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

Chapter 4: Adapting

Hogwarts, September 16th, 1993

Double Potions had been weird, Ron Weasley thought as he left the classroom. Snape hadn’t been acting like the slimy git he was. Not as usual, at least. He had still nearly cursed Neville when the Gryffindor had mixed up slicing and dicing, and his comment when Lavender had managed to dip her hair into her potion by accident had left the witch in tears, but that was normal. But he had shown the same vicious attitude towards the snakes as well. It seemed the first week hadn’t been a fluke, then. The Headmaster might really be keeping the snakes on a short leash, and had Snape do it too. And the git must hate it, Ron thought with a smirk.

He still wasn’t the only one among the Gryffindors to sigh with relief when they reached the school’s courtyard - no one smart trusted the snakes. They had demonstrated just how rotten they were last year. First the plot against Harry, and then Hermione.

“This Sunday is Hermione’s birthday,” Harry said as they walked towards the Gryffindor dorms. “Have you gotten her a gift yet?”

“Percy’s old Transfiguration notes,” Ron answered. “She’ll like them, I think.” His brother had made a copy of them, to be exact, but that shouldn’t matter.

“Oh.” Harry looked impressed. “That was a good idea. I bought her a copy of the new Defence book when I bought mine.”

Not second-hand, Ron would have bet. But his gift was probably more useful - Percy had noted down everything the teacher had said. He shrugged. “Is Hedwig back yet?”

Harry blinked. “She should be. I’ll go check the Owlery!” He looked at Ron. “Are you coming?”

Ron grimaced. “I can’t. I have to get a book from the library first.”

“What?” Harry stared at him.

“Percy wanted a few favours in exchange for his notes.” Ron felt a bit angry - both at the indirect admission that he hadn’t spent money on Hermione’s gift and at Harry’s obvious surprise at him heading to the library.

“Alright. See you later then.”

“Be careful.” You couldn’t trust the snakes. Sooner or later, Malfoy would try something again.

“Of course.” Harry grinned. “Moody gave me a few tips, remember?”

“Yeah.” Ron had heard the story a few times now, and still wasn’t certain if he should be jealous or glad that he hadn’t met the man. His friend nodded, and went off towards the Owlery.

Ron sighed and headed towards the library. Percy was riding him hard, and not just for the notes. His brother was also nagging him to study and do his homework. Like a male, older Hermione.

He crossed the courtyard, then took a left, into one of the less used hallways. If people were after you, you couldn’t be predictable. Growing up with his elder brothers had taught him that.

“Hello, Ron!”

The cheerful greeting from the side corridor he had been passing took him by surprise, and he jerked, almost fumbling his wand in the process. “What?”

“Not ‘what’, at least I don’t think so. ‘Who’, probably.” A young witch stepped up to him, seemingly uncaring of his aimed wand. He recognised her.

“Luna.” Luna Lovegood. Second-year Ravenclaw.

“Yes.” She nodded, beaming at him. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d recognise me - we haven’t seen each other for a while.”

Ron fought not to wince. The Lovegoods lived near the Weasleys - closer than the Diggorys, even - and Luna had often been over at The Burrow, playing with Ginny. And with him, more often than not. But since Luna’s mother had died, a few years ago, she hadn’t come over any more. Mum had said Mr Lovegood had become ‘weird’. He nodded. “Yes. Things have been busy, too.”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Daddy told me all about your fight with the troll possessed by the Dark Lord. To turn him into stone with a mirror, how clever!”

“Err…” That wasn’t how it had happened. The troll hadn’t been possessed either. “Something like that.”

“And the revelation about your pet! To think it was responsible for the breaking up of The Hobgoblins!”

“The what?” Ron felt lost. What was she talking about?

“The Hobgoblins! The famous band. They broke up after their singer was imprisoned in Azkaban. Of course, they claimed he was dead, but that was just a cover up to hide the scandal that Stubby Boardman had been framed for murder - though they didn’t know that he had been framed, so they probably thought he was a murderer.” She blinked slowly. “Although, while heinous and evil, I can somewhat understand why your pet would do such a thing after Stubby Boardman used a dark ritual to turn it into a half-man. For a rat, that must have felt like being a werewolf, suddenly having a human body half of the time. And as a rat, it couldn’t have understood human laws either.”

“Ah.” Ron now remembered why his mum had broken off contact with the Lovegoods. Ginny had started to talk like Luna.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s so sad that it was Kissed. Now we cannot ask its perspective - which would have been fascinating. Although I now wonder… if the Dementor’s Kiss worked, it must have had a soul. And rats don’t have souls.” She gasped. “Did Boardman use a dark ritual to graft a human soul on to the rat?”

“I don’t think so,” Ron said, forcing himself to keep smiling politely. “Dumbledore would have noticed.”

“But Dumbledore didn’t notice Malfoy’s plot either,” Luna retorted. “He might need to replace his glasses.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. Ron found himself leaning towards her almost against his will. “He is a Seer who can see alternate worlds. Worlds where the sky is pink, for example, and only fishes use wands. But he needs his special glasses to see our world.”

Ron tried to find a way to lose the girl without insulting her. “Well… I need to go to the library. Percy needs a book before dinner. You know how he is.”

“Oh? What a coincidence! I’m on my way to the library as well!” She held up her book bag, which seemed to rival Hermione’s in size. “Someone must have stolen all The Quibbler issues there, so I need to replace them. We can’t let the students grow up ignorant!”

“Of course.” If in doubt, smiling and nodding was a good answer, Ron knew. It worked on parents and hopefully on weird witches as well.

“Nargles might have taken the issues - they were not placed in boxes kept locked with butterbeer corks. They like to steal things and hide them around the school. They’ve done that to me very often.”

“Nargles?”

“Small invisible flying magical creatures. They like to hide in people’s hair and steal their common sense if they can’t steal other things. Daddy did a series on them in The Quibbler. Have you read the articles?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You should. I lost a lot of things to them in Hogwarts, and I would have lost even more if I hadn’t been able to use the right sort of protections.” Luna blinked. “Although they haven’t stolen anything from me since term started. Maybe the Headmaster managed to drive them off?”

“Probably.” Ron remembered that last year Ginny had said something about Luna missing clothes. He frowned. “Are you certain that the thieves were Nargles?”

Luna nodded rapidly. “Yes. Who else would steal my clothes and shoes? It’s not as if they are expensive, and any witch who wanted her own could duplicate them instead.”

Ron could think of a few people who would steal things just to hurt someone, but they were in Slytherin. He wouldn’t have expected their ilk to be in Ravenclaw as well.

They reached the library after Luna had told him all about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks as well. “Do you need help distributing the issues?” Ron asked, feeling a little guilty about ignoring the girl.

“Thank you, but no. I have everything here. Go and fetch Percy’s book!” Luna beamed at him. “It was nice talking to you again. Can you give Ginny my regards?”

“Sure.”

Seeing her smile at him made him feel even more guilty.

*****​

London, Greenwich, September 17th, 1993

Hermione Granger pointed her wand at the newspaper lying on the kitchen counter and concentrated.

“Accio Daily Prophet!”

The paper twitched and slid towards her - a few inches. She clenched her teeth and tried again.

“Accio Daily Prophet!”

This time the issue made it all the way off the counter, landing on the floor. She thought she heard an amused snort behind her. Snarling, she focused on that irritating excuse for a newspaper. She wanted to read it. She wanted it, period.

“Accio Daily Prophet!”

The newspaper flew towards her, landing on top of the dinner table, amidst her ‘homework’.

“Impressive.”

She turned her head and glared at Mr Fletcher with narrowed eyes. “It was supposed to land in my hand.”

“Then you need to practise more.” A flick of his wand and the newspaper shot off the table and slammed against the wall in the kitchen. A silent Banishing Charm, Hermione noted.

Huffing, she tried again.

“Accio Daily Prophet!”

It took her half an hour until the newspaper landed in her hand, but she did it. Smiling proudly, she held it up.

“Impressive - for a third year.” Her tutor nodded. “Although you’ll need to be able to summon things from farther away for that spell to be useful in the field.”

She frowned. “Aren’t most valuables protected against that charm?” He had mentioned that, a few weeks ago.

“Not all of them. Many wizards trust their wards to keep thieves out and their belongings in, so they do not use additional protections in their homes - they want to be able to summon their things, you see.”

“Ah.”

“Indeed. Theoretically, even the average wizard could protect his home quite effectively against thieves. But all the security measures would inconvenience them - they would have to get up and pick up everything by hand, and would have to use Unlocking Charms and recast their Locking Charms all the time for even the simplest things. So most don’t.” He grinned. “Most don’t have anything worth breaking into their homes for, of course, but even the rich purebloods are often lazy and leave holes in their protection.”

“Ah!” That made sense. “You don’t want to open a safe each time you want to use your silverware.”

“Exactly - unless you have servants to do it for you. Or you use conjured silverware anyway. Each mark is different - and has different protections.”

“But everyone has wards on their homes, right?” They needed to, to keep other wizards from apparating into their houses, or vanishing their doors or walls.

“Yes. Some wizards might try to hide as muggles, and forego wards so they don’t give them away, but that’s the same as dropping your gold in the forest and hoping that no one finds it.” He scoffed. “Some tried that - hiding as muggles - in the war. They were found, though.”

“How?” She would have thought that it would be hard to find anyone among sixty million muggles.

“Friends betrayed them - willingly or not.”

“Ah.” He had lectured her often that humans were the weak spot in many protection schemes. And, if she was understanding him correctly, he had lost friends during the war who had been trying to hide like that. Another puzzle piece fit into her mental picture of her tutor. “So… Once I’m through the wards, I could try a Summoning Charm and hope I get lucky?”

“You’ll have to know what you’re after - and that it’s not covered by an alarm charm.”

Which meant it was a bad idea. She frowned.

“Mind you, there are things you can sell - or use for your heist - that usually aren’t protected against Summoning Charms. Keys, for example.”

“What?” That made no sense at all!

He laughed. “I told you - wizards are lazy. They don’t want to search for their keys, and want to be able to summon them.”

“But those kind of wizards usually don’t have much worth stealing, right?”

“You’re learning!” He grinned and went back to his own reading.

Hermione opened the newspaper. The front page was full of speculation about Barty Crouch’s murder. Speculation she had read a few times already. “You’d think they would have found a more interesting topic by now,” she muttered.

“Not if they are getting paid to repeat themselves,” Mr Fletcher said without looking up from his book. “The more they hint that Black had a reason to murder Crouch, the better for Malfoy.”

She clenched her teeth. Malfoy again! “Mr Black was able to clear his name before, and quickly.”

“That was because the Ministry had Pettigrew, and Dumbledore threw his weight behind Black. And Malfoy probably decided that he could use the affair to hurt the Weasleys.” Her tutor shrugged. “But this? Black has an alibi, and a good one - Dumbledore himself testified that he was in Hogwarts at the time of the murder - so they can’t arrest him. But the Prophet can speculate about Black’s involvement as much as they want and get paid for it - the only way Black could shut them up would be to produce the actual murderer. Veritaserum won’t prove anything after his stint in Azkaban; the Dementors left his memory with more holes than a sieve.”

To lose her happiest memories, of her family and friends… Hermione shuddered. “But who could have done it? The wards were intact, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, they were.” Mr Fletcher nodded. “Not a trace of manipulation. Which means that this was either done by a good Curse-Breaker, or by someone who was keyed into the wards.”

“But Crouch was living alone, with just a house-elf, who was killed as well.” Hermione had followed the case.

“Yes. So that leaves either one of his friends or acquaintances who visited him - which is not a long list, but does include a few very influential people - or a Curse-Breaker. Or a good thief.” He chuckled at her expression. “Good thieves are among the best Curse-Breakers, since they have to know how to disable curses and traps, and slip or break through wards. And they live as dangerously as Curse-Breakers, too.”

She sniffed. It wasn’t the first time he had hinted at the dangers of thieving. If she were frightened off by danger, she would have left Hogwarts after the troll. “So, when do we start on Curse-Breaking?”

He laughed, but it sounded a bit forced to her. “Once you have finished your third year material.”

Hermione huffed and pushed the Daily Prophet away. Time to study some more.

*****​

Hogwarts, September 19th, 1993

“Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you asked your godfather to include me in this training?”

Harry Potter was impressed by how much breath Ron had left - Harry had trouble just breathing, so he nodded. “Yes.” After another gulp of air, he added: “Often.”

“I’ll take it all back, mate.” Ron groaned as he slowly sat up.

“No returns!” Harry mumbled, getting up himself. He wasn’t about to do this alone.

“Get up, you two! Death Eaters won’t give you any time to rest and recover!” Sirius yelled at them. A flick of his wand, and a few Stinging Hexes followed.

Harry rolled to the side, but Ron was a little too slow, and yelped when he got hit. “I wasn’t even ready!” Ron complained.

“There are no rules in a fight!” Sirius shook his head. “We’re not duelling here. There’s no referee stepping in.”

“So far we haven’t done any fighting, just running,” Harry muttered.

“We haven’t even learned how to cast a Shield Charm,” Ron added.

“And you won’t until you can move without attracting curses.” Sirius scoffed. “We’re not teaching you how to hex Slytherins in the hallways, but how to survive when Death Eaters come after you. And that means running the hell away without being hit.”

Remus sighed. “What Sirius should be saying is that this is the first step. We’re deliberately not teaching you how to cast a shield, or any curses, until you have learned how to move in a fight. Many of your enemies will be using the Unforgivables, and no shield protects against them. The only defences are hard cover - or not being hit.”

“And you’re not good enough at Transfiguration or Conjuration to make your own cover,” Sirius added.

“Yet,” Harry muttered. He would be good enough as soon as possible - he was sick of getting hit without being able to hit back.

“So, we’re playing dodge the Bludger…” Ron sighed.

“You aren’t dodging the curses; you’re dodging the caster. Unless it’s long range, most spells will be too fast for you to spot them and get out of the way. But when you’re not at the spot at which the enemy is aiming, the effect is the same. It’s much harder to hit a moving target than a stationary one. Which means you need to keep moving, and in an unpredictable way, preferably at an angle too,” Remus explained.

“Which you haven’t managed yet,” Sirius cut in.

“You’ve been getting better at it, though,” Remus added with a smile.

“Just wait until we get to curse you back!” Ron said.

Sirius laughed. “You’ll have to master the Shield Charm first. And that’ll take a while. A long while if what we’ve seen so far is the best you have. So, I’m not really worried.”

Harry glanced at Ron, who nodded at him as they lined up again opposite the two older wizards in the Defence classroom.
Sirius and Remus might stick to their program of Moving, Shielding and then Cursing. But Harry and Ron were also learning spells in the normal Defence lessons. And they could ask Ron’s brothers for some help too.

They would get back at their ‘teachers’.

*****​

London, East End, September 19th, 1993

“Alright, this looks like a good spot.” Mr Fletcher nodded to himself.

“I guess that means you’ve been here before,” Hermione said, looking around the abandoned plant.

He laughed. “Ah, yes. Good catch!”

Hermione sniffed - it was an easy deduction. Her tutor had stressed that a good thief had to prepare and case a joint in almost every lesson, and she doubted that he’d neglect his own rules. “And what are we doing here? Curse-Breaking?” she added, hoping she was correct - she wanted to finally learn how to break through wards.

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re not yet ready for that. No, you’ll be learning… let’s call it ‘Defence against the Aurors’.” He nodded at his own words.

“‘Defence against the Aurors’?” That sounded… well, not too bad, actually, she thought.

“Yeah. The best defence is not to be seen in the first place, but sometimes that doesn’t work. Plans can fail, people make mistakes, marks go home early, or it turns out the master of the house is having an affair with an servant in a supposedly unused guest room.” He chuckled briefly. Hermione wondered how many of his examples he had experienced himself. “In that case you have to react quickly or you’ll end up caught.”

Hermione nodded and moved to a rusty machine to use as a makeshift desk so she could write this down.

“Best case is that whoever saw you runs away and calls the Aurors. That means you have enough time to get away before they arrive. But you have to react quickly - they won’t take long.” He frowned. “Never think that you just need a minute, that you ’ave enough time to take what you came for! If someone discovers you, get the ’ell away!”

“Noted.”

He snorted. “It’s worse if the mark attacks you and calls the Aurors at the same time - that makes getting away harder. And some naive thieves might think they just have to stun the mark, and then get on with the heist.” He shook his head. “Never do that. No matter who discovered you, or what they do, you need to get away. They don’t need to use the fireplace to call the Aurors; they can have alarm charms set up for that as well. Or someone else could be calling them.”

Her planned retort died on her tongue and she underlined that point.

“But the worst case is when they attack you, but aren’t calling the Aurors. That usually means that you are dealing with a criminal yourself - and they are generally willing to kill to protect their loot. Most Aurors are predictable - we know what they learn in training, and few ever develop their own spells or tactics. But dark wizards? The kind who would keep the Aurors from entering their homes even while it’s being robbed? They will do their best to kill you.”

Hermione underlined that note as well.

“So, let’s look at what you can do to get away when the curses are flying at you. As I told ya, the best defence is not to be seen - so anything that conceals you will help a lot. If you use smoke, use coloured smoke - green, if possible. People will think it’s poison, and will either flee or spend time countering it.”

“Wouldn’t walls be a better choice? They block spells,” Hermione said.

“Until they meet a Blasting Curse, and you get showered with stone or metal splinters,” Mr Fletcher retorted. “Don’t get me wrong - walls have their place. If Killing Curses are being thrown around, you want something solid to cover you while you get away. And not everyone is willing to blow up their own house to get a thief. Many are, however.”

“Thanks to Mending Charms,” Hermione muttered.

“Yes.” He grinned.

“And there are distractions. Conjured animals behind them, fake sounds, explosions - if you have the time, set up a distraction in advance that you can trigger when you need it.”

Hermione had a few ideas.

“But sooner or later, it all comes down to how quick you are on your feet. The best distractions, cover and concealment are useless if you’re not fast enough to get away, or don’t know the right spells to create an escape route when you need one.” He grinned. “And today, we’re going to train the former.”

His smile reminded her of the smiles of some of her muggle classmates when their teacher had them play prisonball in PE. She just knew that this would be a painful, exhausting lesson.

And, as usual, if she did say so herself, she was right.

*****​

Hogsmeade, October 30th, 1993

“Our first Hogsmeade weekend!” Ron had been repeating the phrase a few times on their way to the village.

Harry Potter nodded in agreement as his friend stuck his head out of their carriage again, to check how much longer it would be until they arrived.
Ron slid back into his seat. “You know, we could have visited before.”

Harry frowned. “The tunnels Sirius showed us were meant to let us escape an attacker, not to visit Hogsmeade.”

“That’s why Sirius was grinning widely when he showed us how to enter, and told us three times that the tunnels lead to Hogsmeade?” Ron scoffed. “He might as well have told us to sneak out.”

His godfather had probably been lost in his memories - or the remains of them - Harry thought. “He also told us several times each training session that we have to be careful because Voldemort is out there, just waiting for a mistake.”

“If visiting Hogsmeade were a mistake we wouldn’t be sitting here,” Ron retorted.

“We’re not exactly alone,” Harry said.

“What?” Ron drew his wand and looked around. “Where? And how did you know?”

“One of them is up in the air on a broom, above us.” Harry was guessing, but it was a good guess. The carriage hadn’t seemed heavier than the other empty ones, and no one was inside. That left air cover as the best way to protect them.

Ron stuck his head out again and looked up. “Can’t see anything.”

“We would need the right spell for that,” Harry said. “I guess Remus is waiting for us in Hogsmeade, to keep an eye on us.” It wouldn’t be unusual for a teacher to play chaperone - especially on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term.

Ron sighed, then perked up. “Well, it’s a good thing.”

Harry frowned. “Do you think we’ll get attacked?

“Not by Voldemort. But the snakes might give us trouble.”

Harry cursed - the Slytherins would indeed make trouble if they thought they could get away with it. Especially given Harry and Ron’s plans for the visit.

*****​

“There she is! Hermione!” Ron was waving and yelling. If anyone in the school had not expected them to meet their friend, they would be proven wrong right now.

Harry smiled, though, instead of frowning - it wasn’t as if they could have avoided that. For all the hype and excitement among the students, Hogsmeade was actually a tiny village, and there were only so many places you could visit - Harry and Ron had had to learn the layout of the village by heart so they wouldn’t get lost in an emergency.

Their friend was waving at them too. Hermione was looking well, Harry thought - she was smiling and waving from her spot at the station. Her muggle clothes - jeans and sweater and a short jacket - looked nice, but they also made her stand out among the robes of the student and villagers.

“Harry! Ron!” She didn’t move from her spot until they had reached her, but then she stepped up and hugged them - Harry first. She felt different in his arms, harder. But that might have just been the clothes, he reasoned as he rubbed one of his lingering bruises.

“Oof!” Ron yelped. “Careful with the side; it’s still sore.”

And there was her familiar frown, Harry thought. “What have you been doing?”

“Training,” Ron said. “Defence.”

“Yes. And Quidditch too, in my case,” Harry added.

Their friend looked as if she was torn between telling them off for getting hurt - and playing a dangerous sport - and praising them for their studying. “Don’t overdo it, though. It you keep getting hurt, there’s something wrong.”

“We’re getting better, don’t worry,” Ron said, glancing at Harry.

Harry nodded - there was no need to tell her that their ‘teachers’ were stepping up their game accordingly. He cleared his throat. “So, where shall we go first?”

“Quidditch supplies!” Ron said quickly. “I’ve heard they have a Firebolt on display. The fastest broom on the market!”

“Oh? Sounds interesting,” Hermione said. “Let’s go take a look!”

Harry blinked, then exchanged a glance with Ron, who nodded at him as he was closing his own mouth. “Who’re you and what have you done with the real Hermione?” Harry asked, with a smile to show that he was joking - she had been playing Quidditch with them, but she had done so badly, he had expected her to condemn flying as a stupid pastime.

“Really?” Hermione pouted. “Just because I’m not a Quidditch maniac doesn’t mean that I loathe all brooms. I’ve been looking into brooms since I started learning how to fly. A Firebolt is, of course, far too expensive, but it is the best broom, and so a good yardstick.” She shook her head at them. “Now let’s go!”

That was the bossy girl they knew and liked. A few minutes later, they were standing in front of the shop.

“There it is!” Ron exclaimed, pressing both hands on the glass. “Look at it!”

It was impressive broom, Harry thought. Sleek, with an optimised shaft, a shiny footrest - it made his own Nimbus 2000 look like the Weasleys’ car, in his opinion.

“I wonder,” Hermione said, “if that’s a real broom, or just a copy for advertising.” She looked around. “Wouldn’t they secure the broom much better if it was a real Firebolt?”

Harry hadn’t thought of that. Ron shook his head. “What? They wouldn’t do that… would they?”

Harry was about to answer when he spotted Malfoy and his cronies coming down the street. For a moment, he wanted to move away. Then he clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t step out of their way. And Malfoy had seen him anyway.

“Hey, look, there’s the thief, looking at a Firebolt. Planning to steal that one too? It’s not as if you could afford even a rickety old Cleansweep, could you?”

While Hermione went red in the face and glared at the git, and the other Slytherins laughed too loudly for it to be natural, Harry gripped his wand inside his robes. Malfoy was going down!

“Mr Malfoy? Do I have to inform Professor Snape that you are making a spectacle of yourself in Hogsmeade?” Remus’s cold voice - so unlike his usual tone - stopped the snakes in their tracks. Their teacher had appeared at the side alley next to the shop and was staring, no glaring, at the Slytherins.

“No, sir,” Malfoy spat, barely remaining polite, and turned away. Remus nodded at Harry and his friends, then walked past.

“The bloody git’s going to pay for this!” Ron hissed.

“You won’t do anything to him. He’s just waiting for that,” Hermione whispered back. “Do you want his father to make more trouble for your family?” Then she glared at Harry. “Or you?”

Sirius would heartily approve, Harry thought, but he shook his head anyway. They had promised, after all.

But it grated, he thought as they walked towards the local book shop. It grated so much!

*****​

London, Enfield, December 25th, 1993

“Merry Christmas, Hermione!”

“Merry Christmas, Dad, Mum!”

Hermione Granger kept smiling and told herself that she wasn’t materialistic. That she didn’t care about money. There were more important things in life. Friendship, and justice, and… She sighed, then winced when she saw the glance her parents exchanged with each other.

And she winced even more when they caught her reaction. “Hermione… dear… it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself for…” Her dad trailed off.

“For ruining our family?” Hermione completed his sentence. She snorted.

“It wasn’t your fault,” her mum insisted.

“We’re not exactly ruined. We have a steady income, a home, each other…”

Hermione almost rolled her eyes at her father. He was trying, but this wasn’t a Disney movie. “We live in a small, cheap flat, we’re hounded by goblin and muggle debt collectors, everything we earn above subsistence level gets seized, and everyone thinks I’m a criminal.” She wasn’t - not yet, at least.

“It’s not that bad.” Her mum shook her head.

“They took our books!” Hermione snarled. Their collections! Her prized books! Her childhood - for Heaven’s sake, she sounded like an old woman!

“We can go to the library and borrow any book we want,” her father retorted.

“It’s not the same,” Hermione muttered. It wasn’t. The library was great, but some books you simply wanted to own, so you could read them whenever the mood struck you. She shook her head. “And books are just the tip of the iceberg. We had to move, you lost half your friends…”

“I prefer to say that they weren’t our friends in the first place,” her father said, with a toothy smile. “If losing our home was enough to make them cut us off.”

“Probably thought we’d beg them for help,” Mum whispered.

Hermione flinched at that. “I didn’t beg!” Harry had asked his godfather. She hadn’t asked him to do that.

“I know you didn’t, dear,” Her mum was just humouring her, though, or so Hermione thought.

“And it’s not as if anything came of it anyway,” Dad cut in.

“Mr Black’s still fighting in court, but he’ll win,” Hermione said.

“And who told you that?”

“Harry.” That didn’t impress her parents, she knew. But Harry wouldn’t lie to her - and even Mr Fletcher said that it would take far more than being slightly unhinged to lose control over the family fortune. Especially with Dumbledore backing Mr Black. Harry said that Malfoy simply wanted a bribe - a settlement to stop his obstruction. But apparently, Mr Black was determined not to give Malfoy a single Knut.

Hermione approved of that. Whole-heartedly.

“Now let’s open the presents!” Mum said, with - in Hermione’s opinion - forced cheer. There were very few presents, and all of them rather modest compared to their last Christmas.

Hermione played along, though - it was Christmas, after all. But she would remember this. And she would make it up to her parents. With dividends.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 25th, 1993

“Open them, Harry! All of them!”

His godfather was bouncing on his seat, Harry Potter noticed. Literally, after a spell from Remus.

“What? Moony!” Sirius pouted at his friend.

“Just a reminder to calm down.” Remus smiled faintly. “It’s Harry’s first Christmas here.”

“Might as well be mine,” Sirius muttered. “My first Christmas at home without my evil family to ruin things. Figures that I didn’t lose those memories in Azkaban.”

Harry saw Remus wince at that, and, for a moment, silence filled the room. Some things they didn’t talk about. Azkaban was one of them. Then Harry stepped forward. “Alright!” He reached out for one of the bigger packages with his name floating above it, then hesitated.

“Go on - I’ve ensured that they are safe.” Remus smiled at him.

Sirius sniffed. “I wouldn’t hex my godson.”

But Sirius apparently had played ‘pranks’ on Harry’s father numerous times - even if he couldn’t remember most of them in detail. And Harry agreed with Remus - in private, of course - that it was better to be safe than sorry. Sirius was recovering from his ordeal, but it would take more time than a few months, and his memories might never return in full, so he was bound to be ‘eccentric’, as he called it.

Harry opened the package. Black and shiny cloth.

“New dress robes!” Sirius exclaimed. “Can’t have you walk around in school robes, or transfigured robes!” His smile suddenly vanished. “I wanted to buy you a new broom, but Dumbledore and Remus said that I would only play into Malfoy’s hands if I did that.”

“He wanted to buy you a Firebolt,” Remus explained.

Harry gasped. A Firebolt! But they were so expensive there wasn’t even a price listed in the shop.

“See? I knew he wanted one!” Sirius exclaimed.

“Of course he wants one. But he wouldn’t be happy if you had to beggar yourself for his gift.” Remus’s glance at Harry had him nodding in agreement.

“I thought most of your money was tied up in that court case,” Harry said while he unfolded the robes.

“I could have managed,” Sirius said.

“He was planning to sell the house.” Remus added.

“What?” Harry blinked. The house had been improved drastically since his first visit - only parts of the basement were still off-limits - but much of the furniture was still very… disturbing. At least in Harry’s opinion. “Who would want to buy it?” he said, then flinched - that had sounded bad.

“Malfoy, of course. Or rather, his wife, my dear cousin Narcissa.” Sirius sneered. “She wants the Blacks’ ancestral home. Malfoy offered to drop his case if I gave him the house. I wouldn’t do that, of course - but selling it is not the same.”

“Malfoy wouldn’t want it if he wasn’t planning something,” Remus said.

“We don’t know what.”

“And until we do you shouldn’t sell the house.”

Sirius scoffed. Then he perked up. “Enough talk about Death Eaters! Now, before you open your next present, try on your new robes!”

Harry did so, and turned around. They did look sleek and expensive. Elegant, but he was no expert on wizarding fashion.

“Perfect!” Sirius grinned. “Now touch the top button with your wand and say ‘change’!”

Harry did so - and found himself wearing a leather jacket. A stylish one - he knew that.

“See? You can use them to impress both witches and muggle girls! Or muggleborn witches!”

Sirius had said similar things before, so Harry didn’t bother glaring at his godfather. Besides, he didn’t think that he wanted to impress a girl who was impressed by gold.

