously any more. And while that bound them even closer to him and let him control them better, it also made him look weakened.

At least the days of the thieves were numbered. Potter, for all his faults and stupid notions, was a great Auror. After dealing with the Lestranges and Crouch, he wouldn’t take long to catch the thieves. Especially after they had made it personal by going after Black’s home and made Potter look like a fool.

And, once the thieves were caught, Lucius would ensure that they were thrown through the Veil post-haste. Such dangerous criminals couldn’t be allowed to live.

Which was why Lucius had strengthened his own protections as well. Should the ‘Night Nargles’ dare to come after him, they would rue their mistake - while they died in agony.

Lucius was no fool, and he had learned from his former peers’ mistakes. It had cost him quite a sum and was not even remotely legal, but he was ready for them. Even if they reached his vault they wouldn’t be able to escape.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 16th, 1999

Hermione Granger knew Jeanne had bad news as soon as the French witch entered the living room - she was scowling severely. Hermione quickly cast a privacy charm.

“We need ’is wand,” Jeanne announced as she sat down on the couch next to Sirius, who lost no time wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

Hermione had suspected that. “Well, we’ll have to steal it then.”

“Can’t you fool the fireplace like you crack wards which need a key item to pass?” Sirius asked.

Hermione shook her head, refraining from snorting. Sirius was a skilled, very skilled, wizard and a superb duellist, but he wasn’t a Curse-Breaker. “No. I would have to be able to see the fireplace at the destination - the spell’s on that; the Floo Network merely contacts it to check. Unless I can observe a spell, I cannot manipulate it.” There was a reason the Floo Network was so popular, beyond the much more comfortable travel experience compared to Apparition - it was also very secure. Its protections were almost impossible to crack.

Impossible unless you had a wand which was keyed in. Which would be Malfoy’s wand.

“Getting his wand without him alerting his father will be tricky,” Sirius remarked.

Hermione shrugged. “When I observed him, he drank quite a lot in the club. It shouldn’t be hard to slip into a private room with him, stun him and his company, and then use Polyjuice Potion to impersonate him.” Stuff him into an enchanted pocket, obliviate the girl and no one would be the wiser.

“You’ll need to deal with the spells on the room, though,” Jeanne added. “I don’t think they’ll leave their staff with their clients without anyone keeping an eye on them - and they’ll want to keep other guests from spying on rivals.”

“That could be tricky.” Hermione bit her lower lip as she pondered that. She’d have to crack those protections - though they wouldn’t be too complex; they were already inside the wards. Probably a detection spell or two and some privacy charms. But she wouldn’t be able to do that as a cat. “I’ll have to hide as a witch undetected for that. I can do that.” They wouldn’t be casting Human-presence-revealing Spells there - she hadn’t seen anyone do that inside the club, anyway. Still, it would make the heist more difficult.

But not impossible.

*****​

They were planning their next heist. Right now, while he was sitting in the living room reading. Harry Potter knew it - now that he knew about them, they weren’t trying to hide any more. Not from him, at least. And in hindsight, their absences for their heists and planning were rather obvious. He had been such a fool.

But he had no idea what exactly they were planning - only that it involved a brothel and was aimed at the Malfoys. Although that last part was obvious. Malfoy himself probably was aware of that. But would he make the connection to Sirius and Hermione?

Harry doubted it. The faked attempts to break into Longbottom Manor and Grimmauld Place would obfuscate the issue sufficiently. Probably. At the very least, Malfoy wouldn’t have any proof. Unless he caught the thieves.

Harry snorted despite himself - he sounded like a criminal in his own head. He sighed. Malfoy would be prepared. The man had the gold to buy the best defences, and as a former member of Voldemort’s inner circle, he certainly knew a lot of dark spells as well.

None of that seemed to impress Hermione.

He pressed his lips together. She was foolhardy, in his opinion. Granted, she had managed to break into four Old Family manors so far, but she had come close to getting caught twice as well - and those were just the incidents of which Harry was aware. She had been lucky, not just skilled. And no one was lucky forever.

And she was cocky. He frowned at the thought. Just because she had escaped him twice, she acted as if she couldn’t be beaten. And that attitude was exactly what caused you to lose. Or get killed. She should have learned that already, but she had been playing the struggling klutz in their training sessions, so Harry hadn’t thought that would be a problem.

He clenched his teeth - she had completely fooled him. In Defence training and at the Yule Ball. And when she had called him and acted concerned after the broom chase. He grinned - he had almost caught her then. She had been lucky, no matter what she claimed. And he had been going easy on her, too. If she had been a Death Eater or another dark wizard, he’d have used different spells. Lethal spells.

She wasn’t as good at Defence as she thought she was. Harry had been holding back in their training as well, after all - people didn’t learn anything if they were crushed in practice. But getting crushed would have been good for her. Teach her not to lie to him!

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He understood why they had done it. He didn’t like it, but he did understand their reasons, as mistaken as they had been.

But they didn’t have to make him look like a fool!

He looked at the clock on the wall. Almost dinner time. What was taking them so long? Perhaps he should go and check on them. Sirius hadn’t barred him from joining them, had he?

He scoffed. He was tolerating them, but sitting in on a planning session for a heist, as an Auror? No. He wouldn’t sink that low.

The door opened, and his head whipped round.

Hermione looked at him, eyes wide for a moment. “Hello, Harry.”

He nodded in response. After a moment, he said: “Done already?”

She cast a privacy charm and shrugged as she took her usual seat. “More or less. We’ve got the basic scheme down.”

She acted as if she were talking about a family outing or a hobby, instead of a crime! “Malfoy is dangerous,” he told her.

She smiled at that. “We know what we’re doing.”

Harry scoffed. Typical. “You shouldn’t underestimate him. He won’t stick to Stunners or hold back because of regulations.”

She narrowed her eyes a little in response. “That won’t help him, either.”

“No one’s lucky forever,” he retorted.

“I wasn’t lucky!” she shot back. She was showing her teeth now. He wondered if she’d hiss.

“You were. I almost caught you, and I was holding back.” He was glaring at her.

“Holding back?” She glared back. “You didn’t let me escape.”

“A Death Eater wouldn’t have escaped. We don’t use the same force against mere thieves.”

“‘Mere thieves’?” She was scowling now.

Harry nodded. Seeing her riled up for a change felt good. He smirked. “Yes. You’re a good thief, but you’re not a duellist.”

“I’ll have you know that I can take care of myself in a fight!”

Harry snorted. This was wrong, but it was also fun. Payback. “I’m sure you can. Care to prove it?”

She hesitated a moment, then hissed: “Of course.”

*****​

The nerve of him! Hermione Granger ground her teeth. To act as if she were the clumsy girl she had played in their lessons, and then claim that he had been holding back? That she had only escaped capture because he hadn’t taken her seriously? She scoffed. She had beaten him each time they had faced off on a heist! She sniffed. “But we won’t be doing it in the house.” Not when Moody was stuck to his bed and so wouldn’t have anything better to do than spy on them.

He understood right away. “We’ve got privacy charms.”

“I don’t trust them. I doubt that his eye is using normal See-Through-Walls Spells,” she replied. He flinched slightly at that. She hoped that that didn’t mean he had trusted the charms. Well, at least sound should be safe. “And a ‘real duel’ will attract his attention.”

“Where do you want to do this, then?”

She grinned. “We can use an abandoned factory.” She had just the place in mind.

He frowned at her. “I’ll pick it.”

Hermione didn’t pout. Having the advantage of knowing the terrain would have been nice, but she didn’t really need it.

*****​

London, East End, February 16th, 1999

Hermione Granger wasn’t familiar with this particular factory, but it looked like some of the ones she knew: Machinery that had been outdated even before the Second World War and had spent a few decades rusting, broken windows, some of them boarded up, and rubble and dust strewn around, mixed with rubbish.

She nodded, then turned to Harry. “Do you want a duelling ring?” she asked, twirling her wand.

He shook his head. “No. Let’s make this as authentic as we can,” he said with a toothy grin.

She matched his expression. “We’ll need a vault then.”

He snorted as he took a few steps back and drew his wand.

“You’re usually not wearing jeans and a winter jacket when you’re on duty,” Hermione pointed out as she slipped out of her coat, revealing the catsuit she wore underneath it. His eyes widened in response, and, for a moment, he was staring at her. She smirked.

“You’ve padded the suit.”

She scowled at him. “Slightly, to throw off suspicion.” She was fine with her body, anyway. Proud of it, even - cats were supposed to be lithe and agile.

He smirked. “It worked.”

She knew what he was insinuating. “Of course it did - men are easy,” she shot back. “If I had used more padding, I probably wouldn’t even have needed my mask.” She pulled her mask out of her enchanted pocket, together with her wig. “I won’t use my normal disguise under the mask,” she added, “as that won’t affect the duel.”

“You wore a disguise under the mask?”

“Of course I did.” She put the wig on and shook her head to test the fit. “I don’t depend on luck.” She bared her teeth at him before putting her mask on.

He scoffed. “Neither do I.” He twirled his wand. “How do you want to do this? What are the rules?”

“No Apparition - that would be blocked. No lethal spells.”

He nodded. “Duel lasts until one is unable to fight or surrenders.”

She snorted. “I’m not trying to take you down - I’m a thief; all I have to do to win is escape.”

He frowned. “Alright. If the duel doesn’t end before fifteen minutes have passed, you win.”

“I will indeed!”

He rolled his eyes at that. “And who’ll give the signal to start? We don’t have a referee.”

She grinned behind her mask. “Oh, that’s easy. On my mark, wait a minute, then try to catch me! Mark!”

She launched herself into a somersault, landing in a crouch on a low table behind her, then darted through the adjacent door.

She’d show him!

*****​

Harry Potter scowled - Hermione was far too cocky. Overconfidence was a fatal weakness. And that jump was just showing off - grandstanding was another weakness a good Auror couldn’t afford.

He checked his watch. Fifty seconds left. He could use his glasses to track her, but that would be cheating. Besides, as soon as the duel started he could use them to find her anyway. She couldn’t hide in a muggle building without wards.

Forty seconds. And she hadn’t liked his crack about her padding her suit. Another weakness. She did look good in her suit, though, padded or not. But that wasn’t an advantage. He knew that already, anyway.

And he knew her tricks, now, while she didn’t know his. He patted the enchanted holster in his sleeve, where the Elder Wand was stored. Not that he’d need it, of course. Not against her. She was good, but not good enough.

Twenty seconds.

He’d show her!

Ten seconds.

Five...four...three...two...one.

As soon as the time was up, Harry cast a Shield Charm and a Human-presence-revealing Spell, tapped his glasses, activating the See-Through-Walls Spell, and started looking for her. The factory was large but not too large for his spell - he could cover almost all of it from here.

But there was a lot of rusty machinery and other barriers cluttering up the place - parts of the ground floor looked like a veritable maze. Like the garden of Greengrass Manor, he thought with a sneer, where she had fooled him.