“He’s thirteen, Sirius,” Remus pointed out. “At thirteen, you and James were banishing mudballs at girls. And that definitely didn’t impress them. At all.”

Sirius blinked and seemed to stare at nothing for a moment. Harry knew that meant that he was searching for another lost memory. Then his godfather grinned. “Well, that just means that I’m helping Harry to avoid making the same mistakes James and I did.”

Harry wasn’t certain that Sirius was actually helping in that area, but he laughed. It was Christmas, after all, a time to be happy with your family.

*****​

London, East End, January 3rd, 1994

Hermione Granger gasped as her left hand slipped on the wet roof and she almost lost her balance. And she cursed when she overcompensated, sliding down a foot or two before she could stop herself. Panting, she remained still for a few breaths. It wasn’t the falling she feared - this abandoned office building of an equally abandoned plant was tall enough that Mr Fletcher would be able to catch her with a spell, and she had cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground as additional assurance. But she hated failing. Even a task as unfair as climbing without the help of magic.

She forced herself to move on. She was sweating, and if she stayed still any longer, she’d be cold and not just wet. There had to be spells to deal with that… but she had to focus on climbing right now. Free climbing, even. She reached out once again, and this time she kept her grip. Her left leg followed, finding purchase on a broken tile. Her right hand overtook her left, grabbing the edge of a hole in the roof. She had to pull up her right leg far more than was comfortable to find a foothold, but she managed it. Half a year ago, she wouldn’t, and would have sprained something trying this. She had made progress. But she still didn’t like it.

But she needed to be able to do this. Mr Fletcher said so, and her pride drove her on. Inch by inch, if needed. Until she finally reached the chimney and could relax. And start to breathe normally again.

“Well… you managed to reach the top. But you took your time doing it. And I don’t think you need to hug the chimney that tightly. Your boyfriend might get jealous.”

She turned her head to the side and glared at the spot where Mr Fletcher’s voice was coming from. “Big talk coming from someone who used magic to get up here.” A broom, if she wasn’t mistaken - he was talking too casually for the alternative since levitating a board you were standing or sitting on required a lot of focus, and Mr Fletcher was no Dumbledore.

“Oh, don’t worry, broom flying is next. But first, we, that is, you, will do this again, just a little faster.”

She groaned in response. She had heard those words before. It was always just a bit faster. A bit longer. A bit harder.

He chuckled. “You’ll be thanking me once you can easily outrun a mark - or an Auror - over the rooftops.”

“Wouldn’t they just apparate ahead? Or use a broom?” Hermione asked while she swung her leg over the ridge and drew her wand.

“Very few would risk apparating on a wet and slippery rooftop. And flying a broom is not that easy either, as you have demonstrated before.”

She clenched her teeth - she had gotten better at flying. Just not good enough. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself off the ridge and slid down the roof, casting a Cushioning Charm at the ground when she slid over the eaves.

The second she spent in free fall was both terrifying and exciting, even after she had done it dozens of times. Then she hit the ground and performed a parachute landing fall, jumping to her feet before her tutor arrived at her side.

“Very good.”

She smiled at the praise. She was getting better.

“But remember: Don’t let anyone know you can do this. When the Aurors are hunting a roof-running thief you want to be known as a clumsy bookworm.” He tapped his forehead. “You have to outthink your opponents from the start. As long as you’re always at least one step ahead of them, they won’t catch you. And it starts with keeping your identities separate.”

“Yes,” she forced through her clenched teeth. It made sense. It was logical. Obvious, even. But she hated downplaying her hard-earned athletic ability. The only thing she hated more was keeping her growing - even if slowly - skill on a broom a secret.

He laughed - he knew exactly what she was thinking. She had complained about it often enough.

*****​

London, East End, January 6th, 1994

“Alright. Begin.”

Hermione Granger took a deep breath and cast the detection spell. Her vision was briefly filled with flickering patches of colours, blinding her, before the effect faded. She looked around - everything looked normal. As it should - the spell that allowed her to see spells and curses had a very short range. Which explained why Curse-Breakers lived a dangerous and often short life - the best traps took that range into account.

She focused her attention on the purse on the table in front of her. She could see the Extension Charm, which made it bigger on the inside. And there was a charm that allowed the owner to pull out what they wanted, without having to grope around inside. A variant of the Summoning Charm. But where was the curse protecting it?

She pointed her wand at it. She could simply try to end all spells, but that would be tricky - she didn’t know how many spells were hidden under those two obvious ones. There had to be at least one. Well… there was one way to find out. She reached out with her hand... touching the purse, touching its strings… there! That was a spell reacting to her touch.

She grinned as she aimed her wand and ended it. Another touch showed no reaction. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the purse and pulled out a Knut. “Done!”

Mr Fletcher was frowning, though. “Yeah, you did it. But that was a risky method - triggering a response to spot the spell? That won’t work with wards. And some nasty buggers curse their purses.” He shook his head and pulled out another purse. “Do it again, but this time without triggering the protection spell on it. Triggering an Alarm Charm to find it defeats the purpose, you know.”

She huffed - of course she knew that. Just as she knew that most purses wouldn’t curse someone for touching them. But Mr Fletcher was correct. Sighing, she tried again.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 20th, 1994

When he saw Sirius’s wand light up, Harry Potter threw himself forward and down, clenching his teeth when he rolled over his shoulder on the hard stone floor. He used his momentum to jump up, and dove for the floor again right away, changing his direction, then rolled along the floor a yard until he was behind a pillar. Panting, he grinned - that had been two, maybe three spells that had missed him. He glanced to his side. Ron was faring well against Remus too, though Harry’s friend slid into cover on his belly, which had to hurt - more than Harry’s shoulder, at least.

“Alright, that was a good showing,” Sirius declared. Harry didn’t move - his godfather hadn’t said that the exercise was over. Remus coughed. Harry heard Sirius sigh. “Alright - the test is over. You did well.”

Harry grinned at Ron as they slowly stood up and left their respective cover. “So, will you now teach us how to curse back? I mean, how to ‘slow pursuers down’ and ‘make them seek cover’?” Harry asked, grinning widely.

“No.” Sirius shook his head.

“You said that once we could dodge - make ourselves difficult targets -” Ron corrected himself before Remus could do it, “you’d teach us how to strike back too!”

“Yes, we did. And we will,” Harry’s godfather said. “But you’re not yet ready. You are hard to hit with spells like a Stunner, or similar curses, but…” His wand flicked, and Harry jumped to the side as before, but this time, liquid splashed over him before he finished his roll.

No, not liquid - paint, he realised a second later.

Sirius was grinning widely. “As you can see, there are spells that are a bit harder to avoid. Spells that cause explosions, spells that create clouds of poison - or waves. And we’ll train until you can move without thinking about it.”

Harry groaned, then cast a Cleaning Charm on himself. He had feeling he would be doing that very often in the future.

*****​

“Merlin’s beard!” Ron complained when they were walking back to their dorm afterwards, “I was so happy that we’d finally learn something…else.”

Harry nodded. Playing target for his teachers wasn’t much fun. Even if it was effective. But it hurt, and the ointments could only do so much. “Well, we’ve been learning hexes and jinxes in Defence.” And on their own.

“Nothing really useful, though,” Ron said.

Harry knew what his friend really meant: Nothing really dangerous. He shrugged. “It’s a start.” And he knew Sirius and Remus were right: Trying to duel a Death Eater would be stupid. For now, at least. But it still galled not to be allowed to strike back. “Well, you know…” he trailed off when he spotted movement ahead of them. Was that? It was. “Snakes ahead,” he whispered.

“I’ve seen them,” Ron whispered back. “Four of them. Malfoy.”

Harry clenched his teeth. The smart thing would be to avoid them - he doubted that the Slytherins had seen them yet; they hadn’t been training to spot ambushes. He and Ron could just duck into a side corridor and take a little detour.

But he was sick of avoiding the Slytherins. And sick of avoiding Malfoy. He had avoided Dudley too often, back in Little Whinging. Before Hogwarts. “Let’s keep walking. We’ve done nothing wrong,” he said. “Besides, there’s a portrait watching the hallway.”

Ron drew a loud breath, then nodded. “Alright, mate.”

They walked forward, and Harry could see the exact moment Malfoy and the others - Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson - noticed him. They jerked and stopped walking. Parkinson stuck her hand into her bag, probably going for her wand. Harry’s was already in hand, but pointed at the ground.

“Potter. Skulking around in the evening, like a thief?” Malfoy sneered at them.

Harry had wanted to ignore the snakes. Just walk past them, as if they didn’t matter - and they didn’t. But this… He scoffed. “Careful, Malfoy. Wouldn’t want to get detention for threatening students, and ruin Slytherin’s chances for the cup. Oh, wait - you already did that by yourself.”

Ron added: “Funny how that works when you can’t cheat and lie any more.”

“I’ve heard Snape was so sick of how far behind they are, he wanted to withdraw his house from the cup, but Dumbledore wouldn’t let him.” Harry hadn’t just learned self-defence from his godfather; Sirius was an incurable gossip as well - as long as the topic interested him. And the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherins definitely did. “Something about learning a lesson.”

Parkinson scoffed. “Like the lesson Granger, the cheat and thief, learned?”

Harry wanted to hex the stupid witch, but he controlled himself. The teachers had cracked down on ‘altercations’.

“Been visiting your crazy godfather? Holding his hand so he doesn’t break down crying when it’s dark outside?”

Harry clenched his teeth together. Then he felt Ron’s hand on his shoulder. “Mate, let’s go - it stinks like Thestral shit here,” his friend said, wrinkling his nose. “Or Slytherins.”

Harry laughed. Joking about Malfoy’s detentions with Hagrid never got old.

“You… you…”

“Yes, Malfoy?”

“What are you standing around for? Waiting so you can curse us in the back?” Malfoy said after a moment.

“No. That’s what you do. And when it doesn’t work, you go whining to your dad.” Harry scoffed.

They stared at each other. Everyone had their wands in hand.

“And you go running to the teachers as soon as someone doesn’t think you’re that great,” Malfoy retorted. “And you’re not great - you’re both poor excuses for wizards! Bloo… bloody poor excuses!”

“Oh yeah? Who challenged us to a duel and then didn’t show up? You’re a bloody coward, Malfoy! Even when you outnumber us, you don’t dare do anything until we turn our backs to you!” Ron yelled back.

“Don’t talk to Draco like that!” Parkinson huffed and glared at them.

“Oh… is she your new mum? Gonna hide behind her skirt too?” Ron laughed.

Harry was surprised when that was enough for Malfoy to attack them. But even surprised, he was already moving when he saw Malfoy’s wand starting to rise.

“Densaugeo!” The spell went wide - Malfoy was no Sirius or Remus.

“Furnunculus!” Parkinson was a bit slower, and casting at Ron, who was already in cover.

“Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!”

“Petrificus Totalus! Petrificus Totalus!”

And then it was over. Crabbe and Goyle hadn’t even managed to draw their wands. “Wow… he fights like he smells,” Ron quoted his brothers. “Would be so easy to hex him now,” he added, crouching down next to Malfoy’s paralysed form.

“No,” Harry interjected. “Let’s just wait for the teachers to sort this out.” He wasn’t really worried - the portrait had seen everything, after all. And if he got detention for provoking the git, well - Sirius had already said he wanted a cover for their lessons.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 19th, 1994

“Ah, Miss Granger! Welcome to my humble home!” Mr Black said, bowing with a flourish.

Harry’s godfather didn’t look like his mugshot, Hermione Granger thought. Instead, he looked older, and much more elegant. She returned his bow - and almost winced when she saw his eyebrows rise in surprise; she should have acted a little more muggleborn. To cover her lapse, she used her most posh accent. “I’m grateful for your invitation, Mr Black.”

“Anything for my godson’s best friend. Best female friend.”

She nodded. “Will Harry be joining us?”

His smile vanished, replaced by a fierce scowl. “No. Ever since Harry schooled his son, Malfoy’s been making a fuss about ‘special privileges’, and so we didn’t want to risk sneaking him out.”

She had heard about that. And berated the boys for provoking Malfoy.

Mr Black sighed, then beamed at her. “But enough of that! Please, let me show you the living room.” She hesitated just a moment, and he added with a grin she could only describe as ‘roguish’: “It’s perfectly safe - whatever Harry said.”

Hermione laughed despite herself, and his eyes seem to light up. “So... you’re not a serious as he said.”

“What?” She pursed her lips. “I presume that this was in response to me letting him know my opinion about his altercation with Mr Malfoy.”

“You are correct. Although one could say that he was defending your honour.”

She was perfectly capable of defending her own honour. Outside the judicial system of Wizarding Britain, at least. Or would be soon. She didn’t say that, though. They reached an elegant living room. Very ‘muggle’, in Hermione’s now - thanks to Mr Fletcher - rather well-informed opinion.

“So, I am certain Harry’s already told you - Malfoy lost in court. I’m now in full control of the considerable Black fortune.” Mr Black was smiling widely, if a bit toothily.

“He did inform me, yes.”

“Which means that I am now in a position to fulfil my promise to pay your debts.” His smile lost the teeth.

She didn’t ask if he knew how much he was offering to pay - Harry had said that his godfather knew the size of the debt. “That is very generous of you, sir.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his left hand. “Bah. I can afford it. Just the sight of my bigoted family portraits getting spitting mad at the thought of all that ill-gotten gold being used to help a muggleborn witch is worth it.” The teeth were back.

She could understand the desire for revenge. Very well. And yet… “There are a few complications, you could say. Or things to consider.”

“Yes?” He was frowning again - he seemed to have a mercurial temper. Probably a result from his time in Azkaban. She didn’t think she wanted him angry with her.

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “First, all the money would go straight to the despicable people who framed me.” And to see them actually profit like that… she grew angry just thinking about it.

He slowly nodded. “I can see that. And yet, isn’t letting your family live like they used to worth more than denying them some gold?”

‘Some gold’ - Hermione had to struggle not to react to that. “It would be - if we actually could return to our former life without having to explain to the government from whence all that money came.” If you were framed as a thief, the government tended to be suspicious of a sudden influx of cash - or, worse, actual gold.

He looked confused, and so she explained further: “The tax office would demand an accounting.”

Mr Black shrugged. “That can be worked around. My family has some experience in those sorts of things.”

“Money laundering?”

“Let’s just say that, in the past, my family wasn’t quite as compliant with Gringott’s monopoly on exchanging muggle money for gold, and vice versa.”

“Ah.” Circumventing the barriers put in place to control the wizard economy - as much as it could be called that - was indeed a tricky affair. The goblins were aware of the danger uncontrolled money transactions posed to their livelihood, even if most wizards never gave it a thought.

“I see you’re familiar with the matter,” Mr Black said after a moment.

“Yes.”

They exchanged grins, though Hermione wasn’t quite certain how much Mr Black knew of her current circumstances. Although if he was willing to spend a fortune on her, then he would have checked with Dumbledore to assure himself that she actually was innocent.

“And you’re remarkably well versed in pureblood manners.”

“At their core, they’re not so different from muggle manners.” Apart from all the customs involving magic and wands, of course.

“Dumbledore told me he arranged a tutor for you.”

“Mr Smith, recently arrived from the New World.” The lie came easily to her - she had told it a dozen times in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. “Second, there’s a danger that Malfoy might make another attempt to deprive you of your control over your family fortune, should you spend so much gold on me.”

He shook his head. “Not so soon after he lost. That’s not done.” He frowned. “But we might want to spread the payments out a little.”

“There’s also the matter of our reputations. If you spend so much gold on my debts, people will assume you have other motives than simply the desire to help a friend of your godson.”

“You mean they will wonder if you’re sleeping with Harry, myself, or both.” She didn’t expect him to state it that crudely, and it must have shown on her face since he laughed. “They said worse about me and James, when I ran away from home and went to the Potters.”

“Ah.”

“So I don’t really care. And, forgive my bluntness, but your reputation is already in tatters in certain circles.” Mr Black sounded as if that was not really important, though.

“I’m aware of that.”

“So, unless you value your pride more than your family’s good fortune, I do not think there is any reason to reject my offer.”

He had her there. Ultimately, she didn’t want to owe anyone. And for that kind of help, she would owe Mr Black. But he was right - she couldn’t let her parents suffer the consequences of her own actions. And mistakes. “You are correct. I therefore accept your generous offer.”

He raised his wand. “There’s one condition.”

Ah. She hadn’t expected this to come up that soon. “Yes?”

“I want to meet your tutor. I need to know if he can be trusted. There is a lot of gold at stake, after all.”

“Of course.” Hermione kept smiling, though she wasn’t really certain how that would play out.

*****​

 

Chapter 5: Rumours and Revelations

Near Tilbury, Essex, Britain, March 20th, 1994

“Ah.” He sighed contentedly as he savoured the taste of a good port. He hadn’t had any in a long time - he hadn’t been able to indulge in any of his vices during his captivity. His jailers had seen to that. But they had paid for it. Paid for every miserable year he had spent imprisoned, isolated, suffering.

He raised his glass at the figure lying on the floor. “I commend you - you have good taste in wine.” He took another sip. “If only you had had an equally good taste in friends.” He shook his head with mock regret and sighed deeply. “I would still do what I have come here to do, but I would sincerely loathe your loss. There are too few wizards or witches who know their wines. Too many simply drink whatever is sold in their favourite tavern, never knowing the pleasures of which they deprive themselves.”

He checked his watch - one of the few things he had kept from his family home, before he had cleansed it, then looked at the witch on the floor again. Her eyes moved frantically. They had stopped glaring at him an hour or two ago. Soon they would be filled with despair and anguish. And pain.

“You know, in my youth, I had even entertained the thought of creating a wizarding variant of this wine. Seek out some Portuguese wizard - or a witch,” he added with a grin, “and improve upon it by adding magic. But that was before the war, of course. I was so naive, back then. Almost innocent.” He grinned at the witch, and she paled.

He pulled back. “Don’t worry about that. I’m not interested. Unlike others, I stayed faithful.” Not that he had had any opportunities to stray, of course. Only his thoughts had been free, and even they hadn’t remained so for long. “Not many did, you know. Too many repudiated him, when the situation looked bleak. Lost their faith. Lost their hope. Lost their pride. Lied and betrayed their way to freedom. Turned their back on their comrades and cause. Turned their back on HIM!” He yelled the last word, anger and rage filling him. They would pay. All of them would pay for their betrayal. Their desertions. They and their kin. Their blood would pay for their sins.

He took a few deep breaths to calm down. He couldn’t be angry. Not when he would be needed soon for the ritual.

“They were worse than our enemies, you know? They, at least, faced us openly. Showed some courage, even if they were misguided in their allegiance. But those who abandoned us, and him, when the tide turned against us… they are unworthy!” He emptied his glass and bent down again. “Like your nephew. Did you know that he supported my master?” Her eyes seemed to widen, he thought, but that might just be an illusion - the full Body-Bind Curse held her paralysed. “Not with his wand, not him, the coward! And seldom enough with gold. No, he simply paid lip service to our cause. Always talking, but never doing anything, never proving himself!” He chuckled. “Well, now he is serving our master, body and soul.”

Not forever, of course. Not even with the ritual that would soon take place, at the exact time of the equinox, when night and day were in perfect balance. Great things could be achieved on such a date, under the omen of spring’s renewal and rebirth.

He frowned. If they could do this at Samhain, when the barriers between the dead and the living loosened, they could achieve even greater deeds - but Samhain had been tainted! Cursed those many years ago, when his master had been defeated by a wicked trap.

No, it had to be spring, not autumn. A new beginning. A new life. Paid for and nurtured by the sacrifice of another life, of course, since everything had its price. It wouldn’t hold forever. Bagnold’s body would succumb to his master’s power, too weak to contain his spirit. But it would last long enough for his master to achieve his goals.

With his help, of course. He checked his watch again. Almost eight o’clock. Half an hour to the equinox. He stood up and flicked his wand, and Millicent Bagnold rose in the air, following him to her study, where they had prepared the circle for the ritual. Where his master was waiting in a rotting, misshapen body.

He knocked before entering, of course - to barge in on the Dark Lord was unthinkable. “My Lord?”

“Enter, Barty.”

He obeyed.

Inside, Alphons Bagnold, the former Minister’s nephew, was stuck to the floor, surrounded by runes and candles, in the middle of a web of finely etched grooves. His eyes were dim - he was unconscious. A mercy he deserved as little as he deserved the honour of surrendering his body to the Dark Lord, but needs must - if he struggled too much, he might manage to disturb the ritual.

Barty ignored the stench from the Dark Lord’s current shell as he bowed to him. He had smelled worse in Azkaban, and the rotting husk would last long enough for his master to possess Bagnold. And that body wouldn’t degrade so quickly.

His master nodded at him, the bloated head with two overlapping faces moving slowly, and then pointed at the circle. It was time.

Barty levitated Bagnold to the sacrifice’s spot, a space surrounded by seven bowls filled with dried crocus petals. He dropped her there, and stuck her to the stone, then turned to face his master, who took his place in the centre of the circle, next to Bagnold’s nephew.

“Begin!”

He obeyed. His wand rose, and he started chanting the spell. One by one, the candles lit up, followed by the bowls’ contents. Soon smoke dimmed the lights, and he turned around, raising his wand as his chanting grew louder. A slashing motion, and Bagnold’s throat was cut, her blood flowing, gushing into the deep groove beneath her head.

Soon, the blood was spreading, filling every groove, every rune, empowering the circle with life and death. Focusing the magic on his master.

He was shouting the words now, his wand moving frantically, cutting the very air surrounding him. In front of him, the husk holding his master’s spirit was collapsing, fading, as the magic of the ritual took effect.

And then, finally, a green shade rose, floated above the circle in a moment of splendour, shining with power, before descending on Alphons Bagnold, sinking into the body.

And when the body started to move - unmarred by any outward sign of the possession - and shining eyes gazed upon him with pride, Barty Crouch Jr fell to his knees, feeling happier than ever in his life.

“My Lord!”

*****​

Hogwarts, March 21st, 1994

Millicent Bagnold Murdered! Nephew Shocked! Black’s Revenge?

Harry Potter stared at the headline of the Daily Prophet, then at Remus, sitting at the staff table. The teacher’s face seemed set in stone.

“Blimey! Wasn’t Sirius joking about killing Bagnold?” Ron muttered at his side.

“Yes,” Harry pressed out through clenched teeth. “He was joking.”

“Doesn’t look like many believe that,” Ron whispered.

His friend was right, Harry realised - all around them, students were whispering, and sneaking glances at him. And at Remus. The Gryffindors were trying to be discreet, at least, but the other tables… He could imagine what Malfoy was whispering to the other Slytherins.

“Do you think they’ll arrest him?”

“They can’t! They have no proof,” Harry blurted out. Then, realising how that could be taken, he quickly added: “He’s innocent. He didn’t do it.”

“I believe you, mate.” Ron put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “But the others…”

“Sod the lot of them!” Harry muttered. “And sod Snape!” The Potions Master was reading the Daily Prophet in a rather obvious way, and his shocked expression was so at odds with his usual controlled manner, Harry just knew it was fake. Maybe Snape had killed the former Minister, to frame Sirius?

“Wow… two Hit-Wizards on protection detail slain. Her house burned down. And on the Spring Equinox. They speculate about dark rituals,” Ron commented.

Harry scoffed. “They speculate about my godfather!”

“But that had to be a seriously powerful wizard.” Ron winced when Harry glared at him for his choice of words. “Not many of them around.”

“It wasn’t Sirius. It was probably Malfoy’s father.” Harry stared at the Slytherin, and noted with some satisfaction that the git wasn’t able to meet his eyes. “He has the most to gain if Sirius gets thrown into prison again.”

“Or Kissed,” Ron said.

Harry really hoped that the Headmaster would be able to handle this new problem. He couldn’t lose his godfather. He wouldn’t.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 21st, 1994

“Welcome to my humble home, Miss Granger, Mr Smith.”

Mr Black wasn’t quite at ease this time, Hermione Granger noticed. His manners were still impeccable, but he was far tenser than during her first visit to his home. And his smile seemed forced. She had expected that, though, after those articles in the Prophet which all but accused him of murdering Millicent Bagnold.

“Mr Black.” Mr Fletcher used his faint American accent again and bowed a little stiffly.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Hermione said when she bowed herself.

Mr Black led them straight to his living room and filled a glass with Firewhisky before asking if his guests wanted a drink as well.

“Water, please,” Mr Fletcher said, after a moment. He eyed the bottle, though, Hermione noticed. She would have to ask if it was a particularly expensive brand.

“For me as well, thank you,” she said herself.

Mr Black drank half his glass in one go, flames shooting out of his mouth in response, then nodded at Mr Fletcher. “So, you’re Miss Granger’s tutor. You look familiar.”

“I hear that from time to time. My family was originally from England, so I might have distant relatives here.”

“The Smith family?” Mr Black tilted his head while swishing the whisky in his glass. “They’re an old pureblood family.”

Her tutor smiled and spread his hands. “In the New World we didn’t care much about old blood.”

“Ah. You’re from one of the muggleborn enclaves then?” Mr Black took another sip from his glass. He seemed more relaxed now. Or he simply controlled himself better, Hermione couldn’t tell.

“I travelled.”

“I assumed as much - muggleborns don’t generally care much about pureblood manners.”

“Their loss. Without an open mind, one misses many opportunities. Such as travelling to the Old World, and working as a tutor.” Mr Fletcher seemed tenser now, though.

“And you picked Miss Granger as your first student. Pro bono, I assume.” Mr Black hadn’t missed that particular hole in her tutor’s cover story.

“An old acquaintance referred her to me.”

“An acquaintance we share.” Harry’s godfather nodded. “He assured me that you could be trusted, and yet he was not very informative.”

“He values discretion. As do I.” Mr Fletcher was now showing his teeth when he smiled.

“You look really familiar. I’m certain that I would recognise you if I had all my memories.” Mr Black lost his smile. “Who are you?” Mr Fletcher hesitated, and Mr Black scoffed. “Come, now! We know each other. Dumbledore even said he trusted you - which means you’re either a friend of his, or an Order member. Do you expect me to pay a fortune in gold without verifying who is involved?”

Hermione’s eyes widened for a moment. Order? She glanced at her tutor, who seemed to know what Mr Black was talking about.

“If my association with my pupil becomes known it could have quite the negative effect on her reputation and life. You should be aware of how appearances matter.”

Harry’s godfather scoffed. “Malfoy’s trying to pin Bagnold’s death on me, but all the gold in England won’t help him there. Dumbledore has the situation under control.”

“But it doesn’t make rebuilding your life any easier, does it?” Mr Fletcher retorted.

“No. But I have to point out that not getting my gold will not make rebuilding any easier either.” Mr Black leaned forward. “Her reputation is already in tatters, and can’t really get any worse in good society. Is your secrecy worth keeping her in debt?”

“She’d owe you.”

“Better me than Malfoy’s friends.” Mr Black smiled.

That was true, Hermione thought. She knew that Harry had a lot of influence on his godfather, and apparently, so did Dumbledore. But she wouldn’t press her tutor. As Mr Black had pointed out - she would owe the gold to someone anyway, and her tutor was her best chance at getting revenge.

Mr Fletcher sighed. “Yes. I’m Fletcher. I worked for Dumbledore in the war.”

Mr Black blinked, then seemed to freeze for a few moments before smiling. “Ah, the thief!” Almost happily, he added: “I haven’t forgotten you!”

“You almost did,” her tutor shot back.

“The Dementors took the happy memories.”

The two men nodded at each other. Once more, Hermione felt left out.

“With your curiosity satisfied, how will you be running this?” Mr Fletcher asked.

“Ah, I’ll pay her creditors. I’ll claim I’m doing this to protect my godson. They’ll understand - or will think they do.” Mr Black grinned and emptied his glass. “That takes care of the wizarding side of the problem. I’ll funnel some gold to her under the guise of hiring her parents as my personal dentists.” He shivered as he said that.

Hermione almost frowned - even in Wizarding Britain, muggle dentists had a reputation. Wholly undeserved, as she had tried to tell her muggle friends so many times in the past! She smiled instead, though. “Thank you, Mr Black.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I can afford it.” He lifted his glass to his lips, then seemed to realise that it was empty. He summoned the bottle and refilled his glass. “To this motley collection of crooks!” he said, raising it in a toast he seemed to find very funny.

Hermione politely raised her glass.

He took a large sip, then looked at her. “So, does Harry know what you’re learning?”

Hermione froze for a moment. Of course he’d realise, knowing her tutor! She shook her head. “No, he does not.”

“And you don’t want him to know.” That wasn’t a question.

“No. If something happens…”

Mr Black nodded. He would understand that, Hermione thought.

She realised that he hadn’t asked if she would change her plans and stop being Mr Fletcher’s pupil - or was that apprentice now? - either. Of course, he would understand her desire for revenge better than anyone else, she thought.

*****​

London, Merton, April 25th, 1994

“Well, I like it!” Hermione Granger declared, standing in the middle of the living room of the house she and her parents were viewing.

The estate agent was smiling at her in in a rather patronising way. “It is a nice house, isn’t it?”

Hermione put on her best imitation of Mr Fletcher acting all professional. “Indeed. It’s close to both a bus stop and the tube while the neighborhood offers good shopping opportunities for the basic necessities without having to use transportation. It’s true that the pipes and electrics, as well as the central heating, could have used a little more maintenance over the last few years. But the layout is practical for a family of three, and offers us a good amount of flexibility.” Such as space for rebuilding their libraries, and a discreet room to practise her magic. And she could use Mending Charms on the house anyway.

The woman looked to be taken aback by her appraisal, but quickly recovered. “Indeed - you have a good eye for houses, Miss Granger. Have you considered becoming an estate agent?”

Her parents smiled, although rather weakly, at that. “The house does look nice,” her father said. “Better than the last one you showed us. But I think we should discuss the price.”

As the adults started to haggle, Hermione wandered into the back yard. The lawn had been mowed, but the flowerbeds had been neglected, in her opinion. But the fence was high enough to frustrate curious neighbours, and there was enough space for more than a few chairs and a table.

And the house was close enough to their former home in Kingston upon Thames that she and her parents could easily visit the few friends who hadn’t abandoned them. Maybe use a little of the money her dad was currently saving by haggling over the price of the house for a nice car. Show their old acquaintances that their financial difficulties had been overcome. It wouldn’t help her own reputation, but at least her parents would be seen as hard-working, successful professionals who had handled the troubles their criminal daughter had caused for the family and not as fools, or even accomplices, who had been ruined by their adolescent daughter’s crimes.

It wasn’t as if she would be be making many new friends here anyway - between studying and training, she hadn’t much time for such things. Her revenge on all those who had wronged her came first.

*****​

London, Enfield, April 25th, 1994

“You don’t look as happy as I would have expected,” Hermione Granger said as soon as she and her parents had returned to their rented flat. She narrowed her eyes when they glanced at each other before looking at her. “What’s wrong? The house is nice. Bigger than our old one, even! And the neighborhood is nice too!”

“It’s not the house, dear,” her mum said.

“Is it the new practice? Mr Black said he’ll cover the difference, until you’ve rebuilt your client base.”

Her dad coughed. “It’s Mr Black, actually.”

“I told you that he was framed! He’s no criminal!” Even though the Black family had a very nasty - and, according to Mr Fletcher, well-deserved - reputation. But both the Headmaster and Mr Fletcher trusted Mr Black - although in her tutor’s case with some reservations. As Mr Fletcher told her, Azkaban changed a wizard. “You didn’t say anything when he paid my debts!”

“Would it have mattered? The transaction was done entirely in Wizarding Britain. With wizarding money,” her dad pointed out.

“And we agreed that it was better to owe a friend of Mr Dumbledore instead of those nasty purebloods,” her mum added.

“So what’s the problem?” Hermione couldn’t see it.

“People don’t spend that much money out of the goodness of their hearts.” Her dad shook his head. “They expect something in return.”

“I know that.” She wasn’t naive, after all. Not any more. And Mr Fletcher had told her the same.

“But you said that he had spent twelve years in Azkaban,” her mum went on. “And you were quite clear how horrible the conditions for the prisoners were there, when you told us how you barely escaped imprisonment there.”

“Yes.” Maybe she shouldn’t have been that frank about Azkaban.

“So, do you see why we are somewhat concerned about owing a man who spent so much time there a debt?” her dad cut in.

“You think he’s crazy,” Hermione said, pursing her lips.

“You were the one who told us that most prisoners lost their minds within a year.” He looked at her.

“He didn’t. He’s an exception.” She had spoken to the man, and while he certainly did show signs of the effects of his ordeal, he wasn’t crazy. “And he’s getting treatment too - he’s been seeing a Healer for almost a year.” She was being generous there, but Harry had told her Sirius was getting help and was steadily getting better.

“We’re just concerned that he might change his views.” Her mum smiled. “He might regret his generous actions once he’s thinking more clearly.”

“He won’t. He did it for Harry, because I’m his friend and saved him from a plot, and he loves his godson very much.” Hermione smiled, but she could see that this argument hadn’t convinced her parents.

“There’s another thing, too,” her mum said after a moment.

“What?” What else had Hermione missed.

“Your education.”

“Is this about going to a muggle school? I told you, I’m not giving up magic!” She had thought her parents understood that.

“We know. But there are other schools than Hogwarts. You told us about the French one, Beauxbatons,” her mum said. She didn’t mention the one in the New World, of course - Hermione had told them about the state of Magical North America, and how dangerous their constant wars were.

She had - on their last vacation in France. “Yes.”

“So, you could go to that school, instead of learning with a tutor here, and getting frustrated at your lack of progress.” Mum nodded when Hermione flinched. “We do overhear you often enough, dear.”

“I see.” She took a deep breath. “Theoretically, I could go to Beauxbatons. Mr Dumbledore would certainly vouch for me. But,” she continued when her parents kept looking at her, “I would have to study in French. That would hinder my education as well.” And she would have to fit into a new school as a muggleborn, with a reputation as a thief. She doubted that many of the students would trust her, no matter what Dumbledore said - and muggleborns in Magical France had it worse than in Wizarding Britain. “And here I have the support of my old teachers at Hogwarts. I think overall, I’ll do better here than abroad, even if it is not entirely optimal.”

“Are you certain?” her mum asked. “You could learn French easily, I know. And it would be a new start as well.”

Hermione shook her head. “It wouldn’t be a new start. The Magical World is small and transfers are very rare - we haven’t had any at Hogwarts for ages. People would quickly find out why I left Hogwarts.” She sighed and smiled weakly at her parents. “I can’t run away from this.”

And she wouldn’t, even if she could. Mr Fletcher might not be the best Transfiguration or Charms teacher, but he was an expert thief. And for her revenge, Hermione needed what he could teach her. Going to Beauxbatons wouldn’t help her goals.

*****​

Hogsmeade, April 30th, 1994

As the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter had been getting used to being stared at by random wizards and witches. Or being thanked for something he didn’t remember doing, and strongly suspected had actually been done by his parents. He didn’t like his fame, but he could handle it.

These days, though, things were different. As he was walking through Hogsmeade with Ron, towards the Hog’s Head Inn, people didn’t just stare, but whispered, and judging by the way they were avoiding his eyes when he looked at them, they weren’t being complimentary.

“I wish I had learned the Supersensory Charm,” he muttered.

Ron scoffed. “We already know what they’re saying - the same things as the idiots at Hogwarts.”

Harry sighed and nodded. Ron was right. Remus and Dumbledore had told him that he should ignore the rumours. But when he heard ‘Black’, he still stopped and turned towards the witch who had said the name loud enough to be overheard. “Yes? What did you say?”

She looked embarrassed, wringing her hands. “Nothing.”

He was so fed up with the rumours. Malfoy was a git, but he at least told Harry to his face what he thought of Harry’s friends and family. Harry took a step towards the witch. “Really? I thought I heard you talking about my godfather. You know, Sirius Black.”

“The murderer!” one of the other witches, an older one, nearby hissed.

Harry raised his voice. “He is no murderer! He was framed by Pettigrew!”

While the witch he had addressed first took a few steps back, all but fleeing, the other witch stood her ground. “And then he broke out of Azkaban and murdered Crouch and Bagnold!”

“That’s not true! Dumbledore vouched for him!” Harry yelled.

“Yeah!” Ron chimed in. “Are you doubting Dumbledore?”

A wizard scoffed at that. “He vouched for Snape as well!” Harry was too angry at the rumours about his godfather to flinch at that.

The older witch added: “And Bagnold’s nephew said that she was afraid of Black!”

“He also said that he doesn’t want to accuse Sirius!” Harry clenched his teeth. He wanted to hex the stupid witch.

“Of course he’d say that! He’s afraid of Black as well!” The wizard shook his head. “And you should be afraid of him too!”

“I’m not afraid of him!” Harry retorted. “Someone’s framing him again. And you’re all helping!”

“Of course you’d defend him! You defended your thieving friend as well!”

Harry whirled around. Malfoy was there, with Parkinson and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. The git sneered at him and Ron. Harry almost hexed him, but managed to control himself.

“You know that Hermione is innocent! You framed her!” Ron yelled. His friend had his hand in his pocket, on his wand, Harry realised - like himself.

“Innocent? Granger? Hah! Why do you think Black would pay so much gold for her, huh?” Draco scoffed. “Is she already paying him back, or does she wait for you?”

That… that… Harry snapped his wrist and his wand shot out of its holster. Malfoy would pay! But before he or Ron could curse the bugger, a loud voice cut through the whispers and murmurs: “Stop it!”

Harry froze - that was Remus. And he was angry.

“Mr Malfoy! Spreading filthy rumours about others?” The professor glared at the Slytherin. “About your mother’s cousin?”

“I didn’t!” the blond git protested.

“I heard you, and I know what you said - and what you meant.” Remus scoffed. “Your Hogsmeade privileges are revoked until further notice, and you have detention today and tomorrow. Return to the castle at once!”

“But… you can’t do that. My father…”

“Your father will do what?” Remus bared his teeth, and the Slytherin fell silent. “Go!”

Malfoy slunk away. Crabbe and Goyle followed, and, after a moment, Parkinson did as well.

“And you two! Stow your wands!” Remus snapped at Harry and Ron.

Harry slowly did so - he was still trembling with anger at Malfoy’s words. Ron muttered a curse under his breath.

“Now get going, everyone!” Remus said.

Harry clenched his teeth, but obeyed. Hermione was waiting for them at the Hog’s Head Inn, after all.

And now he knew why she hadn’t wanted to wait at the train station.

*****​

“Hermione!” Harry barely noticed the rest of the dingy and probably dirty room as he made a beeline towards his best female friend.

“Hi, Harry! Hi, Ron!” She smiled at them as she stood up, then hugged them. “Thank you!” Harry knew she wasn’t just talking about meeting her.

“Are those new robes?” Ron asked once they were sitting down. Harry stopped glaring at the whispering witches at the next table and looked himself. They did indeed seem to be new.

“Used ones I repaired,” Hermione explained.

“Ah.” Ron nodded in apparent sympathy. “They look fine, though.”

“So, how are you doing?” Hermione asked after they had ordered three Butterbeers from the old bartender.

Harry glanced at Ron, then shrugged. “Same old.” He didn’t want to mention the rumours. She probably knew about them already.

“We’re studying for the exams. Percy is pushing us hard,” Ron added.

“Good!” Hermione said, beaming at them. “Exams are important.”

Harry didn’t think he should mention that Sirius had told him that all he had to worry about were the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. “I’m looking forward to moving in with Sirius.” Though Dumbledore had mentioned some unspecified complications, the Headmaster had also said he would be handling them.

“I’m studying as well, of course. And we’ve started to move into our new house,” Hermione said, smiling widely. “It’ll take some time until we’ve furnished it, but we have the basics. I just wish I could conjure furniture.”

“Lots of bookshelves?” Harry grinned while Ron chuckled.

Hermione didn’t laugh, though. “I don’t need that many bookshelves - I haven’t replaced my collection, yet.”

Harry winced. He had forgotten about that. “Well, you’ll get them in time, right?”

“I guess so…” Hermione sighed. “It’s just… replacing books I liked but won’t read again feels wasteful. But I still miss them, even though it’s not as if I have much time to read anyway, not with all the studying. But, speaking of studying,” she added as she pulled out some parchment from her robes, “I wanted to compare some notes.”

She was smiling at them so earnestly, Harry couldn’t help smiling back, even if he wanted wince at the thought of their Hogsmeade meeting turning into a study session.

“Blimey! I mean… sure.” Ron’s smile seemed rather more forced to Harry.

But, he reminded himself, this was their best friend. And it was good to see her act so normal again. Well worth a little sacrifice.

Especially with all those rumours going around.

*****​

Hogwarts, June 16th, 1994

“Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat.” The Headmaster gestured at one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“You wanted to speak to me, sir?” Harry Potter asked as soon as his backside touched the chair. Gryffindor was holding their own leaving party this evening, and he would rather not miss the start - most of the good food, the stuff brought in by the twins from Hogsmeade, would vanish quickly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “I will try not to take too long, so you will be able to partake in the little feast your house is preparing.” He was smiling as he said it, so Harry didn’t flinch that much. “I was a Gryffindor too,” the Headmaster went on, “I am quite familiar with the unofficial traditions. As is Minerva.”

“Ah.” Harry had trouble imagining the stern Head of Gryffindor House tolerating the kind of party that would soon start, but he nodded anyway.

Dumbledore grew serious, though. “I have called you to my office because I have an important favour to ask of you. You are aware that Voldemort is not quite as dead as many believe.”

“Yes.” Of course he was - the Dark Lord had tried to kill him, after all. “And you said that the Ministry wouldn’t believe me if we told them.”

“Some would, some would not. The Minister is among the latter - I have sounded him out, and he was not receptive to the possibility of danger. Fortunately, others in positions of authority are not as willfully blind, albeit for their own reasons. There is also the danger that such news would alert the Dark Lord’s followers - those not already aware of his presence.”

“Yes.” Harry didn’t know much about politics, so he had to trust Dumbledore there.

“Rest assured, as soon as I have proof of Voldemort’s return that I can present to the Ministry, I will do so, It is, partially, for this I have called you to my office.”

Harry blinked.

“There are ways to view and even copy memories with magic. I think your memories of your encounters with Voldemort would be useful to prepare for his next move. Although I would understand if you would prefer to keep your memories private - especially of such traumatising events.”

“I only remember the attack in my first year,” Harry said. He didn’t remember the night his parents were murdered. Just… bad dreams.

“I see. I will show you how to copy that memory.” The Headmaster cleared his throat. “There is another matter related to this. The protection your mother’s sacrifice granted you against Voldemort.”

“Yes?” Harry resisted the urge to rub his scar - the visible reminder of him surviving the Killing Curse.

“When I brought you to your relatives’ house, I tied the protection to the home. I thought it best to ensure that your relatives would be protected as well, as long as they lived there.”

His mother’s protection was tied to his aunt’s home? Harry stared at the old wizard.

Dumbledore sighed. “I didn’t know better at the time, and I tried to rectify my mistake during the last few months so you could live with your godfather, but as it turned out, after so many years, moving the protection again proved beyond my power. I apologise for that.”

“What does that mean?” Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut. The Headmaster couldn’t mean that...

Dumbledore smiled. “It means we have to be clever.”

*****​

London, Merton, June 27th, 1994

Hermione Granger almost crumpled up the sheet with the results from her ‘exams’. She had failed. Well, she would have passed the exams, of course, but her grades… She clenched her teeth. She hadn’t expected all Outstandings - that hadn’t been realistic - and she had focused on Charms and Transfiguration, where she had achieved Outstandings according to the Hogwarts teachers, and she had been told to hold back in Defence. She hadn’t really expected an Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures, not with just books to study and no actual creatures, and the same was true for Herbology, but… she had had an Outstanding in Astronomy in her first year, and had managed to keep that in her last ‘exam’. Now it was down to Exceeds Expectations, and closer to Acceptable than Outstanding. And her grade in ‘Muggle Studies’ was an insult! She was a muggleborn! And it seemed that the Divination teacher was a friend of Snape’s - both had left rather scathing grades and comments.

At least she had History of Magic with a solid Exceeds Expectations, and the same grade, if less solid, in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.

But she had studied so hard… She managed not to cry, despite wanting to. She would not let Malfoy’s plot ruin her life, and her grades! This was just a setback! She would do better!

And she’d start right now!

She quickly wrote a note for her parents - ‘gone to see my tutor’ - and left the house.

*****​

London, Greenwich, June 27th, 1994

“Those are very respectable results,” Mr Fletcher said. “I should be flattered as your tutor, although most of that was your own effort.”

“I had better grades in my first year, and last year. There’s a downward trend.” A clear one - next year, she would have mostly Acceptables and Exceeds Expectations, if she couldn’t change this!

“You didn’t have as many subjects last year. And you spent more time at Hogwarts.” Mr Fletcher leaned back in his favourite seat as she paced in front of him.

“That’s no excuse!” she spat. “They’ll think I cheated!” Snape would spread the word about her grades, she just knew it!

“Those are reasons, not excuses,” he chided her, and his slightly sharper tone made her swallow her reply. “There’s only so much time to study and practice, and both of us do not spend all of it preparing for your exams.”

She sighed. She was learning a lot from her tutor that she couldn’t show at an exam. “I know, but…”

“No but. You need to set priorities. Drop useless subjects like Muggle Studies and Divination. Astronomy as well.”

She gasped. “Astronomy is a core subject!”

He sneered. “Astronomy is a waste of time. It’s like Latin for muggles - its use is severely limited outside a few specialised fields. Thievery is not such a field.”

“But the constellations affect our magic!” She had learned that in her first year.

“Yes. But in a negligible way. Did McGonagall or Flitwick ever tell you to watch the constellations before casting a spell? Or even mention such effects?”

She blinked. “No.”

“Don’t you think they would do that if it was important?”

“I thought that would come in later years.”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t. Astronomy is a core subject at Hogwarts because some important wizard or witch in the past decreed it so, and it became a tradition. Drop it. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are much more important.”

She frowned. Dropping a subject - worse, dropping three subjects! - felt wrong. As if she was giving up. Admitting that she couldn’t do what others did.

“Besides, you’ll need to focus on your upcoming special exam.”

“What?” She stared at her grinning tutor. “Another exam? When?”

“Right now,” he said, standing up.

She squeaked with surprise. “But… I’m not prepared!” She hadn’t studied!

“You should be - if you listened to me, and learned my lessons.” His grin widened. “Now come - it’s a practical exam!”

“But…”

She was still mumbling protests as she followed him outside the flat.

*****​

London, East End, June 27th, 1994

She was familiar with abandoned office building Mr Fletcher had prepared for her test - she had climbed it often in the past and had entered through all its doors and windows at least once.

“I’ve prepared the building as if it were an average wizard building,” her tutor said, leaning against the wall of the plant behind them. Which meant there would be wards, and probably Locking Charms. And maybe a basic alarm charm. “Treat this as a real heist. But skip the subtle casing - no one’s watching. The target’s a chest.”

Hermione bit her lower lip as she studied the building. She could go through the door, of course - but that would be too obvious. So, the windows then. Upper floor - near the downspout. But she had to get through the wards first.

A detection spell later, she was slowly approaching the building until she could spot the wards - they were covering the walls, the most simple and common anchoring. It didn’t take her long to spot the weak points, and even less time to weaken the wards to the point that she could slip through them, and touch the wall without getting hurt. Which meant she could climb it.

She jumped up and stretched her arms, her hands gripping the upper ledge of the window. She pulled herself up, putting her feet on the windowsill, then reached for the downspout. A few seconds later, she was shimmying up the wall to the first floor.

Now came the tricky part. She could use a Sticking Charm, but that would mean she wouldn’t be able to instantly drop to the ground if there was trouble. So she held on to the spout with her left hand, one foot planted on the upper ledge of the window beneath her, the other jammed in the corner formed by the spout and the wall, and studied the window. A Locking Charm and a basic alarm charm. Uncommon for an average house. Unless… it could be the room of a small child, where the parents were afraid of the window being opened by accidental magic. Which meant it was better to avoid the risk of running into more monitoring spells inside.

She flipped her wand back into its holster with a flick of her wrist, then climbed up to the roof, and down the other side. A few spells later, she was inside the building. Now she just had to find the chest. And avoid all the traps her tutor had set. Which would be easy, as long as she was patient and didn’t rush.

Fifteen minutes later, she had found the chest - in the basement, of course - and disarmed the alarm charms on it. A minute later, she was out of the house, the chest floating behind her.

And she was smiling widely - that had been fun.

*****​

London, Merton, July 2nd, 1994

Hermione’s new home looked nice, Harry Potter thought when he approached the gate. He hadn’t entirely trusted Sirius’s description - his godfather was no expert on muggles houses. Or muggles in general. It didn’t make up for all she had lost, of course.

But it was a start. Or so he hoped, as he rang the doorbell.

Ten seconds later the door opened.

“Harry!” Hermione stood there, beaming at him. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, he noticed, despite the warm weather. She probably wasn’t getting out much, Harry thought.

“Hi, Hermione.”

“Come in!” She grabbed his hand and almost dragged him inside - she had grown stronger, he realised. “Dad’s in the office, working.” She frowned. “But Mum’s here. Mum! It’s Harry!”

Mrs Granger arrived in the doorway to the living room. “Hello, Harry.”

“I’m giving him the tour,” Hermione declared in that familiar tone that wouldn’t allow any objections. “That’s the living room. We’re still replacing our library, of course, so the selection is rather scarce.”

There were more books than Harry had ever seen at the Dursleys, including Dudley’s comic books, so he nodded and smiled as she led him through the house, pointing out everything, from appliances to furniture.

Her own room, which they visited last, after a stop in the kitchen, where Hermione grabbed sandwiches and colas, did look a bit bare - Harry would have expected there to be many more books.

She must have noticed his surprise because she bit her lip before saying: “I didn’t want to get my books back before my parents replaced their collections.”

Which of course meant that she would have loved to replace her lost books, but still blamed herself for Malfoy’s plot, Harry thought. Once again, though, he didn’t say anything, and simply nodded.

“So, how are you doing, living with your godfather?”

Harry sighed. “I’m just half-living with him for the next few weeks.”

“What?” She was staring at him, her glass in hand.

“I’m sleeping in my room at the Dursleys,” he explained. “My mother’s protection, which saved me from Voldemort twice so far, is tied to the house there, and in order to keep it, I have to spend a certain number of nights under their roof.” He grimaced. “Dumbledore tried to move it, but it’s stuck.”

Hermione shook her head. “That’s awful!”

“It’s not bad, actually. Sirius side-along-apparates me straight to my room each evening, and I really just sleep there.” He pulled out the mirror his godfather had given him. “I can call him on the mirror in the morning, and I’m back home a moment later. I haven’t even seen my relatives since we set that up.”

“You can communicate through that mirror?” Hermione stared at it, then at him.

“Oh, yes.” Harry smiled - of course she’d be interested in that. “Let me show you.”

He activated the mirror. A moment later, Sirius’s face appeared. “That was a quick visit. Did their parents catch you in bed?”

“Sirius!” Harry gasped at his godfather. “That’s a tasteless joke!” He glanced at Hermione. As he had expected, she looked angry. “I just wanted to show her the mirror.”

“Ah! Hello, Miss Granger!” His godfather waved at Hermione, apparently unconcerned about the insinuations he had just made.

“Hello, Mr Black.” Hermione was smiling politely.

Of course, Harry thought, she wouldn’t dare to tell off Sirius after he had paid her family’s debts. But there were other ways to get back at his godfather. He grinned. “Sirius created the mirror, Hermione. Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Oh? Really? How did you do it? Did you use a Protean Charm?” As expected, Hermione’s curiosity was much stronger than her obligation towards Harry’s godfather, and she was soon pestering Sirius with detailed questions.

And Harry’s expression as he looked over his friend’s shoulder at his godfather left no question that Sirius better answer each and every one of them, if he knew what was good for him.

*****​

Dartmoor, Devon, Britain, August 25th, 1994

Hermione Granger had never seen so many wizards and witches in one place - not even in Diagon Alley. The sheer number of Quidditch fans who had gathered to watch the World Cup finals boggled the mind.

She wasn’t openly gaping, of course - Mr Fletcher had seen to that. A witch of good breeding always kept her composure. And a good thief never gave herself away by acting out of character.

“Wow!”

Harry, of course, was neither a witch of good breeding, nor a thief, and was openly staring. Well, even Ron looked like he was impressed, if not as overwhelmed as Harry.

“Looks like a decent turnout,” Mr Black commented, as if this was just any other event.

She caught Harry frown at his godfather. “Compared to which other World Cup you’ve attended? You were bouncing off the walls when you had secured tickets for us!”

“That was in private,” Mr Black stated. “I would never act like that in public.”

Harry looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. Hermione knew that Mr Black couldn’t afford to look anything but his best, not when so many in Britain suspected him to be a deranged murderer. It was a sobering thought, but a few minutes later, when they were walking through the area where the food and souvenir vendors had set up their shops, Hermione was again feeling as happy as she was acting. There was just so much to see and browse.

Though when she saw the looks their small group was attracting from some people, she wished Mr Fletcher had already taught her how to pickpocket - they deserved to lose some of their valuables as punishment for their stupidity and bigotry!

Fortunately, the native idiots were a minority at the World Cup - wizards from all over the world had travelled to Britain to attend! She saw so many different robes and other clothes… or, in one case, what looked like body paint and some scraps of leather. That wizard attracted a lot of attention, she noticed. Mainly from witches.

But the main attraction was, of course, Quidditch! Most of the spectators were wearing at least one piece of Quidditch merchandise - many wore more. She saw a number who were decked out in full Quidditch gear, and might have been mistaken for players - but everyone knew the players’ faces, of course: They were displayed on floating posters at many stands, their pictures winking and waving.

“Oh, Viktor Krum!” Ron exclaimed, pointing at one of those. Indeed, there was the Bulgarian Seeker, although he seemed to be scowling more than smiling.

“Best Seeker of the Cup,” Ron said. Harry nodded, as did Mr Black.

“But the rest of his team is not as good,” Hermione commented. “They’ll need luck to win if they meet a good Chaser line up.” She noticed the boys were staring at her. “What?”

Ron grinned suddenly. “We turned Hermione in a Quidditch fan!”

Harry laughed. “What was it you called it in our first year? ‘The most nonsensical game one could think of’?”

“Miss Granger!” Now Mr Black was gasping at her, and the two boys were laughing. Hermione pouted - but she was happy. She had missed her friends, and the light banter. And she would miss them again, in a few days, when their fourth year at Hogwarts would start.

But for now she was having fun with her friends!

*****​

“No!” Harry Potter yelled with half the stadium as Krum dove towards the ground. He couldn’t catch the Snitch, not when his team was behind by more than a hundred and fifty points! He couldn’t end the match like that!

But Krum did. Ireland won the Quidditch World Cup, even though Krum had caught the Snitch. The green-clad Irish fans erupted in loud cheers, and once again, leprechauns bounced through the stadium, dropping fake gold coins all over the audience as the Irish team flew a victory lap.

And Ron’s brothers, a few rows down, hugged and slapped each other on the back. Harry hadn’t known that they were fans of the Irish team.

“Why did he do that?” Ron asked. “His team could have come back!”

Harry had to chuckle - that was something only a die-hard Cannons fan would think. “No, they wouldn’t. The Irish Seeker is not as good as Krum, but he’s no slouch - sooner or later, he’d have caught the Snitch.”

Sirius agreed. “Yes. Better to end it on his own terms, I say.”

“That will make a number of people who bet on the outcome rather unhappy,” Hermione added. “The odds for such an outcome were rather bad.”

“Miss Granger! First you condemn the greatest game ever invented, and now you turn out to have a gambling problem?” Sirius sighed theatrically, then started chuckling.

Harry saw Hermione stare at his godfather, then set her jaw. In a prim and proper voice, she countered: “I think, Mr Black, you are projecting your own issues here.”

“Maybe…” Sirius drawled, shaking his head. “But let’s go down to our tent. The after-match party won’t start until later, and we can use a bit of rest. And we might check up on the Weasleys, to assure them that we didn’t lose Ron in the crowd.”

Ron scoffed at that. “Mum thinks I’m as bad as the twins.”

They stepped over the gold, and around a few people who were collecting the gold. “Don’t they know that it’ll vanish in a few hours?” Harry wondered aloud.

“I think they do - but they might hope that not everyone can spot leprechaun gold,” Sirius said. “They can spend a lot of gold in an hour if they’re smart.”

“And if they find a merchant too stupid or inexperienced to check for that,” Hermione added. “A simple Dispelling Charm would make it vanish.”

“A few will be too greedy to check. And too excited about the Cup,” Sirius said, shrugging.

“Not everyone is used to having much gold,” Ron remarked. He sounded more than a bit defensive - probably remembering how he had gathered the leprechaun gold dropped before the match had started, Harry thought, until Hermione had told him that it was fake.

They reached the exit of the VIP stands from which they had been watching the match. Unfortunately, the Malfoys reached the exit at the same time.

“Narcissa. Lucius. And little Draco. Good afternoon.” Sirius’s smile was polite, but his tone could have frozen water, Harry thought.

“Sirius.” Mr and Mrs Malfoy nodded in greeting, smiling politely, but Draco scowled. Only after a glare from his mother did he return the greeting.

Which prompted a wave of polite greetings as honest as the leprechaun’s gold from everyone else present - with the exception of the Aurors and Hit-Wizards on guard, of course. And Remus, who was using Harry’s cloak to hide himself as he acted as their bodyguard.

“Bloody gits!” Ron muttered as soon as they were out of earshot, and on their way to their tent. “Think they’re better just ’cause they’re rich!”

Harry nodded, then caught his godfather casting a privacy spell.

“Gold does buy power and influence,” Hermione pointed out. “And as they have demonstrated in the past, it also buys you judges,” she added in a bitter tone.

“That’s true, but gold has drawbacks as well. If you buy yourself out of trouble all the time, you’re bound to become lazy. Just look at Draco - he’s a pale shadow of his father. Or rather, an even paler shadow. Probably Narcissa’s influence - she was always the one to rely on our family name and gold, too.” He shook his head. “Say what you want about Bellatrix, but she made a name for herself with her wand. And Andromeda defied my whole family when she married Ted. Narcissa?” He sneered. “She simply did as she was told, and let my father and uncle sort out any problems. That’s not how you become a dangerous witch.”

“Influence is dangerous enough, though,” Hermione retorted.

“And gold does come in very handy,” Harry added. “My relatives were far more willing to ‘shelter me’, as my aunt put it, once they were promised gold in return.” If only they could use leprechaun gold for that!

Sirius shrugged. “All the gold in Britain won’t save you from Voldemort. It just makes you a bigger target.” He grinned. “Now let’s see if someone tampered with our decoy tent!”

*****​

No one had tampered with the tent they had publicly set up. Or rather, no one had tampered with the wards protecting it, or so Sirius told them a bit later. “Too bad - I hoped we’d find Skeeter twitching on the ground.”

Hermione nodded her firm agreement to that. “I wish!”

Harry Potter was struck by how similar their expressions were. If they ever caught Skeeter with an excuse to curse the witch… He shuddered, then cleared his throat. “So, can we go meet the Weasleys now?”

“Of course. Let’s be off.”

They wouldn’t be meeting the Weasleys at their tent, but inside the - well-guarded, Sirius had said - private tent the Ministry had set up for the Minister and his guests.