Even so, adjusting his spell to check behind every broken tool and boiler was still faster than doing it in person. His gaze swept past rusted metal and crumbling bricks, looking for his prey.

He didn’t find her. She wasn’t on the ground floor. Which meant she was either up on the first floor - if you could call the rusting catwalks and few offices that - or in the basement. And cats liked high places.

He narrowed his eyes and looked up, then grinned when he spotted a familiar cat padding over a mangled catwalk. How fitting! He shook his head as he started to move to a spot from which he could stun her. Did she really think he’d fall for her trick twice?

Blinking, he suddenly stopped. She was overconfident, but not stupid - far from it. She wouldn’t assume that hiding as a cat would work on him. Which meant that this was a diversion - a transfigured or conjured decoy. Clever, but not clever enough. And he could use her own ploy against her!

Harry started towards the cat’s position, moving slowly as if he were afraid of a trap. Just in case she was observing him - it would be just like her to make him think that she wanted to hide and wait out the agreed length of the duel, so she could ambush him. But he was actually moving slowly so he could keep searching for her as he passed the rusting machines and engines.

She would want to watch him fall for her plan, just as she couldn’t resist taunting him, back at Greengrass Manor. And there weren’t too many spots upstairs that would allow her to observe him and the cat. Fewer still if she wasn’t in her cat form. And she would be further away from his starting position than the decoy so he wouldn’t spot her first.

There! She was in cat form, probably to avoid his Human-presence-revealing Spell, crouched behind a broken desk on the upper floor, about twenty yards from the decoy. Her position allowed her to cover all the approaches - but that exact fact made it too obvious for anyone who’d been trained by Moody.

He almost shook his head as he walked closer to the decoy, keeping her in view. The desk and the remaining walls of the office area provided her with cover - a good, defensible position.

For an amateur.

He suddenly whirled and sent a pair of Blasting Curses at two of the steel pillars under Hermione. Both blew up in clouds of steel and rust, and, with the sound of shrieking metal, the whole side of the office area they had supported started to come down, sending furniture, rubbish and one cocky cat slowly sliding down towards the ground. She would need to change back to use her wand to save herself, and then he’d have her.

She didn’t change. The cat leapt on the desk as it slid past the remains of the door, then jumped off towards the closest catwalk. It was a long, desperate jump - and she couldn’t dodge in the air. His Stunner hit her in mid-jump, and one Summoning Charm later, he held her by the scruff of her neck, smirking at the caught thief.

“Not so cocky any more, are you?” She couldn’t hear him, of course, but it felt good to say it anyway. Perhaps he should put her in a cage before he woke her up. Just to drive the lesson home. Perhaps…

He clenched his teeth as he was seized by a sudden suspicion, then put the cat down and waved his wand. “Finite!”

The cat turned into a piece of parchment. With a message written on it in a familiar style.

This is not the thief you’re looking for.

Cursing, he vanished the parchment. He’d still get her - there was plenty of time left to find her. And if finesse and guile didn’t work, there was always brute force.

*****​

Harry was cheating! Vanishing everything that could serve as cover might not be against the rules of the duel, but it certainly went against the spirit! He wouldn’t be able to do that in a manor.

Hermione Granger scowled as she retreated further to the back of the factory, staying out of range of his Human-presence-revealing Spell. At the rate he was going, she’d run out of cover in a few more minutes - long before he’d run out of time, the cheater!

She bit her lower lip. She couldn’t stay on the ground floor. And the upper floor was no option either, as Harry had just demonstrated. That left the basement. Which would be a maze of dark, damp rooms and narrow corridors, with few locations to dodge or retreat. She would be trapped down there, like a rat.

She hissed at the thought. No, the basement was not an option either. That would just delay the inevitable - and not for long enough. She blinked. But would Harry know that?

He probably would. She grinned and changed, quickly climbing an old metal shelf and peering into the factory ahead. There he was - advancing steadily.

She jumped down and raced to the back stairs leading down to the basement. She had to hurry. A precious minute later, she was darting through the dusty and dirty corridors below, trying not to think about what all the mud did to her fur as she raced to the stairs on the other end of the factory - behind Harry.

She stopped ten yards before the foot of the stairs, though - you couldn’t be too cautious when going up against such a cheater. She quickly changed back, cast a Shield Charm by reflex, then tapped the side of her mask.

A glowing field appeared on the stairs - an alarm charm. A simple one, though - Harry was no Curse-Breaker, after all. Clever, but not clever enough. She grinned as she quickly modified it - child’s play for a professional thief - before transfiguring another piece of parchment into a cat.

Now she could head back, hide in one of the basement rooms, then trigger the charm. That would convince him that she wasn’t hiding in the basement.

That was when the ceiling behind her suddenly exploded. She threw herself into the next room as pieces of brick and concrete filled the corridor, pelting her Shield Charm. Harry had seen through her plan, somehow! She had to escape - if she blew a hole into the wall behind her, she’d reach the next room, which would allow her to get close to the stairs she had used before…

But he’d be expecting that. Expecting her to run and hide. She’d have to do something he wouldn’t expect. Preferably something that would teach him not to underestimate her.

Snarling, she blew a hole in the wall behind her anyway, waited a moment, then sent another Reductor Curse through the hole into the next wall.

And then she charged out the door, into the corridor - straight at an advancing Harry.

*****​

She had thought she could fool him - as if he’d fall for her tricks! Harry Potter had turned the tables on her instead and cut off her retreat. She was trying to run, as usual - going through the walls in her desperation. All he had to do was to cut off her line of retreat…

His eyes widened when he saw her charging at him, but he was already moving, twisting his body, flicking his wand up, sending a Stunner directly at… the empty air above a sprinting cat? He cast another Stunner at her, but she had already changed back, jumping and casting herself.

His Shield Charm shook under the impact of her Piercing Curse right before she crashed against it - and bounced off. He whipped his wand down, but she rolled over the floor, into the room to the side, and his spell missed before she vanished round the corner.

Harry hesitated a moment, then gritted his teeth and cast a Reductor Curse at the wall, angled up so the blast would hit the ceiling. Well, most of it. He heard a shriek and winced - she hadn’t cast a Shield Charm! He was about to rush into the room when he hesitated, focusing on the enchantment on his glasses.

She was waiting for him!

Snarling, he blew a hole in the wall right next to her. The explosion flung her across the room, and he charged through the doorway, following up with a Stunner.

Once more she changed into a cat, causing his spell to miss her, then dove into the dust cloud that had been formed by his Reductor Curses. Harry sent two more Stunners after her, then threw himself to the side as she answered in kind.

Judging by the angles of her spells, she was rushing towards the holes he had blown in the wall. He sealed them with a conjured wall, then turned the floor in front of it into mud. When he heard something splash and saw a small creature stuck in it, he grinned. His next pair of Stunners flew straight at the cat, and at the space above her. She would have to change to get unstuck, and…

She didn’t change. The cat slumped over. Harry cursed and dropped to the ground, just in time to avoid a barrage of spells coming out of the cloud, which still hadn’t settled. He rolled to the side and returned a volley of his own, then jumped up and rushed into the cloud.

He saw a shape in front of him. His spell missed, but his boot caught the cat as she changed and flung her at the wall. She managed to twist mid-flight and hit it with her paws, then jumped off before he could aim at her, disappearing back into the cloud. He pounced - she was running out of space to dodge - but instead of landing on a cat or witch, he landed on concrete. Greased concrete - he slid into the wall, and before he managed to roll and get up into a crouch, she had hit his Shield Charm, shattering it with a volley of Bludgeoning Curses. Her next spell went wide, though, as she had to jump to the side as his own wand flashed.

But the whole exchange had left her next to the door and him at the wall. He started to conjure a wall to seal the entire room off, but she darted into the corridor outside before he finished casting.

Cursing, he abandoned his spell and gave chase.

*****​

Her side felt as if it were being stabbed with knives. Burning knives. Hermione Granger clenched her teeth and flicked her wand, numbing her side as she forced herself to run. Harry’s kick must have bruised, if not broken, her ribs.

She flicked her wand, conjuring a wall behind her, and another, with a conjured patch of grease between. She had to gain some distance. Treat her wounds - enough, at least, to be able to move without too much pain.

She could see the stairs in front of her. She was almost… running into a trap. She stopped and darted to the side, into another room. Hissing at her own foolishness and the pain, she quickly ran her wand over her side. Not broken, just bruised. She wasn’t in danger of bleeding internally.

Snarling, she cast a Shield Charm, then numbed her side some more before blowing a hole into the ceiling directly above her. Harry appeared in the doorway but her wand was already moving, and the pillar she conjured beneath her threw her through the hole an instant before his spells reached her.

She landed gracefully in a roll, came up and sprinted towards the area of the factory which was still covered with rusty machines, blowing up the concrete floor to her left and right so a dust cloud would conceal her.

Her Human-presence-revealing Spell warned her of Harry’s approach - he was above her! - and she flung herself to the side as spells peppered the ground around her. He was disillusioned and on a broom. She cursed under her breath - that would render her cover useless; the clouds were too thin from that angle. She could use Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, but she’d need to use the Hand of Glory then - and she had used that trick before.

She sent a few hexes up, just to force Harry to keep moving and spoil his aim. His spells still came too close. Far too close. She had no choice.

She reached into her enchanted pocket as she darted towards the next cloud, pulled out a packet and dropped it at once. Darkness filled the area around her as she recast her Shield Charm while she kept moving. Then she grabbed the Hand of Glory. Now she could see again. And Harry would need to adjust - if he could.

She spotted his marker circling above her and was tempted to send a Stunner up - but he’d have a shield up. And he’d be waiting for her to give away her position.

So she’d oblige him. A special firework should be enough to… He was coming straight at her! How?

She snarled and dropped under his first spells, then rolled to the side. He’d have to pull up, and then she’d…

He jumped off his broom and crashed into her. Both of their Shield Charms broke, and they were sent rolling over the floor in a tangle of limbs. She tried to cast a Stunner, but he pushed her wand arm away. She hissed and hit his wand hand in return. He grunted, rolling on top of her, narrowly avoiding a knee to his privates but not a fist to his ribs. Not that it affected him much.

He had her pinned, and while neither of them could use their wands, she couldn’t escape.

She tried anyway, changing and scratching and scrambling, but ended up pinned again - and facing his wand now.

She had lost.

*****​

Harry Potter had her. She had bitten, hit and scratched him, but he had her pinned in her cat form underneath him. He bared his teeth in a feral grin - he had won. She changed back, and he almost stunned her out of reflex before he realised that she wasn’t fighting him any more.

And then he realised that he still had her pinned, her hands caught in his. He could feel her body beneath his own. Feel her chest pressing into his as she panted. And he remembered that training session that had ended just like this. But for the mask hiding her face, of course.

He released her hands but didn’t get up. She slowly reached up to her face, tapped the edge of the mask, and it slid up as if it were on rails, revealing her flushed face.

“I win,” he managed to say. And with five minutes to spare.

She nodded, her tongue wetting her lips.

He kissed her. She kissed back.

*****​

Her side hurt. As did her arms and hands. And her back. Dust covered most of her clothes and hair. And she was sore in other places. If Hermione Granger hadn’t already known that the middle of an abandoned factory wasn’t a good place to have sex, she would have just discovered plenty of reasons why it wasn’t.

They shouldn’t have done it. She shouldn’t have done it. But it had happened. Like that time in the training room.

She closed her eyes and sighed, then groaned at the pain that caused her bruised ribs. Reaching out, she summoned her wand and numbed her side again before she sat up.

“You’re hurt.”

She narrowed her eyes at Harry, who was sitting up himself. “You kicked me.” Kicking a cat like that...

He opened his mouth, then closed it again without replying as she cleaned her suit before dressing.

“It was a duel,” he said, zipping himself up.

“Yes.” She summoned her mask and wig, then cleaned both.

“I won.”

She briefly clenched her teeth. “Yes.” He didn’t have to rub it in. And in a real heist he wouldn’t have been able to remove all her cover with Vanishing Charms! But she had lost the duel to which she had agreed. And she would do better next time.

“And then…” he trailed off, then held up the remains of his shirt. “Like in the training room back home.”

“Yes.” She cast a Mending Charm on his shirt before he could complain about the shoddy fabric not standing up to a little wear and tear - her own clothes were just fine!

He pulled the shirt on, then stared at his robes.

She ignored his frown - she hadn’t done anything to them; that was all his own fault, and he could clean those himself. “Where does this leave us?” she asked, trying not to sound as insecure as she felt.

He sighed, and she held her breath. “I don’t know,” he said after a long moment.

“We just had sex,” she pointed out. That hadn’t been a fluke. Couldn’t have been. They still cared.

“After hurting each other,” he replied.

“Physically.”

This time, he narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t you think we went a little overboard?”

Of course - he shouldn’t have kicked her. You didn’t do that to cats. She shrugged, though, then winced. “I think we needed this. All of it.”

He nodded. More slowly than she would have liked, but at least he agreed.

“That doesn’t mean things are fine,” he said as they both got up.

She nodded. But it was a good sign.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 16th, 1999

Harry Potter went straight to his room as soon as they got home. He had beaten Hermione. Proved her wrong. Taught her a lesson about arrogance.

And they’d had sex. He sighed as he lay down on the bed. He hadn’t expected that. Not at all. Perhaps he should have - that was how their relationship had started, after all.

Obviously, there was still… passion? Love? Something, anyway. Something he couldn’t define. He had wanted to beat her. Perhaps even hurt her. But he still wanted her. Despite everything. And she wanted him. But was that enough?

He sighed, then wrinkled his nose. Something smelled.

“The owl dropped her food.”

Harry turned his head and looked at Mr Biggles, then at the dead rat on the floor. “Hedwig dropped that?”

“Yes.”

That was unlike her. Unless she had learned the wrong things from Hermione’s monster cat - Crookshanks did tend to leave whatever he caught in the house. Fortunately, he didn’t bother hunting too often - he usually preferred to extort food from Harry.

“Can I eat it?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s a rat. You don’t know where it’s been.” He vanished it, then cast a cleaning charm on the floor.

“What a waste of a perfectly good meal.”

Harry raised his eyebrows at him. “You already ate this week.”

“So?”

“If you grow as fat as Hermione’s cat, you won’t fit into your habitat any more,” Harry pointed out.

“Then you can enlarge it.”

Harry rubbed his eyes. He should be able to win an argument against his pet.

A knock on the door saved his pride. “Harry?”

That was Sirius. Harry bit his lip, then answered: “Yes?”

“May I come in?”

He was tempted to tell him no but didn’t. “Yes.”

His godfather entered and closed the door behind him. “Hermione was rather beaten up. Jeanne’s not happy.”

“We had a duel,” Harry replied. “She wasn’t exactly gentle either,” he added.

Sirius frowned. “Do you need some potions or ointments?”

“No.” That meant Hermione had needed some treatment, then. “She changed into a cat in the middle of a fight, and I kicked her,” he added.

“Ah.” Sirius shook his head. “Did she claw your nose?”

“No.”

His godfather chuckled. “You got lucky then.”

Harry hadn’t been lucky - he had beaten Hermione fair and square. “She’s not as good as she thinks she is.”

“What do you expect? She’s a cat.”

“She’s an animagus, not an animal,” Harry pointed out. Hermione was a witch, not a cat.

Sirius inclined his head. “Well, she’s a little of both - sort of.” He sat down on Harry’s swivel chair. “We don’t just take the form of an animal - we take on some of the animal’s instincts as well.”

“She thinks like a cat?” That would explain a few things.

Sirius frowned. “That’s not quite correct. On some level, an animagus has the urge to act like they think an animal would act. Muggles would call it a psychological effect.”

“She thinks she’s a cat?”

Sirius frowned at him. “No. She merely acts a little cattish at times.”

Well, Hermione certainly had a catty streak, Harry knew. “And you’re a dog.”

“Yes. Padfoot,” Sirius said.

“Padfoot?”

“That was the name your father and Remus gave my animal form.” Sirius cocked his head and frowned. “Well, it was also meant to be my nom de guerre, but that didn’t really work out.” He suddenly smiled. “Your father was Prongs - he could change into a stag.”

“Ah.” Harry pressed his lips together, suddenly feeling very jealous of Hermione. His father had been an animagus, just like his godfather, but Sirius had taught her and not Harry.

“I wanted to teach you, but Dumbledore warned me that you’d need to learn Occlumency instead,” Sirius said. “I hadn’t even met you after my escape, yet,” he added with a frown. “I couldn’t tell you, either, or so he said.”

Harry scoffed. “That seems to be a theme.”

Sirius nodded. “I should have told you after Voldemort was dead, but…” He sighed. “Being an unregistered animagus is illegal.”

Harry didn’t say anything. They should have told him.

“So… are you together again?” Sirius asked. “Hermione looked pretty happy for having lost a duel. Unless you did something else,” he added with a grin.

Harry winced. “It just happened.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “You mean you two did?”

“It’s complicated,” Harry replied.

But it didn’t look like his godfather shared his view.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 19th, 1999

Harry Potter nodded at Ron as he entered the kitchen. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

Greetings exchanged, Harry went back to buttering his toast.

“Hermione’s sleeping in again?”

Harry glared at Ron. “I wouldn’t know.” They weren’t sharing a room any more. Though he assumed she was. Like her cat.

His friend wasn’t impressed by Harry’s glare. He shook his head.

“What?” Harry snapped.

“Nothing,” Ron replied. “Just thinking we’ve been here before.”

“Where?”

“You waiting for her to make the first step.”

“I’m not,” Harry retorted. He didn’t even know how he’d react if Hermione showed up at his door. Which she hadn’t, anyway.

“What are you doing, then?” Ron asked. “After your ‘duel’.”

Harry drew a breath through his clenched teeth. “Does everyone know about that?”

“Well… the muggles think you were thieves.”

“What?” Harry stared at him. Had Ron gone mad?

Ron held up The Times, folded to display a small article circled in red.

Harry blinked. “Scrap Metal Thieves Loot Old Factory?” He flipped the newspaper around. “It’s yesterday’s issue.”

“I found it on the stack in the living room,” Ron explained with a grin. “They think you stole all the stuff you vanished and wonder if you committed similar thefts.”

It wasn’t funny at all, in Harry’s opinion.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 19th, 1999

“Seriously, after what happened, she won’t dare take the first step.”

Harry Potter closed his eyes and sighed. “Don’t you have anything more important to do?”

“Actually, no. It’s not as if we’re really working on our case, is it?”

Harry reflexively cast another privacy charm, even though their office was well-protected already. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Ron ignored his wishes, though. “You need to make a decision. Either get back together with her or break up. This is worse than before you got together. For both of you.”

Harry didn’t want to break up with Hermione. But to get back together with her… “It’s complicated.”

“It’s tearing you up. And I doubt she’s doing any better, judging by the way you two treat each other at dinner.”

Harry pressed his lips together. That was her fault. She had hurt him with her secrecy. She should fix it.

“She won’t make the first step. She’s afraid you’ll turn her down.”

Harry demonstratively held up the file he was staring at. “We do have work, you know.”

Ron snorted. “Another pointless meeting with the goblins? They already know everything we do about the Night Nargles.”

Everything they knew officially, of course. “If we don’t meet them, they might refuse people the use of their vaults again,” Harry pointed out. “And then we’ll have to deal with rioting idiots again.”

“At least we’re allowed to hex them,” Ron replied. “Imagine if we were allowed to curse the goblins whenever they didn’t cooperate!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “They never cooperate anyway.”

“Exactly!” Ron grinned.

“You want another goblin rebellion?” Harry asked with raised eyebrows.

“Well, they seem to want one really badly.” Ron shrugged. “But not really. I’m just fed up with all the obstructions. Goblins, foreign ministries, the Wizengamot…”

Harry scoffed. That was another thing he didn’t want to talk about. “Let’s go over what we’re going to tell them.”

He ignored Ron’s long-suffering sigh. At least it would take his mind off of her. And her plans.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, February 21st, 1999

After almost a week’s worth of evenings spent hidden in the Oasis, sneaking into the club was routine for Hermione Granger. Change into a cat, have Jeanne disillusion her, wait until the first witches arrived and follow them into the club. Skip the Thief’s Downfall and hide behind the plant pot in the main room.

Of course, she was still careful and cautious - as Mr Fletcher taught her, you could never take anything lightly on a heist, especially not something you had done before.

But there was no real challenge, other than not going crazy from not being able to do anything except wait for Draco Malfoy to make an appearance. Which he hadn’t so far. But today was Sunday, and - since it wasn’t Valentine’s Day - she hoped that he would return to his usual schedule.

Mostly because she was heartily sick of observing the kinds of things that went on in the main room. Especially since Harry hadn’t shown any sign yet that he wanted to do anything like they had done after their duel. She had thought about asking him, but she didn’t want to push him. He didn’t deal well with that. And she wouldn’t deal well if he broke up with her for good.

She silently sighed, dropping her head on to her paws. He had said they’d have to sort things out once they were done with Malfoy, but she had no idea how that would end. The sorting out, of course - Malfoy’s fate was already sealed.

As soon as his son finally visited the club again.

Trying to second-guess her target’s plans and possible reasons for deviating from his usual schedule, as well as trying not to watch the show on the stage, almost made Hermione miss his arrival - he was a little later than expected.

But now that he was present, all she had to do was to wait until he retired to a private room and then proceed according to the plan.

Easy.

Especially compared to sorting things out with Harry. Or duelling him.