“We’re attracting a lot of attention,” Harry remarked on the way there. They were turning heads in the crowd, and whispers followed them.

“Well… you’re the Boy-Who-Lived. News has spread about your presence. And you’re in the company of the two most infamous framed innocents in Britain.” Sirius chuckled, but it felt forced. “So, of course we’ll cause tongues to wag.”

“Yeah, but still…”

“And witches to stare,” Sirius interrupted him with a grin. Harry grumbled. “Well, mostly at your handsome godfather. But you’ll be soon having to drive them off with your wand, trust me. James was the same, and you...”

“...look just like him,” Harry finished for Sirius.

Hermione snorted, but Ron looked jealous. Harry sighed - it wasn’t his fault. And it was kind of creepy how even older witches stared at him. Like that one there. She looked pretty out of it. Maybe drunk… but she had a wand out. And she was raising it...

He was moving before the wand was pointed at him, dropping to the ground. A curse flew over his head, and he heard a cry behind him while he flicked his own wand. Sirius’s curse hit the witch before his own spell, or Ron’s - and the witch was thrown back by what Harry knew wasn’t a Disarming Charm, or a Stunner.

People were screaming now. Aurors were arriving. But Harry simply stared at the witch on the ground. Unmoving. Bleeding.

Had Sirius killed her?

“Harry, are you alright? We need to leave now!” Sirius was grabbing him, holding a Portkey.

But if they left… it would look bad. For Sirius. “We need to tell them what happened!” Harry blurted out. Sirius hesitated. Aurors were moving towards them. With drawn wands, of course.

And then Madam Bones arrived, with even more Aurors. And Hit-Wizards. “What’s going on here? Dawlish!” she snapped.

An Auror jerked. “Someone - possibly Black - cursed Bertha Jorkins. She’s dead, ma’am. There’s another cursed victim, but he’s alive.”

“She tried to kill me! Jorkins, that is!” Harry yelled. “But she missed and hit the wizard behind me! Then we cursed her!”

When everyone turned to look at him, Harry wished Dumbledore were here. He would sort this out. But he wasn’t. And so Harry raised his chin and looked straight at Bones. “I can give you my memory of the event. She attacked us.”

When she nodded at him, he slowly raised his wand to his temple. And he hoped this would be enough to counter the lies others would try to spread about this.

*****​

 

Chapter 6: Dances and Deceptions

London, Ministry of Magic, August 27th, 1994

“Yes, I’ve heard about the attack on the Boy-Who-Lived! A terrible tragedy!”

He smiled politely at the witch, even though the question was asinine - an attack on the Boy-Who-Lived, at the Quidditch World Cup? Every wizarding newspaper in the world had covered it. In detail. Even The Quibbler, though that magazine claimed the whole incident was a botched assassination attempt by the goblins on Minister Fudge - according to the article, the goblins had ordered Jorkins to attack the most important wizard in Britain, and she had misunderstood their intent.

“Indeed, a terrible tragedy! To think that the poor, imperiused witch was killed in cold blood…” Madam Umbridge sighed theatrically, and for a moment, he was reminded of a toad preparing to croak. Although the witch’s squat appearance was not as loathsome as her character, in his opinion - she was a toady with a penchant for backstabbing her betters.

Nevertheless, she was a useful creature. As the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, she would allow him to influence Fudge without being connected to him. “To be fair, Black couldn’t have known that,” he pointed out. “And seeing what her curse did to that unfortunate fellow from Ireland, I cannot fault him for overreacting.” He shook his head in apparent compassion and understanding.

Umbridge’s fake smile slipped a bit. “But did he know that, or did he simply curse her, without even noticing what curse she had cast? By all accounts, he struck with a lethal curse, without taking into account that this could have just been a misunderstanding, or a miscast by a drunk.” She clicked her tongue as she shook her head. “What if it had been an innocent child, playing with their first wand?”

“I do not think Black would kill a child,” he stated, sincerely even - Black was too weak to do such a thing, no matter the situation. “He did this to protect his godson, after all - the boy to whom we all owe so much.”

That didn’t please the witch, he could tell. Her eyes almost disappeared when she frowned. “But aren’t you worried? Bertha was Mr Crouch’s secretary. She’s been handling his estate, just as you’ve been handling your aunt’s.”

She wasn’t as subtle as she thought. He gasped. “Do you mean those crimes might be linked?”

“Do you think they could be? You would know best, wouldn’t you?”

He pretended to consider this. “I still haven’t dealt with all of my aunt’s affairs - it’s hard, with the fire having destroyed so much - but I haven’t found anything linking her with Mr Crouch. I do not think there is any financial motive there. For all her political achievements, my aunt lived a frugal life. No, if there is a connection, then it has to be something else, something personal, perhaps.”

Her smile grew wider. “Ah… maybe revenge?”

“The only one with a - far-fetched, I have to say - motive would be Black. But why would he force the poor witch to attack him, in public, so he could kill her? Wouldn’t it have been much easier to simply have her disappear? A magical accident, easily accepted by the Ministry? You would have to have a very deranged mind to arrange such a public murder, with all the risks that entails. And Black was said to have recovered remarkably well from his ordeal in Azkaban.” He emphasised ‘said’ just a little, as if he had simply sought a more precise word. But the witch had understood his apparently accidental meaning.

“Maybe we need to have him examined again. Black is not just the Head of his family, but also the guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived. That much responsibility might be too much for him. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone couldn’t handle such stress.” Umbridge’s attempt to sound sympathetic wasn’t very convincing, in his opinion.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I only knew him, briefly, at Hogwarts, and there he had no responsibilities at all.”

“Oh, I’ve heard the stories. He was the last student anyone would have made a prefect, or given any form of authority.” She smiled.

“But that was when he was young. He has certainly changed since then. I mean, he was in Azkaban.” He didn’t have to force himself to wince when he mentioned the prison - his most loyal followers were still suffering there, hanging onto the shreds of their sanity through the merest hint of his presence in their marks. He would save them as soon as he could do so without endangering his plans.

And there would be a reckoning with those who had repudiated him to save themselves, those who had abandoned him. They would answer to him, and they would have to struggle to gain his forgiveness, and even more to regain his favour. Lucius had a lot of explaining to do for his behaviour at Pettigrew’s trial.

“Oh, indeed. He has changed - but maybe not for the better.” Umbridge’s smile was sickly sweet. “But I think that’s a matter of concern for the DMLE, not for either of us.”

He nodded in agreement. “Certainly. Which brings me to a matter that concerns us, or rather, the Minister.”

“Oh?” She tensed and eyed him.

“Yes!” He nodded eagerly. “I’ve mentioned that I’ve been going through my aunt’s documents, to settle her estate, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But you said most of it was lost with your aunt’s house.”

“Oh, yes. But she had a chest full of correspondence in her basement, protected from fire.” He sighed. “I hoped that it would concern her finances, but it’s all about politics, as far as I can tell - I have only skimmed the letters, you know.”

He now had her full attention. “Political correspondence?”

“Yes. Letters, to and from Dumbledore, and others. I thought the Minister would know best if those should be handed to the Ministry’s archives, since he is her successor.”

“Definitely!” She was beaming now, probably drooling at the thought of getting her hands on material that could be used to blackmail her rivals.

He pulled out a shrunken chest. “It’s all there - all the letters I found.”

And some that his aunt had never willingly written. But which appeared as authentic as the others.

He watched the witch leave for a moment, before turning around and making his way to the Atrium of the Ministry. Dumbledore and a few of his other enemies would have a devil of a time trying to explain the contents of those letters. But even if they could prove that the letters were forgeries, no one would suspect earnest young Alphons Bagnold, who was defending Black and Dumbledore at every opportunity, even if his efforts sometimes seemed to unintentionally backfire.

The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled widely. Things were progressing as planned.

*****​

London, Merton, September 1st, 1994

Hermione Granger checked the clock on her desk. The desk was new, but the clock was a used one she had found in a flea market. Completely mechanical, it would work inside wards as well, so she wouldn’t have to abandon it when the day came that she had her own flat. Eleven o’clock. The Hogwarts Express would be pulling out of the station now. With Harry, Ron and the other students. Without her.

She sighed. Last year, she had thought it would get easier with time, but it hadn’t. It still hurt to think that her friends would be at Hogwarts, without her. Learning magic with hundreds of other students. Having access to that amazing library. Having fun without being thought a delinquent who almost ruined her family.

Of course, she and her parents had told their friends and acquaintances that the matter had been settled, that the mistake had been rectified, but… ‘audacter calumniare, semper aliquid haeret’, as her father had put it. Slander boldly, something always sticks.

And something had stuck. Not as bad as it had stuck in Wizarding Britain, of course. There she was not just a thief, but a gold-digging mudblood as well. At least among those who believed the Prophet and that muckraker Skeeter. That, unfortunately, included a lot of the British wizards and witches. Mr Black - he had told her to call him ‘Sirius’, but that felt uncomfortable - had mentioned he’d be able to do something about that, but that it would have to wait until he had dealt with his own troubles with the press. She’d wish Skeeter would fall over dead except that would cause even more trouble for Harry’s godfather.

Sighing again, she tried to focus on her studies once more. Her last exams had proven that she needed to work harder if she wanted to keep up with the others at Hogwarts.

And she would keep up. At least in the important and useful subjects. She’d not let the other witches, especially the Ravenclaws, look down on her and call her a cheater or a failure! The thought of them being all smug at Hogwarts, while she was stuck here… some of them would probably even try to replace her, ‘help’ Harry, and Ron, with their homework, hang out with them…

She realised she was clenching her teeth and forced herself to relax. It wouldn’t be like that. Harry and Ron were her best friends. They would not replace her.

*****​

Hogwarts, September 2nd, 1994

“Krum’s coming to Hogwarts! For the entire year!”

Even a day after it had been announced at the start-of-term feast, Ron was still excited about his idol spending a year at Hogwarts. The better part of a year, Hermione would have corrected them, if she were present, Harry Potter added in his thoughts. The delegations from the other schools wouldn’t actually arrive until a month into term, due to scheduling conflicts and other such things.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, “If Oliver was still here we’d be training every evening ‘so we won’t look bad in front of Krum’.” He snorted. “Even so, Angelina has already said we’ll train more often than she had originally planned - with Krum here, she expects scouts to attend the matches. Don’t ask me why."

“Why wouldn’t they? Scouting Hogwarts gives them an excuse to meet Krum,” Ron said. “It’s what I’d do.”

His friend was right, Harry had to admit. “And there’s also the fact that we’ll play Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as well.”

“Yes! Almost double the Quidditch matches this year!”

Ron was still smiling widely when they knocked at the door to the Defence classroom. Sirius opened the door, a wild grin on his face. “Ah! Here to see our newest celebrity? Come in!” He turned around as soon as the door closed. “Remus! Two more fans!”

Harry heard a groan from behind the door to Remus’s quarters, followed by: “Ignore him, please. He’s been insufferable all day.” as the other wizard stepped into the room.

“What? Why wouldn’t I be excited over the fact that, for the first time in a year, a member of my family has received good press?” Sirius scoffed, but he was still smiling.

“All I did was start my second year of teaching,” Remus said.

“You beat the Dark Lord’s curse! The first Defence teacher to last more than a year in decades!” Sirius laughed. “They’ll call you the ‘Professor-Who-Taught’ soon!”

Remus rolled his eyes at his friend, but Harry had the impression that he wasn’t quite as annoyed as he acted. “Enough of that. We’ve more important matters to discuss.” Remus turned to Harry and Ron. “You’ve heard about the Tournament.”

Harry nodded.

“Dumbledore’s discovered a curse on the Goblet of Fire, the artefact that will choose the champions. He took a few days to remove it,” Remus said. “If the curse had been triggered…” He shook his head, his expression tense. “It would have been very bad. The Headmaster’s certain that it was the work of the Dark Lord.”

Harry clenched his teeth. “So he’s attacking Hogwarts, then?” Which meant Voldemort would be gunning for him.

“Anything that goes wrong at Hogwarts while the eyes of Europe are on us will lessen Dumbledore’s influence on the Ministry,” Sirius added. “Especially if some of our guests get hurt. So keep your eyes open. It won’t be just Malfoy trying to attack you this year.”

“We can easily handle him,” Ron said, scoffing. Harry nodded - the git was no match for them.

“I meant either Malfoy,” Sirius corrected them. “And the Dark Lord’s worse. He managed to curse an artefact stored in a Ministry vault without anyone noticing. He might even be able to sneak into Hogwarts.”

Ron muttered a curse under his breath. His good mood was entirely gone now.

And so was Harry’s.

*****​

Hogwarts, October 1st, 1994

“There’s two more great things we can enjoy this year,” Ron said between two mouthfuls of roast beef at the ‘Welcome Feast’ for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students.

“Which are?” Harry Potter asked, refilling his own plate. There hadn’t been many good things so far this term, in his opinion. Voldemort hadn’t done anything yet, but the constant threat, the constant nagging fear of an attack… he shook his head. Tonight, at least, he wanted to focus on having fun.

“We have more feasts than normal - and we have stunning visitors!” Ron nodded towards the Ravenclaw table, where the students from Beauxbatons were seated.

Harry made a noncommittal sound, glancing at Durmstrang’s Headmaster, who was seated next to Dumbledore at the staff table. To have another supposedly reformed Death Eater at the school had also put a damper on his mood.

“I thought Krum staying at Hogwarts was the best thing this year, but those witches…” Ron sighed with a - in Harry’s opinion - silly grin on his face.

“Ron’s gone gaga, like everyone else, over the Veela,” Ginny cut in. Harry looked at the redheaded witch and saw that she was sneering and glaring at the witch in question. A quick glance told him that she wasn’t the only witch at their table glaring at the Ravenclaw table.

“Fleur Delacour…” Ron sighed again.

“As if a Veela would bother with you!” Ginny huffed. “She’s three years older than you, too!” With a deep scowl, she added: “But everyone’s panting after her!”

“I’m not,” Harry defended himself.

“Well, you’re the exception.” Ginny beamed at him. “Her Veela allure must not work on you.”

“Sirius said there is no such thing as Veela allure,” Harry said. “They’re just very beautiful.” And his godfather claimed that he had extensively researched and examined the matter.

Now Ginny was scowling at him as well. Sirius had been right, Harry thought - witches were very fickle.

*****​

London, Greenwich, October 10th, 1994

Bagnold Feared that Dumbledore Sacrificed Political Rivals during War!

Hermione Granger wished that she also had a subscription to the Daily Prophet as she craned her neck in an attempt to read the front page of the newspaper held by her tutor. She could make out an old picture of the late Millicent Bagnold, and another one, more recent, of Dumbledore, but not the article itself.

But to let anyone at the Prophet have her address would be a very bad idea. She didn’t want to see pictures of her family or their new home in the newspaper, nor Skeeter following her parents around and making up lies about their lives. Well, she could buy her own newspaper in Diagon Alley, if she really needed to.

And judging by the way Mr Fletcher’s fingers were almost tearing this issue of the Prophet apart, she might have to do that today, if she ever wanted to actually read the article. She was about to point this out when she caught a glimpse a of Mr Fletcher’s expression, and closed her mouth. He looked absolutely furious. It would be better, she decided on the spot, not to bother him and to focus on her studies instead.

“Yes?” But, of course, her tutor was practicing what he preached, and had noticed her abandoned attempt to talk to him. She really needed to learn how to be more inconspicuous.

She considered practicing her lying, but decided against it. She was, had been, a Gryffindor, after all. “I was wondering about that article.”

Her tutor stared at her for a moment. She realised that she was biting her lower lip and forced herself to stop. He had mentioned this habit of hers before, as a ‘tell’.

When she was about to bite her lip again, tells be damned, he sighed. “Someone dug up Bagnold’s old letters, and the Prophet caught wind of it.” He threw the newspaper on the table. “Read for yourself.”

She eagerly grabbed the issue and refrained from smoothing out the wrinkled edges where Mr Fletcher had held it.

“Letters recently discovered... survived the fire in her house… correspondence with Dumbledore during the Blood War… concerns about Dumbledore’s reaction to the civilian casualties… mentioned a disturbing letter from Dumbledore…”

“A letter conveniently missing from the stack,” Mr Fletcher cut in. He still looked furious.

She cleared her throat. “What do you make of this?” A nice, neutral question.

He scoffed. “The Prophet’s reading a lot into Bagnold’s letter, and speculates even more about the missing letter from Dumbledore.”

“They all but accuse the Headmaster of sacrificing his political rivals to the Death Eaters,” Hermione pointed out.

He scoffed and stared at the wall behind her. “A lot of people were murdered in the war. The Death Eaters struck at anyone opposing them - or those refusing to support them. And they had their choice of targets.” Hermione saw that he was slowly shaking his head. He still wasn’t looking at her. “Dumbledore couldn’t be everywhere, of course, and the Death Eaters counted on that. He had to ‘make hard choices’.” Mr Fletcher practically spat the last part out.

She bit her lower lip, not caring that it was a tell. She wanted to know what had happened to Mr Fletcher in the war. And yet, she dreaded knowing it as well.

“Yeah,” he continued, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, “Dumbledore made hard choices, he effin’ did. And an effin’ whole lot of innocents died because of it.” He shook his head again. “Only natural that he’d pick his friends over his enemies, course. But he couldn’t even protect all of his friends. Or their families.” Hermione almost missed his last words - they were spoken in a much softer tone.

He suddenly stood up. “I gotta … check up on somethin’. Study Transfiguration until tomorrow.” Hermione drew breath to ask him to stay, but he apparated out of his flat before she could say anything.

Sighing, and wondering what exactly he was doing - and hoping he wasn’t about to go drinking, though it would be understandable, if he had lost his family in the war - she returned to the article. Bagnold’s nephew was quoted as saying that he was shocked at the allegations, and said that his aunt must have been imperiused to forge the letters by her murderer, ‘because Dumbledore would never do such a thing’.

Hermione winced - Mr Bagnold meant well, but he wasn’t helping. That wasn’t an argument that would convince anyone. Quite the contrary, actually. Though the speculation that Dumbledore murdered his rivals and framed the Death Eaters, attributed to ‘anonymous sources’, sounded far too far-fetched too.

Some of the public would still believe it, of course. British wizards and witches seemed eager to assume the worst, she thought.

*****​

Hogsmeade, October 25th, 1994

“Harry! Ron!” Hermione Granger hugged first Harry, then Ron as soon as they entered the Hog’s Head Inn. They were filling out, she noticed with surprise. “You’ve been training hard,” she remarked, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s biceps. She quickly released him when she realised what she was doing and mumbled an apology.

“Oh, Sirius and Remus are pushing us hard,” Ron said. “Of course, Harry’s also doing Quidditch, and Angelina seems like a worthy successor to Oliver.”

“She’s not as bad,” Harry corrected his friend as they took their seats.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ron retorted. “You certainly look as exhausted after training as you did last year.”

Hermione laughed, even though she once more felt jealous and sad about not being at Hogwarts with them. “So, what else is new? You didn’t have trouble with Malfoy again, did you?”

Harry shook his head. “No, he’s been behaving since the last time. Maybe Remus’s detention convinced him to stop being an arse.”

“No.” Ron shook his head. “He’s too busy cozying up to Durmstrang’s students to bother with us.”

“To Krum, you mean.” Harry grinned.

Ron scowled. “For such a great Seeker, Krum has really bad taste in friends.”

“Well, Durmstrang doesn’t even allow muggleborns to attend,” Hermione pointed out. “He might feel Slytherins are kindred spirits.”

“I hope Harry beats him at the match,” Ron muttered.

Harry didn’t look like he expected to beat the world-class Seeker, in Hermione’s opinion. His next comment proved her right. “Yeah, I’ll beat him, right after you convince Delacour to go out with you.”

“At least I’m not moping because the witch I like already has a boyfriend!” Ron shot back.

Hermione blinked. Harry was interested in a witch? Who was that witch?

Before she could ask, Harry snorted. “I didn’t know that Cho was with Cedric, and I’m over her anyway.”

Hermione smiled. That was good - she didn’t want her friends to mope over witches. It was petty, but she knew that if Harry and Ron had girlfriends, they would want to go with them to Hogsmeade, and not with her. And she didn’t want them to meet her out of pity.

“You’re over her?” Ron’s tone was rather doubtful.

“Yes.” Harry shrugged. “Sirius said that you should never go after a witch who’s taken, not unless you are really in love. And if you’re asking yourself whether you are in love, then you aren’t. Or something like that.” He perked up. “He said I should go after the Patil twins, anyway.”

Hermione felt her smile slip. For all that she and her family owed Mr Black, she felt that Harry’s godfather was not an entirely good influence on her best friend. A change of topic was in order, she decided.

“So… do you know how the visiting students compare with Hogwarts’ own?”

*****​

Hogwarts, October 31st, 1994

The Goblet stood on its pedestal, the flames within throwing a flickering light on the ceiling above. It looked remarkably harmless for its rumoured powers, Harry Potter thought when he glanced at it. And it looked remarkably harmless for a potentially cursed object, too.

“Mate, stop staring at the Goblet!” Ron whispered. “Dumbledore said it was safe.”

Apparently, Harry hadn’t been as subtle as he had thought. He looked at his friend and sighed. “I can’t help it.” It was Halloween too. The anniversary of his parents’ murder at the hand of the dark wizard who had cursed the Goblet. “Dumbledore might have overlooked something.” He might have been distracted by the allegations in the Prophet. The newspaper had stopped their thinly-veiled campaign, but according to Sirius, it had required Dumbledore to have a personal talk with the Prophet’s owner.

“It wasn’t just him, you know,” Ron said while finishing his second serving of the filet mignon the elves had prepared for today’s feast. “They brought in Curse-Breakers too, Bill told me. No one found anything. And they even tested it.” He grinned. “Apparently, Dumbledore would be Hogwarts’ champion if he was a student - who’d have thought!”

Harry forced himself to chuckle. He had known that already, too. But this was Voldemort - Dumbledore’s equal. He had already managed to sneak into Hogwarts and attack Harry once, under Dumbledore’s nose. If not for his mother’s protection, Harry would have died. And probably Ron, too.

But so far nothing had happened. Not when the Goblet had been lit, and not when the various older students had dropped their names into it. Or when those who were too young to take part but had tried anyway had been repelled. Like Ron’s brothers. He took a deep breath, then grinned. “Well, stop glancing at Delacour. She might take offense, and from what Sirius told us, angry Veela are definitely not safe.”

Ron snorted. “I’m not glancing at her. I’m over her.”

“You mean your desire not to be left drooling and stammering has finally grown stronger than your desire to ogle her?” Harry said, a bit more sharply than he had intended. It was Halloween, after all. Not his most favourite day in the year. At all.

“At least I tried to talk to her. You slunk away unseen when you saw Chang with Diggory,” Ron shot back.

“I was being discreet,” Harry defended himself. It hadn’t been his finest hour. But it beat being embarrassed in public.

“Some Gryffindor you are!” Ron scoffed.

His friend was grinning, though it was a sore spot for him, Harry knew. “Speaking of… what are you going to do about the Yule Ball?”

“What do you mean? Do you wonder who I will ask to be my date? Or whether I managed to transfigure my robes into something more fashionable?”

“The first,” Harry said. “The latter is hopeless. Not even Dumbledore could manage that.”

“He wouldn’t even try - he’d like the robes.” Ron snorted. “I thought Fred and George had pranked me, you know, when I saw the robes.”

“So did I,” Harry said.

“But I’ll manage,” Ron went on. Which meant he didn’t want Harry’s help. Or Sirius’s. “Maybe I’ll ask Hermione on our next Hogsmeade weekend for a few tips. She has done her own robes, hasn’t she?”

“I think she only mended them.” Hermione wasn’t exactly a witch obsessed with fashion, Harry knew. “You might be better off asking Lavender, or Parvati.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Ron said, wincing. “That would make asking either to be my date a little embarrassing.”

Harry nodded - that was true. Not that asking a witch out wasn’t already embarrassing anyway. He snuck a glance at Parvati, who was talking - and giggling - with Lavender. What if she laughed at him? He wanted to ask her or her sister in private, but… asking them to step out for a minute would be the same as asking her straight out; everyone knew what that meant these days.

Which was another thing to consider: Time was running short. Harry wasn’t the only wizard who needed a date for the Yule Ball, after all.

He was still pondering how to handle this problem when Dumbledore stood up from his seat and announced that the Goblet would now select the champions.

Harry held his breath for the whole drawing, but it went according to plan. And the champions chosen were no surprise either: Delacour, Krum and Diggory.

Harry looked away when Cho kissed Diggory in celebration.

*****​

Hogwarts, November 20th, 1994

Hermione Granger was impressed when she saw the stadium that had been erected near Hogwarts. It was not as big as the one at the Quidditch World Cup, but it certainly dwarfed the stands at Hogwarts’ Quidditch pitch. And it had been erected in a few weeks, since she hadn’t seen it on her last visit to Hogsmeade.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Ron said, walking next to her. “Percy told me that the Ministry had a special task force to build this, drawn from the one at the World Cup. They couldn’t simply conjure stands, since a single Dispelling Charm could have caused a catastrophe.”

That sounded like a direct quote from his studious brother. “Was he involved?” she asked. Percy had started at the Ministry this year.

“Only a little. He’s working in the Wizengamot Administration Services.”

So, office gossip, or paperwork related to the event, Hermione thought. Good to know either way - as her tutor had told her, good thieves needed to know everything about their marks. She suspected, after hearing the examples he had used to make his point, that he had unknowingly robbed an Auror once. “I’m glad to hear that he’s doing well.”

“You and my mum both,” Ron said, sighing. “She wrote me a whole letter about Percy - she wants me to follow his example.”

“Well, it’s safer than Curse-Breaking or working with dragons,” she pointed out.

“Sure. But it’s also boring. Percy loves his work, but I’m not him.”

No, Ron wasn’t Percy, Hermione agreed. “Where’s Harry?” She had expected both of them to meet her at the gates.

“He’s guarding our seats. With so many visitors, we thought the Boy-Who-Lived might be needed for that.”

She glanced at Ron and nodded. “His godfather is coming as well then?”

“Yes. He’s already up there with Harry.” Ron nodded towards the towering side walls of the stadium.

And, Hermione thought, Mr Black was probably drawing his own share of glances and sneers. Like herself. She sniffed and raised her chin. So be it - she knew that she was innocent. She had done nothing of which she should be ashamed. And she might have been expelled from Hogwarts, but she didn’t have to be a student to watch the Triwizard Tournament. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

They reached their seats a few minutes later, and Hermione saw that Ron hadn’t been exaggerating - they were among the best seats in the stadium, right at the field. And there was Harry!

“Hi, Harry!” She hugged him, then nodded at his godfather. “Mr Black.”

“Miss Granger.” Mr Black nodded back at her, barely hiding his grin. She clenched her teeth.

“Hi, Hermione.” Ron’s sister was there as well.

“Hi, Ginny.”

“Hello.” And a blonde witch Hermione didn’t know. “I’m Luna Lovegood, Ginny’s neighbour.”

“Ah. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“I know. My father wrote about you.” Luna nodded her head several times. “Worst Nargles infestation in ten years.”

“Nargles?” Hermione blinked. Lovegood... Ah, The Quibbler! She smiled politely. She wasn’t certain if such creatures existed - but she wouldn’t rule it out either; she had ‘known’ that there was no magic, after all, until she had received her Hogwarts letter - but The Quibbler hadn’t slandered her.

Luna was already explaining everything Hermione had ever wanted to know about Nargles, and then some. Ron glared at his sister, who glared back, and Harry grinned.

It felt so much like being back at school, Hermione had to turn away and focus on the arena to distract herself as soon as the blonde witch had finished.

*****​

Fortunately, the first task of the tournament was a captivating sight. In the middle of the arena, walls had been erected to form three lanes - one for each champion - lined with obstacles ranging from ornate gates to simple-looking pits. And all lanes led into the same building.

Hermione Granger wished that she could observe the spells on the lanes - she could spot signs of Extension Charms, and, thanks to Harry’s Omnioculars which she had borrowed, she could spot the runework indicating complex curses on the gates, but without her detection spell, she couldn’t really study the traps and other obstacles.

Though she assumed that even if her detection spell had had the range to reach the arena’s centre, Dumbledore would have blocked it to prevent cheating. So her best hope was that the organisers had thought to cater to those ‘with a more discerning eye for protections and curses’, as Mr Fletcher had put it, as well as to those wishing to see daring and spectacular spellwork.

She knew her tutor was also attending the event, but she hadn’t seen him so far. He had told her that he would be mingling with the purebloods to socialise as ‘Mr Smith’ in the hope of establishing a few contacts. Without her, of course - a pureblood of good standing couldn’t be seen with a convicted and expelled thief if they hoped to gain acceptance in those circles.

She could have come with him in disguise, but she wouldn’t have been able to be with her friends in that case. And as tempting as it might be to see how Harry and Ron would react to her disguise, she much preferred to be with them as their friend instead of meeting them as a snobby pureblood witch.

“Did you spot Malfoy?” Harry asked, interrupting her attempt to figure out what obstacle a seemingly bare patch of sand was - quicksand seemed too obvious.

“No.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t looking for him, though.”

“He’s in the Ministry’s section with his father,” Harry said.

“Cozying up to the Minister, I bet,” Hermione said, zooming in on that area. And there they were, with Mrs Malfoy. All clad in the latest robes from Paris, as far as she could tell with only Witch Weekly to go on.

“Of course. Trying to further erode Dumbledore’s influence,” Mr Black cut in. “And Dumbledore is too decent to simply tell off the Ministry and the press.”

Ron nodded. “Percy said the bribes were so large, even the post owls were getting new perches. He got one of the old perches for our family owl.”