*****​

Two hours later, Hermione Granger had to revise her assessment of the mission. Slightly. The spells on the private rooms weren’t quite as basic as she had expected - apparently, the club owners hadn’t skimped on their internal security even though the wards on the building were impressive and the Thief’s Downfall had to have cost a fortune.

But whoever had cast the detection and privacy spells on the private rooms would have charged an arm and a leg as well. The spells were intricately entwined, resulting in a scheme that both kept out any eavesdropping charms as well as allowing the detection spells to circumvent most common privacy charms.

If she weren’t stuck to the ceiling so drunk patrons wouldn’t stumble over her disillusioned form, she’d take notes. It was a very elegant scheme - perfect for a heist, should she need a similar setup.

Although Harry clearly expected her to stop pulling heists, so this was academic anyway.

She forced the dark thought away and focused on disabling the detection charms - in a way that anyone using them would think Malfoy had managed to cast an exotic privacy charm. The target was unlikely to have mastered such a spell, given his lacklustre skill at Charms, but gold went a long way to compensate for such deficiencies.

She flicked her wand, adjusting the Far-Listening Charm. It was a variant she hadn’t seen before, but the principles were the same, and so the usual techniques would still work - if you had mastered Arithmancy so you could adapt them. Which, of course, she had.

Done. That left the Far-Seeing Charm. Which was more complicated - but not overly so. A twist here, some adjustment there, dissolve the link to the protection spells… and done as well!

Now all that was left was the locking charm on the door. Which looked like a typical locking charm - but for some small changes. Which, as she found by analysing the scheme, weren’t small at all. Clever. Very clever. But then, only an amateur would assume that a Curse-Breaker able to install the protections she had already disabled would stoop to using a basic charm on the door.

Unless that was another trap…

She ran a few more detection spells. Just in case. But she found no more traps.

She was still a little nervous - and ready to bolt - as she checked if the coast was clear, then opened the door and rushed inside, wand flashing as she pushed the door closed with her free hand.

Two Stunners later, it was over. It was almost anti-climatic - neither the target nor the witch - Laura - had even noticed her. She had literally caught them in the act.

The dog would find this incredibly amusing.

But she was a cat and on a mission. She hit Laura with a Confundus Charm before waking her up, then having her drink half a bottle of Fermented Fairy Baobab Juice - a very expensive, very exotic and very potent magical liquor Sirius had acquired. Just the thing a wizard like Draco Malfoy would use to display his wealth. And the kind of liquor that would keep a witch like Laura from suspecting anything or noticing Hermione’s False Memory Charm after she woke up from another of Hermione’s Stunners.

That done, Hermione turned to the still-stunned scion of the Malfoy Family, pulling out a small vial which was even more expensive than Fermented Fairy Baobab Juice: Veritaserum.

*****​

“What else do you know about the security measures your father has added to your vault?” Hermione Granger asked.

“They will stop the Night Nargles,” Draco Malfoy answered with a vacant expression.

“Do you know where your father acquired them?”

“No.”

“Do you know if he had a Curse-Breaker install them?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything else other than that they will stop the Night Nargles?”

“No.”

She wanted to rub the bridge of her nose, but she was wearing her mask. Apparently, Malfoy didn’t trust his own son with his vault’s security. Smart, of course, but annoying. She’d have to tackle them blind.

At least the idiot in front of her knew where the vault was and how to enter it - and she knew that, whatever time he returned from the club, he would be ignored by his parents until the next day. And she was now certain that there were no additional security measures on the Floo connection in the manor either.

She was tempted to interrogate him further, but she couldn’t afford it - breaking into the Malfoy Vault would be difficult and take a lot of time. She stunned Malfoy again, cut off a lock of his hair and stuffed him into a specially-prepared pocket.

She hissed in disgust as she dropped a hair into a vial of Polyjuice. She really didn’t want to swallow that, nor did she want to wear his form. Especially not after having seen him naked.

But she had to to break into his manor.

A sip later, she started dressing in his discarded - and now thoroughly cleaned! - robes.

At least everything was going according to plan. In less than a day, the Malfoys would be ruined.

*****​

 

Chapter 66: Full Circle

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 21st, 1999

Sitting in his favourite chair in the living room, Sirius Black wanted to change. As a dog, things were simpler. Safer as well. Happier, in any case. He didn’t have to think so much, and mistakes didn’t hurt as much. And waiting while others risked their lives and he couldn’t do anything to help them wasn’t such a pain. He hadn’t even been allowed to assist Hermione in infiltrating the club - Jeanne had insisted on doing that, even though Sirius and Fletcher weren’t watching the Knockturn Alley brothels any more.

And now everyone but the old thief was sitting around, worrying. And Fletcher was worrying by himself somewhere. And probably drinking. Sirius understood that, of course - it wasn’t easy to let Hermione do this by herself. It never had been, but Malfoy was the most dangerous of their targets. Unfortunately, he was also the most important one - if he kept his gold and reputation, all their efforts would have been for naught. And Sirius wouldn’t accept that. Couldn’t. Umbridge’s execution was just the latest proof that the system had to change, and for that, Malfoy had to be dealt with.

But he wished there was another way. One that wouldn’t involve waiting and worrying. If not for Moody’s presence, Sirius would have changed already. A dog’s antics cheered everyone up. Even cats, though they didn’t want to admit it. But with the old Auror still in the house, he couldn’t risk it. Sirius was an unregistered animagus, and that was a crime.

He glanced at Harry, who tried to pretend that he was reading the latest Quidditch Weekly issue instead of waiting for any news. At least, Harry didn’t hold that crime against Sirius. Not when James had committed the same crime.

There was a lot Harry held against him, though. Sirius sighed and let his shoulders sag in his seat.

“She’ll be fine,” Jeanne said and touched his thigh. “It’s a good plan.”

Sirius forced himself to nod, even though he didn’t share Jeanne’s optimism. So much could go wrong.

“It’s not a good plan!” Harry suddenly snapped, glaring at them. “You know what she said - Malfoy didn’t know anything about the latest protections his father added. She’s going in blind.” He glanced at the mirror resting in front of Sirius. “You should order her to abandon the heist.”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Jeanne retorted with a glare. “Just because you beat ’er in a staged duel doesn’t mean she’s suddenly incompetent.”

“She’s overconfident! And she’s alone - you won’t be able to help her once something goes wrong!” Harry dropped his magazine to the side.

Sirius sighed. His wife and his godson. His closest family, together with his best friend and the cat. They both cared and should get along. But they didn’t - and that was his fault. If only he hadn’t kept the truth from Harry!

But he had. He hadn’t been able to destroy Harry’s dreams - and in doing so, he had crushed them. Father would have loved that; he’d always been fond of those kinds of twists. At least Harry had started to forgive them, which meant there was still hope. His godson truly was the best kind of wizard.

“’Ermione’s dealt with worse than the efforts of a family of cowards who fled France!” Jeanne sniffed.

Sirius knew better than to correct his wife, even though the Malfoys hadn’t exactly fled France - quite the contrary, actually. Jeanne had everything he could want in a wife - beauty, talent, passion, courage - though that went without saying; she was French - but she had a temper as well and didn’t like to be proven wrong. Not unlike Hermione. Their little cat loathed admitting any mistake - typical for cats, of course.

“Underestimating Malfoy is a mistake,” Harry retorted. “Voldemort made that mistake!”

Sirius cleared his throat. “We’re not underestimating him. Hermione knows what she is doing.” He hoped so, at least.

Harry glared at him, and Sirius struggled not to flinch. He had hurt the boy so much.

Jeanne sniffed again. “You couldn’t help ’er, anyway.”

Sirius sighed. Jeanne thought Harry was mostly angry because his pride had been hurt by Hermione beating him. But Harry was better than that. They had hurt him - it was their fault. Sirius’s fault.

“And why is this even necessary? You’re already twice as wealthy as Malfoy. At least!” Harry stood. “His allies are ruined - sooner or later, his power will crumble!”

Sirius hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “He could rebuild his power base. Make new allies. And even if he didn’t, it would take too long to topple him.” He looked at Jeanne and smiled. “I don’t want our child to grow up in a country where Malfoy pulls the Ministry’s strings.”

“Hermione said the same thing,” Harry muttered as he sat down again.

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Sirius smiled, a little.

Harry scoffed. “She’s wrong more often than she thinks!”

“Probably.” Sirius shrugged. “It takes a lot for her to admit a mistake, though.”

Harry grunted in response.

Sirius was about to subtly remind him that Hermione had admitted being wrong to Harry numerous times when Jeanne cut in: “She’s not the only one.”

Harry glared at her. “Are you trying to imply something?”

“No, I’m saying it outright: You also loathe admitting your mistakes!”

Sirius loved his wife, but, sometimes, she could be very annoying.

“I admit my mistakes just fine!” Harry snarled.

“Really?” Jeanne’s tone and expression left no doubt what she thought about that.

“Please!” Sirius held up his hands. “We’re all worried about Hermione, but if we tear into each other, we won’t be able to help her, if she should need us.”

Jeanne was now glaring at him, and Harry suddenly looked even worse.

Well, Sirius tried to console himself, at least it’s obvious that he still cares for her a lot. Not that their ‘duel’ left that in any doubt, of course.

If only they would sort things out already - Sirius had been the one to keep Hermione from telling Harry the truth, after all. It was his mistake.

He sighed again. He really wanted to change. Harry needed some cheering up, and so did Sirius. And if the cat took too long to finish the heist, or even got into trouble, Sirius could chase her round a bit.

*****​

Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, February 21st, 1999

Hermione Granger stepped out of the fireplace into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. It was decorated more tastefully than she had expected, she noted with a covert glance as she made her way to the stairs leading up to the first floor, where Draco Malfoy’s room was located.

She walked quickly, despite the unfamiliar body - any stumbling would be attributed to being drunk, or so she hoped. Not that she expected anyone to observe her, other than the family’s house-elf - ‘Dobby’, according to Malfoy. The little rat was probably watching from the walls, in case Malfoy stumbled and fell - or needed something done. Like pulling off his boots.

Well, the elf could watch all he wanted - for now.

As soon as she reached Malfoy’s room - which wasn’t tastefully decorated, she noted with hidden glee; green and silver everywhere - she raised her voice. “Don’t bother me for the rest of the night, Dobby!” She didn’t wait for an acknowledgement and quickly cast a privacy charm, then changed into a cat and back, ending the effect of the Polyjuice Potion. Shuddering, she ditched the fool’s robes and quickly put on her catsuit, then pulled out a puppet from her enchanted pocket, enlarging it and placing it on the bed. Covered in a sheet and turned to the side, away from prying eyes, Jeanne’s decoy would fool an observer - provided they didn’t try to wake it up. Hermione would get a warning if that happened, though. For all the good it’d do her.

She shook her head. It would be safer to leave Draco Malfoy here, obliviated and drunk, but she needed his presence to get into the Malfoys’ vault. Just dealing with the protections Malfoy had added without his son’s knowledge would take long enough, she would never crack the rest of the wards on the entrance before morning arrived.