So that hadn’t been a joke from Ron’s brother. Hermione should have expected that - Percy was very unlike his brothers, after all. And he certainly wasn’t the kind of wizard who would look the other way, not even for family. Or, knowing the twins, especially not for family. “Aren’t they afraid of your reputation?” she asked. “Or your family’s?”

Mr Black scowled. “Not enough, or too much, it seems. With Crouch and Bagnold murdered under mysterious circumstances, Malfoy isn’t the only one who has realised that if anything happens to him or his friends, I’ll be blamed.” He sighed. “It doesn’t help that I’m the last Black - if there were more of us, those Bowtruckles would be too scared to try anything. I would pull Andromeda back into the fold, but with my current reputation, that would harm her family more than it would help me.”

Hermione wondered what that meant for Harry’s reputation, since her friend was living with Mr Black, but she knew better than to ask - Harry was fiercely protective of his godfather. Even if the man was not a good influence on her friend.

Before the mood could get even worse, though, the voice of Ludo Bagman filled the stadium. “Good afternoon, everyone! Welcome to the first task of the reborn Triwizard Tournament!”

“Damn bloke cheated my brothers out of their winnings at the World Cup,” she heard Ron mutter while Bagman prattled on about the Ministry’s achievements.

Hermione would have pointed out that nomen est omens in this case - Mr Fletcher had said a ‘bagman’ was a term used among criminals for someone handling dirty gold - but she didn’t want to appear too informed about the slang used by criminals. So she simply nodded as she made a mental note - Bagman might be an easy mark to blackmail, if needed.

“...so, our champions have to race each other through these lanes which are filled with the deadliest curses and traps ever seen in Britain! Will they be up to the challenge, or will they fall prey to the dangers of this task? But even if they reach the goal, they will still have to face the task’s ultimate challenge - the mysterious last guardian!”

Which meant it was either an animal or an enchanted, animated construct, Hermione thought.

Ron snorted. “He’s a bad liar. Percy told me that the tasks are safe. They look dangerous, but they’re no worse than a Quidditch match.”

That made sense, Hermione thought. Although as the tournament’s deadly history proved, it hadn’t always been the case. Then she clapped and cheered with the others for the Champions - and especially for Cedric Diggory. He was a really handsome wizard, she couldn’t help noticing. Chang was a lucky witch.

“And they’re off!” Bagman yelled.

The champions stepped over the starting line, and dark flames sprang up in front of them. Cursed fire, Hermione thought. The Flame-Freezing Charm wouldn’t help there. Maybe some conjured clay, to smother them?

The champions, meanwhile, had their own solutions. Delacour created fire herself - caught in a bubble, Hermione noted - and forced the fire to burn out in seconds by consuming all the oxygen around. Diggory conjured a stone tube and created a safe way through the flames and Krum dug a tunnel with his wand.

They hadn’t advanced very far, though - next came the first gate. Krum tried to simply blow his away, but that backfired - literally. The Bulgarian had been ready for that, though - his Shield Charm weathered the blast, and he was flinging his next spells at the gate a moment later. But melting it down didn’t work either. Delacour and Diggory were taking the more conventional approach, their wands trailing over the gate’s surface, tracking the runes engraved into the metal. The Veela soon started tapping the different runes, until the gate opened. Diggory tried the same, but must have made a mistake - he was pushed back as if hit by a Bludger, and almost sent tumbling into the fire behind him - though, Hermione noted, the distance had been lengthened considerably thanks to Extension Charms that might have been conditionally activated.

He tried again, and passed through the gate at roughly the same time as Krum’s latest curse managed to wreck his, and the two wizards rushed on. Delacour meanwhile had proven to be the bigger raptor when faced with a swarm of Bloodravens and had sent the birds flying by transforming. While Bagman wondered aloud if this was cheating, Krum hit his own swarm with an Acid Cloud Spell - Luna loudly protested such cruelty - and Diggory distracted his opponents with a conjured slab of bloody meat.

Delacour was still in the lead, though, and had reached the patch of sand Hermione had been wondering about. The French witch hesitated a moment, then cast a spell at the sand - which erupted into a dense cloud. For an instant, Hermione thought it had been a Reductor or Blasting Curse. But the cloud started to move - towards the champion. It was a miniature sandstorm, Hermione realised. And it engulfed Delacour before she could react.

Hermione wasn’t the only one who gasped. But mere seconds later, the sand was swept up into the air by a sudden whirlwind, revealing the Veela only slightly worse for the wear - her robes had been ripped in spots, and her hair was a mess, but she seemed unhurt with the exception of a few scrapes as she continued the race. There were a few catcalls among the cheers, Hermione noted. None from her friends, though.

Delacour lost most of her lead when Diggory transfigured the sand into stone without slowing down and Krum blew the sand away. All three were now faced with another gate - one covered with glowing runes. Obvious distractions, Hermione thought. But then, this was a spectator event, so those runes might be used to make it easier for the audience to follow the champions’ actions.

She’d find out soon enough, she knew - the champions were already casting. Hermione started to take notes. Her tutor had been correct - this was not just entertaining, but educational as well. Especially for a budding thief.

*****​

“Oh… that had to hurt! Looks like Diggory didn’t quite dodge that tail swipe!”

Bagman sounded almost gleeful, Harry Potter thought when the Hufflepuff champion was thrown in the air and landed hard on the extended stone floor where the last part of the task took place. He seemed to almost bounce.

“It moves like a real dragon,” Ron commented. “Charlie told me about the tail swipes the Welsh Greens like to do.”

“It’s a construct created by Dumbledore,” Hermione added, “so of course it will be very close to a real dragon. I guess Hagrid helped as well.”

“I don’t think so,” Ron said. “If he had the thing would have already maimed a champion or two.”

Harry laughed at that. Ron was probably correct; Hagrid had some rather… peculiar views of what was considered dangerous. The construct was holding back in order to not kill any of the contestants. Then he had to wince when Krum blew one foreleg of the dragon-construct’s away, but paid for it when the construct breathed fire at him. The Bulgarian’s robes caught fire, but he managed to roll away and started dousing himself with water.

“Krum’s on fire today!” was Bagman’s comment - not as funny as the wizard apparently thought.

“Look at Delacour!” Ron yelled suddenly, and Harry jerked. Where was… there! The French champion had used the construct’s damage and distraction, and had changed into her raptor form again, diving at the box the dragon was guarding. The construct’s tail snapped up, but the Veela avoided it, pulled up in time to miss the ground, as Wood used to call almost crashing, and snagged the box right from its pedestal.

“And Delacour uses the opportunity created by Krum and Diggory to sweep in and snatch victory from the jaws of the dragon! A daring but successful move! Beauxbatons’ champion wins the first task!”

It had been an entertaining event, Harry thought as he clapped and cheered for the champions, but he couldn’t help wondering how he would have done. He didn’t know much about Runes or Arithmancy, but his and Ron’s training had taught them how to dodge and fight - and he thought he would have done better at dodging, at least, than either Diggory or Krum. Maybe he’d throw his name into the Goblet next time.

*****​

Hogwarts, November 22nd, 1994

“There they are,” Ron whispered unnecessarily - Harry Potter had spotted them already. “And they’re alone, just like Sirius’s map showed.”

Harry knew that Sirius and Remus had created - or recreated; the first had apparently been lost in their seventh year - that map to help keep him safe. But he was certain that his godfather wouldn’t mind Harry and Ron using the map to ask girls out without humiliating themselves - Sirius had hinted at using the map to peep on witches as a student himself, after all. Hermione, of course, would have scolded him for this. But she wasn’t there, he thought, feeling the familiar sense of regret.

Then he focused on the task at hand. They couldn’t miss this opportunity - it had been pure luck that they had overheard Parvati complaining about having to give her sister some of the sweets her mother had sent her. “Let’s go,” he whispered as he straightened and checked his appearance for the last time. No wrinkles or dirt on his new robes or shoes. And his hair better stay in the shape it was meant to be - he had paid enough for the Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Ron ran his hands over his own robes - Harry didn’t know if his friend had transfigured his eyesores, or had someone else do it for him, but he looked stylish. Or dapper, as Sirius had called it.

“Alright.” Ron sounded a little nervous, Harry thought - just like himself.

“Just act natural,” he repeated his godfather’s advice, talking as much to his friend as to himself.

“There’s nothing natural about this,” Ron muttered as they turned around the corner.

Harry forced himself to smile. “Ah, there you are!” he said, maybe a little too loud and too cheerful. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Hello, Parvati, Padma,” Ron added.

The two witches exchanged a glance, then smiled. That was a good thing, Harry thought. Probably.

“You’ve been looking for us?” Parvati’s smile widened. Harry felt suddenly less certain that this was a good sign. Too many teeth, he thought.

But he was a Gryffindor, and the only thing more humiliating than being turned down would be to slink away without asking. He cleared his throat, then bowed with a flourish to Parvati. “Would you do me the honour of agreeing to go to the Yule Ball with me?” The old forms, just like Sirius had taught them.

Ron mirrored him with Padma, bowing as soon as Harry had straightened again.

The two witches weren’t looking as smug any more, he thought. They seemed surprised, but they were still smiling. It looked as if Sirius’s advice had been right - you couldn’t overdo it when courting witches.

He still waited with bated breath while Parvati looked at her sister, then back at him. But she nodded. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

It wasn’t quite the correct form to agree to his invitation, it lacked the curtsey, but Harry didn’t care. She had said yes.

And, judging by Ron’s wide smile, so had her sister.

“You honour me, my lady. My wand is yours.” Harry bowed again. The forms sounded rather pompous to him, but apparently, Parvati liked that kind of talk.

Just like Sirius had predicted. Harry wouldn’t ever doubt his godfather again. Not when it concerned witches, at least - his other advice sometimes seemed a little questionable.

*****​

London, Merton, December 25th, 1994

Lying in bed, having slept in, Hermione Granger knew she should be happy. She had a new home, her family’s financial troubles had been solved - mostly - and this Christmas saw all their book collections, if not fully restored, at least making good progress towards that goal.

And yet, despite all the positive changes compared to last year’s Christmas, she wasn’t happy. Not really. While she was celebrating Christmas with her parents, her friends were at Hogwarts, preparing to attend the Yule Ball. With the Patil twins.

Well, she thought with a glance at her alarm clock, they wouldn’t be getting ready just yet. It was still morning, after all. But Parvati might already be fretting over her appearance with Lavender - those two witches certainly had spent a lot of time on such things when Hermione had been at Hogwarts, and she doubted that they would have changed in the years since.

She sighed. She was being catty. And petty. She had changed a lot herself, after all, since her second year. But then - Hermione had been forced to, after she had been expelled. She doubted that anything similar had happened to Parvati or Lavender. People were supposed to be ruled by their hormones in puberty, after all, and those two witches had already been obsessed with boys back then, so they had probably become even worse.

She certainly paid more attention to boys now herself, she had to admit, and not just because her tutor wanted her to always be aware of her surroundings, and to learn how to manipulate others. She wanted to be at the Yule Ball, dancing with Harry and Ron… Her eyes widened when she realised that she was jealous.

She wasn’t just petty and catty, she was even jealous of her friends’ dates! Not even the fact that Mr Fletcher had managed to secure invitations to the New Year’s Ball at Smith Manor - his mingling at the first task had been quite successful - was much of a consolation. Her friends wouldn’t be there, and even if they were to attend, Hermione would be in disguise.

Hermione leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn’t looking forward to celebrating Christmas in this mood. But she couldn’t help it - she wanted to be at the Yule Ball. With her friends. Not alone with her parents.

But she would at least act as if she was happy. Her parents didn’t deserve to have their holiday ruined by her petty mood. Especially not after what they had gone through due to her mistakes.

And, she added in her thoughts, if she managed to fool her parents, then she should be able to fool anyone else as well.

*****​

Hogwarts, December 25th, 1994

The Yule Ball really was a ‘grand affair’, as Sirius had put it, Harry Potter had to admit. The Great Hall had been turned into a ballroom, with a dance floor polished almost to a mirror sheen and matching decorations. It almost outshone the guests themselves, many of them clad in some of the most beautiful and stylish robes he had seen so far. Though Delacour’s robes would have stood out even if worn by a plain witch. Worn by the Veela champion, they had caused a few accidents already.

“Oh, look, there’s Padma!” Parvati, hanging on his arm, said excitedly. “Let’s go talk with her for a bit.”

She didn’t wait for an answer and started tugging on his arm. Harry simply nodded and went along with her - as he had done for the whole evening so far. Sirius had said to let the witch lead anywhere other than on the dance floor, after all. His godfather had also said to let the witch think she was leading when it came to more intimate affairs, but Harry hadn’t quite figured out how to achieve that.

On the way to Padma and Ron, he grabbed another pâté en croûte from one of the trays floating around. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves - they had prepared delicacies from Britain, France and Eastern Europe, and if something wasn’t available they somehow produced it within minutes. He was already feeling stuffed, and he and Parvati had just circled the room once, so far - they had been dancing longer than he had expected, based on Sirius’s tales. Padma and Ron hadn’t been on the dance floor as long, Harry had noted as well.

“Oh, did you see Sally-Anne’s robes?” Parvati remarked. “I didn’t know Perry’s had such nice robes. Everyone said it was Madam Malkin’s, or nothing. But Madam Malkin’s selection is rather British-centred, and I wanted Indian-style robes.”

“I didn’t know either,” Harry said. He hadn’t known that ‘Perry’s’ was a tailor in Diagon Alley, nor that his robes were thought inferior to Madam Malkin’s until today. Nor did he really care about robes. Well, apart from how nice they looked on witches. But according to Sirius it would be both impolite and stupid to point that out. He also had said to flatter their dates often, and so Harry added: “A good decision, in my humble opinion. They suit you very well.” Sirius would said something more… well, Sirius, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to say the lines his godfather would say. They would get him hexed. Boy-Who-Lived or not.

“Thank you,” Parvati beamed at him, and Harry felt both more confident and more nervous at the same time.

They passed a group of older wizards and Harry heard the buzzing sound of privacy spells until they gave them a wider berth, which led them closer to the drapes covering the walls that showed animated scenes of Hogwarts’s history. Hermione would have loved them, Harry thought, and she would have quoted Hogwarts: A History verbatim. His friend probably wouldn’t have danced at all - if she had even bothered to attend.

Although if she had, she would have talked about something other than robes and relationships, he added to himself as they reached Padma and Ron.

“Padma! There you are! How do you like the ball so far?” Parvati asked, and Harry felt her grip on his arm tighten just a little. “I just love the orchestra; we’ve been dancing almost nonstop.”

Harry nodded, once more glad that Sirius had taught him and Ron how to dance as well.

“It is nice,” Padma said, “but I wouldn’t want to spend all my time on the dance floor. This is a unique opportunity to talk to foreign witches and wizards. The differences in their views on spells and customs are simply fascinating.”

That sounded like something Hermione would say, Harry thought. Though even with her slight overbite, she wouldn’t have shown quite that many teeth while smiling. And Parvati’s smile was matching Padma’s. He glanced at Ron, whose own smile looked a little forced, and said: “Oh, it looks like Diggory took a break from dancing for a while. I wanted to talk to him about the last match we played against each other.”

Parvati looked at him, then at Diggory, who was talking with Krum, and beamed at him again. “Oh, yes, let’s go! Have a nice evening, Padma, Ron!”

Indeed, Harry thought as they left his friend and his date behind, letting the witch think she was leading worked well.

*****​

“I had a marvelous time, Harry!” Parvati said as they walked back towards the Gryffindor dorms later.

“I simply did my best to measure up to you, my lady,” Harry answered, nodding his head at her. It was, ironically, completely true. Parvati wasn’t the most stimulating conversationalist, but she could dance very well, and she was very pretty, too. “I do hope that I did not disappoint you,” he went on, still channeling the forms Sirius had drilled him and Ron in.

“Oh, no! You’re a great dancer. And great company,” the witch said. “You do your reputation proud.”

Harry hadn’t known he had a reputation - not as a dancer or as company, at least. But he was pleased anyway. “Not as great as you. You were the centre of attention wherever we went.” That wasn’t quite true - no witch would draw much attention next to Delacour, of course, unless she was hexing the Veela, and the champions drew the most attention to begin with. But it wasn’t quite a lie either. As Sirius would have said, it was a ‘polite truth’.

The kind of flattery that impressed witches into showing some affection, his godfather had said. And it seemed Parvati was slowing her steps as they neared Gryffindor Tower. And looking around. They were alone, Harry knew - his Defence training had emphasised such awareness.

Parvati must have come to the same conclusion, since she stopped and leaned against the wall as if taking a breather. “The evening was almost perfect,” she said, smiling at him.

“Almost?” He tilted his head slightly.

“Something’s been missing, so far.” She licked her lips as she kept smiling.

Ah. Harry hoped that he wasn’t misreading her intentions as he took a step closer to her, their chests almost touching. “And that would be?” he asked, leaning in.

For a moment, she seemed to hesitate. Then her arms went up around his neck, and their lips met. Mostly.

But Sirius had told him about the way first kisses usually went, and what to do. By the time they entered the Gryffindor dorms, they were quite proficient kissers, at least in Harry’s admittedly inexperienced opinion.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 28th, 1994

“So, how was the Yule Ball?” Hermione Granger asked as she sat down on the bed in Harry’s room. Which was quite a lot bigger than her parents’ bedroom in their new house, she noted. She kept her voice light and her tone casual. She was just making conversation and not desperate to find out what she had missed.

“Well, it wasn’t too bad, I guess,” Ron said, sitting in a chair at Harry’s desk. He shrugged. “We danced, we chatted, we ate good food. I had expected more, though.”

That didn’t sound that great, Hermione thought. Then she looked at Harry, who was sitting down on the bed as well. He had an almost dreamy smile she didn’t think she would like.

“Oh, I had a lot of fun with Parvati. She is a good dancer,” her friend said.

“What he means is that they snogged,” Ron said.

Hermione was glad for Mr Fletcher’s training since she kept smiling politely even though she felt as if she had just been jinxed. “Oh?”

“We kissed,” Harry said, rolling his eyes at Ron. “After the ball. That was all that happened.”

“Well, according to Parvati, it was a bit more than a simple kiss,” Ron shot back. “A lot more.”

“You asked her?” Hermione blurted out.

“No. I heard it from Ginny,” her friend clarified. “Apparently Parvati gave a detailed account of Harry’s kissing skills to the entire dorm.”

“We really just kissed.” Harry was actually blushing, Hermione noted.

Ron snorted. “Mate, that wasn’t just a peck on the cheek. You’ve got a girlfriend. She’s already planning your next Hogsmeade weekend.”

Hermione felt like she had been hexed. If Harry had a girlfriend - especially someone like Parvati - then he’d want to spend his weekends with her, and not with Hermione. She had known that this would happen, but that didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

Harry glared at Ron, but didn’t say anything. Especially not something like ‘I won’t let her do that.’

Ron grinned. “Hey, you ‘just kissed’ her.”

Harry scoffed. “You’d have done the same in my place.”

“Maybe. Padma just gave me a peck on the cheek.” Ron shrugged, a bit too casually in Hermione’s opinion. “But she was more interested in the other schools and their differences to Hogwarts than in me anyway. She reminded me of you, actually,” he added, smiling at Hermione. “But for her looks, of course.” He smiled wistfully. Harry nodded in apparent agreement - of course, he was dating Padma’s identical twin.

Hermione wanted to hex both of them for that. It wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t really show how much she had changed and that she could dress up as well as any pureblood witch, not without revealing her training. If her friends could see her in one of her disguises they wouldn’t treat her like that.

For a moment she enjoyed the fantasy of approaching Harry and Ron at a masquerade ball, in daring robes, a mysterious beauty flirting with them, leading them on, then leaving them. Their reactions would be priceless. She almost missed Harry’s next comment. “What?”

“Well, I said I’ll be attending the Smith’s New Year’s Ball with Parvati. Sirius got us invitations.” Harry smiled, and Hermione hoped it was because Sirius’s reputation was apparently improving, and not because he was looking forward to snogging with Parvati. Or more.

Then she realised what that meant. Harry would be at the same ball she was supposed to attend in disguise.

She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But she had to inform Mr Fletcher as soon as possible.

******​

Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1994

“Thank you, sir.” Hermione Granger smiled and curtseyed. “You’re a very skilled dancer.”

Her dance partner, an older cousin of Zacharias Smith, beamed at her. “You’re talented as well. Would you like to take a little break in the winter garden?” He stepped a bit closer and reached out with his arm for her waist as he asked, apparently assuming she would agree.

But she had anticipated that - the wizard’s hands had shown a tendency to roam a little on the dance floor - and deftly avoided him with a twist of her hips and a step back masked as another curtsey. “Thank you, but I think my tutor might want a word.”

For a moment, his smile faded - he likely hadn’t expected a refugee from the Colonies to react like that - but he quickly smiled again, bowing. “Of course. May I have the honour of another dance with you afterwards?”

“If possible, yes,” she answered, deliberately not using the proper forms. A few slips were expected of her cover, after all.

She made her way to Mr Fletcher, who saw her coming and excused himself from the three older wizards he was talking to and met her halfway. “Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Merriweather?”

“Oh, it’s marvelous!” she said, in a tone she imagined an impressed witch who cared about such things would use. Like Lavender or Parvati. In a lower voice, she added: “Another one wanted to ‘take a break in the winter garden’.”

“That’s to be expected. They think you’ll be easier to seduce, not knowing the local customs. And of course, your robes support such assumptions. That’s why I chose them.” He frowned. “But I should consider assumptions of ignorance as an insult to my reputation as a tutor. After all, I’m a distant relative of our hosts.”

Hermione wanted to shake her head - she wouldn’t have expected anyone to fall for the ‘I’m a distant relative from the New World’ scam, but apparently, Zacharias Smith’s family was not overly suspicious.

“Did you approach your beau yet?” Mr Fletcher asked.

Hermione drew a deep breath. “No, not yet.” She was wearing a blonde wig, coloured contact lenses and muggle makeup that made her look very different from her usual looks, in addition to dress robes with a neckline that drew attention away from her face, but Harry was her best friend and had known her for years. Even with a Shrinking Charm having taken care - temporarily, alas! - of her slight overbite, and the spell on her robes adding more bust, he might recognise her. At least her voice was disguised by a Volubilis Potion.

“Well, the ball’s halfway over, and the Boy-Who-Lived is very popular. You should get a move on, Miss.” In a softer tone, he added: “You’ve been training for over a year for this. You’re ready. He won’t recognise you, trust me.” He held out his arm, “I’ll introduce you.”

She shot him a look but he simply kept smiling until she sighed and hooked her arm into his. Harry was just stepping off the dance floor, with Parvati hanging on his arm as if she would stumble and fall if she let him go. The witch had been glued to his side for the whole evening, basking in the Boy-Who-Lived’s fame.

Well, Hermione thought, time to test just how much Harry liked his new girlfriend. She put on her best smile and let Mr Fletcher guide her towards them. It was time to test what she had learned.

*****​

Harry Potter noticed the older wizard and the young witch making their way towards him and Parvati long before they reached them. After one and a half such evenings, he could spot people wanting to talk to him well enough. And judging by the sudden tension he felt on his arm, and the sniff he heard, Parvati had spotted them as well. Or rather, had spotted the young blonde in the rather daring robes.

“Is that her father, or her lover?” he heard Parvati whisper, right before the pair reached them.

“Mr Potter? I’m Mr Smith, a distant relative of our hosts. This is Miss Merriweather.”

“Charmed,” Harry said, shaking the man’s hand before bowing to kiss the witch’s. Which brought his eyes rather close to her chest, he noticed. Of which a lot was on display. He straightened. “This is my girlfriend, Miss Patil.”

“Charmed.” Parvati’s smile was as sincere as Snape complimenting a Gryffindor.

“Miss Merriweather has recently arrived from the New World, and I’ve been tutoring her so she can fit into British society,” Mr Smith explained.

The witch nodded. “He’s a very good teacher. I would have been lost without him.” She sighed, which did interesting things to her neckline. “Of course, even in the New World, with all our troubles, we’ve heard of you.” She shook her head. “You’ve lived through so much tragedy! I admire your strength.” She smiled at him. She had bright blue eyes, he noticed, belatedly. And a nice smile too. And a rather husky voice. She was no Delacour, but then, no one else was.

“Many lost family in the war,” he answered.

She nodded as if he had said something profound and twirled a strand of her long hair around a finger. “We’ve had wars of our own, but not such bloody ones. Not usually, at least.”

Well, everyone knew about that, too, Harry thought. Magical North America’s East Coast was like Magical Europe’s Balkans - always on the brink of a war, if not already fighting. Mr Smith seemed to have spotted someone else he might want to talk to, and Harry quickly asked, mostly to keep the conversation going a little longer: “Will you be attending Hogwarts next year?” Her age was hard to tell, but if she needed a tutor, then she couldn’t be that old, or so he thought.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I already finished my education. I would have loved to attend your school, though. It must be great.”

“Best school in the world,” Harry agreed. “You could visit it for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Maybe I will. That sounds very intriguing.” She smiled at him. “I would need a guide, though,” she added with a glance at her tutor. “Mr Smith didn’t attend Hogwarts either.”

Harry opened his mouth to volunteer - that was the polite thing to do, of course - but Parvati’s sudden death grip on his arm distracted him long enough for the witch to speak up. “I’m certain there will be many students willing to give you a tour.”

And there were the teeth again, Harry thought. He quickly looked around for Sirius and spotted his godfather talking to a pretty witch in a corner. Good enough. “I think my godfather wanted to talk to me. If you’ll excuse us?” he nodded at Mr Smith and Miss Merriweather.

“Of course.” Mr Smith nodded and led his student away as Harry tried to get his girlfriend to loosen her grip on his arm before he lost all feeling in the limb.

He still snuck a glance at Miss Merriweather’s back as she walked away. Just to check if it matched her front.

It did.

*****​

 

Chapter 7: Girl Trouble

Hogwarts, January 6th, 1995

They were kissing again! Snogging! In a corner of the common room, even!

Ginny Weasley closed her book. She couldn’t do her homework with Harry and Parvati making such a spectacle of themselves near her. It was just too distracting. And too annoying. Her teeth were clenched as she left Gryffindor tower.

Outside in the hallway, she drew a deep breath and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. If anyone knew how much she wanted to be in Parvati’s place… if her brothers knew… She shuddered. They’d tease her worse than they had done back when Harry had visited The Burrow for the first time.

Sighing, she started towards the library. She still had homework to do, and the library was the best place for that. Parvati certainly wouldn’t be caught dead there. And Madam Pince wouldn’t tolerate any fooling around.

And the library was quiet, Ginny thought as she entered. There would be no giggling witches talking loudly about snogging Harry. Bloody show-off! she thought as she sat down at the first free table.

Before she could even start on her homework, though, someone else sat down at her table. She looked up to give them a piece of her mind - she wasn’t in the mood for company - but held her tongue when she saw it was Luna.

“Hello, Ginny,” the other witch whispered. “Did you have a nice holiday?”

Ginny wanted to snap at her that no, she hadn’t had a nice holiday. Not with Harry taking Parvati to the New Year’s Ball at Smith Manor while she was stuck at The Burrow. But that wasn’t Luna’s fault. And she didn’t want anyone to know how she felt about Harry’s new girlfriend. So she shrugged. “The usual, I guess. What about you?”

“Oh, it was very nice. Well, apart from the Yule Ball, I guess. That was disappointing.” Luna pouted. “I had hoped to attend, but the wizard who had asked me out had to take another witch to the ball on his parent’s orders, and couldn’t go with me.”

“What?” Ginny had read about such things, in her mum’s books, but to hear of it actually happening… “Who was that?”

“Michael Corner. He’s a year above us, in Ravenclaw.”

“That’s sad.” The Corners weren’t an old pureblood family, Ginny knew. His parents shouldn’t have put such pressure on him. Or he should have defied his parents, like the wizard always did in those novels. But not everyone was a Gryffindor.

“He hasn’t taken it well either,” Luna said. “He hasn’t talked to me since he told me he couldn’t take me to the ball.”

That made Ginny wince with guilt - she hadn’t talked to Luna in years after her mum had told her to avoid her friend. An order she had obeyed. Which, in hindsight, had been neither right nor brave. Hadn’t Mum told them not to listen to others when the Prophet had been attacking Harry’s godfather and Dumbledore? “I’m sorry,” she pressed out through clenched teeth.

“I’m glad we’re talking again,” Luna said, smiling. “I was worried you didn’t like me any more.”

Seeing her friend smile at her like that, Ginny felt as if she had been hexed in the gut. Some Gryffindor she was! To fill the sudden silence, she said: “I went with Neville to the Yule Ball. Neville Longbottom.” She shrugged. “He’s nice and polite, but…”

“He doesn’t make your tummy swirl?” Luna said.

Ginny blinked, then nodded. That was as good as any description. “Yes.”

“Michael didn’t make me feel that way either, but I would have liked to dance, I think.” Luna sighed. “I would have loved it if Ron had asked me to the ball. But he had to ask out Padma so Harry could ask her sister.”

Ginny blinked. “You fancy Ron?” Her brother?

“Yes.” Luna nodded. “He’s nice, he’s funny, and he makes my tummy feel all weird.”

“Yeah, he has a way with stomachs,” Ginny mumbled. “Mostly his own.”

“Well, you’re his sister; you wouldn’t notice that he’s handsome too,” Luna added, “since you’ve grown up with him. We rarely notice slow changes.”

Ginny was still trying to understand how anyone could find her brother attractive. Well, he wasn’t ugly, or so she had gathered from the gossip of the older girls, but still! He was no Harry Potter. “You’re in luck then - he and Padma Patil didn’t work out.”

“That doesn’t mean that he’ll fancy me,” Luna said, sighing again. “But it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t, either.”

“Yeah.” Ginny sighed. Unlike herself, Luna had a good chance of catching her wizard. It wasn’t as if Ron had a lot of witches after him.

“What about you? Is there anyone who makes your tummy feel funny?” Luna leaned forward.

Ginny sighed. She didn’t want to talk about this, with anyone. But… she owed Luna, and Luna had been open with her. And maybe it would help. “Yes, there is. But he’s with another witch.”

“Oh. Who is it?”

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. “Harry Potter.”

“Ah.” Luna nodded sagely. “Your one true love.”

“What?”

“You were already in love with him when you were little. You heard all the stories about him.” Luna smiled.

“That wasn’t the real Harry Potter,” Ginny protested. “And that was not love. I was just a silly little girl.”

“And it’s different now?” Luna cocked her head sideways, one of her Dirigible Plum earrings pulling straight up.

“Yes.” She wasn’t a little girl any more. “I know he’s not the Boy-Who-Lived. Nor the boy from the stories. But he’s handsome, kind, brave…” She shrugged. “I just know, you know?”

Luna nodded. “The heart knows, my mum used to say.”

Which probably explained why that witch had married Luna’s father, Ginny thought, then felt guilty. “Well… Harry’s heart doesn’t seem to know yet.” At least she hoped so.

Luna shrugged. “Mummy also said that boys were slower. Daddy too.”

Harry didn’t seem to be slow at all, if Parvati’s boasts were to be believed.“So, what did you do during the holidays?” she asked to change the subject.

“I hunted Nargles. I thought that if they’d left Hogwarts, then they might have found other places to live. But Britain’s quite large, and Daddy and I couldn’t check that much of it.” Luna pouted. Then she perked up. “But we’ve been tracking them in muggle newspapers. Unexplained thefts are on the rise! Sooner or later, we’ll get them!” Then she sighed again, her shoulders slumping. “I felt a bit lonely, with all the Nargles having gone since the school year started.”

“Well, they were probably afraid they’d get punished harshly when the Headmaster caught them,” Ginny commented. She was feeling even worse now - Luna felt lonely when her belongings weren’t being stolen?

Luna nodded. “Yes. I’m certain Dumbledore can see them with his enchanted glasses. I told Daddy to ask him for help in catching Nargles, but he didn’t want to bother the Headmaster, not when he’s so busy.”

Ginny nodded. If she ever had the opportunity to hex Malfoy or Skeeter… Without any witnesses, and when they weren’t expecting it, of course. She wasn’t stupid. “Well, are you certain that there were any Nargles before?”

Luna frowned at her. “All the evidence points at their presence. And no one has ever been able to prove that they do not exist!”

Well, there wasn’t much Ginny could say against that. Not that she wanted to argue with Luna in the first place. “But if the Nargles return to Hogwarts, please tell me.”

“Of course!” Luna beamed at her.

Ginny nodded, satisfied. She might not be able to prove the existence of thieving animals, but she, and her brothers, would be able to do something about human thieves.

******​

London, Merton, January 7th, 1995

She was growing into a woman, Hermione Granger thought, studying herself in the new mirror in her room. Well, her honesty compelled her to correct herself, she had started to, at least. Without the help from her enchanted robes, her bust wouldn’t have drawn nearly as much attention as it had at the New Year’s Ball. And her overbite was back - although slightly less pronounced. Mr Fletcher had told her that she should keep it as it was, since it would make it harder to associate her with her future disguises, but she had flat-out refused. She was a witch, and she drew the line at keeping this… blemish just for a marginally better disguise. In a year, her teeth would have ‘grown in’, and be perfectly proportioned for her face.

She snorted. Given how easy it was to shrink her teeth, it wouldn’t be much help as a disguise anyway. At least in her opinion. Some of her friends might even wonder why she didn’t get rid of it, resulting in them paying more attention to her appearance.

Not that that would be an entirely bad thing, she thought. She still had to smile whenever she remembered Harry’s reaction to her appearance at the ball. Her magically enhanced appearance, alas. She doubted that Harry would be as impressed if he saw her rather less curvy figure right now. Which her deep sigh only emphasised. So much could be done with the right clothes, spells and makeup, and the attitude to go with them.

Although… she tilted her head to the side and put a hand on her hips, eyeing herself in the mirror. Even accounting for all those things, she didn’t think Parvati had a better figure. All that climbing and running and jumping Mr Fletcher had her do each day had done a lot of good for her body. Though, she added with a critical eye at her bust, it hadn’t done wonders for those parts of her body which could do with a bit more fat tissue. If only certain charms worked as well on flesh as they did on teeth…

On the other hand, that would probably lead to rather unpleasant incidents in a school full of teenagers. Worse than handing out Polyjuice Potion to first-years. Although… would the hormones of the new body influence the user? She had better research that before she used that potion herself. On the other hand, that might be a way to circumvent the usual protections against love potions...

A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. “Hermione? Breakfast’s ready.”

“Coming, Mum!” she answered as she grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Another advantage of the grueling training regime her tutor had her go through - she had a healthy appetite.

Before she left her room, she made sure that her notes and robes were locked up. Her parents didn’t know exactly what she was learning, and she would rather keep things that way. She had no doubt that neither of them would be thrilled at learning that she was studying how to dazzle men in the guise of a young naive witch. Or that she had tried her wiles on her best friend when he was attending a ball with his girlfriend.

And thoroughly enjoyed both his and Parvati’s reactions.

*****​

London, Greenwich, January 7th, 1995

“So… given your performance at the ball,” Mr Fletcher said as he leaned back in his seat, the Daily Prophet lying folded on his lap, “I think we need to talk a little about seducing and bedazzling marks.”

Hermione Granger frowned. “You’ve already taught me that.” She had been practising her ‘innocently seductive act’ for months, after all. “Unless you mean going further than that.” He couldn’t mean actually sleeping with someone, could he?

He coughed. “No, I’m not going to teach a girl how to sleep with marks.” He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t catch. “What I want to talk about - what I think we need to talk about - is the difference between seducing a mark and seducing a lover.”

She frowned again, and he sighed. “What was the difference between your dance with Melchior Smith and your chat with Potter?”

“Smith wanted to sleep with me in the winter garden. Harry simply snuck a peek at my body,” she answered. Well, more than a peek - he had been ogling her.

“That’s true, but not what I meant. What was the difference between the two boys?”

“One was a creep trying to sleep with naive young witches, the other is a dear friend.” With a jealous girlfriend.

“Almost. One was a mark, and one was a friend. And you shouldn’t mix up the two. When you lead someone on to get into a manor, or to find out a secret, you need to be detached and to keep your goal in mind.”

“You said that I should focus on thinking as the disguise, to better fool those who’d pry at my mind.”

“That too.” he frowned briefly. “What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t treat your friends like marks.”

“It was just a prank!” she protested.

“It was,” he agreed. “And a good test too. But… it’s a slippery slope, there. Where does a harmless prank end and a con start?” He shook his head. “You don’t want to end up manipulating all your friends as if they were marks, trust me. That’s a good way to lose your friends. Even if they never find out you duped them, a friendship shouldn’t be based on lies.”

“I’ve no intention of doing that to Harry. I just wanted to show him that I’m a pretty witch too.” Especially after what he had said about her.

“Good.” He nodded. “You’ve got more important goals to achieve, after all.”

Oh, yes, she did. Hermione grinned. If she could fool her best friend then she could certainly fool her enemies.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 9th, 1995

“Harry! Harry!”

Harry Potter jerked when he heard his girlfriend yell in the common room, and he drew his wand without thinking as he looked for the closest cover - a seat nearby. On his right side, Ron had done the same. But there was no threat that he could see, just Parvati heading towards him with a magazine in hand.

She didn’t seem to have noticed Harry and Ron’s reaction, though - or she was ignoring their drawn wands. It was hard to tell with her.

“Yes, Parvati?” he asked as he lowered his wand.

She thrust her magazine at him. “Did you see this? We’re on the cover of Teen Witch Weekly!”

“Ah.” He took the magazine and looked at the cover. It showed him and Parvati dancing at the New Year’s Ball. Quite a good picture - both of them were smiling happily. ‘In-depth article on page 5’, the blurb next to the picture promised.

He opened the magazine while Parvati on one side and Ron on the other peered over his shoulder. He hoped that the article would be as flattering as the cover - his family could use all the good press they could get.

“Boy-Who-Lived took his girlfriend to another ball…” The article focused on his and Parvati’s robes, their dancing, and that this was the second time they had appeared arm in arm, so the relationship was confirmed. Not much about Sirius, other than mentioning Harry’s godfather’s presence, and some speculation about his influence on Harry. But nothing negative, either. Which was a good sign.

He smiled at Parvati. “I’ll have to show this to Sirius.” Even though his godfather would tease him about it.

“Oh, yes! We should buy a few more copies!” Parvati hugged him. “This is great! I’ll send one home to Mum! Padma will be so jealous!”

“Is there a picture of that foreign witch you met at the ball as well?” Ron asked. Harry’s friend was craning his neck to look at the other pictures inside the magazine, and seemed to ignore the glare Parvati shot him.

“That hussy?” Harry winced. His girlfriend hadn’t taken well to Miss Merriweather. Not at all. She wasn’t smiling any more either. “No. She’s not in any of the pictures,” Parvati said in a tone that told Harry that she had thoroughly checked.

“Oh, too bad. I hoped to see for myself if she had been as stunning as they said,” Ron, clueless about just what he was doing to Harry’s relationship, said.

“People have been talking about her?” Parvati glanced at Harry.

“Not me!” he said quickly. Not to anyone but Sirius - and Ron. Who, Harry thought with a glare of his own at his friend, should know better than to talk about that witch.

“Ah…” Ron blinked, then shook his head. “No, Harry didn’t say a word about her. I heard it from Smith.”

Parvati sniffed. “You haven’t said a word about her? After you almost hurt your neck staring at her backside when we left them?”

Harry winced again. Ron’s lie had just made things worse. And the next weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend. He didn’t know how Parvati would react to his plans to meet Hermione in the village.

He would have to ask Sirius how best to handle this if he didn’t want to anger either witch.

*****​

Hogwarts, January 10th, 1995

“Sirius? Do you have a moment?” Harry Potter asked when that day’s special lesson had ended.

“For you? Always!” His godfather said, beaming at him. Then he blinked. “Unless I’m currently enjoying the company of a pretty witch, and it’s not an emergency, of course. In that case, you’ll have to wait.” He grinned widely.

Harry didn’t roll his eyes, but sighed, then glanced over his shoulder at Ron. His friend was still repairing the desks he had set afire in an attempt to distract Remus and Sirius. Remus was doing his own part in restoring the Defence classroom to its prior state - combat training tended to be hard on the environment.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Trouble with Ron?” he asked in a lower voice.

“Not exactly,” Harry said. “It’s more like trouble with my girlfriend.”

“Ah!” Sirius nodded sagely. “But it might concern him?” He gasped. “Oh… you’re not dating both twins, are you? That would certainly cause some trouble, seeing as things didn’t work out between him and the other twin.”

“What?” Harry stared at Sirius, then glanced back. Ron was still busy, and didn’t seem to have overheard them. “No, no!” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t cheat on Parvati!”

“Good. Although a threesome with twins would certainly be among the best reasons for cheating on your girlfriend,” Sirius once again nodded as if he had just stated something very profound, then laughed and shook his head. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood, Harry.” He conjured a seat for himself, and one for Harry with a flick of his wrist. “Come, let’s sit down and talk about this seriously.”

Sometimes, his godfather’s attempts at making light of serious problems were very annoying, Harry thought. He sighed and sank into the soft armchair. “Alright. You know about the New Year’s Ball.”

Sirius nodded with a wide grin. “Oh, yes! Who would have thought that Malfoy’s attempts to destroy my reputation would have resulted in me being seen as so attractive to certain witches?”

“I don’t mean that,” Harry hastened to clarify. “I told you that Parvati was upset about our talk with that American witch.”

“I thought she was upset about your flirting.” Sirius frowned.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “Miss Merriweather was flirting.” With him. As Parvati had explained to him. In detail. Several times. Loudly, too.

“Alright. So, your girlfriend was upset about another witch flirting with you. And you fear that means that she doesn’t trust you.” He nodded, rubbing his chin. “You might be correct, too.” He sighed. “Witches are often very unreasonable when it comes to wizards being polite and sociable with other witches. The stories I could tell...” His eyes seemed to lose their focus as he trailed off.

Harry quickly spoke up before his godfather could get lost in what was left of his memories. Sirius was getting better, but he still had a long way to go, and he was bound to jumble the memories he had retained or recovered so far. At least that’s what Remus had said, in private. “Well, Ron set her off again yesterday, when he asked if there was a picture of Miss Merriweather in that magazine.” And she hadn’t talked to him again until this morning.

“Chocolate and flowers,” Sirius said.

“What?” Harry blinked.

“A tried and true way to get a witch to forgive you for whatever she thinks you have done. Or not done.”

“Ah.” Harry started to nod, then shook his head. “It’s not about that. This weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend.”

“Take her to Honeydukes then.” Sirius nodded. “Best chocolate in the world. Don’t let any Swiss or Belgian tell you otherwise! Although Madam Puddifoot’s is better if you want to be intimate.”

Harry clenched his teeth. “Please let me explain my problem before interrupting me.” He took a deep breath. “Ron and I were going to meet Hermione in Hogsmeade.”

Sirius nodded. “Ah.”

“And I think Parvati expects me to take her to Hogsmeade. Alone.”

“Yes, you are probably correct.” Sirius rubbed his goatee. “Your friends, or your girlfriend - the age-old question any wizard has to answer one day.” He sighed deeply. “I’ve been there myself.”

“And what did you do?”

“I picked my friends, of course. Unless the witch was really pretty and really affectionate. In that case, I might have made a temporary exception,” Sirius said. “But a few kisses in Puddifoot’s aren’t worth a friendship. Nothing is worth that, actually.”

Harry stared at him. “And what if she dumps me over this?”

“Then you find another girlfriend who isn’t so insecure and controlling.” His godfather shrugged. “There are plenty of pretty witches in Hogwarts, and you’re only in your fourth year.”

“But…” He didn’t want to break up with Parvati. She was pretty, and nice, when she wasn’t angry at him. “I like her!”

“Enough to end your friendship with Ron and Hermione?” Sirius cocked his head to the side.

“What? Of course not!” The three of them had gone through so much together, to end their friendship was… Harry couldn’t find the right word for how unthinkable it was.

“Then any girlfriend of yours has to accept that. She can be with you at Hogwarts every day - or night,” Sirius added with a leer. He quickly grew serious again, though. “You can only meet Hermione on the Hogsmeade weekends, though. Under those circumstance, it would be very selfish of your girlfriend to expect you to spend the weekend with her instead of with your friends.”

“Ah.” Harry nodded. That made a lot of sense. But he didn’t think Parvati would see it like that. On the other hand, she couldn’t be jealous of Ron and Hermione, could she? Ron was his best mate, and Hermione… well, she was a witch, but she wasn’t as pretty as Parvati. Or as Miss Merriweather. And she certainly didn’t flirt with him! His girlfriend shouldn’t be jealous of her. He smiled at his godfather. “Thanks! That really helped!”

“Anytime, Harry.”

*****​

Hogsmeade, January 14th, 1995

“Are you alright?” Hermione Granger frowned as she looked at her best friend. Harry seemed to be a little distracted. And the Hog’s Head Inn didn’t offer many distractions. At least not in the afternoon - she had heard from her tutor that the pub wasn’t a suitable place for a young lady once night had fallen.

“Huh? Yes. I’m just…” he trailed off. Another bad sign. Something was eating at him.

“He’s worried that his girlfriend will hex him,” Ron cut in.

“No, I’m not!” Harry responded, rather sharply, in Hermione’s opinion.

“Why would your girlfriend want to hex you?” she asked, ignoring his claims to the contrary. If Parvati was abusing Harry...

“She said that she was fine with me meeting you,” Harry said.

Hermione blinked. “You don’t sound as if you believe that she’s being sincere.”

“Well… I thought she looked angry for a moment when I told her about our plans for today.” Harry shrugged. “But I told her that you’re my best friend, and unlike Parvati, I can’t see you every day.”

Hermione smiled at him. That was so sweet, to put her friendship over his girlfriend’s desires. It was just like Harry.

“Well, according to Ginny, Parvati’s not happy about it,” Ron added. Hermione nodded in agreement - she had no doubt that the witch wanted to monopolise Harry’s attention.

Harry shook his head. “She shouldn’t be unhappy. There’s no reason to be jealous of Hermione, and I told her that, too.”

Hermione felt her smile slip a little. As with a similar statement before the ball, this flat declaration stung a little. More than a little, in fact. She might not have dressed up, but still! “Well, she might be feeling insecure. We’ve been best friends for years, and she’s only been your girlfriend for a few weeks.”

Harry frowned. “That’s true, but you’re completely different! I mean, she isn’t jealous of Ron, is she?”

Hermione forced herself not to snap at Harry. Fortunately, Mr Fletcher had been teaching her how to maintain her composure and keep smiling even if she didn’t feel like it. “Well, I would think that I’ve got a bit more in common with Parvati than with Ron, since I’m a witch and not a wizard,” she pointed out. She almost pushed her chest out to emphasise the difference, but restrained herself. Not that her jumper was tight enough for that to work well anyway.

“Yes, but it’s not as if I want to kiss you,” Harry said. “Or you, Ron.”

“You better not!” Ron laughed.

Hermione forced herself to join in. “Parvati should trust you then,” she said. “It’s not as if you’re flirting with other witches, right?”

“No, I’m not.” Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t cheat on my girlfriend.”

“Unless they’re pretty foreigners,” Ron added.

“Oh?” Hermione looked at him. Was Harry flirting with the French witches at Hogwarts?

Harry sighed and glared at their friend. “I wasn’t flirting with Miss Merriweather. She was flirting with me. Or rather, with the Boy-Who-Lived.”

“Miss Merriweather?” Hermione tried to sound as casual as possible. That was the perfect occasion to find out what he thought about her!

“An American witch Harry met at the Smith’s ball,” Ron explained. “Apparently very pretty, and very flirty.”

“Yes. Parvati was quite annoyed with her.”

“Ah.” Hermione pursed her lips to keep from smiling. So much for Harry’s claim that he didn’t want to kiss her!

On the other hand, it also meant that she needed to really dress up and be very forward to impress boys. Her mother’s advice to ‘just be yourself’ obviously wasn’t working.

Hermione didn’t think that she liked what that said about her.

*****​

“Harry!”

Harry Potter jerked when he heard the loud voice, and had raised his wand before he recognised his girlfriend. She ignored that, as usual, and he barely had time to move it out of the way before she hugged him.

“Fancy meeting you here!” Parvati beamed at him from between two of the shelves in Tomes and Scrolls, and before he could say anything, she was kissing him. Passionately, as Sirius would say, meaning with tongue. And not just for a brief time, either. He was wrapping his arms around her when he heard Hermione clear her throat.

“Hello, Parvati.”

His girlfriend pulled back from his embrace and smiled at her. “Hermione! You haven’t changed at all! You’ve still got that wild mane.”

“I could say the same,” Hermione answered with a sweet smile of her own, though she was staring at Parvati’s chest, Harry noticed. And her smile looked rather toothy, too. As did Parvati’s.

“I thought I would buy a few books while you were with your friends,” Parvati said. “I didn’t know you’d come here as well.”

“Ah, you must have forgotten how much I like books.” Hermione took a step closer to him. “Harry knows that, of course, and offered to take me here.”

“Ah, he is too kind. Generous too.” Parvati nodded.

“Oh, yes.”

Harry was certain that he was missing some context here. And he was also certain that if he didn’t do something, hexes would fly soon - despite the two witches’ smiles. Or because of them.

“So, let’s look at the latest releases!” he said with forced cheer. “Where did Ron disappear to?”

“He went to the Quidditch section,” Hermione said. “Let’s join him - I think they have an illustrated book of the World Cup, with all the best plays.”

“You’re interested in Quidditch?” Parvati sounded surprised.

“Oh, yes - I was at the Cup with Harry.”

“Ah.” His girlfriend glanced at him.

“We were all there - Hermione, Ron, my godfather and I,” Harry explained. It wasn’t as if he had been there with just Hermione.

“Oh.” Parvati suddenly smiled widely and hooked her arm into his. “Let’s go then!”

Harry wasn’t certain if he should be glad or concerned that Parvati had apparently decided to join their group.

He almost wished that Malfoy would show up to cause trouble. He knew how to handle the git, but he didn’t know how to handle this situation.

*****​

Hermione Granger forced herself to smile at Harry’s girlfriend, even though she really wanted to hex the witch. Parvati had shown quite some nerve, forcing herself on Harry when he was in Hogsmeade with her and Ron! And her poor friend must have lost all feeling in his left arm, judging by how tightly the obviously attention-craving witch was clinging to it.

That was as transparent as the ‘chance meeting’ in the bookshop earlier - as if Parvati would be caught dead in a bookshop, outside the cosmetic charms section, at least. Or maybe the Potions section, Hermione added in her head, so she could brew a love potion.

And now they were walking down the main road, and instead of chatting with Harry and Ron, she was forced to listen to the inane things Harry’s girlfriend was spouting.

“Oh, look Harry - they have a sale on Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion!” Parvati said, dragging Harry to the side, almost making him stumble.

Hermione clenched her teeth, then forced herself to keep smiling - she knew what was coming.

“Maybe Hermione would want to buy some? It’s expensive, but I’ve heard it works wonders for even the worst hair!”

Yes - two barbs. One about her hair, and one about her finances. Hermione glanced towards Ron, who was frowning - since his family was poor, he would have likely caught the second barb. Unlike Harry.

“Really? Would you like some, Hermione? Sirius told me that it was invented by my family,” Harry said, smiling at her.

He really was too nice, and too good for Parvati. Too clueless too, alas, Hermione thought. She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I would rather not disguise myself like that, she lied. “Imagine waking up next to your girlfriend in the morning, and discovering that her beauty was simply magic and cosmetics. Hypothetically speaking, of course,” she added, with a smile and a glance at Parvati. “Besides, I happen to like my ‘wild, untamed mane’. My mum said she had the same hair when she was a teenager, and as you know, her hair grew out nicely.” She wasn’t entirely lying there - though she doubted that her mum’s hair had ever been as bad as hers, no matter what her mother claimed. She had seen pictures, after all!

Parvati, of course, was fuming behind her smiling and cosmetic-covered facade. Harry hadn’t met her family, had he? “Ah, that’s too bad. You’ll be missing out on so much until that happens.” The way the witch ‘accidentally’ pressed her modest bust into Harry’s arm left no doubt in Hermione’s mind what she meant.

She was strongly tempted to demonstrate just how much a few hairstyling charms could do, but that would not be a good idea - her future cover relied on Hermione Granger being a rather plain girl. Although, in hindsight, perhaps she shouldn’t have dismissed the consequences this tactic would have on her social life as quickly as she had, almost two years ago. But, oh, to stroll through Hogsmeade in her guise as Merriweather, and accidentally stumble upon - or into! - the Boy-Who-lived….

She pushed the fantasy away as she shrugged. “It’s not as if I have much free time anyway, with all the things I have to study on my own.” She noted with satisfaction, though also with some guilt, that Harry and Ron looked sympathetic at this reminder of her circumstances.

Unfortunately, Parvati nodded in - apparent - sympathy as well, instead of falling for the bait and gloating. “And to think that Malfoy and his friends are still at Hogwarts! Fortunately, the Headmaster has cowed them.”

“Yes,” Ron cut in, laughing, “Snape must be having ulcers at having to punish the git on Dumbledore’s orders!”

“Hasn’t Malfoy learned his lesson yet?” Hermione asked. If she wanted to plan her revenge properly, she needed to learn all she could about her enemies.

Harry shrugged. “He hasn’t done anything in public lately, but I don’t think he has changed at all.”

“He’s still a git,” Ron added. “But we’re keeping an eye out for him and his ilk whenever we’re outside the common room. If he tries anything...” - a flick of Ron’s wrist made his wand appear in his hand. Enchanted quick-draw holster, Hermione noticed. Those were expensive - “...then we deal with him.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” she cautioned her friends and Parvati. “He likes to target Harry and all his friends.”

The other three nodded, but Hermione couldn’t help feeling that they weren’t as cautious as they should be. At least Harry and Ron were getting extracurricular defence training, so they should be OK. And so would Harry’s girlfriend, if she kept clinging to him as she did.

Not even Parvati, Hermione added silently to herself as the witch in question dragged Harry over to a stall that sold scarves, deserved to become the next victim of Malfoy.

The witch would be safer if she and Harry broke up, of course, but Hermione couldn’t mention that. Harry would probably think that he should stop seeing Hermione as well, to keep her safe.

She silently sighed as she followed her friends to the next stall. Harry was a great friend, but sometimes he was too nice and too dense.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 19th, 1995

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Harry. Please have a seat.”

Harry Potter sat down in front of Dumbledore’s desk, a little nervous despite the Headmaster’s friendly manner. He hadn’t done anything - at least nothing he thought that the Headmaster would take offence to - but still…

“You may be wondering why I called you to my office.”

And such remarks didn’t help, Harry thought as he nodded. Had something happened to Sirius? But the Headmaster wouldn’t be smiling in that case, would he?

“It concerns your mother’s protection. As you know, I have been unable to move it from your aunt’s home to Sirius’s home.”

Harry was all too aware of that. He shrugged. “We found a solution that allows me to keep the protection with the absolute minimum amount of contact with my relatives.”

The Headmaster sighed as he inclined his head. “Indeed. It is not ideal, but workable at least.”

“Did you find another solution?” Despite his feigned nonchalance, Harry would love to be able to completely avoid his relatives. Grimmauld Place felt like home, even with parts of it still filled with cursed items and unknown, but likely dark, knicknacks.

“I am sorry to say that I have not. Although I would like to research your protection further, with your permission of course - I do think that it warrants a closer look, given the Dark Lord’s return. If we could duplicate it, the coming conflict would likely be much less costly that the last one.” Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. “But given the extremely personal nature of your protection, I would understand if you would not wish this investigated further, since I cannot guarantee any results.”

Harry stared at the Headmaster. As if he would be so selfish - he knew very well what terrible cost the last war had had. He, and his surviving family. “Please go ahead - I certainly won’t oppose anything that can be used against Voldemort.”

“Thank you, Harry.” The Headmaster smiled. “But while I do not think this request will be problematic, there are things that could be useful in such a conflict, yet carry far too great a cost to be used. A cost that you might not realise until it is too late.”

“You mean the Dark Arts?” Harry frowned - Sirius had mentioned using a few dark curses.

“Among other things. The Dark Arts are often just one step of a path many start with the best intentions. A slippery slope, if you want. People start making sacrifices, for expediency or effectiveness, convinced that the end justifies those means. They might even be correct, at the start. But slowly, step by step, sacrifice by sacrifice, they reach a point where that is no longer true - but few can bring themselves to abandon their chosen path then, since they fear such a decision would render their previous sacrifices useless.”

Harry nodded at the Headmaster’s earnest words, even though he wasn’t certain if the old wizard was talking to him, or to himself.

“You do not think this could happen to you, do you?” Dumbledore asked with a sad smile.

“Well…” Harry shrugged. His parents had done everything, sacrificed themselves, to save him. Could he do any less, should it be needed, to save his family and friends?

“Ah, the confidence of youth.” Dumbledore smiled, but he wasn’t looking at Harry as he did so.

Harry cleared his throat. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Is that why you haven’t, well, flattened Malfoy like a bug?” he quoted his godfather.

Dumbledore chuckled. “I see Sirius still likes colourful language.” He shook his head. “But to answer your question: No, the reason I have not moved more, shall we say, more aggressively against Lucius, is not that I fear it would cause me to travel too far down the slippery slope I mentioned.” His smile turned wry. “I am not boasting when I say that I know which lines I can cross, and which I cannot. No, the last war taught me, all too painfully, that I cannot shy away from doing what is needed, even if it might be questionable. The reason I haven’t taken such actions as your godfather might be thinking of is that I do not desire to expose myself to the Dark Lord.” He leaned back. “Voldemort is back in Britain. Too much has happened that shows his wandwork for any other explanation. But I do not know what his plans are, other than his obvious objectives, such as my death.”

“And mine,” Harry added.

Dumbledore nodded. “But what role does Lucius play? The Dark Lord is not above sacrificing his followers if he deems it needed. Is he waiting for me to take more direct action, so he can paint me as a criminal? Or has he prepared an ambush? Or is Lucius not aware of the Dark Lord’s machinations, and acting on his own, as his behaviour during Peter’s trial might indicate?” He spread his hands. “Without knowing more, I have to tread very carefully, lest I play into the Dark Lord’s hands.”

“Ah.” That made sense, Harry thought. But it also meant that the situation was worse than he had thought. And that the Headmaster’s request was even more important.

“Shall we start examining your mother’s magnum opus then?” Dumbledore asked, drawing his wand.

Harry nodded.

*****​

Hogwarts, February 26th, 1995

“Oh… that had to hurt. Diggory failed to dispel the enchantment in that tube, and had to freeze the water below him to keep from falling out of the arena. Can he still continue? Yes, he can! Diggory is getting up! His leg looks broken, but… yes! He transfigured it to stone, and he’s continuing!”

The Triwizard Tournament’s second task wasn’t quite as educational as the first - at least as far as her future career as a thief was concerned, Hermione Granger thought as she watched the Hogwarts Champion limp on. Unless she ever encountered a mansion made of enchanted water she had to break into. One enchanted with all the spells a Master of Transfiguration like Dumbledore could muster. She doubted that anyone else would use those spells for home defence - they were not lethal enough, she thought, for those who would would want to turn their home into a trap.

She looked at the other champions while Bagman prattled on about Diggory.