It would be a close call as it was. She did a last check of her gear and appearance, then disillusioned herself and sneaked out of the room. According to the results of her interrogation of Malfoy, the entrance to the family vault was hidden in the wine cellar - how cliché!

But it meant she didn’t have to deal with additional protections as she quickly and silently made her way through the manor, past the entrance hall and into the cellar. Which was filled with French wine, of course. A large number of them, she noted, were muggle vintages. It seemed that the Malfoys weren’t quite so bigoted when it concerned their drinks.

Shaking her head at the hypocrisy, she walked to the corner Draco had described and activated the detection spell on her mask. And winced.

The area was covered in spells. Just sorting out which ones were new and would have to be dealt with, and which ones Draco’s presence would neutralise, would take more time than she had anticipated. For a moment, she wished she had brought Mr Fletcher with her, like she had smuggled Draco. But he wouldn’t have been able to pass through the protections using the idiot - that would only work for one person - and so would be more of a liability. Which was why he had opposed that plan.

Sirius, of course, had wanted to come, but she and Jeanne had opposed that - he wasn’t a Curse-Breaker and would have been of no help at all. Unless this turned into a battle. Which it wouldn’t without the dog messing around.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 21st, 1999

Harry Potter was tempted to set the stupid magazine on fire. Or hex Jeanne. Or Hermione, as soon as she finished her heist. Or Ron. Quidditch Weekly for being boring and not being a viable distraction. Jeanne for insinuating that this was about his pride. And Hermione for making him worry about her. And Ron for chatting with Luna in his room over their mirror instead of distracting him.

“She’ll be alright,” Sirius said. Not for the first time.

Harry scoffed. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Sirius flinched in response, and Harry suddenly felt guilty.

Before he could say anything else - like ‘sorry’ - though, Jeanne snapped: “Don’t vent your frustration on ’im! If you were so worried about ’Ermione, you could have ’elped ’er.”

Help a thief? Harry clenched his teeth. He was an Auror, not a criminal! Not any more, at least, he added with a small pang of shame. “There has to be another way,” he said instead. “Not… this.”

“What else can we do to get rid of Malfoy?” Sirius asked. “Unleash Fiendfyre on the manor? It wouldn’t get through the wards before the Ministry’s forces deal with it.”

“And ’Ermione won’t use Fiendfyre inside the wards,” Jeanne added. “Too dangerous for everyone else.”

That was something, at least - they wouldn’t stoop to murder. A small consolation. Harry sighed. “And what if Malfoy has part of his wealth stored in his Gringotts vault?”

“He’ll most certainly have done so,” Sirius said. “But he won’t trust the goblins too much, even considering the recent detente. And even if he manages to save part of his fortune, he’ll lose so much face for getting his manor robbed, he won’t be able to convince anyone that he’s not ruined. Not without actually ruining himself.” He smiled, showing his teeth.

“Even if that works, it’s not worth risking her life!” Harry snapped. Malfoy was too dangerous.

Sirius’s smile turned rather rueful. “You know her - she won’t stop no matter what.”

“But she’ll be glad to know you worry about ’er so much,” Jeanne butted in with a smug smile.

Harry glared at her. That was between him and Hermione. And none of anyone else’s business. They’d sort that out themselves.

*****​

Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, February 22nd, 1999

By the time Hermione Granger had disabled the last of the protections on the secret passage that weren’t keyed to the blood and wand of Malfoy’s son - not quite blood magic, even if it shared some similar principles - midnight had passed. She bit her lower lip for a moment. That had taken longer than planned - the Curse-Breaker who had done this had been very skilled - but not too long. She could still do this. The vault’s actual protections would, naturally, be even harder, but if their relative strength was the same as these, she had time to deal with them.

And if they were too strong...

She hissed silently at the thought. Failure would mean she would need a new plan. Which would be difficult - this was the best plan they had managed. She shook her head. She had to do this.

She opened the specially enchanted pocket where she had stored Malfoy’s son and pulled the boy out - just enough to grab his arm and push his wand into it, then wave it around in the correct pattern before touching the enchanted stones in the wall.

A moment later, they folded away - which looked remarkably like when the wall in the back of the Leaky Cauldron opened - and revealed a narrow staircase winding downwards. Perfect.

She kept her unwitting accomplice’s hand out as she descended - just because he hadn’t known about any traps covering the stairs didn’t mean there were none, and that he had been taught to always cast a Wand-Lighting Charm before going down into the vault could be a cover. Of course, she still went slowly enough that the spells on her mask would allow her to detect traps - Mr Fletcher had taught her better than to assume anything was safe.

But there were no traps on the stairs. No spells at all, other than protections against See-Through-Walls Charms. Recent ones. Which was rather suspicious, in her opinion. Why would anyone spend so much gold on additional protections, but not add a few more spells to the stairs? She would have done so, if only to catch overconfident thieves. And what were they hiding? She had disabled one of the protections, but hadn’t found anything suspicious behind the walls. And she didn’t have the time to do that to all the walls and ceilings.

On the other hand, Malfoy’s son might trigger any traps by accident. She snorted.

In any case, she had reached the vault. It was far older-looking than the ones she had encountered before - the massive stones forming the walls of the anteroom reminded her of old Egyptian construction, and the metal door covered with glowing runes seemed to have been made out of bronze, not steel.

She drew a deep breath. If the Malfoys had never bothered to replace the door, then the protections on it would have grown immensely powerful with age. She had thought the Black Vault was well protected, but this…

But Draco had known how to pass through these protections - as expected from the scion of the family. It would be very embarrassing if an inconvenient death of the Head of the Family resulted in the vault becoming inaccessible due to the rest of the family’s ignorance.

So all she had to deal with were the new protections Malfoy had added. Which, she quickly realised as she took a closer look at the spells on the door, were even more impressive than she had expected.

For a moment, she wavered. She could retreat. Leave and try to find another plan that left her with more time to tackle this vault. But she knew there wouldn’t be a better opportunity. This was her best chance to ruin Malfoy. Probably her only chance. She had to do it.

Taking a deep breath, she started to carefully analyse the spells in front of her. Fortunately, she was, after dealing with their work in the cellar, now somewhat familiar with the work of the Curse-Breaker Malfoy had hired. Enough, at least, to recognise elements of his ‘style’. The spellwork of the unknown wizard or witch was intricate and elegant - a little too elegant compared to the older spells on the vault. They had done a good job of blending their spells into the lattice formed by the other spells, but they hadn’t managed to perfectly match it.

Grinning, she started to unravel the new scheme - very carefully, of course; the spells would be linked to the lethal protections. Not directly, which would have been illegal, but to the spells triggering the older defences - the results of which would be no less fatal, but still legal - a loophole she was certain the Wizengamot had deliberately implemented.

She had already dealt with half a dozen spells and traps when she encountered something unexpected - a spell that wasn’t just linked to the old protections on the door checking for Malfoy’s blood but linked to a spell behind the door. Narrowing her eyes, she took a closer look at the spell’s effect, not just its trigger, and she almost whistled. It would lock down the vault when triggered. And if one of its trigger spells had been cast inside the vault, then this would not only serve as a way to keep people out but also trap those who managed to bypass it inside the vault. It was a quite insidious trap, probably using the goblins’ security measures in Gringotts as an example.

But now that she had spotted the trap, it was as good as disarmed. She grinned as she moved her wand, then hesitated. Something wasn’t right. She took a closer look at the second trigger spell. It looked like a standard detection spell. But it fit a little too well with the older spells on the vault. Older, long-since banned, spells. Spells that often had been cast using sacrificial magic. Blood magic.

Hermione gasped. Malfoy hadn’t just hired a Curse-Breaker - he’d hired a blood mage!

She checked her watch. She was running out of time. She couldn’t deal with whatever blood magic had been cast inside the vault before someone checked up on Malfoy’s son. And she couldn’t drop him back in his room - she needed him to pass through the older protections; disarming them would take too much time as well.

She bit her lower lip. This couldn’t be happening. Malfoy couldn’t get away again. She blinked as the solution came to her.

She smiled, baring her teeth, and reached into one of her enchanted pockets. The one which wasn’t housing a stunned Malfoy.

Oh, yes, this would be perfect.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 22nd, 1999

“Who’s you?”

Harry Potter, kneeling in front of the Auror fireplace, his head stuck in the green fire, looked up at the elf in front of him, the Malfoy Manor entrance hall visible around them. “I’m Auror Potter, and this is Auror Weasley.” He noticed the creature frown at the names. “We have to talk to Mr or Mrs Malfoy - it’s urgent.”

“It be very late. Dobby cannot wake up Master Lucius or Mistress Narcissa.”

“Auror business,” Ron, standing behind him in the Ministry office, added. “Your employer and his family might be in danger, so get to it and inform them we need to speak to them at once!”

Not even that seemed to startle the elf. “Dobby will do so. Please be waiting here.” He turned and walked away, soon leaving Harry’s limited field of view.

“He’s got the unflappable butler attitude down, but his language needs work,” Harry commented, shifting his weight while he remained kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“All elves talk like that,” Ron replied. “How does Malfoy Manor look? Any new defences?”

“I didn’t see any,” Harry told him, “but that doesn’t mean there aren’t.”

“I could have told you that.”

Harry shrugged. He was the one kneeling on the floor and dealing with an obstinate house-elf.

A few minutes later, he saw Malfoy walking towards his spot. “Auror Potter? What’s this about? It’s four in the morning!” The man didn’t look like he had been sleeping a few minutes ago, but then, Sirius always said that the Malfoys were masters of appearance-improving charms.

Harry snorted. “I’m aware of that - I hadn’t planned to be working this early either. But we’ve received an anonymous tip that someone might have attacked your son.”

He heard a gasp from someone outside his field of vision. “Draco?” That would Mrs Malfoy, Harry realised.

“Dobby saw Master Draco return and go to his room,” the house-elf added.

“It seems your information was wrong, Auror Potter,” Malfoy drawled with a slight sneer.

Harry suppressed his anger at the man’s attitude. “Could you check on him? According to our information, your son was acting ‘rather peculiarly’ when he left the Oasis last night.”

That caused another gasp.

“Dobby, go and check on Draco!” Lucius snapped.

“I’ll go myself!” Mrs Malfoy said, and Harry saw the witch brush past her husband and rush up the stairs.

“The Aurors have informants in the Oasis?” Malfoy scoffed. “That won’t be well received by certain of my peers.”

“We don’t have regular informants, according to my knowledge,” Harry retorted. “So when we received a tip, delivered anonymously to my home, not to the Auror Corps, I decided to investigate.”

“I see.” Malfoy had lost a bit of his arrogant attitude, or so it seemed. “The staff there would risk a lot by breaking the club’s tradition of utmost discretion.”

“It might have been a patron,” Harry pointed out.

“That doesn’t explain why they didn’t contact our home, though.” Malfoy frowned. “In fact, I think…” A woman’s scream interrupted him.

“Mrs Malfoy’s got quite a set of lungs,” Ron muttered behind Harry as Malfoy jerked and whirled round.

“Narcissa?” he yelled.

“They took Draco!”

“Mr Malfoy? Can we enter your home? This is now a matter for the Auror Corps,” Harry said.

Malfoy blinked and hesitated. But before he could answer, his wife returned and rushed down the stairs. “They kidnapped Draco!” she said, panting. “They left a puppet in his bed to fool us!”

“Mrs Malfoy? Can we enter your home? We need to investigate this,” Harry repeated himself.

“Now, we do not know this is a kidnapping,” Malfoy said. “It could just be a prank - by Draco.”

“A prank?” Harry frowned and reached into his pocket. Perhaps...

“Draco wouldn’t do this! Not to us!” Mrs Malfoy snapped, shaking her head. For the usually always composed witch, this was almost a nervous breakdown. “Auror Potter! Enter our home!” she said, waving her wand at the fireplace.

“And my partner, Auror Weasley, please,” Harry said before he got up and threw more Floo powder into the fire. “Malfoy Manor!” He reached into his pocket and activated the mirror as he walked into the green fire.

A moment later, he was stepping out of the fireplace in Malfoy Manor, stumbling slightly. “Mrs Malfoy.” He nodded at her.

“Auror Potter. Welcome to our home.” She turned and nodded at Ron, who didn’t stumble at all as he stepped out of the Floo connection. “Auror Weasley. Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy,” Ron said, looking around. “When was the last time you saw your son?”

“At dinner,” Malfoy answered, still frowning. “We didn’t wait for his return before we retired for the evening.”

“Dobby, was it?” Harry looked at the elf. “Did you see Draco Malfoy return?”

The elf nodded. “Yes, Dobby did. Master Draco went to his room.”

“Which means he was kidnapped after he reached his room - or it was an impostor who entered your home,” Harry said.

Mrs Malfoy gasped.

“And I think we all know who would be able to do such a thing.” Ron looked grim. “The Night Nargles,” he added, unnecessarily.

Malfoy drew a sharp breath. “They are thieves, not kidnappers.”

“They will do anything to break into a manor,” Harry pointed out. “They might even have forced your son to help them break in.”

Mrs Malfoy was pale now. “But they… they haven’t killed anyone.” She looked at her husband. “They aren’t murderers!”

“Your protections wouldn’t hurt your son, would they?” Ron asked.

The Malfoys looked at each other, paling. Malfoy started to answer, but a loud noise - a gong being struck hard - interrupted him.

Harry wanted to curse Hermione right then.

“That’s the vault’s alarm!” Mrs Malfoy gasped. “Your new protections! They wouldn’t hurt Draco, would they?”

Malfoy’s expression was answer enough, and the witch whirled around and started to run towards the door behind them.

“Mrs Malfoy, wait!” Harry yelled as he rushed after her. “You can’t face the thieves by yourselves! Let us do it!”

“No!” Malfoy yelled. “It’s our family vault!”

But his wife stopped and turned, glaring at him. “It’s our son!” She shook her head. “Auror Potter, Auror Weasley. Come with me! We must hurry!”

Harry glanced at Malfoy as Ron and he followed Mrs Malfoy. The wizard shook his head, then pressed his lips together and followed them.

“Narcissa, wait! Let the Aurors go first!”

Harry clenched his teeth. That was sound advice, of course, but it would also mean that Harry and Ron would be running first into any traps left.

A minute later, they reached the cellar, where Mrs Malfoy went straight to a corner, flicking her wand until the stones started to draw back, revealing a stairway leading further down. “There are no traps until you reach the vault,” she said as she cast an Episkey on her hand.

Harry nodded, but Ron had to add: “No traps placed by you, at least.”

That gave both Malfoys pause, and they exchanged a long glance. But when Harry and Ron entered the stairs, wands out and ready for anything, Mr and Mrs Malfoy were following close behind them, despite the risk. For all their faults, they must love their son, he realised.

To Harry’s relief, they didn’t encounter any traps on the stairs. He hadn’t expected any, although you never knew, and Moody had trained him better than to assume he was correct.

But when they finally reached the entrance to Malfoy Manor’s vault, the first thing they saw was an unmoving body on the floor - in front of a door covered in glowing runes.

“Draco!” Mrs Malfoy rushed past Harry, almost shoving him out of the way. “Draco!”

“Narcissa! Watch out!” Mr Malfoy yelled, stepping past Harry as well.

A moment later, a Piercing Curse from the ceiling shattered the wizard’s Shield Charm, followed by a Stunner that took him down. Mrs Malfoy tried to get up from where she was kneeling next to her son, but a Stunner dropped her on top of him.

Ron whistled at the sight. Harry glared at him, then at the ceiling. Sighing, he cast a privacy charm.

Laughing, Hermione ended her Disillusionment Charm and unstuck herself, gracefully dropping down to the ground next to him. “Well need to deal with the elf as well,” she said.

“He stayed up in the manor,” Ron said. “I’ll get him.”

“Good!” She turned. “Now give me a little while - I have to crack this vault.”

“We’re not here to help you rob the place!” Harry snapped. “We’re here to arrest Malfoy for using blood magic!” he reminded her. That’s why she had called them, after all. She couldn’t expect him to let her rob the vault while he watched, could she?

She nodded. “Oh, I know. But in order to prove that, we’ll need to open the vault. That way, you can claim you found the Malfoy stunned on the ground, next to their son - and while you were looking for the thieves responsible, you discovered the blood magic protections inside the vault. The thieves, of course, had already robbed the vault and vanished by the time you dared enter the vault - like always!” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t spot the blood magic through a closed, warded door, would you?”

She could.

Harry stared at her. She was grinning at him behind her mask, he knew.

He also knew that he would have to let her do this if he wanted to arrest Malfoy and make it stick. And that she would be enjoying every minute of it.

He pressed his lips together and glared at Ron, who wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement.

“Hey!” Ron held up his hand. “It’s the only way to finally bring Malfoy to justice for everything he’s done.”

He understood that. But she didn’t have to rub it in - she was even humming as she worked!

On the other hand, this would be her last heist.

Harry consoled himself with that thought as he watched Hermione break into the vault.

*****​

Wiltshire, Malfoy Manor, February 22nd, 1999

Hermione Granger smirked behind her mask as she finished disarming the last protection on the door that Malfoy’s blood and wand wouldn’t allow her to bypass. Had Harry really thought she would let her chance to rob Malfoy blind pass? The man had framed her, ruined her and her family and had gotten away with it for years. Until now.

Today he’d pay.

And, of course, having the best Aurors in Britain who were supposed to catch her instead help her complete her last heist was the perfect way to deal with her recent inglorious defeat against Harry. This would be her masterpiece - the crowning achievement of her career as a professional thief.

She let out her breath as she took a step back from the vault’s door, then licked her lips. “Alright, I’ve dealt with the additional protections - the ones linked to blood magic.”

“Are you sure?” Ron asked. Harry merely kept frowning.

“Of course.” She glared at him behind her mask. “I’ll need Malfoy and his wand,” she added.

Harry looked like he wanted to say something, but he merely nodded - curtly.

She didn’t want to push him further - she had achieved what she wanted - and didn’t say anything either as she stuffed Malfoy into her specially enchanted pocket until only his arm stuck out.

“That looks creepy,” Ron commented.

“It does,” she agreed as she used Malfoy’s wand to cast a Cutting Hex, drawing blood on it before sticking it to his hand - just as she had done to his son earlier.

Despite her earlier claims, she held her breath as she waved Malfoy’s hand and wand in a complex pattern. If she had made a mistake…

She hadn’t. The door slowly swung open - no muggle locks for this family, it seemed - and revealed the vault behind it. Row upon row of chests and trunks and strongboxes…

She frowned. There were a lot. Far more than she expected after her earlier heists. To her knowledge, the Malfoys hadn’t allowed anyone else to use their vault. And a single chest with an Extension Charm cast on it could store an entire fortune. So why would there be so many chests? More than the Davises had had in their vault!

She narrowed her eyes, checking with her detection spell for traps as she slowly entered the vault. There was the blood magic curse she had expected - on the magic lantern illuminating the vault. Probably linked to the spell activating it as well.

A quick analysis confirmed her suspicion. Another trap. She carefully made her way around it.

There were spells on all of the chests - standard spells. Easy to deal with. Nothing to stop a thief who had managed to break into the vault. She knelt down and took a closer look. As she had suspected - the spells had the same style as the latest protections added to the vault.

The blood mage had cast them. And Hermione would bet all the wealth that she had stolen so far that the chests were trapped - probably with more blood magic.

Blood magic… of course!

She slowly approached the closest chest, studying the intricate pattern of the spells on it. Yes… there was another hidden spell. Scoffing, she added another cut to Malfoy’s hand, then drew a drop of his blood on his wand and touched the chest.

Its lid swung open in response.

She withdrew to the entrance of the vault and flicked her wand, levitating, then turning the chest upside down.

Nothing fell out of it. No spell was activated either, but that was scant consolation. A few Summoning Charms confirmed it - the chest was empty.

So were the next half a dozen she opened. And the next.

She finally found gold and jewellery in two chests at the back of the vault - but far less than the Malfoys should have had in their vault.

Hissing, she had to face facts: Malfoy had hidden his gold elsewhere. And she couldn’t interrogate him with Veritaserum - that would be found by the Aurors and Unspeakables and ruin their planned deception. The timing wouldn’t allow them to explain that.

She bit her lower lip in frustration. Even though Malfoy would end up in Azkaban for using blood magic, the thought that she wouldn’t be able to deprive him of his gold was unbearable. And the notion that he had outwitted her was even worse. If only...

She blinked, then grinned.

Malfoy had been clever, but not clever enough.

Let’s see the Malfoys try to get their gold when they couldn’t remember where they had hidden it - or even that they had hidden it!

*****​

“I’ve never seen so many Unspeakables in one place,” Ron commented, looking at the dark robes filling the vault.

“I didn’t even know there were so many,” Harry Potter replied. He wasn’t feeling nearly as nonchalant as he sounded, of course. It was one thing to theoretically know that blood magic was considered one of the worst crimes in existence, but to actually see the reaction of the Ministry to his alert was something else. Especially if you had used blood magic yourself.

“I didn’t even know we had so many Aurors left.” Ron snorted. “They must have dragged everyone out of bed - or out of retirement. We should be glad they didn’t drag Moody here, still stuck to his bed.”

Harry nodded. Malfoy Manor was crawling with Ministry staff. Unspeakables, Aurors, Hit-Wizards, Curse-Breakers, even Obliviators - it seemed everyone who could wield a wand and was available was here.