Krum was still literally going through the maze on a straight course, no matter if that led him down a tube made of water, or through a wall of enchanted ice. An unimaginative tactic, she thought, but as Diggory’s example had just shown, not a bad tactic since the maze’s paths were riddled with spells that required the contestants to deal with them.

Delacour, though, was navigating the maze in a more traditional way, using Divination to pick the best route - or so Hermione thought; she was once again reminded of the unfortunate fact that she wasn’t able to study all the subjects she wanted. She could, of course, study them at a later date. Once those who had framed and slandered her were dealt with. The best revenge was living well, after all.

Diggory had been running through the maze like Delacour, but had then decided to take a shortcut through the second floor - and had almost fallen through the bottom floor when his spell had apparently created a larger hole than he had planned.

The task was visually very appealing, though - Dumbledore might have found twelve uses for Dragon blood, but he had found many more ways to enchant water, often with spectacular if - for the champions - rather stressful results.

Harry and Ron certainly seemed to love the spectacle. Parvati though… Hermione doubted that the girl was sparing any attention for the task, not when she was so busy watching her boyfriend as if he’d stray as soon as she took her eyes off him. The witch had trust issues, Hermione thought.

“Delacour is almost at the centre now! With the French witch so close to winning the task, can the other champions still challenge her? Krum seems unimpressed - probably; it’s hard to tell with him. Diggory’s been falling behind ever since he broke his leg, but with defeat looming, will he take another gamble? He’s changing course… towards the red pipe. But that’s away from the centre! What is he planning? Or did he fall victim to a Confundus trap? He’s breaching the pipe! And he gets hit with high-pressure red water! No, he’s riding the geyser - towards the centre of the maze. Or… no! He missed! Diggory goes out of bounds, and Delacour wins!”

The French among the audience - and many wizards, Hermione thought - broke out in cheers as the maze flowed away, leaving the Vela standing in the centre of the arena, holding the jewel that had been the task’s prize.

“And Diggory goes into the Infirmary,” Ron commented as everyone winced at the sound and sight of the Hufflepuff bouncing on the ice roof of the maze, before sliding off and hitting the ground below.

“The ground’s covered with Cushioning Charms,” Hermione pointed out. She was very familiar with those spells, from her climbing and flying training.

“Well, the roof isn’t. That’s worth a whole bottle of Skele-Gro,” Harry retorted.

“You would know, mate,” Ron said, earning himself a glare from both Harry and Parvati.

Hermione was tempted to ask if her friend regularly had to drink the potion to help his left arm recover from stress fractures, since Parvati seemed to be hanging on to it at every opportunity. She refrained from being so catty, though - she wasn’t like Parvati.

“Let’s go back to Hogwarts,” Harry’s girlfriend said as Diggory was levitated off the field, and Delacour proclaimed the victor, “I’m freezing.”

Hermione doubted that - the witch was obviously soaking up Harry’s body heat. She probably simply wanted to get rid of Hermione, who wasn’t allowed into the school proper. So she smiled sweetly and drew her wand. “I can cast a Warming Charm on you. I didn’t realise you hadn’t learned that spell yet.”

“It’s part of the third year curriculum,” Ginny cut in. “Did you forget how to cast it, Parvati? I thought that rumour that you had your sister take your exams for you was just malicious gossip.” She laughed, but obviously just to be able to claim that she was only joking.

Parvati’s answering smile was sickly-sweet. “Oh, I was actually trying to subtly remind my boyfriend that he should embrace me,” she said.

Unfortunately, Harry seemed to believe her, Hermione noticed, since he quickly hugged the witch. Boys! “Let’s just stay here for as bit,” she said. “No one else is in a hurry to leave.” Which was to be expected - since it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, the students weren’t allowed into the village, and the visitors weren’t allowed into the school, so everyone who was using this event as an opportunity to meet their family had to stay in the arena.

“Oh, look! It’s a Grim!” Luna’s delighted cry interrupted the squabble between Ginny and Parvati. Hermione turned around and saw the blonde was pointing at a pitch-black dog in the stands above them, probably looking for food.

“Merlin’s Beard!” Ron didn’t sound delighted at all. “She’s right!”

“I think it’s just a normal dog. Maybe a familiar,” Harry said. He was glaring at the animal, though, Hermione saw. She understood the sentiment - the dog was massive, and would certainly do a Grim justice.

“Probably,” she agreed. “It doesn’t look aggressive, though.” She had seen that dog before, after all, in Diagon Alley. Not that she’d mention that, though - she had been in her disguise as Merriweather.

As if it had heard her, the dog barked and jumped a few rows down, landing next to Harry. Parvati shrieked in response, but the animal ignored her, instead looking around.

Hermione smirked as Harry tried to calm down his easily startled girlfriend. Some Gryffindor, Parvati was! “He’s probably hungry. Are you, boy?” she asked, holding out the remains of her meat pocket.

The dog sniffed her hand first, then grabbed the food - and Hermione almost shrieked herself when she realised just how big its jaws were. And then she did shriek when the dog started to slobber all over her.

And her traitorous friends just laughed!

*****​

London, Merton, February 28th, 1995

Hermione Granger was just about to solve the last Arithmancy task for her ‘homework’ when the doorbell interrupted her. Since both her parents were still at work, she sighed and went downstairs, wondering who was visiting them during the day.

A quick glance through the spyhole gave her the answer: Mr Black, wearing a leather jacket and jeans, and a wide smile. He knew her address - he had arranged the payment for the house, after all - but to show up like this… If it was him.

She opened the door with her left hand and aimed her wand at his face. “What did you say to me when we met for the first time?”

“Ah, Miss Granger! Welcome to my humble home!” he answered, tilting his head slightly. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch and his grin didn’t falter. Or maybe he didn’t take her seriously, and was just humouring her. “And I said that you were not as serious as Harry had said.”

Good enough, she decided and stepped aside. “Please enter, Mr Black.”

“Thank you, Miss Merriweather,” he said as he stepped inside.

Hermione froze for a moment, but recovered quickly. “I guess Mr Smith needs more students,” she commented after closing the door. They had avoided him at the ball, but apparently, Mr Black had put two and two together.

“Ah… yes, he does.” He nodded. “And not only because he obviously knows how to teach witches to present themselves to their best advantage,” he added with a leer at her.

She glared at him, then pointed at the living room. “Please have a seat.”

A few minutes later, he was sniffing at the glass of her dad’s best whisky she had offered.

“It’s not poisoned,” she said. “Feel free to check.”

He chuckled, but didn’t follow her advice before taking a sip. “Ah… it tastes better than it smells,” he said with an air entirely unsuited to a man dressed more like a biker than a rich gentleman. Apparently, her dad’s best whisky wasn’t good enough for the refined palate of the Head of the Black family.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried it,” she said.

“Ah… you need to try Ogden’s Best.”

“I prefer not to set my hair on fire while drinking,” she retorted.

That made him laugh.

“So... what brings you to my family’s humble home?” she asked once he had taken another sip from his glass. She had some suspicions.

“Well… I’m here to offer you my help.” He smiled widely at her.

“Your help?” Hermione frowned. “You’ve already saved my family from ruin.”

He dismissed that with a gesture, as if it hadn’t been of any importance. “That was just gold. I want to help you with your ‘education’.” He leaned forward and folded his hands. “And your revenge, of course.”

While she had no doubt that Mr Black would love to see those who had hurt her punished - Harry had told her his godfather’s opinion of those old pureblood families - she also had no doubt that he wasn’t here simply to offer his help. He wouldn’t have had to meet her in private, without her tutor or parents present, otherwise. He probably wanted to use her for his own revenge. But she already owed him too much to turn him down anyway.

But she needed to know more. She shrugged. “You know that I’m far from being ready to take my revenge.” Unfortunately, that was true. She was a good student, but Mr Fletcher had told her repeatedly that she wasn’t yet ready for a real heist. Once she had learned to cast silently, though...

“I know. But Harry also told me that you’re a genius. And Remus said you did very well, especially for a homeschooled student, from what he had seen in your exams.”

She almost snarled at that comment. She wanted to excel without such a qualifier. “I’m flattered,” she lied.

“Harry also told me that you’re very competitive.” His grin widened, and she frowned. She had thought she had worked on her tells.

But if that was how he wanted to play it… “What could you teach me that Mr Smith can’t teach me?”

“It’s not what I can teach you - I’m no thief, after all - but what I can offer you: Access to the Old Families and the Ministry.” He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. “I’m the Head of the Black family. We might not be the oldest pureblood family, although my dead mother would dispute that, but we’re the richest. As my assistant or secretary, for example, you’d have access to the Wizengamot and the Ministry. In my company, you’d have access to circles your tutor never will have.” He frowned. “Though you probably have to grow up first before we can try that. I don’t need that particular reputation to darken my name.”

She clenched her teeth for a moment - she was growing up! - and controlled herself. He was tactless, but he was right - what he was offering would help her immensely. Even her tutor would have to see that - Mr Fletcher was always telling her that a thief used every advantage they could get without violating their rules. And he knew as well as Hermione that she couldn’t really refuse Mr Black. Not after all the wizard had done for her and her family. And even less now that he had revealed what he knew about her.

And yet… She smiled. “There is one thing you can teach me, though. One thing I really need to learn.”

“Yes?” Mr Black managed to make the single word sound lurid.

“You can teach me how to escape Azkaban.”

*****​

 

Chapter 8: Forked Paths

Near Barnstaple, Devon, Britain, March 21st, 1995

Tonks - just Tonks, no first name, thank you very much - was very glad she was a metamorphmagus. It meant she wasn’t pale or even green in the face as she stared at the most horrible sight she had ever seen. It looked like someone had painted the entire room with blood. It smelled like it as well. And the body parts strewn across on the floor…

A rough voice distracted her before she could shudder and ruin the tough image she had, so far, managed to present to the other Aurors at the scene. “Are you reconsidering your decision to become an Auror, rookie?”

Frowning she turned around and glared at her former instructor. “No, Auror Moody, I’m not,” she said, trying to sound like her mum when she was lecturing someone.

He laughed at her attitude, as she had known he would. “That’s the spirit, lass! Two Hit-Wizards lost their breakfasts just outside. Damn rookies couldn’t even manage to vanish the vomit in time.”

“What are they doing at a crime scene anyway?” she said. Everyone, even rookies like herself, knew that Hit-Wizards were good for one thing only, and that was guarding Azkaban. Anything that required more finesse than pointing a wand at someone and cursing them was beyond the grey robes.

“Fudge’s spooked, apparently, and had a squad of them detached to the Corps, to ‘bolster our ranks’.” He walked past her, his artificial eye spinning madly as usual. “So… what do you make of this?” He asked after half a minute.

She took a deep breath - through her mouth - before answering. “Someone massacred the Outterridge family.” Father, mother, and seven-year-old daughter. They had found the heads mostly intact.

“Tell me something that’s not so obvious even a Hit-Wizard would spot it!” he interrupted her with a bark.

She swallowed her angry retort and continued: “The murderer used dark curses, probably to keep them alive while they were cut apart. Since this was done on the day of the Spring Equinox, this might have been a dark ritual. The blood wasn’t splashed around in a recognisable pattern, though, which might indicate that this was an attempt to make an ordinary murder look like a dark ritual.”

“Or it was a crazed killer revelling in literal bloodlust.”

She looked at the old Auror and narrowed her eyes. His scarred face had the same expression as when he tested her in training. “Such crimes usually have a build-up.”

“Could be a foreigner. Or someone who managed to control himself, until he broke.”

He was baiting her. She shook her head. “You don’t believe that.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” He scoffed. “This is a set up. But this is not someone trying to mask an ordinary murder as a dark ritual.” He knelt down, moving easily despite his artificial leg. “This is the work of someone trying to cover up a dark ritual.”

“What?” She blinked.

“Someone’s been too clever here - the murderer knows how the Corps investigates, and has prepared accordingly. I bet we’ll find ‘evidence’ that Outterridge was involved in some shady dealings, or borrowed gold from the wrong people. Maybe even find a ‘dark wizard’ killed by a failed ritual.”

Tonks slowly nodded. She was too smart to tell Moody that this sounded too paranoid even for him. It looked like the other veteran Aurors had been correct - her old instructor was losing it. That was probably why they had pulled him from the academy last year.

He chuckled. “You don’t believe me.”

She cursed internally. He might be losing it, but he was still too damn sharp. “It does sound a little far-fetched.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” He snorted, and tapped his scarred cheek right under his enchanted eye. “But you won’t have spotted that the blood we see here is not from the Outterridges.”

“What?” She looked around the room again. “They tested the blood. It matches the family’s blood type.”

“It certainly matches their blood type. But there’s also some faint residue from a stasis spell.” He smiled, which twisted his face into a grimace. “And why would anyone try to preserve blood, right before they splash it around, if not to hide the fact that the blood wasn’t taken from the victims at the exact time of the Spring Equinox?”

“That’s not proof.”

“You’re right it ain’t. But I’ll get a colleague of mine analyse the blood and flesh we have here. And I’ll bet you Galleons to Knuts that he’ll tell me they don’t match.” He shook his head. “This is one clever bastard here. But we’ll get him.”

So, the murderer wanted blood. And wanted to hide that he needed blood. And it was done on Spring Equinox. Just like Bagnold’s murder last year. By someone very clever.

She had to ask her mother about the family spells - and about her cousin.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, March 26th, 1995

Tonks had to suppress a shudder when she approached the ancestral home of the Black Family. Which would have been her family, too, if not for her mother’s decision to marry her father. She had never been inside the house, but she had heard stories from her mum. The kind of stories that veterans told rookies to haze them. But Mum had been serious.

But so was Tonks - she was an Auror, and she wouldn’t be frightened away by either a cursed house, or a possibly murderous cousin who went crazy in Azkaban. She would get to the bottom of this!

Steeling herself, she tapped the door with her wand. Half a minute later, it was opened, and she found herself staring at an old house-elf.

“What’s the half-blood who shouldn’t be darkening the family’s doorstep doing here?”

Oh, yes - she had heard stories about the elf too. Fortunately, house-elves were harmless, barely more dangerous than unarmed muggles. “I’m expected by the Head of the Family,” Tonks answered.

“Stupid Master is tarnishing the family name,” the elf grumbled, but he stepped aside so she could enter.

The entrance hall didn’t look like the stories she had heard. It must have been freshly painted, she thought. That didn’t have to mean anything, of course.

“Ah, Nymphadora! Welcome to my humble home!” And there he was. Sirius Black. The Head of the Family by virtue of being the last Black. The only wizard to have ever escaped Azkaban. And the suspect in a number of murders.

“It’s Tonks,” she said through clenched teeth. “Just Tonks.” Her mum must have been hit by a Confundus Charm when she had named her, she thought.

“Ah.” His smile grew more polite, and he bowed. “Shall we retire to the sitting room?”

“Thank you.”

A minute later, both were seated in a surprisingly cozy-looking room. Even more surprisingly, there were a number of muggle newspapers and magazines next to the Prophet and… Teen Witch Weekly?

He must have noticed her look, since he laughed. “Ah, my secretary has a subscription.”

“You have a secretary?” Who was reading Teen Witch Weekly?

“Yes. I found myself somewhat challenged by all the paperwork and forms required to handle the family businesses, and so I hired a bright young witch to help me out.”

“Ah.” That explained it.

“Nothing of that sort,” Black said, frowning. “She’s far too young for my taste. Very bright, though.”

“Ah.” She wasn’t certain if he was telling the truth, but it sounded suspicious either way. “What’s her name? I might have known her at Hogwarts.”

“Hermione Granger. I trust you’re aware of her circumstances.”

She knew of that witch, but not from her time at Hogwarts. “Yes. Are you already making her work off the gold you paid for her debts?”

“I’m offering her the chance to put her talents to good use. I would certainly not hold my good deed over her head.” He was all hurt innocence. “And once you meet her, you’ll know that really, nothing of the sort you might suspect is happening. I’m only interested in her intelligence.”

Her mum had told her about that, too. And she had seen the pictures. “She’s not pretty enough for you.”

“That’s a harsh thing to say about a young witch. Not everyone can change their looks at will.”

Tonks shrugged. It wasn’t her fault that she was a metamorphmagus, and after seven years surrounded by jealous witches at Hogwarts, her cousin’s disapproval didn’t even register. “Everyone can be pretty with some effort,” she said, the platitude rolling easily off her tongue.

“Maybe.” He shrugged as well. “You mentioned that you wanted to talk to me about a family affair?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “You’ve heard about the Equinox Massacre.”

“Yes.” He sighed. “Your colleagues already questioned me. Dawlish is such a bore.”

He was correct, but Tonks wouldn’t speak poorly of a fellow Auror with an outsider.

“I have an alibi, though.”

“Yes. You spent the entire night at Hogwarts. As if you knew that something might happen.” Which was very suspicious.

“I suspected something like this would happen, given last year’s events.” He smiled at her.

“Are you also aware that Black family spells were used in the crime?”

“I wasn’t told that.” He rubbed his beard. “But it doesn’t surprise me, either. I have expected that as well.”

“Auntie Narcissa has an alibi as well,” she retorted. “As does her husband.”

“Narcissa is more likely to curse herself than her victim, should she use such spells. She was never the most talented of witches.” He scoffed in dismissal.

“Who do you suspect then?” She glared at him.

“Well… I think that’s a matter best discussed with someone else.”

She tensed up. Was he working with someone? Had he taught the spells to someone else? Maybe his friend Lupin? Were those sordid rumours about them true, too? Was he trying to lure her into a trap? “Mum knows I’m here,” she said.

He laughed at that. “You’re the second paranoid witch I’ve met this month.” He shook his head. “No, we’re going to see Dumbledore. And he’ll tell you who has been murdering people and trying to frame me.”

Once again, Tonks was glad that she was a metamorphmagus. It made it a bit easier to hide her reaction.

*****​

London, Greenwich, March 28th, 1995

“That was a failure. Do it again!” With an almost negligent wave of his wand, the room was once again filled with stains of all sorts.

Her tutor wasn’t happy with her, Hermione Granger had realised. Mr Fletcher had been a tad curt with her today, and didn’t seem to be as patient as he usually was. But he was still a far cry from Snape. And her cleaning charm had been rather sloppy, if she was honest with herself. That spell wouldn’t have cleaned up every trace of her presence in an entire room.

She took a deep breath, bit her lower lip so she wouldn’t even whisper the incantation and focused on her goal again. Then she swished her wand back and forth and flicked it twice, before pointing it at the ground with a stabbing motion.

The stains closest to her seemed to jump up from the carpet, dust and fluids gathering in the air. The stains on the furniture and walls were slower, but they too flew up and towards the growing ball of dirt that was floating near the tip of her wand.

She held her concentration, almost biting her lip bloody, until no more dirt and specks joined the ball in the air, then lifted her wand and stabbed towards the dirt.

“Evanesco!”

The dirt and fluids vanished before they hit ground. Hermione let out a relieved breath.

“Better,” came her tutor’s grudging acknowledgement. “But the Vanishing Charm wasn’t cast silently.”

The task had been to cast the cleaning charm silently. But mentioning that would make her seem petty - and she needed to be able to cast both silently if she wanted to use them on a heist, Hermione knew. So she nodded in agreement while he once more filled the room with stains of all sorts, and readied herself for the next attempt.

*****​

“Are you angry with me?” she asked an hour and countless spells later, when both her tutor and herself were sitting in the - now thoroughly cleaned - kitchen, waiting for the water to boil - Mr Fletcher refused to use charms for making tea, claiming that the results were inferior to doing it by hand. Hermione hadn’t been able to taste the difference, but knew better than to say so.

She saw him press his lips together for a moment before answering. He was angry. “No. Not at you.”

“At my decision to accept Mr Black’s offer, then?” she said, sounding steadier than she felt.

“No. You couldn’t have refused him. The bastard knows you owe him. And still he let you know that he had recognised you.” Mr Fletcher scoffed. “Effin’ Bludger gave ya no choice.”

Hermione was aware of that. She knew that she wasn’t in a position to refuse Mr Black much. Not any reasonable demands, or offers, at least - she doubted that Harry would be very supportive if Hermione complained about his godfather being helpful. “I’ve given this a great deal of thought, but I haven’t found the catch. His offer sounds very sensible and helpful, and his motive appears plausible as well.”

Her tutor snorted. “You mean, what does he get out of this that made him come on so strongly?” She nodded. “Information, control and deniability.”

The water was boiling now and Hermione stood to prepare the tea. She didn’t have to ask him how he liked it. “He already had control.” A fortune in Galleons, spent on her family, gave Mr Black all the leverage over her that he could ever need. Hermione paid her debts, for good or ill.

“Not enough. By involving himself in our business, by helping you as he’s offered, he ensures that he knows a lot about our plans. Not just broad strokes, but the details. Timing. Preparations. And if he controls your, our access to the Ministry and the Wizengamot, then he has a great deal more direct influence than someone who simply pays our bills.”

“He would always have controlled access to information and locations we wouldn’t have without him,” Hermione pointed out. That wasn’t exactly the same as restricting their access.

Mr Fletcher sighed. “Yes, that’s true. His offer is sensible and helpful. Far too helpful to refuse. But it also means that he’s just acquired a ‘deniable asset’, as the muggles would say.”

“As his secretary, I’m not exactly ‘a deniable asset’,” Hermione retorted. “He would have a hard time distancing himself from me.” She put his cup down in front of him, briefly wondering if Mr Black expected her to serve tea as well. Probably not, given his reaction to her dad’s whisky.

Her tutor chuckled. “He can easily claim you that you seduced him. Not now, of course, but in a few years, when you’re ready to go on heists.”

She frowned - she wasn’t a little girl anymore! She was no Delacour, but she had drawn more than just Harry’s attention at the New Year’s Ball. He didn’t have to act as if her seducing anyone was completely implausible. And she planned to be ready for a real heist much earlier than in a few years.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mr Fletcher said, and she wondered for a moment if he had caught on to what she had been thinking. Then he continued: “You saw how many witches were interested in him at the New Year’s Ball. Rich, handsome, a tragic past, and the head of one of the oldest pureblood families? With Dumbledore vouching for him to counter Malfoy’s rumours, Black’ll have his pick of witches for years. He won’t bother you.”

“Good to know.” It was good. And she didn’t really fear that - a word to Harry would put a stop to such demands, she was certain. But to be dismissed out of hand like that… she was a witch too! And she was growing up!

“You don’t sound that happy about it.” He was looking at her intently.

“I’m not interested in him,” she was quick to explain. “But shouldn’t I be able to pose as his escort? In a few years, I mean. That’s what we’ve been training for, after all.”

He sighed. “Yes. But you’ll also know better than to fall for the likes of Black.”

“I’m not falling for him. Or for anyone,” she corrected him. “It’s all an act.” He had told and taught her that himself, after all. Even if he hadn’t actually taught her that much yet.

“Even with your friend?” He didn’t have to say which friend.

“Yes. It was just a prank.” Mostly on Parvati, too. Hermione wouldn’t toy with Harry’s heart.

Her tutor didn’t look entirely convinced, but he dropped the topic as they both enjoyed their tea.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 8th, 1995

Deep down, Harry Potter still didn’t consider Grimmauld Place his home. It was just too good to be true - like magic. Sometimes he dreamed that it had all been a mistake, that he had to return to Privet Drive. And he found himself in front of his aunt’s house, trunk at his feet. Usually, it was raining too. Just as he had had, although rarely, nightmares in his first year at Hogwarts, where they took his wand and sent him back, with Snape and Malfoy cackling as he was sent out the gate to find his own way home - to Privet Drive. The effect of a dozen years spent with relatives who didn’t like him and were afraid of magic didn’t disappear overnight.

He was getting better, though. Just as, Harry added to himself when he heard his godfather in the hallway, Sirius was.

“Ah, there you are!” Sirius said, standing in the doorway.

“In my room, yes. Shocking, isn’t it?” Harry closed his now empty trunk and slid it to the wall opposite his bed.

Sirius snorted. “Sassy like James. Did I tell you the story of how he once got a week’s detention for talking back to McGonagall?”

He had - or tried to. Twice. Harry nodded, though. “Oh, yes. I certainly won’t make that mistake myself.”

Sirius chuckled. “We were a right bunch of rascals. Called ourselves ‘Marauders’, even. Drove Lily spare when she was a prefect. She could never catch us, thanks to the map, and James used to tease her so much...” He blinked. “Ah, speaking of witches. You know how I told you that you have the run of the house, with the exception of my own room and Remus’s?”

“Yes. And Regulus’s.” Harry really didn’t want to incur the wrath of Kreacher, who had turned the room of Sirius’s dead brother into a family shrine.

“Bah! That damn crazy elf needs to let go.” Sirius shook his head. “Anyway, the room at the north-eastern corner is now occupied as well, so if you’re going to ravish your girlfriend, you can’t use that one.”

“What?” Harry couldn’t claim that he had no intentions of getting more intimate with Parvati - those dreams were far more frequent than his nightmares, after all - but he hadn’t actually… “I mean, whose room is it?”

“Hermione’s.”

He blinked. “Hermione’s living here? What happened to her home?”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Sirius frowned. “I thought I did. I’m rather certain that I did, actually.”

“No, you didn’t,” Harry said. And why hadn’t she told him? It had to have happened after the last Hogsmeade weekend in March. “What happened?”

“I hired her as my secretary.”

“You what?” Harry Potter stared at his godfather. He shook his head before Sirius could repeat himself. “Why?”

Sirius shrugged. “Well, I need help dealing with the family businesses. My parents were a little disorganised in their last years.”

Since Sirius was among the least-organised men Harry knew - he would have driven Harry’s aunt spare in a single day - that probably meant that ‘complete and utter chaos’ would better describe the state of the family finances. “I mean, why hire her? She’s…” He trailed off. Hermione wasn’t at school anymore, though she should be. “I mean… she’s my age!”

“Well, mostly because she’s your best friend. That means I can trust her.” Sirius said. He grinned. “You wouldn’t want me to accidentally hire a thief, would you?”

“Of course not!” Harry scoffed. “But why is she living here?” And what would her parents think about that? A boarding school was one thing, but living with your employer?

“Oh, she isn’t living here. That’s her office.”

“Ah.” That made more sense.

“Disappointed?” Sirius grinned again.

“No.” Although… if Hermione did live here, down the hallway from his room, it would be a little like Hogwarts. Hogwarts… he winced.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius frowned at him. “I thought you’d be happy to see your best female friend more often.”

“I am!” Harry was quick to assure him. “But Parvati won’t be happy. She thinks Hermione is jealous of her.” Of course, Parvati thought that every unattached witch, and a fair number of those who had boyfriends, was jealous of her - she had said so a few times.

Sirius rubbed his goatee. “Sounds like Parvati is jealous of Hermione.”

Harry had occasionally had the same thought. He sighed and sat down on his bed. “Great. I wish they would get along. I’m not going to abandon my best friend for my girlfriend.”

His godfather shrugged, then stepped into his room and walked towards him. “Of course not! Your girlfriend probably is just insecure.”

“But why?” Harry shook his head. “Parvati is one of the prettiest witches in Hogwarts! And Hermione… well…” Hermione wasn’t ugly, but she certainly wasn’t as beautiful as Parvati. Or Lavender. Or Cho.

Sirius laughed again. “She’s not much of a looker, I’ll admit, but I’m certain that with the right spells and robes, she could be stunning.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his godfather. Sometimes Sirius’s jokes were rather bad.

“I’m serious, Harry.” Like now. His godfather sighed. “Your friend isn’t trying to look pretty. Your girlfriend, though, is. And she probably knows how much of a difference even a little effort can make.”

Harry scoffed. “Even if that were true” - and he doubted it - “then the fact that Hermione doesn’t make an effort to be pretty should show Parvati that she has nothing to fear.” After all, if Hermione were interested in Harry, or anyone else, she would be trying to look pretty, wouldn’t she?

Sirius spread his hands. “Witches aren’t rational. Especially not when it concerns love and relationships. Ah, the times I have been unjustly punished by a witch for something that was no fault of my own…”

“Well, Hermione’s not working full-time for you, right?” Parvati would accept that.

“No. That would cut into her study time far too much, or so I’ve been told.” Sirius laughed again. Harry laughed as well - that was just what Hermione would say.

He was still smiling even after Sirius had left to check on dinner.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 11th, 1995

Seeing his best female friend working in his godfather’s library - their library, Harry Potter corrected himself - still felt weird. Not as weird as seeing magic at Privet Drive, of course. And it was a good sort of weird, too. Generally.

But probably not today, he thought. “Hello, Hermione.”

She looked up, and he could see how her slight frown at being interrupted was replaced by a smile once she saw it was him. Just like it had been back at Hogwarts.

“Hi, Harry! I didn’t know you were up already - I arrived a little early today, so I can be certain of finishing my work before your girlfriend arrives.”

He winced despite her cheerful tone. Or because of it. “You know, you don’t have to leave before Parvati arrives.”

“I know. But I don’t want to ruin your day with her.” She shook her head. “You know how she is. With me, I mean.”

“Well… if you made a little effort to be nicer to her…” He trailed off when he saw how she was narrowing her eyes.

“I’ve made every effort to be nice to her. Even when she butted in on our Hogsmeade weekend,” Hermione snapped. “And don’t tell me that she hadn’t planned to meet us - Parvati? In a book shop? Hah!”

He pressed his lips together. “That’s not exactly being nice.”

“She isn’t here, is she?” She sniffed. “At least I’m being honest.”

Her tone implied that she didn’t think that Parvati was honest with him. Hermione was not entirely wrong there, Harry knew. “She isn’t nasty about you behind your back.”

“Not with you, you mean.” Hermione held up her hand before Harry could answer that. “Please, let’s not go there. We both know that if she sees me here, there’ll be a scene. At the very least, she’ll be angry, and that would ruin your day.”