And so were Bones and Scrimgeour. And Bones wasn’t in a good mood as she looked around the vault’s entrance before addressing them. “So, you received an anonymous tip about Draco Malfoy having been the victim of an attack, or kidnapping, and contacted the Malfoys to verify this.”

Harry Potter nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“A tip delivered to your home, not to the office.” Bones’s frown grew fiercer.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Harry wasn’t lying. Not really.

“And after arriving here, you ascertained that Draco Malfoy had been kidnapped.”

“The Malfoys discovered that a decoy had been left in his bed in place of him,” he said. “We were still in the process of dealing with that when the Malfoys were alerted to an attempt to break into their vault. They rushed down here to check what was happening but neglected to inform us whether or not they had disabled the protections, so we had to proceed very carefully down the stairs. And when we arrived, we discovered that they had been stunned and obliviated - and the vault robbed.”

“The work of the Night Nargles,” Ron added. “They’re the only ones able to pull off such a heist.”

“And they made us look like fools, again,” Harry added. He didn’t have to fake all of his anger - Hermione had put one over on him, again. He should have realised when she had called him on the mirror that she wouldn’t be content with just getting Malfoy arrested for his crimes.

“But their actions also exposed the use of blood magic,” Scrimgeour added.

“Unless they did this to frame Malfoy,” Bones snapped.

“That’s very unlikely,” Abigail said. Bones turned to glare at the Curse-Breaker who had dared to cut into their discussion, but Moody’s friend merely flashed her lopsided, half-paralysed smile at her. “I’ve looked the vault’s protections over - it’s not something you can do in a few hours.”

“Have you identified it as blood magic?” Scrimgeour asked.

Abigail nodded. “Yes. It’s definitely blood magic. Fresh spells, too - this wasn’t done before the ban.”

“The Department of Mysteries hasn’t finished their analysis,” Bones replied.

Abigail shrugged. “They’re probably figuring out whether the sacrifice was murdered here or in the vault and what kind of spell was used. But this is blood magic. I’ve dealt with such spells before.”

Harry hadn’t considered that. He looked at the floor, briefly wondering if Malfoy had been present when the murder had taken place.

“It looks like this will be an open and shut case, then,” Scrimgeour said. “But the fact that the Malfoys have been obliviated could complicate matters.”

“They could have done that themselves,” Ron pointed out. “They spotted the open vault, realised that we were coming down behind them and decided to fake an attack to obliviate themselves of any incriminating knowledge.”

Bones glared at him. “Which would also mean that the thieves had already left, and didn’t manage to escape from under your noses again, wouldn’t it?”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t think that they would have lured us here if they didn’t have an escape plan.”

“You seem remarkably unconcerned about your failure, Auror Weasley,” Bones snapped.

Harry’s friend shrugged again. “It’s not our fault if the Malfoys prevented us from pursuing the thieves as soon as we were aware of the break-in.”

“Unless you think that we should have charged down the stairs without checking for traps,” Harry added.

Bones glared at him. “Do you remember what I told you when you took the oath?”

Harry nodded. “But this isn’t about Malfoy being an enemy of my family. This is about Malfoy using blood magic.”

“That remains to be determined,” Bones said. “This investigation has barely started.”

“Of course,” Scrimgeour agreed. “To accuse, much less convict, a member of the Wizengamot of such heinous crimes requires overwhelming proof of his guilt.”

Which they would get, Harry knew. The Malfoys wouldn’t be able to avoid interrogations under Veritaserum. Not with blood curses found in their vault. Of course, that they looked as if they had lost their fortune to the Night Nargles and wouldn’t be able to bribe anyone wouldn’t help them either.

And the interrogation would reveal their guilt. Hermione hadn’t touched those memories when she had obliviated them and the elf.

“Well, we can but wait for the results of the investigation,” Scrimgeour said. “Although I wonder, Auror Potter... how did you realise that blood magic had been used in the vault?”

“Dumbledore taught me how to identify such curses when he trained me to face Voldemort,” Harry said. It was the truth - although Dumbledore had also taught him how to use blood magic. “He suspected - correctly, as we found out after Crouch’s arrest - that Voldemort had been using such spells and rituals.”

“You didn’t mention that before.” Bones narrowed her eyes at him.

Harry met her eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

“I see.” She pressed her lips together and turned away to yell at a Hit-Wizard handling the still stunned elf.

“Amelia doesn’t like her Aurors keeping such secrets,” Scrimgeour said in a low voice after the Head of the DMLE had walked away.

Harry shrugged. “Then she’ll have to decide whether she wants to know my secrets more than she wants me to stay in the Corps.”

Something that Harry, if he was honest, hadn’t yet decided either.

*****​

London, Knockturn Alley, February 22nd, 1999

Hermione Granger sighed as she levitated the stolen trunk into the middle of the empty room. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Something wrong?” Sirius asked. He looked around. “Fletcher picked this location.”

She frowned at him as she turned. “The location is fine. It’s the whole plan.”

“It’s your plan,” the dog pointed out. “Did you make a mistake?”

She rolled her eyes behind her mask. “No. The plan will work. It’s just…” She sighed again. “It’ll make it look as if Malfoy won in the end. That’s not how I want the… the thieves who broke into every manor they wanted to be remembered by the public.”

“You almost called us the Night Nargles, didn’t you?”

She didn’t deign to dignify that with a response. Nor did she acknowledge his smirk.

“Well, the public will also think that you did steal the Malfoy fortune.”

She snorted. That was scant consolation when all she had done was erase any memory of where they had hidden most of their gold, and of the act of hiding itself, from their minds.

“And you did get their gold - what they had left in the vault,” he went on.

She scoffed. “One single trunk.”

He chuckled. “Others would call it a small fortune.”

Others hadn’t robbed four Old Families of their wealth. “And I couldn’t get their library.”

“You mean Harry didn’t let you.”

She glared at him. “He made a convincing argument that we already were pushing the limits of a plausible timetable for the events we want the Ministry to believe.” Otherwise she’d have left the manor empty. At least she had been able to take the Malfoys’ wands.

Sirius nodded, his smile fading a little. “But he accepted you looting their vault.”

“Because he had no choice - otherwise, the Malfoys would have escaped justice. Again.” She sighed once more.

“Well…” Sirius walked up to her. “I would think that’s the most important part - he accepted that you needed to break the law to bring Malfoy to justice.”

He was correct. It still felt wrong to end their heists by pretending to have fallen victim to a last trap by Malfoy, though - she was a professional thief; she wouldn’t fall for such an obvious ploy. Hadn’t fallen for similar traps.

“Don’t frown like that!” He chuckled. “Jeanne would tell you to get over your pride.”

She pressed her lips together. Reputation was important. If this was to be her last heist, then it should end on a high note. The thieves triumphing over both the Malfoys and the Aurors.

But that would run counter to the whole plan. And Harry wouldn’t like it at all.

She sighed and pulled a bottle out of her enchanted pocket. “Let’s do this.” She put it down next to the trunk, then blew it up with a Reductor Curse, splattering blood all over the room before summoning and vanishing all the shards that had caused.

“Alright.” Sirius conjured a cow next to the trunk, then waved his wand. A moment later, the cow shuddered and cried out as all the blood in it was forced out through its pores.

Hermione winced at the gruesome sight, but she was already moving her wand - they had to vanish all traces of the cow, set fire to the place and leave before anyone came to investigate.

Whoever arrived to deal with the incident would only find a few traces of a dark curse, charred remains of a trunk belonging to the Malfoys, and drops of human blood they had ‘missed’. Blood belonging to a dead woman, in case they managed to trace it - Mr Fletcher hadn’t gone into details, but Hermione suspected that he had robbed a muggle morgue.

And she hoped that the news of Malfoy having used blood magic to protect his vault would push the news of the Night Nargles losing at least one member to his traps to the back of the newspapers.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, February 22nd, 1999

Harry Potter wasn’t exhausted when he finally stepped out of the fireplace, but he certainly was feeling the additional hours he had spent working thanks to Hermione’s improvised plan. Getting up closer to midnight than morning and working until the evening did tend to tire anyone out. It wasn’t bad enough to tempt him into drinking a Pepper-Up Potion, risking Bathilda calling him a hypocrite, but he still sighed with relief as soon as he set foot in Grimmauld Place. He was home.

And then he froze for a moment. Hermione was waiting for him. “Hello.” He nodded at her.

“Hello,” she replied. She sounded a little meek, but he saw her casting a privacy charm. “How was work?”

Harry used his wand to clean the soot from his robes, which kept him from having to talk for a moment.

Ron filled in. “Bones was in rare form today. She probably even drove Scrimgeour mad with her hovering and yelling at everyone.”

“Well,” Hermione said, “arresting a member of the Wizengamot, especially one of the most prominent and influential ones, can ruin careers.”

Harry scoffed. That was true, but it shouldn’t be. “Well, she made it clear that if this is a plot by Sirius, we’ll regret being involved.”

Hermione scoffed. “It was my idea, not his.”

“I don’t think she’ll care about that distinction,” Ron said, stretching. “But it doesn’t matter. We know he’s guilty. And it’s blood magic - he’s not going to wriggle out of that.”

“Not without his gold,” Harry added. Then frowned when Hermione beamed at him. He hadn’t meant it like that - she had still tricked him into helping with a heist. Even though Malfoy had outsmarted her as well in the end.

“At least that’s a fitting result for the Manor Thieves’ last heist,” she said, tossing her head a little in that familiar way.

“You mean the Night Nargles,” Ron corrected her.

Harry had to grin at her expression. She really didn’t like that name. And she was accepting that this was her last heist. And Malfoy would be facing justice for his crimes. Finally.

Harry could live with that.

*****​

Hermione Granger took a deep breath. Things had improved between her and Harry, but there was still some lingering awkwardness. Some tension. And a distinct lack of intimacy, of course. Which was why she hesitated to knock on his door. What if she had pushed him too far? He had gone along with the plan, and she hadn’t been lying - without the vault having been robbed, the story wouldn’t have held up; Harry wouldn’t have been able to spot the blood magic spells inside.

But she had been rubbing it in. A little. Though what thief worth their wand wouldn’t have done the same, if put in her place?

Still, Harry had accepted it. And he hadn’t been angry when he had returned. Nor had he been distant during dinner. She pouted. On the contrary, he had been almost cheerful - when he had been using that silly name. At least he had confirmed that their ruse in Knockturn Alley was already being connected to the heist.

Of course, Harry had also speculated about the possible results from that investigation. And the news articles it would generate. With enthusiastic help from Ron. If The Quibbler actually wrote anything like that, she’d know who to blame.

Still, it was one thing to talk over dinner, another to visit him in his room. At night. Not that she expected to end up… well, in his bed.

She sighed. Standing in the hallway and wavering, much less slinking away like some cowardly dog, wouldn’t do. After another deep breath, she knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“Harry? May I come in?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, and she felt her anxiety rising. “Come in.”