He sighed. “I just want my girlfriend and my best friend to get along.”

“Oh?” She grinned suddenly. “Did something happen to Ron?”

“My best female friend, then,” he corrected himself.

She nodded. “Anyway, I do have to study too - my tutor’s not too happy about my part-time job.”

“Alright.” It wasn’t - she could study here, with him even. Like before. But he wouldn’t press her.

“Besides,” she added, “I’ll probably be here every day, so we’ll see each other often during the holiday. We can easily spend time together - maybe go out to eat?”

“Of course!” He agreed and was rewarded with a wide smile.

*****​

Hermione Granger felt a little guilty as she watched Harry leave. Just a little, though.
Despite her aspersions, Hermione knew that Parvati wasn’t actually stupid. The other witch would quickly find out about Hermione’s new job. And that she had a room in Harry’s home. Probably from Harry himself - her friend couldn’t keep secrets. Parvati’s reaction wouldn’t be pretty, Hermione thought.

But that wasn’t her fault. Mr Black had decided to employ her, after all. And had arranged a room for her. If there was anyone Parvati could legitimately blame, it was Harry’s godfather. But if she actually were to blame Mr Black, Harry’s reaction wouldn’t be pretty. And that would be Parvati’s own fault.

She sniffed. If Paravati knew that Hermione was ‘Miss Merriweather’... She chuckled, imagining the other witch’s reaction. If only she could visit Harry in her disguise while Parvati was here… see how the witch liked someone else crashing her date!

Well, Harry and she weren’t dating, of course. This was about their friendship. If Parvati couldn’t accept that Harry had a best female friend, then she wasn’t the right witch for Harry. If only Harry would realise that as well!

Sighing, she focused on her work once more. She hadn’t been lying when she had told Harry that she had to study today - Mr Fletcher was a demanding tutor, if much friendlier than Snape. And Hermione wanted to get as far as possible with cataloguing the Black family library before noon.

After all, she would need to know what books were available before she could use the library for her own studies.

*****​

“Hi, Parvati!” Harry Potter smiled as he helped his girlfriend up - Parvati was as prone to stumbling while travelling through the Floo network as he was. An endearing trait, in his opinion.

“Hi, Harry!”

His smile grew when she hugged him. He could feel her chest press into his, could smell her hair, feel the warmth of her breath on his neck… he loved her! Alas, all too soon, after a peck on his cheek, she pulled away. “Are those new robes?” he asked.

She nodded. “I persuaded Mum to buy them.” She turned around, showing off her clothes. “They’re spelled so they can be worn no matter the weather, too!”

“Must have been expensive,” he said. His school robes didn’t have such features.

“Mum did it. We’ll be learning that in seventh year. Together with advanced housekeeping spells.”

He’d have to ask Sirius then. “Let’s go to my room. We can pass by the kitchen and get Kreacher to bring us drinks.”

“Kreacher?”

“Our house-elf. He grumbles and curses a lot, but he’s very old.”

“Oh, a house-elf? Of course, the Blacks would have one.”

He shrugged. He wasn’t used to having a servant to call on himself. “He’s been working for the family all his life. Air-tight contract, too.” Which was probably why Sirius hadn’t fired the elf yet. The Blacks hadn’t been fond of servants leaving and spilling their secrets. After Harry’s godfather had told him how his ancestors had dealt with servants they didn’t trust any more, Harry hadn’t wanted to visit the basement for a while. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to talk about.

But before he could lead Parvati to his room - she was already on his arm - the fireplace flared up, and what looked like a tangled mess of limbs rolled out of it. Parvati gasped, but Harry had already drawn his wand - no one but a few select friends of the family could enter through the fireplace uninvited; Harry had had to let Parvati in.

“Ugh… Oh! Hi! You must be Harry!” the visitor - a witch, Harry noticed - said while she stood up. “I’m Tonks. Sirius’s cousin.” He blinked at her, and she frowned. “Hasn’t he told you about me?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Harry answered, keeping his wand trained on her. “Kreacher! Tell Sirius that we have a visitor!” he said.

“So… are you going to keep your wand pointed at me until Sirius arrives?” Tonks said.

“Yes.” Of course he was.

“Lupin must have been trained by Moody,” he heard her mutter. “I’m an Auror, you know. You can trust me.”

He didn’t roll his eyes at that remark. He simply kept staring at her.

“You and Moody will get along just fine,” she said.

Sirius arrived before Harry could ask about this ‘Moody’. “Ah, there you are, Tonks!” It was her, then.

“You didn’t tell your godson that you’re expecting me! And you didn’t tell me that he’s paranoid!”

Harry’s godfather shrugged. “Must have slipped my mind. I would blame my secretary, if I weren’t certain that I didn’t tell her to tell him either.”

“You have a house-elf and a secretary?” Parvati sounded very impressed.

“Part-time. I hired Harry’s friend, Hermione. Or Miss Granger, as she insists while we’re working.”

“What?” Harry felt Parvati’s grip on his arm tighten again.

This wasn’t how he had wanted to tell her about Hermione’s new job.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 15th, 1995

“Come in, Miss Granger,” Mr Black said, with what Hermione Granger had come to realise was his usual grin.

“Good afternoon, Mr Black,” she said, entering the house. No one else was in the entrance hall, but that didn’t have to mean anything given the size of the house.

“Harry’s not here. His girlfriend dragged him off to Diagon Alley for what I suspect will be a lengthy shopping trip followed by dinner.” Mr Black must have noticed her glancing around, and she pressed her lips together in frustration. She had to get better at casing joints. Although she also took note that Harry’s godfather talked of Parvati as ‘Harry’s girlfriend’. And the way he slightly curled his upper lip when he spoke. “She really didn’t like that you’re working for me.”

“I know. Harry told me,” Hermione answered in a neutral tone.

He nodded. “It was a memorable spat. She reminds me of my aunt - smiling, but you can smell the vitriol behind her facade. So unlike my mother, who didn’t really try to be polite when she was enraged. Poor Tonks was caught in the middle, so to speak. She and Remus are keeping an eye on them right now, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Good. The Dark Lord might try to use such an opportunity.”

“Indeed.” His grin insinuated other dangers they were to guard Harry against. He had been doing that a lot this week.

Hermione didn’t take the bait. “Which means no one will disturb us.”

“How forward of you, Miss Granger! That must be your American origins.” He even acted as if he was shocked.

“You know what I mean.” She didn’t roll her eyes at her employer. She wanted to, though - he wasn’t as witty as he thought he was.

“I do. But do you?”

“Yes. We have a deal, after all.”

“We do indeed.” He grew serious. “Pacta sunt servanda.”

Deals had to be kept. She nodded in agreement with the warning.

“Let’s head to my study. No one would ever think to find me there,” he added with a grin.

*****​

The study was a marked contrast to the rest of the house. It was dark, from the wooden panels on the walls to the thick carpet covering most of the stone floor and the old furniture, everything was either black or dark grey. “The interior designer must have taken the family name as a theme,” Sirius remarked as he sat down in one of the armchairs in the room.

Hermione Granger sat down in the one opposite his. “I should catalogue those as well,” she said, nodding towards the shelves full of books that covered the back wall.

“You’d need to be a Black to pick those up without getting cursed.” He snorted. “Marrying into the family counts, if you want to propose.”

This time she rolled her eyes. “Curses can be broken.”

“Ouch! That hurt almost as much as Lily’s hex when I asked her out while drunk!” He was grinning, though.

She chuckled at that.

“Anyway. You’re here to find out how to escape Azkaban.”

“Yes.” Finally. She leaned forward a little.

“What do you know about animagi?”

Her eyes widened. Mr Black was an animagus? They were very rare. Then she caught herself. “An animagus is a wizard or witch able to turn into an animal while keeping their mental faculties.” Which was how it differed from normal Transfigurations. “They are limited to one form, and can mimic any of the animal’s abilities - although no animagus has yet been known to take the form of a magical animal, so it’s unknown whether this extends to magical abilities. All British animagi have to be registered with the Ministry. Failing to do so is punishable by law.”

He smiled. “I see McGonagall still introduces herself using her animal form.”

She nodded - seeing her teacher turn into a cat and back was what had prompted her to read up on animagi, back in her first year. “I take it Azkaban’s cells aren’t warded against animagi, then.”

“They’re not warded against animals. By design, or so I think - when the prison was established a few hundred years ago, no one wanted to protect the prisoners from rats and bugs.”

“It would have to be a rather small animal to escape the prison. Probably a bird,” she said. They could easily fly away and reach land.

“Or a skilled wizard who knows how to make his way off an island.” He sounded a little sharper there. Had that hurt his pride? She took note of that as well. “But I think you know how to break out of a building - it is, after all, almost the same as breaking into a building, just in reverse.”

It wasn’t quite that simple, and she hadn’t finished her training yet, but she nodded anyway. “But I don’t know how to become an animagus.” The material she had found at Hogwarts had been noticeably bereft of that information.

“That’s not a surprise - Britain, and Europe, has a rather dim view of the art.” Mr Black grinned. “Most think it goes back to the Intervention in Africa. The native wizards were often animagi, and used their powers when fighting the ICW’s forces. And of course there’s the American shamans, who also are noted for the animagi among their ranks - and for fighting European wizards in defence of their lands. That’s why they have to register in Britain.”

“That’s not the whole truth, though?”

“No, it’s not.” He leaned back. “Becoming an animagus changes you. Animals are not people. They are ruled by their instincts. An animagus will, on some level, always feel the urge to act as their animal form - or rather, as they think the animal would react.”

“A psychological effect then?” She could handle that.

He frowned. “Probably. Lily said the same. But don’t underestimate the effect.”

She made a noncommittal noise of agreement.

He stared at her, then sighed. “Anyway, there are two basic methods to become an animagus. The Inner Path, and the Outer Path. Or the Spirit Animal Path and the Skinwalker Path. The Inner Path focuses on discovering your ‘Spirit Animal’ - the animal that embodies your soul, as some wizards see it. Through meditation and various other methods, you strengthen that part of your soul until it grows so strong that it can change your form to match it.” He grinned. “It involves a lot of giving in to urges, and acting impulsively. The things we got up to...” He sighed. “By the time you have become an animagus, you’ll have changed in other ways as well.”

“Professor McGonagall doesn’t act like a cat,” Hermione pointed out. “Quite the contrary, actually.” The stern witch was one of the least playful people Hermione knew.

“Oh, she doesn’t act like a cat - but I bet you Galleons to Knuts that she wants to. I would even say that she overcompensates for her animal urges, which is why she’s such a…” He shrugged. “You know.”

“Ah.” That was a danger to avoid as well, she thought.

“But the important thing is that you can’t choose your Spirit Animal - it represents who you are, not who you want to be.” He sighed again. “We should should have realised something was wrong with Wormtail, when he was revealed to be a rat. We were so stupid…” He trailed off, and his eyes seemed to lose their focus.

She didn’t want to sit there while he got lost in his memories - even though they apparently were slowly coming back. She cleared her throat. “You mentioned a second method.”

“Yes, I did. I don’t know that much about it, though. As you may have noted, I chose the other method.”

“But you studied it before you made a choice.” It was what she would have done.

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “As you may suspect, not every wizard is happy with the form the Inner Path reveals. If you want to defend your tribe against invaders, turning into a doe doesn’t really help. So, some American shamans developed the Skinwalker method. You’re not discovering your inner animal there - you’re forcing yourself to turn into an animal by changing into its skin. Literally, or so I surmise.”

“That sounds like a rather… practical method,” she said. Why bother with your, or gamble on having a useful, spirit animal, if you could pick the form you wanted? Be the animal you wanted to be. People changed, after all.

“Well, the mental effects are even stronger, since there’s more of a gap to bridge, so to speak. And since this method is usually chosen by wizards who want to fight…”

“I see.” That could be troublesome.

“It’s why Skinwalkers are so easily mistaken for werewolves. They often act the same when in animal form. Some also claim that this method is part of the Dark Arts, since it involves catching and sacrificing the animal you want to turn into - by skinning it, or so I read.”

She nodded. Those were considerable drawbacks. She was confident that she could handle the mental effects as well as McGonagall did, but if the effect was akin to a werewolf’s rage...

“There’s one advantage, though - you can become a skinwalker at any age, while the Spirit Animal Path requires a younger, more flexible mind. Hence why shamans are considered adults after their spirit quest.”

“Ah.” So, there was a time limit, if she wanted to use the safer method.

“But in either case, you’ll find that some other magic disciplines will be much harder to master - such as Occlumency or Legilimency. An animagus’s mind is not well-suited for disciplines that require an exact and ordered mind.”

She hadn’t expected that. Mr Fletcher had told her about Occlumency and Legilimency, and both sounded very useful. She bit her lower lip. Was she willing to sacrifice such potentially useful skills?

“On the other hand, that very same quality makes an animagus’s mind hard to read. Legilimency doesn’t deal well with unstructured minds. That’s why no one sane tries to read an animal’s mind. And Dementors ignore you in your animal form.”

“Ah.” That changed things, of course. She slowly nodded. “I will have to give this some thought.” Smiling widely, she added: “I don’t suppose you have any reading material?”

He laughed as he nodded.

*****​

London, Diagon Alley, April 15th, 1995

“Oh, look! They’ve got the new summer robes!”

Harry Potter didn’t mind shopping with his girlfriend, nor did he mind her enthusiasm when she spotted something of interest - even if his arm had started to hurt a bit, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone after Ron’s joke. He actually liked Parvati’s passion.

He could do without the crowds, though. He wanted to be with his girlfriend, not the whole Alley. That he knew that Remus and Tonks were acting as his bodyguards didn’t help either. Remus was hidden by Harry’s own cloak, and Tonks could be anyone in the crowd. It wouldn’t be as bad if he wasn’t famous, though.

“What do you think?” Parvati was beaming at him while holding a pair of robes. He had missed her question, he realised. But she must have asked which one looked better on her.

“The red one looks better.”

Since she blinked before frowning, she probably had asked him something else. Or she disagreed with his choice. He checked the time on his watch. Three in the afternoon. “How about some ice-cream?” Ice-cream was almost as good as chocolate to make up for whatever you had done wrong, Sirius had taught him.

And his godfather had been correct, Harry knew, as Parvati’s eyes seemed to light up and she smiled again. “I’d love to. Fortescue’s is great!”

It was also very popular, which meant there’d be a crowd. “Have you tried muggle ice-cream? There’s this new brand, from the US. They have very original types of ice-cream.” He had seen an ad in the newspaper.

And her smile vanished. She wasn’t very adventurous. “I love Fortescue’s recipes. Let’s go there!”

“Alright.” He could tolerate the crowds there.

Ten minutes later, they were seated outside of the parlour and eating a large bowl of Fortescue’s latest creation - Parvati’s choice, of course. “Isn’t this much better than any muggle ice-cream?” his girlfriend asked.

He nodded, slightly distracted when he saw her lick a speck of whipped cream from her lips. “Have you tried muggle ice-cream?”

“Yes. It was rather bland. Watery. Like frozen syrup.” She sniffed. “It can’t compare to this.” She took another spoonful, closing her eyes and sighing in apparent bliss as she swallowed it.

He swallowed dryly at the sight, then pouted when he caught her smirking at his reaction. “Such a tease,” he whispered.

She hummed, then leaned forward and responded in a whisper: “You like me like that.”

He nodded - she was correct.

Parvati grinned. “Maybe we should head back to your home?” She glanced around. “It would be more private.”

“Ah…” Harry forced himself to smile. “We might want to wait a bit longer - Sirius has an important meeting today.”

She looked puzzled. “But if he’s busy we’ll have more privacy. He wouldn’t want to drag you into the meeting, would he?”

He didn’t want to lie to her and so he hesitated in answering. “Well…”

And she was frowning at him. “It’s her, isn’t it? He’s meeting Hermione, and you’re afraid that there’ll be a scene.”

She made his friend’s name sound like a curse, Harry noticed. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that! Whenever we meet she acts all jealous, as if she has a monopoly on you. She needs to accept that I’m your girlfriend!”

“She has accepted that,” he retorted. “She simply wants you to accept that she’s my best friend. My best female friend.”

“And what about me?” She glared at him.

“You’re my girlfriend,” he answered. Honesty was the best policy unless you had something to hide, according to Sirius.

Apparently, Parvati didn’t share that opinion, since she huffed, shot him another glare and stabbed her spoon into the bowl with enough force to cause an entire scoop to fall out of it.

He sighed. “I don’t know what your problem is with her…”

“My problem with her,” she interrupted him in that clipped tone she used when she was angry, “is that she is trying to steal my boyfriend, and my boyfriend is too dim to realise it!”

“Hey!” He wasn’t dim! “She doesn’t flirt with me!” He shook his head emphatically. “Trust me! I’ve seen her every day this week, she helped me with my homework, she ate dinner with us almost every evening, we’ve spent hours together - if she were trying to seduce me, then I would have noticed.”

She looked even more angry. “You’ve spent hours together? Every day?”

“Well, I won’t see her much any more once we’re back at Hogwarts,” he defended himself.

“I see. I’m good enough to spend time with when you can’t be with her?”

“It’s not like that!” he protested. This was going wrong. She made it sound as if he was cheating on her by spending time with Hermione. “I just want to spend time with my friend when I can.”

“And when you can’t, you’re coming to see me.” Her lips trembled. “Would you have gone out with me today, if she weren’t meeting your godfather?”

Would he? Harry wasn’t entirely certain. But before he could answer, she shook her head.

“You can’t have both of us, Harry! That won’t work. I’m not going to share you!”

“But it’s not like that!”

She wasn’t really listening, though.

*****​

London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, April 17th, 1995

Boy-Who-Cheats? Harry Potter Between Two Witches

“What? Gimme that!” Harry Potter ripped the Daily Prophet out of his godfather’s hands as soon as he had spotted the headline.

“Hey!” Sirius protested. “You spilled the tea, too!”

Harry ignored him and focused on skimming the article. It was another sordid oeuvre by Rita Skeeter, and managed to both cast doubts on Harry’s fidelity and character and portray Hermione as a homewrecking gold-digger.

“I’ll kill her for this!” he spat.

“Who?” Sirius asked.

“Skeeter!” Harry clenched his teeth. “Who else? That muckraker has gone too far!”

“Ah.” Sirius sighed. “Alas, honour duels have been outlawed in Wizarding Britain since 1812, when a duel between Aloysius Nott and Lisa Parkinson caused a fire that almost destroyed Diagon Alley.”

“What? How could a fire do that?”

“It was Fiendfyre, of course,” Sirius explained. “Which was outlawed after that incident as well. Anyway, if you kill Skeeter, it’ll be a crime.”

“I didn’t mean it literally,” Harry said. “But this… this…” He threw the newspaper down on the table.

“What’s wrong?” Remus asked, entering the kitchen. He looked tired and weary from his transformation the night before, but then, he had looked like that Saturday too, and still had gone out to protect Harry during his disastrous date with Parvati.

“Skeeter’s calling me a cheater and Hermione a…” he trailed off, not wanting to call her names. “...gold-digger.” Harry shook his head. “She’s making out Hermione to be this seductive beauty who ensnared me with her wiles. As if anyone who knows her could believe that!” Hermione was about as far from a femme fatale as you could be.

“Well, most don’t know her,” Remus said, taking a seat and grabbing the Prophet.

“And those who think they know her might be mistaken,” Sirius added with a grin.

“Exactly!” Harry nodded at his godfather. “They don’t know her just because they saw her at Hogwarts years ago!”

“But how did she know about your row with Parvati?” Remus had read the article and was now looking at him, Harry realised. “Didn’t you cast privacy spells?”

“We taught them to you for that reason, you know. Well, also so you could talk dirty with your girlfriend privately in public. Or something like that,” Sirius added.

“I did!” Harry remembered it clearly. “Either someone defeated the spells, or…” He stopped when he came to an uncomfortable conclusion.

“...or your girlfriend told the wrong people,” Sirius finished for him.

Harry winced. Parvati was a gossip - but would she spread the news of their row? Although the article did make her out to be the blameless victim. The poor honest witch undermined by male infidelity and muggleborn treachery. “If she told Skeeter about us, then we’re through!” he declared.

*****​

London, Merton, April 20th, 1995

Lying on her bed and staring at the ceiling of her room, Hermione Granger sighed. Almost a week had passed since Mr Black had told her about animagi, and she still hadn’t been able to make a decision. Well, she had decided to become an animagus - the benefits outweighed the drawbacks. Especially for a budding thief. To be able to sneak around as an animal was worth the loss of Legilimency. Which was, according to what she had researched, far less reliable than its reputation anyway - it didn’t allow actual mind reading; at most it allowed one to discern surface thoughts and emotions. And she was confident that she could defeat Legilimency attempts without Occlumency. Her mental discipline was strong, after all.

She didn’t fear the mental side effects Mr Black had told her about either. If she could act rationally during puberty, with her hormones were running wild, then she could certainly handle some subconscious urges.

No, what she hadn’t been able to decide was which method she wanted to use. The Spirit Animal Path or the Skinwalker Path.

The Spirit Animal Path was, at first sight, the obvious choice. Not only were the mental effects lesser, but Mr Black had used it himself, and would be able to provide instructions and support for her. She wouldn’t have to use questionable magic either - it required no sacrifice. She had read up on the rituals various cultures used for the Skinwalker Path in the various books Mr Black had loaned her, and they had all made her feel rather queasy.

But the Spirit Animal Path had one disadvantage: She couldn’t choose her animal form. Her research, as well as Mr Black’s personal experience, agreed on that. And as pathetic as it was, she wasn’t certain she would like whatever animal was supposed to represent her soul. A corporeal Patronus was supposed to show one’s ‘inner animal’, which was probably the spirit animal in question, but it was one of the most difficult spells to master according to what she had read. By the time she had managed that feat, she might be too old for the Spirit Animal Path anyway.

She wanted to be a cat, like McGonagall - graceful, elegant, and agile. Or maybe a bird - to be able to fly, to soar above the land... A dog would be acceptable, she thought. Loyal and brave. Even a badger - tough and grumpy, but agile as well.

But what if she was something useless? Like a deer? Or a mule? She didn’t think she was a mule, even if she was a little stubborn, but… it wasn’t as if she was well-acquainted with her soul or subconscious. She didn’t know much about psychology…

Hermione closed her eyes. If only she could influence… Her eyes shot open. She could! That was what psychology was about - among other things. She jumped off her bed and raced downstairs.

She had books to buy!

*****​

Hogwarts, June 1st, 1995

“What are you thinking about?”

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, Harry Potter looked up from the Daily Prophet article - the latest on the ‘Dumbledore scandal’ - at which he had been scowling when he heard his girlfriend’s question. Had Parvati already finished her essay? She had asked him to read it to check for mistakes. A glance told him that she hadn’t. She was looking at him with a rather intense expression, though.

“I’m wondering why Skeeter hasn’t been fired yet,” he said. As Sirius had taught him, honesty was the best policy if you hadn’t done anything wrong.

She tensed - after talking to her he now believed that she hadn’t talked to the insufferable witch, but it still was a sore subject - she hadn’t reacted well to him suspecting her. And he hadn’t taken well to her reaction. “She’s just reporting what others said.”

“Have you read the article?” he asked, a little sharper than he had wanted.

She shrugged. “Yes.”

“It’s full of veiled accusations and rampant speculation about what crimes Dumbledore might have committed,” Harry spat. “Malfoy probably paid Skeeter for it, just like he paid her to ruin Sirius’s and Hermione’s reputations!” As soon as he said the words he regretted them - Parvati glared at him, and he winced when he saw how thin her lips now were.

“It’s always about Hermione, isn’t it? Dumbledore, Sirius, no matter what, it’s always about her!”

“No, it’s not! But she is a part of this. This whole thing started with Malfoy framing her.” That was the truth!

“No, you just think it’s about her! Malfoy didn’t like Dumbledore long before Hermione had even heard of Hogwarts, and the Bagnold letters were written twenty years ago!” Parvati was almost snarling. “Don’t you care about anyone or anything else?”

“Of course, but she’s my best friend. Best female friend,” he added. “Obviously she’s important to me.”

“And I’m your girlfriend!”

“They didn’t mention you in the article,” he pointed out, logically.

“So? Don’t you care for me? Am I not important to you? Don’t you love me?” She stood up, her hands on her hips.

He noticed everyone in the room was staring at them. “I do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll neglect my friends.”

“But you’re neglecting me!”

“I’m not!” He was sitting with her while she did her homework, after all!

“You are!” Her chest was heaving. Then she huffed and raised her chin - he noticed that he had stood up as well during their argument. “I told you before: I’m not sharing you! Choose! Either her... or me!”

He gaped at her. How could she ask, no, demand that of him? He looked at her, noticed her expression, the way her eyes had narrowed, the way her mouth was set. She was serious, he realised. Well, so was he. He stared straight into her eyes.

“If that’s what you want,” Harry said in a flat voice, ignoring how her eyes widened in surprise, “then I choose her.”

*****​

Hogwarts, June 21st, 1995

“Why’s the third task on a Wednesday?” Harry Potter asked as he sat down in the stands of the arena. “The first two tasks were on Sundays.”

“It’s the Summer Solstice,” Sirius explained. “An auspicious date to hold a magical event. And most shops have closed anyway, so it’s as good as a Sunday.”

The crowd certainly didn’t look any smaller than before, Harry thought.

“Well, if it was a real Sunday we wouldn’t have had lessons in the morning,” Ron said. “So, it’s certainly not as good as a Sunday.” He must have caught a glance from Hermione since he quickly added: “It’s better, of course, since we have lessons!”

After a second of silence, Hermione started to giggle and Ron laughed. Harry joined in a moment later. It wasn’t that funny, but he didn’t want his ex-girlfriend to think he was miserable without her.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked in a low voice, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes,” he answered, trying to sound convincing. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

“You’ve steadfastly avoided looking to your left,” she said.

That was where Parvati and her friends were sitting. Busted. He sighed. “It’s her fault, anyway.” She had told him to choose between Hermione and her. As Sirius had taught him: Teenage girlfriends didn’t last. Friendships did. Like Hermione’s.

She smiled. “I know. But it still hurts to see her, right?”

“Yes.” But he was getting better.

Her hand moved a few inches, probably to touch him, but then stopped, and he saw her frown. He knew what she was thinking - if she touched him, Skeeter would have another article out tomorrow.

She narrowed her eyes, huffed and squeezed his arm. “She’ll write her lies anyway.”

“Right.”

“But you’ll get over her. It’s not as if she’s the only pretty girl at Hogwarts.”

He returned her warm smile. “You’re right. There are lots of pretty girls who aren’t so…” He sought the right word.

“...insecure, petty and jealous?” Hermione asked with a sweet smile.

He chuckled. “I guess. And witches who don’t believe everything that the Prophet publishes. Or Teen Witch Weekly.”

“Oh, I’m not certain of that. How many pretty witches are smart enough to make up their own minds?” Hermione asked.

“Well… Susan Bones is very pretty, and as the niece of the Head of the DMLE, she should know how many lies the Prophet publishes,” Harry pointed out. Amelia Bones certainly had her fair share of bad press. “And Padma is as pretty as Parvati, but as a Ravenclaw she is smart.” He saw that she was frowning, and hastened to add: “I’ve talked to her; she blames her sister, not me, for the breakup.”

“Ah.” Hermione still looked less than happy. But before Harry could reassure her that he wasn’t about to make a stupid mistake, the third task started.

And watching the three champions do everything they could think of to snatch the cup from the centre, except for attacking each other, was far too exciting and entertaining to worry about girl troubles. Even with Bagman’s commentary.

*****​

“And Diggory summons a pack of wolves - within the rules, as long as they’re not ordered to attack Krum. But they’re obviously blocking Krum’s approach. Krum’s trying to go around them, but Delacour’s been busy conjuring a veritable maze on his flank, so that way’s blocked! And Delacour’s making a grab using her wings… Oh! Looks like Diggory or Krum had been sneaky - invisible walls and high-speed flying don’t go well together. Delacour looks a bit like my old Seeker after he fell for a Wronski Feint.

“And Diggory is blasting his way to the centre. Two walls left… one… and the last one exploded in his face. What a clever trap! Krum’s conjured a metal cage too, directly over Diggory. Since the back is open, it’s not an attack - technically. But it means Krum has passed Diggory, and the walls around the centre are down. He reaches for the cup, and… oh, the cup drops to the ground before he can grab it - and slides towards Delacour inside a tube made out of ice. That’s one well-timed transfiguration! She holds out her hand and grabs the cup. Delacour… no, there’s no fanfare! That’s not the cup, that’s a copy! Where is the real cup? Diggory has it! Diggory switched the cup right before Delacour snatched it! Diggory wins! Hogwarts wins!”

“Hogwarts wins!”

“Hufflepuff wins!”

“Play it again!”

“Please don’t!” Harry Potter heard Ron mutter under his breath as the Hufflepuff table once more gathered around the recorder. “That’s what, the fifth time they’re listening to it? It’s as if they hadn’t watched it just a few hours ago!”

Harry shrugged. “Well, it’s not as if Hufflepuff’s won anything in years. They’ll want to celebrate this as much as possible.” He filled his plate with a third helping - the Victory Feast was as excellent as he had come to expect from the Hogwarts kitchen staff.

Ron scoffed. “It’s also rather rude towards our guests.”

“I’m certain that they would have done the same,” Ginny cut in. “Especially Delacour.” The witch sniffed and sent a glare at the Ravenclaw table.

Harry didn’t want to discuss the French champion’s possible faults, so he shrugged. “I wouldn’t knoOW!”

His head erupted in pain and it was all he could do not to scream. Something ran down his face - blood, he realised when he saw the drops on the table. His scar was bleeding. He reached up to touch it, then everything went black.

*****​