He was sitting on his bed, in his pyjamas. Well, she was wearing her house robes over her own. He was looking at her as she closed the door, then went over, first towards his chair, before turning towards the bed and sitting down near to him.

He didn’t object. He didn’t slide over to wrap his arm around her either, though. She pushed that thought away. “So.” She nodded, pulling up one leg and wrapping her arms around it. “I wanted to ask you: Are you OK with the whole… heist?” No need to mince words here. She didn’t bite her lower lip, though she felt the urge.

Harry sighed. “I wish things had been different.”

That didn’t sound promising. “Different?”

“We didn’t just have to break the law to arrest him. We had to... deceive everyone.”

“You mean we had to lie to everyone.” She looked straight at him.

He frowned for a moment. “Yes.”

She didn’t say anything in return.

After a moment of silence, he sighed. And rolled his eyes a little. “I know it was the only way. And I’m aware that Malfoy would have gotten away with even worse crimes than I had expected if we hadn’t done it.”

“Blood magic.”

She saw him wince at that. “Yes. And not the self-sacrificial kind.”

She nodded. That confirmed some of her suspicions, but she wouldn’t push him for more answers. That was a far too delicate subject.

“But at least with him gone we won’t be needing to do that any more.” The way he said it, it sounded more like a question. Or a challenge.

She nodded. “With Malfoy gone, Sirius can push the rest of the Wizengamot around and start the reforms.” It wouldn’t be easy, of course. Not the real reforms, the ones that would cut the Old Families’ power. But cleaning up the Ministry? That wouldn’t be that hard with the deadlock in the Wizengamot gone.

“I’ll still depend on Sirius, though.”

She frowned. “Is that a problem?” She depended on his godfather as well, after all. Even with her part of the loot - people would wonder where she got her fortune if she started flashing gold around.

He sighed. “It feels like I’m not doing much by myself.”

Ah. This time, she bit her lower lip before answering. “As long as you’re working for the Ministry, people will always look not just at you, but at Sirius as well.”

“I know.”

And he obviously didn’t like it. She understood. But she didn’t have a solution. Not one he’d like, at least. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. She could feel him tense, then relax. And then he put his hand on hers. “It’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?” she asked.

He nodded. After another moment of silence, he asked: “And what will you be doing now?”

She knew what he meant - what would she be doing now that she wasn’t doing heists any more? She shrugged. “I’ll do more work for Sirius as his secretary. He’ll need help now that things will be moving.”

“Ah.” He slowly nodded. “That seems like a significant change.”

“Well, my skills have other uses, too. It takes a thief to catch a thief.” She certainly wasn’t going to be a mere secretary. No matter what she had told her parents.

“Or an Auror,” he replied. But he was grinning.

She sniffed. But she was grinning as well.

She didn’t end up staying the night. But he had his arm wrapped around her long before she left.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 23rd, 1999

“Did you have any knowledge of what kind of additional protections your husband had ordered for your vault?”

“No.” Mrs Malfoy droned, her eyes not quite focused, under the effect of the Veritaserum.

Scrimgeour - he was handling the Malfoy case personally, though Harry Potter suspected only because Bones hadn’t been able to find a rule that would let her take over - nodded. “Did you suspect that he had hired a practitioner of blood magic?”

“No.”

“What did you suspect?”

“That he had found a dark wizard on the continent.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because he knew dark wizards.”

“As friends?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you meet them?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see him use the Dark Arts?”

“Yes.”

“After his pardon in 1997?”

“No.”

“Do you know of any crimes he committed after his pardon in 1997?”

“No.”

Harry pressed his lips together. If he were leading the interrogation, he would have pushed and asked about past crimes. But Bones had all but removed him from the case - if not for Sirius, he wouldn’t even have had the opportunity to watch the interrogations. And while Scrimgeour might be claiming to focus on crimes for which they could prosecute Malfoy, Harry had no doubt that the Head Auror also didn’t want to embarrass and annoy other members of the Wizengamot by revealing their past sins and connections to Malfoy.

“Looks like Mrs Malfoy will get acquitted,” Ron whispered next to him, despite the privacy charm they had cast. “Or not even indicted.”

Harry shrugged. “If she didn’t know about Malfoy’s crimes she shouldn’t get punished.”

Ron snorted. “I still think giving birth to Draco Malfoy should be a crime.”

“He didn’t know about the blood magic either,” Harry pointed out.

“Well, of course not - his father knew that Draco dear would have bragged about it.”

Ron was joking, Harry knew, but he wasn’t too far off. Malfoy hadn’t told either his wife or his son, probably for their own protection, but Harry suspected that, at least in Draco’s case, it had been for his father’s protection as well.

“Well, it doesn’t look like Scrimgeour will find out anything interesting,” Ron said. “Nothing like Draco’s tales about his brothel visits.”

“And nothing about the blood mage’s identity,” Harry added.

“Well, she confirmed that he was a foreigner,” Ron pointed out. “French, probably.”

Which meant that the odds of being able to arrest the wizard were low - the French wouldn’t let British Aurors run an investigation on their soil. And Harry didn’t think they were up to the task of finding the criminal. No matter what Jeanne might claim.

He scoffed. “Do you ever wish we could just go and run an investigation without politics interfering at every opportunity?”

“All the time,” Ron replied. “But at least things will get better now, with Malfoy arrested.”

Harry snorted. Better, but not good enough. Politics would still be interfering, just on his behalf. Even when he didn’t want them to - people would still try to do what they thought Sirius wanted. He sighed. “Do you ever want to quit working for the Ministry? Seriously, I mean.”

“Yes.”

Harry blinked. “You do?”

“Of course.” Ron looked at him as if that was a stupid question. “I don’t want to keep working for the Ministry forever.”

“Oh.” Harry hadn’t known that. Ron hadn’t said anything, had he? Apart from the usual griping about stupid superiours, stupid regulations, stupid co-workers and stupid politics, which everyone did.

“Hey,” Ron said. “I wanted to become an Auror - we were needed when we joined. Still are needed, I reckon, given how few good Aurors we have. And we’re a great team. But, I figure, you’re not going to stay a simple senior Auror forever.” He chuckled. “You don’t like taking orders.”

Harry pressed his lips together. He could follow orders just fine - provided they made sense. “What do you want to do, then?” he asked. “Wait - you want to work with Luna for The Quibbler.”

Ron nodded. “Yes. I love going on expeditions with her. And, no offence, mate, but if I have the choice of spending time with my girlfriend or you, I know who to pick.”

Harry knew that Ron was joking again - his friend was laughing - but he couldn’t help thinking that Ron wasn’t exactly wrong.

*****​

London, Ministry of Magic, February 26th, 1999

Seeing Malfoy in chains, in the same chair she had been years ago, facing his judgement, felt very satisfying, Hermione Granger had to admit. But knowing he was there because of her? Because of what she had done, after years of training? Because of her plan? That feeling was perfect. After so many years, she finally would have her revenge. Malfoy would finally pay for his crimes.

She managed to restrain herself from grinning widely as she looked at the man. He was holding up well, for someone who had admitted to hiring a blood mage under Veritaserum. Facing his fate with more dignity than she had expected.

It wouldn’t help him, though. Not with all the evidence against him.

“...and, while the accused claims he didn’t exactly know what the dark wizard he had hired would do to protect his vault, he knew that he was hiring a practitioner of blood magic - one of the vilest of the Dark Arts. The accused knew exactly what kind of sacrifices would be required for the task he wanted done - human sacrifices. Sacrifices, as we have heard from Unspeakable Smith, which then took place in the accused’s home while he pretended not to know what was happening.”

Scrimgeour scoffed, not bothering to hide his disdain.

“His claimed ignorance is, therefore, no excuse. He knew what he was doing, he knew what he was asking for and he wanted it done. But, even more damning, he didn’t do this because he feared for his life or his family’s life. He didn’t want his home’s protections strengthened - only his vault’s. It was fear for his gold, and nothing else, that motivated him.”

Hermione suppressed a snort. Scrimgeour wasn’t mentioning that if Malfoy’s hired blood mage had strengthened the manor’s wards with his craft, anyone analysing them would have noticed.

“And for such a vile crime, committed for such base reasons, there is only one fitting punishment: The Veil!”

Multiple gasps filled the Chamber, even though everyone should have known that Scrimgeour would ask for the Veil - if he hadn’t, he would have been seen as trying to downplay Malfoy’s crimes. That wouldn’t have been a smart move for an ambitious Ministry employee.

To Hermione’s surprise, Parkinson rose to speak for Malfoy. She hadn’t expected anyone to risk their reputation like that - especially not someone already known as Malfoy’s ally.

“Honoured members of the Wizengamot! While blood magic is a vile art, the accused wasn’t the one who practised it. There might not be much of a difference between the one who hired someone to do a task and the one who did the task, but a difference there is. And while the prosecution tries to brush it away, the fact remains that he didn’t know what kind of sacrifices would be required for his task. He didn’t want to know, indeed - and what is that but a sign of shame and regret?”

Parkinson shook his head.

“And while past deeds do not outweigh his recent crimes, I do have to point out that the accused risked his life, and more, to save this country when he fought the Dark Lord. He did this not just once, but over months, braving dangers few of us can understand, until he faced the most dangerous dark wizard we have known in open combat, at the side of Albus Dumbledore himself. He did this for us all.”

The wizard took a deep breath.

“And so I ask my esteemed peers to consider his past deeds, his sacrifices, when judging him, and show mercy to a fallen hero.”

Hermione pressed her lips together. She had no doubt that Malfoy had had only his own fate in mind when he had started working for Dumbledore. But did he deserve death? Muggle Britain had abolished the death penalty decades ago - and for good reason.

That some would call for the Veil should she ever get arrested also played a part, of course.

In the end, the Wizengamot sentenced Malfoy to life imprisonment in Azkaban, though it was a close call - and, as far as she could tell, mostly thanks to Sirius voting against the Veil; apart from Parkinson, Malfoy’s former allies hadn’t shown any mercy.

Which was exactly what she had expected from people who had tried to destroy her own life and her family’s on a whim, of course.

But they had paid for that. All of them. Well, almost all of them. She hadn’t been able to take revenge on Skeeter before the journalist had been sent to Azkaban. And Umbridge had been executed before Hermione could rob her home. It was good enough, though.

She watched as Aurors led Malfoy away. Sirius was already talking to a few of his allies - working on his first serious proposal, she knew - she had helped write it. And she’d be doing a lot more such work for the foreseeable future - it would take time to reform Wizarding Britain.

And yet, she couldn’t help feeling that she wouldn’t be able to stomach doing that work for the rest of her life. While it was very interesting and challenging, and very important, she craved more than shuffling paper and parchment.

But, for now, it would do.

And, she reminded herself as she saw Harry waiting at the entrance to the Chamber, she had promised to stop doing heists anyway.

But as she was hugging him, and enjoying him hugging her, she also knew that she could do more than heists. Eventually.

*****​